#ancient elf bowl

[the-gnomish-bastard]

Own a musket for gnome defense, since that's what the ancient wizards intended. Four high elves break into my tower. "What the fuck?" As I grab my gnome hat and arcane rifle. Blow a bowling ball sized hole through the first elf, he's dead on the spot. Draw my wand on the second elf, miss him entirely because it's bent and nails the neighbors familiar. I have to resort to the arcane cannon mounted at the top of the stairs loaded with explosive goblins, "Eat shit bitch" the goblins shred two elves in the blast, the sound and bone shrapnel spook the griffins. Grab Grankler and charge the last terrified shithead. He turns into a muscular undead chicken with crab legs, then spontaneously combusts. Just as the ancient wizards intended.

[tragedybunny]

Absolution

༺Summary༻

Astarion and Serafina have an argument and Astarion does what he thinks is necessary to keep her with him. Set before his Act 2 confession.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings༻ PiV sex, oral sex, all occurring while Astarion disassociates.

༺Word Count༻ 2441

༺A/N༻ Although most of my reader fics are based my Tav, Serafina, and my experience playing the game as her, this is the first fic I've written featuring her as a named character. And it's my first BG3 fic in 3rd person. I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks to @satanicspinosaurus for the wonderful beta.

The scene from earlier plays over and over in his mind. 

“You don't know anything about me, Astarion! So just leave it be.” Sera, sweet, kind, gentle, patient Serafina, had yelled at him. Not once since they'd met on that beach had their erstwhile leader even raised her voice slightly at him. And today she shouted at him. All because she couldn't read Elvish and he'd reacted with the same humor she’d claimed to enjoy. Turning it on him as though he’d been the one in the wrong. 

They'd been seated around the fire while Wyll took his turn “cooking”, going through some papers and books they'd found in the wake of a goblin attack. They were looking for any clues into the cult's movements or plans. Sera had plucked a small, neatly bound journal from the pile and turned it over in her hands. It was a thing clearly well-made and cared for. She'd opened it gently, respectful of the fine binding holding it all together. 

Her brilliant blue eyes had scanned a few pages before she gave out a frustrated sigh. “Elvish,” she muttered, snapping it shut violently and thrusting it at Astarion. “You'll probably have better luck with that.”

He wasn't sure why he did it. The half-elf’s reaction was disproportionate to simply encountering a foreign language, that was obvious. Maybe it was because he’d become too used to teasing her since they’d started their “relationship.” Their easy back and forth banter giving him the foreign feeling of acceptance. 

 Or maybe it was his own way of trying to deny those irritatingly tender feelings that had started to creep in whenever he caught her glancing his way or their hands touched, or she laughed at one of his jokes. The need to push back against them, sharpening his tongue and drawing out ancient bias. 

Whatever caused it, he should’ve thought before opening his mouth. “Can’t read Espruar? Someone got forgotten by one parent. Is that why you threw a tantrum and ran-”

“Shut up!” Sera leapt up from the log she’d been seated on and glared at him. “You don’t know anything about me, Astarion! So just leave it be.” 

With that, she’d stormed off and left him silently stunned, as though awaiting a reprisal that didn’t come. Around him, their companions pretended to look away and he caught a few whispers on the air. “What are you all looking at? It’s not my fault she suddenly can’t take a joke.” He’d sulked off to his own tent, waiting until her tantrum had passed and everyone forgot his misstep. He’d assumed Sera would cool down and come out for dinner, but instead she’d remained stubbornly locked away. Karlach had brought her a bowl of what they were generously calling stew. 

Everyone had eaten and retired for the evening and she was still pouting. Which brought him to now, slinking his way across camp toward her tent. He had to do something, he couldn't watch his hard won protection slip away. It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that Sera gave him a little kiss and wished him goodnight every other night lately and it had been noticeably withheld tonight. 

The way the moonlight filtered through the trees, one solid beam pointing down on her tent, a poet might say that Selune was guiding him. Poets were idiots. Parting the flap just the smallest amount, he starts to slip inside, intent on waking her to settle things if he needed to, when a sound stopped him. A strangled cry, was it directed at him? He froze, half inside, the errant moonbeam that slipped around him haloing her with soft illumination. 

Another wordless cry. Only a nightmare, nothing to be concerned with. Stepping in, he lets the tent shut, plunging them both back into darkness. With a predator’s stealth, he approaches her bedroll, kneeling down, eyes subconsciously glancing at the healing puncture wounds on her neck. 

“Let me out.” Her sudden words startle him. 

Stumbling backwards, he nearly loses his balance to go sprawling across the floor. His skin suddenly heated, as though the breath that carried those words could burn him. 

Another sob comes as she thrashes around a bit. “Please, I won't run,” unintelligible sounds follow the small plea. “Let me out.” 

Locked up. She'd been locked up too. Regaining himself, he crept toward her again, as she shook and cried. Someone had hurt her. But who would want to do that?

She was Sera, unfailingly kind; who aided refugees, saved children, fought monsters, and foolishly fed manipulative vampires.  

The sobbing becomes frantic and without thinking he reaches out to gently grasp her shoulder. “Sera,” she struggles against his touch with a whimper. Growling in frustration, he shakes her a little more roughly. “Serafina!” 

Eyes snap open to behold him with wide pupils as her chest heaves. “A-Astarion?” Sitting quickly, she pulls away from him, and he feels a sudden sting in his chest. “What are you doing here?” She hisses, apparently still angry with him. 

“You were having a nightmare.” He replies, trying to soften his voice, to be the lover she had come to expect. 

“Hmm,” her eyes focus across the tent to an empty lantern, “fiat lux.” Small little motes of light appear in the lantern, swirling gently in their prison, as Sera draws her knees up to her chest. “Well, I'm awake now, you can go.”

The forlorn gaze and empty voice were nothing like the Serafina he'd come to know and the unsettled sensation in the back of his mind grows. He cleares his throat, trying to get the words moving. “I didn’t come just to wake you up, I wanted to…apologize. For earlier. I’m sorry, the joke was in poor taste.” 

Turning her head, she glances his way from where it rested on her knees. She looks so small like this, so far from the fierce woman who’d led them from the moment of the crash. “Apology accepted, I probably took it too personally.” 

It didn’t quite ring true, but he plows on anyway, hoping maybe those blue eyes would light back up for him. “The truth is, I’m actually a bit rusty with Espruar myself. But maybe I could teach you and it would be good practice for me.” He affects the warmest smile he could, sure the gesture would win her over.

Instead, she shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t actually matter all that much. Thanks for the thought though. You can go, I’m not still mad at you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

That was not his Serafina. He has to do something, to fix this. To keep her on his side. Reaching out, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his lap, lips closing over hers. “What’s this about?” She huffs as her skin began to flush a pretty pink. 

“Pleading my apology some more,” his voice drops to the low sultry tone that made her pulse jump in a way he could hear. 

“I said you were forgiven.” Despite her protest, her arms encircle his neck, pulling him closer. 

“Your words said that, but your eyes spoke differently.” His lips trace a line of kisses from her lips to the lobe of her ear, making her sigh. 

This was what he could do for her, what he did best. It was a skill honed by two hundred years of unwilling practice, and like so many before, a skill she was willing to make use of. At least it was easy enough with Sera, she was sweet and gentle, and he knew she'd never harm him. And it wasn't as though a part of him didn't want her, she was a pretty little thing. That part was just bound up with all the other parts that hated what his body had been used for. If he had to open his pants for anyone, he supposes he was glad it was her. 

“I meant it, but- gods Astarion!” He runs his tongue along the point of her ear, less sensitive than his, but still enough to start driving her mad. 

“In that case, we'll call it making up for my behavior earlier.” Guiding her to face him, legs straddling his, her warm core settles against his hips. He kisses his way back down to her throat, already feeling his mind growing distant from his actions. 

Lips linger near the marks on her neck, and she squirms in his lap. “Do you want to?” 

He could never say no to that offer. Without hesitation, his fangs sink into her flesh, and succulent liquid pours into his throat. It adds to what little pleasure he’s able to wring from what he was about to do. Sera whimpers and writhes in his lap, grinding down on his growing erection. She hadn’t started out allowing him to feed on her as some form of pleasure, but she had given him her neck as often as the rest of her body, and the two had become inextricably tied together. 

Just a sip for tonight, after everything that had happened, he couldn’t ask too much. Too soon he pulls his fangs away to lap at the remainders and kiss the wounds. Blood and a distant mind, this was good as it would be for him. “Let's get this out of the way.” Fingers grip the hem of her shirt and guide it over her head. 

She shivers as the night air caresses her skin and leans into him. It was almost enough to make him laugh, there was nothing about him that could provide any warmth. Instead he continues kissing his way down her chest, nipping lightly until her back arches into him and she makes a needy noise. 

“Patience,” he chides her, releasing his grip on her to remove his own shirt. 

Hands encircle her waist in an iron grip, holding her firmly in place while tongue and teeth tease her rosebud nipples. Fingers trace his back as she pants, trying to contain all the noises that could wake the camp. Her nails ghost along his flesh, and he senses she longs to dig them in.. She hadn’t even attempted to ask about it. Why did she afford him such gentleness, was she wary that it would be too much on his scarred flesh?

Lips leave off her hardened peaks to capture hers again, and she grinds against him even harder. No doubt her small clothes were soaked. “You drive me mad,” she whispers, lost in desire. 

Just as he’d wanted, Serafina, hurt feelings and nightmares forgotten. “You enjoy it.” He captured her lip between his teeth for a second and nibbles. “Stand up, take your pants off for me.” He awaits her on his knees, as a penitent seeking their absolution. 

She’s so occupied, she doesn’t notice as his gaze finds the dancing lights in the lantern, and watches them swirl aimlessly until she’s naked before him. Gripping her thighs, he pulls her in, holding them apart so his tongue can swipe along her sex, as soaked as he predicted. Sera’s not a bard, but she sings for him anyway. Fingers grip into his curls, not too tightly. Sometimes he wishes she wouldn’t be so damn gentle, that she'd be like everyone else, someone easy to use, instead of, whatever all this was. 

“Astarion,” she keens as he slips two fingers inside her, tongue running over her clit. 

He laps and suckles at it almost as fiercely as he does the wounds he leaves in her neck. The fingers inside her find the spot that causes her knees to buckle and another cry to leave her. She’s close, just a little more, and he could leave it for the night.  

“I want you inside me.” He stiffens, inhaling deeply. 

“Do you now, my sweet?” He nips her thigh playfully with his fangs while his stomach drops. “Then come down here.” 

As soon she hits her knees, he's positioning her on all fours, he can’t look her in the eyes right now. He tears his pants open, eyes finding the lights again, concentrating on them as he pushes inside her. She’s warm and wet as she pushes back against him, eager to have all of him. Because she chooses him. No matter how many of his rough edges and dark corners she finds, she wants him. Would she still want him if she saw it all?

Forget it, he tells himself, pushing that thought away. He clears his mind until there’s only the moment, the sensation left, hips slapping against hers, the way her body clenches around his cock, how she eagerly sucks the fingers he puts in her mouth so she has something to absorb the moans. 

It’s almost enough to completely lose himself, his cock twitches. It’s spectacular, the way she meets every thrust and takes everything he has to give. “Touch yourself,” he urges, eager for her to come undone. 

Her own fingers slide between her folds, working feverishly. It’s not long before the noises muffled by his fingers become frantic and she tightens around him. 

“That’s it, my darling, let go.” With another deep thrust, he allows himself a release. “Sera,” he gasps, knowing it will please her to hear her name on his lips. 

They collapse next to one another on the bedroll, Sera quick to snuggle up in his arms. It takes longer than it should to embrace her, his body wanting to run. “Is everything alright?” She asks, innocently, from where she lays, head on his chest. Maybe there are merciful gods, she can’t see his face. 

“Of course, love. I think I may have worn myself out after all the walking today.” Softly, he kisses her head, he can’t let her suspect. 

“Well don’t complain tomorrow, Lae’zel will blame me for sure. I don’t think I was very discreet.” She laughs, sounding like sleep is already returning to her. 

“But you are to blame. If you weren’t so irresistible.” He tries to laugh as well. This stupid, sweet girl, why does she lay in a monster’s arms and giggle? 

With a yawn, she gives him an out. “You should probably go, I’m going to fall asleep soon and don’t want to trap you here.” 

One more kiss, even as his mind insists on fleeing. “Goodnight my love, rest well, and I’m sorry again.”

“For what?”

“For earlier.” For everything. 

Tag list:

@micropoe10  @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

 @tallymonster  @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved

@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @volotramp @misscrissfemmefatale @bg3obsessedsideblog @captainaceofspades @wickedwitchofthewilds @asterordinary

[saccharineomens]

I wrote another excerpt from my fic!

During the feast at the end of the manga, Marcille re-connects with Fionil and Doni. Some secrets about Fionil are about to come to light, however… (1.6k words)

—

Stuffed. Stuffed was the only word that came to Marcille’s mind right then. She’d been eating as much as she could since she woke up that morning, taking bites in-between helping Senshi prepare vegetables and stock for soups until she was fit to burst. It had been taking real effort to keep up the momentum, but she wasn’t about to slack off just when they were making real progress with eating the Chimera. Was this plan to revive Falin going to work? Marcille didn’t even know. But the food was good, and the company was great, and even if it didn’t work, even if Falin didn’t come back…Marcille didn’t regret one second of it. 

