#amatistafey

[accultant]

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver.

actions speak louder than words

Iago stares at forward, at some point above Amatista's shoulder, unblinking, not daring to so much as glance anywhere else for fear of seeing just how horrific they look. They never get dirty in a fight. They make a point not to. They can't handle it. This time was different - they were caught off-guard, pinned to the floor, and thankfully saved by their brother promptly cleaving their attacker in half.

All well now, after the fight. They were hardly injured, they were safe, the job was very efficient all in all. But they were drenched in gore.

They sat still other than the tremor in their fingers while Amatista takes their hands. Normally, they could manage this on their own. It's not the first time they've ended up in more viscera than desired ( the Bhaalists used to delight in a game of locking them in the oubliette or dunking them in the bloodpools and seeing who could escape without being burned alive in the aftermath ). But it was a lot.

"Just- if you could just help me clean my hands, that's all, I can deal with the rest." They devolve into a ramble, too quiet for anyone but Amatista to hear it, "The hands, first, so I can actually clean the rest of it off without simply spreading it around, I always make sure to clean the hands first. I can feel it on my face but if I touch it now, I'll only make it worse. And I need my hands to wash my hair, it's in my hair, too, and my clothes, but I can take care of that if you just get it off my hands, please-"

[demonwebs-a]

i may be old, but i still know how to negotiate. ( From @amatistafey bcuz I'm too lazy to switch blogs on mobile :3 )

EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE (2022) PROMPTS

❝ ... what ? no way ... you're like - a fetus , ❞ alright , so - he's not entirely sure why he'd assumed she was even younger than him . perhaps it was because he was happy to no longer be the 'baby' everywhere he went . perhaps it was just the lack of cynicism and desire to live that mislead him .

either way , color him shocked . ❝ but look at you ... you're pocked-sized , ❞ vhaal'krin lifts her off the ground unceremoniously by her under arms , letting her feet dangle off the ground . ❝ you're so cute i don't even wanna cut you open ... i just wanna take you back home and put you in a cute little collar . ❞

[lovepvnch]

“It’s so strange. I’ve never felt so peaceful, before.”

Howl's Moving Castle Sentence Starters

Tempest has to stay her hand when she giggles so the liner brush doesn't leave a stray streak if purple across Amatista's nose, "I had a feeling you'd like this, but I didn't expect such praise! I'm glad!"

She continues her work, one hand gentle holding her chin, ever so lightly tilting her face this way and that. The other holds the brush with a delicate and practiced hand, tracing careful lines over her cheek bones, across her forehead, swirling over her temples. "My father taught me everything about the practice of it. The meaning, I guess. He's much more eloquent than I, but essentially-" She paints a small flower in between a patch of freckles on Amatista's cheek. "It's a kind of meditation. You set aside the time to focus on yourself and the pretty colors decorating your face - paying attention to the deep breaths to stay steady, the shape of your own face, the colors that speak to you that day. And then again at night when you wash it off, sorting through all that happened in the day, letting it go with the paint. It's like a little check-in with your soul, yanno?"

She puts a matching flower on the other cheek. "My older sister, Indra, was the one that taught me all the technical technique. She let me practice on her as a kid, long before I was any good. She looked so silly with my messy scribbles on her face but wore them so proudly," a fond, homesick smile blooms on Tempest's face. "The designs are my own, though. I like to match them to how I'm feeling. Or to my outfits. You seem very purple-y."

Beaming, she trades out the brush for a small handheld mirror, holding it up for her companion. The lines she had painted swirl across her face like vines with small lilac blooms decorating her cheeks, crossing over her nose, accented by the outlines of small leaves and branches. Her sister taught her well, the lines are smooth with a downright artistic line weight to them, not too heavy nor covering up any of Amatista's natural features, but perfectly tracing and accenting the beauty already there. "What do you think, Tia?"

[bloodtwin]

@amatistafey ❝ Decapitation. ❞

[nymfey]

@amatistafey ✵ closed starter.

The camp is still, draped in the early hush of evening.    Shadows stretch long and deep, but the light of the dying sun catches on something that draws Arwen’s eye—a glimmer of color where the earth should be bare.    Purple flowers, delicate and luminous, seem to bloom from the very ground itself, leaving a trail that weaves through the grass like a whisper of magic.    Arwen follows it without hesitation.    Her own footsteps are light, her bare toes brushing against leaves and twigs without a sound, as if the earth itself welcomes her.   

The trail leads her to Amatista’s tent, half-concealed by the low-hanging branches of a tree.    Soft violet petals scatter around the entrance like an invitation—or perhaps a warning.    She can’t help the way her lips curve into a gentle smile as she kneels down to touch one of the flowers, running her fingertips over its fragile petals.    They’re warm, alive, like they’re humming with the faint remnants of fey magic.    It’s a magic she knows well.    A magic she aches for.

