#Marsh Baldurs Gate

[eyeofthenewt1]

druid romance :3

[propionic]

Balding

[incorrect-losers]

Eddie: I hate it when we end up fighting Pennywise and it decides to infiltrate or impersonate one of us

Eddie *gestures to the losers*: Because I wouldn’t be able to tell if any of you were acting strange because you’ve been replaced, or because this group is just full of weirdos!

[hoontsart]

Love at first... knife?

[starlessea2]

That It Is (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: After a long day trudging through the sunlit wetlands, you discover your bedroll is waterlogged, and that Astarion has lost his in the swamp... AKA, the classic: ‘oh no, there’s one bed, whatever shall we do, darling?’ (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N This one has a tad more enemies-to-lovers vibe to it, but sweetness nonetheless. 

Masterlist

Night was creeping over Faerûn.

After a day of toiling through the deep murk of the sunlit wetlands, your party had found refuge: an abandoned shack a little ways inland from the swamp. It was unassuming enough through the fog that Gale had tripped over its porch, and even Astarion’s darkvision had missed the contours of the old building tucked away. 

But once scoped, you found that the place was empty. Shadowheart deemed it safe enough for you to unpack your bedrolls and dry your waterlogged boots. So you did just that—even managing to rouse a fire with an ignis and a few pieces of damp wood. 

The flames took a few moments to blaze to life, but once they did, the warmth was heavenly on your skin. One by one, you started to shed your wet outer garments, laying them out by the fire.

“Oh, bloody hells!”

A voice rang out over the crackling hearth. You turned to find Astarion on his knees, rummaging through his supply pack half-deranged.  

He flung the contents out onto the floor: some soggy books, a cask of water, pristinely-folded clothes. Then he promptly turned the pack upside down, seemingly devestated to find nothing else inside.

The rogue threw his hands up. “Gone,” he declared, with a dejected sort of laugh. “Be it just my luck after trudging through this gods forsaken waste—”

From the corner of the room, Shadowheart stopped wringing out her gloves. She gave you a look. Deal with him, she said through the shared connection. 

With a sigh, you conceded. “What’s wrong, Astarion?” You stood over the pale elf, hand on hip, “Broken a nail?” 

Irritation painted his face, but his demeanour remained playful.“Ha! Hilarious as always, my dear,” he replied, without sparing you so much as a glance. “Alas, I’m afraid my situation is a tad more dire.” 

You clicked your tongue. “Go on.”

Astarion stood up, taking a moment to dust himself off. “It seems I’ve lost my bedroll somewhere in that bloody marsh,” he finally admitted. 

Somewhere across the room, Shadowheart’s snort was quickly covered up by a faux cough from Gale. “Oh?” you said, “I thought elves didn’t need to sleep.” 

Astarion shot you a glare. “And do you need to dry your clothes by the fire? Need to eat tonight or, gods forbid, drive us half mad with your infernal singing sometime tomorrow?” 

He stalked the cabin, pointing vivaciously at your drying garments, and menial rations you’d hoped wouldn’t spoil. 

You felt your brow furrow at his display. “No need to be rude,” you said shortly. “Today’s been hard on all of us.” Pushing past him, you quickly retrieved your own pack from its place near the door. “Here—just take mine.”

Fishing around the bag, you searched for your own bedroll before producing it for him. Astarion let out a sound of disgust. 

“You could at least try to be grateful, Astarion,” you started. Then you felt it; your trusted bedroll squelched in your hand. It was pasted with a layer of thick algae, and some other mysteries you couldn’t discern. “Son of a—” you cursed. How had you forgotten when it rolled into the marsh earlier in the day?

A hand found your shoulder. “Thanks for the generous offer, my dear, but I think I’ll pass,” Astarion said, proudly. He then flicked a rather large leech off your bedroll, causing Gale to shriek when it landed at his feet. “I’d like to remain the only bloodsucker around here.”

You were about to quip back, when Astarion stepped closer—enough so that his breath dusted your cheek when he spoke. “And I think I spy a bed in the other room. That should do me just fine.” 

It took you a moment to unravel his words. By the time you did, he’d already traipsed halfway across the cabin. “Hang on a moment,” you called after him,“I already staked my claim on that earlier!”

“Hmm?” the elf hummed, feigning ignorance.

The audacity. You shot a glance back at the wizard, who immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Oh no, you don’t,” warned Gale, “I’m staying out of this one.”

To his left, Shadowheart looked equally unbothered by your plight. You scowled at them both. 

It was going to be a long night.

—

The cabin was quiet. It had been some time since you had rested in a place with a roof and four walls. There were no beasties lurking near your camp, or dangers beyond the trees. The only threat to your person was Gale’s snores coming from the main living space. He’d taken refuge on the floor, whilst Shadowheart seized the chaise lounge. 

It was a comfortable night. So in principle, you should have had no problem falling into a dreamless sleep. Especially given the feather bed at your back. 

“You know, my dear,” Astarion whispered, “I might have agreed to this arrangement, but that was under the condition that you get some sleep.”

You tried not to startle, but his words sounded so close to your ear. It made your skin prickle with anticipation—despite doing your utmost not to show it. 

“I think you’ll find I was the one who was forced to agree,” you countered, “and I’m trying. You just—” 

Shifting in the bed, you turned around to face the elf beside you. He was leaning on one arm, gazing up at the wooden ceiling as though he were watching the stars. His eyes found yours. “I what?” he asked. 

You could hear his grin; he was teasing you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down now. “You make me nervous,” you answered bluntly. 

He did not reply. Each second of silence that passed made you more and more uneasy. You couldn’t see him well in the dark. And as much as you tried to make out the contours of his face, you knew for sure discern every line on yours—every expression you hoped to conceal. “And why’s that?” he finally asked.

You let out a huff before falling onto your back. “You know why. Stop acting so smug—It doesn’t suit you."

Astarion’s laugh made its way to you. “Everything suits me, darling.” 

A witty remark alluded you, so you opted to stay quiet. Sleep was what you needed right now. The gods only know how deprived you were of it.

So you plumped your pillow and made yourself comfortable. Then you gathered some blankets to yourself. A yawn left you, but your mind felt anything but relaxed. You readjusted again, this time your body pressing into Astarion's. He moved to accomodate you; you stiffened in response.

“Will you stop wriggling around? I can’t so much as move without you flinching."

At his words, your breath hitched. You were midway through an apology before he interrupted.

“Look at me,” he said.

Despite the darkness, his thumb perfectly traced your jaw until it found the space just under your chin. Gently, he coaxed your head up.

“You know I’ve drank from you, right?” You gasped at his candidness. “I've felt your pulse on my tongue and your blood coat my teeth,” he went on. “Hells, I have your thoughts swimming in my head far more often than you probably realise.”

He paused for a moment, and in that time you breathed twice as fast as you ought to.

“You’ve allowed me that much, so sleeping beside me like this?” he said, with a lightness to his voice, “that shouldn’t matter, now should it.”

You couldn't reply. His words were likely meant to comfort, but they had only the opposite effect. As his fingers brushed your cheek, you immediately pulled back—hoping he did not feel the way you burned for him.

“No. I guess not?” you stuttered.

“Good,” came his reply. “Now sleep. I promise I won’t bite” 

He returned to his side of the bed, not overstepping the invisible boundary you'd drawn earlier that evening.

And on your side, you were left to press down whatever feelings threatened to bubble to the surface. You weren’t quite ready to let them out yet—not when you couldn’t see clearly the face he would make in response.

Right now, you just needed to sleep.

So you focused on the snores echoing from the other room, the rain pattering the windows, Astarion's breaths and your heart—which, without realising, had recently started to beat for him.

“Goodnight, Astarion,” you whispered into the dark.

“Yes, my dear," he said softly. "That it is."

[bull-at-the-gate]

Still on my dragonborn hyper-fixation bs because of Baldur’s Gate

(in between violently resting my wrist because carpal tunnel *and* cysts popping up right on in there)

I started this just practicing simplifying different body types, I think I still have a lotta room to improve; but, what this ended up being was trying to see if I could kinda break up my dragonborn designs to have more diverse facial structures based on different creatures.

Going way too in depth under the break (like a lot, be warned)

Shocking no one, I used a little bit of real scientific theory in what I based each chroma pictured here on.

White Dragonborn

Sehkmet is an outlier however because I mostly use monitor lizards for her references and there’s uh, not too many reptiles in the cold areas white dragons usually reside in. But I can apply the volume rule! Which summarized is why there were so many megafauna during ice ages, the more volume an organism possesses, the more efficiently it retains body heat.

So with more practice honestly, I’d like to get better at drawing her bigger. But essentially in my head, white dragonborn would be the largest chroma of dragonborn on average, Sehkmet herself is just grazing 7’

They have an easier time packing on fat and muscle and can deal with cold weather the best with a dense layer of fur/proto-fur like structure that covers the initial base of scales

Black Dragonborn

What I recall of the normal habitat of black dragons is that it tends to be swampy. I designed a crocodile based black dragonborn a long time ago, and just pulled from there. So I leaned slightly into basing them on piscivorous reptiles. Semi-aquatic adaptations leftover, even if they don’t live on coasts or in marshes.

So thick paddle-like tails are considered the norm in black dragonborns, I think a cool trend that’s be popular with younger black dragonborns would be painting the raised flat portions of their tails with bright colors or designs.

Speaking of looks, very shiny scales, any black dragonborns that have fur or feathers would similarly have them very sleek

Much like white dragonborn, they build muscle and fat stores easily, a well-fed black dragonborn could rely on fat stores for almost a year if necessary.

Blue Dragonborn

I’m a bit undecided on blue dragonborn, mainly because I only have designed and played one and don’t know too much about blue dragons off the top of my head, so this is me making stuff up. Since their breath weapon is lightning, I like the idea of leaning towards high altitude animals.

They don’t have as much pressure to be able to continuously produce a lot of body heat or go without food, so on average, they shed extra fat and muscle quickly if not careful bc fast metabolism.

Very colorful, plumage and frills type, they’re pretty boys I don’t make the rules.

Great eyesight, especially if they lean more bird like. Rip Fara, eyes taken from you too soon (ignore the fact it’s my fault)

Red Dragonborn

I wanted to get a little prehistoric with red dragonborn, canonically red dragons are pretty evil aligned and malicious, so I wanted to make red dragonborns look a little exotic(?). Give them a facial structure that to other species and even dragonborn might be difficult to read (permanent rbf?). Red dragons tend to favor badlands, mesas, and mountains which is very fun.

Titus is a bit of a special case, he’s got a case of too-hot-ouchie-itis. Aka, the peril from wof treatment. Too hot to touch. But on average, red dragonborn don’t run as warm as would be expected. They’re from hot climates so their bodies wouldn’t need to have gotten good at producing high body heat

On that note, they tend to not be fans of cold weather. Dragonborn aren’t reptilian or cold-blooded, so it doesn’t have any extra negative impact. RDs just tend not to enjoy it

They got beef, muscle development is top tier. A lot of RDs naturally have pretty dense musculature but it’s not the most obvious

I like the idea, with red dragons being pretty quick to violence, that RDs skin is kind of loose around the neck and thicker than most other dragonborn

Gold Dragonborn

Ok, here’s where I had very little to go off. Gold dragons are solitary, regal, and not picky about environment from what I could find. So I said fuck it, they’re snakey, idc if some people have preconceived ideas that snakes are evil. These dragons and dragonborn are snakey. And I also, admittedly, don’t have a lot of ideas of common traits or things like the other chroma as of now ;-;

Anyway, this has been another instance of: *putting too much thought into arbitrary things to justify why I gave a dragonborn a crocodile face and another dragonborn a snake face*

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝟙𝟛𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝔸𝕦𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕥 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr x f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, POV second person, human/vampire relationship, vampire powers, vampire seduction, usage of a leash, begging, dub-con, degradation if you squint really hard, smut, vaginal fingering, teasing, PiV, creampie, vampire bites, vampire turning.

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Norona, your childhood friend and now a priestess, gets a letter from you, inviting her to come visit and see your possible groom. Desiring to see you and no less curious about the man who you might marry, the woman returns to Baldur's Gate, only to become a witness to strange events surrounding you.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 12,220 | On AO3

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: See notes at the end of the story~

She saw you laying there, calm and peaceful, not stirring even in the slightest. Just your chest rose and fell with each of your breaths under the blankets. That’s what Norona saw before she stood from her own bed and walked towards the window. It is a hot evening and she wants to open a window, for your sake and her own, hoping that a possible breeze from outside would stir the stuffy air inside.

She came to the Baldur’s Gate to visit you, her dear childhood friend. When she got your letter some weeks ago, you spoke in it of a suitor. Tall and charming, from a good family. Yet your words omitted his name and Norona was dying to hear who he is. She scarcely remembered the noble families in the city, being away for far too long because she pledged her faith to Eilistraee, which led Norona down the paths rarely taken, all across Faerun. A messenger raven found her, not without help of some wizard or two, but it did find her and informed that her dearest friend was not only missing her, but also wanted her opinion about her suitor.

Yet when Norona arrived earlier today, you were reluctant to talk about the man at all, rather focusing on reminiscing over your time together, the childish games you two played, your father, who was now gone, and how he used to show tricks with a piece of paper. All the fun things that made you both laugh.

After the supper, Norona was shown a guest room, but you, still cheerful and excitable as if no years have passed at all, insisted that you two share a room, share a bed. Just like the old times, you persisted playfully, when you two would stay awake late in the night, telling stories of faeries and scary drow, of paladins in shining armors and maidens with rosy cheeks.

So Norona stayed in your bedroom. It has changed since she last saw it. Now it is draped in rich greens and mossy tones of it, reminding the half-elf of forests and marshes that she herself loves so much. The bed, which she shared with you just moments ago before stepping to the window to open it, is royally huge and soft. Silken sheets, many pillows, lightest of blankets stuffed with best feathers. Norona is sure that the quality would befit a Duke. Or maybe even a god or a goddess, if they fancy something like a four-post bed.

Yet it is hot. Too hot to sleep, at least for Norona. So she flings the window open, noting clear skies and a moon that shines brightly on the serpentine streets of Baldur’s Gate. She briefly notices some figures, late night stragglers hurrying about, either with crime on their minds or safety of home. There are some lights in the windows, but what draws Norona’s attention is a great bat, flitting in the moonlight. It keeps coming and going in whirling circles and looks like it has been doing just that for a while now. How the half-elf didn’t hear the flap of its wings she does not pause to think, but as if her presence scared the animal, it makes one more startled whirl near the window and flies off, towards the city center, disappearing from sight.

Quite surprised, Norona wonders what a bat of this size is doing in a big city like Gate. Usually, on her travels, she had seen such bats only in most remote areas. The sheer growth of them preventing the species from safely breeding anywhere close bigger clusters of population. Fear, mainly, is what drives them away when people of all races try to get rid of beasts that truly look quite terrifying up close. And here there was at least one, if not with entire family somewhere nearby.

But Norona doesn’t get to dwell on the bat for longer, because when she turns she sees you, sitting up in bed, eyes closed. Still asleep, she deducts and comes closer, gently calling your name. When no reply comes, the half-elf carefully presses back of her fingers to your forehead, but she finds the skin cool if not slightly sweaty. From the heat, most likely.

“Are you awake?” Norona whispers quietly but when no reply comes, she notices that despite your clearly unconscious state, you are facing the open window. With a smile she wonders if you too, despite your deep sleep, wanted to feel the cool breeze of the night that softly rolls into the room as if commanded by Norona.