The weather had held steady all week, making it much easier to do all the cooking and feasting and merry-making. If Marcille closed her eyes and imagined some tents selling wares, this would almost feel like a festival. As it was, people as far away as the southern coast of the island had made their way here to partake in the free food and the celebration, and some bards had set up and started busking for loose change and a warm meal, and Marcille couldn’t remember a time things felt so joyous. Her steps felt light even as she strolled around taking in the sights of happy guests and drunk revelers. 

A blue cloak and a flash of blonde hair passed her, and Marcille spun with the excitement of recognition. “Ah!” she exclaimed in surprise. “You’re those adventurers we met on the second floor!”

The girl had her hood pulled far over her face, but the young man at her left gave a reassuring nod before at smiling apologetically at Marcille. “Yes, I was attacked by the basilisk.” He proudly held up a bowl of stew. “Doing our part to help Laios out.”

Marcille grinned. “Doni, right? And Fionil?”

“Shh, please,” Fionil whispered, eyes darting around, and she held a finger up to her lips. “Let’s speak elsewhere.”

Marcille didn’t understand her timidity, but she had no reason to suspect any ill will from the two fledgling adventurers. With a shrug, she trailed behind Fionil’s hurried escape as they left the crowd.

[continued under the cut!]

The two of them led her to the very edge of the clearing near a thick grove of evergreens, needle-heavy branches brushing the ground like a curtain of privacy. There was no table to speak of, but Fionil knelt on some dead leaves and placed her bowl on her lap. It was some of the pulled and roasted meat, simmered with vegetables. The soup had been pretty tasty, but a little bland, in Marcille’s opinion. Senshi hadn’t directly overseen that dish, so it hadn’t had his special touch.

Doni sat cross-legged next to Fionil and offered her a napkin, which she accepted with down-cast eyes.

“Are you…hiding from someone?” Marcille asked. She looked over her shoulder, but there was no obvious sign that anyone was paying them attention at all.

Fionil sighed. “Yes.” She pushed her hood back, finally, glancing up at Marcille with mournful blue eyes. 

“Oh, I never noticed,” Marcille said softly, a hand coming up to her mouth in shock.  “When we helped you with the basilisk, we were so busy preparing the medicine…” She trailed off. “You’re a half-elf.”

Fionil looked back at her lap. “I am,” she said solemnly. “I’m hiding from the Canaries.”

“The Canaries? What would the Canaries want with you?” After all, it’s not like Fionil had been performing highly illegal ancient magic. Unless she was. Such a shy and unassuming elf performing bold and advanced magic yet almost dying to a basilisk was a pretty hilarious image.

Fionil didn’t respond right away, chewing her lip, and Doni put a hand over her arm. “It’s okay, Fionil. We can trust Marcille.” He raised his head. “She was a spy for the Canaries.”

“Doni!” 

Marcille was as agape as Fionil.

“Well, it’s not true any longer, is it?” Doni said, smiling. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But you…you’re so…” Fionil’s cheeks got pinker, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, I still can’t believe you don’t hate me!”

Marcille raised her hands to slow them. “Wait, wait. A spy? How exactly were you a spy??” She was so….’easily defeated’, was a kind way of putting it. Her being some sneaky, cunning shadow didn’t fit.

Fionil looked away again, brow pinched with anxiety. “I’m from the Central North Continent, yes. But I wasn’t a Canary. Mixed-bloods aren’t allowed. Not that I wanted to join them.”

The girl fidgeted with her skirt, causing her bowl to rock dangerously, and Doni moved it to the solid ground. Fionil’s mouth quirked a small smile, and her posture relaxed some. “I’m just a mage the Canaries hired to report on the city outside of the Dungeon. They paid me to inform them if they needed to intervene.” Her head snapped up suddenly, eyes wide. “But I didn’t tell them to come here! I swear! I haven’t sent them correspondence in months!”

Doni’s other hand went to cover Fionil’s, and Marcille watched as he gave it a gentle squeeze. Despite her questions and alarm, Marcille couldn’t help how the sweet gesture tugged at her heartstrings. “Take a breath. Tell her what you told me.”

Fionil sniffed and rubbed at her eyes, her cheeks all the redder with Doni’s touch. “When I met Doni…” She cast a furtive glance toward him and gave a watery smile. “He was so curious about the Dungeon. He didn’t want riches. He didn’t see the Dungeon as a source of all evil, like the elves did. It was the adventure that called to him. He told me how he’d grown up in a small world, and how he’d wanted to see it with his own eyes.” She put her other hand over Doni’s, a tear slipping down her cheek as hope entered her voice. “I started avoiding the Canaries. I didn’t want to go home again. The Western Continent isn’t home to me, anymore, my home is here. With Doni.” She looked back at Marcille, pleading. “And with Laios, and the kingdom he wants to create…I want to see it. I don’t want anything to do with the Canaries ever again.”

As romantic as this whole story was, Marcille remained cautious. Everything with the Canaries had turned out alright so far, since the Queen hadn’t ordered any immediate war on the way, but Fionil’s loyalty was still under question. “Don’t you have family back home? Friends?”

“My mother passed, and my father is distant,” Fionil sniffed, rubbing her tears away with the palm of her hand. “I never could get close to anyone, as a half-elf…to the elves, I’m an inferior race, and to the humans, I’m a proud elf.”

Just that one sentence struck Marcille like a bolt of lightning. She saw herself reflected in Fionil, like a mirror. No one her age to befriend, only her parents to spend time with. And at the academy, every gnome and human student was decades younger than her. Even Falin…

“I know how you feel,” Marcille said emphatically, springing forward to take Fionil’s hands, and Fionil startled at her intensity. “I grew up here in the East, among humans, but it was the same for me.” Well, at least she didn’t have elves looking down upon her like Fionil did. But her father, and the court her mother worked at, it was all tall-men. Dwarves were rare, and she hadn’t seen a half-foot until coming to the island. The empty hills and her mother’s garden were the most comforting friends to her.

Fionil blinked at Marcille, jaw dropped. Her face was an open book, she’d clearly never been trained for politics or espionage. The Canaries had probably picked her because she was so much more unassuming than someone as straight-laced and professional as Pattadol.

Marcille grinned and squeezed Fionil’s hands. “It’s okay, Fionil. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. The Canaries don’t like me much, either.”

Doni laughed and shook her shoulder. “Isn’t that wonderful? I told you Marcille would understand!” He picked up Fionil’s bowl and held it out to her, and she pulled her hands from Marcille’s to take it with a shy thank you.

The kind concern Doni showed Fionil was unbelievably sweet, especially since he was so young. Was he younger than Falin? But the attention he showed Fionil felt more akin to something Marcille’s father did to comfort her mother when she was upset…

“Are you two…together?” Marcille asked, tilting her head.  Hadn’t they had a full party of adventurers with them when Marcille last saw them in the dungeon? There was no sign of them now, but Doni and Fionil were still glued at the hip.

“What?!” Fionil flushed deeply, and even Doni looked a little more sheepish as he scratched at the back of his neck and shuffled aside to give them some distance. “I don’t— I mean— W-what made you think that?!”

Not yet then. Marcille waved a dismissive hand and smiled placatingly. “Oh, it’s nothing! I was just jumping to conclusions.” Maybe they would figure it out, someday. Fionil must be quite young, then, too. First love? That was *soooo* cute. Already the gears were turning in Marcille’s head to see if she could encourage them to admit their feelings for each other…

“It was great to see you both again,” Marcille said, holding out a hand for a shake. “I should get back to cooking, but I look forward to seeing you again soon.” It wasn’t clear if she and Fionil would become best friends, but it would be nice indeed to have another half-elf around to talk to. 

They both reached for her hand at the same time, blushed, and Doni retracted his while Fionil took Marcille’s. There was a small smile on her face, and even with her eyes reddened from crying, her smile was strong enough to outshine the sun. “A pleasure to meet you again, Marcille. Visit me any time you please.”

Oh, Marcille had plans to.

[lalalian]

fantasy dr ideas

date: may 6, 2024

crafting spells in the form of tea

A shop in the middle of the lilac glades has been the talk of the town lately.

Tea in exchange for a story, but tips are always welcome.

People who seek out the tea alchemist aren't your average person, hell, they may not even be a person.

An elf with slack ears walks into the teahouse. His forearms are the color of ink-- color closes in around his elbows. The gauzy warm lanterns casts a hazy glow on his otherwise deep copper skin.

He unsheathes a small paper crane from his pocket and blows the folded bird off his palm.

The crane lands in a shallow bowl filled with water. The ink remains unblemished.

Ah, another request.

.

.

.

oki synopsis over, let's get into what the dr is all about in detail.

You are the tea sommelier in question, and you own a tea shop known for its unique and complex spells. To maintain your mystery, I'd suggest moving around different kingdoms once a month. This nomadic lifestyle would encourage you to explore the world and get a feel of each region's society.

As for the spells, you can craft anything from forgotten memories to a guide to an ancient ruin with a cup of tea.

Making each cup of tea isn't simple. You'll need to research what kinds of things you need to add to the brew, the kind of technique you need to use to make the tea, what kind of teapot and teacup you need to serve it in, and what kinds of spells should you cast on the tea.

In exchange, ask for a story. Remember that not everyone should have their request fulfilled, as some conflict with another or they would ruin the balance of fate. I'm sure that your customers would leave you with generous tips, but it may not always be in the form of money.

The kinds of beings that would visit your teahouse are people that have a mysterious agenda or a certain kind of desperation.

magic tea idea inspired by A Magic Steeped in Poison by Judy I. Lin, I haven't read it yet tho! I'm currently trying to find the time to read Novice Dragoneer by E.E. Knight (def not for scenario ideas for aethergarde).

also if anyone has any dragon rider book reccs besides for fireborne and fourth wing, plz let me know T-T

i feel like this dr is a lot of work, even I don't know how I'd fare in this DR... 😭😭 I really recommend scripting 1200 buffs if you're planning to shift here

[fatale-distraction]

Lavellan's New Lighthouse

We're crack posting today, folks. Here's how I imagine my Lavellan's first time entering The Lighthouse.

Ellana turned in place in the center of the Lighthouse, taking in the solitary, gilded prison Solas had built for himself. A table set for one, with a single plate, a single glass, a single fork and knife. Not a single chair had a mate. A chesterfield near the bookshelves: alone; dining chair: alone; lounge chair at the window: alone. 

She moved to a small hearth where a lonely, disused kettle sat and picked it up, running her fingers over the black iron. Moving with a sudden determination, she filled the kettle with water and set it back on the hearth. She fished a flint from her pocket and struck up a fire beneath the kettle, then strode purposefully to her pack. It took her seconds to locate a half-used brick of tea leaves. It was her very favorite kind; fragrant, dark, and strong. If left too long, it stained whatever unfortunate vessel held it irreparably. 

Ellana dumped the whole thing in the kettle and slammed the lid back down.

Varric watched with an uneasy feeling as the former Inquisitor began rummaging. She collected every single object that could reasonably or unreasonably be made to hold liquid and set them out on the lonely dining table with exquisite care. Ever-blooming flowers from a vase went into the fire and the vase to the table. A golden ewer for bathing joined it. A bowl of incense ash was dumped over the bed and arranged with its brethren. A hunk of soap was flung out the window, its dish placed on the table. She even dropped to her stomach and pulled the mercifully empty chamber pot from beneath the bed.

The kettle was screeching, lid rattling. Ellana took a pot holder from a hook and retrieved it.

And then she poured.

Each and every vessel was filled with meticulously portioned tea the color and approximate viscosity of darkspawn sludge. 

“What is she doing?” Rook whispered too loudly.

“He abhors tea,” replied Varric.

“Oh,” said Rook.

“Oh.” Bellara paled. “Oh boy.”

“Is...anyone going to stop her?”

“Be my guest,” Varric gestured to Rook grandly as Ellana made a point of setting the now empty kettle in the exact center of the table. The smell of singed wood began to permeate the air as the still-hot iron began burning a circle in the table.

“Uhh...”

Now humming a merry tune that sounded suspiciously like “Sera was Never,” Ellana moved on to her next target. She yanked open a set of drawers and dug a pair of sharp scissors from the pouch at her belt. Out came every single pair of small clothes, split up the back side with the scissors and dropped ceremoniously on the floor.

“Maybe I’ll wait until she’s done with the scissors.”

The sound of fabric rending made all of them cringe as she moved onto pants. Socks had holes snipped in the toes. Shirts sliced from neck to hem. All to the rhythm of the jaunty song. Then Ellana moved onto the pillows on the bed, dumping feather stuffing on the floor. She returned to the kettle and scooped out fistfuls of the wet tea leaves and began restuffing the pillows.

“Okay, alright,” Varric said finally. “That’s enough. Now you’re just being mean.”

“Get away from me—don’t touch--...”

Ellana was quite short, even for an elf. She didn’t stand all that much taller than the dwarf. So, it wasn’t terribly hard for him to cram his shoulder into her stomach, heave the flailing, spitting, shrieking elf up with one arm pinning her legs to his chest, and plop her into the chair next to the bookshelves like a naughty child. He even kicked it around to face the corner.

The Veilguard watched this interaction with stunned awe. The Inquisitor, savior of Thedas, crossed her arms and pouted as a soggy, tea-filled pillow dripped noisily on the floor of an ancient elven god. Varric rubbed his temples. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered as Ellana began systemically turning every single book on the shelf in front of her upside down, rifling through the pages and tossing out any bookmarks she found.

Neve made a noise in the back of her throat. “Those could be clues...” 

