#true detective shadow land

[jenconnellysshybellybutton]

True Detective: Shadow Land

Chapter 1: Welcome To Hard Times

(After True Detective: Night Country) Chief Elizabeth Danvers finds herself going back to revisit some old demons when missing Inapiut children go missing that tears the town of Ennis, Alaska apart. An unofficial sequel story following Liz Danvers and Evangeline Navarro aka my pitch for season 5 with them.

A/N: I'm a very big fan of Moby's music so hearing "This Wild Darkness" in episode 4 was like watching your team win the Superbowl

August 2, 2024

It had been several months since Danvers had last heard Holden’s voice beneath the ice. She had thought she was finally able to move on from him. She thought she was at peace. No nightmares since that surreal night at Tsalal station. Every once in a while she would have visions of Clark’s frozen body out on the snow. Tonight was different. Her dreams would be about Evangeline now. She hasn't seen her since April when Liz disappeared after she said goodbye at Liz's lake house. Tonight's dream was of Evangeline and Holden together, it was sweet, they were smiling together. Just the three of them in the dream. No one was hurting them.

Liz woke up to the daylight shining through the floor to ceiling windows, squinting her eyes hoping to see Navarro on the porch. Nothing. She picked up her phone checking to see if she got anything from her. She couldn't stop thinking about them. What they were. It was more than friendship. Liz couldn't help but admit inside she missed her greatly, that she wished she knew where she was. Would Navarro even want to be found? Liz didn't want to jump to the thought that she could be dead somewhere. Navarro could hold her own. She knew that.

“I can't come back to Ennis.”

Those words shook Liz to her core, but she understood why. The town was a fever dream. People will disappear and it will be considered normal.

Liz got dressed in her weather appropriate clothes that were not her uniform this time. Black jeans and a canvas black jacket. Although it was going into fall, she hadn't been able to see her for the majority of the summer. The blonde dialed up her number once again waiting for someone to talk on the other end.

“The number you have reached has been disconnected-”

“Fuck!” Liz slammed her phone down and chugged down the last of the coffee in her mug and thought about everything related to the younger woman that had happened. She couldn't bear to think about the night at Tsalal without breaking down in tears about it. She felt stupid for having emotion at 7 in the morning. She thought about going to look for her. Holden's bear. Shit that's right she left the bear at her house. As Liz sped down the terrible roads, she thought about the conversation with Navarro the last time they spoke at the lakehouse. How they both looked at each other with tears in their eyes. Danvers cried herself to sleep that night, holding a pillow like it was her partner's body. The next day she continued her job at the station like nothing had happened. She shoved it all the way in the back of her memory where she wouldn’t be able to think about it for awhile, until the next time she had a mental breakdown in the kitchen, in the breakroom when no one else was around. Evangeline left one written note. A few lines about how she cares about her and that she hopes she’ll be okay, and that it’s okay to be not okay.

“You know where to find me.”

***

The crisp air hit Liz’s face as she exited the suv, she found that the door was once again unlocked. Nothing had changed. She hasn't visited in at least a month. Liz had come to accept that her partner would never come back. This morning it looked like her view would continue down that path.

Liz felt another ache in her heart as she went back home to start her day. She swore to herself she wouldn't cry again about her unless her body was found.

She managed to push down her feelings once again by ignoring all those thoughts, she's been doing what Evangeline told her to do in the letter. Go to therapy, but Liz hasn't been very truthful to the therapist either. She'd mostly try to only talk about Leah as if Navarro never existed. Nothing has helped with forgetting her for the most part. She's alone all the time except for when Leah will come home late at night, usually past 12.

***

Liz closed the door behind her only to feel someone's hot breath on the back of her head. She didn't dare to turn around.

“Don't scream.” The figure said.

Liz could recognize that voice from a mile away. She couldn't bear to let it out now but her voice cracked. “Let me see you.”

“Turn around Liz.”.

Liz turned around. The woman she mourned was standing in her living room. They looked into each other's souls. For a moment Liz swore she could feel her body get warmer.

Evangeline began to speak. “You forgot I'm a lockpicker-”

Liz slapped her. She didn't know why, but it felt right. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She observed the younger woman's face. She looked like she hasn't slept in a long time, like she's spent her night staying up focusing on something she cannot control. Liz stared at her in disbelief.

“The fuck is wrong with you! You can't even wake me up to say goodbye? Instead you- left me a note- I searched for your ass for months!” She yelled not caring if she spat.

“I know you have-”

“Oh? So you've been spying on me too? I thought you were dead! That it had been that long since anyone saw you and that you were out on the ice somewhere. I fucking mourned for you! I didn't know if you were hurt…if you were struggling, if you were- fuck!” She ran a hand through her hair. Her lips trembled with pain.

Navarro took note and lowered her head. “I know you went to my house today. I've been watching you since I left basically. I only came back because someone asked for my help, and that's why I'm here-...”

Liz went to the kitchen and popped some vitamins while she was listening until there was silence. “What? They're vitamins. I'm an old fart, if I want to keep movin’ I gotta take these.”

“I know. Which by the way, watching you try to put on your shoes is entertaining as shit.”

“Fuck you…oh Jesus you didn't see me during bedtime did ya?”

“No, I looked the other way. Anyways I'm here because I need your help on this case with the Inupiat. This cannot be involved with Prior and everyone at the station. Just us.”

“Oh fucking hell- you come back here and expect me to join you after this shit?” Liz shook her head.

“I didn't. The women do. The children are missing, Liz.”

“Then why don't they call us?”

“They don't trust y'all to help, except you. Only because you were with me and gave the autopsy info to them.”

Navarro walked to her and reached for her hand but Liz pulled away quickly.

“Liz I-”

“No…no. Not after this…” Liz wiped her eyes. “Some nights you're here with me, and we would talk. I actually hated myself for how I treated you.”

“I thought about you. All the time. I haven't stopped thinking about you, Liz. Trust me, I did. I still hold on to what happened at Tsalal.” Her voice cracked too. “I felt you slip away from me-”

“Shut up. Stop it…” Liz put on her utility belt and walked out the door. “Get in the car and drive me wherever.”

***

“You…have you been sleeping?” Liz turned to face her, looking at the black eye that was fading away. “Who hit you? I'll kill em.” Before Liz could think about what she was going to say, she spat it out.

Navarro glanced at her and sighed. Liz hasn't been this attentive in forever. Especially threatening a nonexisting perpetrator. That was new. “I got hit by a fucking tree branch, and no, I haven't.”

“You shouldn't be driving.”

“I'm fine.” She got uncomfortable quickly. “So, who was that woman parked out of your house on Monday? Nice looking woman, quite young right?”

“Jesus Christ Navarro. That's my cousin, and she's in her 50s.”

“Oh. Well I was curious because it was weird that you closed the curtains.” She assumed the hotness ran in her family.

“Why were you spying on me in the first place?

“Long story but short story is I was making sure you were okay.”

“Uh huh.”

Liz leaned her head against the seatbelt strap and thought about what Navarro could have seen at her house.

“It's been several months. How's dating? I mean we know you've fucked every guy in town so I don't know who else is left unless Ms Danvers is into women-”

“Can we just not talk? I haven't seen anyone since before Tsalal. Now shut it.”

“That's surprising.”

“What part of shut it do you not get?”

“Hey I'm just trying to ease back into conversations. I don't care about what sex you date Liz…I just, really fucking missed you and I didn't have a choice about a lot of things. I missed a lot of things…we’re here.”

***

As they stood at the doorstep Navarro leaned towards her. Liz was taken aback until she realized she was fixing her shirt under the jacket. Navarro toyed with the zipper and held Liz by the biceps.

“What are you doing?”

“You're skinny. You need to eat more.”

Liz scoffed and released from her grasp. “Sorry I wasn't eating because I was scared shitless about you. Thinking my friend was dead!”

Navarro crossed her arms acting like she was trying to assert dominance. “You haven't changed one bit since Tsalal. A woman in this field needs to be built for the job.”

“You should've told that to Connelly when he was still working there ya know?”

“We're not talking about him-”

The door opened in front of them. Liz ran her hand through her hair again and straightened her back. Liz changed almost completely since Tsalal. Peter would say she was extremely generous towards the other cops, her sarcasm and bluntness was still there but she thought of others thoroughly and made sure everyone at the station was good to work each day.

“-...” Liz didn't speak. She could already feel the horror through the pain in the woman's eyes.

“Last time we talked I believe it was about an autopsy?”

“That is correct…ma'am.”

She moved out of the way to let them in where her and Navarro sat down in the chairs they were in last time. Liz took off her hat and looked around the room, the same 11 women were there. They had looks on their face full of sadness, confusion, rage. Liz felt their pain, she felt the same sorrow when she lost her baby boy. She gulped and looked at Navarro, who had several small scabbed cuts on her face, hair looked dirty. Liz’s gaze was directed when Sutres Meli knocked on the wood.

“I’m going to be very blunt, white woman. Our children are missing. All of their children are missing. They’re disappearing from us. We don’t know how or why. We want answers, we want them back.”

Liz gulped and took out her small notepad from her pocket with a pen. “I would like to talk to each of the parents.”

“Fine, but we want justice. We want our babies back alive.”

“Ms. Meli, I’ll do what it takes to find them-”

“Alive.”

Liz nodded and Sutres removed herself from the seat. Each woman would sit across from her at the table where they each gave their name, name of the kid, where they were last seen, when they vanished. Every possible detail of what happened. This went on for about 45 minutes. Most of them broke down into tears as they spoke. When Liz was done Navarro leaned into her ear. “We can’t bring the feds into this.”

Liz was puzzled. “Why?”

“Because everyone outside this house thinks I’m dead.”

“You’re going to return to society if you like it or not, I don’t have time to put up with this.”

“You don’t get to decide that Liz!”

“Cut the shit Navarro! We have 23 missing children! Just in this town! We’ll talk about this later-”

One of the women came up to her. Eyes wetted. Liz changed her attitude. “Where Gavin disappeared, I want you to look at where he last was…”

“Take me.”

***

The woman walked them to the house where Liz got a glimpse of his room, the childhood innocence left behind by sorrow. Liz looked at the walls. The child's paintings from school pinned to a bulletin board.

Liz held it together well being reminded of painting with Holden. She had to stop, to get over him already, he died almost a decade ago and she was still mourning. “A mother’s love for her child never fades.” She ran her fingers over the paper, the constant reminder that Holden was gone and all that was left was his paintings. Liz snapped out of it when the mother gathered her attention to the back shed.

“I asked him to bring in our broken flower pot, we were going to fix it up- After 10 minutes of him not coming back inside, I got worried so I came out here and…he’s gone.”

Navarro looked inside, the pot of dirt shattered on the wooden floor. “Something ain’t right about this Liz.”

“No shit…” She mumbled. Liz observed the wooden floor, rather it being like a weird residue splashed on to it creating an oily finish. Crouching down looking closer at it, a red dot caught the corner of her eye. She looked closer, A dried drop of crimson.”

“Liz…”

Liz’s heart sank. Did this mean anything could be permanent? No. Did it mean something. Yes. In Liz’s eyes this person must’ve been very good at this, has obviously done it before. The sun beated through the clouds and on to her back, starting to get warm and overwhelmed. “You have a UV light on you by any chance?”

“It’s a keychain-”

“That’ll work.”

Liz pressed down on the button and let the ultraviolet light hit the work. Smears of blank residue were on the wood. Liz knew from her years what this was but it was extremely rare since when most people clean up blood it never goes away, but there’s one chemical that can get rid of it entirely. “What is it?” Navarro observed her face.

“Whoever this is…they know what they’re doing. Do you know what this is Ange?”

Evangeline was surprised by that nickname. Liz hadn’t used it since before Eve killed that bastard back when they were on good terms. “No Liz.”

“I’m not 100% sure, but this person almost left no evidence. There’s one chemical that can get rid of what blood leaves behind. The stuff in Lysol, hydrogen peroxide, and no, not straight out of the can, but the unfiltered, pure chemical. You can’t inhale that shit. Nor can you get it at a Walmart. Shit, you need a special license I think, I don't’ know. I think you can only get it by being a chemistry teacher or something.”

“So, time to call everyone?”

Liz gave her a stare. “Yes. I’m calling Prior and you’re going back to my place, you’ll stay hidden if that’s what you really want, but come up with a story fast if you want to come back…I want you to come back. We miss you…” Liz looked away from her and stood up to call the station. “We need everyone on this. 23 children missing, so far. I have a shed I need specialists on.

***

Pete Prior talked to them first. Evangeline decided to make a return to society and came up with a decent story of how she just wanted to disappear. Pete hugged her and had a full reunion. Liz gave a soft smile and talked to the rest of the cops. Connelly was gone thank god. He got fired at the very least. By the time everyone took notes from the families it was dark out and getting cold fast. Liz heard whispers about how Trooper Navarro was back from the dead or some shit like that. Her blonde strands of hair got in her face, she admired Navarro’s presence from afar. Liz stood by herself on the rocks and put her gloves on. “Everyone! This is the biggest case Ennis has seen. We owe it to these people big time. Our respect, their children. They’re good people. I will do whatever it takes to find these children. We all need to work together, but for now we need to get the feds involved. We cannot do this on our own!”

***

Liz walked over to Peter by the pickup truck and patted his back. He had one of those satellite phones that could call anyone anywhere. She always found that cool. “You on the phone with em?”

Pete hung up.

“So this is what you've been up to all day?”

“You got a problem?”

“I'd just appreciate it if you would let me know about this stuff beforehand?”

“I'm sorry, okay?” The corner of Liz's mouth stretched making a guilty face.

Pete sighed. “They’re going to be here next Thursday. For the whole team. A smaller team will be here Sunday.”

“Shit. Well it’s better than nothing. I’m going home. Fucking late, haven’t eaten anything today. Taking Navarro with me. Don’t let anyone know okay?”

“Of course Chief…be safe?”

Liz nodded before walking off. “Goodnight Pete.”

***

The car ride back to Liz’s lake house was silent. Liz couldn't believe everything that was happening. She wasn't built for this anymore. She wants to scream into the sky, to disappear into the night, it was all bringing back old memories. Now that Navarro was back she couldn’t bring herself to say the whole speech she prepared.

When they entered the house Liz took off her jacket and gave Evangeline a look. “You smell. Go take a shower. Your box of clothes is in the spare bedroom, your name's on it. I’ll make dinner.”

Evangeline felt extremely fortunate that someone cared for her this much. “Liz”

She popped open a beer from the fridge and looked up. “What?”

Navarro was going to say something about her drinking but when she saw her soft face with hardened edges, she let it go. “Thank you.”

For the first time in awhile Liz smiled the softest she could. The memories flooded back to them both. “We're friends right? You don't have to thank me.” Liz set down the beer and walked over to the much taller woman. Liz didn't think at the moment and caressed her cheek. “I'm just happy you're really here. That's all that matters in this moment.” She tried not to cry, she’s saving the tears for later. Right now she’s happy.

***

A half hour later Evangeline came out of the shower. Liz changed into some sweats, wanting at least some comfort in the dark hour. She made the burgers on the George Foreman grill and made the burger just how Navarro liked it; spicy ranch and pickles. Finding comfort in making the table made her feel mother-like in a way again. She shook the image of Holden from her head and sat down. Reading the texts on her phone. Peter saying how all of the crime scenes have traces of dried blood left behind. Everything that could come from that would be a horrible assumption.

Elizabeth Danvers: Ok. Get some sleep. Goodnight.

Evangeline came out of the room shortly after. Dressed in the sweat clothes she Left behind at her house from before. Liz looked up and stared at her. Taking off her glasses to get a better look. She looked breathtaking with her hair down, free from dirt and all. The tall woman sits down and digs into the burger. She clearly hasn't eaten real food in a long time.

***

Dinner was a silent fest unfortunately. Just nothing being said. Liz kelt waiting for Evangeline to say something but it was a bust.

After dinner Liz followed Evangeline to the bedroom where she just simply fixed up her bed for the other woman. Liz picked up Holden's polar bear and played with the off white hairs. Liz grew uncomfortable and broke the silence.

“Can I ask a question? Just one…”

“Okay?”

“Did you have anywhere to stay?” She asked in a quiet, soft tone.

“Some dude's place. His place sucked.”

Liz nodded. “Are you hurt?”

“You said one question.”

“Okay I lied.”

“No…but I could use a massage right here?” Evangeline pointed to a part on her back above the shoulder blades. Liz patted the bed so Navarro could sit down while the older one tended to her. Liz pressed her fingers and thumbs deep into the sore areas, she let out whimpers of pain trying to not let them out of her mouth.

Liz gulped and rubbed the space between the collarbone and shoulder blades. Trying not to hurt her too much. Navarro flinched under her fingers with a hiss.

“Want me to stop?”

“Yeah.”

Danvers swung over her legs so she sat directly next to her on the bed. “I'll sleep on the couch tonight-”

“No you don't have to.”

“But I want to. You need lots of sleep, sleep in if you want. It's no use when you're nodding off on an empty stomach and all on a case. I know what that's like.”

“Okay Danvers.”

“You tired of talking to me?”

Evangeline gave her a glare. “Liz, I don't give a shit about that. It's just, I never wanted to die, I wanted to never be heard from again, but when Sutres came to me about it, I just did not want to believe, but I always wanted to come back to you. I can't stop overthinking about this, it has been haunting my sleep”

“Ange it's okay. Get some sleep. Here.” Liz put Holden's bear in her lap and rubbed her back. “He missed you too.”

When Liz left the room, Evangeline cried a little bit about Liz trusting her with the plush. About how Liz was so gentle with her, how she caressed her face. Evangeline liked her quite a lot, she grew on her over their shared time together. Before Wheeler, she truly was a mentor of hers. She knew Liz like the back of her hand. She thought about her dirty blonde strands of her hair, how they rounded her face so nicely, how her eyes crinkle when she smiles. Danvers was an attractive woman, no doubt about that, especially for her age. She was a sarcastic, blunt person and Evangeline was addicted to her attitude. How she presented herself. She took shit from no one. Being attracted to that legal senior was hard work. She soon fell into a deep slumber. She was back at Tsalal where that night would become the event that would haunt her.

"I'm sorry..." The older woman said. Almost a whisper. Her voice destroyed, sounding so hoarse, the pain and guilt finally leaked out.

Navarro held her close. She could feel her cold breath hit her skin. "I got you. I got you. It's okay." She turned her head so her lips were resting on her forehead. She gave Liz a peck and rubbed her back. The sound of her cries blended in with the howl of the wind outside.

***

When Evangeline woke up she heard the sound of splashing outside. The sun leaked through the crack in the curtains, the ray of sunshine hitting her directly in the eye. She pulled herself out of bed wondering what could make that sound. She unlocked the door and opened it. It was very mild out for Alaska, a wind chill for sure, but this time of year was nice. Out of the corner of her eye she saw water splashing from the lake by the end of the dock.

“Danvers!”

She ran to the edge of the dock getting ready to jump in when Liz's head came up from under the water. She had a grin on her face that confused Evangeline. “Were you about to come in and save me?”

“I thought you were drowning!”

Liz chuckled as she swam over to her, lifting herself out of the water and standing herself up on the dock. “Can you hand me my towel?” She asked about, being in some cargo shorts and a sports bra. She caught Evangeline staring at her soaked figure.

Navarro handed her the towel and shook her head. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Swimming?”

“That water is freezing. Do you do this everyday or?”

“I started when you left. I found myself afraid of water so my therapist recommended me doing some exercises for getting used to it again.” Liz saw Evangeline wasn't even looking her in the eyes but paying attention to her strong core. Liz dried herself and snapped her fingers. “Hey I'm talking. What? You surprised I'm not a skinny ass anymore?” Evangeline wanted to touch those rippling abs but god only knows what thoughts in her head would pop up later.

“You're still a skinny ass.” She quipped.

Liz rolled her eyes and whipped her on the ass with her towel. “Asshole.”

[ihtherik]

When You Bare Your Teeth It Almost Looks like a Smile

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav (not described)

Astarion’s POV

SFW/Fluff/Angst (seriously there’s no s€x here)

Summary: Set in Act 2 when the group begins scouring Moonrise Towers and Astarion and Tav encounter Araj Oblodra, the Drow blood merchant. She won’t take no for an answer, and learns why that is a very very stupid thing to do.

~3.2 K words

Bit of a deviation from the canon interactions/dialogue and what the outcome is because ummm little guard dog with her love that most certainly does doesn’t need one is a trope I LOVE and needed to vomit out a lil flash fic at 1 AM last night to perform catharsis help I also kind of made myself sad

I may get this posted on my AO3?

I also will post the next part of Turn My Heart to a Spade soon!!!

“Oh, but I’d prefer if you did.”

