#he felt like a sort of divine intervention. divine judgment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mhathotfic · 1 month

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This is a brothers Grimm inspired retelling of sleeping beauty and my first proper somno and noncon piece so please be gentle with me and give me some constructive feedback so I can improve!.

Warnings: somnophilia, noncon, afab reader with she/her pronouns, vaginal penetration described, oral(reader receiving), delusional/yandere!Todoroki, fantasy au, I feel like it's open-ended but could be left as a standalone one shot

Pairing: prince!Shouto Todoroki x sleeping beauty!reader

Our story begins with a prince who’s grown restless under his father’s strict control.

The prince known as Shouto went on many trips, all of which were under secrecy to avoid the wrath of the mad king Enji. For if he was discovered by his father, he’d surely be severely punished.

Maybe with a beating, or perhaps isolation, or worse his siblings would suffer for his actions.

He couldn’t risk the consequences, that’s what he told himself when had discovered an old castle in ruins.

‘You’ll be late’ he tells him as he examines the thick overgrowth of thorny vines that wrap around the aged and crumbling walls.

‘You need to return’ he reminds himself, cutting through overgrowth and forcing his way into the old palace, ignoring his better judgment in favor of his curiosity.

If he were truly honest, he was hoping to find whatever valuables were left behind so he could keep on the run and never return home. So he may dare to be selfish and not worry about anyone else’s ill fate, if he were honest that is.

Clearly whoever had owned this castle was long gone, old rotting furniture and aged paintings that were caked in thick grime and dirt.

He almost turned back, nothing here could possibly be of worth right? And yet, on some sort of fateful divine intervention, he felt compelled to look around a little longer.

For what, he did not know, he certainly could not have even imagined he would discover the perfectly preserved body of a beautiful young maiden.

She appeared roughly his age when she was put to rest, he thinks it such a shame that she must have passed young.

He steps closer to observe her better, shocked to witness her chest rising and falling. He presses a hand against her soft face, noting the warmth and softness of her skin.

He knows it’s insane, her clothes were dusty and the room around them was clearly aged decades, perhaps centuries, but she is most assuredly alive just asleep.

Certainly, this must be a curse and undoubtedly one he was destined to break. Why else would he be so compelled to go searching for her?

But how?

If the stories of witches and their evil deeds and tricks were to be believed, then a kiss should do. So with this in mind, he leaned down to capture her lips, certain that the spark he felt was a sign from the heavens.

Soon his princesses would awaken and she would be so greatly impressed and grateful that she would marry him without question.

He waits what feels like one, two, three, four whole minutes, and watches in confused frustration when she remains peacefully asleep.

‘Then a kiss is not enough’ he comes to realize ‘I need to do more, I have to show her she was meant to be my wife’. It made perfect sense to him, there was no need to question himself or his motives behind this because why else would a simple kiss not work?

Clearly, he needed to consummate this divine union.

He shuddered at the thought, the reality of the situation hitting him suddenly and making him unsure if this was all a delusion of grandeur.

Maybe he should reevaluate and deal with the creeping sense of disgust in himself, or maybe this deep and sudden desire for her was truly divine?

But this was unquestionably a sinful crime in any other circumstance, something a valiant and righteous prince like himself should never allow themself to indulge in.

But his urge to move forward must be a sign, it’s brought him this far, and he wouldn’t even be here if he had ignored it.

If he did follow his compulsion, the consequences would be well worth the actions right? Just a husband committing to his wife, that’s what this was.

It isn’t wrong for him to lay his hands on her sleeping body, positioning her to aid him in removing her old clothes, and laid his hot lips on the warm flush that was revealed.

Allowing himself to travel every exposed inch until he had her sex in close sight. He laved his tongue over it in curiosity. Humming in approval when he found her to secrete the sweetest nectar he had ever had the pleasure of tasting.

He lapped away at her as if he would never be allowed to again, no, as if he had never been fed. As if he had been starving for longer than he could remember and this would be the only meal he would have in who knew how long.

He found himself greedily pressing his fingers into her little hole, desperately trying to drag out more of her essence. Long slender fingers moving back and forth, dragging against her inner walls and unknowingly inching a dam of sorts closer and closer to snapping.

It almost startled him when she squeaked out a pleasant-sounding moan, practically pouring her heavenly nectar like a fountain for him. Her sex tightening and convulsing around his fingers, he finds himself enraptured by her involuntary response to him; assured he was right to think that this was the correct action.

He resettled himself between her legs so his sex was in line with her sopping wet warmth quickly. He would take his time to know her body properly later but for now, he would focus on introducing his body to her own.

He takes a breath, takes himself in hand, and rests against her entrance. Pausing to steel his nerves before pushing into her with a single thrust. Savoring how her wet warmth parted around him and held so tightly.

‘This couldn’t be wrong when it felt so heavenly’ he thinks, throwing his head back.

He hears a murmur of discomfort from her, he figures he must be her first lover. Good. This doubtlessly meant that the divines had been saving her for him.

She was meant for this, meant to be his love, to be the vessel for his seed.

So, there was no need to hold back on her until she’d taken it all in her womb, right?

He silences her involuntary whines with hot wanton kisses, allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth and explore every bit of it. Uncaring of the lack of response, he has plenty of time to know what her kiss truly felt like once she awakens.

He lets himself indulge in her. Dragging his finger along the little pearl of pleasure that made her leak more of her essence. His hips slapped against her at a rough and quick pace, chasing a pleasure that was well worth the effort.

He wondered, would she accept loving this rough when she did wake? Would she want the way he was being so forceful or would she rather him be gentle and tender? He supposed he could be gentle.

It did sound rather nice, but he would honestly prefer this. He thinks maybe she would too, her sex twitched and spasmed so desperately around him in response to his actions. Almost as if to wring out his love, it’s hard to imagine she wasn’t or wouldn’t enjoy this.

He wondered if she would call his name loudly, he could imagine it clearly based on the sounds she was already making.

‘S-Shou! Oh, Shouto! Please!’ she’d cry out, on the verge of spilling over again and pulling him with her, accepting every drop of his white-hot love inside her.

He barely catches himself from clasping on top of her, he can feel himself starting to stir again inside of her. How must this look to her?

“W-who are you?! W-what are you do—!”.

He cuts her off with a kiss, frowning when she jerks her face away. Didn’t she understand that he was her husband now?!

“Your husband,” he says it calmly, almost coldly as his hips pick up speed again. It would seem he’d have to teach her this new role as his wife.

And this is where we leave, with a king and his queen. One will live happily ever after, the other has no option but to be “happy” with her new life.

