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pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

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“Melting:” a hurt/comfort ❤️‍🩹, nsfw 🔥, plot advancing update for Astarion x Cordehlia in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Cordelia (f!oc) | E | 5K of hurt/comfort smut and deals with devils

Summary: When the mysterious stranger offers admiration for one dark past and a deal for information about another’s and scars they bear, Cordehlia finds herself left with much on her mind. And only one in her party and in heart who can console her.

CW: double past trauma, double self-loathing, sex as comfort, Sneaky insinuating devils with deals to offer, smut that goes just shy of saying the L-Word.

Previous chapter | Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Chapter 8: Melting…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

Smoke clogged her throat, and Cordehlia pulled at the collar of her tunic. Trying for a single gasp of free air. Then, her feet planted on a stone floor, the scents of mouth-watering foods fit for a king wafted with every breath.

She blinked her eyes open, taking in the glowing room, the warm, dancing fire, and the mysterious host that seemed to glower happily. He scanned the whole party, those deep-set eyes sharp, exacting. As if assessing for any and every weakness. Cordehlia could feel her body wind tight, ready to pounce. There was something… infernal… she could feel it, the heat and the sting of dark and demonic magic in the air. It would be a hard battle should it come to blows, one she would rather not take head on.

Perhaps the edge of her tongue would serve as better weapon for now. “Speak, devil,” she smiled, “what is the deal you wish to offer? Or do you only offer empty words, a great deal of lies to dribble instead?”

The stranger leered, smoke wrapping around his swarthy complexion until the brown of his skin peeled away, his glowing red true form bursting forth through the cloud of smoke. “I should have known the Bone Picker would be far too clever for a successful disguise,” his black eyes gleamed in the light, “at least I hope it was enticing… arousing. I wanted to put my best forward for you, my lady.”

He flapped his great wings, the warm air rushing around as he beat them even softly. “My name, my lady, is Raphael, and I wish nothing more than to entreat with you, to offer you the chance to be freed from your little tadpole problem…” He grinned, his sharpened teeth making even the air in her lungs burn, “…for a price, of course. A fair one, for the Lady Corvus, naturally.”

Cordehlia felt a brush of a body behind her, the knowing pressure at the small of her back that she knew as well as her own self. Astarion.

“I have never been one to enter into treaties. I usually just destroyed my enemies and left their bones to bleach. Or do you not know my legacy?” she smirked, hand raising to rest on her fateful blade, her pale fingers wrapping around its sable hilt. “Perhaps I wish to keep these Ilithid powers as my own…” she tilted her head, bored, confident. “Perhaps I wish to gain a few more for myself and my companions in the process? Some demonic spells perhaps… some Infernal magic?”

The devil raised his hands, a gesture of acquiescence. “If that is your wish, but I have more to bargain than a mere offer to remove the uninvited guest in your skull.” His black gaze flickered over her shoulder, eyeing with wicked amusement at the pale face that glared at him and bared his teeth at each suggestive remark made. “Perhaps I have more to offer in aid in regards to the more-than-invited guest you take in your bed, instead, my lady….”

The devil drew a single step closer, nostrils flaring as he breathed in deeply. His exhale washed over her, forceful and indulgent. “You smell of him, you know. The scent of undead on your body, and in it. It would figure the Lady Corvus would take an undead lover to her bed.” Those thick brows quirked with seductive teasing. “Already too acquainted with death, my dear.”

That hand at her back pressed just a tinge harder.

Cordehlia said nothing, only leveling her exacting gaze at the devil before her. And Raphael only grinned wider. “I’m sure you’ve seen them… touched them… licked them… those Infernal scars across your lover’s back…”

“What do you know of them?” she replied, nothing more than biting sharpness in her voice, across her face. Hiding and swallowing all that Astarion truly meant to her.

“More than you, my lady, which is enough for you to consider the fairer-than-fair deal which I will offer you soon,” he grinned, leaning just a bit closer into her face. “But I’ll save the details for another time… another reason to find myself basking in your dark legacy, my dear.”

“Your respect… your admiration for my legacy is hardly convincing. Is that all I should base my trust in you on?” she added, cocking her chin in a hint more of defiance.

“Of course not,” Raphael leered, wings tucked in tightly behind his back as he leaned to whisper right in her ear. “I have something you want. Something your lover wants almost more than your hot, dripping… well, you know.” His smirk twisted with palpable lust as he withdrew. “That should make you jump at this offer more than any admiration I may have for your beautiful, bloody legacy. Besides, you know what they say…” he flexed his massive red leathery wings. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

Cordehlia stiffened, those fingers pressing at her back in earnest. “Very well, devil,” she hissed, that touch lightening as her acquiescence, “I will hear your entreaty when the time is right.”

“I am all a-twitter, my lady, to even have the promise of a bargain struck with you,” the devil grinned, his scarlet hand extended in the minimal space between them. “Shall we seal such a promising beginning, Lady Corvus?” His eyes narrowed, provocative. “How about with a kiss…” he began reaching for her hand, were it hung at her side.

“Not unless you mean with the kiss of my steel, devil,” she gave a mocking laugh, that blade slipping from its scabbard with a telltale scrape.

Instantly, Raphael withdrew, sliding a step back for extra good measure. “I mean no offense, and certainly nothing more than gentlemanly intent. Besides,” he looked up over his shoulders at the vampire barings his fangs, “I do not mean to take anything that may belong to so powerful a being as your vampire lover.” Those large wings on the devils back twitched and fluttered slightly as he drew straighter. “My pale friend, you should make every effort to keep so faithful a female at your side for all eternity. She must care for you a great and mighty deal if the Bone Picker deigns to entreat with the likes of me.”

“I shall bear it in mind,” he hissed from over her shoulder. “But how do you know of my scars, devil?” That silken voice sank in the vampire’s chest, guttural and feral and filled with suspicion.

The devil flashed those pointed teeth at him. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. Suffice to say I keep many fingers on many pulses as to what benefits me. Fingers, not teeth on pulses, unlike some of us…” The devil broke his stare, busying himself by examining those long, pointed nails on his hand. “Believe me when I say… I mean to keep myself on your good side, vampire.”

With that, even as Astairon inhaled to fire some jarring, sarcastic taunt in reply, smoke surrounded them all again. The world blurred, all ash and soot and darkness… until it was gone. The sun, the dirt, the clear air… they all returned to the same spot along the Risen Road.

“Uh… well,” Astarion broke the tense silence that fell around them all as they blinked in the sudden flood of daylight. “That was most curious…”

Cordehlia turned to stare incredulously at him. His face twisted with irony, his sarcastic appreciation narrowing his eyes and tweaking his smirk to one side. “Seriously?” she snipped, just a bit unamused. “We will deal with this later,” she squared her shoulders. “For now, we have to reach the Underdark before nightfall.”

“I see you avoided saying… before dark…” the vampire sniggered. “Before… under… dark…”

Karlach guffawed, elbowing the wiry, pale elf in the ribs. “Good one, fangs. You must be in a good mood. That devil seems to give you something to laugh about.”

But Cordehlia just huffed an exasperated sigh and started ahead. Smiling and shaking her red hair at the same time.

They made it… not for a lack of effort, they had found the Underdark, a way towards the answer of their tadpole’s powers. Now, they rested in the strange colored glow of fungi as it bathed them in a rainbow of softest light. Camp was made with relative confidence, magical wards already in place to keep out the strange monsters and creatures that crept in the dark.

And under it, as Astarion kept joking. He was nearly insufferable. Even Cordehlia was biting her teeth at his jibes, with every one, her mind raced over the encounter with the devil… with Raphael… she wished she could remember more of who he was, of where she may have heard or read of him and his demonic kind.

Of course, her stomach knotted, she could almost smell the memory of bloody battlefields, her skin sticking with the ghosting memories of gore. She shut her eyes tight, perched on the edge of camp to look into the strange, ethereal landscape they had found.

She hated it.

The dank, the dark, the monsters and mushrooms and crystalline caves. It felt like a prison.

It didn’t sit well with her. The devil and his offer… his knowledge of her dark and sordid past… and his clear knowledge of Astarion’s, as well. Last night, she had reclaimed her old self, the one that romped in the forest under the stars and savored her elven lover by crackling fires. But tonight? Tonight, she chewed her lips until it bled, might as well let it bleed and drip, feeling like nothing more than the monster she had been.

Bone Picker.

The title mocked her. Taking the blade from its scabbard at her hip, she looked over its shining metal, that diving crow etched just as sharply as when it was forged. No matter how many lives it took or throats it had slit….

She threw it with a grunt, letting it land into the sandy ground before her. Burying the blade point first into the ground…

Just short of a pair of legs that stopped suddenly in front of her. Ones she had not noticed, but ones she was glad had been spared her blade too.

Astarion gasped, boisterously offended. Annoyingly dramatic. “All the way out here? Playing with our own weapons alone and unaccompanied? What’s wrong with you, darling?” he almost whined. Pouting. “I thought today’s encounter was most fruitful… one more step closer to deciphering what that bastard carved into me. And we didn’t even have to ask.”

He sounded almost as if he was bragging.

“Thank goodness your reputation impresses all sorts, my love,” he crouched down beside her, his chilling touch wrapped around her chin to tilt her to meet his eyes. “But you’re not happy like I am. I thought you would be thrilled for me, for us. The sooner we know what’s on my back, the more we learn about just why Cazador wants me so badly that he sends his werewolves to track me down, not to mention that Gur Hunter, if you recall…”

But even if her face was lifted up, those sharp silver eyes remained cast away, staring at the dirt. “I am happy for you, for us.” She muttered under her breath.

But her stomach remained knotted. Cinching around the disgust and self-loathing that still came with those words. That title she never chose for herself. Monstrous. Bone. Picker.

“You may wish to work on your deception skills, Cordehlia, for they don’t work on convincing me,” he whispered. Quiet, worried, and a bit hurt.

That made her eyes dart to meet his gaze.

“Do not for a second wallow and regret your past again,” he murmured, a soft little stroke on her cheek. “If being Lady Corvus, the Bone Picker, is what gives us the answers to Cazador’s plan and these quite literally Infernal scars, then maybe you’ll see that all that darkness has served its purpose.”

She sighed. Heavy and hard. “I’m just tired,” she replied.

Astarion’s lips twitched, a rakish smirk just beginning to draw up that corner. “How tired?” he purred. “Too tired to come to our bed tonight?”

She gave a feeble smile in return.

“You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?” he rasped, drawing his mouth against the edge of her pointed ear. “Besides, I could use your eyes to observe these scars, your hands to sketch them… and perhaps your very talented mouth to do… well, other things.”

Her smile widened.

“… after all, since I’ll have my shirt removed for your careful examination, we might as well make the most of it, don’t you agree, my love?”

Cordehlia groaned, turning her head, pressing her lips into that rakish and wicked smirk. All that darkness, that angst and pain, was dispersed like fog in the wind the moment she tasted him. He grounded her, that way he sucked her lips and tangled his tongue. He pulled her from those wisps of regret and shadows of shame, even as her body set on fire for more of him.

Always him. She would drive that shame and loathing from her body with every last fucking thrust tonight. If she had anything to say about it.