Bellara put a hand on her shoulder and shook her head gravely. There was a horrific rend of paper and a page disappeared into Ellana’s mouth where it was chewed to a pulp and spat back into the book. She slammed the cover shut and crammed the volume back into the wrong spot, upside down, pages facing out. Neve ground her teeth together.

“She’s a monster...” lamented Emmrich.

Varric shook his head. “Sera’d be so proud.”

Ellana’s last act of terror occurred when she located a partially darned sock and began serenely picking out every single stitch and unravelling the whole thing bit by bit. 

“You done?”

“I’m going to knit a giant middle finger using the yarn from all his sweaters and socks. And then I will be done.”

“Okay, Violet.”

“And then,” she went on. “I will be inviting my sister here.”

Harding and Varric exchanged deeply troubled glances.

“El, we were gonna use this place as a base of operations...” started Lace.

“And my sister is going to use it as a litter box.”

@erehttuoliveeht

Also check this out on AO3 as part of a new collection of stupid shit I write about DA4

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Oh Divines, I'm tired. Here, have meth.

Yes, meth. Not crack. I humbly attribute this acid trip to @shivering-isles-cryptid who has since learned a lesson in consequences. Everyone say yay!

ao3 | masterlist

There were never teems of people clamoring to become Blades. Historically, there were more people from the darker side of life being recruited for the network than there were those who wanted to become knights of the Order. Especially since the Stormcrown Interregnum. The Blades did not possess the influence they once held throughout the Empire.

Still, they persisted. They watched and waited. A Dragonborn would come, and then the world would see.

Esbern ran a finger over the ancient tomb. When the world would listen, it would be too late, and the world would cease to be.

There were few who read the texts. Fewer still tried to understand. He alone put the pieces together. The Blades, irrelevant to many for so long, it seemed, would see the end of their long watch soon. A Dragonborn would come.

And with him, the World-Eater. Alduin himself.

Frowning, Esbern turned the page.

Across the library, a soft cough drew his attention. Though the Order was in decay, would-be recruits still came to join the ranks of knights in Cloud Ruler Temple. Peering through the dim haze of dusty candlelight, Esbern spied one of the young girls who only recently joined the Order.

…Elanor. Her name was Elanor, he recalled. Still new to his role as Chronicler, he was still familiarizing himself with the names and positions of every active and inactive Blades agent still known

Elanor. A half-elf from High Rock. Mostly High Elven, Esbern thought. It showed in her height. And Breton. He noted it in the soft, smallness of her features.

She was there now, cradling a stack of books in her arms as she perused the shelf. Engulfed in her own world. She frowned at the title of whatever tome she had propped on the shelf.

An errant curl fell across her cheek. She tucked it back behind her ear. Her fingers brushed the leaflet tip–

Esbern looked back at the book of Ancient Nordic verse. Swallowing, he glanced up.

Elanor was walking away.

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.

As Chronicler, Esbern spent much of his time in the library and archives. The majority of that was spent taking down the history and annals of the Blades as it was happening.

On occasion, apprentices would come and bring him reports on the comings and goings of the Blades. Each brought a spool that he would weave into the long history of their Order.

When Elanor came in, carrying a stack of reports and artifacts from a recent excursion into Eastern Morrowind, Esbern froze.

"Here you are, sir. The Grandmaster asked me to eliver these."

Esbern jolts, and wonders for a moment why he hesitated. Then he took the work and, giving the girl a fond smile, dismissed her.

If he caught himself watching her walk away, he did not acknowledge it.

Not on purpose, anyway.

But he knew he noticed her. Some mornings, he would see her huddle around a bowl of oatmeal in the dining hall, clad in the soft clothes the knights wore for their morning katas and meditations. Then there were evenings where, as he made his way to the watch towers to chart the movement of the heavens, he'd notice her with her age-mates, working together on footwork and form with their katanas.

Every now and then, he saw her in the library. Reading. Engrossed.

Her eyes were always so transfixed on her tasks.

Elanor was such a dedicated Blade. She was truly an example.

Why wouldn't he admire her?

Esbern tugged at his earlobe. Yes, he admired her. Her dedication, her inquisitive nature . . .

. . . the way she held her katana. Her bright eyes--

Esbern scoffed. Elanor is a child.

A child to the half-elves of High Rock, maybe--

It's very rare for him to visit Bruma. His duties usually consume more time than Akatosh ordered in a day, but tonight was one rare moment when he managed an escape to the city down the mountain path. The Restful Watchman wasn't the most reputable establishment in Bruma, but it offered discretion and a good price on cheap beer.

He was mid chug on his second bottle when he caught a whirl of chestnut curls from the corner of his eye.

Lowering the bottle, Esbern strained his neck around to find Elanor huddled in a corner, sitting rather close to one of the Nords on the City Watch. Hrafen? Her eyes were so bright. Like sea lights.

Her laughter rang light in the air. The watchman grinned at her, wide and boyish.

Esbern couldn't help but watch.

. . . even when Elanor pressed her hand to the watchman's arm, her head tilted just so.

Divines.

Esbern ordered another beer.

Affairs of the heart were seldom relevant to the Blades' history. Many agents and knights had their indiscretions that others turned a blind eye to. But Esbern couldn't help but watch Elanor's.

Because she was a young girl and someone needed to watch out for her. Of course.

She's 19. She's not that naive.

She's 21. She's capable.

She's 23. She knows what she's doing.

Of all the young Blades, Elanor was the most unflappable. She always had a sound head on her shoulders. She went about her duties as a Blade and her love affair with the watchman with the grace of a Blade twice her age.

So when Esbern stumbles across her in the corner of the archive (*a dusty, cobweb-ridden corner) with her arms around her knees and her face smeared with tears, something shifts in his perception of her. He's not sure yet what it is, but the sight of Elanor's silent tears touches him.

"Elanor?"

The girl jolts, then wipes her eyes on her kimono's sleeve.

"Esbern, sir, I, I'm sorry! I'll leave. I don't mean to dis-disturb your work."

There's a hitch in her voice. The light in her eyes has been drowned in the sea.

Setting the stack of folios and scrolls down on a side table, Esbern knelt by the girl in the corner.

"You're not bothering me at all. But something's wrong. What's happened?" "I, he . . . my . . . he's gone." "Who's gone?"

An ill pallor colored Elanor's face. She shook her head.

"He was no one really."

Esbern doubted that. He had a sinking suspicion something happened to her boyfriend, the young watchman from Bruma. Yet Elanor wouldn't say that. She'd never been the sort to unleash her personal issues to others.

But Esbern had watched her for years. Behind a facade of marble and ice, there was a deep well of sadness and longing that threatened to overflow and flood everything she touched. Her dam kept it in check, but now, it was spilling over, and all Elanor's attempts to contain it were for naught.

She wouldn't talk about it.

Settling beside her, Esbern put an arm around the girl's thin shoulders. Neither said a word, but Elanor continued to cry.

Over an hour later, when she'd composed herself and slipped off to her dormitory with a side glance and a blush, Esbern could feel the heat of her tears on his shoulder.

In the coming days, Elanor wouldn't meet his eye. She would duck her head, a curl tumbling from the high bun she usually wore to slip across her cheek and the sharp line of her jaw.

Even heartbroken, Elanor was beautiful.

One morning, not long after Elanor's loss, Esbern entered the dining hall to find her shade absent from the corner she'd haunted with her oatmeal.

Where was she?

She wasn't all right.

Sitting beside the Grandmaster, Esbern asked Cornelius if there was a mission he was unaware of. As Chronicler, it was rare for him not to know. Only the Chronicler and Grandmaster would know everything.

She must be on a mission. The alternative, the possibility that she simply left, burned him too deeply.

Stirring his tea, Cornelius eyed the rest of the hall.

"Reconassaince." "I wasn't aware we had any new opperations." "On record, we don't."

The look Cornelius gives him is dark, closed off.

Off the record?

Elanor is 28. She is resourceful. She puts the Blades' mandate before her personal feelings.

The chill left in Cloud Ruler Temple after Elanor leaves is bone-deep. Just shy of forty, Esbern feels like a man twice that in the wake of her absence.

Eventually, Cornelius tells him she's been sent to Summerset . . . Alinor. Her youthful elven face and "certain skill set" put her in a position uniquely situated to gather intelligence on the Thalmor government. Esbern didn't understand: Elanor was half-elven. They would kill her. But Cornelius disagrees. Elanor is safer than every Blade in Cloud Ruler Temple.

Esbern doesn't understand why. He's not sure he wants to.

He aches without her near. It's a cold, deep-seeded thing that takes root inside his chest, spreading its tendrils throughout his lungs and tangling them in his soul.

He aches without her.

But Elanor is capable. She can endure Alinor and its dangers and snares.

On the 30th of Frostfall, he wakes with a pang in his chest. He doesn't understand why. It wasn't until the next morning, when a messenger riding through the night from the Imperial City delivers word of the Thalmor's ultimatum and the heads rolling like children's toys across Green Emperor Way, that he understood.

Elanor was 35, and she was dead.

As Chronicler, it was Esbern's duty to update the status of every Blades agent in Summerset following That Day. Elanor was not recorded as being in Summerset. Her status listed her as "out of reach."

Esbern's pen hesitated next to Elanor's name.

Out of reach.

Bile clawed at his throat. The pen shook. An inkstain bloomed like blood through Elanor's name.

Dead.

Gone.

The light in her eyes snuffed out.

Esbern threw himself into the Blades' operations as the war with the Dominion escalated. Their violence against the Empire and the massacre of the Summerset Blades stirred fires in every active Blade's blood.

Every effort was made to throw the Dominion, yet their advance could not be quelled. Anxiety grew with the tension until the very air in Cloud Ruler was as thick as sludge and just as unpalatable. It was no longer safe for the Blades to operate in daylight across Cyrodiil.

Their numbers dwindled.

The night the Dominion breached the walls of Cloud Ruler Temple, there were few Blades left. Grandmaster Cornelius was dead on the steps. Knights fell like falling stars across the courtyard.

His arms laden with a few sparse texts, Esbern was already long gone in his flight to the wilderness. The Thalmor believed that the history and culture of the Blades Order burned with the temple.

But Esbern was the Chronicler. That lore and more would live on in him. It must. The prophecy of the Last Dragonborn, Alduin's return . . . Elanor's name.

His is a long road into decay. His hiding place in the bowels of Riften is not ideal, but he cannot do better. Surrounded by drug addicts, drunkards, thieves, and lowlifes, Esbern hit the bottom of the barrel. He could not trust any of these people, but he hoped their deprivation would cover his stench with their own.

He carves out a measly existence, hiding in the sewers and studying his rescued texts from the ashes of Cloud Ruler. Dispair gnaws at him like a disease, eating away at his body and his heart in time's crushing jaws.

He still thinks about her. The petal softness of her smile, her curls, the aquatic glitter of her eyes. In the damp silence in the bowels of the earth, Elanor's ghost was his constant companion.

Sometimes, oftentimes, tears marked her face. Tears for her lost love or for the Blades, Esbern wasn't sure. Supine in his flea-bitten cot under a threadbare blanket, Esbern tells himself Elanor cries for him.

He dreams of her. Of touching her face and wiping away the tears so that her eyes shine again with her smile. He dreams of her hands, thin and firm on her katana in his memory--now they touch him.

He dreams things he wouldn't dare breathe into words.

The warrens were lonely and dark. Elanor's ghost was his only light. A fading light in the twilight of his life.

Elanor would be 63. An entire lifetime lost.

Often Esbern cursed the Thalmor and their massacre against the Blades. He cursed what it cost him.

He cursed the loss of Elanor.

Elanor. The girl he, the only woman he ever--

There was a knock on the door.

The warrens weren't exactly a sociable neighborhood. No one called on anyone else.

This was it. They'd found him.

He swallowed.

"Go away." "Esbern. Esbern, it's me, it's Elanor." “That’s impossible. Elanor was executed. The Thalmor found her – and if you know about her, then no doubt you're one of them. Leave me alone!”

Sheogorath take him, he was finally mad. It wasn't that he didn't expect it eventually. He just hoped he would last a little longer. At least until the Dragonborn was found.

Being cajoled into madness by Elanor wasn't the worst thing he could imagine.

“Esbern, it’s Elanor. I was there when they ordered the executions. If you remember the 30th of Frostfall, then the 7th of Frostfall haunts me every time I close my eyes. That was the day I was forced to watch all my brothers and sisters lose their lives to the Dominion.”

By Talos.

Tears stung his eyes. His heart swelled. Elanor. Elanor. Elanor--

“It’s a trick.” "It's not."

If Sheogorath awaited him on the other side of that door, appearing as his beloved Elanor, ready to take him to the mad realm, then Esbern couldn't deny the draw. The temptation to see Elanor--even a lie--was too great.

So Esbern opens the door, opening locks and disarming bolts that separated him from either salvation or damnation.

Then she's in front of him.

Elanor is 64, she is beautiful in the ageless fashion of the elves, and she is Alive.

"Esbern." "It's you."

He longed to grab her into his arms and never let go. It had been decades. A lifetime since he'd seen her face. She was little changed, save for a hardness around her eyes and the deep red of her hair. Like mahogany.

The ranger haunting her shadow gives him pause. But Esbern cannot devote too much time to that.

Elanor is the Dragonborn.

Esbern cannot wrap his mind around it. His Elanor was the one the Blades waited for for so long. And the Aldmeri Dominion could have killed her.

Their Dragonborn should be dead.