Before she can do anything else, lay you down or try to rouse you with her words, you seem to relax and lie back into the soft sheets, turning on your side. Still smiling, Norona feels warmth when she watches you, so calm and peaceful. Then at last she climbs in too, forgoing pulling on the blanket, and closes her eyes.

Maybe tomorrow you will tell her about that suitor.

──────────────────────────────────────────

Norona did meet the mysterious man you spoke about. Long black hair, tall in stature. He seemed like a nice enough man if a little pale. Leon, you introduced him, and Norona saw a flush on your cheeks, yet the guest himself didn’t seem to be excited to be in your presence. If anything, he stood still, unsmiling, yet perfectly polite. Maybe it is his upbringing, Norona thought to herself, and didn’t dwell on it longer. Leon spoke little and kissed your hand as he left, after spending merely half an hour, and departing right before supper.

“He’s always this quiet?” Norona wonders when you both sit down by the dining table and you laugh, waving your hand.

“Not really no, but maybe you startled him. He seems to be so unsure of himself, usually. Maybe he doesn’t like me?” You joke and let the servants pour cold, summer soup into the plates before you both.

“I’m sure he does.” Norona responds with an encouraging smile and you chuckle.

“I hope so, at the very least. It’s hard to pick a groom when I’m all alone.” You begin to eat and Norona watches you just for a moment longer before she starts on her supper as well.

She knows you don’t like to speak of your parents, both of whom passed five years ago or so. They have been influential in Baldur’s Gate enough that the Duke himself showed up at the funeral. But left alone with your family’s riches, you knew that in time you will have to find a man to marry. Leon, it seems, is only one of the candidates.

“So what is so special about this Leon that I needed to come back to see him?” Swallowing a mouthful of cold, rich soup, Norona looks over her plate onto you, and you pause before answering. It’s impolite to speak with your own mouth full, after all.

“Oh well.” You give your friend a sheepish smile. “Honestly, I just really wanted to see you again. Leon is not that special, but he’s the most handsome one at least. He says his family is adjacent to the Szarrs.” Last sentence you whisper like a conspirator and Norona’s eyebrows rise.

“Szarrs? Same ones that we heard about as children? Reclusive and strange? Weren’t there tales going around about maids never returning from the palace?” Lowering her eyes to the plate, Norona frowns. Even as kids you both heard the whispers and the gossip.

“Well yes, but you know how the tales get weaved about the nobles. I’m sure even I have some stories being told about being a loner or that I’m unmarried yet.” Rolling your eyes you scoop up more of the soup and Norona shrugs, remaining quiet for a moment while she eats too.

“You know.” She finally says. “If this Leon is a good match, then why not. Do you think he would be a suitable husband?”

“Maybe. He’s just one of the few so I’m not rushing to make a decision.” Now it’s your turn to shrug and Norona looks at you for a moment, wondering what is going on in your head. Leading on several men is not out of character to you, but how unserious you appear to be about marriage strikes your old friend as strange.

“Well, if you say so.” She offers a smile which you don’t even see because you are focused on your meal.

Rest of the supper continues in silence while Norona wonders if there’s another purpose of her being here, one that you are not sharing.

If there’s something more, you’re not telling her.

──────────────────────────────────────────

“Look, look!” With an excited shout you point at the storefront of Facemaker's Boutique that Norona remembers being in the same spot since forever. You’re pointing at a dress, crimson red in color, truly beautiful.

When you grab Norona’s wrist and pull her with you towards the window, the half-elf observes finer details: the corset that is cut with a tasteful wedge to show off cleavage, how it emphasizes a slim waist of the showing doll it’s put upon, laces and beads – or are they gems? – in intricate patterns, contrasting with dark, rich red against the crimson of the fabric beneath, but most breathtaking is the volume of skirt that makes entire design appear as if the dress is bleeding a pool of blood around it.

It’s truly a wonderful garment, but Norona does not remember you picking such bold fashion statements before. Usually you went for pink or sky blue, most often white. When she turns away from the dress, she sees you completely enamored by the dress, your fingers gripping her wrist not painfully, but almost, because of how excited you are. “Should I get it?”

“Are you sure?” Norona asks and eyes your chosen attire for today - a moss-green dress with a tree-bark brown corset. Then she looks back at the scarlet vision that is a statement and an assertion both. She knows you as gentle, maybe whimsical, slightly naïve, but not the enchantress that would wear something like this.

“It’s so beautiful!” You sigh and finally release Norona’s wrist, stepping even closer to the glass. “Although I don’t know where I would wear it.” After a moment you admit with defeat and your face loses the joy that was there just moments ago. “You’re right, it would be silly of me to get this one. It’s truly breathtaking, but maybe meant for a woman other than me.”

“Don’t be sad. There’s other beautiful dresses that fit you more and are not as…” Norona struggles to find a different word than cutting and smiles, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Your closet is full already, I’m sure of it.”

You chuckle and turn to her, giving her an innocent shrug. “Of that you are correct.” One more glance to the stunning gown that your heart aches to have and you turn away, pointing at the store nearby. “Oh let’s go there!” You beam a smile and Norona relaxes, smiling back to you and following in your steps when you depart from the Facemaker’s storefront at last.

When you whirl to Norona again, wanting to tell her about a ring that one of the suitors have gifted you just three days ago, you notice a man in the crowd. It’s an overcast day and the sky is brewing with rain, therefore a lot of people are wearing warmer clothes and coats. The man easily blends in with them, if not for his tall stature that draws your attention to him. That’s what you think, at first.

Halting in your footsteps, you look at him, eyes meeting and the color of his irises is the same deep, rich ruby as is the dress you nearly purchased. Pointy ears adorned with small studs for earrings and black hair, surrounding the collar of elf’s black coat. He’s not smiling, not scowling. No expression at all is turning his sharp facial features in a show of emotion, but an intense gaze that locks with yours tells more than words or demeanor ever could.

You

are

seen.

Couple figures pass, huddled in their hooded cloaks but you notice nothing except the sea of red that opens up before your own very eyes. You hear your name being called, but it does not register, not right away. Only when Norona tugs at your puffy dress sleeve is when the man turns his gaze away and you snap out of your stupor. Casting a quick glance to your friend, you turn back to where the man stood, but he’s gone. “What is it- Oh.”

Looking around you feel a strange pull to find him, although you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to the elf even if you did find him in the crowd of strangers.

“What happened?” Norona’s brows knit because she doesn’t understand. She didn’t see what you saw, the elf that managed to become a calling beacon, a lighthouse, in a sea of cloaks and the grim haze of the overcast.

“I saw a man. An elf. Do you see him? He was tall.” You rush to explain, stepping towards where he stood but stopping before merging into the crowd.

“What? What man?” Norona now looks around as well, but she sees no one who stands out, no tall elves, that’s for sure.

“I well…” You sigh and give up, realizing that he’s gone without a trace for you to follow, but a strange longing remains in your chest, like a leash pulling you towards this unknown man like a lead upon a pet dog. “Nevermind, I thought… Ah, well. Doesn’t matter.” With a smile you turn to Norona and beam an even wider one. “The shop!”

Walking away towards an open door of the store, you leave Norona behind for a moment longer, who lingers in the spot and glances around once more. Something doesn’t feel right about this, yet she cannot say exactly what. To the priestess it feels like a dark cloud has passed over the street and yet it sounds silly even in her own thoughts.

“Norona?” She hears your voice and forces herself to look away from the passing people and towards you, where you wave at her to hurry with a slender, delicate hand.

“Coming!”

──────────────────────────────────────────

“No! Let go of me! Let go!”

A voice, high pitched and full of panicked anger rings through the hallway that Norona just stepped into. She pauses, surprised to hear sounds of a scuffle and rushes to the open door from with the voice is heard again. “No! No I won’t go! Please!”

Inside a scene unfolds before Norona: a dozen or so broken dishes, upturned pots and ruined food everywhere on the floor, utensils scattered and knives tossed about, way too unsafe to be left like this. And then a boy, a tiefling, no older than fifteen, being held by a Cook and his helper, a woman of many years. The boy is thrashing and the Cook has to be careful lest the horns pierce him, but tiefling’s tail keeps swinging about wildly and hits the woman on the back repeatedly, which she takes with a flinch each time.

“What is going on?” Norona asks loudly and the boy’s eyes, color of amber set in the dark sclera, turn to her, full of panic.

“Let me go! I have to go! I have to follow!”

“Follow who? Your lady?”

“No! I have to!” Suddenly the tiefling falls quiet and turns his eyes to the kitchen window. When Norona follows his gaze, together with the kitchen servants, at first she sees nothing but darkness, but then…

A large bat is fleeting behind the window, only showing itself when it drifts into the moonlight. It rained earlier and after that the sky cleared, revealing beautiful visage of a moon in all her glory. Now that beauty is briefly obscured by the animal repeatedly, hiding the light with its massive body every time it comes closer to the glass.

“What an ugly thing.” The Cook grumbles and Norona has to agree. Is it the same bat she saw couple nights ago? One that fled when she appeared in the window? She can’t be too sure, they all look the same from this distance.

“Please!” The boy suddenly cries and the bat lingers by the window a second longer, then flies off, quickly hidden by the shadows of massive trees right outside.

When Norona looks at the tiefling, he’s already hanging limp in the hands of his captors, head dangling like some child’s toy, appearing nearly boneless. “I won’t resist, I will be good.” He mutters and Norona first makes eye contact with the Cook then with the woman but there are no answers any of them can provide.

The Cook, a burly dwarf with a mustache that would shame any noble, pulls the boy up onto his feet and spits on the floor. “Clean up the mess you’ve made, idiot.” Then he waves his hand in a dismissal way and walks down the stairs to where Norona knows pantry to be.

The woman releases the boy as well and he stands there, defeated and looking embarrassed, but Norona still does not understand what has transpired before she entered the scene. “But what happened?”

“The lad’s gon’ crazy, m’lady, that’s what ‘appened.” The woman glares at the tiefling for a moment longer, but when he doesn’t move she steps to the side and gets a mop, then a bucket and thrusts both into his hands. “’ere, take these and get workin’ before Loreidas kick yer arse until yer tail comes up ye gullet.” She scoffs and gives Norona a look, then shakes her head in disapproval and walks outside, most likely to breathe in some fresh air.

Not feeling like she understands anything, Norona remains in her spot, surprised and not sure what to make of this even when the boy wets the mop and begins sweeping it over the dirty floor. He doesn’t look at the half-elf, nor does he say anything else. It’s as if she’s not even here. She wonders if he will speak to her if she tries to ask again, but decides against it and with one more cautious glance to the boy, she leaves the kitchen.

──────────────────────────────────────────

For seven days you’ve been going to sleep feeling well and waking exhausted, weak and confused. You don’t know what is causing this, but when you wake up tonight, just a mere sight of Norona sleeping next you puts you at ease.

You haven’t admitted to her, the real reason why she’s here, but you’re scared of sleeping alone. The weakness, that the local healer couldn’t find the cause of, began wearing you down to dangerous levels just before Norona arrived. Her presence is making you feel better, relaxed and even though you still wake up tired, it’s not as bad is it has been for days. Unlike the last morning you woke alone, without your friend guarding you.

But tonight it’s almost too hot to sleep. The windows are open and a gentle breeze is moving through the sheer curtains, making them dance like ghosts your nanny used to tell about during late winter nights. When you were still a little girl and imagined yourself a princess. You remember those tales well, of lost lovers and angered parents, of spirits returned to haunt those they missed or hated. But you haven’t seen such things yourself nor you believe them.

Norona stirs and you glance at her, then smile softly. Placing your hand upon hers you resist giving it a comforting squeeze, too afraid to wake your friend. Her presence is making your heart lighter. And despite what you told her, you don’t look forward to the prospect of marrying. If only you had your mother to guide you through the courting, but you don’t and that makes you feel as if you’re stumbling about blindly. What does make one man a suitable candidate and not the other? You don’t know, you haven’t been prepared for this. Heaving a sigh, you know you should sleep and you toss the thin cover aside, not wanting anything else to cover you except for your linen nightgown.

Yet as you fluff your pillow and turn to lie back down, a sound catches your attention. A quiet flap of wings, right outside the window ahead of the bed. At first you ignore it, thinking of pigeons or some messenger creatures sent by local wizards, but your mind corrects you about the birds and so, with curiosity, you glance towards the window only to let out a loud gasp. Immediately you clamp a palm over your mouth and glance at Norona who is still fast asleep. But when you look back towards the window, the giant bat, black as ink, keeps hovering with the help of its huge, leathery wings.

You’ve never seen a bat like this before. It’s almost obscene in how big it is, unnerving you to the last fiber in your body. Despite the heat you shudder and notice beast’s red, beady eyes. You are not sure if it’s looking at you, but you feel watched, observed, studied.

“Shoo.” You hiss at the bat before returning the palm to your mouth, but it doesn’t move, just keeps flapping, hovering in the same spot, unnaturally still for a creature needing to stay in the air.

What you know of bats is that they flit around, side to side, swift and hunting, but this one appears like it’s here for a purpose, although you can’t understand what kind. There’s nothing inside the room that would attract a bat of any size, let alone this kind. No fruits or sweets, no honey or open bottles of mead. Yet the bat remains and it does not fly into the room no matter how much you expect it to. Any moment now, you keep thinking, but nothing happens and at last the animal flaps its wings harder, retreating from the open window. Another second, and it flies off, disappearing out of sight when it takes a turn.

With relief you exhale and slump where you sit, rubbing your sweaty forehead with trembling fingers. You don’t know what you would’ve done if it flew inside, if it started thrashing all around and causing chaos. You are just happy that it didn’t happen. Glancing at still asleep Norona, you wonder if you should wake her, tell her about the bat, but after a moment’s hesitation you decide against it. It was just a bat, no matter how big or terrifying.

Again you look towards the window, now debating yourself if you should close it, but decide not to. The night is way too hot and the animal seemed hesitant to get inside so maybe it won’t return. Clearly there’s nothing here that could entice it to come back. No, it will be looking somewhere else to sate its hunger.

That’s what you tell yourself repeatedly while you take one last cautious glance towards the window and lie down, quickly closing your eyes. You wish to sleep, to rest, and hopefully wake up less tired. You wish for pleasant dreams and hope they will come swiftly to you.

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Sitting on a chaise lounge, you find yourself in a room you don’t recognize. It has heavy dark drapes over the windows and candles everywhere. When you look down, you realize that you’re wearing a dress, similar to the one you saw at Facemaker’s storefront. Except for crimson it’s black, with shimmering gems that reflect the candles in a joyfully bright manner.

Your attention gets caught by the movement behind you and you turn over the shoulder to see who it is, expecting Norona or one of your maids. But you don’t get a glimpse of who is here with you. You just feel two large hands cup your face from behind, cold fingers chilling your skin beneath them, slipping around your chin. Whoever is holding you turns your face upright until you finally see a man leaning over you.

You know you're dreaming because he does not speak. It's the man from the streets of Gate, the one you met before. Even though you're seeing him upside-down, you recognize him with partial clarity, the memory of your encounter surfacing partially muddled, as it often is when you're caught between wakefulness and a dream.

Remaining silent, he leans in closer and strands of his black hair fall like curtains around the face. You don’t sense danger nor alarm of any kind. Instead, you feel like you can sense his intentions and they are not to harm you. When he leans ever closer you smile, delighted to see him again even though you don’t know the reason why you’re feeling such way. He does not smile in return, but instead leans ever closer and you close your eyes in anticipation.