The sneering Drow’s reply to his assurances that he would not bite anyone doesn’t quite register for Astarion before she lets slip another gut-reeling string of words, this time directed at you.

“I assume he belongs to you? Judging by the way he’s clung to your shadow since you walked up…” her laugh is mirthful, the metallic smear of red around the blue-grey skin of her eyelids crinkling and cracking in her amusement. “It’s a truly remarkable boon, to have had a spawn at your beck and call during your trek through the Shadow-cursed lands. I’d be remiss and dishonest to say I’m not jealous.”

His pale brows furrow as an unfamiliar emotion hits him. Maybe unfamiliar isn’t right, but he’s been so long separated from it that encountering it again feels like meeting a stranger he’s all too wary of.

Much like how he felt when he met you.

Kind, generous, trusting, infuriating you.

Oh, how he loathed being proven wrong. Having his tried and true skills of determining who people are and what they want sidestepped, his—sometimes hastily drawn—conclusions about things tipped on their heads like a cat swiping a cup off a table. Mostly by you. Endearingly and maddeningly.

For Gods’ sakes, he is supposed to be the unpredictable, unreadable, unflappable one. It’s his armour. His sodding lifeline. When one is in control of their faculties and has only themselves to rely on, their ability to save themselves is entirely up to their skills, or lack thereof.

But you, you whose only purpose was to take a fall or stab (sometimes literally) for him, has somehow managed to get him to willingly hand over the one thing that could kill him.

His trust.

It had kept him from trancing, some nights, gnawing the inside of his lip to shreds while going over every possible scenario in which his trust could be wielded against him.

Yet thus far, you’d not only permitted, but encouraged him to hold the other metaphorical end of it.

Both in battle, and in his bedroll.

He wonders most days if you know. If you’ve caught onto what he’s now realized was a very poorly conceived ploy. He has to tell you, at some point.

There’d been a humbling, blind fierceness in every fiber of your being when you last drew your weapon for him—looking up at the devil Yugir as if he didn’t have his crossbow bolt aimed right between your glaring brows. You swung and hacked and sliced like it was your soul you were fighting for, not his.

You’d done more than received his trust, you’d earned the right to hold it.

And here he is, silently watching, pleading, mentally tugging on the other end like a child grasping at their mother’s shirt—hoping you feel it.

“He has a name,” your voice appears as even as ever to the average onlooker, and certainly to this Drow; but there’s a strain, a warning that Astarion can detect that, to him, feels like the gentlest tug back from your end on the rope.

“Is that so? How quaint,” the Drow tilts her head. Turning her attention back to him, she appraises him from his boots up to his curls with a gaze that makes that strange, ugly feeling swell again. “Do indulge me then, what are you called, spawn?”

“Astarion—but-hold on—“

“Well, Astarion,” the way her tongue flicks over every syllable of his name puts a crinkle of disgust on the slope of his nose. So unlike how you say it. Usually uttered, quick and delicate, the ‘Ah’ nearly clipped off—shortening it to ‘Starion. Familiar and sweet and warm. “I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”

His disbelief manifests in the way he stutters over his words, managing to compose himself into a semblance of his normal character by the end of his reply. “You—What? I’m sorry, You—you want to be bitten?”

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance between the edge of life and death? Yes, I want it.”

Though he’s already decided that this woman is, in fact, a stem short of a brain, the arrangement she proposes catches his attention. And not in any way that’s enticing. A likely dangerous and potentially faulty potion in exchange for drinking her blood is a shoddy deal at best, and a revolting one at worst. Her blood smells foul. Acrid. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, which only worries him more. Not a sort of sickly sweet smell of decay like Gale’s. Nor is it twinged with something medicinal like Halsin’s, or like the pleasant muddle of Shadowheart’s half-elven and half-human blood. And certainly not like yours.

Putting on all the politeness he can muster, which is already more than the Drow deserves, he replies.

“I will have to…erm, decline.”

“Excuse me?” The Drow scoffs, displeasure creasing the space between her brows. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer,” he shocks himself with the lack of grace he speaks with, voice lowered and snarling. He used to be so good at evading people like her. What the Hells has gotten into him?

Tutting, the Drow turns back to you. “Can you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” Addressing you like he’s not in the room, with scant more respect for you than she had for him.

Proving the Drow’s earlier observation right—as loyal as a bloody mutt—he looks to you, anxiety tightening the muscles over his stomach. The scenarios begin to churn in his mind, the worst among them not even that of you asking him to bite her to get the potion—but instead acquiescing his wants in front of the Drow only to reprimand or even punish him in some way later.

They come to a hilt as both he and the Drow await your move, holding his breath.

Then, you do something that manages to stun, relieve, and thrill him all at once.

You smile.

Though a half of a head shorter than him, and barely a few inches taller than the Drow, your presence seems to swell to intimidating heights among the three of you.

“My, you are slow on the uptake, Ms. Araj,” you speak with a lowered, gentle voice, one which commands the both of them to listen carefully—maybe even get closer, though at this point the Drow would have to have a death wish to get within stabbing distance of you. How dreadful, and disappointing, to Astarion; that the ominous and certain threat in your voice still yet seems to fly over the Drow’s head.

And how entertaining it will surely be to watch her pomp crumble in a few moments.

“My dear companion deigned to give you his name and answer, twice. I would pity the other acolytes and pilgrims here—if I cared for their lives—for the mere cruelty it is to converse with you in any capacity.”

Dear companion? Now this is new. And not…entirely unpleasant.

“I’m—sorry, I—“ the Drow’s poise wavers, though outrage still lines the edges of her voice.

“You will be sorry, if you do not shut your Godsdamned mouth while I speak,” you let the full fury of your voice be felt, though you have yet to raise it past what can be heard within five paces of the Blood Merchant.

As a meager credit to the Drow’s intelligence, she does snap her jaw shut. Astarion’s lips curl all the higher with each passing second.

“As I was saying—though I do not pity the acolytes here for the ordeal it must be to give you some form of station here, I think I have reason enough to remove you from it. For how you have treated my—for how you have treated Astarion,” your smile beams brighter, not a crease beneath your eyes to suggest you’re anything but seething. He realizes, in a way, you’re baring your teeth for him. The near possessive slip seems to loosen the anxiety in his frame, slightly. But your self-correction helps more.

“You may be a True Soul, but you don’t have any authority to—“ the Drow’s lips suddenly quiver shut again, but clearly not of her own doing. Astarion glances at you and his own tadpole wriggles as he feels yours come to life.

“I should have been more specific,” you sigh, your tadpole holding the Drow rigid. Brushing past him, you beckon with your finger as you move towards the balcony’s doorway across the room. The Drow begins to follow, feet shuffling awkwardly as the fear wells in her eyes. He’s not used to feeling planted to the floor, but for a moment he can only watch in gleeful disbelief at what you’re doing. He picks up his feet at the Drow crosses the threshold and slips out to the balcony with the two of you.

“When I said I had reason enough to remove you from your station, I meant that in less of a bureaucratic sense—I mean literally remove you from it,” you continue to hold the conversation calmly, one-sidedly, as you turn back to look at the Drow from the stacked-stone guardrail. You point and snap your fingers, gesturing to the one spot on this balcony where the stones have broken off and fallen down to the inky, boulder filled shallows at the bottom of the tower. The Drow moves even more resistantly as the psionic force from your tadpole urges her to obey, but eventually she stands at its edge.

“Tell me, Araj, would you like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to feel what it’s like to fly? All you have to do—“ you lay a hand upon her back, just between her shoulder blades, giving her the slightest nudge. “Is step off.”

Astarion hears a strange, strained sounding humming, and realizes it’s the Drow trying to plead behind sealed lips.

“Oh—but it’s a simple exchange, really! And I’m a woman of my word. You step off, and I cast ‘Fly’ upon you. The only risk is if you fall too quickly, well—then my spell won’t reach you in time…and I’ve only seen it happen once before, but to fall from this height? Your body would pop like a champagne bottle thrown to the floor. Skin and muscle and bone will split, and all your warm guts and blood will burst and spray everywhere. What do you say? In my mind, it’d be plain idiotic to squander an opportunity like this.”

You turn back, meeting Astarion’s eye. Within yours, he can see a volatile mix ready to explode. Wrath. Outrage. A cruel hunger for revenge.

But even with those powerful emotions threatening to overtake you, there’s a tenuous thread of patience still wavering. Patience, and a question: that which asks for his permission. To not merely act or speak on his behalf, but decide whether or not to take this woman’s life for the affronts to his dignity and autonomy.

Indignation. Righteous indignation.

That is the feeling that’s been gnawing at him, the words for which he couldn’t recall until now. And it’s all because of you. Because you’ve refused to let him think of himself, talk about himself, treat himself, like a loaner to his own body and mind. Stepping off the wall, he approaches the two of you with a swagger.

First taking hold of a strap on the Drow’s armor, he then plants a steady foot on a piece of the stone guardrail to hold himself upright. Looking to you with a reassuring smirk, you step back, and with a rough shove Astarion sends the Drow’s upper half forward, dangling her precariously over the edge of the balcony. He lets her moan and protest wildly behind her teeth for a moment longer before nodding to you, and you release her from the hold of the tadpole. She takes a ragged gasp, as if preparing to scream, and he leans in to her ear.

“Now now, Araj, let’s not arouse any undesirable attention from the guards, hm?”

Stifling a groan of fear, her arms unsteadily pinwheel in the air as her feet try to find solid stone, and not the edge which Astarion has forced her onto.

“I think I’m feeling generous, so close to the overwhelming splendor of the Absolute—“ he mocks the name of the so-called deity that had proven itself a thorn in their group’s side thus far. “Whom, need I mention, blessed and deemed me a True Soul, just like my dear companion.”

Throwing a conspiratorial smile your way, it deflates only slightly to see your face set so tightly, all but trembling in anger. Not at him, of course. With a sigh, he tuts and yanks the Drow from the edge, throwing her to the stone floor of the balcony further in. She scrambles back from the both of you. Following her towards the door with unhurried steps, he tilts his head in the same mocking way she had before addressing her once more. “The next time someone tells you ‘no’, Drow, I suggest you not argue. You might not be so lucky next time.”

—

The two of you eventually reconvene with the remainder of your group, and after determining your next move you all settle within an abandoned wing of the tower for the night.

Neither of you relay what happened to the rest of your companions—and in turn don’t find an easy opportunity to address it with each other, until the others have gone to bed.

He finds you hunched over your pack, inventorying your potions yet again—worrying and fidgeting his hands and fingers as he approaches.

“I think we’ll come across more, we’ve not unlocked every door in this bloody tower,” he offers—sounding uncharacteristically optimistic. It betrays just how uncertain and uncomfortable he feels about what he’s actually come over to say to you.

“Ah, I know. Just a bit paranoid since we got here. We had our asses kicked out in Reithwin, then again when we took care of Raphael’s dirty laundry—and to walk in to that whole spectacle with Thorm? Gods above—“ you huff, coaxing a genuine smile to Astarion’s face. Finally you turn, rising from your crouched position with a tired, lopsided grin. It falters as you take in his expression, and Astarion worries he’ll collapse in on himself if you look at him for a moment longer like you currently are.

Like you’re concerned about him. Which you are. Like you care for him. Which you do.

Like you love him.

“Everything alright, ‘Starion?”

“Oh—yes, of course I’m fine-“ he stumbles over every word, his charming, easy, impervious shell cracking. “It’s just that…I feel—awful.”

You push aside your own exhaustion, giving him your full attention—of course you do. You ask him why. He’d almost rather pull his own fangs out than confess what he’s about to. But as you listen, as you take in everything he hurries and tries to explain or make excuses for, your expression does not change. Not for the worse, anyway. Those same shining, gentle eyes hold his, and make his undead heart swell. He makes sure to express his gratitude, for how you stood up to the Drow—but even more so for letting him decide.

“Well—yeah,” you sheepishly look down at your feet, scrubbing at the back of your hair. He almost can’t take it, how wonderful you are. “I wasn’t going to rob you of that satisfaction,” you joke. Sighing, you meet his eye again. “I was ready to kill her, Astarion. You know I was. But then… I wouldn’t have done anything for you. Not really. Who’d’ve been empowered if I’d done it? Definitely not you. So, sorry for almost doing that. I was…well, I was fucking pissed.”

He’s not sure if he can recall how to breathe. How could you be apologetic right now, when you were ready to defend him like some knight in shining armor? He came here to apologize to you, not the other way around.

“Hells, darling, I might find an opportunity to make you a villain yet,” he offers you a small smile, voice soft.

You reciprocate, your cheeks dusted with a blush illuminated by the few candles lit outside your tent.

“So, um…what you said—about forcing yourself through-does that mean our—erm,” you try to be so cordial, so empathetic, even though pain seeps from every pore at the implication of what he said.

“No—no, darling,” he rushes out, taking a breath. “Being…close to someone, it just…it was always something I did, had to do, to lure people back—for him. I—want us to be different. I know we are. But intimacy feels…” he struggles to articulate it, feeling your eyes on him even as his own flit around the shadows of the room. “…tainted. I just…don’t know how else to be with someone, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you, Astarion,” you murmur after a heavy pause, and he manages to find your eyes again.

“Really?” He asks, throat filled with a bubble of emotion that threatens to burst.

And where words failing him and the inability to wield his body would normally make him feel completely hollow—a useless husk of a man—the embrace your arms suddenly surround him in makes him seem…whole. Solid.

And unfortunately, capable of dragging him down to the depths of sadness and pain with how heavy he now feels.

However, your arms around him remind him that you’re there with him. That you will be there with him no matter what, Gods and Devils and Mindflayers be damned.

Astarion remembers how to use his own as realizes they’ve been merely hovering, outstretched, and hugs you back. You tighten around him, sighing into his shirt.

He closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into your hair, into the crook of your neck—looking for those places he’d be happily cradled in for the rest of his thus-far miserable life.

When you eventually pull back—Astarion’s hands linger at your waist, his fingers almost curling around your shirt to tug you back in.

“You’re—um-full of surprises,” he musters a shaky smile, which you reciprocate, warmly.

“I am yours until you tire of me, Astarion,” you offer half-jokingly, the gravity of which does not go amiss in his mind.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t sleep—so don’t get your hopes up for being rid of me, darling.”

Your eyes crease, nearly obscuring your irises as you smile.

“I love you, Astarion,” the words are carried from your lips on a breath as it slips out—falling tenderly as a kiss to his ears and piercing as true as an arrow through his heart.

You can tell as much, stepping forward into his arms once more to squeeze his hand and reassure him. “You—you don’t have to say it back. I just want—need you to know that. In the event we die tomorrow or something. Very real possibility, given our dwindling potions.”

“Oh. Well. If we’re telling each other things we need to know, I suppose I should tell you how I’ve been building a stash of potions I’ve erm…borrowed from you, then. You know, clearing guilty consciences and all,” he counters, squeezing your hand back. “I’ll share them with you—as a last resort—of course.” You snort, and then fall into a fit of giggles that he’s dragged into all too easily.

After a considerable effort and a number of failed attempts to stop laughing, a sharp ‘Tsk’va’ uttered from Lae’zel’s tent nearby finally manages to silence you both as you slip into his tent, you staying awake only long enough for him to clear the bedroll of clutter and shake the blankets out.

As you settle your cheek on his chest, snuggled up to his side, his lips press idle kisses to your forehead and hair, desiring to commit your smell, warmth, and weight in his arms to memory.

He eventually slips into a trance—for once, one not filled with crimson eyes and shadows and death—but your sweet smile, laugh, and the way those three words he once longed to forget sound in your voice.

[ynscrazylife]

THE BAT IN THE SHADOWS 🦇🕸️ — CHAPTER THREE

Summary: Bruce Wayne is the happiest he’s ever been in a while. He has a beautiful wife, amazing children, and is stopping crime left and right as Batman. All that shatters when you, his wife, mysteriously disappears.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader, Batfamily x Batman!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic)

Series Masterlist

It takes quite a lot to confuse Batman. Yet here he stood, reduced to speechlessness, as he stared at the odd group in front of him. The woman called herself Black Widow, said she was looking for his wife. Bruce thought he would’ve remembered if you mentioned anyone like this before.

“Then you’ve come to the right place. I’m also looking for her. How do you know Y/N?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms. They didn’t seem to be . . . Evil, but he had no clue who the hell they were or what you had to do with it and that was very annoying.

Black Widow glanced at her friends and another one of them, a man in bulky, flashy red armor, stepped up. “We used to be on a team together. Years ago. Until a mission went wrong and . . . She disappeared. I guess she landed here,” he said.

This did not help at all. In fact, it only made Bruce more confused. He was positive that you never mentioned working on a team before. “How long ago is ‘years ago’?” He asked next.

“About five now,” Black Widow answered.

Bruce felt like he was being slapped in the face. He had met you five years ago, when you were a rookie officer. You and he dated for two years, then married, and you were so skilled that you made detective within four years. Could this really be true?

“How can I trust you?” Bruce asked.

The group all looked at each other, seemingly coming to this conclusion that this masked man had a connection to you. Then, the archer pulled a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, passing it to Bruce. He stared down at it, shocked to find that it was a photo. It was all these people, at some party, and . . . You. You were definitely younger, but it was clearly you, smiling and holding a drink.

Willing his hands not to shake, Bruce looked up at them. “I have a lot of questions,” he said bluntly.

“So do we,” the armored man said. “What do you mean that you’re also looking for her? Isn’t she here?”

Bruce took a deep breath, thankful that the mask covered his face, otherwise they’d see the tears pooling in his eyes. “She was abducted a few days ago,” he replied, forcing his voice to be steady.

“That explains the weird signal I detected,” another man said. He had a beard, a cape and looked like some sort of wizard.

Yeah, Bruce had a shit ton of questions.

//

It took some time for parties, the Avengers and Bruce, to get to really talking. They both had to give up information they’d rather not to learn more about the person they all cared about. The Avengers explained that you used to be on their team, until you went missing on a mission like they mentioned earlier. They said they scoured the world for you, until consulting with the wizard guy over here (who called himself Doctor Strange, Bruce didn’t comment on the weird name).

Doctor Strange said that he detected a signal not long after you had disappeared and, with his magic, found out what it meant: you were off-world. In a whole other universe. They’d been scouring the multiverse (which Bruce almost needed to sit down for a second after hearing), until finding a similar signal a few days ago which led them here.

So that meant . . . Both signals gave your last known location, told them that you had been taken. The first one was from the universe that the Avengers were from and the second was from this one, the one where Bruce made a life with you.

He was still utterly perplexed and didn’t completely trust them, but that picture . . . The timeline . . . It was tugging at something inside him. Bruce admitted that he had known you for these past five years, though he didn’t outright admit that you two were married. He was going to hold that fact close for as long as possible.

Finally, the Avengers led Bruce back to the point of origin, where they arrived in the forest. The masked man turned it all upside down, sadly not finding anything that could help.

But . . . He did have something they could help with.

“I don’t really want to do this,” he admitted, turning back around to face them. “But this is my only choice. My only clue to find Y/N. If I find that you’re messing with me . . .”

“We’re not,” a man, about Bruce’s height, looking like the American flag, said sternly.

Bruce sighed, forcing his shoulders to drop. “I have some footage to show you,” he said, really hoping that he wasn’t going for regret this.

//

As soon as the Avengers saw the footage of the store from earlier, Black Widow went pale.

“No, no, no . . . This . . . They’re inactive. This is impossible,” she said, gritting her teeth. Hawkeye placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as all eyes turned to her.

“What?” Bruce asked, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Play it again,” she snapped, leaning in close to the computer.

Bruce glared, but complied, restarting the video.

She took in a sharp breath, crossing her arms. “These people . . . Their uniforms, their behavior. It has the Red Room written all over them,” she said, as it dawned on the Avengers how serious this was.

“The Red Room? What the hell is that?” Bruce asked, his patience wearing thin.

[fanfics-with-coffee]

To be kind, To be a fool

This has only been proofread and edited by a sleep deprived me sooooo, I also wrote it in a daze from 1AM to 6AM. I'm back in my Baldurs Gate 3 hole and I've been so very inspired from so many other fanfic writers I got back on this blog

You did it, you saved the prisoners from Moonrise Towers and everybody is back, safe and sound at least for tonight. You and Astarion are holding back from the festivities, instead talking about your act of heroism and why you do it. You say you choose to be kind for who else will, he says you're choosing to be a fool for what else is kindness if not foolish.