Elanor's attention to his warnings about Alduin was bittersweet. She'd never really paid them any mind Before at Cloud Ruler Temple, but now, now she was Dragonborn, and she hung on his every word. Esbern couldn't deny that Elanor's captivation was a balm to his broken soul.

How could he not be devoted to her?

Their flight through the wilderness was a clandestine dream. Esbern was not blind to the way age and circumstance deteriorated him, while Elanor's elven blood kept her as new as the first spring flowers. Her care as they sought Delphine was headier than any beer he'd drowned in in the days before the war.

It was over far too soon.

If it was possible, Delphine was more paranoid and bitter than he remembered her being. Her animosity toward Elanor alarmed Esbern. Elanor was the Dragonborn.

She was Elanor.

"You shouldn't antagonize her so."

he said to Delphine one night during their search for Sky Haven Temple. Elanor slept on the other side of the fire. Delphine was on watch. Esbern couldn't sleep for fear that the next time he opened his eyes, he'd wake to find Elanor in a dream and himself back in the sewers.

Delphine scoffed,

"You don't know her like I do, Esbern. She's a runner."

They were all runners. If they weren't, they'd be dead. Esbern told Delphine this. Delphine made a noise of disgust.

"You'll check your admiration for her when she runs away again. She abandoned her mission, she abandoned her Order, and frankly, I don't know that I trust her not toe run from her destiny. Just wait, you'll see soon enough what I see."

They find Sky Haven Temple. Elanor has to be dragged through the traps after the Hagraven sent the Forsworn to swarm her. Alduin's Wall drew his attention like nothing else in all his time as a Chronicler and lorekeeper. The secret of Dragonrend as a means to defeat the World-Eater was a boon.

Elanor was not as eager as he was.

She said she would find it. Then she's gone.

Delphine insisted she was running away again.

At night, even as he studied Alduin's Wall, Esbern turned Elanor over in his mind. The katana she carried grabbed his attention. There was a secret there in the Altmeris language begging to be unlocked. Elanor was completely uninterested, but Esbern felt the old familiar call of hidden knowledge begging for him to uncover it.

When he does, sickness and elation roll through him in waves.

Elanor is 64, and she is the last Septim.

When word reached them that the Dragonborn was holding a peace council in High Hrothgar between the war leaders, Esbern was as eager to go as Delphine—but for entirely different reasons.

Elanor hadn't run. She was facing her destiny as Dragonborn.

She was as perfect as Esbern always knew her to be.

But the Elanor he saw in High Hrothgar was not the mighty Dragonborn and strong Blade he expected to see. She was coming apart at the seams: Her eyes were tired and pale, her skin dull.

But she handled the peace conference with such finesse and power that he couldn't help but see her as the Empress she was meant to be. If anyone could take the Empire in reign and bring order to the decline, it would be her.

Afterward, he found her in the library. She must know.

. . . Elanor did not take being a Septim as he'd hoped. Pale, quiet, her lips trembling, Esbern only just sees the despair through his own elation.

He should comfort her. He should take her in his arms again and hold her like he did all those years ago in Cloud Ruler Temple.

Instead, Esbern said,

“This must be a great deal for you to take in.” “A bit.” “I’ll leave you to take it in, then. The Greybeards have taught you meditation, yes? We may be at odds over certain issues, but we can still agree that meditation is good for the soul.I’ll leave you to it, then. Elanor Septim."

Then he left her.

He left her.

He does not see her again at High Hrothgar. In the morning when he and Delphine leave, she is nowhere to be found. Esbern's chest hurt. Something was terribly wrong, but what he couldn't tell.

When he finally saw her again, after she defeated the World-Eater, something about her was off. Manic in a way he'd never imagined her to be.

He hated to upset her anymore, but he and Delphine talked long about it. They knew who the Greybeards' leader was, and they knew he had influence over Elanor. A dragon, and not just any dragon, but Paarthurnax, Alduin's right hand.

Right wing? Pah.

He expected Elanor to agree. Of course, she would. She was a noble Blade and a Dragonborn to be proud of. Elanor would slay Paarthurnax.

"You must be out of your Akatosh loving mind."

Elanor's exclamation of astonishment stunned Esbern. But it was the look of utter betrayal in her eyes that winded him.

And oh, she goes off about Delphine, about the Blades, about expectation versus reality.

Esbern had never seen Elanor mad. She was beautiful in her fury.

He feared her.

Elanor is nearly 65. Her birthday is soon. She renounces the Blades.

Elanor stormed from Sky Haven Temple, red curls flying around her in a whirlwind and leaving an icy wind in her wake.

Delphine watches her go, her arms crossed, disgust and contempt twisting her pointed face.

Esbern couldn't watch her.

He loved her, he loved Elanor, and she hated him. She hated the Blades. She wasn't coming back.

What is worse, believing her dead with her ghost haunting his every waking moment, or knowing she is alive but will never see or speak to him again.

"I told you so,"

Delphine's voice was smug and hard.

Esbern stalked away from her, back to the wall, back to the prophecies. Back to the ghost of the woman he'd loved for a lifetime.

A lifetime of lost hope and missed opportunity.

Elanor is 19. She is innocent and beautiful and her eyes light up the room when she smiles.

Elanor is 64. She is broken. She does not love him.

Elanor is 19. She loves him. He will show her how much he loves her between the library stacks in Cloud Ruler Temple.

Esbern leaned his head against the wall, and moaned.

fin

[lancermylove]

Chapter 6 (N.SFW)

➣ Pairing: Demon brothers, Royals, Solomon with fem!Reader. ➣ Warning: N.SFW ➣ Word Count: 2,403 ➣ Chapters [SFW]: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12] ➣ Chapters [N.SFW]: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12]

———————————————

You chuckled at the sparkles in Diavolo's eyes as he described the events of their outing yesterday. His vibrant and enchanting energy was quite contagious. However, what captivated you most was the prince's ability to act as an ordinary individual without carrying the weight of his royal duties. Even Asmo appeared to notice this as he giggled while relishing a piece of fruit from his breakfast bowl.

"Then, we witnessed children dressed in elf costumes, and they were creating, I believe Solomon referred to it as, a snowman. But then he stated we had much to see, so I was unable to witness the final form of the man of snow," the prince merrily spoke without taking a breath, "which upset me greatly. However, Solomon acquired an image from the web, but it could not match the splendor of witnessing one in actuality."

"Young master, do remember to breathe and finish your breakfast," Barbatos calmly said from the opposite side of the kitchen. His words drew laughter from you and Asmo, and while Diavolo finished the remainder of the food on his porcelain plate, the Avatar of Gluttony took the spotlight.

"There were so many ice sculptures shaped, and they look crunchy and delicious," Beel grinned, but his lips quickly tugged into a flat line. "But everyone stopped me from taking a bite. Solomon said the artists worked hard to make them."

"The ice sculptures were beautiful. If only they had one of me," Asmo giggled. "Diavolo, what if we had an ice sculpture festival in Devildom?"

"An excellent suggestion, Asmodeus. Having a winter wonderland of our own sounds delightful," the prince nodded. "Furthermore, I quite enjoyed witnessing Santa's workshop and would like to have one in Devildom. I could don Santa's attire while the rest of you could be my elves."

At his words, you glanced at the butler, who was occupied with chopping ingredients for dinner. Your vivid imagination conjured the image of Barbatos with elf-like pointed ears, adorned in a vibrant green attire and carrying a satchel filled to the brim with treats. The thought of a dignified demon in an adorable, flamboyant outfit made you giggle. As if sensing your gaze, he briefly glanced at you with an eyebrow raised, but you quickly looked away.

"We could also install an ice skating ring. Due to our time constraint, my wish to ice skate remains unfulfilled," Diavolo sighed, but Barbatos seemed a bit alerted by the grand schemes the prince suggested.

"My lord, I apologize for dampening the mood, but I fear the council will not sanction your suggestions. They will likely view them as superfluous expenditures and may cause trouble for you," the butler said in an effort to dissuade the prince from traversing down that path.

Hearing his words disheartened Diavolo, yet he was aware the Barbatos's concerns held merit. The council already voiced their distrust in the prince and expressed their desire for the king to rise from his deep slumber on multiple occasions. He appreciated the butler's concern and wisdom but was still upset at the possibility that his ideas might not come to fruition.

"Aw, don't be upset, Diavolo," Asmo said with a small smile and gently patted the prince's arm. "Those ancient grouches don't know the definition of fun."

You sympathized with Diavolo but didn't know how to comfort him. How could the Crown Prince of the Devildom have less decisional authority than the council members? He was a kind and benevolent prince who always thought of the well-being of the residents in Devildom, yet the council refused to acknowledge his endeavors. Moreover, it felt as though they were waiting for him to take one misstep so they could question his leadership abilities. 'Talk about evil.'

"Oh, (y/n), I forgot to tell you about our fans," Asmo chimed in an attempt to lighten the thick atmosphere. "We had a crowd gathered around us! They were complimenting and taking photos of us. Some even asked for our numbers, but the situation got so bad that the security guards had to intervene."

Beel laughed and nodded, "They offered to take me out to eat."

Once again, your imagination ran wild. The thought of Beelzebub's voracious appetite taking control of him as he devoured the entirety of the restaurant made you shudder. But imagining the expressions of the onlookers made you quietly chuckle. 'That would be one expensive date.'

"(Y/n)," the sixth brother softly said, bringing you back to reality, "you and Belphie did a great job decorating the tree."

"Thank you, but Belphie did most of the work," you chuckled.

"Don't be so modest, sweetie!" Asmo sweetly said as he handed you a small, festive gift bag with a scarf. "As a thank you for your hard work, we have a little something for you."

The silky softness of the cashmere scarf patterned with wintery and festive motifs drew a smile to your face. "Thank you, Asmo. It's perfect for the season! By the way, have any of you seen Mammon?"

"Come back! I ain't goin' to hurt ya."

You heard Mammon's voice in the distance and quietly headed in his direction, but upon arriving, you tilted your head and blinked rapidly. The Avatar of Greed cautiously approached a reindeer with a red spherical object in his hand, his expression hopeful despite the creature's skepticism. For a few moments, you watched them, baffled yet fascinated until Mammon leaped forward and tried to press the sphere on the reindeer's nose. The deer immediately bolted in the opposite direction, kicking up a plume of fresh snow as it fled, and left a disappointed Mammon lying on the ground, face flat in the snow.

"Mammon, what are you doing?" You inquired, trying to hold back your laughter. Rolling over on his back, the second brother sighed exasperatedly in defeat.

"Satan was talkin' 'bout Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, sayin' all human like him. And I wanted to see ya smile, so I tried to put this red nose on that reindeer," he sighed loudly. "But the deer ain't havin' it."

His reasoning surprised you, but a sensation of warmth spread throughout your entire body. However, you wondered why Mammon thought you needed to be cheered up. With a quiet giggle, you spoke your mind, "But I am not sad, Mammon."

"Look, I ain't the smartest demon, but even I can tell somethin' is goin' on with you, Lucifer, Barbatos, and Diavolo," he declared as he stood up and dusted the snow off his clothes. First, Lucifer, then Solomon, and now, Mammon? Had everyone figured out something was going on behind the scenes? Noticing your discomfort, he continued, "Hey, I ain't goin' to ask ya to tell me if you don't wanna. But I am here for ya, y'know. If you wanna talk or somethin'."

"Mammon, I wish I could say 'you are a true angel.' But thanks. I will keep that in mind," you tenderly smiled but quickly changed the topic. "Speaking of angels. Want me to teach you how to make a snow angel?"

"A snow...angel?" Mammon repeated with a hint of confusion. "What's that?"

In a wordless display of your actions, you lay down on the ground and fully stretched your limbs as the Avatar of Greed curiously observed your moves. As you began to sweep your arms and legs through the powdery snow, a shape emerged, catching Mammon by surprise. You cautiously rose from the ground and created a slightly uneven halo atop its head. "Voila. A snow angel! Your turn."

Mammon didn't respond but studied the imprint he had left in the snow after attempting to attach the red nose to the reindeer. In a moment of playful creativity, he crouched down with a mischievous smile and dipped his index finger into the snow. With a few strokes, he added horns and a tail to the impression. "Voila. A snow devil. Take that snow angel!"

Your laughter echoed through the opening in the center of the forest, "Speaking of the devil. What were you hiding behind your back a few days ago? You know, the small blue and black packets."

"Huh? I dunno what you're talkin' 'bout," Mammon mumbled and averted his gaze momentarily.

"Suuuure, you don't, Mammon," you chuckled. "Wait, aren't you supposed to be decorating the exterior of the cabin?"

"Yeah, and Solomon's supposed to be helpin', but he ran off. I ain't doin' everythin' by myself," he slightly frowned and threw his hands up in the air.

You hopped off the step-up and took a moment to admire your handiwork. A faux pine wreath adorned with a crimson ribbon hung outside the main door, its vibrant color standing out against the albescent backdrop. The tails of the ribbon occasionally fluttered in the light, chilly breeze. Nestled in the door frame was a pine garland with soft white LED lights gently illuminating the pine needles. Pine cones and berries served as a festive accent amongst the branches.

A sudden, ear-piercing thud resounded across the winter landscape, quickly followed by a grunt. Your head quickly pivoted in the direction of the noise, and you laid your eyes upon something quite unexpected: the legs of the Avatar of Greed poking out of a mound of fluffy snow. As you hurried over to investigate, Mammon's voice emanated from beneath the powder-laden mass, "Why do I gotta do all the hard stuff?"