Astarion laid in the bedroll, eyes slowly shutting, head lolled in the crook of his arm as it cradled his mussy silver hair. He needed rest, needed to rejuvenate after the way she had let him do every little thing he asked of her in the privacy of his tent. But he bemoaned that closing his eyes meant he wouldn’t be able to watch that beautiful, sleeping form beside him. The way her breath slowly rattled in her throat as she laid there. The way her naked breasts looked tantalizing as her chest rose and fell.

She was… perfect. Cordehlia. He couldn’t even remember her last name. But she just felt so… right. The only one he could feel anything remotely like caring for… maybe even love for… though that was a dangerous word to use so quickly.

It didn’t scare him, however. For once, as he watched her resting body breathing, observing the rhythmic flutter of her pulse in her neck, smelled the scent of their mingled cum between her legs… it would the first time he would even contemplate the word.

Love.

But those sweet little thoughts dispersed. Suddenly, something within her shifted, he watched it happen. Her muscles clenched, her pulse racing even in her rest. That fiery red head of hers began to roll back and forth, as if she was shaking off whatever gripped her. Arm shooting wide, she knocked him fiercely, and a sound came from her mouth… chilling. A growl, a shriek. Some wild, feral noise that even made Astarion balk. She writhed and warped, eyes still shut tight. Signs he knew well from experience.

Her nightmare consuming her.

“Cordehlia,” he whispered, a hand on her shoulder and he leaned above her. “Wake up,” he spoke louder as she still just shook. “Just a dream, darling…”

Her own grip sealed around his wrist, her arm yanking his touch off of her, sending his body crashing down onto hers. She huffed through wet, clenched teeth. Those silver eyes flashing open and narrowed at him, unseeing, unfocused and filled with purest rage.

Until she blinked. Her body went limp beneath him, her face reddening with shame as she turned away, releasing his wrist and trying to roll her back to him.

Hiding.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, letting her turn away from him, sliding to remove any distance as he pulled himself flush against her back. “If anyone knows about just how real dreams might seem, it’s me, my love.”

She shook again. Small, almost imperceptible. But he noticed everything about her body. Always.

“The darkness may give us power… ambition… perspective… but it leaves its scars,” he added, carefully wrapping his arm around her. Slowly, he moved, letting his skin slide gently, hesitantly, watching if it was too much too soon for her to handle.

But she let him, her body relaxing the more he caressed and held. Until she shook again, this time, a sob escaping from her throat.

“Oh,” he cooed softly, pulling her shoulders even tighter into his body. “Oh, my darling, it’s alright, you are here, not fighting…” his lips were caressing her neck, comforting her soul. “You’re not covered in blood, but you might be covered in… other fluids, my love.”

Her sob shook to a wet-throated laugh. “Are you asking if you should add to them?” she sniffled.

“I mean… I never say no to you, darling,” he smiled as she rolled in his arms. “But perhaps,” he raised his brows, the soft brush of his hands stroking over the muscles of her back, “perhaps you should rest your body. After all that transpired today, I’ll allow it.”

For as mirthful and charming as his smile was, her face darkened, her stomach almost tangibly sinking as he held her tenderly.

“What was it…” he whispered, so hushed he almost dared not to ask, “what did the devil say that made you feel so… vulnerable, so unsure?”

“It’s not the promise of aid, or the allure of knowing what your scars mean,” she half-snipped in reply, her body tensing again. “Don’t you worry, love.”

He tilted his head at her bitterness. Eyes scanned her face, as if he could read what swirled and tortured beneath.

“Then what was your dream about?” he pushed, still soft and quiet.

Cordehlia averted her eyes again, busying their stare with the smooth, pearlescent span of his chest instead as she swallowed. “Bone Picker,” she finally replied through clenching teeth.

Astarion bit his lip, waiting.

At last, after a few more shaking breaths, she found her voice again. “I chose to be Lady Corvus, I chose to be the harbinger of death in defense of our kind… but… then… one battle, it all changed.”

Her eyes shut, her face burying into the crook of his neck, her breath quick and wet on his skin.

“All I saw was red… blood everywhere… our enemies, those who would deny us a home… they all laid at my feet. Every single one, dead. Not one remained to bury their dead… so they all were left to rot… to let the carrion pick their bones clean until they bleached in the sun.” Then, she fell silent, face pressing all the harder into the unyielding lines of his chest. “And from then on, children told stories and sang songs of how the Bone Picker would come for them… me.”

“You lost control,” Astarion whispered into the top of her head, “and it frightened you.” His hand stroked into that tousled mop of hair. “Tell your vampire lover all about it,” he gave a quiet giggle. “If you’re searching for someone who knows how it feels to lose control, or to long to lose control, then search no more, my love.”

She stilled in his comforting embrace. So still, he doubted she even breathed.

“You don’t have to be what others call you, be fierce and powerful and deadly to enemies who threaten you, but that doesn’t make you a monster, my darling.”

Still, she didn’t move. Maybe breathing.

“I… I might be a spawn, I might have lost the ownership of my body, been robbed of my freedom to choose for myself… but I will be no one’s slave. No one will call me that. Just as you need not be anyone’s Bone Picker…” he hesitated, softening his voice, trying to sweeten the words that made her shudder and writhe.

Subtly, she melted again, raising her damp cheek from his body to meet his worried gaze. Her lips twitched, uncertain, as if she didn’t know if she should speak with that mouth or kiss with it.

After another breath, she chose the latter, a soft little peck on his lips, a single one of her hands braced against his cheek. “Thank you,” she replied, tear-streaked in tone.

“Would it make you feel better if…”

“Yes,” she interjected, her hands already sweeping down that ridged plan of his stomach, gripping to the bony curves of his hips. Pulling him to roll and cover her with that comforting, if cold, weight of his body.

“…I was going to say, if I had a certain bone that I would love for you to do so much more than pick…”

She burst a single laugh, raising her hips to press against his, to drag her belly and mound over where she felt him already growing harder than bone between his legs. “You cheeky, witty…”

“Most people end such a phrase by calling me a bastard…” he giggled, high pitched, if quiet.

“I was going to say flirt,” she laughed. Music to his pointed ears.

“Oh, my love, I think flirtation ends the moment I thrust my cock inside you,” he grinded against her flesh, so warm even from the outside. Instantly, he could feel all the blood inside him rushing and pooling and throbbing with even more need stoked by this she-elf. By his lover. “Just in case anyone is a stickler for details…”

She simpered up at him, those shining silver eyes locked into his own, brimming with so much unspoken emotion… a veil to thoughts he wished he could read, memories he wished he could share again. But for now, he could offer her comfort, even if it was drawn from his own torture and given by his own body. It was less than she deserved, he thought.

Cordehlia arched beneath him, the air around them so still, so quiet in this darkness, in the safety of their camp and the shelter of his tent. But nothing calmed her, soothed her, flamed her with life more than the press and comforting embrace of him.

Astarion wrapped his arms round her back, his knee bracing in the crux of hers. And then he pushed, spreading her, grinding slightly until she moaned and arched and shivered. “What do you need me to do, Cordehlia?” his voice caressed her ear, warming the numbness in her belly.

“Just… love me…” she swallowed, “I mean, make love to me…”

He paused, trying to hide the way the words made his heart leap, dead as it was, it still ached to hear it.

“You deserve everything you ask for,” he purred, that cascade of pure seduction dripping in his voice, that smirk of charm twisting his breathtaking features. “After all, you didn’t hesitate to entreat with a devil that offended you…” his eyes narrowed, fangs bared at the memory, “…and who made far too many suggestive advances for my liking… although,” he huffed a bit comically, “I can’t condemn his tastes.”

“You’re the only one who I’ll let get a taste for me, my love,” her voice rang with her desire. At last. Again. Even as those shades of her past still danced behind the bright flecks in her silver eyes.

“Mmm,” he hummed appreciatively, approvingly. “Let’s keep it that way, my darling…” his lips hovered over where hers waited, and she couldn’t resist them any longer. That taste, that new scent she craved, she wanted to drown her loathing in it, silence that drumbeat of shame with the beating of him inside her again, and again, and again. “What do you want me to do?” he rasped once more, the words flowing between their sucking lips.

“Comfort me, numb me…” she spoke likewise, her hands bracing at the back of his neck to keep him joined to her. “Drown that shame of mine with how you pleasure me…” Arching her back, she pressed her breasts against his chest, wrapping her trembling thighs around his waist. “I want to feel like I never lost you. I want you to fuck me like you never forgot me, more than anything.”

“I will endeavor to please,” he purred, his mouth breaking from hers, trailing little nips and kisses down her neck to the rise of her collarbone, until at last he crept over her panting belly. Nestled between those thighs, he gripped the back of her legs, shoving himself until they draped down his back. His fangs skated over her inner thighs, and she gasped at the light scratch. That wet lap of his tongue ran towards her mound, his fingers already parting her, preparing the feast she offered.

She squirmed, that rush of her heart, that throb of her body, it melted so quickly from loathing to lust, from pain to pleasure. It was easy with him. Instinct driving her. Decades of history, countless times of enjoying one another, souls and minds and bodies.

And hearts.

With his tongue sucking her clit, his fingers crooking and dragging in her channel, it was so much easier to just feel. Not to think. Not to remember or be lost to the pain. Gods, that hot wave swirled and pooled and sloshed inside her with every touch. He drove her, numbed her, until her hands fisted in his hair and her hips rode the rhythm he played as he sucked her clean of every drop of arousal.

Until she shook and shattered and squirted more than he could lick with one stroke of that skilled tongue.

Astarion raised himself, grinning so arrogantly as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. And as she panted in the warm peace of her orgasm, she could see his lips shifting, pursing. As if he wanted to let some words free, but his hesitation won in the end. With that feral leering, his tongue brushing over the point of his fangs, he descended. His mouth crushed her lips, sucking and gnawing until she lost her breath and stars covered her sight. He thrust inside her so quickly, sheathing up to the hilt until his balls pressed and slapped against her with every pummeling slide.

And Cordehlia took it all, a glutton for him, for every place his body touched her, for every breath that deafened her ear and every jab of his tongue over her teeth until it tangled with her own. Addicted, devoured, she lost all emotion other than what it meant to be in his arms. Here. And now. Her hips rode his every spearing thrust, her ass shoved higher as his legs braced against it. Eyes shut tight, she let herself tumble into oblivion, held only on this realm by his taste in her mouth and the sweat-covered slide of his muscles over her belly.

“Gods…” she panted, her arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders, her fingers finding purchase in those scars she had sketched and examined and willingly cut deals over in order to free him from his own dark past. From whatever hold still remained on Astarion.

“Yes,” his voice scratched in his throat as he replied, breathless, “Gods, Cordehlia… so good… my darling… my lover…”

He groaned, closing in on his climax, she could tell. And that way that he abandoned all control, lost in the climb to pleasure, the way he fucked her without another thought in his head than filling her with his cum… it crashed into her. He took her with him, tumbling and panting and sweating as they both cried out. As spasm after spasm washed through both their bodies, separately and all at once, making Cordehlia whimper.

So wet and warm and filled. Her arms clutched around the back of his head, keeping his mouth filling her ear with every whistling breath and gutteral noise he made. “I… love…”

His lips kissed her neck, the smallest tip of his tongue tracing over the grooves of his bites. “Yes?” he whispered. And she felt it, his cock twitching again within her. A final pulse and push of his seed to drip down her thighs later.

“I love… this,” she sighed. A few more heavy breaths fighting for air beneath his weight, and she soon went limp. Totally comforted. Completely pleasured. She mewled as he ran his fangs over her neck.