Tag list: @when-you-are-just-done @justabratsworld @kkatsukiswife

#shouto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader smut #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader smut #shouto x reader #shouto x reader smut #todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader smut #tw somno #tw non con #fantasy au

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rmhashauthor · 1 year

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The Last Hour of Gann - the book that ruined me

If you have not read this BEHEMOTH of a novel, I strongly suggest you do. If you want something that will enthrall you, scare you, amuse you, ruin your life and obliterate your soul, I CANNOT in good conscience let you go another week without this beast of a story.

Summary (from Goodreads): "It was her last chance:

Amber Bierce had nothing left except her sister and two tickets on Earth’s first colony-ship. She entered her Sleeper with a five-year contract and the promise of a better life, but awakened in wreckage on an unknown world. For the survivors, there is no rescue, no way home and no hope until they are found by Meoraq—a holy warrior more deadly than any hungering beast on this hostile new world…but whose eyes show a different sort of hunger when he looks at her.

It was his last year of freedom:

Uyane Meoraq is a Sword of Sheul, God’s own instrument of judgment, victor of hundreds of trials, with a conqueror’s rights over all men. Or at least he was until his father’s death. Now, without divine intervention, he will be forced to assume stewardship over House Uyane and lose the life he has always known. At the legendary temple of Xi’Matezh, Meoraq hopes to find the deliverance he seeks, but the humans he encounters on his pilgrimage may prove too great a test even for him…especially the one called Amber, behind whose monstrous appearance burns a woman’s heart unlike any he has ever known."

Guys. Guys. This book ripped me apart. Amber is simultaneously the best and worst sci-fi heroine, her sister is pathetic and terrible, Meoraq is probably the least sexy but the most BADASS MMC EVER and the rest of the cast is every stripe of humanity you can imagine. There's a guy whom I wished from page one would shut up shut up JUST SHUT UP ALREADY and fall in a hole forever. R Lee Smith's characterization is on point and consistent throughout the book.

This is a BRUTAL story from beginning to end, even for someone like me who LOVES reading gnarly survival stories. Not gonna lie, there are several instances of sexual violence - I don't like it, I don't condone it and I won't write about it in any of my work, but in this case it was used to really drive home the brutality of life on Meoraq's world. There are animal attacks and vicious fighting and horrific injuries, but again this is not a happy story. This is a very messy, dangerous world and it takes a lot of grit and no tolerance for squeamishness to survive.

As unpleasant as Amber can be at times, I sincerely liked her as a character. She's unpleasant because she was brought up under pretty bleak circumstances and her life on Earth just didn't get better. And it got even worse once she signed her contract in more ways than just ending up on a planet where almost everything is trying to kill her. The thing about Amber that I really respected was her instant realization of just how fucked she and everyone else is and her first instinct is to start looking for water, food and shelter. She takes initiative while everyone else is sitting around waiting for help.

I appreciated how R Lee Smith took me inside Amber's head and showed me her memories to either confirm or contrast with how angry she is at the way her life has turned out. Her sister is basically the sad polar opposite - none of Amber's grit has rubbed off on her, and as awful as the story ended for her, she kind of deserved it for the choices she made (or refused to make). In the end I just felt sorry for Nicci for having such weak character.

Meoraq is NOT a sexy guy. I love sci-fi romances mainly because I want to see what weird, freaky things people are into (myself included, lol) and I want to see how the author turned something that SHOULD be bizarre into something that makes me think "...you know what? Maybe I COULD..." Not Meoraq. The only thing I found even moderately attractive about him was his incredible knowledge of and experience with living as he had for as long as he had. And he was funny sometimes. But he could be SUCH an ASS. And yet by the end of the book I had developed an IMMENSE respect for the guy - if I'd been in Amber's shoes, I would PRAY that I'd run into someone as competent and self-assured at Meoraq, otherwise I'd be dead within a week.

I am not a religious person. I tend to keep my distance from organized religion because I have seen the damage religious fanaticism can do. That being said, Meoraq's STRICT adherence to his beliefs make a weird kind of sense once you get to the part of the book that explains WHY the faith he follows has essentially taken over the world. I kind of admire the guy for his extensive knowledge of his faith and its teachings, which is to say he understands it more than I think some IRL groups understand their religion's intent. I sincerely appreciate R Lee Smith's deep dive into what life was like for Meoraq as a boy, how his experiences developed him, and how his relationship with his god evolves through the story. The guy has some truly incredible faith and his religious experiences gave me some perspective as to why some people continue to stick with their faith in the face of undeniable evidence to the contrary.

Here's the thing, though - from day one of their meeting I wanted Amber and Meoraq together RIGHT NOW. They both have this "fuck around and find out" vibe that WORKS. From the very beginning there is a sizzle in the air as they work out how to communicate, and while I was annoyed with the other survivors for inferring that the two be bangin', I knew EXACTLY where they were coming from because it was JUST SO DAMNED OBVIOUS. There were many times I had to put this book down and yell at it because, and I quote, "oh my GOD would you two just GET IT OVER WITH??" And when they do, it's not pretty but by the time that happened I understood that it wouldn't be because of the world they now occupy. Again, this is not a happy story. There IS some happiness, though, and it's made all the more precious for being so rare.

I will say that this is a LONG book, and it deals with some HEAVY ideas. Many of which I don't agree with, but I don't regret reading this monster and I sincerely appreciate R Lee Smith's willingness to really push the boundaries of what the average sci-fi romance reader is used to or may find in good taste for the genre. This is a HARD book to get through (~ 1,000 pages long) for many reasons, the subject matter alone will be part of the reason I think most people will either avoid it or put it down. It's really dark and I wouldn't recommend it to someone who isn't ready for some of the nastier scenes (CW for sexual assault on men and women, animal violence, human-on-human violence, alien-on-alien violence, just a lot of violence in general, catastrophic events, and my personal non-favorite: BUGS) but if you're looking for something that will sink its claws into your mind and make you question everything about people, religion and humanity, then The Last Hour of Gann is my #1 pick for "you'll hate it but you'll love every second of it".

I saw another reader on Goodreads describe this as an "odyssey" and I 100% agree - this thing takes a week to read and it feels like a lifetime. Another called it "Epic Science Fiction" and I CANNOT agree more. It's epic, it's monstrous, it's graphic, it's downright horrible at times, but MY GOD I love this book for everything about it from the length to the characters (even the ones I hated) to the intense survival to the hilariously frustrating romance between two of the most stubborn, thickheaded people I have ever had the pleasure of being annoyed with. I stayed up late reading this damned thing TWICE and I'm going to do it again.