You let out a light, giggling laugh as you took in the amusing sight of Mammon stuck in the snowy pile with festive string lights on top of him. Hearing you laugh, he huffed and averted his gaze in protest, "That ain't funny. I could've been seriously hurt fallin' from the roof like that, y'know."

"Sorry. Sorry," you giggled. "Let me help you out of there."

You quickly helped the Avatar of Greed extricate himself from the icy clutches of the snowy abyss, but to no avail did he appear to appreciate your efforts. Once he returned to his feet, he loudly dusted the snow off his clothes with a frown on his slightly dry lips. To brighten his mood, you carefully formed a snowball and lightly delivered it to his shoulder, its powdery substance flying through the air and landing with a small poof on his body.

Mammon's somber expression softened momentarily as he glanced at the place where you threw the snowball. Seizing the opportunity, you engaged him further and tossed another snowball in hopes of seeing the Avatar of Greed smile or at least have a reaction. But to your dismay, he refused to acknowledge your actions, his body language portraying a sullen, unamused air about him.

Exasperated with your futile attempts to cheer Mammon up, you sighed and turned away, but as soon as your back faced him, you heard a soft whoosh, followed by a poof on your shoulder. In a few minutes, laughter permeated the air as the two of you tossed countless snowballs at each other. The snowball fight soon turned into a chase through the woods.

Your playful antics led you and Mammon atop a hidden corner in the forest as curtains of snow began to cascade from the heavens. The chase came to a halt when you noticed a quaint cave nestled in a stone wall. The two of you glanced at one another, contemplating whether you should explore the unknown lair.

"What if the cave has a bear or something dangerous?" You nervously asked, stepping closer to him.

"Never fear 'cause Mammon the Great is here," he responded in a slightly deeper voice but quickly added in a softer tone, "What are ya worried about? I ain't gonna let anythin' happen to ya."

Placing your trust in him, the two of you ventured into the darkened cavernous depth, your curious gazes set on discovering its mysteries and treasures. Halfway through, your wandering gazes halted as you stumbled upon an otherworldly sight. One wall of the dreary cave housed a plethora of glowworms; each radiated a distinct blue light, and together, they created an iridescent symphony resembling the starry night sky. Before the wall lay a pitch-black pool that mirrored the bioluminescence, further adding to the enchantment.

As the two of you observed the artful display of nature, a moment of silence ensued. Eventually, Mammon tore his eyes from the scene and directed his gaze at you. The azure glow softly highlighted your features and added a touch of vibrancy to your eyes, blessing you with a heavenly appearance. The demon's heart fluttered as his breath slowly escaped him.

"(Y/n). You...look beautiful," he whispered as heat spread across his cheeks. In the soothing glow, your eyes stared at each other longingly, secretly conveying the feelings buried in your hearts.

With a spark of heat and longing, your face inched closer and closer until they met in a sweet kiss. The soft embrace of your lips sent your thoughts and emotions into overdrive, stirring your boundless desires for each other. Like a wave crashing against the shoreline, your lips collided in an ever-building storm of sparks. Your breath grew heavier as your kisses grew more passionate, every nerve and inch of skin alive with the electricity of the moment. Your bodies pressed into each other, your hands exploring curves and dips, your movements as swift as tides.

Soon, your jacket came undone, followed by the buttons on your shirt and the clip in front of your bra. The sight of your delicate and bare chest skyrocketed Mammon's desire as he tossed his jacket aside and tore open his shirt. In the blink of an eye, your back was against a wall, your soft chest rubbing against his muscular one, your arms tightly coiled around his neck, and your legs wrapped around his waist.

While your tongues tangled and caressed one another, your hips moved in perfect sync, dancing to the rhythm of your unbridled passion. Heavy breathing and soft moan filled the confines of the inner cave. As his pace increased, the sounds became louder and more frequent, turning into soft cries of pleasure and desperate gasps for air. 

In the secluded alcove, you and Mammon were enraptured by your carnal desire for one another, and neither one of you wanted to stop. In the safety of the stone structure, your hips repeatedly met in myriad positions. It was only you and him in your own little world.

———————————————

➣  Please visit my website for the full masterlist!

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Can you give a snippet from the next chapter of Cabin?

Sure!

*********************************************************

Miles stood over his father watching his every move as he graded his midterms, anxiously awaiting his results. He guessed it was a pro of home school that if he utterly failed his tests then he’d get to study and retake them until he actually understood the material but to the eager boy that seemed like a punishment, prolonging the wait time for the fun of winter break. “Will y’a stop hoverin’ over me,” Pa asked stoically, without even glancing up. “You’re literally breathin’ down my neck.”

He sighed. “What else am I supposed to do then?’

“I don’t know. Go work on one of your art pieces or take a walk or go grab the t.v from the basement and put on a Christmas movie or somethin’. I don’t care as long as y’a stop watchin’ me!”

Miles backed off. I’m too anxious to paint. And it’s freezing outside. He could probably manage to turn off at least part of his racing mind to watch a movie. He made his way to the basement, the certifiably ancient t.v resting in the far corner of the room. Miles thought it’d be easier to just leave the thing in the living room. It was easily fifty pounds, bulky in shape with a built in vhs and dvd player. But his father didn’t want him “killin’ brain cells watchin’ t.v all the time.” And so it remained in the basement unless Pa gave his permission to bring it up.

He struggled to lift the thing up the stairs, resting it on every step until he eventually got to the top. He was huffing and sweaty by the time he finally set the t.v on the coffee table. He caught his breath as he set it up. Pa got up to make some hot chocolate while Miles sorted through a box labeled Christmas movies. He settled on Elf, popping the DVD into the player. The fire crackled, casting the room in a warm glow. Miles settled on the couch, wrapped in his cozy blanket as the dvd auto played movie trailers for films long since released. Pa handed him a warm mug of hot chocolate and a bowl of buttery popcorn, ruffling his hair as he returned to his leather recliner by the hearth. Miles calmed as the film played, basking in the happy holiday feelings but couldn’t stop himself from periodically flicking his gaze over to his father, trying to gauge how well he was doing from quick glimpses of his expression.

Half way into the movie, Pa rose from his seat, moving to sit next to Miles. He put his arm around him, giving his son a side hug. “Passed with flyin’ colors. I didn’t expect anythin’ less.” Miles grinned, glowing from the praise. He snuggled into his father’s hold, resting his head on his shoulder. This is too perfect, Miles thought. He’d fantasized about moments like this when he was little, as he was getting overlooked by all the adults who never failed to be too busy for him. Back then he would have done anything for a crumb of the attention his father gave him in abundance. A content sigh escaped his lips. How did I get lucky enough to deserve this?

[medys-space]

✨Stardew Valley Mods List✨

I decide to make a list just in case i lost everything for some reason <<

Bigs mods

Stardew Valley Expanded

Ridgeside Village

East Scarp

Downtown Zuzu

Walk to the Desert - Redux

DeepWoods

Sundrop City (i didnt install it, i'm just keeping and eye on this one for now)

NPCs Mods

Lucikiel - Stardew Valley Expanded (SVE) Compatibility

Lavril - East Scarp NPC

Lunna - Astray in Stardew Valley

Always Raining in the Valley - Custom NPCs for East Scarp

Alecto the Witch

Defense Division + Defense Division - English

Juliet and Jessie the Joja Clerks

Mateo for NPC Adventures (STABLE)

Ornithologist's Guild + Ornithologist's Guild SVE and RSV Biomes Fix

Creative Differences - Rodney a new NPC for East Scarp

Yri the Architect - New Custom NPC's for East Scarp

Adventurer's Guild Expanded

Soli - New Skeleton NPC

Crops Mods

PPJA (most of them, or all of them)

Wild Food - A Forage Expansion Mod

Wildflour's Specialty Ales and Meads

Wildflour's Pixie Forage

Wild Food - Forage for Crops Add On

Wildflour's Specialty Jams and Jellies

Slime Produce (not crops but eh, saving this here)

Atelier Wildflour Floral Goods Pack

Tap Giant Crops

Quaint Living - Flower Garden

Floral Essences by Wickedy

The Corrupted Garden

Witch Garden Roses

Balanced Valley

Better Mixed Seeds

Mixed Seeds from Forage

(AT) Asters Walls and Floors Megapack

Golden Crops

Magic Tree Roots (Json Assets)

(SOJA) Ancient Crops

Bonster's Rare Crops and Oddi-trees

Mushroom Propagator - Grow More Mushrooms

Spoopy Valley

Farm maps

Alvadea's Farm Maps - Goldrush

Waterfall Forest Farms (WaFF and WaFFLE)

Texture mods

Random Lost Library Book Covers

StarAmy's Ginger Island Farmhouse

(BAGI) Honey and Mead Icons for Trees - Cometkins' Style (Placeholder)

DaisyNiko's Earthy Recolour

Simple Foliage

Ridgeside's Foliage - Fruit Trees

Pretty Wallpaper

(AT) Asters Walls and Floors Megapack

IdaIda's Wallpapers and Floors (CP and AT)

Skell's Flowery Weapons

Skell's Flowery Tools

Vanilla Tweaks

PC's Kawaii Truffle Foxes

Horse to Broomstick

Mara's Vintage Candle and Magical Vials

Wallet Items Retexture

MSaturn Floaties - Alternative Textures for Crab Pots

Medieval buildings

Messy Crops

Antique TV Sets for Alternative Textures

Better Artisan Good Icons for Magical Crops

Cuter Chests

Better Artisan Good Icons

Furniture

Magical Witchy Kitchen and Furniture Pack

Animated Orbs

StarAmy's Wild Greenhouse Furniture for DGA

Lune's Offerings

Adorable Cottage Bathroom and furniture

(DGA) Blacksmith Furniture

(DGA) RoseDryad's Fairydew Decorations

Cuality of life mods

Horse Flute Anywhere

Immersive Sprinklers

Weapons Ignore Grass

Better Ranching

Wear More Rings ....?

Garden Pot - Automate

Almanac

Skull Cavern Elevator

Fishing Made Easy Suite (Content Patcher)

Fishing Made Easy Suite - SVE Edition

Fishing Made Easy Suite - RSV Expansion

Catalogues are Cheap

Harvest Seeds ???

Perfection Tweaker (This is a MUST)

Pet Bowl Filler

Farm Animal Choices

Horse Squeeze

Automatic Gates

PFMAutomate

Produce to Sapling (all of them)

Better Quality Increased Seeds (all of them too)

Friends Forever (for sanity at this point)

extras for NPCs

Ysabelle's Closet - Seasonal Outfits

Unofficial Ridgeside Village Seasonal Outfits - Alissa

Canon-Friendly Dialogue Expansion

Hugs and Kisses

Ridgeside Rival Hearts - Sam and Alissa

Ridgeside Rival Hearts - Jeric and Alex

Events Expansion

Krobus Festival Events Plus

Romanced NPCs in CC Ceremony RSV

Snack Time

Life Cycle - Rival Heart Events

Lavril - NPC Adventures

Ridgeside Village - NPC Adventures Addon

Robin Work Hours

More Krobus

Lucikiel for Mobile Phone

Spouses React to Player 'Death'

Fashion Sense

YES

ALL OF THEM

ALL THE FASHION

FS - Fairy Wings

Swimsuit Selections

Spill The Tea (Farmer Drinking Sprites) (not fashion but still)

Expressive Elf Ears

Cosmetic Rings

....Others???

MARGO -- Modular Gameplay Overhaul

Skill Rings

Spouses in Ginger Island

Crop Transplant Mod

Trinkets to Treasures

Ridgeside Village Achievements

Gender Neutrality Mod

Noclip Mode

Lookup Anything

TimeSpeed (i have this exclusively for jio, why do you leave the farmhouse so early ;-;)

Better Winter Star Gifts

Lnh's New Greenhouse

Lnh's New Slime Hutch

CP No drunk char during events

Skill Rings REMIX Feat. Paint.net (Radio ver.)

Mobile Phone

Stardrop Flower

Platonic Partners and Friendships

Ridgeside Village for Mobile Phone

Pet Snail

Happy Birthday

SF - Cave of Memories

SF - Mystical Buildings

Stardew and Chill

Challenging Community Center Bundles

MinecartPatcher

Boss Creatures

Increased Fish Tank Capacity

Void Ghost Pendant without Void Essence

Expanded Shop Inventories

Arcane Table Mod

Infinite Zoom

Tell Everyone (Town Gossip)

Ostrich Mayo and Golden Mayo

No Fence Decay

[kindred-spirit-93]

Sunni platonic partner check! How are you doing, dear?

yay my inbox has been graced by my lil darling ray of sunshine :D!!

ive just reached a third of todays study goal and i only have like 2 hours of brain juice left (most of which i spent on making elf and vampire art lmao). first midterm is on thursday :')

i did eat two whole bowls of my beloved pasta and pesto *and* it rained. yesterday. (hanging on to the serotonin for dear life lol).

ALSO I SAW MY BEBEH COUSINS THE OTHER DAY. SO FREAKIN CUTE UGH. im the eldest grandkid (20) and the youngest is just under a month old and i felt so ancient lol. grandma kindred ftw 😎

hope youve been doing exceedingly well xxxx

[keldae]

Blossoming romance prompt: surprising them with their favourite treat

The last two days had been the longest of Deviali’s life. Being abducted by mindflayers was already bad enough, and it honestly should have been her death sentence by now – maybe it was the gods slowly punishing her for all the times she’d stolen from priests and clerics who left their coin purses unattended in Wyrm’s Crossing. 