Yet it’s not the kiss you receive, but a sensation of his tongue against yours. It doesn’t startle you for whatever reason. Instead you part your lips even further, letting him press the wet muscle upon yours in a demanding way, as if he’s yearning to taste you in a way only a few have done before. You hear your own moan, quiet and almost shy, and the grip on your chin tightens, his lips envelop your mouth and you melt under the kiss with fingers gripping the skirts of your gown.

When the elven man pulls back, his crimson eyes meet yours and you find yourself out of breath, sensing your face flush with heat that feels almost ethereal. When he releases your face, you try to follow his journey from behind you, yet unsuccessfully. Then, there’s a hand extended to you. When you look from it to the tall man, he’s looming over you but you don’t feel threatened or scared. In fact, you take his hand and despite the chill in his fingers, you hold on tighter, letting him pull you to his chest and begin leading you in a dance to a music tune that only he hears.

He’s smiling now, as he spins you around, one hand on the small of your back, other gently holding your hand up despite your, in comparison, firmer grip. He’s smiling, but there’s something else than mirth in his eyes, a wanton kind of need that you’ve seen in men before. Yet instead of repulsing you, it draws you in. You try to stop the dance, to slow your feet, wanting your lips against his again despite being taught better than to kiss strange men during dances. But he does not let you to lead, so you become increasingly restless, not being able to do anything about it.

“Stop, please.” You finally give in and plead, but your voice sounds distant, like it barely belongs to you.

The man smiles a little wider, revealing his teeth and it makes his features appear sharper, more refined. “My lady, before long you will be pleading me to keep going.” He says in a way that makes your back tense and your eyes widen. You don’t know what that means, you can’t even begin to guess, and yet there’s a dark promise in those words, so thinly veiled.

“If you only told me your name.” You try saying, but it’s like your tongue refuses to obey you, language turning into a forgotten skill. Despite that it looks like he understands and keeps smiling, keeps turning with you in arms to the music you still haven’t heard a single note of.

“All in due time.” The words echo more in your mind rather than being spoken out loud and the elven man gives your fingers a short squeeze that is clearly meant to be comforting.

You want to tell him that you don’t understand, that you want to but can’t, but the dream begins to fade and you wake slowly, feeling exhausted once again.

“How are you?” Norona asks by your side and with your bleary eyes you find her sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed. Morning light is coming through the windows and blue sky promises no rain to ruin the beauty of another summer day.

“Sleepy.” You murmur and turn to the side, burying your face into the pillow. Norona chuckles and gently rubs your shoulder.

“I heard there’s a delivery for you downstairs. One of your maids came earlier because she thought you’d be awake.”

The dream still lingers in your mind, yet when you hear of some sort of package, you look at Norona immediately, sleep forgotten and tiredness ignored for the time being. “Did she say from whom?”

To that Norona only shrugs and with curiosity beginning to gnaw at you like an impatient animal wanting to be released from its pen, you sit up and stretch, chasing last dregs of the dream away. “Oh I wonder what it is.” With a smile you try to sound cheerful despite feeling tired and the half-elf smiles in turn.

“You’ll have to go and check it out to know.”

Trying to keep up your usual cheery appearances, you get out of bed and prepare for the day in a delicate rush that makes Norona smile and cheer you on. Yet despite all that, she sees that something is amiss about you. She can’t quite put a finger on what does not seem right, but the half-elf notices the darkened skin under your eyes and a smile that appears slightly too unnatural, like you’re straining against the exhaustion.

All of that gets forgotten, and Norona dismisses signs of your fatigue as a bad night’s rest, when you’re flowing the stairs in a hurry. With a giggle and light voice you discuss with her what could be waiting for you so early in the morning and the maids smile when you pass them, presenting your usual cheerful self.

In the living room, on a massive oak table meant to seat a group of at least twelve, among the candelabras and the vases full of blooming flowers, there rests a box. Black as night and tied with a red ribbon that comes up in a big, double bow on top of it. Stopping by the box that is square and quite sizeable, you wait for Norona to join your side and then look at her excitedly. “Do you know what it is?”

“No more than you do, and I wouldn’t guess.” She smiles but curiosity has taken over her as well and she gently touches the satin ribbon. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know!” You chuckle and touch the box too, then the ribbon as well, but impatience gets the better of you and after exchanging one more glance with Norona, you can’t contain your excitement any longer. And so you pull on the satin, letting the ribbon become undone.

It slips out of its knots easily, elegantly and you push it off the top of the box, gently taking the sides and without any more delay lifting it. Immediately you peer inside and gasp, shocked. You recognize the crimson fabric and the gems sown so delicately into the laces. “It cannot be, surely?” You gasp and put the lid of the box to the side, tracing your fingertips over the intricate craftmanship that went into this dress.

And you know it’s a dress. Even more so, it’s the same one that you have been looking at in the store’s window just few days ago, enchanted by the beauty of it.

“Is it the same one-?” Norona asks, but does not even get to finish her question to know that it is the exact same dress. “It must’ve cost a fortune!” She exclaims almost reverently and touches the gems as well, before you two exchange a look. “Who could it be? Leon?”

“No I don’t think…” You murmur but then shrug and smile. “No, I don’t think it’s him. Only you know that I wanted this one. Maybe there’s a note, help me look.”

For the next minute, together you carefully lift the dress out of the box and first you press it to your chest, spinning around with it and feeling the skirts sweep over the floor. You imagine wearing it in a grand ball, dancing in it, just like you did in a dream. Then you pause, remembering the stranger in your night’s vision, but Norona does not let you think about him for long.

“There’s nothing here, no note.” She says and when you turn back to face the woman, you watch her lift the box and turn it around. First she shakes it over the table, after turning it upside down, and then inspects every inch of it, but even you can see that there’s truly not even a scrap of note.

“Maybe I’m ought to announce a ball!” You smile and with the wonderful dress still in your arms, you approach Norona’s side, catching her eye. “Maybe whoever sent this gift to me will show themselves then. What do you think? Isn’t it exciting?!” Barely able to contain yourself, you chuckle and hug the dress to your chest.

Yet Norona only rises an eyebrow at you, concerned to a degree. “Are you sure?”

“Who else it could be from if not a secret admirer?” You giggle and stroke the corset of the dress, clearly already imagining yourself wearing it, but Norona remembers the stranger and a feeling of unease fills her chest.

“Well, maybe, but-“ She begins, yet you interrupt her with a laugh.

“Oh come on, Norona, don’t be so grumpy. The day is beautiful, I got a dress I dreamed of and I have a ball to arrange.” With that you hug the gown tighter and rush off, most likely to find your maids.

Norona remains by the table, not sure how to feel about all this. She glances at the empty box, still in her hands, and wonders who could’ve been watching that day to see that you wished for this garment. You did mention several suitors before, so most likely one of them, who else? But the thought of that stranger still lingers in half-elf’s mind like a dark cloud threatening to pour rain upon a celebration.

“Come here!” She suddenly hears your voice and hesitates, but lowers the black box onto the table and sighs. Maybe she’s overthinking. Most likely she is.

With a turn of her heel, Norona heads towards your voice.

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He knew she was away, the half-elf priestess that haunted the side of his chosen one for days now. And nights too, which he found most insufferable. But not tonight, no. Tonight he will make you his. It won’t be hard either, he is sure of it. He visited you before, tasted your blood, lurked in your dreams. So he knows that with only one last push and you will succumb, submit, obey.

Tonight, when he finds himself in your room, the Vampire Lord is greeted by a calm breathing of one, not two. Leon has been useless in luring you away from your maids and your friend. He has been punished for it, appropriately to the size of the sin he committed. But now he has to do this himself. Come here, skulking in the shadows, avoiding the eyes that should not turn in his direction but have before. That doesn’t matter. The chase and the planning have finally come to a culmination.

Approaching your bed, where Cazador sees your form laying there in deep slumber, he thinks of why he’s here, why you, why all of this. If you were any other lowly soul unworthy of his attentions beyond just the purpose of sustenance, you’d be dragged through the hallways of his palace, kicking and screaming, most likely crying. Until you were dropped by his spawn at the foot of his throne and made worthy of the only purpose a mortal can serve to a being so much higher on the food chain than themselves. But not you.

No, your influence as a noble, the riches you possess, the noticeability of your life has made Cazador come up with a plan, which is now almost fulfilled. He can’t just whisk you away to his lair and to the dungeons, chain you and keep you there, not without someone to come knocking, looking for you. And that would be too simple, too unsophisticated. That would be a plan of those lesser than him. And lesser than you. You, Cazador has to acknowledge, deserve more than that.

He leans over the bed like a dreadful shadow and watches you slumber, the cover abandoned and just a linen white gown covering your form that appears so small among the pillows and the size of the bed. At first, he didn’t find you intriguing beyond what he can gain by possessing you. Always looking to advance his position in Baldur’s Gate and, in time, the entirety of the Sword Coast, Cazador only focused on what you can give to him. Yet in weeks that he spent watching you, tracking where you went and who you talked to, hearing about you from Leon, all of that intrigued him. Among the nobles so saturated in debauchery, he began seeing you as a flower, stainless and without sin except that of naivety.

And then Cazador’s desires changed. Instead of wanting to make you just another spawn of his, lacking free will and doing whatever deeds he needs done for him, the vampire found himself desiring a trophy. A pretty pet to sit by his side, completely obedient not because of his powers cast upon you, but out of your own choice. That untainted flower that he could paint in crimson, like blank canvas that only Cazador would be allowed to draw upon.

He has to have you.

And now he’s here, hand hovering over your form, listening to your breathing that is deep and even. Cazador is almost reluctant to touch you and sully what he perceives as a first pure desire that he had in decades. That’s not true, and deep down he’s aware of it, but in this moment the vampire feels almost reverent. Cold fingers touch your warm shoulder and yet you do not stir. They trace down your naked arm and you remain as beautiful as the last sunrise Cazador has ever saw but kept fondly in his memory.

Something stirs within him, like a glimmer of doubt, a drop of humanity that hasn’t been poisoned by his monstrous nature and for a moment, just for a fraction of a second, he wants to leave and let you remain untouched. But then, like a candlelight in a cruel hand, this little ray of light in the darkness gets snuffed out without a trace.

Cazador’s features slowly change as his face splits with a wide grin. So close to his goal, he can finally enthrall the one that he has been pursuing so meticulously. And thus his fingers wrap around your waist, lift your hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss that he knows is a last gesture of true kindness that you will ever receive from him.

“Wake now, my little lamb.” He whispers and your eyes open on command. He knows you won’t scream, won’t struggle and won’t try to run away. Just one more spell cast upon your mortal mind to make his task easier.

When your dazed eyes find him, you gasp but don’t scream, just sit up in urgency and draw your fingers from his, clutching them to your chest.

“What… are you doing here?” You whisper while your heart flutters in your chest like a caged bird. The man who you recognize well now straightens his back, the grin remaining on his face.

“Stand, my dear. I won’t harm you.” He says in a way that you find it impossible to disobey.

And so you stand, letting your gown cover you except for one strap slipping off your shoulder. The man, the one you dreamed about before, is not looking at you as he undoes the clasps of his long coat, making you wonder how he is not hot in such summer heat. When he takes it off and drapes it carefully over the backrest of the chair nearby, then the elf turns back to you. And while unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, while rolling the sleeves up and slowly approaching you once again, he lets his eyes roam over you.

“My name is Lord Cazador Szarr, dear. Do you know who I am?” He asks in a quiet voice and you swallow dryly, noticing the same hunger that you saw in his eyes when you dreamt.

“Yes.” The weakness in your voice sounds like gentleness instead and Cazador looks satisfied by your answer.

“I am here…” He pauses until he’s right in front of you, nearly intimidating you by the sheer tallness of his stature, but you don’t feel afraid, just upturn your face so that your eyes don’t lose the sight of his. “…to make you mine.”

You gasp when his left hand grips the underside of your jaw. You didn’t even see the movement, but that matters little. Now you begin to feel scared and stepping back you try to escape his harsh grip. It doesn’t pain you yet, but you know it will if Cazador wills it to.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear.” He whispers and the grin that appeared confident now gains an edge that makes you gasp for air again. You’re not quite terrified yet, but something feels utterly wrong. Why is he here, in your room? You don’t understand. There’s like an invisible hand stopping your mind from deeper comprehension. A veil cast upon your very soul that allows you to feel startled at most, when you have a feeling that you should be running.

“To make me… yours?” You whisper and step back, allowed to do so but the grip doesn’t loosen. Cazador just follows your tentative journey, step by small step, until your back bumps into the wall.

“Does that not please you?” He hums with predatory satisfaction and something that until now escaped your awareness downs upon you. How his eyes glow in the darkness of the room, how sharp his grin appears and not because of an intention, but because of…

“What are you?” Whispering faster than you could think of not doing so, you grope to your right, knowing that a nightstand is there, searching for something, anything, just in case you need to protect yourself.

“What am I? I’m your present and your future.” Cazador releases your chin and you flatten yourself against the wall even more. Your fingers only brush over a softcover book that you read in absence of Norona and nothing else. You’re completely defenseless.

But that sensation of growing urgency begins to dull when Cazador presses a hand to the wall by the side of your head. His other finds your hip and the chilly touch feels pleasantly cooling through the thin linen you’re wearing. Your eyelids droop and you feel like you’re submerged in water. Weightless but comfortable. When Szarr leans closer to your face, you keep looking at him, trying to remember what was it that you wanted to say, but thoughts escape you like broken threads and you rise your hand. It ghosts over Cazador’s shoulder, to the side of his neck and you press your fingertips there.

Suddenly, you inhale sharply when understanding strikes you and yet even that is dulled by whatever blanket of charm has been cast upon you. No pulse thrums beneath your touch, not even a weak one, and while given a chance that may begin to scare you, no time is given for you to process the increasing evidence of a monster that cloaked himself in a skin of a Lord. Instead, the dream becomes reality when his tongue presses against the roof of your mouth, making you gasp and allow him even more access. He took advantage of your distraction and parted lips, of whatever mild emotion of intrigue and shock you had been allowed to feel.

Your eyes are still locked on Cazador’s and he grins again, leaning more into you, over you. His fingers grip the flesh of your hip with more need. A type of urgency you recognize as passion in the making and that ignites a fire within you in response. It’s sweltering, in comparison to your muted emotions, and it overtakes your mind in mere seconds. You want this, you want his touch, crave this intrusion that becomes a kiss with Cazador’s tongue now pressing against yours and with his lips sealed tightly over yours, muffling any sweet mewls that he causes you to make.

Yet you don’t feel his breath tickling your skin even when the kiss becomes deep, needy, and your fingers grip onto his neck as if begging Cazador not to pull back, not to break the magic of the moment. He moves slightly, releasing your hip and you chase after his touch, pushing off the wall and closing whatever that was left of the gap between you, pressing yourself against his imposing form. Grasping at the sides of him, your fingers tugging at Cazador’s waist, you beg, if not with words then with touch, for him to embrace you and hold you. Instead, however, the elf breaks away from your lips and smiles a smile that can be mistaken for gentles.