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Pairing: Astarion x reader Words: 4400

Its doubtful if Last Light Inn had been quite so lively as when you returned in the raggedy old boat with the prisoners from Moonrise Towers. Once they had been cleared, everyone had ran to their loved ones or simply rejoiced in the warmth of the fire, ever burning away the darkness that threatened to creep inside any crevice it could get it's cold claws into. And of course they soothed their dry throats with the little wine and ale that was left behind when the shadow curse had blanketed the land. The two boys manning the bar were running around relentlessly, trying their best to fill every empty goblet and mug they could spot, leaving no one without a drink. It’d probably only be hours before Jaheira had to call it a night so they wouldn’t run out of the little liquid joy they had left. But until then, the celebrations were loud and proud.

For a moment, things were bright, despite the dark sky. 

“What a ruckus, you could almost think that Lathander himself had been in attendance.” Astarion mused, one hand gracefully swirling a glass of wine while the other rested on his upper arm. He was leaning against the wall beside you in a corner of the inn that hadn’t been filled with people. Not that it was difficult, even with the prisoners free it was barely enough to fill the tables and chairs. You smiled, watching the tieflings try to catch up after the devastating nights apart. 

“If Lathander was here, I think there’d be a lot more dancing on tables and a lot more wine.”

“True… And a lot more fucking.” Astarion replied with that signature cheeky smile he always pulls when he’s said something salacious or teasing. You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, nodding along to his line of thought. He wasn’t wrong. 

“You’re probably right. Well at least we could let these people see another dawn, I think in a sense maybe Lathander really is here.” You pull your eyes from the happy faces and let them reflect in your mug of ale before downing another mouthful of it. The smooth, delicate taste of honey coats your tastebuds and leaves a pleasant warmth in your stomach.

“I didn’t take you for the god honoring type, you know? Besides, these people didn’t need Lathander, they had their own little ray of sunshine coming to their rescue anyways. Our own little goody-two-shoe altruist in shining armor.” He teases you, reminding you that there weren’t any gods in the belly of Moonrise Towers. Yet beneath the lighthearted tone you detected something else, a familiar bitterness and disapproval that he had given you before. That he gave you whenever you did something ‘too nice’, ‘too self sacrificing’ or ‘too cheaply’. You had long ago started ignoring it, instead taking it as a sign you probably did the right thing.

“Mmmh, mayhaps. I mean we were there anyways, and I wouldn’t have wanted to be left there to the Absolutists if I was stuck either.” You give him an answer you know he’ll hate and you made sure to slather some extra kindness in there as well just to really make a point. “And I find enough reward in watching these people.”

Astarion rolls his eyes hard enough you worry they’re gonna get stuck to the back of his head. You watch him, unable to hold in a laugh as he pretends to vomit from how ‘disgustingly sweet’ you are. You don’t say anything for a moment as he lets his eyes roam the room, the soft light of the torches reflecting upon his white locks of hair. You can see the disgust in his eyes as he watches them, and you could only guess as to why he felt so strongly about your acts of kindness. 

“I can’t wait to see the day you realize that none of these people would do the same for you… When someone betrays your kindness and I can stand there and laugh, telling you ‘I told you so’.”

He says it nonchalantly, as if it’s a fact. He let’s his own hatred for the world seep through every syllable yet he hides it behind a face that says he doesn’t care. You expected comments like this to come from him, you expected resistance to helping the helpless. Yet something about his words right now makes your chest tighten in anger, the notion that you were simply too stupid to realize that not everyone was kind. That he was maybe smarter and more experienced than you for seeing the cruelness in the world. You turn sharply to face him, slamming your mug down a little too harshly on a table close by. Astarions eyes meet yours, he never expected you to react like this, you had never before raised your voice at him. The air has grown tense. 

“Astarion, I am kind. I am not a fool, and you should do well to remember that there is a difference.” Your words are sharp yet you’re thankful no one else has seemed to notice you two. “I know that people will hurt me, and betray me. That people will not always do the same as I would’ve done. But if I don’t help, then who will? I have the power to make a change and I’ve chosen to use that power. You don’t have to agree, but you’re not allowed to tell me that I am wrong for deciding to be kind.”

He can see the hurt in your eyes as you correct him. That it’s not a question about your own navïte making you help others, but the fact you put conscious effort into being kind, despite the risk it has. Cold, uncomfortable embarrassment washes over him like ice water. A feeling he despises and so he sets it alight with anger instead, feeling himself burn with it as he finds himself again. His fingers clench around the half empty glass of wine he continues to hold onto. Thoughts swirl around in his head, trying to find the ones that will hurt the most, a painful payback for embarrassing him.

“And pray tell what is the difference? You waste not just your own time helping these idiots, but ours too. We were here to find a cure, yet all we’ve done is listen to sob stories and rescue people who will most likely die on the road to Baldurs Gate anyways. What kind of fool would waste so much energy and time on things that will lead to the exact same result anyways, I believe that’s actually what people call insanity.” He makes himself appear taller as he pushes himself off the wall and stands in front of you, scowling as he meets your gaze. 

How dare you tell him that he’s wrong? After 200 years of cruel torment and nights spent around people who could not give less of a shit about him, you’re telling him there’s people out there that care? And if so then it’s even worse, because that would mean no one simply knew he was in pain. Was Astarions own torment not enough for people to even notice?

No, he knows what he went through. No one cares about others' torment unless there’s something in it for them, even if just so they could feel a little better about themselves and comes at no expense of theirs. It’s always just about ourselves, Astarion just skips the other steps and puts himself first. Why could you just not do the same? Why did you have to go out of your way for anyone else?

“Fine, call me a fool. Insane, även. Say what you want about me, Astarion, but I will always choose to be kind. I’m sorry no one made that choice for you before, I am. B-”

“Do not tell me about kindness, y/n, there is no altruistic kindness like the one you speak of it’s a performance people put on for others.” His words are cold and sharp, they bite into your heart in much the same way his teeth pierce your skin. Painful. “We should all put ourselves first, it’s what everyone wants to do anyways! Skip the damn pleasantries and just be honest about it at the very least. I’m tired of having to look beyond the kindness just to see their true intentions.”

He’s rambling without thinking, remembering all the kind words and touches he’s received just because someone wanted to get in his pants. All the faux acts of kindness he watched Cazador perform so he could get what he wanted, or even just to make sure whatever cruel act he had in mind would hurt even more. All the nights in the beginning where he debated how he could save a victim, just to realize he’d get nothing but pain in return. The kind acts he himself performed in hopes of receiving something kind in return. 

The way he seduced you just to make sure he had safe passage to Baldurs Gate, to a cure. 

You were left speechless, caught off-guard by the outburst of emotions. You knew he was selfish but this was rooted deeper and maybe you should’ve realized when he had finally told you about Cazador and his ‘siblings’. You clenched your hands, trying to find something to refute his points. To prove him wrong. Yet you have nothing of worth to sooth his pain. He sees your hesitations and assumes he’s finally gotten through to you, he’s won. His red eyes leave yours to once again look at the others smiling faces, not wanting you to see the disappointment grow in him as he realizes he was right.

“So you’ve never been kind just to be kind?”

“No. Never.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, letting the motion tilt his head back as he finally raises his glass of wine, downing the rest of it. The sudden action makes the glass flow over the corners of his mouth and the deep red liquid coats his chin and drips down on his chest, staining the white fabric of his shirt. It bleeds into the criss-cross stitching and travels further down before he has time to react. 

You gasp and grab an old handkerchief stuffed in your pocket, quickly moving to try and save his favorite shirt. It's instinctual, thoughtless. Even when you’re mad at him and even though he’s furious at you, you try to help him. As soon as the cloth touches him, shame spreads like a disease through him, regret taking root in his chest somewhere where his beating heart should’ve been. 

He hates it.

“Don’t touch me.” He bites back, snatching the handkerchief from your hand to do the job himself. You instantly step back, putting your hands up to make sure you give him space.

“Tsk, I’m going to bed. Good night, y/n.” He’s aggressively dabbing at the stain as he starts walking away, trying to soak up as much as possible but it’s clear it's a useless endeavor, it will forever remain stained.

“Astarion!” You call out to him before he gets too far and he stops momentarily, turning to finally look at you. 

He’s met with pity reflecting off of your eyes in the lowly lit room. 

He hates it.

You say something else but suddenly the sounds of the celebrations drown out whatever it was. He doesn’t even try to listen and simply turns around to find the room that he had been given as a thank you from Jaheira. He didn’t need your pity, he didn’t tell you about his past because he wanted your pity, anyone would feel pity for him if he told them what had happened to him. He wanted you to… care. Foolishly, he wanted you to care about him, about what had happened to him. He wanted you to listen to his issues and maybe, just maybe, you’d want to help him like you helped everyone else around you. And maybe you’d do something without asking for anything in return. 

Yet tonight, he reminded himself that no such thing as true kindness existed. And to expect you to care about him despite who he was at his core was foolish itself. Your kindness came at a cost he hadn’t even thought about; You expected him to change in return for your kindness. He was mean, he was selfish and he wouldn’t let you change him for anything.

He turns to close the door to the room he was staying in, the feeling of his shirt clinging to his chest uncomfortable and wet. Astarions eyes find you in the same corner he left you, yet your eyes didn’t meet. Gale and Karlach had come up to you, pulling your attention to them. You had quickly started smiling and laughing again, one hand on Karlachs shoulder in a calming manner. 

Why had he even let himself hope that you would follow after him?

He closed the door.

The hours dragged on, the darkness in the Shadowlands making day and night nearly indistinguishable. The only thing that made time feel real was the ever waning torches, slowly burning out. And while you felt like it must’ve been a fortnight of drinking, laughing and talking, it can’t actually have been more than three hours based on how many torches had already burned out and been replaced. You had been convinced to join Karlach by the grill, Wyll telling stories of his time as the Blade of Frontiers in the soft glow. You listened and laughed, at points discussing the actual validity of these stories. But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t let the thought of Astarion go. He hadn’t left the room he was staying in, all alone in there, perhaps still trying to clean the shirt he always seemed to wear. 

As people finally sated themselves and found their companions, the celebrations died down to  a quiet mumble amongst those unable to sleep. The children had long ago been told to head to bed, only occasionally peeking their heads out from the dorm or coming out to ask for a late night snack. Jaheira herself had taken over the bartending but was now stuck pleasantly talking with some fists that had sat down after their patrol shift. Even most of your companions had headed to bed, either in the dorm or at camp depending on their preference, Astarion had specifically called dibs on the single private room. 

“Well, I think it’s best I call it a night as well!” Karlach stood up and stretched her muscular arms over her head. “You should do the same, soldier, can’t have our tactician getting sloppy!” She smiled at you, expectantly putting her hands on her hips as she waited for you to stand up and walk with her.

“Oh, I think I’m going to stay up just a little more. I’m sorta enjoying the quiet murmur in here, and I haven’t really had the time to speak with Jaheira since we came back.” You lied, trying to give her a convincing smile. But you couldn’t hold her eyes with yours, instead turning your head to watch the door to Astarions room, trying to make it look casual. 

“Riiight… You know, I don’t know what’s going on between you and fangs but I wouldn’t take anything he says to heart. He’s sorta dumber than he wants us to think, so whatever he told you… Eh well, I dunno, I’m not the smartest myself.” She laughs at herself, the alcohol having had an effect on her after quite a few bottles. “But I am the strongest! So if he needs  a good assbeating then I’m here for ya. I know he can say some pretty rude stuff at times even if he doesn’t mean it. What is it people say? Hurt people, hurt people?”

“You’re right Karlach...” You smile at her, she may say that she’s not smart but she knows people better than most. “But it’s fine between me and Astarion, we just had a disagreement but it’s nothing to worry about, I don’t think. Though I know an assbeating wouldn’t help, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Well if you say so, soldier! I’ll see you in the morning then I guess.” She gives you a hard pat on your back before leaving, yawning loudly as she walks towards the dorm room, softly ‘shoo’-ing another tiefling child back into the room.

You spend some time just watching the embers of the firepit burn, feeling the heat hitting your face in waves and drying out your lips. You drink the last of the wine in your cup and lick your lips, standing from the stool to leave the empty cup at the bar. Your eyes find the wooden door again and you spend a long moment debating if it’s a good idea. Facing Astarion right now would be awkward and draining, it would even risk you two blowing up at each other again. Yet you know he was hurt, that much was obvious.

The knock is soft and you’re uncertain if he could even hear it over the sound of the fireplace in the room. You consider that maybe he had gone to bed in the end, it had been hours since you saw him after all. 

“Astarion? Can I come in?” You call out softly, afraid to wake him if he was in trance but wanting to give it at least one more shot before you give up. It takes a moment but suddenly the door opens ever so slightly, just enough to let you know it was open but not enough to see him in the doorway. You take that as a ‘yes’ and carefully push it open further. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps come to the door nor leave, yet when you slip through the crack of the door he’s sitting on the bed. The room is dark, long shadows being cast from the dying fire. The moon lights up his pale skin and even paler hair, reflecting off of him as a glow. His legs are crossed and he’s leaned back on his hands, his chest exposed. He looks as if he’s made of marble, his chest doesn’t even move with breaths as you watch him, a quirk of his vampirism you’ve realized. You make sure to close the door behind you, never turning away. 

Neither of you say anything. There’s a book open  next to him on the bed, it’s the sequel of some book he had picked up early on in your adventure. You had gotten the sequel for him after he expressed his enjoyment for the first one, it had cost you a gold but it was worth it. You stare at it, unwilling to meet his gaze directly. Yet his is firmly placed on you, indifferent and icy.

“Well? Were you just here to get your handkerchief back or did you want something?” He spoke first, raising an eyebrow.

“...Is it as good as the first book?” You ask, finally looking him in the eyes. He furrows his brows before he looks at the book next to him, realizing what you meant.

“It’s decent. I liked the twist in the first book so it has a lot to live up to, but it’s an enjoyable read. But I’m sure you’re not here for some midnight book club so out with it. What do you want?” He’s clearly pushing you away, but the fact that he opened the door when he heard it was you must mean he’s willing to listen.

“I wanted to come see how you were doing. Did you manage to get the stain out of your shirt?”

“I’m fine, thank you. And no, I did not, I will have to try to find someone who knows prestidigitation to get it out, I believe. Now if you excuse me, I’d quite like to get back to my bo-” He’s about to pick his book back up, clearly done with the conversation if you weren’t going to get to any point.

“I also wanted to apologize.” 

He raises an eyebrow and looks at you, giving you his full attention and newfound interest in the conversation.

“I snapped at you, and while I don’t think I was in the wrong for doing that-” He rolls his eyes, making it clear he disagrees with you but he lets you keep talking. “I shouldn’t have made it sound like being kind was an effortless choice and that you always can and should choose. It’s not easy every single time. So I’m sorry.” You try to gauge his reaction, see if he gives you any sort of response. He doesn’t at first, his face difficult to make out in the drastic lighting. The distance between you may only be a couple meters but right now you feel like there's kingdoms between you.

“...You say that yet you make it seem so damn easy. You never question why someone needs help, if it’s their own fault for getting themselves in that situation. You never assume people have any other intentions than what they tell you up front. You’re kind as effortlessly as some breathe.” He spits out the words as if they’re venom, once again speaking as if he believes you’re a fool. “Even to me, you’re kind. You ask me about my wounds, if I like the books I read, if I’m comfortable, where I learned to sew… I thought you were just trying to get in my bed at first, something I’m used to. I’ve given my body to countless ‘kind souls’, but now I’ve realized you just want me to be another victim you saved. Another person you’ve fixed. So you can play hero and get all the love and praise that entails. ‘Hero of Faerûn saves poor vampire spawn! Look at this poor sucker!’” He uses his hands to show off the fake headlines.

“Pun intended.” There's a sarcastic smile on his face as he stands up, grabbing your bloodied and wine stained handkerchief from the bed table before approaching you.

“That’s not why I did those things, Astarion, please. I care about you, just liste-”

“Well jokes on you, your kindness has been wasted on me. I’ve used you for my own gain, you know?” He throws your handkerchief against your chest, forcing you to clutch it so as to not let it fall. “I played with you just as easily as any other poor fool I’d find in Baldurs Gate’s whorehouses. You were ridiculously easy, just a few kind words and charming smiles and you were wrapped around my finger! Not that I blame you, have you seen me? I’m hard to resist. But it’s time to drop the pleasantries, the kindness, you’ve just been a tool for me to find a way to survive and I’ve just been another notch in your belt. But I am not another helpless pawn for you to feel good about ‘fixing’. I am pessimistic, I am selfish, I am merciless and I am cruel, and you won’t ever be able to change that.” He finally finishes his monologue, still forgetting to mimic the act of breathing as he stands before you in eerie silence. There’s a sense of vulnerability within his eyes despite his posture. Like a cornered animal lashing out in a desperate attempt to be left alone, to not be hurt.

You’re standing close to him now, mere decimeters away from each other's bodies. Yours heated and warm and his forever cold to the touch. You move slowly when you finally decide what you want to say, what you need him to realize. His eyes notice your hand raising and he tenses up even further, preparing him for what? He’s not sure. Then your hand reaches his face, softly cupping his cheek with your palm. Your heat exchanges with his, your hand slowly warming his skin while yours cools to the touch. He’s in shock, unable to say or do anything, just watching your face to try and read what your intentions are.

“I’ve tried to tell you, even before you went in here. I will always choose to be kind to you, Astarion, just as you are.”

He finally sucks in air, his lips parting to make sure his lungs fill fully and it’s as if it's his first breath since he died in that alley. That’s what you had tried to tell him before he left. You smile, moving your hand to brush a strand of his hair out of his face, observing his features. The dark, angry and nearly sadistic expression he carried before when he was trying to hurt you has washed away, leaving only the face of a lost young man standing before you. Eyes wide and mouth agape as you fully brushed off all the cruel things he said to you. Could he do nothing to scare you away, force you to back off? Keep you locked out of his heart?

He closes his mouth finally, eyes cast down to the floor as shame once again flowers in his chest, the thorns digging into every nerve.

“Even when I make it a difficult choice?” He asks quietly, shyly.

“Yes, even when it’s a difficult choice. But I don’t find it difficult to care for you Astarion. If you let me… I wouldn’t even find it difficult to love you.” You laugh a little, the question was silly to you after all. 

“You really are a fool.” A smile forms on his lips, the smile lines you’ve always adored finally showing themselves and his eyes as softening. He could never understand you, you’d never make sense to him. No matter how many times he thinks he has you pegged, you always go over and beyond his expectations. And once he thinks you’ve reached your limit on kindness, he finds a little more, even for a monster like him. His hands, which had consistently remained at his sides until now, moved up to find your hips. Astarion pulled you in closer to him, soaking in your heat and digging his head into the crook of your neck. You can’t help but laugh again, loud and happy, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer to you.

“I will always be kind, even if it does make me a fool.”

[whywontyoucomeout]

Shadows in the Night

The moon hung low in the inky sky, its silvery light barely penetrating the thick canopy of clouds that blanketed the sprawling estate below. The manor house loomed large against the backdrop of darkness, its imposing silhouette a testament to the power and wealth of its occupant. Guards patrolled the perimeter with clockwork precision, their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of intrusion.

But on this night, their vigilance would prove futile.

Like a whisper on the wind, Hikari moved through the grounds with preternatural grace. Her black attire melded seamlessly with the darkness, rendering her all but invisible to the untrained eye. Each step was calculated, each movement purposeful. She was Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, the greatest ninja of her generation, and tonight she had come to strike fear into the heart of a tyrant.

With practiced ease, Hikari scaled the wall, her fingers finding purchase where others would see only smooth stone. She vaulted over the top, landing silently on the other side. The inner courtyard stretched before her, a maze of meticulously manicured hedges and tranquil ponds. To an ordinary person, it might have seemed peaceful. To Hikari, it was a field of potential dangers.

She moved from shadow to shadow, her senses alert for any sign of detection. As she neared the main building, Hikari caught sight of two guards stationed at the entrance. Their eyes were alert, their postures rigid with attentiveness. But they were no match for her skills. With a flick of her wrist, Hikari sent two senbon needles flying through the air. They struck their targets with pinpoint accuracy, and the guards slumped to the ground, unconscious before they could raise an alarm.

Hikari slipped inside, her dark eyes scanning the opulent interior. Marble floors gleamed in the dim light, and priceless artworks adorned the walls. But she had no time to appreciate such luxuries. Her target lay ahead, in the heart of this gilded cage.

As she ascended the grand staircase, Hikari's thoughts turned to her mission. The man she sought was more than just a corrupt ruler – he was a monster who had brought suffering to countless innocents. Tonight, she would not end his life, but she would shatter the illusion of his invincibility. Fear would be her weapon, more potent than any blade.

The top floor of the manor was even more heavily guarded, but Hikari moved through their defenses like smoke through a grate. A sleeping gas here, a silent takedown there – she left a trail of unconscious bodies in her wake, never once raising an alarm.