Her gaze lifts, settling on the silhouette within the tent.    Arwen feels a pang of longing, an ache for the wild beauty of her homeland, for the language of flowers and moonlit groves.    The woman who leaves these blossoms in her wake is like a piece of that world, half-familiar and yet entirely mysterious.    She wants—no, needs—to know.

Arwen draws in a breath, holding it for a moment as she gathers the words that have been pressing at her all day.    When she speaks, her voice is low and warm, a murmur that feels as natural as the rustle of leaves.    The syllables of her native tongue roll off her lips, rich and lilting, carrying the resonance of her homeland.

❛ Bhfuil leat shi’feer? ❜

The question hangs in the air, a gentle invocation.    It’s a simple question—“Are you fey?”—but in those words, she pours her longing, her hope, her loneliness, and her wonder.    She doesn’t bother to soften the edges, doesn’t couch it in mortal politeness.    Among the fey, there is no need for pretense.    Only truth, raw and bright.

[hellfirelord-arch]

Gives him a shiny new fey thing to tinker with AND distract him so she can place a bunch of purple flowers in his hair/clothes!

Give my muse an item, see how they react.

Mephistopheles toyed with the trinket, unaware as she slipped purple flowers into his hair and robes.

"Clever" he purred, amused, when he noticed.

[silvertiefling]

&&. I've got like no drafts because my fingers be too quick ( and also I yeeted some or lost some because tumblr hates giving notifications ) So just a lil reminder I have opens & a wishlist & am always open to plotting, even if sometimes I'm forgetful! u can also find me on my other blogs!! BG3 SIDEBLOG: @amatistafey Other BG3 blogs: @mvstra, @vellicth

[sharransepulchre]

☽◯☾ . DOSSIER

◯ LEGAL NAME | Jenevelle Hallowleaf Shadowheart

◯ MOST KNOWN AS | Shadowheart

◯ NICKNAMES | Shart , Shadow , Shads , Shadsy , The Fringe , Princess , Squirrelheart , Jenny , Jen

◯ DATE OF BIRTH | Eleasis 13 , 1444 DR

◯ SEX | cis - female , she / her

◯ CURRENTLY LIVING | formerly House of Grief , presently nomadic

◯ SPOKEN LANGUAGES | Common , Elvish , Celestial , Infernal , Undercommon

◯ EDUCATION | Shadowheart was taught extensive history pertaining to religion . She is extremely well versed in Sharran culture , being raised and trained by the House of Grief , and all of her education stems from what she learned in the cloister . After saving the city , if without a partner , she will travel to Waterdeep to explore the largest Temple of Selûne North of Amn to learn more of the goddess .

◯ HAIR COLOR | Dyed stark white , formerly inky black

◯ EYE COLOR | Jade green with flecks of gold on the outside

◯ SCARS | She has an incurable Sharran wound on her right hand , but it no longer flares up . Her betrayal of Shar caused the veins surrounding the wound to become a corrupted purple color, similar to varicose veins, that climb up her forearm . She has several scars across her face, the most notable being a clean slash over her right cheek that crosses the bridge of her nose from a Sharran weapon during her time in the cloister . Most of the scars on her face are from her time in the cloister , and all of the ones on her back are from beatings and whippings administered by the Mother Superior . Her wrists and palms are scarred from cuts , due to countless blood offerings for Shar before rituals .

◯ HEIGHT | 5'7" , 170 cm

◯ WEIGHT | 150 lbs , 68 kg

◯ RELATIONSHIPS |

Arnell Hallowleaf [ Father , Deceased ]

Emmeline Hallowleaf [ Mother , Deceased ]

Viconia DeVir [ Adopted Mother , Unknown ]

Shar [ Former Deity ]

Selûne [ Complicated ]

◯ SEXUAL ORIENTATION | pansexual , female preference

◯ RELATIONSHIP STATUS | single

Tagged by : @valiantthearts

Tagging : @fiendishfinesse , @amatistafey , @whomuses , @rubistella , and you !

[accultant]

uwu

ARE YOU IAGO'S TYPE?

Does no one appreciate a bit of well-deserved revenge these days?

"...couldyoubraidmyhairagainsometime?"

[demonwebs-a]

"what's behind your back?"

PROMPTS FOR LIES, DECEIT, AND SOME VILLAINY

there is red dripping from his hands , pooling into he soil below with a sickening slow drip . his hands remain tucked away , out of sight , the slit pupils swimming in the burgundy depths of his eyes suddenly dilate , overcast by shadows under the delicate , sluggish sweep of his dark lashes .

slithering out of the darkness with calculation , the pale drow flashes a row of sharp teeth at her , canines peeking from under the softness of his smile as he arches forward , leaning into the small fae with palpable disregard for personal space . ❝ ... nothing . ❞ / @amatistafey

[lovepvnch]

you look really pretty right now!"