“I think you wish to be mine, don’t you?” He whispers with satisfied amusement and you try to understand if he’s right in this assessment. Do you wish whatever it is that this man offers? What is it exactly that being his mean, what it entails? Yet it’s so difficult to think, to concentrate, to understand…

“What?” Your eyes widen when Cazador puts something around your neck. You haven’t even noticed his hands moving or the object that now encircles your throat. Letting your fingers explore the leather before you even get an answer, you step backwards from him and bump into the wall again.

“This is to ensure that you know your place, little lamb.” Cazador smiles a vicious kind of smile but that too does not really reach you through the fog of your mind. Instead, you focus on a leash that is trailing from the collar around your neck.

“But why?” You ask, not quite comprehending why would he need to leash you.

But Cazador is not in a mood to give you an answer and he steps away from you, letting the lead become taunt when you don’t follow his brief departure. Yet the moment you feel the pull of a leash, you make one unsure step forward. In fraction of a second your hesitation makes Cazador sneer and he pulls on the lead so hard you come forwards, stumbling over your own feet and dropping to your knees before him.

Wide-eyed and confused if you have upset him and why, you look up, sensing rather than seeing Cazador pull up on the leash, making the collar dig into the side of your neck and front of your throat. It begins to choke you and you grip at the collar but to get a hold on it seems impossible, your fingers slipping over rounded edges of smooth, oiled leather. “Please?” You choke out and the elf awards you another satisfied grin.

“What was that, hm?” He taunts, watching you from above like a god that has a choice to rain wrath upon you or favors. Which you might receive will depend on how well you worship him.

“Please, stop.” Spluttering and choking, you beg again, feeling the burning in your lungs that is making you even dizzier than before.

“What was that?” He asks again, keeping the leash so taunt you wonder if it would snap soon. The tension and the discomfort make you want to rise from your knees and yet you have a feeling that Cazador would not approve of it. So you beg again. Beg and mean it.

“Please, Lord Cazador, stop. It hurts.” You rasp with your voice barely audible and he tugs on a leash towards himself. You stumble after it, reaching out and briefly flailing until you grip onto his legs, preventing yourself from crashing into his knees.

Gasping for air, you remain still for just a second, your heart hammering within your chest like its steel being shaped on a dwarven anvil, then the leash is pulled again, your head gets lifted upwards and a side of your face presses against Cazador. Confused and still trying to recover from the scare that you lived through just moments ago, you don’t quite understand what’s going on just yet, but vampire’s hand on the top of your head clears it up swiftly.

You look up, beginning to feel a sheen of sweat around your neck and on your palms. It gets absorbed by the expensive fabric of his pants that feels so soft against your cheek if not for the hardness underneath. Eyes widening, you try to find words, form a question to ask, but his smirk and the glow of Cazador’s eyes are answers enough. He pushes your face against his crotch harder, the erection so solid that it hurts the skin over your cheekbone. “You will serve me tonight and afterwards you will belong to me. So show me how much you crave to be mine.”

As Cazador demands your fealty, his fingers and nails begin to dig into your scalp and you whine with pain, flushing fiercely at the realization what he has in mind to you. He waits for something before you’re released and without knowing what else to do, you stick out your tongue and move your head just enough to leave a wet streak over the laces of his crotch. “Again.” Cazador says and from his eyes you can tell that you’re satisfying him and his wishes. So you repeat the action, ignoring how dry your tongue feels with the fabric absorbing your saliva, trying to let your tongue run along the entirety of his length even if it’s clad in cloth.

“You learn fast, dear. You may yet earn better treatment than those who fail me so often.” He hums the praise and on his lips it sounds sickly sweetly, like poisoned honey dripping from viper’s fangs.

Fangs, not unlike his own. Sharp and dangerous. And at this point you don’t need to ask Cazador what he is. You know. Maybe you always knew, ever since that first meeting in a busy street. You don’t get to linger over this thought for long because the leash is used again and vampire drags you to your feet, making you gasp and choke from the collar not relenting its grip over your throat.

“To the bed, little lamb. Let me taste the warmth before it is extinguished forever.” Not quite understanding what he means, you do as instructed and walk towards the bed.

After you climb into it, Cazador stops you by the leash and you look at him over your shoulder, only to be toppled to your side by his free hand. The smile that he had the entire time is gone now and his burning sanguine gaze eyes your form. Keeping the leash taunt but without making it choke you, he traces his palm over your ankle, your calf, over your knee, gripping the flesh of your thigh. The white nightgown rises with his touch and while it’s hot in this room, you still shiver. You enjoy his icy touch, you realize, and exhale when Cazador’s touch seeks further heights. Of your naked hip, the curve of your waist, but stops just below your breast.

Instead of progressing in revealing your bare body underneath the white linen, Cazador grips your leg just beneath the knee and lifts it, making you quietly yelp in surprise. Exposed so intimately you feel your face begin to burn and look away, gripping the sheets under your fingers in shame. His gaze feels almost physical in how it notices every little detail of your most intimate part. The plump swell of your folds, indicating the rush of blood from arousal, and of course the moistness that’s already smearing inner sides of both your thighs. A glistening, pale strand connects your left thigh to your core and the vampire smiles again.

Draping that same leg over his shoulder and preventing you from possibly hiding the sight from Cazador’s hungry gaze, he steps to the edge of the bed, not tearing his eyes away from your slit. The hand that holds the leash strokes your thigh that’s still on the bed while he holds the other firmly pressed against himself, and you feel his chilling touch slip over your folds, sending a shiver through your body that makes the man exhale with anticipation.

The fingers keep exploring. Tracing your delicate flesh, Cazador pokes at your clit and makes you jump, which in turn makes him chuckle. “So sensitive, hm? So needy. I knew you will enjoy this kind of attention.” There’s no mockery in his tone, but a degree of arrogancy can be heard and you squirm slightly, wanting to slip away from his grasp but knowing that you can’t even if you try.

Another whiny gasp escapes your lips when he nudges the sensitive nub again and you focus on the bedsheets, trying not to think of how exposed you are, prodded and poked at like a specimen on some shop’s counter. Yet Cazador continues, dipping a fingertip into your core, making it slick and bringing it back to your clit so that he can begin rubbing it in slow, tantalizing circles. You struggle to remain still and every time you fail, the collar reminds you of guidance that Cazador can apply to your foggy mind. If not by word, then by action he will make you obey and do exactly what he wants.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” The question catches you completely off-guard and you look at the vampire immediately, eyes wide in both shock and embarrassment.

“N-no, but-“

Cazador scoffs, but doesn’t appear to be too displeased. He just smirks again and looks down at his finger working your clit to swelling with perfect precision. You whimper and look down, feeling your face burning with shame. Yes, you are no virgin, but the encounters that you did have have been youthful explorations beneath the sheets, not… this wanton display of everything that you are.

“Please, stop.” You whimper again with your thighs trembling from strain.

It’s pleasure more than shame, but you refuse to succumb to it. It clouds your mind even more, yet you want to preserve the last fraction of decency that you have left. Cazador, however, cares nothing for your feelings. Instead, his index and middle finger move and spread your folds so wide you choke back a desperate wail and chew on your bottom lip, looking away once again.

“Don’t be embarrassed, dear.” Cazador chuckles but it sounds darkly joyful. “This is a luxury that you cannot afford. This you shall learn soon enough.” As he speaks, the vampire rubs your spread flesh then removes his fingers on to trace the drenched entrance until he plunges his digits into you, up to the knuckles, making you cry out and lower your head to the bed, whimpering and moaning.

“Please…” You beg and you don’t know how many times you used this little, fragile word already, but even you understand that it is pointless. But you can’t stop clinging to the hope that Cazador might change his mind, leave this room and never return. This hope is almost childish in its naivety but you are incapable of letting it go.

“Shhh.” Shushing you softly, Cazador begins moving his fingers within you. It hurts at first and you strain against the intrusion, but when he curls them, exploring the slick and hot passage of your body, it begins to relax as if on command, clenching and releasing around his fingers, like it’s begging for more friction.

You hear the vampire chuckle again and he pulls them out. Next moment an obscene sound is heard when, so loud in the otherwise perfect stillness of the room, Cazador sucks the evidence of your arousal from his fingers. “Unsullied. Not too much.” He says more to himself than to you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trembling and hating yourself for wanting more, for that fire that has spread like wildfire through your body, burning hottest where he touched you.

Another plea forms on the tip of your tongue. One that would beg for more and harder. But Cazador is ahead of you and your puny wishes. Counting midnight hours until the dawn breaks, he does not intend to waste more time he can’t afford. So he moves to unlace his pants and you catch a glimpse of that when you muster up the courage, urged by your own licentious needs that push everything else out of your mind, and glance up at him. A strand of hair falls over the right side of the vampire’s face, obscuring one scarlet eye that is focused on what his fingers are doing. You don’t even have half a mind to move. Despite the leash and your leg still on his shoulder, you remain as you are and wait.

A gasp escapes you when he releases his cock. Long, hard and ready to impale you upon it, it swings slightly when Cazador moves to lower his pants just enough for comfort of movement. He notices your wide eyes and amusedly lets you stare for a moment or two longer. “I advise you relax.” The vampire informs but you’re unable to peel away your eyes from the sight.

Watching him grip the base of his length, somehow imposing and intimidating and yet at the same time making you swallow with hunger, you chew on your bottom lip in anticipation. As if in a mood to tease you, Cazador rubs his swollen tip against the dripping folds and parts them with it, briefly nudging at your clit and eliciting a mewl out of you. He sees how you can’t tear your gaze away, how voracious your eyes betray you feeling. Still, it’s a game to him, one that he will have an eternity to play with you if he wishes so and right now – he does wish for it.

He teases you again, one more slow stroke over your cunt that Cazador knows is ready to swallow his cock whole. He dips only the head into you, making you release your bottom lip and gasp as if urging him now, but he pulls it out, swinging it lightly between his fingers, showing you how wet your body left him from this little contact. “You are ready, are you not?” He taunts and you look up at him, swallow again and nod. “Beg for it then.”

Beg? He wants you to beg? Something deep in your soul tries to remind you that this is not who you are, but lust drowns the small voice out, erasing it without a trace, and so you lick your lips before you beg, just as he wants you to. “Please, Lord Cazador. I… I need you. Please… You can’t- I mean, I beg you, please take me.”

Cazador’s laughter startles you and you smile sheepishly, feeling silly, but he does not let this feeling fester in your head. Instead, he tugs at your leash and smirks, completely satisfied with your amateur attempt at pleading for what you crave. “You’ll learn to do better. In time. Now, for your reward.” He looks down and points his cock at you again, aiming it right where you need him most and this time you don’t shy away, watching how he pushes his length into you, slowly, inch by inch.

Your body strains with even bigger intrusion than what his fingers have been and you moan, but persist in observing until he’s fully inside of you, leaving you panting with both exertion to accommodate his size and with impatience. Cazador doesn’t remain sheathed for long. He pulls the leash taunt and makes you look at his face while he begins to thrust. It’s not slow or gentle and you clench your teeth through which the moans still escape despite it all. “Keep looking at me, little lamb. This is a lesson I won’t teach twice.” The vampire says with a sharp smile and you quickly nod, too afraid to do anything else than obey.

But as you keep your eyes locked onto his burning vermillion ones, feeling yourself as if you’re sinking into a sea of boiling blood, Cazador’s thrusts gain even more power behind them, making the bed creak even though you’re the only one upon it. He rocks against you again and again, his cock reaching deep, especially because of the angle he has you at and you moan with his every push that feels both uncomfortable and so welcome at the same time.

“Louder! I want to hear you!” Cazador demands and unwilling to trust your competence even in this, he slams into you with such force that you cry out with a whimper. The collar and the leash keep you in place, leaning on your elbow and gripping the sheets while the vampire seems to fuck entirety of his rage into you. “Again!” Another command and another deep slam that brings tears to your eyes.

You’re not sure how deep he is inside of you, but every time he does this, for a single moment the pain is so intense that it makes your head swim. Yet the pleasure that comes afterwards is so much sweeter and so you gasp for air, watching Cazador’s face, his eyes, and feel yourself sweat in the muggy heat of this summer night. Your nightgown clings to your skin, becoming a crumpled, damp mess over your body, but that’s the least thing you’re paying attention to right now.

Another harsh thrust, almost every one of them being of force and precision, making your eyes water until tears mar your cheeks in salty streaks. This satisfies Cazador, because he smirks and tugs on your leash harder, leaning into you all while his hips piston into you without a pause. Your toes curl, your legs tremble, your spine tenses underneath the muscles and you gasp for air right against his lips when he descends upon you. “You belong to me.” He whispers, but before he’s able to lean back, you grip the back of his neck and pull yourself upwards just enough to crash your lips against Cazador’s.

The vampire does not push you away. He kisses you back deeply and roughly. His fangs do not feel strange anymore when your tongue runs over them and he groans into your mouth before breaking away and ramming into you even harder, which you didn’t think was even possible. He’s chasing the climax but you might be ahead of him, because you’re still tasting his tongue on yours and that sends a shudder that sinks deep into the core of you.

“Wait, I’m-“ You try to make him slow down, you don’t want to come just yet, finding yourself insatiable to the rough fucking you’re getting administered, but Cazador does not listen and even if he does, he clearly does not care.

Pounding into you with almost everything he has, the vampire pulls your leash roughly and watches his cock drive into you repeatedly. You’re so wet that your thighs are smeared in it, together with his loins, and the sounds of skin against skin are the only music that accompanies your cries of pleasure and his groans of effort.

Sneering as he feels his bliss quickly approaching, Cazador doesn’t even bother to check how you are fairing the sweet assault that will leave you utterly ravished once he’s done with you. Nails dig into your leg when the vampire feels tension in his loins that he can’t and won’t postpone anymore. With a strained grunt Cazador delivers one more hard thrust, letting the few that follow lose their rhythmic pace as he spills himself deep within you. Gasping for air, he focuses on his own pleasure alone, not seeing just how close you are.

When Cazador’s thrusts become erratic, you are almost there and you feel him filling you with his seed that is cold but not uncomfortably so. Not that you’re paying any real attention that, enveloped in the orgasm that begins to overtake you. When the vampire’s thrusts become to lose their pace and start to slow, as an act of last attempt not to be cheated out of satisfaction, you reach down and rub your clit fast and precise, knowing exactly what you like and how. You gasp and Cazador groans when your body clenches around him at the renewed intensity of pleasure.

“What are you-“ He groans, but then sees what you’re doing and scoffs with a smirk when your eyes meet again. He sees the desperation in your expression and stops completely, letting you come onto his cock while he does nothing to help you with your climax.

But it comes and it comes fast. Your visions swims just for a second and despite the leash you throw your head back with a cry. You tense and shiver, tremble and moan again, circling your clit until it’s throbbing and too painful for touch. Only then you move your hand away, after the last few shakes that run through your body, and try to lie into the bed. To your surprise, the leash relaxes and you’re able to do just that.

Panting and gasping for air, you look at Cazador who stands still for a moment, then lowers your leg. When he pulls out there’s a quiet squelching sound that would embarrass you if you weren’t so utterly spent. You watch the vampire climb into the bed, crawl over you and you look at him, dazed and exhausted, not even able to speak.

“Lord Cazador.” Is all you manage and Cazador smiles the kind of smile that is full of promise.

Without saying a word, he lays upon you, pressing you deep into the mattress at which you huff, still unable to breathe properly, and your hands grip at his sides in a weak attempt to push him off. When Cazador’s lips find your neck, you think he wants more, to continue fucking you until you forget your own name and you’re about to protest, beg for more time to recover and catch your breath, but then pain startles you.