“You know,,” he whispered between presses of his lips, “I haven’t had much to savor, to enjoy and remember over the centuries, but…”

Lifting his head, he met her longing gaze. She wanted more, not of his cock, not his body. She wanted him… all of him.

“…but I’m glad I decided to threaten you… to hold a blade to your neck….” He gave a little slide of his cock, even as it softened again. “Darling… I love…this… too.”

Every part of her body melted, molding to him as his lips trailed the sucking, bruising, cold caress of his lips on her neck again. She could let go of that sting of a simple name… a title… if it meant she could free him.

Shuffled off from covering her, Astarion laid at her side as she slept again, the pull of his long-needed rest taking him under. He hoped he would dream of her again… that they could avoid another bout of nightmares needing comforting. That those sharp and painful memories of Cazador’s knife, of the tortures in the kennels, and the slime of his own self-loathing could remain at bay.

Just for tonight, he clung to the hope of having his Infernal scars translated, the hope of identifying its true nature so they could stop its effect and just kill the bastard.

But those were not the only words the devil hissed that needled his mind.

You should make every effort to keep so faithful a female at your side for all eternity…

He clung a little harder to her then, the darkness of his rest closing in on him. He gave in, ignoring the sting of realizing that he stared down an immortal life.

And Cordehlia, she did not.

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lynxgriffin · 10 months ago

Note

Under blue skies

Within a forest of gold

Lies a thin veneer of lies

Some black, some white, though mostly old.

What rises to the wind,

whether houses or trees

Families so close, love shines ever clean

Ah, or so it would seem

What rises to the wind

Whispers and dreams

One family, north of all else

Their home houses something beyond compense

It's skin is strange

And eyes too red

Wherever they walk

A glance would be shed

In good company

Where worries are shared

One stands tall

Though whispered with glares

"why are they so different ?"

"why so mouch trouble ?"

It's strange for one to think

That gossip would not bubble

They act like it can't hear

Though perhaps they know

They hope in secret

It would better itself, somehow

It hopes, but sees

All of their peers think the same

Oh woe be to the one

Who bares all the blame

It knows it, it sees that.

The soul they bear is so guilty

So red.

"why" they ask

"why couldn't it have been white?"

White as a lamb, no harm, no foul

Red is hate, a predator on a prowl

Pencil to paper

Crayon and crawl

The one they hope to be

The palest soul alive

A vain wish, destined to die.

Years pass and times are rough

One who held them close

Left them to wilt

A darkened rose

Days bring no joy

Sleep is too plentiful

One day a tormentor comes

They grow ever more pitiful

And then

Darker yet darker

The shadows grow

A world of new wonder

Unveils it's row

Now they walk together

The picker and the picked

A world of fantasy

Where dreams come true

Or be they shadows

Whom come to collect their due ?

The one veiled in purple

They find their destiny

A lonelines crushed

By a blue ball of loyalty

But they

Their red soul within

They find a shadow,

A mirror so thin

It's fur is white

(I wish to be them)

It's smile is wide

(I wish to be happy)

Manners are gold

(I wish to be good)

It's eyes shine pink

Theirs glow red

So slight is the difference

What cost...

for it...

to be...

....shed ?

Stranger of feathers

Master of creation

Answer one question :

Of whom do I speak

And of what do they reek ?

Your poem about Kris is very interesting, and I've been mulling over what to do with it! So, I guess I can share it again for other folks to mull over!

#ask lynx stuff #bit of a dash stretch warning #gosh I never quite know what to do with asks like these #like it's fascinating but I feel like I'm the wrong recipient!

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coldbrewarts · 9 months ago

Text

It’s a little bit messy but here is a free skin/hair/eyes color palette for the clones so you don’t panic and accidentally paint them very white. Just use the color picker and go to town! RB and give credit if you save.

A/n you can use echos true skin tone for crosshair’s hair color

#artist #my art #my artwork #art #coldbrewarts #my artwrok #star wars #original art #the bad batch #the bad batch drawing #the clone wars drawing #the clone wars fanart #the bad batch fanart #Star Wars fanartists #fanartists #the bad batch fanartists #the clone wars fanartists #Star Wars color palates #clone trooper color palates

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tatterings · 1 year ago

Text

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 10 - "Buds Bursting into Blossom"

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit (A lil bit of sexy but not much)

Tags/warnings: 18+, horniness, trauma discussion, druid tiddies

Word count: 8,400

Header art by @solmesia. Proof/beta read by @bloodlessbhaalbabe.

Restorative, deep sleep did not grace Halsin that night, though his muscles cried out for respite and recovery. The druid’s body screamed in protest as he refused to slip into true slumber.

Halsin, who had spent at least 100 years in hibernation while wildshaped as a bear, despised the idea of sleep for the first time in his life. Sleep would rip him from this moment.

If he slept, he couldn’t brush his fingers along Astarion’s ivory skin. He couldn’t memorize the peaks and valleys of his hip bones, his stomach, his neck.

While unconscious, he would have been deprived of Astarion’s intoxicating scent. Bergamot, rosemary, and the ever-tempting allure of brandy made his head spin and heart soar.

Halsin could not allow sleep to steal him from Astarion’s cool touch, which acted as a heat sink for Halsin’s intense body heat.

He did not want to be robbed of the reassurance that Astarion was enjoying a night of true sleep himself. It was the first time Halsin had noticed that the vampire actually slept.

And so, in a middling compromise with himself, Halsin tranced for a few hours to allow him to harness his healing magic. He could tolerate minimal rest, as long as he could admire the man in his arms for a few more hours.

His fingers traced the maroon circles dotting Astarion’s neck; the marks of their intimate evening. Halsin’s eyes crinkled in delight as the pale elf’s curls were ruffled by his hot breath. His hand drifted downward, along Astarion’s sleeved arm. Halsin brushed his thumb along the velvety skin on the inside of Astarion’s wrist, where he had kissed so many times that night.

As he had scorned true sleep, Halsin had several hours to fill while holding his partner. Fortunately, he quite enjoyed allowing his mind to wander. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, deciding that this act was meditation in itself. His eyes drifted along Astarion’s reclined form against his body. Astarion was nestled into the crook of Halsin’s arm, head laid on his chest. The vampire's slender fingers twitched occasionally against Halsin's broad chest as he dreamed. Those skilled fingers had felt better than the hands of any lovers Halsin had ever had before.

After both men had climaxed, they had collapsed together, their arms and legs intertwining as they clung to one another. Neither had minded the musk of the other, or the slick of sweat and semen between them. Halsin had curled around Astarion’s smaller frame as they reeled together after orgasm. He had felt whole. Complete. Satisfied.

They lingered there awhile together, both men gathering their thoughts and their breaths. Astarion had shifted first, to remove his trousers and tuck himself back into his underwear, a coy smile on his lips.

Astarion had lifted his torso enough to plant kisses along Halsin’s stomach and help his partner remove his trousers. Halsin had tilted his head in curiosity when Astarion had declined his offer of his large tunic as a sleep shirt; his ruffled shirt was a little crusty with the dried spend and sweat from the night before. However, Halsin did not push further for Astarion's reasoning behind remaining mostly clothed.

Regardless of the amount of skin against which he could press himself, Halsin was grateful to relish in the post-climax bliss with his lover. It pleased Halsin that Astarion seemed equally relaxed and content with resting in his embrace. After tucking his head beneath Halsin's chin, he had fallen into a trance, and then quickly into a deeper, true sleep. Halsin took it as an immense compliment that the smaller elf had felt comfortable enough to do so.

He knew that to enjoy intimacy, especially after such hardship as Astarion had faced, was a significant step in healing one’s soul. Wounds such as Astarion's were susceptible to a proverbial "rot"; the type of wounds whose foulness crept into one's sense of self. Even as a skilled healer, Halsin never developed a magic capable of cleansing them.

Halsin frowned as his mind wandered. How often had Astarion experienced a deeper connection with others besides carnal pleasures? How often had he led strangers to his bed and not experienced pleasure at all? How often was there only disgust and anguish? The druid’s heart felt constricted by thorny vines. He gently embraced Astarion with one arm, and felt a cool puff of air escape from his lips. It ruffled Halsin’s chest hair. The vampire slept on.

It was not simply Astarion’s saccharine touch that had pulled Halsin over the precipice of climax. The wood elf could only assume that Astarion had truly enjoyed their intimacy. He seemed to, anyway, after Halsin’s gentle reassurance and willingness to cede all control.

Halsin whispered thanks to the Oak Father to have been able to serve Astarion, to allow him the pleasure and peace he deserved, and for restoration for his body and his soul. Before he opened his eyes, he also pleaded for forgiveness from Silvanus for having no gods but Astarion in the bedroll. The Oak Father understood natural passions; Halsin was confident that he would forgive a little light blasphemy in the name of exploring nature’s bounty. Especially when the beauty and resilience of nature took the form of Astarion Ancunin.

Instead of the lewd facade which Halsin had seen Astarion act out thrice, he’d shared a night of vulnerable intimacy with the pale elf. There was no act nor mummer’s mask that evening. Astarion had been confident, but not blustery. In control of their motions, but not power hungry. In the moment, instead of in his head. It was what Halsin had hoped it would be; it was also a tantalizing promise of what the future could hold for them. Tenderness, fulfillment, and a true partnership in which they could depend on each other.

Halsin was pulled from his thoughts by the crackle of firewood in the center of camp. Gale was prepping for breakfast. Wyll’s voice echoed through their camp in a groan as the warlock bemoaned his soreness from the prior day’s battle. Scratch whimpered faintly from Thaniel’s tent. Halsin did not rise, despite the gnaw deep in his gut telling him to move; nagging him that it was time to search for Thaniel’s other half. The boy was stable for now, and not all the party members were prepared to set off yet, anyway.

Certainly not the beautiful vampire still nestled in Halsin’s arm. He frowned as the sun peeked through a slit in the tent flap, its bright rays painting a white stripe across Astarion’s cheek. Halsin raised his hand to block the sunlight.

The reliability of the sun's rays would cut their peace short soon enough; no reason to delay his healing spell. Halsin twirled his fingers in the pattern required for a healing spell, mouthing the incantation silently. A viridian glow engulfed his hand, before the magic settled on his skin. It crept along his bare arm then onto his chest, painting a green cast to his skin not unlike the sunlight that dappled the forest floor. His wounds ached less; his heartbeat grew stronger. It must have restored some of his lifeblood; perhaps he could offer sustenance to Astarion in the evening. The magic seemed to melt into him, and Halsin’s chest felt warm.

Astarion stirred at Halsin’s increased warmth, his pale body twitching with a slight shiver that began at his head and continued down to his toes. He released a long groan, rolling his face to press into the crook of Halsin’s arm. It was delightfully cool and soft. Halsin chuckled at Astarion, lifting his hand to rub lazily on the vampire’s back through his tunic.

“Good morning, my heart,” Halsin murmured, pressing a kiss onto Astarion’s head.

The vampire grunted in response; Halsin felt his eyes squeeze shut harder, eyelashes flitting against his skin. Another laugh shook Halsin’s broad chest, causing Astarion’s white curls to bob about.