Disclaimer: I am strongly opposed to censorship in general. The world is a rough, difficult, dirty and dangerous place and it's just a fact that awful things happen and awful people exist. I don't condone rape or murder, but the unpleasant truth is that it happens on a daily basis. If that makes me a cynical old bat, then I guess I'm a cynical old bat. Anyway, the point here is if you pick up this book, do practice some self-censorship. You're the one who gets to decide if you like it enough to finish it. I don't know your story therefore I have no authority to determine what you can handle. But I do implore you to give this book a good old-fashioned try because I think it'll open some eyes and maybe give some perspective on the real world we live in. I got a lot out of this story and I think it's a damned shame that it's not more well-known. I believe that as sentient beings we have an obligation to push ourselves with respect to what we know and what we can learn, especially if we have to be made really uncomfortable to do so. I agree with a lot of the things people said about this book on Goodreads but I also disagree with much, but those are just my opinions. There's a reason I own two copies of this book, one physical and one digital, and if that's not a recommendation I don't know what is.

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things-we-used-tc-share · 3 years

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Empty Spaces

Ships (For the whole fic): Demus | Logince | Moceit | Background Remile | Brotherly!Creativitwins

Warnings (For the whole fic): Alcohol, swearing, kissing, innuendo and flirting (or Remus, being Remus), mentions of mental health problems, mentions of tough family backgrounds, smoking and vaping mentions.

Fic Summary: At the age of 16, every person wakes up feeling their soulmates emotions alongside their own. Scientists are unsure whether this is an evolutionary tactic, or divine intervention, but most soulmates are twinned in the same general vicinity and don’t move away until they’ve found their ‘other half’.

Roman and Remus have spent their entire lives by each other’s side, and are ready for their next adventure; university. Remus is more than determined and ready to meet his soulmate, whereas Roman has to unlearn much of his upbringing before he’s ready to meet his own. Still, only fate really decides, right?

Word Count: 1836

Part A: Calming the Storm

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Part B: Creating a Storm

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Roman takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, his eyes falling closed for a mere second before he shoves his keys and wallet into his bag and opens his door. He’d tidied up his hair a little, attempted to freshen up, but he couldn’t seem to drag his body into the shower and had ended up washing his face with a cloth. He locks his door behind him, stepping to the main exit with an unusual feeling of discomfort. He could just not go, not turn up, it would probably do them both a favor.

In his chest, for once there is no icy emotionless void, but anxiety, creeping through him and wrapping around his own in a suffocating fashion. He opens the door, and walks through it, letting it close with an echoing thud behind him. His steps feel hesitant, his body acting against his own mind like his DNA is trying to rip itself apart.

His soulmate certainly is not faring much better, icy waves of fear and anger rolling through him almost as well as Roman’s. But they are soulmates, and this always was and always will be inevitable. Logan is inevitable in his life, with his beautiful hair, and beautiful eyes, and...Roman sighs, eyes falling shut for a moment. He can get through this, it’s just coffee.

The redhead tries to steady his emotions as he makes his way through the campus, all of the buildings familiar and yet could not be further from his reality at that present moment. He halts outside the cafe, staring up at a sign he’s seen so many times, but it feels alien to him. His eyes peer through the windows, settling on the person he couldn’t avoid even when he’d tried. His hand falls on the handle, but it’s almost as if he’s not the one moving it. His jaw tenses, his lips fixed into a frown, as he pulls it open and pushes his body through it like it’s made of lead.

Roman approaches the counter and makes his order, gesturing to the table he will be sitting at, the barista jokes lightly that he’s sure he won’t miss his hair. Usually, it would make him laugh, but Roman manages a noise that sounds slightly less annoyed than he is. He takes a breath in, turns, and approaches Logan where he’s sat, staring absently into the surface of what appears to be a black coffee.

“Hi,” he utters softly, sitting down.

“Hello,” Logan replies, his voice crisp and clipped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to approach you.”

“I know, I could feel your frustration and fear,” his cold eyes look up from the drink and meet Roman’s, he looks as devoid as he’d expected, like all of his emotions had drained out of him. “Did you feel it too? Like you couldn’t control your body, no matter how much you didn’t want to be here?” A resigned nod in response. “At the very least we’re on the same page, I doubt I could handle it if you were like some kicked puppy.”

“No, I suppose whatever cosmic game this is, is cleverer than that.” Logan gives a humorless snort, his eyes trailing back to the coffee cupped between his slightly reddened hands. “So what now?”

“I suppose we be soulmates, whatever that may mean for either of us,” he takes a deep breath in, looking as defeated as Roman has felt since he’d found out there’s a whole other half of his soul that doesn’t reside in his own body. He wants to be angry at Logan, for stealing half of him, but he looks just as miserable about this situation as he is, and he just doesn’t have it in him to find that sort of fury. “What is it to you?”

“Not very much,” he shrugs. “I have half of me, and you have the other half, it defies science and logic, therefore I can’t really form an opinion of it; it’s simply what it is, and there’s no escaping it, no matter how hard I may try.” Roman nods, leaning back in his chair and staring at his hands, he picks at the skin around his nails. “Stop that,” Logan mutters, his hand darting out as if on autopilot, before faltering “...it’s bad for you,” he hand falls back to his cup. “My brother does that all the time, eating his skin, I tried to explain that skin is supposed to be on top of your body, not inside it, but he doesn’t listen.”

“I’m not eating it.” He stops picking at his skin.

“But you do, don’t you?” Roman quirks a small smile, exhaling through his nose in a gentle laugh. Logan’s lips almost make a smile. “What about you? What is a soulmate to you?”

“A shock, a horror, and not much more, no offense,” Roman shakes his head, looking up towards the counter, anywhere but at Logan. “I found out they exist a few months before my sixteenth birthday and then one day I woke up and all my feelings were jumbled up, half of them mine, half of them…” he meets the other’s eyes for a brief second, swallowing dryly “...I’d never felt so cold before.” Logan doesn’t take offense, he just nods, Roman can still feel the coldness there, even now. “What happened?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You...it’s like you don’t feel anything at all.”

“And you feel in such overwhelming quantities, what reaction were you expecting?” There’s a long pause, movement catches Roman’s eyes and he looks over to see the barista bringing over his coffee. The two of them fall silent, and the redhead offers a polite, if not drained smile of thanks. When he retreats, they turn back to each other, like this is some secretive conversation that no one can ever know they had. “I was unused to it, I woke up and all I felt was anxiety crashing down on me like a tidal wave, so I shut down, I stopped feeling it, it wasn’t conscious, that’s fairly par for the course when it comes to emotional management.”