Finally, she stood before an ornate door, its gilded surface a testament to the ego of the man who lay beyond. Hikari took a deep breath, centering herself. With silent determination, she eased the door open and slipped inside. The room beyond was dark, save for a sliver of moonlight that crept through a gap in the heavy curtains. And there, in a massive four-poster bed, lay her target – the dictator whose reign of terror was about to be challenged.

As Hikari moved towards the sleeping figure, her hand brushed against a small table, causing a delicate vase to wobble. She froze, her heart pounding, as the vase teetered on the edge for what felt like an eternity. Then, with agonizing slowness, it settled back into place.

The dictator stirred slightly but did not wake. Hikari let out a silent breath of relief, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her body. It was only then, in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, that the true extent of her condition became apparent. Hikari's normally lithe form was dramatically altered, her midsection swollen with the unmistakable shape of advanced pregnancy. Her black attire, designed for stealth, had concealed her condition until now, but in this moment of vulnerability, the truth was revealed.

Despite her heavily pregnant state, Hikari of the Phantom Leaf stood poised and ready, prepared to begin the next phase of her mission. The greatest challenge lay ahead, but she was undeterred. Tonight, a tyrant would learn the meaning of fear, and Hikari would prove that even in her condition, she remained the most formidable ninja of her time.

————————————-

Hikari loomed over the sleeping dictator, her presence a palpable threat in the moonlit room. With a swift motion, she pressed a razor-sharp kunai against his throat, jolting him awake. The man's eyes flew open, terror flooding his features as he realized the precariousness of his situation.

"Who... who are you?" he stammered, his voice hoarse with fear.

"I am your worst nightmare," Hikari whispered, her voice cold and steady. "I am here to show you that your power is an illusion, that your walls and guards mean nothing."

The dictator's eyes darted around frantically, searching for an escape. Hikari pressed the blade closer, drawing a thin line of blood. "Your crimes against the people will not go unpunished," she hissed. "From this day forward, you will live in fear, knowing that death can come for you at any moment."

As she spoke, Hikari felt a sharp, sudden pain in her abdomen. She managed to suppress a gasp, but couldn't entirely hide the flicker of discomfort that crossed her face. The dictator, ever observant, noticed the change in her demeanor. His eyes traveled down to her swollen belly, visible now in the dim light.

A cruel smile spread across his face as realization dawned. "Well, well," he chuckled, his fear giving way to a newfound confidence. "It seems the great assassin has a weakness after all. You're in no condition to threaten me, girl. Why don't you waddle on out of here before I call my guards? I'm sure they'd be fascinated to meet such an... interesting intruder."

Hikari gritted her teeth as another contraction hit, stronger this time. The dictator's mockery rang in her ears, fueling her determination. With lightning speed, she moved the kunai from his throat to his eye, the tip hovering mere millimeters from the cornea.

"You mistake my condition for weakness," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "I could end your miserable life right now, baby or no baby. Your guards won't save you. Your wealth won't save you. Nothing can save you from me."

To prove her point, Hikari used her free hand to produce three senbon needles, flicking them with deadly accuracy. They embedded themselves in the wall behind the dictator's head, forming a perfect triangle around his ear. The man's bravado crumbled, replaced once again by raw fear.

"Please," he whimpered, all pretense of authority gone. "Please don't kill me. I'll do anything."

Hikari leaned in close, her voice a whisper. "Remember this moment. Remember that your life was in my hands, and I chose to spare it. But if you continue to abuse your power, to hurt the innocent, I will return. And next time, I won't be so merciful."

The dictator nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. Hikari stepped back, satisfied that her mission was accomplished. The man before her was thoroughly broken, his illusion of invincibility shattered.

As she prepared to make her exit, another contraction hit, more intense than the last. Hikari knew she had to move quickly. With one last glare at the cowering dictator, she moved to the window, her movements still graceful despite her condition.

"Remember," she said, her voice carrying a note of finality. "I'll be watching."

With that, Hikari slipped out into the night, leaving behind a tyrant who would never again sleep soundly. As she made her way through the grounds, she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Her mission was a success, and now she had an even more important task ahead – bringing new life into the world.

——————————————-

Hikari moved swiftly through the manor grounds, her ninja training allowing her to maintain stealth despite her condition. The cool night air provided some relief as she navigated the intricate maze of hedges and fountains. Freedom was close – she could see the section of wall where she had entered, now her exit point.

But as she approached her escape route, a powerful contraction hit her with unexpected force. For the first time in her career as an elite ninja, Hikari lost control. A sharp cry escaped her lips, echoing in the quiet night. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock at her own outburst.

Before she could recover, she felt a warm gush between her legs. Her water had broken, leaving a conspicuous puddle on the manicured lawn. Hikari's mind raced – this was a complication she hadn't prepared for.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to move. She had to get out now, before –

"Hey! Who's there?" a gruff voice called out. A guard, alerted by her involuntary cry, was approaching with a flashlight in hand.

Hikari melted into the shadows of a nearby topiary, her breathing shallow and controlled despite the pain. She watched as the guard discovered the puddle, his face contorting in confusion.

"What the...?" he muttered, crouching down to examine the liquid.

Hikari knew she couldn't linger. With every second, the risk of discovery increased. She began to move again, using every ounce of her training to remain silent and unseen.

But her body was betraying her. As she crept along the perimeter wall, she felt more fluid trickling down her legs. To her horror, she realized she was leaving a trail – small droplets that glistened in the moonlight, leading directly to her position.

Behind her, she could hear more guards congregating around the initial puddle. Their voices carried on the night air:

"It's not rain."

"Could be from an animal?"

"Wait – there's more over here!"

"Follow it!"

Panic threatened to overwhelm her as Hikari heard the guards beginning to follow her trail. The contractions were coming faster now, each one requiring immense willpower to stay quiet and keep moving.

She reached the spot where she had entered – a section of wall partially hidden by an old oak tree. As she prepared to scale it, another contraction hit. Hikari bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, suppressing another scream.

The guards were getting closer. She could hear their footsteps, see the beams of their flashlights sweeping the grounds. With a final surge of determination, Hikari began to climb.

Her fingers found familiar handholds, her feet somehow maintaining their grip despite the pain and the fluid. She reached the top of the wall just as a flashlight beam illuminated the spot where she had been standing moments before.

"The trail ends here!" a guard shouted.

"Check the other side of the wall!" another responded.

Hikari didn't wait to hear more. She lowered herself down the outer side of the wall, every movement an agony. As her feet touched the ground outside the manor, she heard the guards shouting for reinforcements.

There was no time to rest. Still leaking amniotic fluid, her body wracked with contractions, Hikari disappeared into the forest surrounding the estate. She had escaped the immediate danger, but she was far from safe. Now, she faced an even greater challenge – finding a secure location to give birth, all while evading the search parties that would soon be scouring the area.

The greatest ninja of her generation was now in a race against time, her skills pushed to their absolute limit. The night was far from over, and her most difficult trial was just beginning.

———————————

Hikari's breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed through the dense forest. The sound of pursuit grew louder behind her – the guards had picked up her trail and were closing in fast. Each contraction hit her like a tidal wave, threatening to bring her to her knees.

As she stumbled into a small clearing, Hikari realized with grim certainty that she could no longer outrun her pursuers. The contractions were too intense, too frequent. She could hear the guards crashing through the underbrush, mere moments away from discovering her.

In that instant, Hikari made a decision. She was Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, the greatest ninja of her generation. She would not be hunted down like prey.

With supreme effort, she turned to face the direction of the approaching guards. Her hands moved in a series of rapid signs, preparing a jutsu. As the first guard burst into the clearing, Hikari was ready.

"There she is!" the guard shouted, raising his weapon.

But Hikari was faster. A blast of wind chakra erupted from her palms, sending the man flying backwards into his comrades. Three more guards appeared, their faces a mix of shock and determination as they took in the sight of the heavily pregnant ninja standing defiantly before them.

"Stand down!" one of them commanded. "You can't win this fight in your condition!"

Hikari's response was a flurry of shuriken that forced the guards to dive for cover. She moved with deadly grace, her years of training allowing her to anticipate and counter every attack. A kick here, a precisely thrown kunai there – even in the throes of labor, she was a force to be reckoned with.

One guard managed to get close, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Hikari ducked under the blade, using the man's momentum against him. In one fluid motion, she redirected his swing into another guard, then dropped low to sweep his legs out from under him.

As the battle raged on, Hikari fought not just the guards, but her own body. Each contraction threatened to break her concentration, but she channeled the pain into her attacks, using it to fuel her determination.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the last guard fell unconscious to the forest floor. Hikari stood amid the fallen men, her chest heaving with exertion. She had won, but at a cost. The fight had accelerated her labor, and she could feel the baby coming.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Hikari scanned her surroundings. In the dim pre-dawn light, she spotted the dark mouth of a cave not far from the clearing. It would have to do.

Stumbling now, no longer trying to hide her condition, Hikari made her way to the cave. She barely made it inside before another powerful contraction brought her to her knees. Finding a relatively flat area near the back of the cave, she began to prepare for the imminent birth.

As she arranged herself as comfortably as possible on the cold stone floor, Hikari allowed herself a moment of reflection. This was not how she had envisioned bringing her child into the world, but she had survived, had protected both herself and her baby against impossible odds.

A new contraction built, more intense than any before. Hikari gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the challenge ahead. She had completed her mission and escaped her pursuers. Now, she faced the most important task of her life – bringing new life into the world.

In the quiet of the cave, far from the comforts of home but secure in her own strength and skill, Hikari prepared to meet her child. The greatest ninja of her generation was about to become a mother, and she would face this challenge as she had faced all others – with courage, determination, and an indomitable spirit.

————————-

In the dim light of the cave, Hikari faced her greatest challenge yet. The contractions came in relentless waves, each one more intense than the last. She leaned back against the cool stone wall, her hands instinctively cradling her swollen belly. In this moment of vulnerability, the true extent of her pregnancy was fully revealed – her belly was impressively large, straining against her torn ninja garb.

Hikari, who had moved through heavily guarded compounds without making a sound, now found herself unable to contain her cries. Each contraction drew from her a primal sound that echoed off the cave walls. The dichotomy wasn't lost on her – the silent assassin now filled the air with the raw, unfiltered sounds of impending motherhood.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself between contractions, drawing on the same well of strength that had carried her through countless missions.

Hours passed, blurring together in a haze of effort and determination. Hikari shifted positions frequently, trying to find some measure of comfort in the unforgiving environment. She focused on her breathing, using techniques that had once kept her calm in the face of mortal danger to now manage the pain of childbirth.

As the labor progressed, Hikari felt the baby descending, only to slip back again. It was a dance of progress and retreat, testing her patience and resolve. She widened her stance, bracing herself against the cave floor, every muscle in her body working towards bringing her child into the world.

In a moment of clarity between contractions, Hikari reflected on the irony of her situation. She had spent years honing her body into a silent, lethal weapon. Now, that same body was performing its most natural and vocal function. The juxtaposition was striking – the quietest ninja in the land, now unable to stifle her cries.

But as another powerful contraction built, Hikari realized that this too was a form of strength. To bring life into the world required as much courage and determination as any mission she had undertaken. She was still Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, still the greatest ninja of her generation. This was simply a different kind of battle.

With renewed resolve, Hikari prepared for the final stage of her labor. The greatest challenge of her life was nearing its end, and a new chapter was about to begin.

———————————

The cave echoed with Hikari's labored breathing as the contractions reached their peak intensity. Her body, honed through years of rigorous training, now trembled with exhaustion and pain. In this moment of extreme vulnerability, the walls she had built around her emotions began to crumble.

"Takeshi," she cried out, her voice raw with anguish and longing. "Takeshi, I wish you were here."

The name of her late husband, unspoken for so long, now fell from her lips like a prayer. Hikari, who had faced countless dangers without flinching, found herself yearning for the comfort of his presence. In this intimate moment of weakness, she allowed herself to feel the full weight of her loss.

"Please," she whispered, her hands cradling her swollen belly. "Please, little one, it's time to come out now."

Driven by instinct and desperation, Hikari adjusted her position, trying to find a way to ease the baby's passage. She shifted uncomfortably on the cave floor, doing her best to create more space for the child to emerge.

The pain intensified, and Hikari's pleas turned to determination. She drew upon every ounce of strength left in her body, every lesson in endurance she had ever learned. The greatest ninja of her generation now faced a challenge that required a different kind of courage.

Hours seemed to blur together, punctuated by Hikari's cries and the steady drip of water from the cave's ceiling. And then, just as the first rays of dawn began to filter into the cave's entrance, a new sound pierced the air – the lusty cry of a newborn.

Hikari gasped, her pain momentarily forgotten as she reached for her child. With trembling hands, she cradled the tiny, wriggling form against her chest. Tears streamed down her face, a mix of relief, joy, and lingering sorrow for the husband who would never meet their child.

"Hello, little one," she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with love. "Welcome to the world."

As the newborn's cries subsided into soft whimpers, Hikari felt a profound shift within herself. She was still Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, still a formidable ninja, but now she was something more – a mother. The mission that had brought her to this cave was complete, but a new, lifelong mission had just begun.

In the quiet of the early morning, as she held her child close and listened to the gentle sounds of their breathing, Hikari made a silent vow. She would protect this new life with all the skill and dedication she had ever brought to her role as a ninja. And perhaps, in raising this child, she would find a new kind of strength – one born not of silence and shadows, but of love and sacrifice.

As the sun rose over the forest, casting a warm glow into the cave, Hikari and her newborn rested. The night of danger and pain had passed, giving way to a new day full of promise and possibility. The greatest challenge of Hikari's life had been met, and a new chapter was just beginning.

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 14 (September 1)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none, comment if you have opinions, and please reblog if you can! Book descriptions below the cut, see my pinned post for more info.

The Ladies of Mandrigyn by Barbara Hambly

The City of Mandrigyn was conquered, and its men enslaved in the foul mines of the evil Wizard King, Altiokis. Now the women of the city, led by Sheera Galernas, have come to hire the mercenary army of Captain Sun Wolf. But Sun Wolf was too wise to become involved in fighting against wizardry…

...Until he woke to find himself kidnapped and offered a grim choice by Sheera. He could train and lead the ladies of Mandrigyn against Altiokis - or he could die in lingering agony from the anzid they had given him and for which only they had the antidote.

There was more to the ladies than Sun Wolf could have guessed. There was also far more to the evil of Altiokis then anyone knew.

But above all, there was a great deal more to Sun Wolf and his destiny then he had ever dreamed.

Gideon Smith and the Mechanical Girl by David Barnett

Nineteenth century London is the center of a vast British Empire. Airships ply the skies and Queen Victoria presides over three-quarters of the known world--including the East Coast of America, following the failed revolution of 1775.

London might as well be a world away from Sandsend, a tiny village on the Yorkshire coast. Gideon Smith dreams of the adventure promised him by the lurid tales of Captain Lucian Trigger, the Hero of the Empire, told in Gideon's favorite penny dreadful. When Gideon's father is lost at sea in highly mysterious circumstances Gideon is convinced that supernatural forces are at work. Deciding only Captain Lucian Trigger himself can aid him, Gideon sets off for London. On the way he rescues the mysterious mechanical girl Maria from a tumbledown house of shadows and iniquities. Together they make for London, where Gideon finally meets Captain Trigger.

But Trigger is little more than an aging fraud, providing cover for the covert activities of his lover, Dr. John Reed, a privateer and sometime agent of the British Crown. Looking for heroes but finding only frauds and crooks, it falls to Gideon to step up to the plate and attempt to save the day...but can a humble fisherman really become the true Hero of the Empire?

The Crossing Places by Elly Griffiths

Forensic archeologist Dr. Ruth Galloway is in her late thirties. She lives happily alone with her two cats in a bleak, remote area near Norfolk, land that was sacred to its Iron Age inhabitants—not quite earth, not quite sea. But her routine days of digging up bones and other ancient objects are harshly upended when a child’s bones are found on a desolate beach. Detective Chief Inspector Nelson calls Galloway for help, believing they are the remains of Lucy Downey, a little girl who went missing a decade ago and whose abductor continues to taunt him with bizarre letters containing references to ritual sacrifice, Shakespeare, and the Bible. Then a second girl goes missing and Nelson receives a new letter—exactly like the ones about Lucy.

Is it the same killer? Or a copycat murderer, linked in some way to the site near Ruth’s remote home?

[pinkslashersimp]

Hi hi can I request the reader making Will Graham play animal crossing and minecraft with them? I think that man would love them especially the fishing in AC!! If you write lil headcanons for this thank you!!! :)

╰┈➤ Synopsis: On his day off, Will finally decides to ask what ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ game it is you’ve been playing on your device.

⠀⠀⠀✎ Note: Yay i love animal crossing!! of course <3⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ Please excuse how long this has taken me, I’ve just ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ completed my college course and when this was sent I ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀had exams and assignments I was focusing on, I ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀appreciate the patience (⋆ˆ ³ ˆ)🩷

no TWs, safe headcanons:)

“What is that you’re playing on your…thing?” Will asks, he’d arrived home moments ago from taking the dogs out for a walk, and when he came in he saw you laying down on the sofa, switch held above you, as sounds from Animal Crossing blared out from the handheld device.

You sit up and tilt the switch towards him, as he sits down on the sofa next to you, hands held together pinching his fingers as he usually does. He observes the game closely as you explain to him the mechanics of animal crossing.

“So like, the sims?” Will asks, confused when you let out a little laugh.

No, Will. Not like the sims.

You explain to him that you control your own island along with Tom and Isabel, and you have your own villagers and you can customise how you want your island to look. Will nods along, not too interested.

That is, until you bring up fishing and fossil finding.

Will points out a dark shadow in the water, at which point you excitedly tell him you can fish in the game and discover different kinds of sea creatures.

Will watches intently as you pull out your hefty fishing rod, cast it into the water, and spam the A button repeatedly when the fish hooks itself onto the rod. His eyes widen in admiration as your character pulls out a large, green-ish fish from your islands waters.

“I caught a Sea Bass! No, Wait…It’s at least a C+!” You read out from the screen, as your character proudly presents the sea bass to you and your detective boyfriend. Will let’s out a chuckle and quickly puts his head in his hands. “So stupid”, he jokingly scoffs, in response to the poor fish joke.

“Okay, you try.” You say as you push the switch into Wills hands. He takes a minute to adjust to the controls, running around and switching equipment until he finally lands back on the fishing rod. He wanders around the islands streams until he sees a small shadow.

“How do I do it??” He asks, looking over at you, as you guide him on what buttons to press. Eventually he figures it out and casts his rod into the waters, spamming the A button until the watery beast is tamed and pulled out by your character.

“I caught a goldfish. It’s worth it’s weight in fish.” Will nods at the screen before turning his head to look at you. “And they say that every time?” He asks, jokingly uninterested as you playfully push him.

Will then, like the true boomer he has hidden deep within him, accidentally presses the home button and exits out the game. Hes about to hand the switch back to you before he spies a different game.

“Minecraft.” He says. “And what is that?”

You take the switch back from him, save your animal crossing game and switch to minecraft. You take a few minutes explaining this game to him, about the building, mining, farming, and the fishing. Will takes much more of an interest this time, seemingly wanting to play and attempt to build and mine something.

You take notice in his interest and exit out the game and into the profile settings. “Look” you say with a sweet smile, “Ill make you a profile here, and, if i’m not using my switch, you can log in and play any game here.”

“Sounds good!” Will replies, nodding. Once the profile has been completed he gently takes the switch from your hands. “And what is this called again?” He asks, pointing down to it.

“A Nintendo Switch” you laugh.

“Hmmm.” will replies, clicking on the animal crossing game. “Why don’t we say it’s my turn with the Nintendo switch for now?” he asks, with a sly smile, before turning the tv on for you to watch.

“Ill fix us dinner when it’s your turn again” He compromises, with a kiss to your forehead

[anjelicawrites]

The winner takes it all

Chapter IV (I, II, III)

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: inspired by the Æthelflæd and Erik's storyline in The Last Kingdom. Might be spoilerish if you haven't seen it (go watch it!!!), even though I've just stolen the inspiration and went on with the story my way.

Warnings: Canon compliant violence, Aemond’s brothel experience, male masturbation, p in v sex, outdoor sex, anxiety.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns are used (they are called “lady” and “daughter of the North”). The only descriptor is that they have long hair.

A/N 1: this is an AU. Look at me taking the canon story of Westeros and yell “Parkhour!” as I jump out of the window clutching it in my hands.

18+ only, tank you!

Aemond knows he should keep his end of the bargain; you have been eating the food provided for you, he is the one lacking on his promise.