Tempest gasps a little and twirls around to beam at Amatista even though she could already see her in the mirror. Finally making it to Baldur's Gate, Tempest and Amatista weasled one afternoon away from world-saving to do a little shopping. Tempest couldn't be happier to have an evening of near-normalcy. And a pretty new dress. Her cheeks are pink as she grins and does another little twirl, "Shucks, you think so? Thank you, doll. Now, you next, you next! Go pick out something lovely, and we'll be the most fetching duo of heroes in the whole city!"

[bloodtwin]

&&.┆THE BAG OF BONES ☠️ INBOX.

──────────────────────────────

@amatistafey sent:

:)

──────────────────────────────

❝ I'll make a silly billy out of you yet. ❞

[hellfirelord-arch]

A Garden of Ice

closed *suprise (loool sorry) starter for @amatistafey ♥ cw: weird sweetness (?)

The frozen lake shimmered under the dim, icy glow of Cania's twilight, a perfect expanse of glass-like ice reflecting the stars and sky above. The air around them was frigid, biting into everything it touched—except her. She always seemed immune to the realm's unforgiving cold, her presence a quiet contradiction to the eternal frost.

Mephistopheles walked beside Amatista, his towering figure casting long shadows across the ice. For once, his expression lacked the usual sharpness, his gaze softened as he led her toward the edge of the frozen lake. He hadn't spoken much during their journey here, as usual,content to let the stillness fill the space between them. It wasn't often that he allowed anyone, even her, into these private corners of his realm.

"This" he finally said, stopping just before the lake's edge, "is one of the few places in Cania untouched by the harsher elements." He glanced at her, the faintest hint of pride and something more personal flickering in his eyes. "I thought you might appreciate it. I've kept this place hidden. Untouched by my magic, by the other devils. It remains perfect. I enjoy working on my sculptures here as well."

He allowed himself to look at her then, watching her reaction, though he kept his usual stoic posture. The frozen lake mirrored the stars in a way that made it feel as if they were standing in the sky itself. Though his gaze remained calculating, there was a softness there reserved only for her.

He stepped onto the ice first, his boots making no sound, his movements almost unnaturally graceful as he turned to face her.

He extended a hand toward her, a rare gesture from him. His hand hovered in the space between them, not demanding but offering. "Come." he said, his voice softer than usual. There was no command in his tone, just an invitation.

[lunarrepel]

"I was thinking of entering a warlock pact," Shadowheart announced, abruptly to Amatista with seemingly no preamble to this announcement. She had known her for a bit now, and the unpredictable uses of magic, the strange speech patterns and sometimes ancient way of speaking ... Well, it was all very suspicious. She wasn't the type yet to just ask outright, wanting her to just come out with it, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to goad her towards a possible confession.

"Like what Wyll has with Mizora except with I hope to have a much more amiable connection with my potential patron. I wonder how one goes about it. You think there's a book we've recovered that goes into detail about these sorts of things?" Shadowheart posed to the other. "Or ... maybe we know someone who has ah ... expertise."

[ @amatistafey— 🌙 starter call 🌙

[demonwebs-a]

LET ME ASSIGN YOU A LOVE LANGUAGE.

a story that ends in blood . the world has always been unkind, and when you have turned to yourself for comfort you have come face to face with an empty pit which seems to be laughing . you don’t care if it kills you but once you find someone whom you love and who loves you back , you will make sure nothing happens to them . they are yours . you will make a tear in this world and create a new place for you and your love if it comes to that . because it has always been about love, and it is how it always ends .

tagged by. @palespawn how dare u hurt me like this tagging. @bhaalbie , @amatistafey , @saintsdawn , @silvertiefling , @relentlessgrief , @quiltscar , steal from me <3

[lovepvnch]

🌡️ - A fever dream

shhh Tempest is dreaming...

She went to bed feeling ill, feverish, but when she wakes, she feels much, much better. Very limber! Her head hardly even aches! Crawling out of her tent with a yawn and a stretch, she starts to say hello to each of her companions. "Hihi, Gale! Smells delicious!" One tentacle keeps stirring the pot of porridge while another adds a dash of cinnamon. A third tentacle waves cheerily. "Good morning, Astarion!" She's never seen a sea creature with such beautiful hair ! "Morning, Karlach!" "Blubblub blub. Blub blubblub!" Whatever she says makes Tempest laugh, "Oh, you!" Oh! Scratch swims up to her, fuzzy tentacles excitedly wagging as something is dropped at her feet. "A morning game of fetch? Well, I certainly can't say no to those puppydog eyes!" Tempest picks it up and is a little surprised to find it isn't his usual red ball. No, this one is silver-y and shiny. Reflective, too. A big squid head looks back at her, distorted like a funhouse mirror, with beautiful swirls and lines painted on it's slimy head. Blink. Blinkblink. OH, THAT'S NOT QUITE RIGHT, IS IT-

Gods bless the poor soul who is tasked with comforting a feverish and weeping Tempest who refuses to go back to sleep 'because you'll all get squiddy again!'