Roman bites the inside of his lip. So he’s the reason Logan is a black hole, it’s to stop himself burning out, or perhaps he’s perpetually burned out. Either way, it’s Roman’s fault.

“Stop that too, there’s no use holding yourself accountable, you personally did not dictate this situation.” Right, of course, soul bond. “The way I see this is we can keep doing this backward and forwards, blaming ourselves and blaming each other...but there’s no real need for avoidance, there’s no rule book to soulmates.” Roman blows against the surface of his coffee, taking a sip as he listens attentively to Logan. “What I’m suggesting is we take this as it comes, no need to pressure into the fanciful love stories, but no need to ostracise each other either, both and either will only end in us both becoming more frustrated and I’m in no life placement to deal with that in addition to my studies.” He holds out a hand. “Do we have an agreement?”

Roman places his coffee back down, hesitating, but this seems like the best outcome even if he’s in no state to start running alternative ideas in his head. He takes Logan’s hand and shakes it. His hand is soft, and a little cold despite the lingering warmth of the coffee cup against his palm. “We do.”

Logan gives an affirming nod, turning back to his coffee cup and retreating his grip from Roman’s. They both vaguely dislike the soft skip of their hearts in their chests. It’s just some strange biological fluke, they think to themselves, it’s impossible to fall in love so fast.

They talk about anything else for the remainder of the hour, like they were strangers that had met the way everyone else gets to meet, in a cafe, on the street, in a bar. Not lovers, not soulmates, but real strangers. They talk about their lives, their studies, their childhoods, Roman talks about his brother, and Logan mentions his own, but it becomes clear less than four words in that it’s something he doesn’t really want to discuss. Roman does not press for answers, instead, he shares the amusing information that his brother’s soulmate does in fact, have another boyfriend. “Ouch,” Logan replies, cracking the first genuine smile of the hour “...that has got to sting.”

“Oh no,” Roman shakes his head, grinning. “No, that’s basically the dream for my brother, to be honest, I never imagined monogamy to be his style, soulmate or not, he’s a restless son of a bitch if nothing else, I give it maybe another two months and he’ll have them both.” The other man shakes his head, sipping his second cup of coffee with amusement on his face. He’d not even managed to hold down one partner, he didn't want one, he couldn’t imagine the claustrophobia and exhaustion of multiple. But then, to each their own, he holds no judgment for this stranger that’s being described to him. If anything he’s a little impressed, frankly it’s heroic to an introvert such as Logan that one man can manage to hold down two men at once.

When they’ve exhausted all the conversation that they have left in them, the two sit in silence. “Should I...get your number?” Roman asks, not wanting to admit he’s enjoyed the other’s company, and by the gentle warmth that he knows is not his own by its soothing mellowness, so has Logan.

“You have the assertiveness of a soggy biscuit,” Logan replies, sliding a pen out of his jacket pocket. He takes Roman’s hand between his fingertips with surprising gentleness, and clicks the pen, scribbling his number on the back of the redhead’s hand. He looks...amused, and he feels it too, there’s some strange relief in feeling it. Roman had been so sure he’d have to hate his soulmate, to keep his distance until he’s ready, that he’d forgotten that friendship was a viable option for the two of them. Logan does not seem all that eager to fall headfirst in love either. He’s study orientated, he wants a career and a life before he worries about the particularities of caring for another person in equal measure to himself.

Roman shares the sentiment, too.

“I have work to do,” the designer manages out.

“Me too,” replies his companion.

“I’ll text though.”

“And I’ll reply when I have the time.” They share a brief nod, gathering up their cups to take to the counter, and then part with a simple goodbye. It does not feel final, it does not feel anxious or irritated, and for once Roman feels an utter calm in his emotions. Equally, Logan answers in his own chest with contentment that neither had experienced since their sixteenth birthday. There is nothing in their journeys back to their flats but equilibrium.

#es ts #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #ts sides #ts sides fic #dukeceit #logince

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Cullavellan and Fenhawke pirate AU: Sparring

Chapter 12 of Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me is up on AO3! It’s another long one (everyone’s POV this week, yay!), so only the first section is here. Read the rest on AO3.

In which there is – you guessed it – sparring. Also a little NSFW. 😏

Divine beautiful soft luscious art by @schoute!!

- PIPER -

“... if we keep running downwind, we should be in view of Kirkwall before sunset,” Dorian was saying. “That will give you ample time to sneak into the city after dark and figure out where things stand. Rather perfect timing, if I do say so myself.” He complacently adjusted one of his many gold rings.

Piper shot him a knowing smirk. “You make it sound as though the favourable winds were your making.”

“My fair captain, you underestimate the power of my dulcet words,” Dorian said loftily. “Who’s to say I didn’t whisper to the Old Gods themselves to blow some wind into your ragged old sails?”

Piper scoffed and shoved him. “Ragged nothing. These sails are perfectly patched.”

“Yes, well.” Dorian shot the lovingly-patched sails a disdainful look. “The point still stands that we should be in Kirkwall by this evening.”

“Excellent,” Piper said. “We’ve made good time. Better than expected, actually.” She leaned her elbows on the railing in front of the helm and watched as the crew sparred on the deck under Fenris’s supervision. Usually the trip from Rialto to Kirkwall took about eight days, but if they arrived tonight as Dorian predicted, the trip will have taken only seven.

In the depths of her selfish heart, Piper was regretting how quickly they’d managed to return.

Dorian leaned back against the railing and folded his arms. “So. What is the plan?”

Piper shot him a funny look. “You know the plan. We sneak into Kirkwall, see what’s happening—”

“I don’t mean that,” Dorian said dismissively. “I mean with our handsome blond guest.” He raised his eyebrows. “Is the fine commander going to be joining our illustrious crew?”

She returned her gaze to the sparring crew, who included both Cullen and Rylen. That’s a good question, Piper thought. The shameful truth was that she didn’t know, because she and Cullen hadn’t spoken again about his joining the Lady Luck.

After that perfect kiss on the beach in Rialto, Piper and Cullen had spent another night in her usual room in the Hanged Man. But this time, very uncharacteristically for Piper, she’d kept on her clothes and hadn’t even tried to proposition him. She knew how Cullen’s mind worked, and she knew that he wouldn’t allow himself to sleep with her unless he decided to stay on the Lady Luck.

It was his sense of honour. Cullen was a serious man, and without even knowing his relationship history, Piper knew he hadn’t slept with that many people. Sex was something he took seriously, and he wouldn’t sleep with someone unless he was invested. Piper, on the other hand, was something of the opposite; it wasn’t that sex didn’t matter to her, but it had always been more about fun and pleasure than an expression of love.