Your eyes widen, air gets stuck in your throat and you understand what he is doing. You can feel him draining your blood, can hear him swallowing mouthfuls of it and you try to push him away again, but strength is leaving you faster than you could recover.

“Please…” One last desperate plea as you stare into the dark ceiling of your room and feel your hands being grabbed at and pinned overhead by the wrists, taunt, not unlike the leash that’s been around your neck this entire time.

When inky blackness begins to surround edges of your vision, Cazador pulls back and glowing embers of his eyes meet yours. He sees your blood trickling down your neck and seep onto the neck of your white nightgown. The sight pleases him. Licking the blood from his lips, he smiles, hauntingly gently.

“You are mine, forever.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

𝔼𝕡𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖

Norona’s trip took longer than expected. About a week, six days to be exact. By the time she returned to Baldur’s Gate, wondering what her friend has been up to, she discovered the entire city buzzing about a ball happening that very night in your mansion.

She asked people around, wanting to hear the gossip but not much has been heard besides some obscure rumors and that you might announce an engagement during the ball. Wondering who you chose and why so soon, when last time she spoke to you about betrothal you didn’t seem too eager to settle just yet, Norona decided to figure out what is happening right away. Yet to her surprise, she wasn’t let in. Hired guards protected the front gate and told her that Lady of the House has not permitted entrance to anyone until the evening.

Walking around the mansion, Norona managed to get glimpses of servants scuttling around and the open window of your bedroom, but the curtains behind were drawn and so she decided not to call upon you. Instead, the priestess decided to wait until evening and lingered in a nearby tavern until the time came of which people spoke as a start of your celebration.

Norona does not own many fancy dresses and when she dresses in a purple, simple summer dress, the woman wonders if she will even be let in, considering how grim the guards looked earlier today. But her fears don’t come to pass when she approaches the widely open door and not the guards, but two servants in elegant clothing greet her and invite her with wide smiles.

Torches and candles are everywhere and Norona has never seen your home so full of light before. Last rays of dusk look bleak in comparison to the beauty of the arranged illumination that she sees around her. Taking tentative steps she navigates the crowd that seems to be filling every room and every corridor of the mansion. Everyone is chatting, drinking, sharing jokes. Expensive ensembles adorn the men and women look like decorated statues in their gowns of every color on the spectrum. Gems and beads glitter all around and Norona finds herself out of place, just as she always felt when in your company when growing up.

Yet she struggles to find you in the crowd and when a passing maid informs her that the Lady of the House can be found in the ballroom, that’s exactly where Norona heads. It takes her longer than she hoped, her anxiety making her impatient. She just wants to make sure that you’re okay, that you’re happy, but that strange feeling she felt in her gut before she left returns tenfold.

The door to the ballroom is open and she hears music emanating from within. It’s a piece she has never heard before, strong and imposing in how the melody is carried by stringed instruments. It makes Norona feel a strange chill in the choking heat that the mansion is packed with.

Apologizing to the guests through which she squeezes on her path deeper into the room, she finally stumbles out into the dance floor. First, Norona notices the dancing couples. They spin and smile and laugh, relishing the festivities without restraints. There are sounds of crystal being brought together and people cheer with their glasses, but when the couples part, Norona finally sees you and she inhales in shock.

Norona did expect you to wear the dress that you have been gifted. The beauty of crimson now makes you look like a dark goddess who stepped among the mortals. You’re not smiling, that much is clear even from where the half-elf is standing, but then she notices a hand on your shoulder and finally she realizes that her friend is not observing the ballroom alone.

Behind you, Norona sees a tall man. His black hair is combed back and he wears a black suit with red embellishments that look bloody in the light of candles. He stands straight, attentive to seemingly everything that is happening in the room, until his gaze lands on the priestess and feels like a punch. She staggers slightly, feeling her heart beginning to beat faster with fear that runs icy fingers over her insides.

At first the man doesn’t move at all, but after a moment, when Norona begins to gasp for air, he leans to your ear and whispers something that is impossible to hear from this distance and the music that drowns out almost everything. When the man whispers, Norona looks at you, to your focused face and then the lace neckband that you wear. It glimmers with jewels when you turn ever so slightly to hear him better.

Norona wants to say something, shout something. There’s fear she cannot explain beyond utter and complete understanding that the man shouldn’t touch you, shouldn’t be near you. Yet her feet do not move, her lungs can’t draw enough breath for her to scream. She stands, helpless, and watches something red and uncomfortably looking like blood drip in two swollen drops from beneath the choker and slip down to your collarbone.

She looks at the man again and he meets Norona’s eyes with his intense gaze, but what’s more disturbing is a smile that now appears on your face – predatory and almost vicious. She doesn’t recognize you for a second, thinking it’s some sort of foul illusion. But no, there you are, her friend, so familiar and yet so unrecognizable at the same time. The elven man’s hand slips from your shoulder while Norona watches with growing despair and wraps around your neck in a gesture that can only be read as possessive.

When the priestess looks at him again, the man’s face slowly blooms with a haunting, merciless smile.

(𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝) 𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: So, where to begin? I'll start by saying that to some this one shot might ring strangely familiar and if so - you will be correct. I always wanted to write a love letter type of fic to one and only Bram Stoker. And so, I have taken a chance to do exactly that here. Granted, this is a combination of both "Dracula" and "Bram Stoker's Dracula", the 1992 movie that is among my favorite. Naturally, I didn't do the copy-paste of scenes, but almost every one of them is loosely based either on the book or the movie, whichever gripped my fancy.

The title itself, 13th of August, comes from the book. It's the date in Mina's diary that first mentions Dracula in his bat form and so, this significant entry has become the title of the fic. I was always the one to say that Cazador is Dracula (and Starhd) coded and I guess this is my essay on that, a creative one. I hope you enjoyed the story, I have enjoyed writing it and sharing it with all of you <333

[sp-growingpains]

What sort of "nerd" stuff do you hc the sp guys being into? (Like DND, Star Trek, jrpgs)

So I wanted to wait until I was off work for this one because, like, I'm about to go off!

Stan 'Dungeon Dork' Marsh:

Look you know. I know it. God knows it. He's a nerd pretending to be an 'all American boy next door.'

> Miniature painting king!

> Him and Nichole both are THE people to go to if you ever wanna have something painted.

> I also think he's the best at Homebrewing things. Monsters, Feats, Magical Items, even Classes!

> His favorite Class is Ranger -> subclass Revised Beast Master!

> And he doesn't just play D&D! I think that starts as a gateway drug for him

> We already see he's into Warhammer 40k which have amazing ttrpg books btw

> For the superhero lover in him, definitely Wild Talents!

> In my opinion anything Stan can mentally break down, lay out, and put back together makes him happy - so finding and building characters and worlds scratches that itch for him!

> Casual Pokémon player, only gets competitive with Kyle! Will get defensive over his favorite Pokémon.

-> I think his favorite would be Rockruff or Lucario (especially after watching the movie)

-> They watch the movie and Stan points to the tv when Sir Aaron comes on and is like "That me." Cosplays him

> Which leads to my next thing. Loves cosplay. Cannot craft costumes. Ends up paying out of pocket for someone or his mom to do it

> Somehow convinces the guys to do group costumes together. I fully believe the Avengers costumes were his idea

> That being said, die hard Marvel fan. Doesn't hate DC, but I just know in my heart that boy doesn't give DC the time of day (I just love that his favorite is Captain America. He just like me fr fr)

> As for video games. I can see him really like fighting games. Casual Smash player (Mains Chrom and Pit.) but if you roll up on him in Tekken. Dude sweeps

> Won't get angry if he loses but will get pissy and sceptical. Like...it had to be luck that you won. No way you beat him

> He's alright at First Person shooters. He enjoys listening to the guys more than the actual game.

> Do I even have to say he plays RPGs? Like Baldurs Gate? Dragon Age? I think any game that's story based and you can make your own character, Stan is playing it. Catch him humming Persona music under his breath and teaching himself how to play all the music

> Game Grumps fan! Is the most chill fan though. Loves watching the Kirby Dream Course

> Had Kyle help him build his computer and stays on top of it for the most part.

> Has Discord Nitro

Kyle 'Here for the ride I swear' Broflovski:

Fucking liar. Dude is as big of a nerd as Stan. He's just quiet about it. I don't think it's shame, just he doesn't put as much energy into it as Stan does. Until Stan is involved. Then he's all over it.

> I think Kyle would be really embarrassed to play D&D at first.

> Hear me out. I know he played TSOT with the other kids. But it's a little different. Running around as kids beating each other with sticks and rocks was something he was probably told to give up.

> like "You're not a little kid anymore Kyle. Don't you think that's a little immature?"

> But after Stan begs him and he gets into the groove of it, he finds he really loves it.

> More importantly, he loves the storytelling aspect. The collaboration that comes with being at a table with other people.

> His first character is a high elf of course. Plays a druid -> subclass Wildfire

> Immediately gets a power trip from how BUSTED Druid is

> I honestly think after too many times of Cartman fudging dice or being a pain in the dick, he takes over being the DM

> Loves it more than being a player. Spends his free time writing up plots. Npcs. Events. Backstories.

> He's the kinda DM where if you peek behind their screen, has his shit together (Google Matt Mercer's DM screen and just...yeah that)

> Kind of a stickler for rules but if it's cool he'll let you get away with it

> Much to Stan's dismay, Kenny is his favorite player.

> Won't admit it often, but he genuinely loves the drama and characters that Cartman brings to the table

> Plays in Stan's other games, but he honestly just keeps going back to D&D. Maaaaaaybe Vampire of the Masquerade.

> I headcanon that Kyle goes through a shift in the middle of getting his law degree and goes into English instead

> After finishing his degree, he publishes books about his friends and their adventure. Both in life and at the table

> He loves, LOVES comics. Both a Marvel and DC fan boy. Don't get him started on Dark Horse. (YAPPER!)

> Also a huge Star Wars fan. When the Mandalorian came out, he hosted a watch party

> Avid movie collector. Not just superheros but like classics.

> Maybe in the future I can see him starting a podcast where he watched and talks about movies. Bringing on a different friend each time.

> Loves to build computers. Man can build you the dream PC and provides you with a little cheat sheet on how to take care of it.

> Tech support if he likes you

> FPS King.

> If you play Halo Swat with him. No, you don't. It's just headshot after headshot

> Is unapologetic about it. He won't get snarky about it unless you start to.

> Absolutely rages in video games. Maybe not enough that he's smashing shit, but he's had to replace the joysticks a few times

> Keeps himself on push to talk for that reason.

> He loves Minecraft if he gets to play with someone else. Really good at mining and combat. Ike got him on it and he watches videos when he's eating dinner. Got YouTube propped up and everything.

> Probably fucked around with Destiny 2 a little bit but fell off it when no one wanted to play with him and randos just kept pissing him off

> Got into Pokémon for Stan and Kenny, ended up latching onto the third generation.

> This one is purely indulgence, but I can see him secretly loving the sims.

-> His favorite would probably be Kyogre. No he doesn't care if Legendaries don't count, fuck you.

> As for Smash because I know they all play not just Stan, he mains Fox and Ganondorf

-> That one you gotta waterboard it outta him.

> Got discord Nitro to match with Stan once and just kinda kept it since.

Kenny 'Hobby Supporter' McCormick:

Kenny is one of those nerds you meet and you're like, "Jesus christ, how is this guy so cool?!"

> Dived headfirst into the D&D shit with the others. He was absolutely ready to play with his friends

> I have said this before, I'll say it again, is actually the role playing star. He's got the range darling

> Every character is different, unique, and fun! He'll come to the table with the most out of pocket ass character and just blows people away

> You're like "there he goes again, a fucking joke character"

> Wrong. You got, got. This character has a beautiful backstory, makes sense in lore, and is a team player

> Kenny is every DMs dream player. He shows up with an idea. Asks questions about your world. Engages with other players and makes them feel comfortable. Does things that his character would do WITHOUT fucking over the party and campaign

> And to top it all off. He can do voices. What a perfect asshole

> Will show up late, though, and if he has something come up, he'll forget and tell the group last minute. Oops

> Oh his favorite class? Bard -> Subclass Glamor. Race doesn't really matter to him, so probably Changeling

> He likes to make props and bring them to the table. Oftentimes, they're little pieces of jewelry or an accessory, hats that sort of thing

> He's usually the one that ends up helping Stan with his cosplay ideas. Stan will come to him with an idea, get three sentences in, and Kenny just shrugs and goes "I'm down."

> The kinda person to bring extra material when they go to cons to help you fix your outfit.

> POV - you're at a con and a piece of your costume just tore. Before you can get upset about it. Kenny McCormick comes gliding across the ground with a small kit on their side. They're wearing the most gorgeous Rosalina costume you've ever seen. They bend down and fix that part of your costume and before you can say anything they boop you with the handcrafted wand.

> Behind him are his friends dressed as Mario, Luigi, and Bowser. You already know who they are. I don't need to assign them.

> My dude is so fucking cool. He loves listening to people talk about their -sonas or ocs. Definitely has a fursona and is so chill about it.

> Kenny loves Monster High and you can pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands

> I'm also a firm believer in punk Kenny! Patch jackets, pits, protests, boycotts, music - the whole nine yards!

-> that's not a nerd headcanon I'm just projecting again sorry

> Back on track, I think Kenny is a DC fan for fucking sure

> You CANNOT look at Mysterion and tell me he's not a die hard Batman fan. But I'm talking Batman the animated series Batman fan!

> Kenny is the kinda fan that will absolutely be chill about it until he reads a comic that gets the character all wrong. Then it's like a switch flips.

> I headcanon Kenny as a little theater kid so anything involving that, he's all over

> The guys will come to his plays and while they might make jabs at him for doing it, they're all very proud of their friend

> He drug Butters along with it and those two are a POWERHOUSE on stage. No matter the roles, they kill it every time

> Also maybe not a nerd thing, but huge in the nerd space, if you ever have questions or struggle with self identity - Kenny is the first to pick up on it. And he's so fucking good at doing it casually, like you can trust him with it all

> Sexuality? Gender identity? Any of it, he'll be there to listen and offer advice if you want it

> Does not fuck around with people dead naming you, catch these Netherborn hands fucko

> I see him as a casual video game player. Loves anything he can just shut his brain off and relax to. Also really loves rhythm games.

-> Dude, I just know in my heart they didn't show Kenny playing Guitar Hero with the guys because he'd smoke 'em

> Unapologetic about the amount of mods he has on the sims 4. How many hours he has in Stardew Valley or Harvest Moon. Its about the progression baby!

> That and he likes to put his friends in fun little outfits in the sims

> Loves Pokémon and I know I just said he likes games he can relax to...not Pokémon. Will break down your entire team and sweeps. WHILE also picking his favorites.

> Doesn't know shit about computers aside from modding his game. Has called Kyle at three in the morning for advice and help

-> I imagine his favorite being Gardevoir.

> For the smash bit, he mains Peach, Rosalina and god help you if they pick Zelda.

-> Kyle answers every time.

"This the last time Kenny..."

"Sure sweetness, keep telling yourself that."

> Does not have discord Nitro and does not care to. He's got a meme for everything

Maybe I'll do a part 2 to this because honestly I had a lot of fucking fun with this! Got me out of my head and I got to write some stuff again! Thank you so, so much!