But then fighting alongside a Githyanki warrior (who had only reluctantly identified herself as Lae’zel) and another half-Elf stranger (Shadowheart, she had introduced herself as) to crash the ship, and yanking a stray wizard out of his portal, and nearly being shanked by a pale Elf, and spending one night huddled in the ruins of an ancient temple before fighting off a swarm of goblins and being granted temporary sanctuary in a druid grove, along with a pack of tiefling refugees? “No one at home will ever believe this,” Devi muttered, shaking her head. “They’ll think I’m trying a new line to get out from the Fists’ idea of justice.”

“Are you accustomed to trying to talk your way out from law enforcement?” the wizard, who’d introduced himself as Gale of Waterdeep, asked with a small chuckle.

“More used than I am to breaking myself back out of being arrested,” Devi muttered. She poked at her bowl of potato porridge, wrinkling her nose slightly. While she supposed she wasn’t in a position to be picky with food, and she also supposed she should be grateful to the tieflings for sharing their supplies with the pack of tadpole-infected wanderers, she’d grown up on all things potato in the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate, and the porridge wasn’t her favourite food. 

“A common thug. How uncouth.” Astarion – the pale knife-happy Elf – looked down his nose at Devi, having already finished his serving of the porridge, with much grimacing on his part. Apparently whatever upper level of society he hailed from didn’t eat peasant food often. 

“Brave words from the person who pulled a dagger on me less than a minute after meeting me,” Devi retorted. “Besides, I ain’t a thug. Just a damn good thief.”

“Clearly not that good, if you have to talk your way out of trouble regularly…” Astarion commented.

Devi’s eyes narrowed threateningly, but she felt Shadowheart set a hand on her shoulder before she could get up. “If we have to work together to find a cure, then try to get along,” the cleric said, giving both Devi and Astarion a look – with a look tossed at Gale as well for good measure. “Bickering isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

With a sigh, Devi settled back into her seat, leaning against a rock and trying to get comfortable. “Anything about home we’re missing in particular?” she asked after a moment of uncomfortable, awkward silence among the group.

“My library,” Gale immediately said. Somehow, that answer didn’t surprise Devi in the slightest.

“A comfortable bed,” Astarion commented. “And not a bedroll.”

Shadowheart hummed in thought. “Besides having my head to myself? Decent wine.”

Astarion seemed to perk up. “Oh, I’d like to change my answer now…”

Devi snorted in amusement, then set her bowl down. “For me? Honestly, pumpkin soup from this one particular tavern in the Lower City. It tastes almost how my mother used to make it.”

Gale tilted his head slightly. “Of all the things you miss about home, you miss pumpkin soup the most?”

“Not just any pumpkin soup,” Devi clarified. “Just that particular one. I’d actually been on my way to get some when…” She shrugged and gestured to her head. “And I’ve been wanting it the last tenday. Don’t suppose you and your wizardly powers could conjure something up…?”

Chuckling, Gale shook his head. “I’m very good at what I do, but I’m not that good. Conjuring items is one thing, but food is nigh impossible if you want it to be in any way satisfying. You’ll have to take that up with Mystra, I fear.”

Devi groaned and slouched against her rock. “Then I hope we make it back home soon, without our parasites.”

—

Almost a month later, and no decent pumpkin soup had come across Devi’s path. She sighed as she slouched on a chair in the Last Light Inn, nursing a mug of beer and listening to the Harpers and tieflings marching around on different tasks. Moonlight Towers was going to be a huge challenge to undertake, even with the Harpers backing her crew up. And Devi was no tactician, nor strategist – she was just an ordinary thief from Baldur’s Gate, who had somehow been regarded as a symbol of hope that the tadpoles and the Absolute could be resisted.

How in all the hells had her life wound up like this?

She almost didn’t register the sounds of bootsteps on the wooden floor until she saw a flash of purple out of the corner of her eye. When she looked up, she saw Gale standing beside her, holding a tray in his hands. “You looked uncharacteristically melancholy,” he said with a tentative little smile. “May I join you?”

As if Devi could say no to the handsome wizard, even if he didn’t know how fully her heart belonged to him already. She nudged another chair at the table out for him to take a seat beside her. “You’re welcome to interrupt my brooding anytime,” she said with a grin. Curiously, she looked at the tray as he set it down on the table; a second later, her eyes widened at the two bowls filled with bright orange contents. “Is that…?”

“Pumpkin soup,” Gale confirmed with a wink. “One of the Harpers knew the tavern you were speaking of when you mentioned missing their soup, and claims to make the best replica of said soup.”

“I mentioned that once, Gale – I didn’t expect you to remember!” Devi picked up one of the bowls and took an appreciative sniff of its contents. “Oh, it smells right…” She closed her eyes, for a moment imaging herself back in her favourite slightly-sketchy tavern back home, with a bowl of her favourite soup before her, the normal denizens of the Lower City mingling around her, with someone playing a barely-tuned instrument a few booths over and a brawl close to breaking out over a dice game. She could almost forget where she was, in the heart of shadow-cursed lands, trying to figure out how to permanently kill an undead general in service to the Absolute without going insane from the shadows… although she couldn’t quite forget the handsome wizard beside her – not that she wanted to ever forget him.

She took a tentative sip from the spoon Gale had helpfully brought along with him, and softly moaned in pleasure. “Oh, I could kiss you right now,” she said, before her brain quite caught up to her mouth. Her eyes flew back open as she looked sidelong at Gale. “Er, I mean…” she started, trying to figure out how to explain that she’d been entertaining thoughts of kissing the wizard for at least the last two tendays, wondering what his lips tasted like, imagining running her hands through his long, dark hair…

Gale’s ears were red, but he appeared pleased, to go by his smile. “If I had known that I could win your affections with pumpkin soup, dear lady, I would have made a greater effort far earlier,” he chuckled. 

“I’m no ‘lady’ and you know it, Gale,” Devi retorted, although she was smirking. “There’s not much that can buy me so easily, but this soup? Definitely on that list.”

“Forgive my curiosity, but what else is on that list?” Gale settled into his seat beside her, taking his own cautious first sip of the soup. “Oh, that is quite good.”

Devi tilted her head in thought for a moment. “Gold, obviously, or a good heist to plan out. And flowers – I love roses, like you might have guessed from my neck tattoo. And…” She hesitated. “I’ve heard that in the northern reaches, you can sometimes see lights dancing in the sky at night, brighter than even the moon. I saw a painting of them once, and it was gorgeous, and the artist said the painting didn’t do the actual sight justice. That’s something I’d sell my soul to see.”

“Lights dancing in the night sky, and roses, and unlawful schemes?” Gale chuckled. “You are a complex woman, Deviali. I’m sure that you’ll get to see those lights without needing to sell your soul, though.”

“You really think so? I’d never even left the Baldur’s Gate area before this whole adventure,” Devi said, for the moment ignoring Gale’s use of her despised full name. It didn’t sound nearly as bad when it came from his lips. “My plan was to steal a lot of gold and then buy a trip anywhere else, to see the world beyond the Lower City and Wyrm’s Crossing.”

Gale smiled fondly. “Fate has a curious way of making things work out. Waterdeep is north of Baldur’s Gate, far enough that in the winter on a clear night, I have sometimes seen those lights dancing in the sky myself. In another time, I would have taken you home with me and let you see the lights for yourself.”

Seeing dancing lights in the night sky wasn’t usually the reason Devi heard people expressing a wish to take her home with them, and she secretly hoped it wasn’t the only reason Gale wanted her in his home city. “We’ll get back to civilization alive,” she firmly said, “and we’ll deal with our tadpoles and the Absolute, and then you can take me home to see the lights. And if Mystra doesn’t like it, she can kiss my backside about it.”

That got a small smile from Gale. “One of us has to be the eternal optimist, I suppose,” he commented. “And you have a force of will that could make the gods hesitate in their steps… even Mystra.”

“Good,” Devi said with a firm nod. “The Absolute is on the top of my list of gods to throat-punch when I get the chance, but Mystra’s not far behind for what she’s done to you. The rest of the gods can form a line.”

“I’ve never had anyone offer to punch a deity before in defense of me,” Gale chuckled, looking more relaxed and at-ease than he’d been since the crew had met Elminster on the mountain pass road and gotten his grim message about the Orb. “It’s rather flattering.”

“And nothing less than what you deserve, especially for finding my favourite soup in the middle of nowhere,” Devi responded, grinning. “You’re my favourite wizard – I ever mention that?”

“I’ve risen that much in your esteem, just for bringing you soup?” Gale smirked. “How many other wizards am I up against?”

“I mean, most of the other wizards I’ve met were real pricks,” Devi admitted. “But you’re kind, an’ sweet, an’ smart, an’ don’t walk around with your staff up your ass.” And handsome, and talented, and compassionate, and too damn good-hearted to be stuck with an ilithid tadpole in your head… not that she could say all of that out loud.

“Tragically, I do know more than a few other wizards who meet your description,” Gale chuckled. “And few enough would track down a specific pumpkin soup in a cursed region for the behalf of a charming half-Elf thief with a heart of gold. Their loss, I must say.”

“Damn straight. Maybe I wouldn’t be so inclined to rob ‘em all blind if they weren’t entitled, arrogant jerks. Ain’t a bit like you, aside from the whole ‘magic’ thing.” Devi cheerfully nudged Gale in the side, little more than a light tap with her elbow. “Keep pullin’ miracles like finding soup like this, and you’ll be safe from any thievery from me.”

“Oh, I do have a magic touch with miracles,” Gale said, winking at her. “Ask nicely, and perhaps I’ll show you another one later.”

A sentence like that shouldn’t have made Devi’s heart skip the way it did. She was used to receiving flirtatious statements like that – she’d grown up in the Lower City, for hells’ sake! People had been flirting with her since before she was of legal age. Yet the relatively tame statement from Gale, only a little bit suggestive, made her want to squeal in excitement like a girl. Instead, she let a casual grin show itself on her face before she widened her eyes innocently. “Oh Mister Archmage Gale of Waterdeep, would you be so kind as to show your favourite Baldurian thief another miracle?”

That made Gale burst out laughing, half at Devi’s words, and half at the way she made a show of fluttering her eyelashes at him. “How can I say no to such a sincere plea as that? Give me some time, and I’ll work my magic for you.” He chuckled and gently returned Devi’s nudge with his own elbow. “But enjoy the soup for now – I’m told it’s not as good when it’s cold. Your miracle will come along later.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Devi assured him with a grin. Any excuse to watch Gale at work with the Weave was a good excuse, and if he was doing something with her in mind? She was excited to see what he could conjure up.

[spiceynoodls]

@noogit9000 I wrote you a little smth  😌

Jelika pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Eternal Library, her heart fluttering with anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and something sweetly herbal wafting from a nearby kitchen. She stepped inside, her boots squelching against the polished floor, leaving muddy footprints in her wake.

“Hi! I’m Jelika, I was—” she began, her voice bright and eager.

“Tracking mud onto the floor,” came the sharp, melodic voice of an elf who was shelving books nearby. He looked up, an eyebrow arched in mild disapproval.

Jelika glanced down at her boots, sheepish. “Ah. Sorry about that. I’m looking for some information, and I heard I could find anything in here.”

The elf, fixing his blonde braid over one shoulder, nodded. “You’ll need to speak with the head librarian. He should be near the kitchen, over that way.”

“Thank you very much! And sorry about the mud,” she replied, her smile returning.

With a wave of her hand, she ventured deeper into the library, her curiosity guiding her. The towering shelves, filled to the brim with volumes that seemed to hum with ancient knowledge, surrounded her. She felt as if she were walking through the very fabric of time itself.

As she followed the scent of something savory, she soon spotted a small kitchen bustling with activity. A human man, perhaps in his fifties, was stirring a bubbling pot on the stove. When he noticed her, his face lit up with a welcoming grin.

“A visitor! Hello! I’m Hugo, welcome in!” he exclaimed, wiping his hands on a towel and gesturing for her to come closer.

“Thank you! My name is Jelika,” she said, feeling a warmth in his cheerful presence.

“Jelika. A noble name! Please, have some stew; I just made it,” Hugo offered, ladling a generous portion into a bowl and handing it to her.

“Wow, thank you!” She took a sip, the rich flavors swirling comfortingly on her tongue. “This is amazing!”

Hugo beamed, clearly proud of his culinary skills. “Why thank you. I learned to cook with books from this very library, you know."

Jelika nodded, taking another sip of the stew. "I heard from the townsfolk that this library has the answer to anything."

"The Eternal Library is mystical. All of the knowledge in the universe feeds into it. You can find anything and everything here if you look long enough," Hugo said, his gaze traveling up the towering shelves.

Jelika’s excitement surged. “I was hoping I’d find someone who could point me in the right direction…?”

“Of course! My husband knows this library like the back of his hand—he’s been taking care of it for a few hundred years!” Hugo said, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

Hugo led her from the kitchen and back into the labyrinthine aisles of the library, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished floors. They approached the elf who had initially greeted her, who was now rearranging a row of dusty tomes with graceful precision.

“Gabriel, we have a visitor! Miss Jelika is looking for direction in her pursuit of knowledge!” Hugo announced, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

Jelika looked at Hugo. “But I thought you were the head librarian?” she said, puzzled.

Hugo turned to Gabriel, a quizzical look crossing his face. “Gabriel?”

The elf rolled his eyes, placing a hand on his hip, his other arm supporting the tombs. “I was just messing with her. Yes, I am the head librarian. Gabriel Galadriel, pleasure to meet you, pleasure to be met, etcetera. What do you want?”