With Cullen, however, she had a terrible suspicion that sex would be different. She didn’t just want to sleep with him because he was handsome. She didn’t just want to sleep with him because it would be fun. She wanted to sleep with him because… well, because he was Cullen, for Mythal’s sake. He was her Golden Boy, the finest man she knew, and… and she…

She stopped herself before she could take that vulnerable thought any further. Regardless, after that first perfect kiss on the beach, they’d lain face-to-face on the bed in the Hanged Man — Piper beneath the covers and Cullen on top — and they’d talked about all sorts of innocuous things: little stories about his childhood, little stories about Piper’s own adventures, and innocent chit-chat about the crew and speculation about how long it would take for Fenris to admit that he liked Rynne. They’d talked late into the night until they’d both fallen asleep, and when they woke the next morning, they’d greeted the new day with another kiss.

Piper hadn’t even really meant to kiss Cullen again. Well, she had, but she’d been going for a kiss on the cheek, the same as she had done when he was asleep in her cabin on the Lady Luck. But just as she was about to place a gentle kiss on his stubbled cheek, he snapped awake.

Piper froze with her face a whisper away from his. Cullen stared at her with wide eyes, and after a tense, breathless moment, he slipped his palm around the back of her neck and pulled her close.

He kissed her softly — so infinitely softly, just a tender press of the lips — and Piper happily accepted his kiss, drifting dreamily in the softness of his lips and the ecstatic pounding of her heart until he leaned away from her with a tiny smile.

And then they’d gotten out of bed and returned to the Lady Luck, and they’d set their course for Cullen’s return to Kirkwall, and neither Cullen nor Piper had brought up the issue of his remaining on the Lady Luck.

That didn’t stop them from continuing the new routine of sleeping face-to-face on her bed, with Piper hidden beneath the blankets and Cullen lying chastely on top. The first night back on the Lady Luck, Cullen had gallantly tried to sleep on her couch, but Piper had teased and cajoled him into sharing her bed. And the next morning, and every morning thereafter, they’d started each morning with a sweet, tender kiss.

But every morning kiss they shared was one day closer to Kirkwall. And now, with Kirkwall practically in sight, it seemed that she and Cullen had shared their last morning kiss.

You don’t know that, she reminded herself. It was still possible that Cullen would join her crew. That was the whole point of not talking about it, after all; as long as they didn’t talk about it, there was still a chance that he would stay, and Piper would shamelessly cling to that chance until Cullen told her in no uncertain terms that he was going to remain in Kirkwall.

“Hello? Captain? Did your wonderful mad brain jump ship?” Dorian drawled.

She shook her head slightly, then smiled casually at Dorian. “I, um, don’t know what Cullen’s plans are. He’ll let me know when we’re back in Kirkwall.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

She shrugged confidently — far more confidently than she felt. “He hasn’t decided yet if he’s staying with us or not.”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose even higher. “Why in Andraste’s sacred bosom would he not stay with us?”

Piper widened her eyes. “I know, right? The Lady Luck is the best ship. Who in their right mind would turn down the chance—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Dorian interrupted. “He’s in love with you. Of course he should stay on your blasted ship.”

Her stomach flip-flopped at Dorian’s words, but she laughed him off. “Ah, we’ll see what happens, won’t we?” She pushed away from the railing and sauntered back to her place behind the helm.

Dorian turned to stare at her with his arms folded. “Do my ears deceive me? Is it possible that Mad Piper is being a coward?”

She bit back a spike of annoyance. Dorian was just trying to be a good friend. “Probably,” she said.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Wha–? You’re probably being a coward?”

“No,” Piper said. “Your ears are probably deceiving you. When was the last time you cleaned them? You are looking a little less than tidy, you know.” She gave his fastidiously clean outfit a judgmental once-over.

Dorian tilted his head chidingly. “Ha ha. Laugh all you like, Captain, but you know I’m right.” He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. “You should press him about it. Tell him what you want. You have to fight for what's in your heart.”

I already have, she thought sadly. That was what made this so hard. Piper had already told Cullen that she wanted him to join her on the ship. It was up to him to decide if it was what he wanted, too… and that was the most painful thought to endure. What if he said no? What if he ultimately decided to remain in Kirkwall?

Her chest felt tight at the very thought. She mustered a smile and rolled her eyes at Dorian. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, and she waved her hand dismissively. “Stop hassling the Captain and get back to work, you gossipy git.”

He snorted, then unfolded his arms and began to saunter away. “And the descent into despotism begins. Don’t make me gather the officers for an intervention,” he called over his shoulder.

“Hah!” Piper retorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

Dorian waved lazily to her as he wandered away. When he was out of earshot, Piper heaved a heavy sigh and rested her arms wearily in the spokes of the steering wheel.

A little while later, Varric joined her at the helm. “Cap,” he said affably. “Ready to change over?”

“Sure am,” she said. She disentangled her arms from the spokes and gave the wheel a loving pat, then stepped away from the helm.

Varric pulled over the sturdy box he stood on while manning the helm. He glanced at Piper as he stepped onto the box. “You all right, Captain?”

“Yep,” she said brightly. She tried to avoid his eye without being obvious about it; Varric was a little too good at sussing out people’s feelings just by looking at them.

“You know the drill,” she said. “Holler for me if the ship starts sinking, that sort of thing.”

He chuckled. “No problem.”

Piper traipsed down the short flight of stairs to the deck and wandered over to join the sparring group. They were standing in a loose circle around Cullen and Rylen, who were were facing off now, and the crew were playfully jeering at their structured navy style.

Piper sidled up to Fenris, who was watching Cullen and Rylen with folded arms. She shamelessly watched Cullen thrusting and parrying for a moment before speaking to Fenris. “Where’s Rynne?” she asked. For the past week, Rynne had been splitting her days between medical training with Anders and combat training with Fenris. She’d started coming to the group sparring sessions for the past couple of afternoons, but she wasn’t here today.

“With Anders, I assume,” Fenris said flatly.

Piper hummed an acknowledgement and glanced at Fenris’s wounded right shoulder. He no longer wore a bandage, and the shallow slice across his shoulder was mostly healed, but the stitches were still in place.

“How’s the arm?” she asked.

He shrugged. His eyes remained on Cullen and Rylen as their blunted practice swords clashed together. “It is fine.”

Piper nodded. “Stitches are still there, though.”

He shot her a brief irritated glance. “And? What of it?”