[sadiesadieagentlady]

She is messy, but she's kind

Hello! I'm Sadie, I was gently encouraged to join this site, in truth I was already here just...less conspicuous. But hi, I'm Sadie Fitzsimmons, I was a part of MI5, British spy agency thing but SHIELD snapped me up after I worked with them on a collaborative mission and possibly after my Mum and Dad gushed about me at work.

I am dating @spotted-ac-richards so I am taken, sorry lads and ladies! I'm bisexual, I'm still quite new to SHIELD so I mainly run errands for Hill at the moment until I can be out in the field. But I specialise in Undercover Operations so when I am out there you may not even realise I'm there!

I am notoriously clumsy annoyingly, but lovely Ady has very good reflexes. I haven't lost a coffee or lunch ever since we started dating so that's a win I s'pose. It is rather a lot following in the footsteps of my parents but not exactly following the path they took? It does weigh on one's shoulders at times but I can brush it off.

I love to read high fantasy tales of intrigue and adventure, especially with a bit of spice sprinkled in there. My TBR list is rather long at the moment but I'm currently reading Fire by Kristen Cashore, low to no spice but high drama!

I'm also a bit of a gamer, Baldur's Gate 3 at the moment but I also play Sims 4 in my spare time and I was a Minecraft girlie in my teens. I also love TTRPG games like Dungeons and Dragons but can never seem to find any players to form a campaign with so I haven't rolled dice in a while. But I do own a lot of dice, this set are my lucky dice set that gave me two Nat 20s in one session.

What else? Oh I am partial to songs from Musicals, my current love right now is the songs from the Musical Black Friday as I refuse to play Christmas songs in November, the Wicked Soundtrack and EPIC The Musical, particularly the Circe Saga. It just hits different, y'know?

Anyway feel free to ask me questions and whatnot if you want to get to know me and I'm excited to be here! Properly. 🦋

Tags: @askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @marvelsfavoriteuncle @wizzzardofoz @sci-fi-lexcon @purpleprincessonfyre @trulysummersprivate @the-x-ladiesofnyc @finlayholmes @ethan-lensherr @elzabeth-stark @luna-d-marsh @rickb-chaos @afterhours-witheli

@jackiequick @gcthvile @blueboirick @meiramel @missstrawbs2001 @aidanxsophxoxo

[poetryinsilence]

A Wish for Eternity

Astarion x gn!magical!tav

A/n: am I madly in love with this elf? Yes. Do I wish to bring him everything he hoped and dreamed of? Also, yes. Hence, here I am, thinking about what happens after the epilogue, did he search for a way? If you play as a sorcerer or wizard, once you are at a higher level (not in the game), there is a certain spell that could achieve your hopes and dreams. So, what if…? Anyway, happy fluffy valentine's day!

Synopsis: a long journey of travelling through every corner of Faerûn for what seems to be an eternity. Luck sure isn’t on your side in your quest to find a mythical item, a cloak. Rumoured to be special, you are determined to find it, with your nightwalking partner, Astarion. But, fate has other things on its mind.

Word: 2,344

6 months after you reunited heartfelt celebrations with inebriated companions; the night never seems to cease with boundless alcohols and dancing to lively tunes until your feet refuse to leave the ground. Through thick and thin, nonetheless, such an adventure weaved you all together at the stake of Baldur’s gate.

At the right place, at the right time.

In a blink of an eye, another 6 months had gone by. On your quest, you trek through the marsh terrain on your journey and strangle a few swamp things; scorched and burned under the dry heat of the sun and almost meet your fatal death by getting swallowed up inside a giant sandworm; and almost, almost, stepped into the fey realm by no fault of your own. Suppose it wasn’t for a certain trickster. A very lovable trickster, mind you.

The relentless quest to acquire an article of clothing—a rare magical item; enchanted with each woven of threads. A cloak, to be exact, that was once said to have been created by drows of the Underdark. To allow one that’s weak in sunlight to walk freely under the blistering sun.

You first heard about this mystic item from none other than Gale. The wizard was lost in his recent reverie of taking upon the role of teaching, to no surprise. One night, while holed up in his tower, flicking through weathered pages of tomes, when he came across the wonders of this cloak. Intrigued, as he may be, wanting to study the magic behind this unique fabric. After all, a little more knowledge wouldn’t hurt.

But, it seems others require it more than him. Lo and behold, he appears when you think your luck has run out. Seems like Tymora has finally blessed you with a pat on the back, who would say no to divine intervention?

Although this is a solution to your current situation, it all just seems too good to be true. A flimsy piece of garment is your answer? You could swipe a black cloak from the market and enchant it yourself. Though you are well-versed in magic, enchanting items aren’t really your forte. Nor are you of drow descent to know such ways of crafting.

You had your doubts about this cloak, however, you do not doubt the reliability of Gale. If he said such a thing exists, then it must be credible.

Month after month of tracking your journey—based on one rumour that gossamer across Faerûn. With every possible lead, you travelled across the continent of the cityscape to the underworld. This endless journey may be gruesome, but you didn’t do it alone. Your lover, Astarion, walks amongst your shadow. By day, you are his shield protecting him under the blazing sun. At night, he swore as your sword to cut through the lurking dangers of the dark.

The Sun and its Moon.

He is the reason why you’re on this journey in the first place. To bring him the sunlight once more, to breathe in the life of the Pelor over the vast lands that were taken from him when he was still young. But the chances of finding this cloak are getting slimmer by day—like water slipping through the cracks of your hand. 

Astarion’s hope is getting dimmer, too. You tried to reassure him that you were certain the both of you were getting close; maybe you were just not looking at the right places.

Of course, he brushes you off with a smile and jokes that he’s not that interested in it because ‘cloaks cramp his style’. He persuades you not to mind it so much. Or, hoping you’d be the mirror reverberating back to him instead. But you can see right through the facade. Pride. Shame. Disappointment. All too familiar.

The guilt is rubbing off on you. When you talked him out of ascension, you believed that it would be the best decision for him. You were no better than the others.

No. This shouldn’t be the answer. If the cloak’s got you nowhere then you just have to look at this situation from a different perspective. Take matters into your own hands, even if danger is on deck. At the very least, you have to try.

You made camp for the night; a quaint spot overlooking the horizon that joins the sky and the sea, with the moon taking stage in a cloudless canvas. The pale elf took charge of the campfire with a stick in his hand to poke the flame. Next to him, you lie down with your hands weaving through the air, connecting the stars together, making a revelation to your own understanding of your magic. It flows through you like the air that you breathe; like calm waters gliding your hands.

This might be the perfect time to ask, though wyverns gnaw at your stomach, you’ve run through this scenario millions of times in your head. You’re prepared, you think.

The lavender and turquoise hue dissipates from your fingertips, you steal a glance in Astarion’s direction and sit up amid his distraction.

“If you’re getting tired, you should sleep first. I’ll join you in a little while.” He chimes out.

His little ritual, you’ve noticed. Whenever the two of you opted to camp in the arms of nature instead of paying for a tavern’s night and listening to drunk patrons shouting till the break of dawn. He would lay with you in your bedroll until you fell asleep, then as quiet as a mouse, he’d get up an hour or two just before sunrise. You’d caught him once, just as curiosity nips at you, slipping out of the tent and finding him sitting in the open field with the blades of grass swaying to its own rhythm. Just watching, waiting. Waiting to catch a glimpse of the sun, as it slowly casts life back to the lands, before the ray decays him. The light sears his skin and cracks like dry paint, biting down the pain as much as possible until he’s bound back to the shadows. Then you’ll find him in bed again like nothing ever happened.

“Astarion?”

“Yes, darling?” He hummed.

“What if…” you hesitated, “what if we stop looking for this cloak?” Your voice wavered at the end of your sentence.

The stick in his hand stopped. You can see it, the thoughts forming in his mind like a potion. Stunned, confusion and a drop of anger concocted in muddy colour. But like a cork on top, he bottled it up when he soon turned to face you, the warm glow lit up his plastic grin.

“Oh, heavens! I forgot about that until you’ve brought it up.” His voice is in a higher octave. A string of vicious mockery disguising his lie, in all honesty, stings more than you think.

“No, that’s not—let me rephrase this. W-what I’m trying to say is, how about we look for a different method?” You asked, hands fidgeting more than usual.

His crimson gaze pierced in you, they engulfed and tangled like flames, wanting to swallow you whole till you’re nothing but a pile of ashes. “Vampirism isn’t an illness or a wound. If a person dies, they could be resurrected. But I’m too far gone beyond the point of living now, darling. There is no other way.” He snarled, snapping his gaze away before he could say something he truly regrets.

“But..there is another way.” Your voice comes out with nothing short of a whisper. Astarion’s shoulders slumped as he perceived your words, now fire in his eyes had extinguished and reflected with the solemn of moonlight.

Hope.

You spring onto your feet and take his hands into yours, thumb gently caressing his skin.

“Don’t give me any hope. 200 years of hoping for hope has tormented me endlessly that I do not want to be part of it again. Please…I do not have the heart to take this…” Astarion whimpered. You can hear the sob suppressed in his throat for the last 200 years as his hands tremble, emotions so vulnerable and unravelled right in front of you that he so desperately tried to hide. It shouldn’t be like this. It breaks your heart to see the man earning his freedom, yet the illusions of shackles are still tying him down.

It is unfair.

You grip his hands tighter to your heart, biting down the tears threatening to spill. “When there’s a will, there is a way,” You smiled. “Astarion Ancunin, what is it that you wish for?”

“What? But—I don’t understand—“ his brows furrow trying to make sense of your words but failing. Yet, he can feel a tingle at the back of his neck. A sign.

“Please, Astarion. Tell me your wish.”

The warning bells in his mind are telling him to run, to end this conversation right here, right now. But the fluttering feeling in his gut is saying ‘This is it. This is the moment you’ve been desperately trying to find’. Now the sparkle in your eyes is drawing him in, things that he had been longing for, and the love you are showing him. The sign he’d desperately prayed to the gods for all these years.

“I wish…” he trailed off, “I wish to walk in the sun again. I wish to see this world in the light that I was created in; I wish to take back the life that was ripped away from me for all these years, in darkness and torment, to have what is rightfully mine.

I wish to live again.”

The soil beneath your feet vibrates and crackles, the fabric of your clothes softly ripples in the air; a lavender beam emerges through and etches your runes, circling a gateway around both of you.

“Then, your wish is my command.”

Statics channelling in the air as you tune yourself to the weave. You can feel it. You can feel it all—the dark musk of ember, the evergreen blades rustle, the crashing of ocean waves. Magic tying deep into the burrows of the Earth willing to your command, feeding brighter into your rune as you hold on to its reins. But, the power of this spell is not without a cost, like gravity dragging you down. Your face breaks into sweat with the force burning in your gut.

“Stop that! You’re killing yourself!” Astarion struggles to break free from your grasp.

“Don’t—I’m almost there!”

A sinking pressure presses in Astarion’s chest; it’s warm, then burns aflame but it does not hurt; the pressure pushes deeper, searing through his organs and scratches at each porous of his rib cage. And then, gone.

The sound of silence.

Your legs give out as you crumble onto the floor, ready for impact. With a swift motion, Astarion catches you in his arms and carefully lays you in his lap. His mouth opens, ready to protest with his snarky remarks but closes it again, brushing away strands of stray hair from your battered face.

You chuckled breathlessly, reaching your hand, heavy as it may, and cupped his face. “Your wish has been granted.”

The sky begins to transition in lilac as dawn breaks, the ocean glimmers on the horizon and songbirds sing their tunes again. The red flaming ball peeked through the crystal water, bringing out the soft glow of orange. As the first ray of light shines, the warmth of it carries. Hungry, delicate, a sign of life.

“I’m…alive.”

A gentle breeze picks up and brushes against his cheek; hot tears spew from the corner of his eyes. So naturally warm. So, very warm. The silvery strands swayed to the rhythm of the wind, and he inhaled deeply, as much as his frail body could hold, the nostalgic scent of sunshine, like a spring afternoon.

Then, an unfamiliar familiar sense came. A thud. And another. Something rattling endlessly at his ribcage threatening to come out and yet staying in its place, a rhythmic humming coursing through his chest to the tips of his fingers. A sound so loud thumping and yet so quiet as a whisper in his ear. A sense of jamais vu. 

“You'll always be who you are. No matter what you've become—a vampire or not. I will love you as long as life continues to breathe on these vast lands. And till the end of time."

Astarion squeezes you into a tight hug. He’s trembling in your embrace, and catching you off guard, he bursts into a fit of laughter. Maybe even your first time to hear him laughing with such carefree manner but the heat of his tears travels to your shoulder. Your hand finds its way to his soft locks, petting him as you melt deeper into his touch.

He pulls back, eyes frantically searching your face. “I-I don’t—I can’t—“ he clears his throat, “thank you, my love.”

He cups your cheeks and gravitates towards your lips. Sweet and velvety, your lips curl at his kiss. He pulls away just enough to admire your features; cheeks flushed rosy and eyes bright and confident. Everything about you is love-touched, that after centuries, someone could cut through the world to bring him back into the light.

“Now, are you going to stare at me all morning, or are we going to get some breakfast?” You teased.

“Actually, I was thinking,” Astarion eyes you up and down. Whenever he has some brilliant idea, it’s never a good one. “The tent’s been empty all night, and I think we should, um, keep our bedrolls warm, at least.”

His hand slithers its way under the hem of your shirt, running a hand at your soft curves. You sigh in defeat, knowing you could never say no to his lovable face.

“Fine. I guess breakfast can wait.” You smirk.

Hands flew to the collar of his shirt as you yank him down to your lips. You parted them slightly, an invitation for him to deepen his kiss, teeth included. It might be a long morning, but there are plenty of mornings yet to come.

[olderthannetfic]

Haha. Yeah, a lot of these are from similar parts of fandom, so if you don't hang out there, they'd sound very unfamiliar.

Here's a quick attempt at a breakdown. Some of these have multiple media types.

Anime/Manga:

Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku - BNHA

Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic - BNHA

Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou - BNHA

Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku - BNHA

Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku - BNHA

Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto - BNHA

Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks - BNHA

Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto - BNHA

Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya - Bungou Stray Dogs

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi - Bungou Stray Dogs

Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi - Haikyuu!!

Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou - Haikyuu!!

Mikage Reo/Nagi Seishirou - Blue Lock

Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru - Jujutsu Kaisen

Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto - Naruto

Roronoa Zoro/Sanji - One Piece

Mitsui Hisashi/Miyagi Ryota - Slam Dunk

Other Animation:

Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak - South Park

Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh - South Park

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug - Miraculous Ladybug

Amity Blight/Luz Noceda - The Owl House

Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Books:

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin - HP

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter - HP

Regulus Black/James Potter - HP

Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy - HP

James Potter/Lily Evans Potter - HP

Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley - HP

Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - HP

Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort - HP

Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson - Percy Jackson

Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard - All For The Game - Nora Sakavic

Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck - Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo

Kim Dokja/Yoo Joonghyuk - Omniscient Reader - Sing-Shong

BL/Danmei:

Huā Chéng/Xiè Lián (Tiān Guān Cì Fú) - Heaven Official's Blessing

Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn - MDZS/The Untamed

Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat/Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun - KinnPorsche

Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun - KinnPorsche

RPF:

k-pop:

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V - BTS

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin - BTS

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin - BTS

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin - BTS

Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know - Stray Kids

Bang Chan/Lee Felix (Stray Kids) - Stray Kids

Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun - TXT

other music:

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson - 1D

minecraft streamers:

Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit

Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson | Philza

Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)

Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)

Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit

Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza

Video games:

John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley - CoD

Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader - CoD

Sans/Sans (Undertale) - Undertale

Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate) - Baldur's Gate 3

Alhaitham/Kaveh (Genshin Impact) - Genshin Impact

Tartaglia | Childe/Zhongli (Genshin Impact) - Genshin Impact

Cyno/Tighnari (Genshin Impact) - Genshin Impact

Blade/Dan Heng (Honkai: Star Rail) - Honkai: Star Rail

Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda) - Legend of Zelda

Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist - Persona 5

Kamishiro Rui/Tenma Tsukasa - Project SEKAI COLORFUL STAGE!