Astarion raised his head to meet Halsin’s gaze and curled his arms on top of his broad chest. Halsin’s eyes flitted to his angular jawline as the vampire rested his chin on his crossed arms. “How is it that you manage to be so obnoxiously pleasant all the time, darling?” Astarion said, his words heavy with grogginess and affection. He scrunched his white eyebrows, blinking quickly to adjust to the increasing light levels in the tent.

Halsin raised his hand to comb through his partner’s hair. It was like silk as it slipped through his fingers. “I outgrew cynicism over 100 years ago,” Halsin replied, a smirk pulling at his laugh lines, “Silvanus blesses us with another day; it is difficult to feel poorly when a bounty of opportunities and adventure awaits us. And when I begin the day with you in my arms.”

“Your optimism is exhausting, Halsin,” Astarion replied, his comment an obvious attempt to distract from the redness rising to his cheeks. His ruby eyes rolled as he shot a wry grin at the druid. “I swear, you’d go on forever about your Oak Father unless Gale cast Silen-”

Halsin lurched forward and captured Astarion’s mouth in his own; he did not need a spell to steal away Astarion’s words. His lips pressed against Astarion’s, firm and heated, as strong and passionate as his affection for the other man. His tongue flitted across Astarion’s bottom lip, pleading for entrance, for acceptance. The vampire’s mouth parted, his lips quivering in anxiousness and excitement. Halsin took the opportunity; his tongue moved against the smaller elf’s as though he could pour his heart and soul into Astarion.

Astarion claimed Halsin’s bottom lip between his fangs, nipping enough to pull a grunt from Halsin’s lip, but not enough to draw blood. The pale elf hummed softly as he slid the slender fingers of one hand into Halsin’s auburn locks. His other hand cradled Halsin’s face, his fingertips faintly grazed the druid’s tattooed cheek. Halsin’s hand covered Astarion’s, pressing the coolness to his face before interlacing their fingers.

His heart skipped a beat as the vampire hungrily returned his passion. Astarion's kisses were tender, pliant, excited - the type of kisses Halsin had experienced when he was a younger man who enjoyed the freedoms of the wood elf community. Halsin's breath escaped him, and he pulled away to inhale.

Astarion gazed back at him with a smirk, his plump lips reddened from the friction of their kiss. He looked flustered, but composed. And now, wide awake.

“Well darling, I’ll never be too exhausted for that,” Astarion said, his laughter ringing like a wind chime in the breeze.

A slow grin spread across Halsin's face. He hoped it would always be that way.

*******

Astarion’s stomach flipped as he had returned Halsin’s kiss. He had been groggy, his mind weighed down by the fog of a confusion that occurs when one experiences deeper rest than expected. Halsin’s kiss shot energy through him, like the teas Halsin sometimes enjoyed.

"I thank Silvanus for that, for I will never tire of the taste of you,” Halsin said, his voice soft and low with sincerity. Astarion felt the warmth radiating from his partner's intense, affectionate gaze. Halsin placed a light peck on Astarion's forehead as if to prove his point.

The vampire's hands drifted from Halsin's face to rest against his chest; Halsin’s heartbeat fluttered against his palms like a pixie captured in a moonlantern. Halsin's pulse was much stronger than it had been yesterday. Astarion’s head tilted as he made out the sound; the druid must have concentrated his healing spell on his blood. The vampire traced his fingertips near the fine stitches he had placed last night; the surrounding flesh was no longer inflamed, and had taken on a warm, pink flush.

"Feeling better this morning, darling?" Astarion asked, partly out of genuine concern for the man, and partly out of his gnawing hunger for blood. He had not fed for two days now; after the exertion of the battle, he was ravenous.

"Physically better? Immensely. Mentally? I am of course concerned for Thaniel, and eager to restore his strength," Halsin said, turning his head towards Thaniel's tent; as if he could see through the walls of his own tent.

"Although I can imagine you're faring worse, considering it has been several days since you have last fed," the druid said, tucking Astarion's curls behind his ears. The vampire's ears flushed hot at Halsin's touch; and his kindness.

"I'll admit I'm feeling peckish," Astarion said, flipping his delicate hand in the air to de-emphasize his hunger. The throes of battle, mixed with the tempest of anxiety into which he was thrown when Halsin had disappeared had sapped both his mental and physical energy reserves. After their night of passion, weariness weighed Astarion's body down like lead. As if on cue, Astarion's stomach gurgled, the pain twisting his insides.

Halsin arched an eyebrow smugly. "Please, my heart. Drink from me, and restore your strength. I cannot claim to know what challenges we will face on this day," he said.

"You're right," Astarion muttered, nodding slightly, "of course."

Halsin tilted his neck to the side, displaying his well-tanned skin as though pulling the silver dome from atop a serving platter. His large hands wrapped around Astarion's waist, nearly touching together, to assist the vampire in adjusting to a proper feeding position. It sent an altogether different sensation to Astarion's stomach to be lifted so easily.

Astarion bent his head to Halsin's well-muscled neck. Fine brown baby hairs curled about Halsin's ears; a decorative garnish, to one who sups on blood. Halsin's peach fuzz tickled Astarion's plump lips as he kissed his sun-tanned skin. The vampire inhaled deeply, relishing in Halsin's scent; a mix of cedar and petrichor, as well as their own lingering musk.

Astarion's lips curled upward in satisfaction as Halsin's skin prickled at the caress of his lips. The siren song of power once more called to the vampire. Heat rushed to his groin at the recollection of their night of intimacy, of Halsin's large form squirming beneath him. His hips furiously pressing into Astarion's grasp. His moans of worship. His fulfilled promise of self-restraint.

Astarion was equally intoxicated by the control in this moment; he was a predator, his prey held in his clutches. Halsin's muscles rippled underneath the ministrations of tongue, just as lowly creatures had fought against the vampire's feedings in the past.

But Halsin's movements weren't fearful. Far from it. Astarion's leg had been draped across Halsin's body. It crossed over the junction of the druid's thighs. Taunted by the teasing of his tongue, Halsin's cock had begun to press against Astarion's inner thigh. It sent another rush of need to the vampire's groin.

Astarion opened his mouth wide, lips pulling back to bare his pearly fangs. Halsin was still interested in him physically, though he had gotten some satisfaction the night prior. The thoughts assuaged none of Astarion's anxieties.

And yet, Halsin had seemed to be fully enraptured with his touch, both intimate and otherwise. Astarion's distaste for his own longing bubbled within him; his lips curled back further. His fangs pierced the druid's skin, pulling a grunt from Halsin's chest. Astarion lifted his mouth, just enough to remove his teeth from the two freshly bleeding divots.

Calloused fingertips of one of Halsin's hands dug into Astarion's ribs. His other rose to rest on the vampire's backside, squeezing slightly.

Astarion lowered his mouth, plump lips smeared with scarlet, to seal over the bite wound completely. He lapped at the lifeblood, unable to hold back the moans that were louder even than the rumbling of his empty stomach.

The heat of Halsin's lifeblood coated his tongue. Its thickness washed over his palate. Its warmth was nearly scalding against Astarion's cool throat, and he pulled away briefly to cool his mouth.

His cock twitched as the fresh blood rushed to it, turning his mild arousal into a full erection, thick and throbbing. Astarion breathed intentionally as he swallowed another mouthful of blood. He did not need to breathe, but perhaps the slow inhalations he so often saw Halsin perform would dull the throb in his shaft and his sac.

For the first time in 200 years, Astarion had enjoyed intimacy. Halsin's touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his skin. His touch was hot, almost burning; not like the sun. It was more like a warm towel after a fresh bath. Halsin was comforting, both in body and in his words and actions.

He was a dream of a partner, and it knotted Astarion's insides to dwell on it. His abdomen tightened in anxiety and in need. His underwear seemed agonizingly constricting. Astarion rolled his hips against Halsin's bulging erection, which was free from the confines of clothing. Halsin whimpered in response, lifting Astarion's lower half from the bedroll. The druid's desire was palpable, and his grip on Astarion's ass grew firmer. The vampire was sure his partner would leave five purple bruises where his fingertips dug into his muscle.

Astarion swallowed again, his eyes rolling backward as he savored Halsin's blood. What a queer concept. "Partner", he thought. For how long would Halsin consider him a partner?

I am deluding myself to think Halsin truly cares for me, Astarion thought. I'm just a novelty for him; wood elves have experience enough to grow bored with the same horizontal dance. His heart 'doesn't stir lightly' he says… but a vampire and blood play must be new for him. And what was the definition of a partner, anyway? A partner in crime? A partner in the bedroom? Or a travelling partner? Halsin did not delineate which it might be. Or, if their partnership was a different kind altogether.

Astarion shuddered at the thought, but could not refuse his body's call to rub against Halsin's larger member, his curly pubic hair, and his warmth. He wasn't sure if he heard Halsin moan his name into the cool morning air, or if he was just imagining it.

The vampire dove back down to Halsin's throat, dragging his tongue along the crease created by the druid's collarbone and muscle. Blood now coated his chin and his nose. It was more tantalizing than any filet mignon, more flavorful than any aged red wine. He sealed his lips again around the divots he had pierced, damming the rivulets of blood from escaping from him.

Halsin groaned again beneath him, his hand kneading Astarion's ass over his underwear. Two of his thick fingers slid into the cleft between Astarion's cheeks. He nearly choked on a mouthful of blood. Again his body betrayed him once. It had kept the score, and recalled Halsin's gentle touch, his saccharine sensitivity to the deep scars it bore. His hips raised to Halsin's fingers; he felt them press atop his underwear, onto the pucker between his ass checks. Halsin's fingers rubbed gently, firmly, over his entrance. Astarion swallowed his last mouthful of blood to allow himself to moan Halsin's name as his body went rigid. Though his cock pulsed in need, and he wanted nothing more than to feel Halsin on him, in him, everywhere and all at once, Astarion's warring desires threatened to split him in two; body and mind.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed his desire down. He knew that in this moment, he would be but a phantom, lost in his thoughts, responding purely by instinct to Halsin's ministrations while a million realms away.

The druid knew how to make a man feel good; that much was clear during their lovemaking the evening prior. He had no shame, no fear as they had rutted against each other and swam in the blissful afterglow of passion. How was it that he could be so confident, so present, during each moment?

Halsin seemed to sense the sudden rigidity in Astarion’s body; he pulled his hands away and rested them on the bedroll. The larger man exhaled, his hot breath sending a shiver down Astarion's spine.

It was nerve-wracking how easily the druid seemed to read his body language. Astarion felt as though he were a book laid open for Halsin’s perusal, its spine creased so that it lay flat on the table. The fresh blood churned in his belly as he made eye contact with his partner. The druid only smiled softly, his crow's feet wrinkling in the corners of his hazel eyes.

“Do you feel any better, my heart?” Halsin asked gently, running his thumb under Astarion’s lip to wipe his own lifeblood away. He held his large thumb in front of the vampire's mouth. Astarion’s tongue darted out to lick it clean. He flushed in embarrassment at the instinctual action; Halsin did not mention it. He traced his thumb along Astarion's cheekbone, then grasped the pale elf's hand in his own. Halsin placed a firm kiss on Astarion's palm.

“Yes, much better actually,” Astarion admitted meekly, “thank you again. For this.”

“Anything for you, Astarion,” Halsin replied. His smile changed; the concern faded, and it spread to his eyes as the druid seemed more cheerful. He raised himself up on his elbows to place his lips on Astarion’s forehead. “Now, I believe we ought to get ready for this morning. The others are breaking their fasts without us."