She shrugged, unbothered by his terse manner. Fenris was notorious for picking out his own stitches rather than allowing Anders to remove them, purely in order to avoid contact with Anders. Piper was certain that the only reason Fenris still had his stitches was that he was waiting for Rynne to remove them, but she decided against asking him about it, not wanting to irritate him further.

He’d been particularly quiet and broody this week whenever he wasn’t with Rynne. When he was with Rynne, however — which was quite a lot of the time — he seemed to fluctuate between being uncharacteristically soft and particularly brusque. Personally, Piper wasn’t sure how Rynne could tolerate the whiplash of Fenris’s obnoxious mood swings, especially since he was obviously only being moody because he liked her.

But it wasn’t Piper’s business to say. She didn’t really want anyone poking at her and Cullen’s business either, after all.

“Just wanting to make sure you’re in tip-top shape in case we need to fight,” she said.

Fenris nodded silently. A moment later, Piper leaned in close to him again. “Listen, Fenris, I know you’re worried about going back to the city, with the WANTED posters and all. But I promise—”

“Stop,” he said quietly. “I stand with you, Piper.” He pursed his lips. “This is a mistake, but I won’t abandon you.”

She smiled. Coming from Fenris, that might as well have been his declaration that Piper was his best friend in all of Thedas.

She gently punched his arm. “Aw, Fen, no need to get sappy on me. I already know I’m your second-favourite person on the ship.” All right, fine, maybe she wasn’t above poking him a little bit about his feelings for Rynne.

He shot her an annoyed look, and she smirked at him before returning her attention to Cullen and Rylen. A minute later, their match ended with the blade of Cullen’s practice sword along Rylen’s throat.

The crew jeered and stamped their feet, and Rylen bowed to Cullen with a smile. “Well fought as always, Commander.”

Cullen smiled and nodded to his lieutenant. Fenris unfolded his arms and frowned at the crew. “Who is next?” he barked.

“Me,” Piper said loudly. She took a step into the circle. “I challenge the Commander to a match.”

The crew broke into a chorus of ooohing and stomping their feet, and Piper grinned at them before turning to Cullen with her hands on her hips. “How about it, Golden Boy?”

Cullen bowed gallantly. “I would be honoured, Captain Lavellan.”

The crew jeered more loudly at his manners, and Piper laughed. “There’s no place for such manners on the Lady Luck, Cullen,” she purred. She sashayed over to the rack of blunted practice weapons and selected a sword that nearly matched Cullen’s sword in length and weight.

“My apologies, Captain,” he said. “I will try to be less mannerly in the future.”

He was smiling, and Piper grinned at him. Now that was a cheeky remark, and one she’d be happy to exploit in a more personal setting, if ever he gave her the chance.

He was standing in a typical navy man’s ready-stance, with his practice sword partly raised and his legs slightly bent. Piper sauntered over to face him and slowly ran her finger along the flat of his blade.

“Such a rude boy,” she said silkily. “I’ll have to think up a special punishment for you.”

His eyes widened slightly, and his cheeks started to redden. The crew laughed raucously, and Piper grinned more widely still. Cullen wanted to make cheeky remarks to her? Well, she was more than happy to be just as cheeky in return.

She stepped away to face him and playfully mimicked his posture, eliciting another ripple of laughter from the assembled crew. Cullen narrowed his eyes and smirked, but he didn’t move.

They watched each other in silence for a moment. Piper kept her attention equally on his face and his feet and the tip of his sword, but he didn’t move.

So Piper took a small step to the left.

Cullen moved smoothly to his left as well, and Piper grinned as they began to circle each other slowly. Sure, he could follow her steps, but he wasn’t going to make the first move. He was too well-trained to move first unless it was necessary.

She cockily twirled her sword just to prove she could, and a chiding smile lit his face. Then Piper rushed at him.

Clang. Their blunted blades clashed with a dull ring of steel, and Piper was pushing forward with a flurry of quick strikes that Cullen swiftly parried. Then Cullen dodged slightly to the left and brought his sword in close to strike at her side.

She just barely dodged his strike and parried it with her sword, and an ooh of interest went up from the crew. Piper skipped out of Cullen’s range and faced him, her eyes darting between his blade and his face, and as she took a second to catch her breath, she admitted the truth: he was the better swordsman.

It was obvious, and it was something she’d known before stepping into this match with him. Cullen had over fifteen years of rigorous navy training, and while Piper had been scrapping since she was nine and fighting with all sorts of blades since the day she set foot on the Lady Luck, her form was nowhere near as perfect as Cullen’s.

But she had two tools that Cullen wouldn’t think to use: improvisation and dirty tricks.

He was in his ready-stance once more, and there was a small, smug smile on his lips. Piper laughed. “Think you’ve won already, have you?” she said.

He shook his head but didn’t break his stance. “I never discount an enemy until they’re flat on the ground,” he replied.

“Is that so?” She twirled her sword once more and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “If you wanted me flat on the ground, Commander, all you had to do was ask.”

The crew hooted in appreciation, and Cullen’s cheeks turned pink once more. Piper took advantage of his embarrassment to rush him again, this time dodging to his left to try and throw him off. He parried her just as easily as the first time, but Piper swiftly dropped to her knees and rolled beneath his arm, then popped to her feet behind him and pinched his bum.

He grunted in surprise, and Piper ducked under his arm and dodged back around to face him. His face was flaming red now, and his eyes were wide. “Did you just… grab my bottom?” he asked in disbelief.

“I did,” she said complacently. “Do you want to return the favour?” She turned to the side slightly and arched her back.

His eyes dropped to her butt for an instant before flicking back up to her face, and she grinned. But still he didn’t move, and his sword hand was steady, and Creators, Piper wanted to throw him off balance.

She sashayed closer to him, then reached out with her practice sword and slowly stroked her blade along the length of his with a faint hiss of metal. “Such a strong and stoic commander,” she teased. “Come on, Cullen, play with me.”

He didn’t move. “I didn’t realize this was a game,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Of course it is,” she said. “And I’m winning.” She lunged at him again.

He parried her instantly and pushed forward at the same time. Piper stumbled back, and suddenly his sword was coming down from above to aim at her head.

Piper brought her sword up just in time. His blade slammed against hers with a ring of blunted steel, and Piper braced her palm on the flat of her blade to hold him back.

Fenedhis, he was fucking strong. Her arms were trembling with the effort of holding him back. Her heart was pounding with exertion and undeniable excitement, and she couldn’t help but stare at his parted lips.

Cullen took another aggressive step toward her, forcing her to lean back to alleviate the pressure of his blade on hers. Focus, Piper, she scolded herself. It was all well and good to find his strength incredibly sexy, but it was another thing to be so riled up that she actually lost a sparring match.