“How can we help you?” Hugo both asked Jelika and corrected Gabriel's wording.

Jelika took a deep breath, her resolve firming. She was standing in a place where the very air vibrated with stories untold, and she was ready to uncover them. “I’m searching for a specific piece of knowledge,” she began, her voice steady.

The promise of adventure hung in the air, and as she spoke, she felt the library around her come alive, as if it were listening, ready to share its secrets.

[tehriel]

Terzo x Reader

Not R rated, but the conversation it dirty

Unedited rough from my long winded fanfic just hit 80k yey

Just two people falling in love who really wish they weren’t falling in love.

Tags: characters vibing, Mathew Lillard love, companionship

“Are you okay, Pittore?” The room was awash with nag champa body wash and tendrils of steam.

You turned over again to see him in black silk pyjamas, hair wet and combed back. His face was clean and impish. “Yeah, it’s just a lot,” you grimaced.

“Shower pressures…. Eh,” he thumbed, “if you still need mulling over.”

“I think I’ve stewed enough,” you drew yourself up in bed. Your body long to be held, you shoved the feeling down. “Now, what do two people do in hotel rooms on holiday?”

“Is this a trick question?” He arched a brow and came to sit on his bed. They were less than a metre apart.

“If you are not being painted, fucking someone, popeing about, bowling, writing music… what do you do, Terzo?”

“Popeing about?!” He frowned, “I know I must do something… but right now, I cannot think… I spend a lot of time with my ghouls, the church takes up most of my time. Sermons, giving guidance, funerals, marriage, mass, music, rituals, planning…” as he spoke he seemed to get more and more tired.

“Is it fulfilling, Terzo?” You asked quietly.

“I uh… I hope so, I give a lot of myself to it after all,” he laid on his side to watch you.

“It gives back though?”

He went silent in thought.

Perhaps you should not have prodded, “what do you do with your ghouls?”

“We drink, we talk, we listen to music, we watch horror films,” his voice was still distant.

“Do we watch something?” You guessed and thumbed over to the ancient television.

“I think I remember something about touching ourselves to Scream? Oh Mathew Lillard, take me right here right now~” he purred.

“Might be a bit jumpy for Scream, Scooby doo was also on the table,” you guessed.

“One or two?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I am surprised you’ve seen either, really,” you chuckled.

“Oh, you do not understand my love of scooby doo, you know my father was actually featured in an episode of scooby doo,” he said pridefully, “he’s an ass but it’s a kind of claim to fame.”

“Bullshit,” you scoffed.

“Is not, you got a laptop?”

You grabbed up your iPad in disbelief and shuffled up to squeeze yourself next to him on the single mattress.

“If I knew it was going to be like this, I would have got a third, bigger bed for activities,” he chuckled, squeezing himself close to the wall.

“Oop,” you almost fell off. “Try lengthways.”

He began laughing seemingly out of nowhere. And shuffled about until his back was toward the wall adjacent.

“What?” You join his contagious giggle.

“It’s like two awkward teenagers, rearranging, ‘try it lengthways, Terzo’,” he chuckled some more.

You shook your head and passed him a pillow before grabbing one for yourself, placing it behind your back. You were close enough to run shoulders. It was a closeness you needed.

“Uh passcode…” he politely looked away as you unlocked your iPad. “Oh cuuute,” He drawled. Your background was another photo of you and Marie, you were larping, it was old. Rhea kept the two of you apart for a long time, you were just glad she waited for you in the aftermath. “You said I was the elf, but it was you all along, you are the Legolas,”

“So it seems, my pointed ears are fake though,” you smirked.

“And that is Marie?” He pointed to the woman in full plate.

“Yes and I can see you drooling.”

“I do not know what you mean.” He opened YouTube and looked up a specific scooby episode featuring Papa Emeritus Nihil.

“Well I’ll be damned, he is a likeness,”

“Yes, he used to do the teeth over the lips,” he referred to the makeup. “I think the upper lip is uh, sexier, si?” He looked at you.

“Oh, you’re looking for my approval? hmm,” you looked at him then back to the cartoon chase scene. “You got a photo of him?”

“Uh… one better…” he went through YouTube again and looked up the whiskey-a-go-go 1969.

“And that’s your Dad?”

He huffed, “that’s my dad.”

He certainly paraded himself like he was related to Terzo. “Hmm, I like your simplistic one, I think… or perhaps I’m more used to it?”

“Very definite, thank you, Pittore.”

“I aim to please,” you smirked.

“I somehow doubt that.”

“You have assumptions do you?” You gave him a sly look, “go on, you know if we both assumed we would not enjoy each other, might be a bit of a cold shower.” You shrugged.

“I…. Don’t know in which world I wouldn’t enjoy you, Caro,” he wrinkled his nose.

“Hmm, you’ve got strangely long toenails.”

“And that turns you off me, huh? Who knew you were so vain,” he grinned away.

“They curl and cut into my shins, couldn’t have that,” your mouth pulled in disgust.

“You uh… overthink the morality of our sex, you want to top me because, patriarchy, but want to take it because you want duality. You weigh so much of the world on your shoulders, you would not be present. You’d only come when thinking of world peace.”

“Wow, I’ve been read. Yikes Terzo, the sting.” He only beamed at you. “Yeah, well, you can talk about being present. You’re going to be thinking of your mighty goat lord, eager to please him more than me. Hell, you’ll be imagining me with a big goat head and hooves. Hoof fetish.”

“Looks like we both have claws tonight, Caro Pittore, ouch, if I wasn't thinking of him before, I will now. Thank you.” he rubbed his silk clad chest, “and still you will be thinking of Sister Josie looming over us from the ceiling. You’re going to have your eyes closed the whole time!”

“You’re just going to be bad, you have the reputation. The thing about narrative is that we feel like we must live up to them. You’re going to treat sex like a kind of tried true checklist, literally counting thrusts,” you knocked his shoulder with yours as you both chuckled. “No soul, Terzo.”

“Counting trusts!” He parroted, laughing.

“Yes, yes, to ABBA, always with the ABBA Terzo, we had ABBA last night, are we having it five nights in a row?!”

“Gimme gimme gimme, just has a rhythm I like to thrust to,” he justified in whine.

“Oh no, you’ve ruined the song for me!” You sulked.

“Or have I made it better, Pittore? Huh?” When you only gave him a distressed look he took aim, “You know with all your overthinking, you might do better fucking my no-friends rat-boy brother.”

“No-friends rat-boy?!” You wheezed, “hey, no, I like Copia.”

“Si, but he is my brother so I am contractually obligated to be at least a little mean to him. The two of you would come with clothes still on talking about the nature of… obscurity and… authenticity?”

“Stop, the discourse, it’s almost too much for me to handle!” You laughed.

“I do not think this is helping, I think if anything, I want to fuck you even more.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, who else could you come clean to about your hoof fetish?” You grimaced.

“Exactly, who else would love me for my heinous toes…? uh, make love to me…” he amended over himself.

You ignored the slip and looked down to where his feet were bare and perfectly normal looking, “yep, they are a crime against nature,” you nodded in lament.

“Enough, you’ll make me all flustered with all this toenail talk, if we delved into any kind of heated discourse, that would be it for you too. Safer if we just watch our movie, huh?”

“Yes, quite right,” you smiled.

“You uh, comfortable here or should we…?” he nodded over to the two armchairs but the tv.

You felt the warmth radiating from his arm, the scent of incense and leather, “I’m good here.. are you okay here?”

“Si, Tesoro,” he said softly and found the first scooby doo on Netflix. At some point his arm came around your middle. You were comfortable, worse, you were safe.

Thank you for reading! Here is where the full fic will eventually be~ there is a first chapter hanging out if you want to read that c:

[rose-lizzzy]

"Sausage?" Fwhip turns to the guy, who snaps out of his thoughts

"Hm?"

"We were wondering if you would help Pix relocate our intruder to the Ancient Capital and...keep an eye on her?"

Sausage nods "Yeah I can do that!" He breaks a part of the cage and Jimmy steps forwards with cuffs, causing Gem to recoil

"Come on then." Jimmy sticks the cuffs on and sausage leads her to Pix's empire, the man of the past right behind them

"Where do you want her?" Sausage asks Pix once they arrived

"Leave it to me, I'll take it from here. Thank you, sausage."

Sausage nods and hands Gem over to Pix. "of course. Message me if you need anything." He rockets off, leaving the two alone

Pix immediately unlocks her cuffs, and Gem rubs her wrists, growing more worried "What's happening to me Pix?" She asks

"I'm not sure. Have you tried changing since? Could it have been simply a morning thing?"

She shakes her head, puzzling it over "Perhaps...?" She concentrates and tries to change form, but again, nothing happens, and she shakes her head in defeat. "Maybe my days of dimension hopping are over. I could just be stuck as an elf in empires now."

Pix throws a bed down "Nope. Not happening. You are Geminitay and Gem is Great. Now try and see if anyone on Hermitcraft knows what's happening. Maybe Grian, or Pearl, or even Xisuma. Someone's gotta know what's happening to you."

Gem nods, glancing at the sunset, and hops into bed, dreaming her Hermitcraft, megabuild, murdery thoughts

She wakes up in the Ancient Capital and immediately flops back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh "That's it. This is my life now."

Pix sits next to her, a gentle sigh. "It'll blow over...it has to..what will the hermits think when you don't come back?"

Gem sits up, panicked "Soup group! My hermit heads!" She sighs, distressed. "Alright..."

Pix pats her shoulder, going to his chests and pulling something out. He hands it to Gem "Have some soup. It's not Pearl worthy soup of any means, but it might help."

They sit in silence while Gem sips the soup, handing him the empty bowl. "Thank you Pix."

"Anytime." He stands "Now, get some rest Gem." He turns to the door to be met with a shocked Sausage face

"what.......Gem?"

[raya-shadowmane]

Kaldorei Handfasting Ceremony

Everyone who has played a night elf has surely seen these decorations in every home. The larger bowl for multi-family homes, and the smaller bowl for single-family homes. After seeing them myself for countless years, my brain did this wonderfully creative thing that I have made my own personal head canon. The ceremony below was a creation to share with my fantastic roleplay partner, Olimos Lor'ranel. It was a surprise 'wedding' of sorts that Raya put together for their anniversary. While it was a private scene we shared, I created an outline of sorts to share with the kaldorei roleplay community.

This is by no means official lore. It is fan-made content.

Essential Components

Stone Bowl

Moonwell Water

Blessed Candle

Two Feathers (Hippogryph or Owl are favored)

Traditional Location

Because of the deep ties to nature, many kaldorei are married at a natural site such as a moonwell. Not only are the waters sacred, but they give life to the world tree. Some believe that the bonds forged in those hallowed waters will forever grow and be nourished like the world tree itself. Others believe that since the water is blessed by the moon, the bonds will be protected by Elune herself.

Elemental Blessings

Spoken by an officiant, traditionally a Priestess of Elune.

“Since ancient times, our people have communed with nature to learn more about themselves. Since it is within nature that we all do abide, we ask for the mated pair the blessings of Nature’s Elements, Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. We do this so that they may fully come to understand the lessons each element has to offer. The attributes of which each of those aspects mirror, not only within divinity but within ourselves as well.”

The officiant places the stone bowl in the couple's hands. 

“Spirits of Earth, we ask that you give unto those you see standing before you this day, the rock solid place to stand and fulfill his destiny. May their journey mirror the vast forests and fertile lands, expansive and alive. May they find the right seeds to sow to ensure a bountiful harvest in their relationship. And when they look up at the White Lady and Blue Child, may they know that they are as bright and constant as their love for each other.”

As they speak, the officiant guides the bowl, held by the couple, to the surface of the water, filling the vessel from the moonwell itself. 

“We ask the Spirits of Water, that their love for each other and the comfort of loved ones, like the serenity of the deep blue ocean, be the oasis that forever surrounds our Bride and Groom. May they be well loved, and love well, letting the surety with which Water makes its journey to the sea, flowing over rocks or around trees, even turning into vapor and riding a cloud, ever serve as a reminder that with love all is well and will endure.”

A blessed candle is placed in the bowl to float in the water. The officiant lights the wick as they speak. 

“Spirits of Fire, we ask that the mated pair’s passion for each other and for life itself remain ever strong and vital, fortifying each day with a vibrancy rooted in boldness, and courage. As Fire clears the way for new growth, may they know that this power is theirs: to create change and bring about the richness and quality that comes with a true love of life.”

Pristine feathers are brought out and placed into the bowl as well. 

“We ask the spirits of Air to keep open the lines of communication between this pair. May their future be as bright as the dawn on the horizon. As Air flows freely to and from and through us all, may their hearts and minds and souls come to know the world and each other in this manner. Seeing not only with their eyes, may they together grow wise with wisdom.”

There is a moment of silent prayer before the ritual continues and the officiant lifted the blessed vessel to set aside or hand it to the matron of honor.

Blessings of the Divine

“There is an ancient story amidst our people that one can only hope this pair will see as an example of how love should be. Malorne, The Great Stag, fell in love with Elune, the goddess of the moon, during the world's first nightfall. Her light guided him through the woods and showed him he was not alone. It banished fear and brought hope. Many creatures have loved the moon and pursued her to madness. She grants light as she will, on her own timetable, and moonlight cannot be captured or possessed. Even so, night after night, the White Stag chased her across the skies. He grew so swift and strong that at last, he succeeded in reaching her. She was so moved by his devotion and beauty that she made him her consort. To this day he loves the wilds best when they are lit by her radiance.”