Halsin did not mention, nor seem frustrated by, the abrupt halt of intimacy. Nor did he pry into Astarion's thoughts or probe about with questions. Relief. Astarion felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his lips despite himself.

*********

Astarion’s blood-moon eyes were round and soft. The dark circles below his eyes seemed to have faded with the nourishment of Halsin's lifeblood. If the druid didn’t know any better, he’d think Astarion genuinely seemed happy. And, it seemed, a little confused at the emotion.

It tugged at an unidentifiable emotion deep within Halsin and caused an ache in his stomach. He squeezed the other man’s smaller hand and placed a kiss on his partner's wrist. He felt the goosebumps rise along Astarion’s arm.

"I need to check on Thaniel, my heart," he said, grazing his thumb across Astarion's porcelain wrist; Halsin's large hands could wrap around it completely. "Please take your time to get ready; I have fresh tunic in my pack, if you'd like?"

Without waiting for an answer from Astarion, Halsin lifted him gently from atop his body and guided the vampire to sit beside him on the bedroll. Free of Astarion's relative featherweight, Halsin crawled on all fours to the corner of his tent and rummaged in his satchel.

He plucked the tunic from his pack and turned to present it to his partner. It wasn't as finely adorned as his usual camp clothes, nor his leaf-embellished armor. But, it was knit of an olive-green sateen that was soft to the skin; Halsin rarely wore it, for fear of damaging the fine material. But it was one of his few material belongings, so he'd packed it when setting off with Astarion and his party.

Halsin placed the tunic in Astarion's lap and squeezed the vampire's thigh gently. Astarion peered wordlessly at the tunic in his lap, before grazing his hand across Halsin's and muttering a soft, "Thank you."

His sudden reservations that bubbled forth during his feeding worried Halsin; but for the well-being of Astarion, rather than an unfulfilled lust. As Halsin pulled on his trousers, he prayed to Silvanus.

Oak Father grant me the fortitude to be a monument of strength for those important to me. Astarion deserves your healing, your blessing; he has experienced so much harm. Thaniel deserves your healing, your blessing; this curse ravages him so harshly. Hear me Oak Father, and let your will manifest through me.

Halsin ducked to leave his tent and needed only a few footsteps to clamber into Thaniel's. Scratch had not left the boy's side and was licking the boy's fingers. Thaniel's palms and hands seemed warmer, at least; he was stable.

Thaniel was resting in uneasy slumber; it was as though he was in an elven trance; half of himself present in body, but the other half of him communing with his past lives in spirit. Halsin was struck by how apt his analogy was; this was what remained bodily of Thaniel in the Shadowfell. But the missing part of him must be trapped somewhere in the lands itself. His comrades in battle had been dragged into the darkness; could it not have been so for Thaniel as well? Nausea settled in Halsin's gut at the thought of anguish and agony Thaniel must have experienced as he was rended in two. How he must be holding on by a mere thread, with his essence split in half and overtaken by shadow curse corruption.

Halsin inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, patting Scratch as he did so; the touch of another living being always helped to soothe his nerves. Scratch's tail flopped onto the ground in sync with their heartbeats.

"Good boy," Halsin said, ruffling the soft, downy fur behind the dog's ears, "Will you keep watch on Thaniel for me?"

Scratch's tail flopped harder on Thaniel's bedroll. "Of course, friend!" Scratch replied; his whimpers and barks, a puzzle to those who couldn't communicate with animals, were easily understood by Halsin, "Thaniel is a very good boy, too."

Halsin's stern expression broke into a weary grin. "I appreciate you, Scratch. I do hope you'll enjoy playing together when he wakes." The druid patted the dog's head gently and exited the tent. How fortunate he was to have been rescued and befriended by the tadpoled adventurers; how uncomfortable he was to ask them for help, once again.

By the time Halsin had checked on Thaniel and spoken with Scratch, Astarion had made his way from the druid's tent. The pale elf was perched on a stone near the campfire, his fingers absentmindedly pulling at the excess fabric of the olive green tunic. Astarion gazed at nothing in particular until he seemed to sense that he was being watched. The vampire's ruby eyes met Halsin's. They seemed to flicker with pleasure as he luxuriated in Halsin's oversized tunic.

As Halsin approached him, Astarion hummed in what the druid could only assume was satisfaction; his delicate fingers traced the stitching on the olive-green shirt. It was far too large for Astarion. The sleeves extended well past his fingertips; he had rolled its sleeves up to bare his forearms. The shade of the shirt suited his pale complexion; he was a carefully carved marble statue, veiled before its grand debut, and draped in the most calming of nature's colors. It could almost pass for a dress, with how low it fell on his legs.

Halsin could not help but grin at the sight. He again counted his blessings for having a partner who could provide respite to his weary mind in such a dark place. Regardless of whether that respite was of intimate or sexual nature, or purely as a much-needed laugh, Halsin did not take Astarion for granted.

The large elf settled beside Astarion on his stone, and placed his hand on the small of the pale elf's back. He felt Astarion lean into the heat of his palm, and he pressed back slightly, softly.

The other companions didn't remark on their closeness; perhaps they knew better than to taunt Astarion and draw out his dagger-sharp tongue. Halsin noted, in the orange glow of the campfire against the darkness of the shadow curse though, that Astarion blushed nonetheless.

It was Halsin who spoke first, beyond the usual "good mornings". The adventurers were quiet, enraptured by his findings: Thaniel must have had another half that was torn away from him when the shadow curse took hold. And, being a spirit of nature and not mortal, that other half must still be lingering in this realm. Halsin had glimpsed fresh blooms pushing through the infertile soil when they had entered these lands, but hadn't grasped their significance.

The druid's heart raced as he asked for the aid of the adventurers. Astarion immediately slid a hand onto Halsin's thigh and gave a squeeze. His heart would join him; the others discussed logistics and their plan for the day.

Everyone besides Wyll agreed to join Halsin in both his trek to Last Light Inn. The handsome warlock, ever the hero, insisted on staying by Thaniel’s side to monitor his condition in case. Halsin's eyes watered at the kindness Wyll showed towards his childhood friend, and rose to wrap his large arms around the warlock. He bashfully hugged Halsin in return and patted his back, before retiring to Thaniel's tent to keep vigil.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion had offered Halsin their aid on searching for Thaniel; Shadowheart rose to don her armor, and Gale to gather his scrolls. Karlach and Laezel would accompany Halsin to the Inn, but could not join him to find Thaniel. Karlach had an appointment with Dammon to see what he may have discovered about her infernal engine; Lae’zel needed the tiefling smith’s expertise on repairing her armor, which had been severely damaged in yesterday’s battle.

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

Their travel to Last Light was uneventful, the well-worn path having been largely cleansed of encroaching shadow creatures over the past week. Lae'zel and Karlach split to the right to visit Dammon. Karlach's ear-splitting shout of the fellow tiefling's name made Astarion flinch. Gods, he was fond of her boisterousness and enthusiasm but sometimes he wished he could cast Silence. Gale wandered off to speak with the Harper quartermaster about provisions; he was weary of cooking gruel. Shadowheart was as well, and having been introduced to vegetarian recipes by Halsin, joined Gale to procure animal-free ingredients. She and Halsin had chatted at length about her wishes to have a farm. A few evenings ago, he revealed that he could speak with all animals, including chickens. Shadowheart had gently set down her bowl of chicken broth and her complexion turned green whenever anyone mentioned eating meat since.

Astarion tagged along besides Halsin. He never was fond of leading a troupe, preferring to stick to the shadows and enjoy a little fun (or "ruckus", as Gale sometimes called it) along the sides. So when Halsin had strode into the Inn with a purpose, it suited Astarion just fine. Halsin wasn't completely healed post-portal battle, and wanted to request additional aid from Jaheira. But Jaheira was not at her usual post near the entrance to the inn.

"Do panthers enjoy sleep just as much as bears? Or hibernate?" Astarion teased, elbowing Halsin gently.

Halsin grinned at his partner and shook his head. "Not that I am aware of, my heart. She is normally an early riser. I do not mind waiting a little longer for her, if that is acceptable for you?" he asked, guiding Astarion around the corner with a hand on his lower back.

Any downtime the adventurers were able to enjoy at Last Light was generally spent in the library-like corner, which held a desk and hundreds of books. The vampire's skin prickled at Halsin's touch, even through the finely-crafted Drow armor he'd picked up on their adventures. It was slightly unsettling that even without directly caressing his skin, the druid could affect him so.

As the pair rounded the corner, Astarion's fine, downy arm hair continued to stand on end, even after Halsin removed his hand. Astarion's stomach twisted further, and his brow furrowed in confusion as to the cause. It was almost as if his body was reacting, like a prey animal being stalked by a predator.

Halsin was no threat, though, and Astarion blinked away the thoughts. As he surveyed the room, his eyes focused on a handsome man who reclined in an armchair, swirling a glass of wine as he observed Astarion and Halsin. The man's brown hair was slicked back, his strong brow knit together and a wide, toothy smile graced his lined face.

He was being stalked by a predator. He dug his heels into the wood floor and grabbed onto Halsin's arm. Not for security, but to wrangle back the unwitting druid.

Astarion had met the cambion Raphael once before, when the devil offered a deal to remove their tadpoles. He disliked the idea of being owned once again, and had declined the offer; he'd already suffered a pseudo-pact with Cazador, and was not about to partner with another devil.

"Astarion," Halsin said, before bending to speak closer to his ear, "what is going on here? Something…is not right here." Astarion met Halsin's gaze; his eyes were glowing golden. Perhaps he wasn't unwitting after all; Halsin too had noticed something was amiss in the inn. His arm hair, too, was standing on end; a bear preparing for a threat.

The vampire inhaled and exhaled intentionally, preparing himself to pull on his mask of nonchalance. It would not do to speak with a devil while visibly unnerved. "Well, lots of things aren't right here," Astarion drawled, feigning counting on his fingers, "A tadpole in my brain, a curse warping the lands, Thaniel being comatose.. but if you're referring to specifics, the man over there is Raphael. And he's actually a devil." He giggled uncomfortably.

Astarion was sure Halsin nearly broke his neck with how quickly he jerked his head to face him. "Shall we escort him out, my heart?". The vampire didn't hear Halsin growl, but he could feel a rumble vibrating the druid's body.

"No thank you, darling, I actually…need to speak with him," Astarion explained, giving Halsin's arm a squeeze before pulling his hands to his hips.

"Devils cannot be trusted," Halsin growled, stooping lower to whisper in the pale elf's ear so his voice wouldn't carry.

Astarion's plump lips pulled into a thin line. "Then trust me, Halsin. Please. It's… important that I speak with him."

Halsin seemed to deflate at Astarion's words; his eyes darted about the vampire's face, as though he were searching for answers. "I trust you with my life, my heart. I do not trust this Raphael. I must insist on joining you," he said, his voice raspy with a low growl.

"Delightful, it's settled then," Astarion said, clapping his hands together and interlacing his fingers. "I could always use some muscle, anyway." He nudged Halsin playfully, a show of false confidence and bravado as they were being dressed down by Raphael's intense gaze from across the room. Astarion was determined to at least pretend that the cambion's stare didn't cause his hands to shake with anxiety.

Astarion hooked his thumbs into the leather belt slung about his hips and sauntered closer to Raphael. "So, how did you find us this time, devil?" Astarion asked, his voice effervescent with false lightheartedness.