She twisted quickly to the side, escaping the incessant press of his blade, and he stumbled to the side, then smoothly swung his sword back up to defend himself as she lunged at him once more. His eyes widened as she rushed him, and suddenly they were face to face, and – shit, her thigh was brushing between his legs, and only their crossed blades were keeping their bodies apart.

Piper gasped for breath. His gorgeous brown eyes were wide, and his chest was heaving as well, and this was the closest they had stood to each other since that beautiful night on the beach. His cheeks were turning pink, and a giddy rush rolled through her pounding blood at the thought of him remembering the moment too.

Focus, Piper, focus, she thought feverishly. Don’t think about kissing him. Don’t think about your knee between his fucking legs. Focus on this moment. She quickly slid her foot just behind his own, then shoved at his chest with all her strength.

He stumbled back over her foot, but Piper had used this trick on him a few months ago in Kirkwall, and Cullen was too well-trained to be fooled a second time. He brought up his sword while simultaneously finding his balance, and Piper grinned at him.

“Ooh, you’re a quick study, Commander,” she panted.

“I would hope so,” he replied. “Otherwise, I–”

Piper lunged at him again, her sword lashing in a frenzy to keep him occupied as she pushed her way into his space. His eyes widened as he backed away, and a rush of excitement made her light-headed for a moment: she was about to win, she could see it, she could feel it in the desperation of his parries—

She brought the edge of her blade up to his throat, and he froze.

But Piper froze as well. There was a fine and unmistakable line of pressure at the base of her ribs.

Cullen was holding a dagger to her ribs — Piper’s own dagger, which he had taken off of her body at some point during the fight.

The crew was silent for a moment before erupting in a wave of appreciative murmurs and applause, and Piper gaped at Cullen in equal parts disbelief and delight. Cullen had used a dirty trick. He’d stolen her weapon when she wasn’t looking, probably when they were clinched face-to-face. He’d… fuck, he’d used her own tactics against her.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You were, er, distracted,” he said. A bashful smile lit his face.

She stared at him, heart pounding with exertion and pride and… fine, yes, she was fucking turned on. Standing this close to him and seeing the sheen of sweat on his chest, and knowing he’d broken the navy rules of engagement to get them both in this position…

She dropped her sword and gripped his shirt in both hands. “Pirate,” she whispered accusingly.

His face turned bright red. He’d dropped his sword as well, and his free hand was curved around her waist, and it was taking every ounce of willpower for her to not kiss him right here and now in front of the entire crew.

Stay with me. The pleading wish rushed through her giddy mind. Cullen looked like a pirate, and he could fight like a pirate when he was pressed, and the innocent nights they’d been spending curled up face-to-face on her bed were better than the finest sex she’d ever had, and… Fen’Harel save her, but she really didn’t want to lose him.

But she couldn’t tell him so. She couldn’t ask again for him to stay. As long as he didn’t say anything, he hadn’t yet said no.

With a huge effort of will, she forced herself to release him and to step away. She turned to Fenris with a grin. “So? What’s your verdict, Fen?”

His arms were folded, and his eyebrows were lifted appreciatively. “That is what I would call a draw,” he said.

The crew exclaimed in agreement, and Piper turned to Cullen. He was smiling at her, but his eyebrows were tilted in that sad way that she was really starting to dread.

She bowed to him with a flourish to escape his sorrowful gaze. “Commander,” she said in a mock-professional manner. “We should do this again sometime.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-yes, I… I would like that.”

She smiled at him, then turned to the crew. “Keep it up, boys and girls!” she called. “A royal to the crew member who beats Cullen using clean tactics only!”

There was a fresh round of applause and laughter, and Cullen shot her a chiding look. She winked at him playfully, then slipped away from her gathered crew and made her way toward the stern. Her mind was a roil of uncertainty and pride and wistfulness, and her blood was thrumming with nerves and an inconvenient degree of lust, and she desperately wished she could go for a nice bracing swim to clear her head.

Instead, she wandered back up to the helm and sat at the table. Varric briefly glanced at her. “Hey,” he said. “Back already?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m going to have a look over the maps.” She kicked her bare feet up on the table and pulled over one of Dorian’s maps.

She and Varric were quiet for a while. Then Varric spoke again. “Sure you don’t want to talk?”

Piper looked up. He was looking over his shoulder at her, and his expression was neutral but kind.

She looked down at the maps again. So much for pretending everything was fine. Damned Varric was too clever for his own good. Still, she wasn’t really in the mood to talk. “Thanks, Varric, but I’m all right,” she said.

“Okay,” he said affably. They fell quiet again, and Piper picked listlessly at the corner of the map for a minute.

“No matter what, you’re going to be fine, you know,” Varric said suddenly.

Piper glanced at him. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his expression was sympathetic.

She smiled and shrugged. She knew what he meant, but she decided to deflect. “Of course I will. We all will. I’ll be leading the charge, and you know how lucky I am.”

He chuckled. “I sure do.” He turned around to face the bow once more.

Piper smiled faintly at his back, then pulled over the captain’s log to start a new entry. She was a firm believer in making her own luck, and it really felt like she’d done everything in her power to draw Cullen into her world.

She could only hope that it was enough.

Read the rest on AO3, picking up from Cullen’s POV!

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elisende · 3 years

Text

Songs in the Night (2/?)

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Gale, Astarion, Wyll Rating: T (will change in later chapters) Words: 1508 Summary: Halsin attempts a dangerous ritual to save his beloved from purgatory while in the Fugue Plane Langoth is confronted by an old enemy and a terrible choice. Desires are the flowers of the living They do not bloom in the realm of death. Giovacchino Forzano, Suor Angelica

In the grey silence of the Fugue Plane, all Langoth had was memory.

He remembered the terror of dying, the acrid stench of the minotaur as it snarled above his wrecked body. The shattering force of the killing blow and the numbness that followed when his spine snapped, as though he had been submerged in glacial water. Further back: the peculiar gem at the fort, the apprehension of their descent. The tenderness of Halsin’s touch at dawn, the heat that the druid kindled in him. The birdsong as their bodies joined. Joy perhaps never to be experienced again.

He swiped a tear from his cheek and lifted his eyes to the empty sky like a supplicant awaiting a sign from the gods. Perhaps his love would speak again across the gulf of the planes.

You won’t be getting any help from up there.

The voice, so familiar, was not on the air but resounded his head. He spun around by instinct and saw him. Derenth. He was the same wild-haired, barefoot boy he’d been when Langoth had run away from the Cloakwood, decades ago. But that’s impossible, he thought. The boy had simply appeared from thin air.