The problem is not taking you out for a quick walk, you are a prisoner, his prisoner, he can do whatever he wants with you. A nice stride outside the city walls isn't a problem, being alone with you is. What is he supposed to do while you are walking? Talking to you? About what? And why would you even entertain the thought of exchanging pleasantries with him? Should he stay silent then? Be your looming shadow while you breathe some fresh air? What a nice thought, right? Not only are you bounty, you are also forced to spend time with the very man who stole you away and who will conquer your home. You have no respite, no way of not thinking about what is happening. All thanks to him!

Shit! He is pacing again, his room too small and stuffy for his jumbled thoughts. Sword practicing, that's what he needs to drag his mind out of this gutter, then talking with Aegon about what to do next: it's still too early to send envoy with the ransom request, some northerner spies have been spotted, though and need to be dealt with and the defenses need to be strengthened in case your people try something desperate to free you.

Down in your cell, you are not in better shape than Prince Aemond is. Your brain is torn between worrying for you people and the knowledge that you cannot seem to escape whatever spell he has put on you. You haven't seen him since your bath and his presence still looms, the lilac of his eye haunting you with its beauty. The warmth of his hand enveloping yours still burns your skin; how is that even possible? Not even while courting with your husband, before he showed you his true colors, you felt his presence as strongly as you are experiencing Prince Aemond's. The way he stared at you, devouring your frame still gives you goosebumps; he didn't make you feel gross or violated, which is a first in your entire life, but you have no idea why his stare is so intense every time it lands on you. He doesn't look at you as if you are a thing to be owned, even under these circumstances, where you are no more than spoils. You keep asking yourself why and your mind spirals into a maze of ulterior motives he might have.

Your feet carry your body around the small cell for the thousandth time today, you still cradle the hand he's kissed, your fingers brushing the spot where his lips landed. Your heart beats fast in your chest the more you think about your last interaction; what is going on with you?

The commotion in the courtyard outside your small window forces you away from your thoughts, you grab the bucket to get to the bars and see what is going on. At first there’s just people huddled up together, for a second you think they are preparing defenses, but no, they are excited for something you can’t really see, until they form a big, loose circle and you can see Prince Aemond and a man you don’t know, swords in hand, ready to fight. You know this is some sort of practice by the way everyone is cheering and laughing, you feel no animosity in the air, just plain excitement.

You tell yourself to look at Prince Aemond to detect at least one hint of weaknesses from him, something that can be used in battle to kill him, but your eyes can't focus on his perfect swordsmanship, only on his fast, lithe body. His waist is so slim and trim, enhanced by the shape of his tunic and belt, you notice, his legs powerful in the black leather of his breeches. His hair follows his movements as if this was a dance, not a fight. He is deadly and graceful, even when his opponent uses his blind side against him, he is too fast for that to be a good move and he wins easily.

You realize you were mesmerized by him, when the cheering violently slams you back into your thoughts: you shouldn't have done that, staring at your enemy the way you did, appreciating his skills, noticing the faint redness on his pale cheeks after the workout.

His eye find yours in the distance, again you can help but lose yourself in the lilac hue; you've heard snakes can hypnotize their victims before striking: what is a dragon if not a winged snake?

He stiffly bows for you, the movement too fast for his people to notice, but you do and heath just explodes into your lower belly. As shame does.

Aemond feels even worse after sword practicing, knowing that you have been staring at him. He didn't notice you at first, too focused on his adversary, he did realize you were looking at him afterwards, when his body felt hot and sticky under the leather. You have been staring and his brain cannot help itself but wondering if you liked what you saw, if you believed him to be strong and courageous enough to have him for yourself.

A part of him, the small, overlooked child, who wants to be seen and appreciated, wants you to compliment him, to be proud of him. No, he tells himself, we are not going down that road. He has to splash icy cold water on his face and chest, instead of indulging in a warm bath, trying as he might to gain the composure he's lost the moment he's seen your face half hidden by the iron bars.

His cock has other ideas though, stiff and painful against the leather of his breeches. Aemond knows he needs cold water for that as well, his hands even go for the pitcher and then they stop. He sees his fingers uncurl from the metal, like an out of body experience, they open the latch of his breeches and curl around his manhood. I shouldn't do this, I shouldn't do this, he tells himself, his body heads in another direction, one he has no control over.

He can't even coordinate himself enough to lie on the bed, his hips move on their own accord, his fingers tight around his cock, moving up and down again and again, thumb caressing the engorged head, spreading precum along his shaft as his movements become faster and faster. Moans spill from his lips as the pleasure curls at the base of his spine. His forehead finds a wall and he stays there, his brain conjuring images of your naked body and soft lips, painting the picture of him desecrating your mouth as you moan wantonly just for him, your hands cupping his ass to push him even deeper inside of you. His fingers curl tighter, pulling at the tight skin of his cock, his hips jackhammer against nothing as pleasure engulfs him, sweat runs down his arched back until he comes with a shout, his knees giving out.

He curls into a ball while his lungs try to gather as much oxygen as possible: he has held his breath without noticing, how stupid of him.

Tears prickle his eyes and run down his high cheeks; he knows he should feel shame for having followed his instincts, for having lost his control over the pleasure of the flesh, for having imagined debasing you like a tavern whore. He just wants you, without a hint of shame or guilt, he wants you to want him, to have you welcome his cock inside of your depths. He wants to know what you sound like when pleasure envelops you, when it's too much and not enough for your brain to understand.

You destroyed whatever dam keeping his sexual needs and wants under wraps; he hasn't had many lovers after being forced to lie with a prostitute at thirteen, feeling shame and disgust every single time he did have a partner, even fantasizing about a person made him feel gross and violated, at times.

What kind of spell have you put on him, to make him feel so free in his desires and in need of your skin?

He knows it's stupid and dangerous to want you for himself, he shouldn't even entertain the idea of never giving you up, of making you his Queen in the North. He should value you only for the gold your people will pay for your freedom and for being spoils of war, nothing more.

Shit! He thinks I need to make it stop, I am in control!

He will seek you tonight, he decides, accompany you during a short stroll and if his body betrays him again, he knows painful ways to punish it.

Prince Aemond comes to your cell well after you had finished eating and were getting ready to sleep, the complicated Valyrian tresses undone, your hair flowing down your back like a veil. His expression is stone, his lips are pursed together as he hands you a warm cloak lined with fur that you don’t really need; you elect to stay silent, your years of marriage have taught you how to read the room and Prince Aemond doesn’t look like he is in a talking mood. Why come to you, if he didn’t want to?

In silence you two walk to a smaller door in the walls, guarded by four heavily armed men, who salute the Prince and make as much space between their burly bodies and yours. You don’t know in details what happened to the man who had tried to attack you, the woman who braids your hair every morning is silent on the topic and the bustling around the courtyard told you nothing, but that something had happened to that man, something awful by the way those men stare at you with fear, unarmed as you are in your fur cloak.

You breathe deep in your chest when the cold air hits your face, your hands flying to the hood of the cloak to push it back enough to smell fully the oncoming spring. You forget where you are and who is accompanying you, too concentrated in enjoying the fresh air of the North, the wind sneaking under your hood, its cold caress down your spine, goosebumps blooming everywhere as you walk the uneven path around the castle.

Prince Aemond’s hand shoots out when you trip on an unseen root, it clenches like a manacle around your wrist, the other goes to your shoulder, steadying you. You mumble how sorry you are, evading his deep stare, his hands remain on your body, warm and big and, secretly, welcomed; how long has it been since anyone touched you without a violent intent?

“We should sit - he says - the night is too dark to properly walk around”

“Afraid my people would come and save me if we had a stroll during the day?”.

The night is dark, but your faces are too close for you not to miss the feral curl of his lips, him knowing something that you don’t. There must have been scouts from your camp, trying to assess the situation, did they manage? You don't think they did, his smile tells you as much.

You don't protest when he lowers you onto the grass, his leathers creaking as he sits next to you.

In a show of defiance, years of marriage made you forget you could have, you open the clasps of the cloak, letting it fall behind you, the cold wind finally free to play with your tresses as Prince Aemond lets out a surprised uhm.

"It's cold" he says, adjusting the material around his legs and torso

"This is not cold. What do you know about the cold? When the wolves come howling and the tears freeze on your cheeks? When there’s only darkness and you can’t even see the breath coming out of your mouth? That is what true cold feels like" you answer proudly, ignoring the nagging voice in your head asking you where all this courage comes from

"You are so proud of this unfriendly land that tries to kill you every turn of season"

"Aren't you proud of yours?"

"Mine was destroyed thousands of years ago".

His answer stops you on your track, before your mind realizes: Old Valyria. He's talking about the old country of his ancestors, not New Valyria, the country his forefathers tried to rebuild as soon as they landed on Dragonstone. You've heard stories, children disappearing and new ones, white haired and lilac eyed appearing like changelings, well before Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives launched their attack upon the once free Kingdoms. Even darker whispers of blood magic blossomed when the first reigns started falling under Targaryen dominion, of the vast majority of Valyrian presenting people living in New Valyria all of a sudden. They invaded us well before their dragons did, your grandmother used to say. Will that happen to the North as well?

"If my home is so unfriendly, why bother with conquering us, then?"

"I assume you are well versed in politics enough to know the answer yourself"

"I was told a good lady looks after their husband and his possessions"

"Did that happen before or after your sword lessons? - you are too stunned to answer - whose idea was that?".

You don't owe him an answer, you owe him nothing; his eye is on you, you can see the sincere curiosity there and what harm can derive from him knowing?

"Mother's. Her House was small and proud. She studied the blade in her youth" you add

"Your husband must be proud of having such a strong spouse by his side" there's steel in his words, you don't notice it, too engrossed in your own memories

"He's not".

There's so much you could add, but you prefer to keep the dirty rags for yourself and he has no right to know the truth behind your marriage.

“Then he is an idiot”.

You whip your head around at his stern words, only noticing now how close he’s moved, so close you can see his eye gleaming in the dark, the flames of rage burning there. You shouldn’t stare and wonder why he’s so incensed, why does he care so much, shut up! Shut up! your mind screams, don’t say a word, don’t ask a question you are not ready to receive an answer for! But you have always been too curious for your own sake, not having your husband around makes you feel free and bold as you were before your marriage.

“Why does it bother you so? My lord husband knows what’s best”

“Your lord husband doesn’t know a single thing” his words come out low like a growl

“And you do better?”

“I know I would spar with you every day, make sure you are fit to protect what’s mine”

“Shouldn’t your guards do so? Shouldn’t the men loyal to you protect what belongs to you?”

“Loyalty can be bought”.

He’s closer now, he’s invaded your space, one hand firmly planted between your feet, his weight carried by his knees, his hair brushing lightly against the skirt of your dress.

“Studying the blade can save your life” he finishes.

You both know how crucial this moment is, the deepest, darker part of your two minds see the crossroad in front of you two. Left or right? Right or wrong? Life or death? The foreign pull between you two is unmistakable now. He makes the decision for you two, for the first time in his life he truly wants this, needs the touch of another, one hand holding your cheek lightly, his lips chaste on yours as you fall back on the soft fur, taking him with you. Delicately you open your mouth for his tongue, your own peaking out to taste him, your hands burrowing in his silky mane as he slots himself between your legs, mouth more aggressive now, tongue invading to play with yours. You can feel him ground his hips against yours, you imagine his cock growing harder against the cold of his leathers, the idea spurring you on, one leg hooking around his hips to follow his movements, wetness leaking obscenely from your cunt.

He separates your lips, but he doesn’t move, his hair curtaining you two, his weight on his hands planted at the sides of your face.

“Please, be gentle,” you say breathlessly.

He stares at you for a moment, weighting your features.

“If you tell me to stop, I will. You will still be under my protection, that will never change”.

You grab one of the metal clippings of his leather tunic, your fingers curling around it to pull him down on yourself.

“I said, please be gentle with me” it comes out more stern this time, your own desire making you feel bolder than you ever did.

You can feel Aemond shudder over you, his right hand grasping the knots keeping your dress together, deft fingers pulling at the strings to reveal your hidden body.

“I will” he says, your name on his lips like a prayer.

His lips are on yours again, tongue searching yours as your fingers open the metal clippings, almost ripping them off in the effort to open them; his hands are not idle, the knots coming apart to reveal the roundness of your breasts and the softness of your skin. The latchings of his shirt are not as lucky as the clippings were, as you rip the cotton apart to reveal his milky skin, your fingers scratching down his firm abs to open his breeches as he throws the tunic away. Regretfully he has to separate your lips again to remove your dress, his mouth latching on your nipples, sucking eagerly while your back arches towards him, your naked core sliding against his manhood, the obscene amount of come leaking from his tip making everything slippery, his hips jackhammering against yours in desperation, moans spilling from your lips every time his tip brushes against your engorged clitoris. You have never felt desire like this, burning your loins and growing in your belly, fingers scratching down his sweaty back to keep him as close to you as humanly possible, legs curling around his trim waist, heels digging against his tailbone; you need him inside of you. For the first time, your body desires to be breached open and owned by your partner, your need spilling from your mouth in the form of prayers, prayers he fulfills willingly, fingers of his right hand entering your slippery cunt, scissoring you open with ease. He moans when he feels how wet and ready you are for him, his cock straining painfully to enter you.

“Please Aemond! - you beg, tears of frustration falling from your eyes, your cunt clenching around his strong fingers - please, now!”

He grabs his cock hastily, spreading your wetness on the taut skin before breaching you slowly, forcing himself to be gentle as your warmth envelops him, your muscles sucking him in and he has to stop when he bottoms out, he has to breathe or he’ll snap and fuck you like an animal. He plants his hands by your shoulders, his head hanging low as he gulps down air greedily, the roar of the blood in his ears deafening, the pain of your fingers grasping his ass his only tether against madness.

You feel so full, his cock scorching your insides with every slow push and pull of his hips against yours, it shouldn’t be possible for your body to accept his impressive manhood, but it does and you feel each movement in your belly, your hips following his without your control, muscles contracting until all he can do is grinding against you, short and fast movements as gasps of pleasure spill from his mouth, mixed with words of praise for your cunt. He knows his orgasm is approaching too fast without his control, he can’t reign himself in, he needs to come with you, wants to experience your pleasure first. His fingers on your clit move with brutal efficiency, your body curling around his as you spasm and beg, until you come, taking him with you, his orgasm almost painful in his brutality, ropes and ropes of come staining you walls, until it’s too much and he has to slip out, his body falling upon yours, tears streaming down his cheeks. Gently you turn your entwined bodies to the side, your hand caresses his scalp while you murmur sweet nothings, his face cradled against the hollow of your throat; his hands grapple at the skin of your back desperately, as if he’s drowning and you are his lifeline. When he calms down he starts shivering from the cold and you cover the two of you with his cloak, your hand finding refuge again in his hair to massage his scalp once more; you don’t know what to say, your only sexual experiences had been with your husband and you were always the one in tears afterwards.

“I’m sorry - he says when he’s ready to face you again, his face still at level with your cleavage - all of this should have never happen”

“I’m not - you can see the surprise in his eye - I might die tomorrow in this war, at least I know what gentleness feels like.”.

You know he doesn’t understand, how can he? You are not going to elaborate, the shame of your marriage is yours alone to shoulder and you don’t want to stain this rare moment of peace with your husband’s actions.

Aemond tries to feel bad about this, tries to feel chagrin for having followed his instincts again, and nothing comes up: no pain, no humiliation, just peace and a sense of fulfillment he’s never experienced after sex. Why does it have to be you, the prisoner he will have to send back to their rightful husband, that makes him feel this way? Why are the Gods so cruel? Is this the price he has to pay for being a kinslayer? Having a sliver of peace and seeing it fade away? He cradles your face against his chest, he is not willing to let you go, not yet.

Later, Aemond cleans the mess between your legs with his destroyed shirt, gentle movements against your still sensitive lips, until no evidence of your coupling remains, but the throbbing you still feel. With care he helps you wear your dress and knots the strings keeping it together. He is surprised when you clean him up, cheeks aflame while murmuring that you don't have to; you don't even answer him, you just say how sorry you are for having destroyed his shirt.

The walk back to the castle is silent, broken only by Vhagar’s and Sunfyre's snores. The guards at the small door don't say a word, again they make space between your cloaked body and theirs, as if you are poisonous. Once you are back to your cell, curiosity wins.

"Why were those men afraid of touching me? Last time everyone wanted a piece of my skin".

Aemond uhms as he considers his words. He is proud of what he did but he doesn't want to scare you away with savagery; how little he knows the North and its inhabitants!

"The man who attacked you was punished, his right hand removed. If anyone tries to hurt you again, they'll lose both hands. If a third tries, then it's their hands and one foot. You can imagine what happens to the fourth man".

He doesn't know what to expect from you, surely not your appreciative words of praise and your pupils enlarging again, desire burning there like a summertime fire, surprising him with its intensity, his cock starting to stir, just in case.

"I bid you goodnight, Daughter of the North" he says bowing with a hand on his heart

"Aemond, wait!" you say walking towards him.

He stops, his eye watching you like a hawk when you raise a hand to his hair. He doesn't stop your movements as you push your fingers in his mane.

"There! - you say waiving a piece of grass in front of his face - you had it in your hair"

"Thank you, Daughter of the North" he answers, voice soft and hoarse.

Only when he is back to his chambers, he realizes you haven't used his title. Down in your cell, you don’t even notice what you just did.

Later, doubts and fears attack you, unsure of what to expect now, where you stand with Aemond.

Laying with him had been inevitable, the pull between you two too strong to fight; had it changed everything, though? You have little to no hopes of safety if you make it back home, moreover after your infidelity; as much of a brutal monster your husband is, at least you know what to expect with him, but with Aemond? His gentleness could be pure manipulation, but his tears seemed real, his sorrow true. Would his conscience bite him tomorrow, would he treat you worse, just to cancel what he did?

You toss and turn, uncomfortable on your cot, tired from the lovemaking and wired up by the uncertainty that’s Aemond Targaryen. You know how men think, you know that your body is nothing more than another battlefield, you know that most men stop respecting the person they desire, the moment they lie with them; is Aemond Targaryen like this? Will you be easy prey for every man, now that he’s had his piece of you?

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Aemond taglist: @phantoms-main-blog

[honourablejester]

An Idealised, Class-Agnostic Spell List for a Gothic D&D 5e World

Or, to put this another way, a list of all the spells I would love to take on a character who lived in a fog-shrouded gothic realm where soft bastions of light and hope exist surrounded by a grey, weary, liminal world of shadows and despair. I’m going for a tone, here. Not dark fantasy, not fire and brimstone, but something greyer and more tired, softer and rounded at the edges by twilight. The images here are graveyards shrouded in mist and pale moonlight, the warm yellow windows of churches and homes as beacon against the night, vast but intangible shadows across the land and inside souls, tiny symbols of hope held in trembling hands. Gothic. This list is going to be low on damage spells, and high on … aesthetic spells.

Basically because I’m in the mood for random D&D thought experiments tonight. I’m going to do this alphabetically by spell level, because I like organisation. And I’m adding just a little bit of flavour text to demonstrate the tone:

Cantrips:

Chill Touch, Dancing Lights, Spare the Dying, Thaumaturgy, Toll the Dead

The ghostly hand clinging to a victim to drain their health. The will ‘o the wisps dancing in the mists. The gentle hand staving off death. The flickering of candles and the film of darkness in the eyes. The phantom bell tolling out lives.

First Level:

Ceremony, Detect Evil & Good, Faerie Fire, Fog Cloud, Protection from Evil & Good, Silent Image

The rituals and rites of life and death. Divinations to sense evil, and protections to ward it off. The dancing lights that limn and reveal what is hidden. The masking shroud of mist. The silent spectres that can be induced to walk.

Second Level:

Augury, Gentle Repose, Healing Spirit, Invisibility, Pass Without Trace, See Invisibility, Silence, Spiritual Weapon

Rolling the bones in search of answers. The weary servant of the divine laying protective hands on the dead, that they will not be corrupted and torn from their rest by evil. A shining, gentle spirit that heals all who stand beneath their light. The ability to vanish into the mists that shroud the world, to pass through it as a ghost in the night. The mote in the eye that allows one to see where others are shrouded in those same mists. A spell of silence to quiet a trembling world. A ghostly weapon born from a whispered prayer.

Third Level:

Beacon of Hope, Gaseous Form, Life Transference, Phantom Steed, Speak with Dead, Spirit Shroud

A light of hope that restores health, integrity and vitality. A form dissolving into mist, a wisp in and of itself. The sacrifice of one’s own life force to save another. The ghostly steed that arrives to ferry you through the night. Communion with the dead, and their shield against all who would harm you.