The devil, ever the showman, rose from his armchair slowly, without the grunt or groan one would expect of a man who appeared to be middle-aged. A small tell that Raphael was more than he seemed.

"Oh, I have my ways," Raphael replied, his deep voice rumbling with amusement. He took a sip from his wine goblet and set it down on the table beside him. "I'm like a bloodhound, my fanged friend. I can spell desperation from realms away. And you absolutely reek of it."

Astarion's mask of indifference slipped; he took one step backwards in offense and shock. The vampire's mouth turned downward in a frown. Raphael wasn't wrong. And he hated it. He felt Halsin's broad torso press against his back, but the druid was silent.

"You've gained a new friend, Astarion," Raphael murmured, tilting his head. He raised his fist to his chin, feigning interest and deep thought. "But he is not who I have come to see; I sense there is something you want to ask me?"

Astarion's eyes darted to the floor as he gathered his courage. "I do. I have a proposal for you." He took one step forward. Halsin's hand darted to Astarion's shoulder; the vampire shook it off.

Raphael burst into laughter, raising a hand to his neck. "A proposal? If you're hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than wyvern whiskey." His grin was a taunt.

The vampire's nose crinkled in a sneer. "This is serious business, devil," he spat, taking another step forward. His hands balled into a fist. "My old- well, a long time ago, someone carved a poem into my back. I'd rather like to know what it says."

Halsin's body again pressed beside Astarion. "My heart, what do you mean? The scars, I.." his voice trailed off, crushed under the hurt of not being privy to his partner's secrets. The druid seemed to grow small behind him.

Astarion flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. His scars were physical evidence of his baggage; for as long as Halsin was ignorant of them, he could not cast judgment. He would not know how heavy Astarion's burdens truly were.

Raphael's ever-present smile grew wide. His eagerness sent chills down Astarion's spine. "You haven't told him? And you've kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you," Raphael sneered, his teeth bared in a predatory grin. Halsin's hand rested on Astarion's waist. His thick fingertips dug into the vampire's sides. The druid's grip was protective. Possessive. Neither man spoke.

The cambion raised his hand with a flourish. "Why not let them see, then? Don't be shy." Raphael snapped his fingers with an audible pop.

The cool air of the inn rushed onto Astarion's bare skin; the armor on his torso, and even his undershirt had been instantly magicked away. His skin prickled, almost on fire, as he felt the gaze of the other patrons of the inn, who had heard the unusually loud snap of Raphael's fingers. Astarion was too stunned to move beyond holding his arms at his sides.

Bile rose to his throat from the humiliation. Once again he was literally dressed down, as he had been so many times by Cazador. Stripped to nothing and exposed for all to see.

*****

Halsin had been struggling to not shift into his bear form since he had begun to smell the stench of sulfur as they rounded the corner of the inn. Once he had confirmation from Astarion about Raphael's true nature, the bear clawed against his insides in protectiveness.

He refused to hold back the beast as soon as the cambion snapped his fingers. To threaten or shame his partner, his Astarion, was unforgivable.

Golden light sparked along his arms and legs; his arm hair lengthened into true fury. His teeth elongated into fangs, gnashing fiercely as he bared his snarling maw at Raphael. Each fingernail grew into a curved claw, several inches long, that tapped onto the wooden floor of the inn as he reared to his hind legs. His ear tips brushed the ceiling, before he slammed his front paws onto the ground. While on all fours, his shoulders were equal in height to Astarion's.

The patrons of the inn shrieked, a handful diving from their seats as Halsin's yell morphed into a roar. Astarion stood stock-still as Halsin pressed his furred side against him. The druid was now large enough to nearly wrap around Astarion; one front leg crossed in front of the vampire, and his other front paw raised as if he were ready to charge Raphael.

He felt a hand press onto him; Astarion gripped onto the shaggy ruff about his neck. "Gods damn it Halsin, no!" Astarion hissed, "It's fine, please. Don't." Halsin released a low growl of acquiescence. The vampire pressed himself against Halsin's ursine body, as if he was wrapped in a gigantic fur shawl.

Raphael chuckled again, his deep voice like thick honey, dripping from a honeycomb; except it was threatening, as if hundreds of drone bees were prepared to defend it.

"Very wise, my fanged friend. It won't do you much good if your teddy bear attempted to end me before I told you exactly what those scars are. After all, it's something of great importance to your master," Raphael teased. His voice was low with promise and threat. It pulled another grumbling growl from Halsin, who placed his paw onto the floor. His claws dug into the weathered flooring. Raphael continued his taunts. "But is this scar a love letter, a warning, or a deed of ownership? I'll give you all the gory details…soon."

Raphael brought his fingers to his face again and snapped. He was gone.

The smell of sulfur disappeared along with him; but the smell of Astarion's fear remained. Halsin hadn't detected it as an elf, but the perspiration that accompanies fear has a distinct odor. He felt Astarion relax against his side.

The bear opened his large maw and closed it around Astarion's lower arm gently, using his lips more than his teeth to pull the vampire to the corner of the room.

"Excuse you, druid, now I'm naked and wet. And not in the good way" Astarion spat, rubbing Halsin's bear saliva on his pants leg. Astarion's shoulders were up to his pointed ears, his back slightly bent as he curled into himself as though he were trying to hide and make himself small.

The cave bear lowered his massive head as a golden aura enveloped him.

"I'm sorry, my heart," Halsin said, now shifted into his elven form. One of the few things he missed while in bear form were his vocal chords; he rarely cursed, but would have liked to have thrown a few at Raphael. Astarion was enveloped in Halsin's shadow as his broad form still blocked the rest of Last Light from scrutinizing Astarion's half-bare form.

Halsin pulled his armor upwards, over his head, and threw it to the floor with a clunk. Astarion's head tilted as he observed his partner's movements with curiosity. "Halsin, what in the realms.." he muttered, his face scrunched in scrutiny. The wood elf disregarded his question, and pulled off his sleeveless tunic. He held it out to Astarion.

His ruby eyes darted from the tunic in Halsin's hands, to the druid's now-bared chest, to his eyes. "Oh," Astarion sputtered, his long fingers reaching out to grasp Halsin's shirt, "Well, thank you darling." Astarion slipped it on. His curly white hair popped from the neck hole first, and his ears were flushed scarlet as he pulled the tunic over his head.

Halsin managed a tender smile. Astarion was precious when wearing his clothing; just as he had been at camp this morning. How unfortunate that this instance occurred due to less-than-ideal circumstances. Satisfied that his partner was no longer laid bare before curious eyes, Halsin rounded the corner, glaring daggers at nosy onlookers. The others in the inn, Harpers and tiefling refugees alike, all cast their eyes back to whatever they were doing before Halsin's ruckus.

Astarion was still in the corner when Halsin returned to him, nimble fingers manipulating the hem of the shirt. He fastened it into a knot at his waist so it no longer fell to his knees.

"If I was certain the bastard would have fought only me and no one else, I would have helped him return to the hells," Halsin grumbled, placing one large hand on Astarion's shoulder.

The vampire shrugged his hand off; the druid's heart ached as he did so. "I know what you would've done, you oaf. You would have charged in and played the hero again," Astarion said, a little sharper than his normal barbed tone. Halsin's anger deflated and he felt his shoulders sag. When he met his partner's gaze, Astarion's eyes almost seemed hazy.

"I'm fine, it's fine," Astarion muttered with a dramatic wave of his hands, "I just…need a moment."

Halsin's lips set firmly into a line. "Then a moment you will have. There is an unoccupied room on the other side of the inn. You can rest there until I can track down wherever that devil relocated your armor, or until I can find a replacement," Halsin explained calmly. He bent to pick up his leather armor and tucked it under his armpit in a calculated tactic: an unusually tall and broad wood elf, shirtless, was bound to catch attention. It would prevent any other curious glances from falling on Astarion.

Halsin jerked his head towards the room, holding out a hand to Astarion. "Come, my heart," he said.

Astarion reached outward and traced his fingertips along Halsin's to grip the druid’s hand momentarily. He let his hand fall to his side as he walked beside the druid. His touch felt like soothing ice against a burn; Halsin was still livid about Raphael's dirty trick, and his skin felt like it was on fire.

They strode across the inn silently, with no one sparing a second glance at Astarion; as planned and predicted. Halsin ushered his partner into the room first, and closed the door behind them. His lips pressed into a frown as he dwelled on how he'd like to have had Raphael’s fragile throat clenched between his own set of fangs.

As he spun around to face Astarion, floorboards creaking under his steps, Astarion spoke. "I feel like I owe you an explanation, Halsin," the vampire said. His eyes met Halsin's face and he visibly flinched.

Halsin's heart ached again, and he performed a mental scan of his own body; it was a trick he had learned to remain in control by identifying his tension, his anger. He realized his face was still pulled into a scowl. He allowed his muscles to release, and his anger melted away like wax from a candle. It still pooled low inside him, but the flame that burned in Halsin now was of compassion, not fury.

"You owe me nothing, Astarion. But when I said that I wanted all of you, including your scars, I meant it," he said softly, his expression now soft with concern. Astarion's eyes were large and round, like a prey animal in fear of its life. "I will listen to whatever you are comfortable sharing with me."

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed, his pale eyelashes kissing his cheeks. How Halsin wished to kiss them; how hard it was to resist, knowing that Astarion needed to act first, with how fragile he was at this moment. The vampire finally spoke. "You did say that," he confirmed. "Well, then…Yes...you can see them."

Halsin nodded just slightly, his braids bobbing at his ears. Concern still caused his brow to furrow, creasing his forehead scars and tattoo. He stepped closer to the vampire, the inn's wooden floors creaking again from age.

Astarion stepped forward to meet him and placed his cool fingertips on Halsin's bare chest.

The druid's calloused fingers traced Astarion's collar bones that peeked out from the too-large tunic. Halsin’s touch was gentle, delicate; he felt as though he were opening a gift that had been wrapped in threads of gossamer, a gift whose covering was so precious that the act of removing it became a treasured memory. Astarion seemed to relax while under his attention, relishing in the sensations. The pull of the linen shirt against the back of his neck. The waxed hemp cord slipped from the buttonholes. The heat of Halsin’s wide fingers scorching his now-bared chest.

Halsin's gaze did not miss Astarion's body language; how fiercely Astarion bit his lower lip, leaving indentations in the plump skin. He noted how tense the vampire's muscles still were, and how he swayed slightly in place despite bracing himself against Halsin's broad chest.

“May I?” Halsin asked softly, tugging gently at the hem of his shirt. The smaller elf nodded almost imperceptibly; Halsin did not consider that consent enough. “Only if you are comfortable with it,” he insisted.

“I..am,” Astarion whispered softly, his expression so tender, so vulnerable, that Halsin’s whole being ached with longing to protect his lover. Astarion lifted his arms above his head.

The larger elf lowered his head and placed chaste kisses along Astarion’s collarbone, then slid his fingers under the hem of the shirt to remove it. The cloth whispered along porcelain skin as it slipped from his shoulders. Halsin kissed him; just to kiss him. Not in some act of seduction, but in one of caretaking. This act, too, caused passion to stir in Halsin's loins. But as with his bear, Halsin pressed down the urge. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Now was not the time.