Western superheroes:

Dick Grayson & Jason Todd - Batman

Tim Drake & Jason Todd - Batman

Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne - Batman

James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers - MCU

Peter Parker & Tony Stark - MCU

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU

James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader - MCU

Miguel O'Hara/Reader - Spiderverse movies

Western live action:

Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) - 9-1-1

Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) - Good Omens

Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) - Good Omens

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter - Hannibal

Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring - Heartstopper

Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen - House of the Dragon

Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) - House of the Dragon

Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood - Lockwood & Co.

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) - Merlin

Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet - Our Flag Means Death

Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Israel Hands - Our Flag Means Death

Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor - Red, White & Royal Blue

Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling - The Sandman

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Sherlock

Castiel/Dean Winchester - Supernatural

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester - Supernatural

Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester - Supernatural

Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren - Star Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker - Star Wars

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson - Stranger Things

Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler - Stranger Things

Will Byers/Mike Wheeler - Stranger Things

Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington - Stranger Things

Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler - Law & Order: SVU

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Teen Wolf

Ellie & Joel (The Last of Us) - The Last of Us

Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen - The Rookie

Wednesday Addams/Enid Sinclair - Wednesday

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion - The Witcher

[eyeofthenewt1]

Marsh, spore druid, BG3 1st playthru PC

[ruinreigns]

Updated Muse List

comics

jane foster. marvel comics. she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info.

felicia hardy.  marvel comics.  she/her; pansexual.  canon critical.  info.

lucille smith.  the walking dead.  she/her; pansexual.  canon compliant.  info tba.

pamela isley.   dc comics.  she/her; lesbian.  canon critical. info tba.

tony stark. marvel comics & mcu. he/him; pansexual. mixed canon. info tba.

dungeons & dragons

hope. baldurs gate 3. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

karlach. baldurs gate 3. they/them & she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info tba.

orin. baldurs gate 3. she/her; lesbian. canon compliant. info tba.

shadowheart. baldurs gate 3. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

literature

beverly marsh.  it.  she/her; pansexual  canon critical.  info.

movies

amber sweet. repo! the genetic opera. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

blind mag. repo! the genetic opera. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

delia deetz. beetlejuice. she/her; heterosexual. canon critical. info tba.

gale weathers. scream. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

grace le domas.  ready or not.  she/her; pansexual  canon compliant.  info.

jyn erso. rogue one. she / her; heterosexual. canon compliant. info.

kirby reed. scream. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info.

leia organa.  star wars.  she/her; heterosexual  canon compliantish. info tba.

lydia deetz. beetlejuice. she/her; pansexual canon critical. info tba.

padme amidala.   star wars.  she/her; pansexual.  canon divergent.  info tba.

sam carpenter. scream. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

shiloh wallace. repo! the genetic opera. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

sidney prescott. scream. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

tara carpenter. scream. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

wade wilson. deadpool. he/him; pansexual. canon critical. info tba.

musicals

elphaba thropp. wicked. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba.

glenda upland. wicked. she/her; pansexual. canon compliant. info tba

original

amara rossi. fandomless. she/her; pansexual. original canon. info.

astrid farring. game of thrones. she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info.

fern montgomery. the purge. she/her; heterosexual. canon compliant. info.

lenore allan.   far cry 5.  she/her; heterosexual.  canon critical.  info.

lilly sullivan.   fandomless.  she/her; pansexual.  original canon. info.

moonbeam noble.  fandomless.  she/her; pansexual  original canon.  info.

television

rachel berry. glee. she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info tba.

robin buckley. stranger things. she/her; lesbian. canon critical. info.

wendy case.  sons of anarchy.  she/her; pansexual.  canon critical.  info tba.

drusilla. buffy the vampire slayer. she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info tba.

alex dupre. one tree hill. she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info tba.

tara knowles. sons of anarchy. she/her; heterosexual. canon critical. info tba.

erin lindsay.   chicago one.  she/her; heterosexual  canon compliant. info.

enid sinclair. wednesday. she/her; pansexual canon compliant. info tba

peyton sawyer. one tree hill. she/her; pansexual canon critical. info.

rose tyler.   doctor who.  she/her; pansexual.  canon compliant.  info.

donna winston. sons of anarchy. she/her; heterosexual. canon critical. info tba.

lyla winston. sons of anarchy. she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info tba.

nancy wheeler. stranger things. she/her; pansexual. canon critical. info tba.

videogames

faith seed.   far cry 5.  she/her; pansexual; panromantic  canon compliant. info.

princess zelda.  legend of zelda.  she/her; pansexual.  canonish.  info.

mad moxxi. borderlands. she/her; pansexual; panromantic canon critical. info.

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Head Full of Ghosts: Chapter 3

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 3/? Read on AO3 Current Word Count: 13,050

Author Notes: I'm finishing up the fourth chapter and realized I never uploaded this chapter to Tumblr. So here we are! Getting this fic back on track and should have the next chapter up soon.

Chapter 3: Monsters

“You know she is a hag, yes?” Lae’zel’s severe and even voice cut through the sticky swamp air like a hot knife through a wedge of Durinbold cheese. 

The bog was a foul place, both in atmosphere and in smell. The air was thick with humidity and an ever-present smell of wet rot. Trees sagged and bent at jagged angles, their tired limbs wilting in the gloom, and a thin fog seemed to permeate every corner of the swamp. A hazy light filtered through the tree canopy, casting blotchy shadows upon the muddy ground. 

The path the four companions were following sank into marsh every several yards, forcing the group to pick their way through mire and muck. The slog was slow, and there was much complaining. Especially from one particular high elf who no one had told not to wear freshly polished leather boots. 

“I am like…seventy percent sure she is a hag, yeah,” Eli answered as she carefully stepped over a rotted tree limb, half submerged in murky filth. “I mean, she’s entirely too eccentric to just be a normal human, right?” 

She looked over to Astarion for support, who was currently trying to rub some manner of sludge off his doublet.

“She certainly isn’t playing Three-Dragon Ante with a full deck, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Astarion replied coolly before throwing up his hands and huffing in irritation, the stain unyielding.

Lae’zel hummed for a moment, considering. “Gale is eccentric and a normal human, is he not?” she questioned, amber eyes fixing on their resident wizard who, at the moment, was trying to free the hem of his robe from the clawing grasp of a gnarled tree root.   

Eli sighed. “Gale has a magic bomb capable of leveling entire cities in his chest. I would not call that normal.”

“You wound me, Eli.” Gale responded in a good-natured tone as he tugged his robe free and the group began moving once more.

“You consumed an enchanted bracer yesterday at breakfast,” Eli quipped, recalling the morning fondly. Karlach had been fascinated, quickly trying to get Gale to absorb several other items from their camp hoard and asking him if he “took on their powers,” as she put it. 

Eli chuckled at the memory before concluding, “You’re as deranged as the rest of us and it’s not up for debate.”

Their little group really had become a hodgepodge of oddities over the past few days. Karlach was settling in well, because where else would she fit other than with their traveling sideshow which included a vampire who could walk in the sun, a warlock who was recently transformed into a part-devil by his patron, an amnesiac with the compulsion to murder anything that looked at her crossly, and all the rest of them. 

Eli was starting to wonder if she had a penchant for picking up emotionally constipated strays. They were all kind of outcasts in some way or another. People just trying to get along in a world that had kicked them in the teeth and tossed them out with the garbage. She still had no idea why they’d all just sort of accepted her as their group’s figurehead, but she was beginning to feel a certain affinity for their gang of misfits. They were all fighting battles both within and without, and Eli couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with people who were struggling with their own personal demons, just as she was.

At least as the day wore on her constant headache had faded to a dull throb, rather than the brain splitting white-hot pain she’d been experiencing. Her memories were still lost, and whenever she tried to call upon them she was only met with flashes of red violence. Images of mangled bodies, ruptured limbs, stringy viscera…it all melted and jumbled together in a confusing blur of chaos. Her dreams were no better, and her nighttime raids on the camp’s supply of books and wine were no secret among the party. Both Shadowheart and Karlach had even joined her on separate occasions. Hells, she’d have a proper book club up and running soon.

“So,” Lae’zel’s stern voice brought Eli out of her musings. “You trust this hag?”

“No,” Eli nearly spat the word out in a laugh. Auntie Ethel, as she called herself, was a lot of things, and trustworthy was not one of them. Astarion’s assessment of Ethel as ‘positively demented’ was accurate, and hags were not known as an honest sort.

“Good,” said Lae’zel, slightly drawing out the word in approval. “Lest I remind you that the only way to remove a ghaik tadpole is a Zaith'isk.”

Eli could feel the gith’s eyes on her and she did her best not to bristle under what she was sure was a judgmental stare. “I am aware,” Eli said, trying to sound unfazed and relatively certain she was failing miserably.

Lae’zel continued to press. “And a Zaith'isk can only be found at a gith creche.” She laid emphasis on the last two words, as if she were pointing something obvious out to a very dimwitted child.

Eli felt the back of her neck and ears start to go warm as irritation stirred in her chest and tightened her shoulders. The throbbing headache at the back of her skull began to growl. 

“You don’t say…” Eli replied, quietly pleading to whatever deity she couldn’t remember worshipping to please just let her have the rest of the day without feeling like her brain was on fire. 

“I just did say.” Lae’zel shot back, drawing a sidelong glare from Eli.

Eli liked Lae’zel. For the most part. When she wasn’t threatening tiefling refugees or complaining about the lack of spice in Gale’s cooking. Though, to her credit, Gale’s food was kind of bland. 

The gith fighter was blunt, stubborn, opinionated, fierce and one hell of a talent when it came to steel and blade. Eli appreciated Lae’zel’s steadfast loyalty and belief in her people’s culture, and even felt a slight pang of jealousy for it. It grounded the warrior and gave her a perspective from which to view the world, something Eli did not have. Culture, family, heritage…they were the building blocks of a person. Even if a person rejected or outgrew those foundational aspects of themselves, they still provided guiderails – or at the very least an anchor for one’s identity. 

Without those things, Eli felt adrift and directionless in a vast and swirling ocean, constantly beaten upon the rocks before being dragged back down to drown.  

“Explain to me why we are seeking this hag who you do not trust and who cannot remove the tadpole,” Lae’zel said, driving at a point Eli knew was coming and one she wasn’t sure she had a decent argument against. “Instead, should we not be pursuing a more productive course of action?”

Eli sighed, rubbing at her temples as her headache began to mount. “I’m curious,” she responded rather lamely. 

“I see,” Lae’zel said with a tone that indicated the gith was wholly unimpressed by Eli’s reasoning. “So, the situation at Emerald Grove continues to escalate, goblins continue to terrorize the Sword Coast, the druid healer remains missing, and the tadpoles in our brains remain unremoved.” Eli internally cringed at the chiding way in which Lae’zel spoke. “But, let us humor your curiosity. What is the worst that could happen?”

The question hung in the air uneasily. The worst that could happen was…really fucking bad. Everyone could die. Eli and her merry band of misfits could all turn into mind flayers. The Grove could fall under the absolute rule of a tyrant and racist. And the Sword Coast could get fully and aggressively fucked. Why was this all her problem, again?

“Lae’zel, was that sarcasm I just heard?” Astarion chimed in, and Eli felt a pull of appreciation towards him. He probably hadn’t meant to run interference between Eli and her interrogator, but she was thankful for it all the same. 

Truth be told, there was a small part of her that hoped Auntie Ethel did have a solution for their tadpole troubles. While they weren’t the most honorable of sorts, hags were rather enterprising and shrewd. And given the nature of their unconventional problem, an unconventional solution would more than likely be required. Besides, if things went south, they could just kill her. That seemed to be a particular specialty of their group. 

“Sarcasm often accompanies truth,” Lae’zel said with a pointed tone. 

Astarion chuckled lightly and Eli felt something not unlike faint affection flutter in her chest. She very quickly shoved it down into the black hole within herself where all the things she didn’t want to deal with went. Nope. That wasn’t good. That was the very last thing she needed right now. 

It had been happening more and more since the night she’d made a complete fool of herself, drunkenly asking him if they were still friends. Still friends. Gods, she was such a loser, and Astarion surely thought she was a total basket case after that encounter. But, every now and then, he’d give her a smirk or say something that caused a laugh to bubble up, and then that weird and endearing feeling would creep up and holy shit was this not the time or the place! Besides, that man had more red flags than a circus, and it wasn’t like Eli was a bastion of sanity, so together they’d be about as functional as wet hot garbage. 

“How profound,” Astarion continued, oblivious to Eli’s distressing mental spiral. “This little jaunt in the swamp does seem to be a rather unhygienic deviation from more pressing concerns.” 

The appreciation she’d felt for him earlier poofed away, and Eli glared. “I will turn this whole party around if you all don’t stop your complaining!”

Astarion’s eyes lit up with delight. “Oh, please do! I worry the putrid scent of squalor and anguish is never coming out of my clothes.” He ran his hands down his doublet, trying to smooth out some wrinkles, and sighed in an overdramatic fashion.

“I, for one, am looking forward to seeing Ethel again,” Gale chimed in as they continued to trod down the muddy path. All of them would be washing muck off their clothes for days. “Fey and the like often have access to magic that even a wizard of my caliber cannot wield. This deviation - as you put it, Astarion - could prove very advantageous if we play our cards right.”

Eli resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder at Astarion, who had surely just rolled his eyes so hard he could see up into his own skull. She could practically feel the disdain radiating off of him and pointedly kept her eyes ahead, scanning the dreary bogland for any sign that they may be nearing Auntie Ethel’s dwelling.

It took Astarion all but two seconds to quip back at the wizard. “Gale, your opinion is like the filth on my boots. Unwanted and irritating,” he said with all the cheer of a muddy wet cat as he paused to kick some grime off the bottom of one of said boots.

“It is a wonder any of you have survived this long,” Lae’zel said, glowering at Astarion as he continued to preen. 

“We are a rather astonishing group, aren’t we?” Eli asked with a small smirk, glancing back at the gith.

Lae’zel just rolled her eyes.

Eli was glad for the banter, as it provided some distraction from the pulsating headache growing behind her eyes. However, as they rounded a bend in the path where the trail began to climb upwards towards the interior of the bog, snaking away from the swampy shoreline, Eli was struck with a surging agony that flashed white hot throughout her head. She doubled over, the heel of her hand pressing into the ridge of her brow as a hiss escaped from behind her clenched teeth. Her stomach churned angrily, a hunger rising from deep within that neither food nor drink would satiate. Her head felt as if it were shattering into fragments, her conscious self being pulled apart at the seams as something else tried to push its way to the surface. Something feral, and frenzied and starved.