Fourth Level:

Aura of Life, Aura of Purity, Death Ward, Divination, Greater Invisibility, Mordenkainen’s Faithful Hound, Shadow of Moil

The soft, silent shrouds that surround the champions of hope, brushing those they pass with life and protection. A ward against death itself, a single determined moment of protection. The touch of a divine force that grants knowledge. A deeper communion with the mists that shroud the world. A graveyard grim, a phantom hound that faithfully guards the boundaries. A shroud of shadows that shall protect you as its own.

Fifth Level:

Commune, Contact Other Plane, Dispel Evil & Good, Greater Restoration, Hallow, Legend Lore

The great, determined effort to reach and touch, plead with, that which is greater than all of us. A shield from all that is liminal and supernatural in the world, a means to drive it back and protect others from its works. A touch that cures all ills. The hallowing of sacred (or unholy) ground, the creation of a sanctuary against the night. The whispers of the forgotten, of secret lore, guiding you towards truth.

Sixth Level:

Eyebite, Forbiddance, True Seeing

The touch of the true void, filmed across your eyes, to cleave those around you to the soul. A means to create a true fortress, a sanctuary against all the beyond the world who would seek to breach it. That mote upon your eye that allows you to see truth.

Seventh Level:

Crown of Stars, Etherealness, Resurrection

A crown of light to mark your brow, and allow to strike out at the darkness. The means to step fully into the liminal, to pass partly beyond the borders of the world. And that last, desperate hope, the means to draw someone back from death, whole and hale, though it sows deathly weakness through your own body and soul.

Eighth Level:

Holy Aura, Illusory Dragon, Maddening Darkness, Mind Blank

A cloak of divine light that spurs all around you into battle against the night. The calling of a vast, unreal shadow, an emissary of the mists and the shadows to strike your foes. The terror of true darkness, called down as a demonstration of night’s might. The sanctity of your own self, your own mind, made sacrosanct.

Ninth Level:

Astral Projection, Foresight, True Resurrection

The means to cast yourself and your chosen fully beyond the world, to pass the liminal and enter the other, if only in spiritual form. A true blessing of knowledge, the ability to see not only what truly is but what may also be. The last, perfect victory against death.

[dndfantasygirl]

Little Red Rogue (Chapter 14: These Are the Times)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.4k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, major character near-death experience

Summary: Astarion realizes the depths of his feelings for Ruby when she's on her deathbed.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

These are the times we find out who we really are This will be when a true friend stands at your side Someone like me who wants to Believe in the days of high times and innocence Drawing the lines and shouting back to the night Someone like me who wants you to live

~These Are the Times, Styx

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It was a well-known fact among their group that Ruby's insatiable curiosity often led her into precarious situations, much to everyone's chagrin. She had a knack for finding trouble even in the most innocuous of circumstances, a trait that both amused and exasperated Astarion.

But today was different. Today, her wanderlust had led them, especially herself, into the heart of danger.

They were navigating the treacherous depths of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. With Shadowheart and Karlach by their side, they had embarked on a mission around the eerie mausoleum, where they had recently encountered Raphael.

Astarion couldn't shake off the feeling of impending trouble as he watched Ruby's ear twitch, a telltale sign of her curiosity. Despite her proficiency as a rogue and her ability to detect traps, there was always an element of unpredictability when she was involved. He recalled a past incident where her overzealous exploration had led to her triggering a net trap, leaving her suspended from a tree like a hapless prey. It had been amusing, albeit slightly embarrassing, but today's circumstances seemed far graver.

Raphael had made a solemn vow to Astarion, promising to reveal the scars on his back if he managed to dispatch the formidable orthon known as Yurgir. The task lay ahead of them, looming like a shadowy specter, yet before they could even set foot inside the foreboding mausoleum, Ruby's sharp senses detected something amiss.

"Did you guys hear that?" she whispered.

Astarion let out a small whine. "Darlinggggg, it was probably just the wind."

"Let's just get going before something ambushes us," Shadowheart urged, her stance indicating a readiness to move forward, to confront whatever dangers awaited them head-on.

But Ruby, ever the embodiment of curiosity and defiance, refused to yield to their pragmatic concerns. "No, it was something else," she insisted, her voice firm as she unsheathed her father's dagger. The blade glimmered with an otherworldly radiance, casting a soft, ethereal glow in the dimness of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

"Ruby! Get back here!" Astarion's admonishment was sharp, his voice a low, urgent whisper as he tried to rein in the impulsive rogue. He couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration coursing through him, like a relentless tide threatening to pull them all into the depths of danger. "You foolish girl," he muttered under his breath, the words a begrudging acknowledgment of both Ruby's audacity and his own exasperation.

Reluctantly, Astarion followed in Ruby's wake, his steps measured yet tinged with a hint of resignation. Behind him, he sensed Shadowheart and Karlach trailing close behind.

As they descended down the slope, Astarion's keen eyes caught sight of a sizable group of kua toa ahead, their bizarre forms resembling a twisted fusion of fish and humanoid features.

Dispatching the kua toa proved to be a relatively straightforward task, their movements fluid and coordinated as they swiftly eliminated the threat. Yet, Astarion couldn't shake off the feeling that this encounter was merely a prelude to something far more ominous. Ruby's insistence on pressing forward only heightened his sense of unease, her determination bordering on reckless as she marched ahead, heedless of the potential dangers lurking in the shadows.

It wasn't until they reached the edge of a foreboding crevice, its depths shrouded in an eerie green glow, that Astarion's apprehensions were fully realized. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sulfur, a tangible reminder of the malevolent forces at play in this forsaken realm.

Astarion's fingers closed around Ruby's arm with more force than he had intended, a gesture born out of equal parts frustration and concern. He could feel the tension thrumming through her slender frame as he pulled her back, his grip firm yet strangely gentle despite the urgency of his words.

"Ruby, this is a bad idea," he murmured. "Let's get back so I can finally learn what these scars mean," he implored, his gaze locking with hers in a silent plea for reason.

But Ruby's resolve remained unyielding. The pleading look in her eyes tugged at something deep within him, stirring a sense of empathy that remained foreign.

"The sound I heard was the kua toa," she confessed, her voice tinged with pain as she winced slightly. A flicker of concern crossed Astarion's features at the sight. "But I think there's something in there my parents want me to find."

Astarion couldn't help but feel a surge of exasperation as he acquiesced to Ruby's stubborn insistence. With a resigned sigh, he relented. "Fine, but at the first sight of imminent danger, we're leaving," he declared, his tone brooking no argument. He knew the risks they faced delving deeper into the unknown, and he was determined to ensure his safety...her safety...no matter the cost.

She gave him a soft smile that he could've sworn kickstarted his heart into beating again.

It was a fleeting moment, a mere flicker of warmth amidst the encroaching shadows, yet it stirred something within him. It was a feeling that he couldn't quite put into words, a strange mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability that left him feeling oddly exposed.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the unsettling thoughts that threatened to cloud his judgment. He was so reluctant to delay their quest for answers, to put his own desires on hold in favor of Ruby's reckless whims. Yet, he couldn't deny the pull she exerted on him, a force that defied all logic and reason.

Why did she make him feel this way? It was a question that haunted him, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness like a persistent shadow. But for now, he pushed aside his doubts and fears, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Turning his head towards Karlach and Shadowheart, he gestured for them to follow as they ventured into the eerie depths of the crevice. With each step, Astarion couldn't shake off the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the dangers that lay in wait.

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

As they navigated through the winding corridors of the crevice, Astarion couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. There wasn't much trouble...not at first, at least. They encountered the occasional obstacle—animated armor and a few oozes—but nothing they couldn't handle with their combined skills and prowess.

However, as they ascended to the ledge leading to the ominous chamber ahead, a sense of dread settled over them like a heavy shroud. A chill wind seemed to whisper through the narrow passageway, sending shivers cascading down their spines in unison.

"What the fuck was that?" Karlach's voice cut through the silence, echoing off the walls of the chamber and sending a flurry of bats scattering into the darkness beyond. Astarion couldn't help but share in her apprehension, his senses on high alert for any signs of impending danger.

But Ruby, ever the embodiment of determination and defiance, pressed forward, driven by the insistent voices that echoed in her mind. Despite her companions' urgent pleas to turn back, she forged ahead, her steps resolute as she approached the chamber door.

With a swift motion, Ruby pushed open the door and stepped inside, her crimson cloak billowing behind her like a dark shadow against the dimly lit chamber. Astarion watched in concern as she threw up the hood of her cloak, a futile attempt to ward off the bone-chilling cold that seemed to seep into their very bones.

Even in the face of imminent danger, Ruby's resolve remained unshaken. Her enhanced vision caught sight of something shiny on the ground before her, a glimmer of light amidst the encroaching darkness. Without hesitation, she reached down and picked it up, her fingers closing around the object with a sense of purpose that belied the uncertainty that lurked in the depths of the chamber.

As Ruby delicately retrieved the circlet from the chamber floor, Astarion couldn't help but admire its craftsmanship, his keen eyes tracing the intricate carvings that adorned its surface. The darkened silver glinted in the dim light, casting strange shadows against the walls of the chamber. But it was the deep crimson gemstone at its center that captured his attention, pulsating with an otherworldly glow that sent a shiver down his spine.

"The Bloodmoon Circlet," Ruby whispered, her voice barely more than a breath as she cradled the artifact in her hands.

"RUBY!" Astarion's warning erupted from his lips in a frantic shout, but it was already too late. From the darkness emerged a grotesque figure, its rotted flesh clinging to bone as it shambled forward with an unnatural gait. With horrifying speed, the zombie's claws slashed through the air, finding their mark on Ruby's unsuspecting back and sending her tumbling to the ground with a pained cry.

A surge of adrenaline flooded through Astarion's veins as he moved to intervene. But before he could even take a step forward, Shadowheart sprang into action, her voice ringing out as she summoned her spirit guardians to smite their undead assailant with radiant fury.

The chamber erupted into chaos as more zombies emerged from the shadows, their lifeless eyes fixed hungrily on their prey. Karlach's battle cry cut through the din as she waded into the fray with ferocious determination, her battleaxe cleaving through rotting flesh with each powerful swing.

As chaos unfolded around him, Astarion's attention zeroed in on the one person who had ever shown him an ounce of kindness in this harsh and unforgiving world. With a mixture of frustration and concern, he hurried over to Ruby's side, his movements swift and purposeful despite the turmoil that surrounded them.

"Damn you, Ruby," he hissed through clenched teeth. Despite his irritation, there was an underlying note of genuine worry in his voice as he surveyed her prone form. "Can you move?" he asked, his gaze searching hers for any sign of injury or distress.

Ruby's attempt to rise was met with a small whimper of pain, and she faltered, sinking back to the ground with a pained expression. Astarion cursed softly under his breath, a surge of protectiveness welling up within him as he knelt beside her.

With a decisive gesture, he swept her up into his arms with effortless grace, cradling her against his chest in a bridal hold. Despite the urgency of their predicament, there was a tenderness in his touch—a rare display of vulnerability that spoke volumes of the bond they shared.

With Ruby nestled securely in his arms, Astarion spared a fleeting glance over his shoulder, his gaze locking with Shadowheart's in a silent plea for assistance. "Shadowheart! We need you!" he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle with urgency. He knew that they couldn't afford to linger in the midst of danger, not when Ruby's safety hung in the balance.

As he hurriedly made his way out of the chamber, his unbeating heart pounded in his chest.

As the door swung shut behind them, Astarion wasted no time in setting Ruby gently down on the ground, his movements swift and efficient despite the storm of emotions raging within him. He watched Shadowheart and Karlach kneel beside her, their expressions a mirror of his own concern.

"All of this for a FUCKING circlet, Ruby?!" Astarion's voice trembled with a barely contained rage. Beyond upset, he struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. How dare she risk her life for a mere trinket—a crown that held no significance compared to the precious gift of her own existence.

Yet, as Ruby whimpered in pain, Astarion felt a flicker of remorse tugging at the edges of his anger. He knew that his outburst was driven by fear more than anything else—a fear of losing her, of being left alone once again in a world devoid of kindness and compassion.

"It's the Bloodmoon Circlet, Astarion," she pleaded, her words a desperate attempt to justify her actions. "It will enhance the wearer's vampiric abilities. I got it for you for when we go up against Cazador."

Astarion's anger faltered, replaced by a sense of disbelief at her selflessness. Despite his initial outrage, he couldn't deny the sincerity in her voice, nor the genuine concern that shone in her eyes.

As Shadowheart carefully shifted Ruby onto her stomach to assess her wounds, Astarion's heart clenched with anguish at the sight of her pain. He winced at the loud cry that escaped Ruby's lips, each sound like a dagger piercing through his own undead heart. Despite his usual facade of indifference, Astarion found himself unable to maintain his mask in the face of Ruby's suffering.

His gaze remained fixed on Ruby's trembling form as Shadowheart uttered a few incantations, her hands glowing with a soft blue energy as she attempted to heal the slash wounds that marred Ruby's back. But to Astarion's dismay, the magic seemed to have little effect, the wounds stubbornly refusing to close.

"Shit," the half-elf muttered under her breath. A sense of helplessness washed over Astarion as he watched, his fists clenching at his sides. He couldn't bear the thought of Ruby suffering.

In that moment, Astarion's mask slipped away, revealing the raw vulnerability that lay beneath his carefully crafted facade. His heart ached with a fierce intensity, his own fears and insecurities laid bare in the face of Ruby's unwavering resolve.

"Heal her, damn you!" Astarion's voice cracked with emotion. He knew that time was of the essence, that every moment they wasted brought Ruby closer to the brink of irreversible harm.

But Shadowheart's glare cut through his anguish like a blade, her own frustration mirroring his own. "I'm trying!" she snapped.

"Why isn't it working?" Karlach's voice trembled with uncertainty, her usually stoic demeanor faltering in the face of their companion's suffering.

Frustration etched lines of anguish across Shadowheart's brow as tears glistened in her eyes. "She's suffering from necrosis," she explained. "I can't heal her until it goes away."

Astarion's mind reeled with disbelief at the severity of Ruby's condition. Necrosis—a dreaded affliction that threatened to consume her from within. He had witnessed the ravages of such dark magic before, but to see it inflicted upon someone he cared for sent a chill down his spine.

"She's half-vamp though. It shouldn't affect her, right?" Karlach's voice broke through the heavy silence, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

But Shadowheart's response shattered any hope they might have harbored. "It's the other half it's affecting. The humane side of her," she explained, her words weighted with sorrow. Astarion felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach at the realization. Ruby's dual nature—a blessing and a curse—had always been a source of fascination and mystery, but now it seemed to be her greatest vulnerability.

A surge of guilt washed over him as he looked upon Ruby's pale, pain-stricken face. He cursed himself for failing to protect her, for allowing her to walk into danger. In that moment, he vowed to do whatever it took to save her.

"How long?" the vampire spawn's voice cracked as he interjected, his attempts to hold back the tears proving futile against the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to consume him. He felt a sharp pang in his chest as he watched Ruby's pale form writhing in agony, her cries echoing through the chamber like a haunting melody.

"I don't know. Necrosis could last for days," Shadowheart explained, her words heavy with uncertainty. "That's if it doesn't..."

Astarion's blood ran cold at the unspoken implications of her words, his mind reeling with the horrifying possibilities that lay ahead. He hissed in frustration, running trembling fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to dispel the overwhelming sense of helplessness that engulfed him.

There had to be something they could do, some way to ease Ruby's suffering and halt the insidious progression of the necrosis that threatened to consume her from within. His thoughts raced as he desperately searched for a solution, his mind alighting on the possibility of seeking aid from someone more knowledgeable.

Maybe Jaheira could think of something, he mused. She had always been a font of wisdom and guidance. With a newfound sense of determination, Astarion resolved to seek out the druidess's counsel, whatever the cost.

But first, they had to leave this accursed place. With a sense of urgency that bordered on panic, Astarion swept Ruby up into his arms once more, cradling her fragile form against his chest as he whispered soothing words into her ear. Her cries of pain continued to tear at his heart, fueling his resolve to get her to safety at any cost.

"We have to leave. Now," he declared, his voice firm despite the trembling of his hands. With a final glance back at Shadowheart and Karlach, he turned and began to make his way towards the exit, his steps quickening with each passing moment. They couldn't afford to waste another second—Ruby's life depended on it.

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

As they arrived at the Last Light, Astarion's heart sank with a leaden weight as he watched Ruby's condition deteriorate before his very eyes. It wasn't long before she fell unconscious, the tendrils of necrosis tightening their grip around her fragile form with each passing moment. Her once vibrant features now seemed drained of life.

Her pale face, usually flushed with vitality, was now even paler, devoid of any color save for the sickly pallor that marked the onset of her affliction. Astarion's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight, his chest constricting with a suffocating sense of despair. He had never seen Ruby look so frail, so vulnerable, and the sight tore at his very soul.

Her apple-red lips, usually parted in a mischievous grin or a playful retort, were now almost blue, a stark contrast to the vibrant hue that had once captivated him with its allure. And those big violet eyes, usually alight with mischief and vitality, remained closed, refusing to open to the world around her.

Not for anyone. Not for him.

Astarion felt a surge of anguish welling up within him as he sat beside her. He brushed a stray lock of golden hair from her forehead as he whispered words of comfort into the silence of the room. But there was no response, no flicker of recognition to reassure him that she could hear him.

The rest of the party had no choice but to press forward, to delve deeper into the mysteries of Moonrise Towers in search of answers that seemed increasingly elusive. As much as they didn't want to leave Ruby behind, they knew they had no other option. But for Astarion, the thought of abandoning her in her time of need was unbearable.

So, he stayed.

Jaheira's presence provided a flicker of solace amidst the despair that engulfed Astarion as he kept his vigil by Ruby's side. She would check in on them frequently, her calm demeanor a balm to Astarion's frayed nerves. And when she brought him vials of her own blood, knowing full well of his vampiric state, Astarion couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards the druidess.

But even Jaheira's efforts proved futile in the face of the relentless onslaught of necrosis that threatened to consume Ruby from within. Every few hours, she would turn Ruby's still form over to check on the wounds on her back, only to be met with the same heartbreaking sight—the festering wounds refusing to heal, the necrosis slowly devouring her from the inside out.

And as the hours stretched into days, Astarion's resolve began to waver. Despite his best efforts to remain strong, the weight of their situation bore down upon him with an unbearable intensity. He watched helplessly as Ruby's condition continued to deteriorate, her once vibrant spirit dimming with each passing moment.

After two agonizing days of sitting there and waiting—for something, anything, even just the faintest glimmer of hope—Astarion reached his breaking point. The despair that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiled over.

"Why are you so stupid, Ruby?" he whispered once Jaheira had left them alone. He stared down at her unmoving body, taking in her ever-present beauty as if she was sleeping. "You marched in there like nothing could faze you. You acted like you were invincible. You're not invincible, Ruby.

"You might think you're brave, but you're foolish. You can't just go waltzing in like nothing was going to happen. We're in a land of shadows and undead. It's not all sunshine and rainbows.

"And I don't need some fancy diadem. Not if it costs you your life. Because believe it or not, darling, I actually care about you."

The admission hung in the air between them. For the first time, Astarion allowed himself to acknowledge the depth of his feelings for Ruby, the fear of losing her driving him to the brink of desperation.

"I need...you."

As Astarion sat there, he felt a strange sensation on his cheek—a wetness that trickled down his skin, leaving a trail in its wake. At first, he thought he was bleeding. But when he felt another drop fall onto Ruby's still face, he realized the truth—he was crying.

The realization struck him like a physical blow, his chest tightening with the weight of his sorrow. How had he, a creature so accustomed to solitude and self-preservation, come to care so deeply for another? It was a question he had long avoided, burying it beneath layers of indifference and detachment. But now, faced with the prospect of losing the one person who had managed to breach the walls around his heart, he found himself grappling with an overwhelming wave of despair.

"I went from not caring about anyone but myself to caring about you...somewhat more than myself," Astarion confessed with a trembling voice.

"You can't die! You can't leave me here, Ruby! Wake up!" he pleaded, his voice rising in desperation as he clung to the fragile hope that she would somehow hear his words and return to him.

Astarion wiped away the tears that blurred his vision. He leaned closer to Ruby, searching her face for any sign of life, any glimmer of hope that she would awaken from her slumber. But she remained silent, her heartbeat a faint echo in the stillness of the chamber.

With a sense of resignation, he crawled in beside Ruby, his arms enfolding her fragile form in a desperate embrace. He held her close, as if by sheer force of will he could somehow shield her from the relentless grip of death that threatened to consume her.

As tears streamed down his cheeks, Astarion buried his face into the softness of her chest, his sobs wracking his body with an intensity that bordered on agony. He sobbed and sobbed, the weight of his despair crushing him beneath its relentless weight. In that moment of utter vulnerability, he prayed to all of the gods—prayed that some higher power would finally hear his pleas and grant him the one thing he desired above all else: to save her.