His fingers traced along Astarion's shoulders as the vampire turned around. Halsin allowed his hands to fall, then took a step back to better see Astarion's scars. They were gigantic. Circular runes took up most of his partner's back, along with writing that Halsin recognized as Infernal, although he couldn't read it.

"These scars are…incredibly intricate," Halsin said, his mouth suddenly dry. "And they're not a brand, but-"

Astarion cut him off. "They're cuts. Slices of my flesh. A brand would have been kinder. Quicker. But Cazador was neither." His head tilted forward; the vampire must be looking at the floor. Halsin ached to comfort him, but the tenseness in his body, Astarion's hands balled into fists, indicated his need of space.

"He spent one exceptionally long night carving this ‘poetry’ into my back," Astarion continued, his voice steady. It didn't quiver; it was as though he were reading aloud from a book, with how distant he seemed to be from the source material. "He worked on it from dusk until dawn with an ancient blade he called his ‘needle’…starting over if I screamed or winced too much." The pale elf's head shook slowly back and forth.

Halsin's flame of concern flashed back into anger at the cruelties Astarion had survived. As soon as the shadow curse was lifted, Halsin vowed to himself that he'd rip Cazador's throat out himself. He struggled with his words. "Astarion. I am so sorry, you didn't deserve this," Halsin said, his voice soft and low.

Astarion slowly turned around to face Halsin again. He met the druid's gaze, his eyes flaring with what had to have been grief and anger. The vampire raised his arms and hands out to his sides, as if in an exaggerated shrug. 'It was a rough night," he said firmly, "And what’s done is done."

Halsin's instinct told him to drop it there, to press no more. He obeyed. No words could heal Astarion's scars nor his soul. But he would remain by Astarion’s side for that journey regardless. He stepped forward to his lover and raised his hand to cup Astarion’s cheek. The pad of Halsin’s thumb caressed the pale elf’s high cheekbone. His features were breathtaking; he could have been carved from the finest marble by the most skilled stonemason. The druid’s hand slid to the back of Astarion’s head, and his fingers carded through the soft white curls. Halsin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Astarion leaned into Halsin’s body, quivering hands finding rest around the druid’s large waist. Astarion pressed his face into Halsin’s broad chest. The druid's other hand rested on the center of Astarions’ scars; Halsin’s gentle fingers brushed along the vicious ridges carved there. The smaller elf stiffened momentarily at the sensation of Halsin’s hand drifting up and down his back; Halsin realized that Astarion had trusted him with holding his scars, both psychic and palpable.

The vampire’s arms tightened around Halsin’s waist, and his body shook slightly as a cool exhale washed over the druid’s chest. Astarion was fighting back tears.

“I don’t deserve this,” Astarion mumbled, his voice muffled against Halsin’s body. His shoulders trembled, but no sob fell from him. Halsin was again amazed by Astarion’s resilience - and his resistance.

Halsin shook his head, his braids falling to brush against the top of Astarion’s head. “My heart, the only thing you don’t deserve is the past haunting you; for your scars to be secret, and to live with them alone,” he said softly, and pulled his hand from Astarion’s soft curls to cup his face. The pale elf’s head tilted upwards; their eyes met, and Halsin’s heart raced as his partner’s expression grew anxious. Astarion blinked furiously, his face was flushed. He was visibly embarrassed, vulnerable.

“Astarion, I am yours.. Against the curse, against the Absolute... anything. You are my partner. In all things: adventure, passion, and shouldering burdens,” Halsin continued. Astarion’s eyes dropped downward. His white curls bobbed in the air as he nodded slowly. The vampire’s quiet confirmation was all Halsin required. The druid pressed his lips on the top of Astarion's head and laid his cheek against his crown. They stood together quietly, goosebumps prickling the skin of each man, the only sound the racing of Halsin’s heart and their soft exhales.

Until a loud rapping knock at the door startled both men so intensely that Halsin lifted Astarion from the floor in his arms, and their nervous laughter filled the room.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #halstarion #astarion x halsin #bg3 #halsin x astarion #bg3 astarion #halsin/astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bloodbear #blood and honey #ursaminor #ursa minor #astarion/halsin

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dearansur · 21 days ago

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99% of skin pickers quit before they achieve true clarity of the mind and full control over the outside world and their body. keep creating new wounds in your flesh!!!

#self harm cw #skin picking cw #sorry it's hasn't been... good...#my face is now an angry red from all the new blemishes i just made. yay #personal

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starsarefire824 · 1 year ago

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A Certain Slant of Light

Chapter 34: We’ll Love You More

Will rushes through the brush, pickers tugging at the pant legs of the jeans he threw on when no one was looking. The thorns scrape bitingly along his forearms. He hisses and presses his fingers roughly to his temples as the voices rush over him like a flood.

The screeching emanates from the sky and the earth shakes again. Henry whispers inside his head, his voice high and sickly sweet.

You’ve done so well , Will.

Will writhes against him, the pressure of him there making him lose his balance, and he falls hard into the ferns and damp soil. It is so cold.

He cries out, and then forces his body upright again as best he can and just runs. Runs and runs. “Get out of my head!” he wails, sucking in a ravaged breath. He hits his head hard with his knuckles, sprints around a tree, and makes his way up the rocky incline in front of him.

He hurt you , Henry coos. Didn’t he? I told you this would happen.

Will grits his teeth against a sob and wipes the spit from his mouth with the back of his hand. The tears pour down his face like rivers. “No,” he wines, stumbling up the ridge and then down a beaten, root torn path that takes him towards the state road that will lead into town.

I tried to tell Eleven this , he says sickeningly sweet and chiding, She didn’t listen to me, and look what happened.

“Tell her what!” Will challenges with a sob, his face dripping with tears and snot as he barrels down the hill and out into the road. His feet are torn and bleeding, skin slapping heavily on the asphalt. His toes are freezing and his breath shoots out in huge clouds of condensation. He pauses and turns around in a circle, throwing his hands over his head and squeezes his eyes shut. He is desperately trying to keep himself from collapsing to the ground fighting with his knees that threaten to buckle. Crows call to each other in the evergreens above him. Look at the poor creature below us they must think.

Will whispers to himself as he listens to them, barely audible. “It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true.” Put him out of his miser y, they call to each other. Their wings flutter and float around him. Put him out of his misery.

Oh, but it is the truth Will, Vecna says.

“No!” he sobs to the sky, looking up at the trees as if they’ll be able to comfort him.

@booksandpaperss @googoogagaeyes

#it's updated !#finally!#byler #Certain Slant of Light #tw: noncon #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #henry creel #vecna #visions #justmyname

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winxbutbetterimo-ovo · 10 months ago

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Riven long ver 1

(some stuff is from the fan wiki i just tweaked)

Name: Riven Liam Arthur

Looks: Aesthetics only gym bro (so he strong but not stronger than Helia for example) . His skin is rosy with a slight tan, and his eyes are narrow and indigo-colored. He has short red-violet hair that is spiked back with only two bangs framing his face.

Relationships: Soulmate is Musa (after a shit ton of work to deserve her ofc) he is the closest to Nabu, has a rivalry with Sky

Personality: He is very insecure on the inside coz he thinks he needs to be better than everyone or else he is nothing. he is also thin-skinned and sensitive to what people thought about him. As a result, he is easily affected when people laughs at or humiliates him. Riven's insecurities caused him to doubt the authenticity of those around him and question who his true friends were.

But on the outside, Egotistic. Riven is the impulsive, competitive, realistic and goal-oriented member of the Specialists. He can be rather hot-headed, experiencing moments of envy and blind aggression; but he is also protective and caring (mostly towards musa or his parents but only when they arent looking). This compassion is not solely limited to his love interests, as he was extremely unwilling to leave Griffin and her students behind while they were imprisoned in their school's dungeon during the Trix's ongoing invasion. Riven has trouble expressing his emotions in a suitable manner, even when he is not putting up a cold front. He is a bit of a lone wolf. arrogant and mean-spirited, which often puts him at odds with everyone.

Despite his initially unfriendly attitude, Riven is shown to have a conscience early on, though it is often overshadowed by his many shortcomings. He can also be reflective when not blinded by his anger. Riven expresses that there are many things he dislikes about himself, but denies the notion that he is a monster, claiming that even he "has a heart". He goes on to prove this statement through his gradual development as a character. Riven displays an even more vulnerable side when he went off to mourn and cry for Nabu when he died.

As time goes on, he still struggles to express his emotions, he is noticeably friendlier and more cooperative. he becomes more compassionate and relaxed, no longer taking his friends' jokes too seriously (even making some himself). He smiles a lot more and doesn’t mind engaging in some goofy behavior. In spite of this, Riven remains a straightforward and blunt person. He is very realistic and vocal. he listens to Timmy when he says he can still sense Tecna's magical vibe (indicating she is alive) and quietly comforts him.

History: his family are all uber successful and he is praised for his intensity at home coz he and his brothers r all rlly competitive. He was pretty privileged as a child so he never knew any hard times, and thus he sees “struggling” as a weakness that people need to overpower. His parents spoiled him for sure. After season 3 Musa breaks up with him after the events of the movie since he was so easily used as a spy again. He acts like it doesn't bother him and dates around but he actually really misses her. In season 4 they get back together in the middle after Riven proves that he has changed/is trying to change for the better.

Weapon: a scimitar-styled purple��phantoblade and a bolas, sometimes he also uses a dagger boomerang. He is also very good at dragon wrangling and is a very skilled thief and lock picker. all his wepons are purple in colour, like the gem on his uniform

#winx #magic winx #winx headcanons #winx rewrite #winx riven #winx club redesign #winx club rewrite #winx club

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cartoonscientist · 2 years ago

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people going to see the dermatologist for cosmetic stuff and the pickers are there like “I’m just happy to have a little bit of skin left; the doctor wants to try sewing a recently deceased model’s face onto mine, but she’s worried that I’ll just tear it off which is probably true.”

#body horror #text gore #skin picking #unreality #shitpost #medical

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awryen-nyx · 7 months ago

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Nyx's Visible Changes on the First

So...got to thinking.

Until Y'shtola makes her viewpoint VERY clear regarding Nyx and her aether being so bright, it makes sense that the others don't really notice the changes that are happening.

(Emet obviously knows thanks to his soul sight, and he has a sharper gaze than the others anyway (HC here). plus...he's *looking* for flaws so he can exploit them when it becomes convenient to, y'know? he's pulling a Hermes with the confirmation bias)

I mean, this is pretty canon over all, but for Nyx in particular, you'd THINK the other Scions would have noticed that her hair started to get lighter...on the *opposite* ends of her hair. Or that her markings suddenly go lighter.

Realistically, if one has dark hair, when you hang out A LOT outside when it's sunny, you're gonna end up with lighter hair. Or lighter streaks, at least.

That lighter hair will start at the TOP and be a tad uneven depending on how you tend to keep your hair (long, short, pulled up, left down, half up, etc).

With Nyx...her hair is *black*. After the first Warden, her hair would have barely lightened, just some basic dark gray at the ends and on her tail.

But after the second Warden? It would have been *lighter*. A more noticeable gray.

Which, correct me if I'm wrong, I don't think true black hair actually does in the sun? Will have to search that up. *(makes a note)*

Anywho.

That's the most noticeable thing, because her hair is rarely pulled up in a ponytail. It's always loose, save for the braid band.

Her markings should have been a big tell, too.

First Warden? They don't even change. Second Warden? They lose half their darkness. Like they were struck transparent.