“I call upon Mother Moon, The Great Stag, and all Divine Spirits whose presence is felt in all things and at all times. We ask your blessings upon this couple, upon their pairing and upon their family, friends, and partners who have gathered here to celebrate this joyous event with them. May they become one in truth and forever revel in the magic that is love.”

“{Partner A Name/ Bride}, I ask you to call upon all that is divine within you. Let it come forth and shine. In you dwells the essence of the Great Mother and the divine feminine energy of the Universe. You are She who has been worshiped and adored for centuries and throughout the ages. You are a mate, mother, lover, friend, healer, and confidant. In you is everything that anyone could ever aspire to be and more. In you is strength and wisdom, perfection and peace. Shine dear one and show your true nature as a child of the Goddess of the Moon.”

“{Partner B Name/ Groom}, I ask you to call upon all that is divine within you. Let it come forth and shine. In you lives the essence of the Great Stag, the active force that has sparked and powered all life. You are He who has been worshiped and adored for centuries and throughout the ages. You are a mate, father, protector, visionary, friend, and confidant. In you is everything that anyone could ever aspire to be and more. In you is strength and wisdom, perfection and peace. Shine, mighty one and show to all the Ancient Hunter within.”

{To Bride} “Goddess most secret, touch with your grace and fill this woman with your beauty and strength in the unending cycles of growth and change that are the years and seasons of lives spent together in love and wonder. Share with her your fertile nature from which all abundance flows.”

{To Groom} “Lord of light and life, touch with your power and fill this man with your knowledge and wisdom to guide him in this divine alchemy which is the union of two souls. Share with him the secret union of heart and mind upon which this mated pairing must be based.”

Blessing of the Bracers

"Lord of the Forest and Lady of the Moon, guardians of all that is seen and unseen. Bless these symbols and this couple who shall wear them. Keep them safe through adversity forever supported by your eternal blessing."

“Since the beginning, our people have shared tokens such as bracers, rings, necklaces, or even markings to symbolize the bonds they form with one another. They believe that the words that were spoken during the placing of these symbols would resonate over and over, like the circumference of the bands themselves, through to the heart and soul of both giver and receiver of the most monumental promise of all. The promise of a lifetime as mates, lovers, friends, and partners."

Vows Under the Gaze of the Goddess

This part of the ceremony is wholly unique to those being bonded and blessed. Traditionally, the groom speaks their vows first, followed by the bride. These are not only words of love, but promises made before Elune, under the light of the moon. After the words are spoken, the officiant pronounces them blessed and bonded to one another for the journey ahead. As such, the ceremony is sealed with a kiss!

[greypetrel]

"One listening to the other rant about their day, etc." for the oc of your choice 💗

Eheheheheh Hi Mo!

Thank you for the prompt, let’s see… Still DadWolf AU because my brain’s on fire. Seeing it a little on the sideline, but…

Again, the one veto I got myself in this thing is clarifying their relationship, so think what you want. They’ve been friends from decades by now, they are roommates, they share the custody of the two balls of destruction, when one cooks, the other washes the dishes, all the rest is in the eyes of the beholder.

Two notes: It happened all the time in my university that we had two lessons at the same time and had to choose which one to attend. It was very unnerving as students, I can imagine Solas being absolutely rabid about it and in a constant cold war with the direction about it.

Milord is Felix.

Tis the prompt list. (it's a fun prompt list, if you read this whenever, feel free to send one!)

A Hard day's Night (🎶)

"One listening to the other rant about their day, etc."

That evening, Solas slammed the door on his way in, almost fuming from his ears and marching to the kitchen after tossing his coat on the hanger in the entrance.

“Welcomed back and good evening to you, then.”

Varric bid, totally ignored as he just stared at the elf going his way, starting to take pots and pans out of cupboards, angrily slamming everything. He knew perfectly that any question, right now, would only end up in a polite white lie about him being perfectly, absolutely fine, nothing happened at all, that’s a preposterous assumption. So, as much as he was burning from curiosity and had a couple of ideas about what could have happened to get Solas so crossed, he just sighed and got back to the chapter he was trying to write, laptop placed on his legs, propped against the coffee table.

It was a “Write in the living room” kind of evening, and even tho the quiet of the house was broken from an irritated ancient elf storming in the kitchen and cooking dinner very noisily, he didn’t mind the break in concentration. Noise had acquired a shade of nostalgia to it: the house was always so silent ever since the kids moved out, he almost (almost) missed Aisling’s horrible music blasting from her room in screams and growls and Dorian yelling her to cut it off from the other room. He knew Solas missed them too, as much as he acted aloof and unaffected by the world around him, and all that shit about people not being people, Varric knew the kids, and Aisling in particular, had him wrapped around their little fingers from maybe a couple of days since they were brought home, as a temporary sistemation that became signing off papers and quarrelling over whether to homeschool them or not. Noise was his way of filling the silence and getting back to happier times, when both kids still lived in their rooms on the upper floor, quarrelling fiercely over the bathroom, trying some new magic trick in the living room, having epic slumber parties with Malcolm’s kids in the weekends.

All in all, Varric didn’t mind the extra noise: tuning it out and getting back to his book was easy enough, finger tapping on the keyboard in a good rhythm after some minutes, trying to coax characters into behaving. Easy enough: add some familiar drama that was but what he saw around him, change names, go on with his own assumptions about reasons and outcomes and whatever is good for the plot. Easy as pie.

Less than an hour later, the whole living room was smelling good, and a grunt of recognition and a clink of cutleries on wood informed him that dinner was ready. He saved his progresses and closed the laptop, looking up at his surroundings.

It was, apparently, a “Eat on the couch” kind of evening too. Solas sat on the couch, at the left of the armchair the dwarf was currently propped in, and rested a bowl between his knees, without a word. He just turned the tv on and moved the remote towards his plate, in a silent invitation to choose something to watch. Varric, tho, wasn’t interested in whatever could be found on tv, so he let on the news -more unrest in Orlais as the civil war went on, and so on and so forth. Oh no. He switched the pc for dinner -a quick stew, nothing fancy, but wholesome enough, and took a couple of bites before digging in.

“Wanna talk about it, Chuckles?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Varric raised one eyebrow. They’ve been friends for more than 30 years, now, and he wasn’t buying it. Solas knew, and snorted, straightening his back even further than it was before.

“I’m fine.”

“You know, sometimes it’s hard to realize Pikachu’s not really your blood daughter, don’t you? You tell the same lies.” He noted, and that, apparently, was it.

The comment earned Varric a firey glance his way, and hadn’t he known him from so long, he may have thought he was about to freeze him on the spot and forgot him there until Spring thawed the ice. It wasn’t the case, and they just held each other’s eyes, saying everything without saying nothing, for a full minute -the tv blabbered of Divine Justinia insisting for a meeting to discuss the state of the Mages- before Solas, finally, broke.

“I’m getting tired of teaching.” He declared, drily. “The Institute set half my lesson for freshmen at the same time as Analysis 1, I had to compile too many forms to have the timetable changed. And this year’s class is unnerving and hopeless.”

“You say it every year.”

“This time is true. One asked me if ghosts and spirits are the same thing, today.”

He snorted, shaking his head with a grimace at the very idea, and frowning with disappointment as Varric held back a chuckle of his own at the idea, and mainly imagining Solas’ face trying to not show his irritation at the poor, unfortunate student. He didn’t want to be them when they’d eventually have to take an exam with Solas and discover that the elf had a terrific memory and never forgot a face.

“I’m sorry. That was a gross mistake.”

“Yeah. What do they even teach to mages nowadays?”

“Try asking them to extract a bunny from a top hat.”

Another frown.

“Seriously, Chuckles, you should try that in exams, I’m sure they’d manage and you’d be less stressed.”

“And what about the bunnies?”

“Pikachu would be happy to adopt them all, I’m sure.”

“In that tiny crammed flat?”

“She and Sera will make space, she’ll leave a couple at Dorian’s, plant carrots in the garden here, and will be around here more to tend for the bunnies’ food. It wouldn’t be half bad.”

He didn’t reply at that, but just sat back, resting his back on the pillow and crossing his legs, eating a couple of spoonfuls more as he glared vaguely towards the tv. So, Varric’s suppositions were right.

“Did you speak to her?”

“She came by, yes, we had lunch together.”

“And, from your grudgy tone, it didn’t go well.”

Silence on the other hand. An affirmation, then. Not that it required a genius to understand it: as irritated and grumpy as the mage grew with particularly circle-friendly students and instructions, that level of rage and the ignorance of the perfectly good dinner table they had was only brought on by a blatant violation of human and mage rights on tv -they had eaten on the couch for three days when the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded, right before Varric left for the city to check on the situation and, particularly, to check on Raina and Garrett who were there. Or, because Aisling or Dorian defied his expectations and did something he disapproved. And since they got back South, the main topic was…

“She keeps on in not wanting to have anything to do with the Inquisition and the big plan, uh?”

“She’s throwing herself away, Varric.” He snorted, snapping his torso up and tossing his bowl on the table. It slid turning on itself past the middle of the table before stopping, the spoon inside clinking thrice against the ceramic. As for Solas, he jumped up and started to pace, gesticulating. “I get that after what they lived and saw up there she needs some quiet and less action. I get it! But…”

“… she has a friend that’s dying, Chuckles, it’s honestly surprising that Dorian’s more receptive.”

“I know! But she… She wants to write her dissertation on sound diffusion.”

“Which would bring her to work in the music field? She always loved music…”

Truth to be told, Aisling had told Varric about it, and about how she wanted to just get it done with universities and get into sound design. It… It was a passion of hers, but Varric carefully avoided telling Solas of that or that it worried him as well. It was underwhelming for him -not that he understood what she and Dorian were working on exactly up in Minrathous, but he read and heard and indeed, it was a whole other scope that wasn’t “make sure rock concerts had a perfect diffusion”. In substance, this vent was something he’s been expecting.

“It would be a terrible waste of talent. She could do so much more, Varric… I read her work and it was brilliant. Not just Dorian’s idea, as much as she always insists that she just puts them into practice. She put herself into it and it was glorious and purposeful, they do their best when they work together. She’s wasted on whatever route she’s hiding herself into right now, it’s…”

Varric listened as the elf went about pacing and venting, venting and pacing, visibly frustrated and involved in the topic. It has been a surprise how much he got involved with the kids, honestly. Of all the things Varric expected, this was really not one. He stopped his musing before finishing, tho, slipping back and flopping down on the couch again, back slouched forward and elbows propped on his knees.

“… I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“I know. She’s always been stubborn. Remember when we got here and she didn’t want a room of her own?”

“Yes…” He remembered, expression softening for a moment as he did. “… But I don’t know how to help her, this time, if she just… Stands up and run away.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. She doesn’t even quarrel anymore, it’s… She told me it was late and she had to get back to lab. That she was fine and not to worry for her.”

“Kinda reminds me of someone…”

Another chuckle left the dwarf, as Solas turned his head to glare at him all over again, in a silent scold. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny it. And, Varric saw it, there was pride, back in his eyes.

“Listen, Chuckles, I get what you mean. I’m worried too. Dorian is answering by getting angry and Maker knows some days you can’t say hello without him snapping back at you. She’s bottling it up, as she always did. We’ve been there.”

“You sound particularly unsurprised.”

“Do I?”

“She already told you, didn’t she.”

He sighed, nodding to confirm it. No point in hiding it.

“Just once, yes. I got to have her promise she would have thought about it carefully. She was smiling, tho.”

Silence, again. They both ended their dinner, Varric collected the bowls and brought them back to the kitchen. His turn in washing the dishes, at this point, and he set to work in a well-established rhythm. Ten minutes later, there was Solas sitting on a stool in the isle, propped on it with an arm and tapping his long fingers on the counter.

“Do you think it’s me?”

“What?”

“With Aisling. Should I… Let her go, don’t insist anymore? Maybe she’ll be happier like it, playing with her music, safe and not involved, and I’m just selfishly trying to bring her down a path she doesn’t want to walk.”

Varric sighed, heavily, closing the dishwasher and pushing a couple of buttons to have it going. Usual, trivial things, for a non-trivial topic they discussed a lot and had no right solution. Not one that depended on either of them anymore, at least.

“She acts happy, but she isn’t. One of her best friends is dying, Dorian doesn’t want to set foot in the hospital and see him, and they’re the only ones Milord knows here… She had to leave everything and start on a whole year of work from scratch. She is convincing herself she is happier with inconsequential projects. We both know she listened to you a little too much growing up so… No. She won’t be happy on the long run, not if she doesn’t see a bigger purpose in what she’s doing.”

Solas, tho, didn’t look convinced. Speaking of stubborn.

“Listen, Pikachu just needs time, right now. She’ll come around and get herself out of the gutter. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know…”

“She’s tough, we did our best. With both of them, they just need to digest some bad experiences.”

“Time, then.”

“Time. And support.”

The elf nodded, slouching a little on the stool. They fell in companionable silence again, as Varric filled the kettle and pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboards, along with that special herbal brew that didn’t make Solas scrunch his nose badly and stay up all night.

“And you know what?”

“What?”

“You should cook angry more often. I’m sure if you manage to repeat today stew, they’ll both could get convinced more easily.”

“Really.” He chuckled. “Well, be sure to tell me that you’re inserting this turn of events in your last book only by Sunday morning, then, so I’ll be pissed enough on time.”

“You know me, Chuckles.” Varric joined the chuckling, pouring them both a cup of tea. “I can’t say no to a good dramatic pause.”