But his prayers were not for himself. No, they were for Ruby—for the woman who had become his guiding light in a world consumed by darkness, for the one person who had shown him kindness when all others had turned their backs on him. She didn't deserve to end like this, to fade away into the abyss without so much as a fighting chance.

Time seemed to blur into a hazy, indistinct fog as Astarion sat there, his arms wrapped tightly around Ruby's still form. He lost track of the minutes, the hours, lost in the swirling maelstrom of his own thoughts and emotions. But despite the trance-like state that enveloped him, his body remained hyper-aware of the slightest movement beneath him, attuned to every subtle shift in Ruby's unconscious form.

Then, in a heartbeat, everything changed.

Astarion's eyes shot open as he felt a faint stirring beneath him. He turned his gaze to Ruby, an unnecessary breath catching in his throat at the sight of her fluttering eyelids. "Ruby?" he whispered.

And then, like a bolt of lightning tearing through the darkness, her voice reached him—a fragile whisper that sent a surge of relief coursing through his veins. "Astarion?"

If his heart could beat, it would have thundered in his chest. With a wave of overwhelming relief washing over him, Astarion wasted no time in crashing his lips into hers. He trailed pecks all over her face, his lips brushing against her skin with a tenderness born from the sheer magnitude of his relief.

"Don't you ever do that again," he whispered against her lips, his voice a fervent plea as he held her close, unwilling to let her slip away from him once more.

And she held him in return, her grasp weak but filled with an undeniable strength born from the depths of her resilience. Astarion felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he held her, his fingers brushing against her arm in a silent gesture of comfort and reassurance. She was alive. She was safe.

[jenconnellysshybellybutton]

True Detective: Shadow Land

Part 2: The Tired And The Hurt

Tw: everything, child death, r@pe PTSD

Also on my ao3!

August 3, 2024

Liz always works on Saturdays. She had nothing else to do but paperwork and telling the folks in jail to shut up and they’ll be out in no time, and to be honest she could never admit it, but she enjoyed it, doing paperwork. She really liked peace and quiet. Except when it isn’t, and the case is fucked beyond belief. Danvers was a hard person to navigate. The only things keeping her sane were Leah and Evangeline.

She was finishing writing up a report when Leah came into her office upset asking questions Liz did not have answers to. “I don’t know Leah! We don’t have any idea why it’s happening. The feds don’t get here till Thursday for whatever reason!”

“Well actually do something instead of writing up shit!”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to get in trouble. I ain’t losin’ this job, Leah-”

“You do unlawful shit with Evangeline all the time?!”

“Go home Leah!”

Leah slammed her office door which made everyone including Pete to look into the office windows. This wasn’t uncommon for their relationship to be like this but it was very much more critical than anything, even the pollution of the mines. Children were missing. Native children, and the entire town seemed to hate her, for a good reason, the affairs and all, but that didn’t mean she doesn’t know how to do her job.

Liz opened her door and made a hand gesture to Navarro who was sitting on one of the chairs in the lobby part. Looked back at everyone who was staring at her. “Stop looking at me and get back to work!”

Navarro came and sat down without a second thought.

“Find anything?”

“No…our examiners are still going through each one of where the kids were last seen. Although I got something for you.” Liz smiled, opening up the one drawer of her desk. “Stand up.”

Navarro didn’t need to be told twice. “Do I want to know?”

Liz held out a badge from the department towards her. “This is for your outstanding dedication from the Tsalal case, Sergeant Navarro.”

Evangeline took it into her hand, running her thumb over the insignia. “Liz, why? You’re going to get in trouble for this-”

“Ange, don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do. You deserve it. Plus I know how miserable the trooper position can be okay?” Liz put on her black uniform jacket and walked towards the door. 

“Liz-”

“Just go with it. We have missing kids for christ sake. Get your shit and meet me in the car outside.”

Navarro went to the supply closet and Liz went over to Pete’s desk. “Anything?”

“I was just about to tell you. You’re right about it being pure hydrogen peroxide. It was most definitely used to clean up the blood, but they said they have no idea how much there was. No cameras, no nothing from the community.” Pete handed her a chunky manila folder. “This is everything on the registered sex offenders within that 15 mile radius, if that's what you're thinking.”

The gears in Liz’s head were turning. “Send some folks to go knock on houses. Ask if they saw anything. I’m going to check out more of that Lawrence house, see if there’s anything. Did they take anything from it?”

“Shouldn’t of, because we have limited space to hold evidence.”

Liz grunted and grabbed her keys. “These people could have gone anywhere in the state, the probability of them being within that 15 miles is low. Or maybe they aren’t even in the state…”

“Ask the right questions, Liz.”

Liz hit his shoulder with a fille folder. “You don’t get to ask the questions with me you little shit.”

“Alright alright! Oh…Evangeline ate your sandwich earlier.” Peter smirked.

“Of course she did.” 

***

Liz started the car and tossed the empty sandwich bag into the Sergeant’s lap. “I promote you and you eat my fucking sandwich? I fed you last night, right? You're not helpless.”

“I threw up last night.”

Liz paused and turned to her, feeling bad about the comment. Navarro’s face was pale like she saw a ghost. Liz made sure she was giving her full attention to her. “Why didn’t you tell me? Was it the food-”

“I had a vision a few nights ago Liz…”

“So, just nightmare shit? I’m not trying to minimize it just…”

“No, my nightmares never get this bad. I was looking for Clark again, except, this time when I went outside, you were leaning against Clark's body, just there in the snow…just motionless, breathing in puffs. There was blood…” Navarro leaned her elbow on the window and held up her head, her voice cracking. She sniffles.

Liz's eyes grew bigger, she didn't know how to react.

“So much blood…” She let her tears fall. “You looked at me…you were holding your own heart in your hand, Liz.”

The woman stared at her with tears forming in her ducts. She gulped. Her teeth gritted together. She turned away and started the car, put it into drive, and drove out onto the dirt road.

“I don't have time for this. This fucking bullshit. I moved on! Pete moved on! I moved on- w-why can’t you, huh? What happened at Tsalal was fucking terrible but at least I have the balls to fuck off and put it behind me!”

Liz sped down the dirt path not even looking at her partner for a while. Eventually, Evangeline broke the silence, whipping the wetness from her eyes.

“Not everyone takes the darkest shit that happens to them and shoves it deep down instead of taking care of the issue, Danvers! Yes, it took you a decade to let Holden go but you did get there and you’ve been doing better because of that.”

“How would you know? You weren’t fucking there. I waited a little bit each day thinking one day you’d show up with something good to say. Instead, I get news there’s missing Native kids all around this fuckin’ place.”

“Holden loved you Liz and you know that.”

“Leave him out of this or I swear I’ll punch you right fucking here-”

“Do it. It won’t make your problems go away. He’s watching you, Liz. He sees you like this.”

The other woman pulls to a stop, not even going over it. Liz’s face was pale, her pupils bigger than normal. She tried her hardest not to let her emotions get the best of her, but she failed. A single drop ran down her cheek. Navarro wanted to get rid of it for her. Instead of going to do that, Liz turned her whole body to her, giving her the full attention that was needed. She gulped and spoke through her thin lips, the corners being pulled with defiance.

“I failed him. He would not want the person I became after.”

Liz took off her two layers of gloves on her left hand and reached over to brush against Navarro’s cheek. She knew she could continue when the younger woman didn’t flinch. Navarro stared into those beautiful blue eyes of hers, they always had a shimmer to them but at this moment the sparkle was clouded by the pain from her heart that still held onto Holden. Liz’s hand was warm on her face, her thumb rubbing her skin repeatedly. Navarro yearned for Danvers since the beginning, but with the constant fighting and dominance over cases over who does what, their mindsets being drastically different, it never took off.

“You’re who I wish I was.” Liz said gently with a soft smile. Her hand lingered on the younger one’s cheek. “And more.” She gulped and when she went to remove her hand, Evangeline put her own on top of hers.

“You’re all you need to be. You just need help picking yourself back up. Just because you’ve done bad things, doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Navarro let Liz take her hand away. Liz made an “o” shape with her mouth and took Evangeline’s hand, kissing her fingers and breathing hot air onto them. “You’re my heart.” Her face lit up with a cute smirk.

“Aren’t you a smooth talker?”

“You’re freezing. Let’s check out our places, huh?”

When they arrived at the scene. They separated. Danvers went into the forest with the entire APF, while Navarro stayed at the Lawrence house with Gavin’s mom. Liz was drawn deeper and further into the sea of trees as a voice called her, which led to the voice showing her Gavin’s already decaying body. Liz was 2 miles out from the house, and the atmosphere grew dry and cold. She hyperventilated as she spoke into her walkie strapped to her coat.

“This is Chief Danvers, 10-55d. Oh god-”

The longer she looked the worse her body reacted, she was practically dry-heaving by the time they arrived at her position. Her thoughts raced as images of the corpse didn’t leave her head. She’s seen dead children several times, including her own, and it always hit her the worst.

Danvers watched from behind the double-sided mirror, watching the autopsy right before her eyes. She wiped up the tears right away trying to not relate the situation to Holden’s in any way.

“He seemed to suffer from Hyperhidrosis right before passing. Extreme bruising on the collarbones, which both are broken. Fellatio was performed on the boy’s anus-”

As Liz listened to the static words that came from the other side of the barrier between her and the autopsy. She felt nauseous, even though she, out of all people could not handle it. Danvers looked away and walked at a quick pace to the door.

“When it’s over and done with, send the info to everyone at the station. Tell Seargent Navarro she’s dismissed for the day.” She said to the officer standing next to the doorway. Liz yanked the metal door open and rushed past the several medical personnel, and officers from the station. They wanted answers and looked at her like she had them. The corners of her lips twitched and her breathing grew uneven. She exited the building and went straight for the SUV, not caring that it was pouring like crazy. She slammed the door shut and watched her breath ease out into the cold atmosphere. The hurt woman sobbed into the steering wheel.

“Where’s Danvers!” Navarro raised her voice at the guarding officer.

“Ma’am, once again, I cannot give out that information.”

“I am the Chief’s partner. You tell me where she is or I’ll have you suspended. Choose wisely.” The man sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know where she went but people are saying she went home, also she told me to tell you you’re dismissed for the day. She looked like shit and I think she’s sick-”

Evangeline sighed and rushed out the door. Putting her hood on, covering herself from the harsh rain that soon turned into sleet. Cold and wet. She slammed on the gas and went down the highway. Even at the wiper’s fastest speed, the sleet still disrupted her vision of the road. She thought of every possible thing Liz could be doing right now. She didn’t know which one of those things she would end up choosing but either way, Liz would be fucked.

If there was one thing Navarro wished for, out of everything, was to take away Liz’s pain if she could. Wanting to rid her of that terrible weight left a dent in both of them at the end of each day. Navarro didn’t know if she regretted disappearing or not, she enjoyed being away, but not from Liz. Liz was her person. A single star in the dark night sky. Evangeline didn’t want that light to die out.

Navarro turned off the engine and exited the vehicle. There was a soft warm light illuminating from Liz’s windows. She had to be home because her car was there. As she went up to open the door she noticed that it was cracked open for anyone to come in.

“Liz?”

“Here.”

Navarro could tell she was tired by her voice cracking. She was presented with a musky smell when she entered the dimly lit house. She saw Danvers’ discarded clothes leading her through the hallway. Liz was slunched over on her sofa naked as a baby pouring another glass of vodka.

“Liz what the fuck!”

“Why are you here?” She asks acting slap-happy.

Navarro tosses her the discarded shirt. “Everyone was alarmed because of how you left the fucking place and I have nowhere else to go- can you cover yourself up?”

“Sorry, wasn’t expecting visitors.” She laughed. Her hair looked wet and filthy.

“How much have you had.”

“Mmm…I don’t know.”

“Okay, you’re done-”

“Take it away and it won’t be good for you.”

“How can I convince you?”

“I don’t fucking know. Give me a reason.”

“Leah.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m dead serious, what if she walked in here and saw her mom drunk and naked-”

“Fine. Turn around.”

Navarro complied. “ I heard what happened.”

Liz scoffed. “Then you can figure out how much I’ve had…I can’t even think about it. She headed towards her bedroom where she changed into some sweats again. “It’s worse, physically, than what happened to Annie K…”

“Do I get to listen to the tape?”

“I wouldn’t let you do that to yourself under good consciousness. If you truly want to-”

“It’s my job, Liz, I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I’m not going to force you to do anything. It’s all up to you- but please, the photos they’re-”

“I understand.”

Liz flopped belly-first onto the mattress and turned over to see Navarro. The taller woman standing over the edge of the bed. “You’re staring. I know I know I’m so irresistible.”

“You’re so fucking drunk.”

“I am for sure I guess but at least I’m a functional alcoholic.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes. “That’s not- Goodnight Danvers!”

“Wait.” Liz reached for her wrist and held it gently. She didn’t want her to go. For neither of them to be alone again all cold and scared. “…stay, please, if it’s no trouble.”

Somber memories of them came into Evangeline’s head. Back to shaking Liz, praying she would stay awake. Holding her head like a baby, each tap she gave her frozen face reminded her of the time going by each second. Evangeline took her hand and rubbed the top of it with her thumb. She didn’t even bother changing, she just removed her coat and boots and laid on top of the covers with Liz. They faced each other and locked eyes for a while. “I have no one.” A minute goes by with them looking at each other in silence. “You’re everything to me…”

“I’m scared of losing you too. You’re still a pain in my ass sometimes but…you’re a part of my family, and whatever happens on this case going forward- just- we know it’s not going to go well. Shit is definitely going to happen to us. Let’s just, take care of each other okay? You check up on me…I baby your drunk ass?”

Liz thought she was so beautiful, she was jealous in a way, mostly admiration, smooth youthful skin, everything. She compared her to a blooming flower in her head. Its pedals so vibrant. Liz chuckled. “I haven’t had one drink since the beginning of June so I think I’m doing well all things considered. What about you?”

Evangeline loved Liz’s face, her neck, the wrinkles from a long life wearing it proudly. Her crow’s feet by her soft eyes. She was a tough cookie for sure, but during times like these, she was as delicate as paper-thin glass. The slightest pressure and she could break. “Not since a week ago.” She smiled back to giving her full attention to Liz’s ice blue eyes.

2:07am

First, she couldn’t feel her face. When she walked out into the long bright dark that was the first thing she felt. Searching for her partner, she felt shitty enough for the whole thing. Now she knew if she chose to do anything she would be guilty for the rest of her life, carrying that guilt on her back.

“Navarro!”

Nothing, no answer, no one in sight. When she blinked she instantly found herself under the ice, taking water into her lungs and feeling them get filled up, no hole in the ice. Not being able to kick herself higher. She gave up trying, there was nowhere to go anyway. She stopped moving, letting the earth take her anywhere. She opened her eyes to take it in only to find Holden under the water with her kicking and struggling, she tried to get over to him, the darkness eventually taking them deeper and deeper into the void, getting to hold him one last time before it all went dark.

Liz woke up with a shake being given to her shoulder, gasping when her eyes opened and she was back on the ground in reality.

“Liz! Are you okay?”

Liz grunted, shifting herself to be on her back. Navarro’s hand still lingered on the soft olive-patterned skin of her forearm. She sat up throwing her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She sniffled. “I’m fine…”

“Liz…”

“I’m fine.”

Evangeline knew she couldn’t pry anything out of her. The only thing she could do was maybe with a little poke get into her mind. They both had nightmares but Liz never wanted to admit it or talk to anyone about them. “You were saying things, Liz. You were scared.”

“Go back to sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

***

Liz wiped the cold water dripping down her chin from the glass of ice she was drinking. The back of her shirt was stained with sweat. She was overheated and couldn’t get Gavin out of her head. Evangeline walked into the kitchen looking at her leaning against the counter. “You want to tell me what’s going on since you clearly aren’t sleeping worth a shit?”

Liz scoffed once again. “It was Holden again. I was back outside searching for you. I called for you. Ended up back under the ice, something holding me down. I was okay under there. I let myself go because I couldn’t pull myself up. It was peaceful. Then Holden was there, I tried to save him. I could feel him again…I held him-”

Liz placed the glass down and sniffed again. “I lost him 12 years ago it shouldn’t crush me like this. I can- I can feel too much but I wish it’d go away-”

The younger woman walked over to her and embraced her with a tight hug, she towered over Liz, one hand holding the back of her head, her thumb rubbing the nape of her neck gently. Liz breathed in the homey scent from her t-shirt.

“There are things that are weighing you down. You need to befriend them.”

There was a minute of silence shared. Just holding each other in comfort. Liz’s breathing settled down after a bit. She looked up at Evangeline. “Thank you…”

“Don’t thank me.” She twitches her nose. “You stink.”

“I know.”

[miradelletarot]

You know another irl job that would work for Gale aside professor? Detective. I don't know, something about that really suits him. If you want to share how you would picture it then please share!

Have a good day!

I had to give this some thought honestly, and at first, I was inclined to disagree simply because of his alignment (According to the Gale Dekarios Wiki, the game says he's true neutral).

Just in case, spoilers for Gale's storyline are ahead.

Mira's Maunderings: I DISAGREE with him being true neutral because his in-game interactions point to him being a more neutral good character alignment. Depending on how you play him, however, you could possibly sway him, but he needs A LOT of convincing (Persuasion checks) to do stuff that isn't inherently *good*. If we are talking about God!Gale though, he is most certainly true neutral because he simply doesn't interfere. He merely exists, and as long as one has the drive and ambition to do what they set their hearts out to do, he supports it regardless of whether or not they are good or evil (yet he still does not get involved because that's not what he does or wants to do.)

One could argue that is desperate times, he is willing to do something morally grey, but that's where the neutrality comes in. But that's a whole long ass topic I really don't wanna dive into rn (b/c I'm lazy and tired, and honestly, it's been discussed by others before and far more eloquently than I could ever convey).

So, *IF* we are to throw the canon alignment out the window and go by the assumption that he's neutral good, I think him being a detective would be a solid choice. Why? Because deep down, he's a good person, and just wants to see people happy and safe. Knowing he could play a part in that goal would fill him with satisfaction and even validation. I see the "morally grey" neutrality coming into play when it comes to matters of lawfulness.

Let's say, in a situation where there was a victim who endured a horrific crime (I'm talking some dark shit that i won't outline...use your imaginations,) and the criminal was caught (and it was known beyond a shadow of a doubt that this person was, indeed, the criminal,) Gale would be inclined to 'turn the other cheek' if it meant justice for that person would be served better outside of the legal system. A little tweak of paperwork here and there and make it look like a freak accident or literally anything else. Perhaps enough to raise an eyebrow of suspicion from his colleagues, but not enough for them to care otherwise because at the end of the day, justice was served. (This is only one example, but hopefully you see what I am going for here).

If he were lawful neutral the extent of his lawful nature wouldn't necessarily be good. it could be, but it could also be evil. If he were lawful good, that criminal would be caught and sent to face justice "the correct" way, and be hauled off to jail for the legal system to deal with as the laws of the land intended. Whether or not true justice for the victim(s) actually gets served wouldn't be up to him to decide.

If we look at Gale as true neutral (as is canon,) I really think this could have the capacity to take him down the road of "dirty cop" material. (arguably, so could lawful neutral, but i'm going with his canon stuff rn so go with me on this journey if you would.)

A true neutral detective Gale would likely be someone who is so disenfranchised with his profession, and would probably quit if it didn't afford him some liberties that a badge comes with. Maybe he was good once, and truly believed in the system at large. Over time, just becomes jaded, perhaps overworked, and under appreciated for his efforts. But, he'd have a pension, and stability. It's sensible, albeit a little dangerous at times. Still, it's not a pleasant lifestyle. Perhaps he's alone, just barely above paycheck to paycheck. Maybe he's suffered from permanent compassion fatigue among other things. He becomes more aloof.

I think if an opportunity opened up to him for him to get in on something a bit nefarious, or he accidentally got swept up in a case that now he simply knows too much, he might hate it at first. Hate himself for what he's become, but logically, he knows there's no way out of it that doesn't end his life with a period. (if you know what I mean). Then again, he could decide to take a position of power because he thinks he can do better and get corrupted in the process.

Imho, this is kinda how we end up with God!Gale because he is so done with gods and their ways. How they meddle with people and use them as play things.

His superiors and the local government play bureaucratic games instead of focusing on actually helping people, or making their jobs better. He grows tired of it, just as in-game Gale grows tired of the Gods, and decides to take matters into his own hands thinking he can do better. In the end, he would be no better than them (if not arguably worse).

idk, i went on a huge alignment tangent, and i fear i didn't totally answer your question, but this is what my brain did to me since you sent this, Anon so...suffer with me lmao.