From somewhere behind her, Eli thought she heard Gale muttering a question. She then felt a hand on her shoulder and wanted nothing more in the world than to seize it and dig her nails into the supple flesh. She wanted to smell the crisp metallic tang of blood in the air as her fingers peeled back skin as if she were pulling the rind off a particularly ripe fruit, bloody pulp exposed and raw. The thought of her fingers sliding between muscle and skin, slick with blood, feeling fibrous sinew tear away and hearing the wet squelch and pop as she degloved flesh from limb…   

Fist clenched, her nails dug into the palm of her hand as she fought to keep control. A pleasurable shiver ran down her spine as her mind entertained depraved thoughts, and for a moment she thought she may vomit where she knelt. She was not herself. Her mind was splintering with a hundred craven desires…she wanted to walk across fields of ruptured bodies and feel the viscera turn to jam between her toes. Her muscles tensed and she flinched away from the hand, standing in a near delirious state and muttering some nonsense about “needing a minute” before stumbling off into the fen. 

Eli needed to put distance between herself and her companions. At least for the moment. At least until her head cleared. She slogged through the wetland, unfocused on where she was going, until she felt a dampness seeping through her boots. She stopped and blinked, trying to wrench her consciousness back from the brink. As her sight cleared and the world around her came back into focus, Eli found herself standing ankle-deep in water near a riverbank, looking out over the vast and gloomy expanse of the Chionthar River - the opposite bank obscured by fog. 

Sloshing her way back to shore, Eli stepped back onto somewhat solid ground just as she heard a rustling in the thicket. Her eyes shot up to see Astarion picking through the snarl of brush and weeds that bordered the muddy shoreline. His expression was one of exasperated frustration, brow furrowed and mouth pulled into a grimace, as he tugged a booted foot free of the clinging bramble. 

“Gods below, this entire place needs to be tossed into Avernus,” he grumbled as he plucked a bur off his doublet and flicked it to the ground. Astarion then glanced up at her, crimson eyes guarded, although Eli thought she caught the glimmer of something else in his gaze…a flash of something softer. But it came and went like a spark catching alight then burning out just as quickly. “Are you…alright?” 

His tone was hesitant and uncertain, as if he were unused to the concept of asking after someone else. Astarion had an edge about him that never seemed to dull, as if he were always acting under the assumption that those around him would lash out at any given moment without warning. Eli wasn’t sure why, but she felt as if she recognized that particular brand of uneasiness. It was a tension that came from an impartial distrust of anyone and anything. A response to a life lived in a constant state of conflict, always ready for fight or flight. Something gnawed at the far recesses of her mind, tugging at a memory she couldn’t quite grasp. She understood that feeling, though she did not know why…

“I think I am. Now, at least," Eli said, rubbing at her eyes as her headache growled but remained tempered. Her mind seemed to be clearing and realigning itself to the present, no longer at risk of breaking and letting loose whatever atrocity lay coiled up inside herself. “You didn’t have to follow me out here. I just needed a moment to collect my thoughts.”

Astarion eyed her and raised a brow, disbelief apparent on his face. “My dear, whatever just happened in that pretty head of yours is not nearly as frivolous as you’re trying to make it seem.” 

Eli winced internally. He was right, of course, and it wasn’t as if she had been subtle when she’d walked off aimlessly into the bog after being doubled over and obviously in pain. Hell, given how she must have looked in that moment, he’d probably followed her to make sure she didn’t trod blindly into a sinkpit or end up ensnared by some flesh-eating swamp ficus.

She sighed and ran a hand absentmindedly through her silvery hair. “I just don’t want to worry people,” Eli conceded. “We have enough to deal with, without adding my violent mood swings and absconded memory to the mix.” She spread her hands out, as if the gesture could represent the absolute shitstorm they dealt with on a daily basis.

Astarion considered her for a moment, expression thoughtful and impassive, before he shook his head with a small smile. “I believe you were the one who pointed out earlier that everyone in our weird little group is ‘deranged,’ as you put it.” He emphasized her choice of wording with a gesture of his hands, pantomiming plucking the word out of thin air.

The action brought a soft smile to her lips. She enjoyed Astarion’s embellishments and dramatics. The elf had a flare for the extravagant that she found both endearingly silly and strangely alluring…

Nope. No. Stop it. She shoved that twinge of attraction back down into the deep dark hole within and refocused herself. “Yeah, well, one of us needs to at least act somewhat sensible,” Eli quipped with a smirk. “Can’t have Zevlor and his lot figuring out how truly unhinged we all are. We may not get paid,” she said the last bit with more than a little fake indignation. 

Astarion played along, pretending to be scandalized and clutching his nonexistent pearls. “Now that would be a tragedy. I have every intention of hiring a witch at the first opportunity to hex Gale’s cookpot so it will only produce boiled squid,” he said cheerily. “I’m assuming that won’t be cheap.” 

Amused with himself, Astarion tipped his chin up, smirking at Eli with all the wiliness of a fox. For her part, Eli just rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop a grin from spreading on her face as she imagined Gale, flustered and put out, ranting about the juvenile use of magic. 

A thought occurred to her, then. Something unbidden and completely inane, but one she latched onto desperately. It was a joke that had bubbled up from the deep recesses of her broken memory, and though she had no idea where she heard it or in what context, she was delighted at the prospect of finding something among the rubble of her ruined mind. It set the tiniest flicker of hope alight within her that maybe, eventually, she may be able to recover more. 

Eyes bright, and with a reserved sort of hopefulness stirring in her chest, she gave Astarion a genuinely dorky grin and blurted out with all the self-restraint of a toddler; “What do you call a magician who cooks?”

Surprise overtook the elf’s face, and he tilted his head curiously with a small laugh, thrown by the sudden and highly abrupt tangent. Before he could speak, however, a snap sounded in the brush behind the pair. Both Eli and Astarion turned to find a man, tall and well built with slicked back hair the color of burnt coffee. His mouth, framed by a neatly kept goatee, was turned down in a grimace, jaw clenched, and in his hands the man held a very large crossbow - loaded and aimed in their direction. 

“I’d think twice before you get much closer to him, miss,” the stranger warned, eyes darting from Eli to Astarion as if he expected the elf to set upon him any second. “He’s dangerous.”

Eli frowned at the stranger, fingers curling reflexively into the beginning gesture for her Eldritch Blast incantation. “And yet you’re the one with a crossbow pointed at me,” she said warily, watching the man’s fingers for any twitch or movement on the trigger. 

Next to her, she could feel Astarion stiffen defensively, but he remained quiet. Had the stranger not had a crossbow bolt aimed in her direction, Eli would have been more curious who he was and his connection to Astarion. Due to his comments, she assumed he was aware of Astarion’s vampirism, though she couldn’t be certain. Her curiosity, however, would have to simmer in the face of their current predicament. 

“Call it a precaution,” the stranger said before tipping the crossbow in the direction of Astarion. “You know what he is? Vampire spawn.” He said the last bit as if it was supposed to be some revelation, venom laced within his words. 

Eli studied the tip of the crossbow bolt, noting how the sharpened edge glimmered faintly in the hazy light. Silver? She glanced back and caught the man’s eyes with her own, a growing dislike darkening her expression. 

“Old news, my friend,” she said with more than a hint of antagonistic sarcasm. “Known that since I met him.” 

This drew a somewhat startled noise from Astarion, whose gaze she could suddenly feel turn to her. “You did?” he asked with a genuine note of surprise in his voice. 

Astarion had not admitted to being a vampire spawn until the night Eli caught him creeping in on her as she slept, hungry and poised to bite. Up until that point, though, he’d done a rather poor job of concealing his nature. What with the bite scars on his neck and his pale, almost pearlescent, complexion. The fact he could walk in sunlight was an oddity, of course, but given that she’d just flown through Avernus on a mind flayer ship after having an illithid tadpole inserted into her brain, a vampire traipsing about in the sun wasn’t even the weirdest thing she’d seen that day.   

She chanced a quick sidelong glance at Astarion and quirked an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. It was kind of the worst kept secret in Faerûn. Shadowheart and I even had a bet about who you’d try to bite first.” Eli still owed her a bottle of sweetwine, come to think of it.

She shook the thought from her head and turned her attention back to the stranger who still had his crossbow trained on them. “Mind introducing yourself before you start a fight you’ll regret?” she asked, watching his body language for any sign that he may back down now he knew Eli was fully aware of her companion’s condition.

The stranger glared at her, and Eli sighed. Another day, another fight with some ignorant douchecanoe who was wasting the last moments of their life antagonizing her. That darkness inside of her, the thing that craved slaughter and whose language was only violence, shifted restlessly like a dog in a cage, pressing at the barricades with a cruel need. She fought to push it back, but gods she could imagine her hands tearing into his gut, ripping dying organs from the yawning wound, warm and wet. The iron scent of blood in the air. The agony twisting his face as he writhed. It would be beautiful brutality. 

Her headache was mounting once again, and through the throbbing pressure she heard the man say; “You can call me monster hunter.”

He braced his crossbow, targeting Astarion, and Eli was moving faster than coherent thought. She felt a force collide with her left shoulder, nearly knocking her off balance, and then the world melted away into a manic savagery that was both achingly familiar and terrifyingly transcendent. 

Flesh would rend. Bone would snap. And her hunger would be sated. For now. 

The headache faded, and Eli was suddenly aware of a thick and deep pain radiating from her shoulder. Her mind swam dully, like a bobber struggling to stay above water as forces tried to pull it down. She felt…tired. Dazed. 

Why was she on the ground? Was that her blood spattered across her bracers? Why was Astarion yelling?

“Godsdamnit! Why would you do that!” 

Something jostled her, and the pain in her shoulder flared. She groaned and tried to turn her head towards Astarion’s voice only to find she was propped up against him. He was kneeling next to her, a hand braced against her back to keep her seated upright while his other hand pressed into her shoulder. She grimaced, trying to ignore the searing agony rocketing down her left side, but found herself unable to focus. 

She looked up into Astarion’s face, head bobbing to the side, and squinted at him. A range of emotions flitted across his face as he looked down at her. Anger, frustration, exasperation…all common day-to-day expressions for the snarky and uppity elf. But there was something else, too. Something in the clench of his jaw, the tightness of his lips and the way his sharp, clear eyes stayed fixed on her. Concern…

“Do…what?” she asked, confused. 

Eli continued to watch his face, thinking dully about when she’d ever seen him worried and coming up with nothing. Well, she wasn’t in a great state of mind at the moment and kind of just wanted to go to sleep. She was probably just forgetting…

Her mind drifted…eyes closing wearily…

Astarion shook her gingerly and she let out a noise somewhere between a hiss and a growl. “That bolt you idiotically decided to jump in front of was laced with poison! Do. Not. Fall. Asleep.” He pressed at the wound on her shoulder and her eyes wrenched back open, pain flooding her senses and slamming adrenaline into her system.

“Fucking rude!” she yelped. 

Then, the pain was fading and a slow numbness was creeping down from her shoulder. It felt cold and soothing, and she was so tempted to just relax into it and fade away. Her head dropped and came to rest against his chest, eyelids fluttering closed again. 

“I think I just like to annoy you…” she said weakly, then gave a hiccupping sort of laugh. 

Astarion was trying to jostle her out of the daze again, only this time there was no pain and she felt too content to open her eyes as her head rested against him. 

“Eli! Eli! Shit!” He sounded so far away. So far…far…away…

“What do you call a magician who cooks?” Astarion asked, a hint of panic coiling around his words. 

From somewhere very distant, Eli remembered she hadn’t finished telling him her joke. A small laugh caught in her throat as she thought about it…but she really didn’t feel like talking right now. Gods, she wanted to sleep…

Astarion was shaking her again. “What do you call a magician who cooks! Eli!”

Fucking hell, he was loud. 

Eli groaned and tried to lift her head. Too heavy… 

…she needed to finish the joke…

“A…saucerer…” she said lamely, then laughed, head still slumped against his chest. She’d have to tell Gale…

There was some muttering, then a feeling of being lifted. The ground was gone. Her arms sagged. 

“You will not die,” she heard Astarion say from miles away. “You will not die because that was just awful, and it will not be the last thing you ever say."

Eli smiled to herself. She was hilarious…

Everything went dark.

[hoontsart]

The snack that bites back

[gaydragontournament]

List of battles, as chosen by wheel spin. Each round will last about a week, Starting next Monday.

Round 1, Part 1:

King Valerius (Dragon's Reign by Raythe Reign/X. Aratare) vs Nel (Fire Emblem)

Yang Xiao Long (RWBY) vs Falin Touden/Red Dragon (Dungeon Meshi)

Qibli (Wings of Fire) vs Dan Heng/Dan Feng (Honkai Star Rail)

Evaristo (The Las Leyendas movie franchise) vs Paarthurnax (The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim)

Prismatic dragon (Dungeons & Dragons (Epic Level Handbook, Dragons of Dragons of Faerûn) vs Imperialdramon (Digimon)

Whiptail lizard (Real Life) vs Shi An (After The Abyss Dragon Woke Up (深渊巨龙苏醒以后))

Sundew (Wings of Fire) vs Rex Igneous (The Dragon Prince)

Uncle Iroh (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs Azhdaha/Retuo Longwang (Genshin Impact)

Round 1, Part 2:

Rei (Vainglorious Webcomic) vs Remy (Angels with Scaly Wings)

Soren (Fire Emblem:Path of Radiance + Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn) vs Wrathion (Warcraft Series)

Valax (Blades of Light and Shadow) vs Fiona (Flight Rising)

Kaido (One Piece) vs Velverosa (Mage & Demon Queen)

Lord Arum (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs Midgardsormr (Dragalia Lost)

Nimona (Nimona) vs Mateo (Poised in Either Eye by B. Pigeon and Fell A. Marsh)

Corrin (Fire Emblem: Fates) vs The Void Dragon (Aurora)

Anemone (Wings of Fire) vs Tillius the Paladin/Tilly Evans (She Kills Monsters)

Round 1, Part 3:

Unnamed Young Dragon (The Enchanted Forest Chronicles) vs Caden Bryce (Dragon's Reign by Raythe Reign/X. Aratare)

Veldora Tempest (That time I got reincarnated as a slime) vs Zuko (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Draco quinquefasciatus (Thailand, Indonesia, and Malaysia) vs Umber (Wings of Fire)

Rhea (Fire Emblem) vs Xue Xian (Copper Coins (Tong Qian Kan Shi) (铜钱龛世))

Tamarin (Wings of Fire) vs Samol (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Robin (Fire Emblem: Awakening) vs Ansur (Baldur's Gate 3)

Moondragon/Heather Douglas (Marvel Comics: Guardians of the Galaxy) vs Chromie/Chronormu (Warcraft Series)

Smaug (Lord of The Rings/The Hobbit) vs Burnet (Wings of Fire)

Round 1, Part 4:

Rong Minh Thanh Thuan/Thuan (Dominion of the Fallen series by Aliette de Bodard) vs Ventuswill (Rune Factory 4)

J'mon Sa Ord/Devo'ssa (Critical Role) vs Zinnia (Super Lesbian Animal RPG)

Tohru (Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid) vs Alear ( Fire Emblem: Engage)

Alduin (The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim) vs Jae-ha (Yona of the Dawn)

Dragona Joestar (Jojo's Bizzare Adventure: The Jojolands) vs Zhongli (Genshin Impact)

Ayame (Fruits Basket) vs Alba-Lenatus the Abyss Dragon (Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Zephyr (Poised in Either Eye by B. Pigeon and Fell A. Marsh) vs Terezi Pyrope (Homestuck)

Kazuma Kiryu (Yakuza Series) vs Malleus Draconia (Twisted Wonderland)