When you are dead, coz, the boy who was possibly Derenth said, The impossible becomes probable. If it was not Derenth, it was a perfect double: he had the same impish grin, the one his aunt seemed to find adorable but which filled Langoth with instinctive dread.

My companions will revive me, Langoth said. Even in his own head his words sounded uncertain.

Unlikely. You’ve been dead a while, or I wouldn’t’ve been summoned. Time is different in this place. That’s a lesson for free and here’s another: you need to go to the tower. Derenth pointed toward the horizon that had been empty only moments ago. Langoth followed his cousin’s finger to the city that had appeared there.

Know what it is? Derenth said. If there were air, he’d be breathless.

The City of the Dead, Langoth answered in his mind. He shut his eyes as though banishing it from sight would make it disappear. His cousin’s laughter--that he remembered well--echoed in his head.

Can’t wish it away, coz, Derenth said, You’re dead.

Halsin’s fight was all the more fierce for his desperation. But not fast enough.

They felled the last minotaur inch by blood-drenched inch, grinding it down until one final slash of Wyll’s rapier ended it. Before the beast hit the ground, Halsin was back at Langoth’s side.

It was too late: he was too long dead, lost to Kelemvor’s kingdom.

Gale spoke first, pacing vigorously. “We can fix this, I am certain we can fix this. Let’s take him back to camp, get the talkative skeleton fellow to summon him back. He can bring anyone back.”

“It would take half the day to ascend and reach the camp,” Halsin said. “By then, he’d be far beyond the reach of any necromancer.” He touched Langoth’s cheek, the only part of him that wasn’t spattered with blood. It was already cold.

How could fate be so cruel as to rend them apart so soon after they’d found one another? To steal away a life that had only just begun? He wished he could trade all his wasted centuries for the boy’s life. He would do it with gladness in his heart. He suddenly remembered. An ancient ritual. A bleak night, shadows on the wall. A time he wished to forget--but perhaps that memory would be what saved Langoth.

“There is one rite,” Halsin said slowly. He glanced at Gale; he’d need to be careful how much he revealed. If they knew everything the rite entailed, they’d never agree to help him and he couldn’t do it alone.

Astarion limped over, his bloodred eyes fixed on the ranger’s body. “If it will bring him back, then let’s try,” he said softly.

“Agreed,” Wyll said. “Let’s revive him however we can. Except not, you know. As an undead. Then we’d just have to kill him again.” Astarion shot him a venomous look. “Too soon?”

“What is this rite, precisely?” Gale said, more circumspect. He was wise indeed, Halsin thought, to be wary of meddling with the divine.

“You still have the wyvern poison that Nettie gave you? Good. I’ll drink to just beyond the point of death. Long enough to find him in the Fugue Plane and bring him back with me. You must revive me before my soul loses its connection to this plane.” He did not add that if they delayed there was a good chance that both their souls would be forfeit. Kelemvor did not take kindly to interlopers or those who would cheat him of his due.

“That is risky,” Gale said, considering. Finally he sighed. “But I don’t see that we have much other choice.”

Halsin wasted no time. He found the wyvern poison in Langoth’s pack and decanted it, measuring just enough to stop his heart. It was more than the average elf would require, but Nettie, in an abundance of caution, had given Langoth enough to take down a troll.

Wyll frowned as he watched him work. “Master Halsin, are you certain you want to--?”

But he tipped back the fell poison before he could finish and began to mutter the invocation. It was old magic, old as the bones of the immortal city itself; a dead tongue that felt as strange and evil in his throat as the wyvern poison. The words built as he felt his lifeforce ebbing, his heart seizing and the feeling of ice water running through his veins as he said the final incantation and distantly, he heard Gale’s voice saying, This was a mistake....

His mouth grew numb and he spoke Langoth’s name three times before the darkness took him.

The city exuded a pull that was irresistible. Langoth’s eyes kept wandering to it, even as his cousin peppered his mind with jeers and taunts.

It looked very real, at least at this distance. Towers and turrets and gates. Streets where one could imagine people went about the quotidian business of living. If one didn’t know better.

Kelemvor sat at the central tower, meting out judgment on the dead. Consigning them to their gods, to the hells, or to planes beyond. He still couldn’t quite accept that he was one of their number. Dead. A soul without a body.

If I go, he thought, glancing at Derenth, Will you leave me be?

Finally, he gets it. Derenth threw his hands in the air. That’s the whole point of me, coz. To chivvy you the hells along.

And yet still he felt torn. He looked up at the milky sky. As though the chariots of the gods or perhaps the Absolute itself--whatever or whoever it was--would descend from it and free him from this purgatory.

Eh, who the hells are you? Get your own soul to torment, I’m busy with this one, his cousin’s mind fairly squawked in indignation.

Langoth turned and though his body was only an illusory projection, he felt relief to his marrow. He was here, looking as solid as an oak tree amongst the dust and ruin.

Tears again pricked his eyes and he embraced the druid as though he were a piece of driftwood far out at sea. You came, Langoth said, only now realizing that Halsin was the intervention he’d been waiting for.

“I told you I’d never leave you,” he said, with his voice. The sound of it was the only music Langoth wished to hear for the rest of his days. He pressed his forehead to the druid’s. Even in this immortal plane, he could smell his smoky, cedar scent. It made him want to weep with happiness.

Derenth narrowed his eyes. How is it you can speak in Kelemvor’s kingdom, grandsire? Are you some sort of necromancer?

“I’m a druid sworn to Silvanus,” Halsin said. “And I’ve come to claim Langoth back to the prime material plane.” He had never looked so fierce, his eyes burning bright as a tiger’s as he glared down at Derenth. “You will not stop me. Kelemvor himself could not stop me.” Langoth felt a chill of both fear and desire as the druid stared down his nemesis.

Derenth smiled as though pretending to be amused by some weak jest. You’ve made a grave error, druid. The last you shall make on this plane or any other.

And then Derenth was no longer Derenth, his elven form stretching and warping, scales springing from his skin, teeth as long as greatswords shooting from his maw, until he towered above them, a gargantuan black dragon.

“A styx dragon,” Halsin said, spitting out an oath as they beheld the beast’s terrible roar. Langoth fell to his knees at the sound that roiled through both his mind and ears.

When it was over, he rose and took his lover’s hand. Together, he thought.

Halsin nodded, a grim smile hitching the scar that curled under his lower lip. “Always,” he said.

#halsin #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #bg3 Halsin #halsin/omc #langoth #songs in the night #fanfic

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