Thanks for this ask though! This was a fun consideration, and of course if anyone has anything to add please share your thoughts! I'd love to hear them!

[irregularjohnnywiggins]

So, since apparently I'm in a DC posting mood right now, you all want to hear this concept that's been baking in my mind for a while now?

Stephanie Brown is the same level of crimefighter as Bruce Wayne. Hear me out.

First, a common thematic reading of the Batfamily, especially the Batkids, is that all of them are in some way better than Bruce at one specific thing. Like with the equally broad thematic reading of 'All of Batman's rogues reflect a part of his psyche' this doesn't entirely hold up to scrutiny and doesn't apply to all of the Batkids, but it applies to enough: Dick is the better leader, Babs is the better strategist, Tim is the better detective, Cass is the better fighter, you get the idea. Now, normally when considering this reading the consensus for Steph is that she is the negative archetype, similar to how the Joker is interpreted in the rogues reading - an inverse of the common rule, in this case meaning that Steph isn't particularly good at anything. Some people who take this reading end this part with 'And that's why I love her!' - most don't. But I think that's entirely wrong, and to explain why we need to examine Bruce's own past.

In most versions of the Batman origin, there's a period, usually immediately or closely after Bruce graduating from either high-school or college, where Bruce travels the world, seeking masters of specific disciplines and learning all he can from them. The amount of people he meets is extensive - seriously, I have a word doc of 40 names and that's not even all of them - and later stories, particularly the Nolan trilogy, Batman/The Shadow, and IIRC Batman: Earth One, try to par that down to a single entity - The League of Shadows, The Shadow, and Alfred, respectively - teaching him all that is necessary to become Batman. It's not a change I particularly like, for one simple reason - the trek around the globe is as much metatexual as it is backstory. Like many of the prototypical superheroes, Batman isn't just one thing, he's many influences that Bill Finger brought to the table when creating him - he's a pulp hero like the Shadow, an adventure swashbuckler like Zorro and the Scarlet Pimpernel, a detective like Sherlock Holmes, all melding together to form our concept of 'Batman'. Having him learn from all these disparate sources - from ninjas and car thieves and magicians and detectives - seems like a way of acknowledging that breadth of influence, and I can't help but feel like limiting it to only Ra's or Lamont or Alfred takes away from that.

So, what does all that have to do with Stephanie Brown? Well, think about it - almost all of the Batfamily have only one real mentor - there are exceptions, like Tim basically becoming Babs' apprentice in No Man's Land and Cass' very funny shared custody situation, but mainly all of the Batkids learn from Batman, and what they excel at they were just kind of naturally good at anyway - Babs and Cass especially, no shade. With Steph, though? It's not as impressive as Bruce's list, but she learns general Cowl skills with Bruce, hacking and cryptography with Babs, detective skills with Tim, get fighting tips from Cass and Black Canary, is taught teamwork by Kate, evasion skills with Damian (that last one may not be purposeful), plus whatever else she can learn because, unlike the rest of the Batfamily, at least Pre-Flashpoint Steph was always learning.

True, Steph started out with very few practical skills in crimefighting, but you know who else did that? Bruce - every single time a comic or adaptation has shown him attempting to fight crime before the training trek has him absolutely suck at it. At the very least Steph never decided to stop her dad by attempting to assassinate him in a courthouse full of witnesses by veeery slowly pointing a gun at him, like Nolanverse Bruce.

Bottom line? If one more person says Steph 'isn't particularly skilled at anything', I will chew glass.

[twistedtummies2]

Top 5 Portrayals of Sebastian Moran

This is our penultimate little list for the primary supporting figures in the universe of Sherlock Holmes. We’ve gone over his greatest allies, and one of his greatest adversaries: Irene Adler, whom I declared to be probably Sherlock’s second most notable opponent after Professor Moriarty. While this is true in terms of popularity and impact, there’s one other character who arguably fits this bill even better in the books: the man Holmes declares to be “the second most dangerous man in London,” and, going with the “second” theme, acts as Moriarty’s chief lieutenant. I speak, of course, of Colonel Sebastian Moran.

Moran’s genesis is an interesting one, as it is intrinsically linked with his master, Moriarty. After deciding to bring Holmes back following the events of “The Final Problem,” Conan Doyle had to figure out how to manage it. Bringing Holmes himself to the land of the living again was relatively easy - he’d laid the groundwork for that by making the actual demise of Holmes out as Watson’s presumption, in the way it was written - but just as he needed an enemy powerful enough to snuff out Sherlock’s light in the first place, he needed another opponent who would be worth the great detective’s trouble to step out of the shadows and back into the limelight again. So, in “The Empty House,” he invented Moran: Moriarty’s second-in-command, and the closest thing the Professor ever had to a friend. So loyal he will stop at nothing to kill Holmes, even after Moriarty has been dead for a few good years. A disgraced soldier and expert sniper, whose origins are as shrouded in mystery as Moriarty’s own. While Moran is not as popular as Irene Adler, or his well-known employer, he has remained fairly persistent throughout interpretations of the Holmes canon. He’s even had a few versions where he’s totally separate from Moriarty, surprisingly. But which ones are the best? (pauses) I have no idea, but here’s a few I like, at least. These are My Top 5 Portrayals of Sebastian Moran!

5. Vinnie Jones, from Elementary.

In this series, Vinnie Jones (keep your Juggernaut jokes to yourself) plays a rather different version of Moran. Instead of being Moriarty’s loyal right-hand man, this take on the colonel is a killer-for-hire, who eventually turns against his mysterious employer. He is somewhat more sympathetic than other versions of Moran, as it is ultimately revealed Moriarty has gained hold over him by threatening his family.

4. Nikolai Kryukov, from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson.

This somewhat older take on Moran first appears in “The Deadly Fight” (the Russian series’ adaptation of “The Final Problem”), and secretly helps the Professor out behind the scenes, sniping at Holmes and seemingly killing him after Sherlock defeats Moriarty. In “The Tiger Hunt,” the show’s adaptation of “The Empty House,” Moran returns as the main antagonist, baffling Dr. Watson before ultimately being defeated by the “resurrected” Holmes.

3. Patrick Allen, from the Granada Series.

Allen is a more-or-less “by the book” Moran, which is both his greatest pro and greatest con. He’s the most accurate to the source, but I think a couple versions above him, which go a bit beyond that, are simply more interesting. This version keeps Moran’s identity as a villain a secret for a while, and I love the dichotomy between his more “crusty but seemingly jovial” demeanor before the reveal, and his absolutely fiery, unhinged wickedness when his true nature is brought to light. The anger he exhibits when he goes after Holmes is especially striking: clearly, these two have a history as much as Moriarty and Sherlock do. So much is done with so little, and I applaud this version for that.

2. Paul Anderson, from the Guy Ritchie Films.

Anderson’s version is interesting in that he acts as a sort of dark parallel to Dr. Watson, just as Moriarty acts as a sort of dark parallel to Sherlock Holmes. This is a concept no one has really touched on before or since, and I think it’s a fascinating one. Anderson’s Moran is just as faithful as Watson (if not, arguably, more so), and, like the good doctor, has military experience to back him up. But while Watson questions Sherlock’s bad behavior at times, and acts as an anchor of sanity, Moran goes along with anything Moriarty does without question or remorse, and seems to enjoy it all just as much. He was honestly just as memorable for me as Harris’ take on the Professor.

1. The Version from Moriarty the Patriot.

Like so many other characters in this anime, this version of Moran takes what was in the book, pluses it, and adds many new flourishes. Just like his boss, Moriarty, Moran is reinterpreted not as a villain but instead as an anti-hero. He’s still a gambler, still a sniper, and can be exceptionally cold-blooded when the chips are down, but instead of being a criminal monster, he’s someone trying to find a new purpose in life, facing demons from his past and seeking to do some good. He’s even more fascinating in the manga than the anime, for the record; in the latter, he’s played by Satoshi Hino in Japanese, and Christopher Wehkamp in the English dub. Incidentally, I’ve actually gotten Wehkamp’s autograph: nice fellow!

[storyofmychoices]

Shadows and Deception: Parts V & VI

[Series Masterlist] [My Choices Masterlists]

Books: The Royal Romance (post-TRF), Crimes of Passion I, Desire & Decorum, Blades of Light and Shadow I

Characters: Trystan Thorne (M, no race mentioned), Marguerite Thorne, Olivia Nevrakis, Queen Amalas, Maxwell Beaumont, Daniel, King Liam (no race mentioned), Tyril Starfury, Nia Ellarious, Prince Hamid

Pairings: Olivia Nevrakis x Queen Amalas ; M!Trystan Thorne x (no gender given) MC (mentioned) ; King Liam x Riley (mentioned)

Rating/Warnings: Teen, mentions of blood, stab wound, knives/daggers (no graphic descriptions)

Word Count: Part V: ~500; Part VI: ~1,500 : total ~2,000

Summary: The murder weapon is found and it belongs to someone we know well. Are they guilty or are they being framed?

Catch Up: [Parts I and II] [Part III and IV]

V. --- In the Ballroom with the Dagger? (Clue inspired)

Trystan's eyes widened in discovery, a smile filling his face. He had become somewhat of a well-known detective back in New York, and he was happy to see his skills weren't going to waste on this little trip. "Over here," he shouted, calling the guards toward an ornate golden curtain drawn back to the side, allowing the haunting moonlight to pour into the ballroom. "It's just there," he directed, pushing the folds of the curtain open for them to see.

"It can't be." King Liam's face drained of color.  

One of the guards carefully lifted out the concealed ornate silver dagger adorned with sapphires in the hilt. 

The gaze of the room fell on the scarlet-haired Duchess. 

Olivia scowled, rolling her eyes at the incompetence of those around her. It had to be a replica, “a bad one at that”, she snarked. "As if anyone could lift my dagger from me." She slipped her gown up her thigh, revealing an empty slot in her thigh sheath. "I—It can't—" she stuttered for perhaps the first time in her life. "That's not possible. No one could—" 

"Olivia?" Liam approached cautiously. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," she scowled, still trying to assess the situation. "I would never be so sloppy as to leave the murder weapon so visibly in the open where a wannabe Sherlock Holmes could find it. How did you find it so easily?"

“Elementary,” said he with a playful wink.

Her gaze narrowed suspiciously at him before shifting back to Liam. "Trust me, if I had killed him, you'd never know." 

Despite her confident tone, Olivia's thoughts wandered. That was definitely her dagger, but no one could have lifted it from her, especially without her knowledge. The moment of confusion that flickered in her eyes turned to cold calculations as she analyzed the faces of everyone around, searching for that missing piece to put the entire puzzle together. She was being framed, but whoever was careless enough to make her a suspect must know that her wrath would find them. Sunrise might not come to all. 

"I need you to come with me, Olivia," Liam said solemnly. His arm extended, ushering her forward with the guard. 

"Of course," her voice resolute as she continued her own investigation with each step forward. Her gaze landed on a certain fashion designer—Princess of Drakovia, Marguerite Thorne. The subtle hint of a smile on her face as she watched closely, her fingers gliding across the smooth screen of her phone with only the occasional glance down. Could the rumors be true? Olivia would find out one way or another. 

What Olivia failed to notice however was that she wasn't the sole object of the Princess's observation. There was someone else—someone far more captivating. It wasn't the look she had anticipated. She expected the Spy Queen's countenance to remain inscrutable, especially at this crucial moment. Yet, Marguerite saw it in her eyes; it was a familiar expression, one she had seen before. Interesting, she mused to herself, watching as Amalas’s fingers ever so slightly caressed her clutch, watching as Liam led Olivia away. Very interesting.

VI. Put two and two together... sometimes the answer's four... and sometimes it's twenty-two. (Nick Charles)

As the investigation into the murder mystery deepened, the ballroom buzzed with whispers and hushed conversations. The air crackled with tension, each suspect under the microscope of suspicion. A trail of clues emerged, casting suspicion not only on Olivia but also on a certain Drakovia princess, no stranger to deception and spying herself, as well as to the Priestess Nia, who first discovered the body. 

Tyril placed a gentle hand on Nia's shoulder, approaching from behind.

Startled momentarily, the Priestess soon relaxed upon recognizing his familiar face. "It's you," she breathed more easily.

"Nia," Tyril began in a hushed tone, "I overheard a whisper among the guards. They mentioned that a strand of red hair was found beneath the body."

Nia's eyes widened in surprise. "Do they think it's mine?" Her voice tinged with concern. She quickly tried to reconcile it. "It must have fallen out when I found Daniel."

Tyril furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "It's peculiar," he mused. "They found the hair beneath the body. It seems unlikely that it fell from you at the time of the discovery."

Nia pondered for a moment longer, her expression shifting as she reached a new conclusion. "It's possible that it happened earlier when he served me a drink. The hair could have landed on his clothing and found its way under the body." 

"Perhaps," Tyril considered. "Be careful, Nia. The Duchess seems to be hinting it came from you at the time of the murder."

Nia's voice rose in her defense, "What motive could I have? I could never hurt a life! I've never even stepped on an ant before!"

Tyril pulled her to the side, quieting her once more. "I believe you, Nia," he reassured her. His voice lowered to a soothing tone. "But we must remain cautious. Someone here in the palace is responsible, and we need to find out who. Stay away from the royals for now. We know how many secrets they hold."

Nia nodded a mixture of confusion and disbelief in her eyes. "Why would Olivia insist it's my hair, though? What would she accomplish with that?"

Tyril's gaze hardened, a spark of determination igniting within him. "That is indeed the question. We will uncover the truth, Nia, no matter what it takes."

Marguerite's gaze narrowed as she approached Trystan. She wasted no time in confronting her brother about the rumor she heard. "I heard you broke into the armory. Is it true?" 

Trystan's gaze met hers in amusement. "My dear sister, you confuse me with Kaspar," he replied with a smirk. "Though, I suppose then it would have been the jewel room instead. Too bad he’s banned for stealing the Cordonia Golden Apple. He would have had fun tonight.”

"This is serious, Trystan!" 

"Relax, Mags. Rose may have been giving me lessons on lock picking, and I must say, I've become quite proficient. But I've not left the ballroom all night. I trust the cameras will confirm as much." 

Marguerite shook her head in confusion. "Then why would someone spread such a rumor?" 

Trystan's smirk widened. "Perhaps they wanted to divert our attention from something else, or somewhere else."

"What are you talking about?"

"I still have the key to the truth hidden in my pocket." He tapped his jacket, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Marguerite pressed her hands to her hips, waiting for an explanation.

Trystan fished the silver trinket from his jacket pocket, holding it up for Marguerite to see.

"What is that? What’s it for?" 

Trystan shrugged nonchalantly. "No idea," he replied, flipping the key in his hand with a flourish before returning it to his pocket. "But I have a feeling it's connected to what happened tonight.” 

Her curiosity turned to suspicion. "Where did you get it?" 

"Someone slipped it into my pocket earlier this evening," he confessed, his voice dripping with delight. 

“And you didn’t catch them? You’re slipping.”

“On the contrary, I propose they’re that good. We’re not looking for an amateur,” he revealed proudly. "And now, my dear Mags, it's up to us to unravel its secrets."

"Where do you think it leads?"

"I recently learned that the staff secures their personal possessions in lockers outside of the kitchen... care to venture on a little side quest with me?" 

Her lips pressed together in a Cheshire grin as she followed behind him, making sure the flash drive she had been hiding was tucked safely in her handbag out of sight of her curious brother.

Not satisfied with the rush to judge Nia or even the Duchess, Tyril continued his own investigation. He found himself conferring with Prince Hamid, considering him a reliable source and an upstanding citizen in search of the truth. They met in a secluded corner of the ballroom, away from prying eyes and eager ears.

Prince Hamid leaned in, his voice quieting, "I overheard an interesting theory. Some believe the evidence points towards Marguerite framing both Olivia and Trystan for their respective crimes. But the question in that became, what does she stand to gain from either murder? And could she truly be cunning and ruthless enough to manipulate her brother and fellow royal as pawns to some unseen end?"

Tyril’s lips pressed together in consideration. "The evidence is light on both accounts of murder. The Princess Marguerite may have secrets to hide, but I believe them to be unrelated to these crimes."

Prince Hamid nodded, his eyes glancing across the ballroom. "I share your sentiments. I would add that I also find Trystan to be without blame in this despite the accusations of his past. Trystan played a crucial role in bringing justice to the Heartache Killer. It stands to reason that he is invested in the truth. I see no cause to suspect him in this case."

As they spoke, they noticed Trystan's return to the ballroom, his presence catching their attention. The two exchanged a meaningful glance before setting off toward him, hoping he could shed further light on the events of the evening. 

The pair approached the exiled Prince, their eyes filled with anticipation and determination. Trystan, happy to formally make their acquaintance, listened with great interest to what they had observed. Tyril and Prince Hamid shared their thoughts, suspicions, and what they had overheard, hoping that Trystan would reciprocate with findings of his own. 

"Not here." Trystan glanced around the room, carefully studying the locations of the cameras. After a moment of contemplation, he guided them behind a large pillar, confident that it would provide enough cover to discuss their discoveries without being noticed.

"Earlier this evening, someone slipped a key into my pocket," Trystan admitted in hushed tones. "Not long ago, I concluded it may open Daniel's locker."

"Is that from where you are returning?" Tyril asked. 

"Yes."

"From the look of exhilaration in your countenance, I trust your search was fruitful," Prince Hamid posed.

Trystan smirked, carefully revealing a handful of coded correspondences. 

The three men analyzed the documents hoping to find a clue.

Prince Hamid drew a page closer to his nose, recognizing a faint citrus scent emanating from the corner of the documents. "Could it be?" He hummed to himself. Acting on a hunch, he brought the bottom edge of one of the letters close to his lips and exhaled softly, applying heat to the paper.

A faint illustration of a brown squid flickered to life before their eyes, only to disappear as Prince Hamid pulled back. "Invisible ink," he concluded. “Lemon juice, most likely.”

Before they could delve deeper into their speculations as to the meaning of the latest revelation, Trystan's phone chimed with a notification, indicating that a video had finished downloading.

“Perfect timing!” He held up his phone for his newfound partners to see. "Maybe this will shed some light on the mystery," he announced with more than a hint of excitement. "I asked a friend of mine back in New York to hack into the surveillance feed for the camera closest to Daniel. Shall we put this mystery to rest and catch a glimpse of the killer?" 

The trio waited with bated breath as the video played, revealing a shadowy figure lurking in the back moments before Daniel entered the frame. With lightning precision, the figure concealed by a dark cloak moved toward the waiter and retreated just as quickly. The murderer's identity may have remained concealed but their size and stature hinted at just one thing, a woman had been the culprit of this heinous act.

As the footage concluded, Tyril couldn't help but notice someone lingering on the other side of the column, partially concealed from view. He strained to catch a glimpse, but when he turned to inspect further, they were nowhere to be found. With only a glimpse of their features, he couldn't be sure, but he thought he had seen Queen Amalas. 

[Continue...]

Thanks for reading! I hope you are enjoying the mystery. What do you make of all of the new clues that seem to be arising? What could it mean?

Find out tomorrow when the last section of the story is released.

Giveaway Information: complete details here

3 winners will be chose for minimalist portraits with @bayleedrawsx

Any one who comments on or reblogs with a comment with their theories, thoughts, ideas, ect. on any and all sections of the story will be entered in the giveaway. (1 entry per section)

Prompts: For @choicesbookclub COP ; @choicesmonthlychallenge Private Investigator Event

Special thanks: to JenBeaumontJones (IG) for beta reading

[skxrbrand]

@warhammer-fantasy-muses ( Prev / Next )

"Mmm?"

Va'rrick looked skyward, roused by the sound of heavy wingbeats. Reflexively, he grabbed his axe, pulling the weapon out of it's bed of soil and grimacing at the blue sky. His army, what was left of it anyway, soon followed, some raising their horned heads from their bloody work of harvesting skulls and flaying the dead-- and the living.

Va'rrick gave a sniffle, detecting the unmistakable scent of a Daemon Prince. No matter how fully they embraced the powers of Chaos, their mortal stench would always linger. However, this Daemon Prince had earned the respect of many true-daemons, however begrudgingly. Valkia was a singular human. A singular daemon prince, too.

But there was another smell. Foreign to him, but definitely of Khorne. Too strong to be lesser daemon, even a Herald, too new to be a season warrior like himself. Shadowing the Gore-Queen was another Bloodthirster and Va'rrick immediately felt himself become annoyed. His wings partially unfurled and he stared the youngster down territorially.

Even so, he didn't disrespect the GoreQueen as she landed. He knelt. They all did.

" Hale and Red Tidings, Mother-Queen of Slaughter."