Since that world is so saturated in Light aether, the Scions *could* just believe that the Light is leeching colors in general and not really think about it. Kind of an opposite effect from direct sunlight causing freckles to multiply or tan the skin.

(i know this kinda flies in the face of Lakeland and how vibrant it is. or Il Mheg, but i actually kinda like the idea so i'm gonna stick to it. makes a great case for off/on use of ReShade :V)

Since the three main Scions are a bit used to how that world works having been there for...3 to 5 years or so, at least one of them could conceivably think that.

(look, i'm not defending SE's stupid white washing, but at least in context to the corrupted Light aether, i can sorta get behind it. think White London in the Darker Shade of Magic trilogy. but, once the skies are restored, that falls off, and Y'shtola and Thancred SHOULD have been their old, darker skinned selves, dammit. ahem)

However, once the third Warden is downed, it's *very* noticeable.

None can mistake that Nyx's hair is lighter...at the ENDS. And that her markings are *gone*. Like they were somehow absorbed by her skin.

Not to mention, her dark skin color is losing some of the warm undertone. She's going a more ashen gray (still dark, just more gray, as though you're moving the color picker towards the actual black/white side, away from any colors).

Ngl, it paints the Scions (sans Y'shtola because she already picked up on the bad about the Light corruption as soon as she spotted them) as very...unobservant with Nyx. Makes them really take for granted her role in this whole endeavor. That she's fine. She's the Warrior of Light/Darkness. She just does this kind of thing because they can't.

This *doesn't* mean they don't *care* about her. Not at all!! Alisaie has basically adopted her as the big sister she probably would have liked to have had. Alphinaud, too, though not as strongly as he has with Estinien.

Thancred cares a lot (past relationship before and slightly post Lahabrea), but the poor guy is going through his own shit, so he's not as on top of noticing things being off like he should.

Urianger, however, might have noticed. If he did, he kept it mum because of his deal with the Exarch. Which is why Y'shtola gets so ticked with him.

But the others? Just not as observant as they should have been, and it takes a toll on Nyx and her slow growing resentment.

Now, whether the Exarch knows of the changes (for sure anyway), is all up in the air.

We know what his plan was...but Nyx did *not*. When she finally understands what the Light is doing to her, and she tries to confront him about it, he just waves away her concerns and changes topics. Either because he believes that she is fine and can handle it...or, if he lets it known that she is possibly dying, it could put a massive wrench in his plan.

Long rambly post here, no real direction with this, but for Nyx, this is one of those things that brings out some bitterness in her role within the Scions. Which Emet prods her on, both from an honest care point (despite himself) AND from the villain point (maybe if he prods at this enough he can turn her against them/stop this foolish plan and let the Calamity happen).

Heh, I know everyone pokes at him for being a bit dense at times, but I REALLY wish Estinien had been there. I think he'd have picked up on it early. That man is *very* observant and has some rather uncanny insights. And that might just be one of the reasons they didn't integrate him into the Scions earlier.

Because I BET he'd have beat the crap outta the Exarch for that shit. The man has dealt with massively corrupted aether in his body before, and that shit ain't no fucking joke.

#ffxiv #wol: nyx #ffxiv musings #scions of the seventh dawn

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cryptid-killjoy · 10 months ago

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Dapper? Oh yes, Thomas was that and more. Valerie did so love Thomas in a suit, almost as much as she liked him in jeans with his toolbelt... almost. There was just something about those jeans and his boots. But woo-wee when that man went for dashing he actually pulled it off. Not all men could. Suits often wore men and guys all had a tendency to look like these poor things attempting to look grown up, mature, or that they have more grace than they actually do. It never works. The suit wears them. Not Thomas though. He can wear damn near anything and pull it off as a true gentleman even though Val knows quite well he can be quite the naughty fucker in bed. Yeah, he handles his suits and wears them well along with everything else including his beard at every length he'd let it grow.

No matter how cliche it might be there was hardly a more beautifying feeling than seeing such a composed man as this jaw drop and then realize it was because he set his eyes on you. Valerie looked down at herself. She'd been saving that dress for awhile wishing for a proper occassion for it besides one of their own backyard dates as fun as those might be to make up reasons to dress up. Watching his face made her own jaw slack, her chin tilt down. She pushed her hair behind her ear as a way to stabalize the high this man sending through her with just his face. His expression was priceless. Then he opened his mouth. Oh lordy, her private poet was at it again...and quoting Poe during a Halloween Ball of all times. She didn't always know if he was quoting, usually was, or if they were his own words, but Poe was one of the few he sometimes recoginized since Val tended to read darker tales when reading on her own. So, she couldn't hold back her grin at all.

"I feel far more precious than Annabelle Lee when you look at me."

It was true. She had a way of knowing she could slay, but her under-the-bed days despite being shed and long past, still lived somewhere under her skin like something in her wasn't always sure it was okay just to simply exist. Thomas's eyes always fixed that. He was her onion picker like in Holes and her personal poet. She hoped she contributed something here.

As they rode up in Treebeard's branches to the castle Valerie couldn't help but whisper, "I still feel like Merry and Pip on our great adventure whenever we get to do this. It must mean tonight's going to be special." She decided traveling in Tree had to have been a good omen.

On the bus Speed was going on overhead. Who didn't adore Keaneu or Sandra B? Win-Win. Dale was actually paying attention to it about the time Ellie and Babyface showed up and it all the emotional hugging and cussing commenced.

Chip's wives really could not stop staring at Iorek. They were very used to Chip and him continuously bringing more animals than one family would normally take care of, but a polar bear? Yeah, okay... Fig had him beat with that one. This was a first for them. One even slapped him and asked why they didn't have a polar bear. Koda would give her the evil eye like she was being offensive just to fuck with her. Pippin was going to be watching her bear language use for the rest of the evening. At least Elsa wasn't the only one distracted by the polar bear in some kind of way.

Scout would look GoGo up and down and quirk her right brow when she saw her Morticia outfit. "Classic. My Dad loves dressing up as her." She meant Flotsam though she didn't specify, but that quirk did not come down out of her hairline. She was unabashedly checking her digs out. "Damn girl. You look... like...excuse the Paris Hilton speak, but seriously... just really hot tonight." Scout couldn't not say it. She always called 'em like she saw 'em, just like the rest of her family.

That's why Dale chimed in after. "Let me see." If Scout thought so he wanted a better look. So he absolutely let himself take Laveau's worth of eyeballing her. "Damn GoGo. She's right. What'd you go and do? Grow up while I was away in Peru?" He said acting like he hadn't seen her since. "You are looking fly."

Then Chip would say, "You could also be good at being the other mother on Coraline. She was so spindly like a spider. You just need buttons for eyes."

Yup the Laveaus were in the house always calling 'em out alright.

Jenna said, "How about we sew buttons on your eyes Chippy?"

Chip would give one of those blank looks like he had no idea he inadvertantly put someone down and they weren't really sure GoGo's threshold for it. "What? It'd be a good group costume. I was thinking I'd be Wybie."

Dale shook his head. "Oh you mean the character who gets his voice sewn shut because he doesn't know when to shut up?"

Chip's wives were giggling. Koda laughed too until he heard what Ellie called out as she was saying her hellos to her Aunt Elsa in the middle of all this. Should she call him uncle yet? Oh geeze. Oh geeze. So maybe they were starting to be a thing, but that was probably a little too soon.

Koda almost balked though. He got thrown and had that wiggle wobble neck people get when they're anxious about whatever is about to come out of their mouth. "Oh, I don't know....depends..." Then he managed a comeback. "I would say definitely yes if you're looking for a wrassling match. You'll be calling uncle with me faster than anybody you know."

Babyface wanted to Kelso burn her so bad but held off because he was trying to do the stick by his lady thing. So, instead he said, "You clearly haven't ever seen my Hell's Ells in action. You're gonna be calling her uncle."

Everyone paused for a moment because he didn't say it quite right, but that was Babyface. He knew what he meant. So, did everyone else. Dale was cracking up. It was so good to have everyone back in the same room again. Dale's spirits went from emo-depresso to wanna get his drank-on real quick. He was having and they weren't even at the castle yet. They were only on Figaro's bus.... with the polar bear... and his Coke... watching Speed... and taking jabs at one another. Oh yeah, this was the life.

Koda would turn after all the rukkus and say, "You always look pretty, Nizhoni." He felt the need even though it was just a teenage niece bagging on her fashion sense.

Frank was right about this being important to Delta. She always said she'd be happiest if she could just go home with Frank, but as that wasn't an option of permanence she gave long thought to making the best of being in this earthly realm. She access to a few a portals that could wisk her away to other places like Christmas Town, Halloween Town, even a fairy realm. She had friends who had friends on the other side. She had her mother's grimoire in reach. She knew demons. Death. This didn't have to be like before. She referred to Flotsam often in her mind, but that was because she was angrier than him about the past.

This disturbed her. Watching Valerie/Flotsam make so much headway with Thomas in what that family calls progress boils her blood. She doesn't get it. When she let's things go she does so for completely different reasons and she's just not over her father and mother. She can't quite let it go. All of it. To see one of their most affected victims move on is mindblowing for little Delta. It dawned on her it's probably because it's not family that did it to them. Any grudges she holds against her father or mother are more easily comparable to what Flo holds against Jetsam. There's a love/anger relationship there just like she has with her parents. But, she's damned determined to not let King Triton or Maleficent's past ruin anything about her second life with Frank this go around. The same goes for Boogey, Sally, or Jack, anyone relative to the circle of their story. So, fuck yes this ball is important to Delta. She's invited the people back into her world when a little part of her hates them all for existing and not fixing everything for them while they were just kids, and all she really wants is Frank. This ball is her admitting it's time to move on.

She'll still only move on her way. Some people job. Some people drink. Delta dances.

As the bus came in and more guests filled the ball room she noticed more of her dancers had arrived. A couple of Chip's wives were in her crew now. Ray and Jenna were dancing sort. The other's not so much.

Dale was enjoying being introduced to Black Arts and Nebby. "More Beagles. I don't think the world feels right without thinking there's Beagles out there to call."

Black Arts smirked, "If Grandpappy had anything to do with it, there's more out there than we know yet."

Babyface sneered his nose as he put together what that meant. "Ew dude. Just ew." It was true though. Grandpappy got around. He knew the guy wasn't wrong.

"Where's Nebs?" When Black Arts turned around to look around the ball room to where she'd gotten off to she'd already found someone to be silly with. She'd made a quick friend in Scout. Like attracts like and the willingness to put themselves out there started to heavily ensue. Throwing Beagles and Laveaus together had a tendency to do that. So they quickly added to the dance floor. "Come on GoGo." Scout would try to lure her in so she'd have her usual big friends circle Scout tended to have. At least in her own circles.

Delta had found Piper first and told her that she wanted to get the whole dance number over with so they wouldn't have to worry about outfit changes for the rest of the night and just have fun with everyone. So it was Piper's job to rally the rest of the troops. They were all to meet in the dance room upstairs shortly so they could make their entrance, do their thing, and then they could back there to get fixed back however they wanted for the rest of the evening. Delta wante to make sure the most of the guests were there before they did it. It seemed like a good bulk of them was here. Hopefully Figaro didn't have too many more bus loads left on call.

So that's when Piper went up to Maddy in her eyeball outfit and Bastien got a good look at all those eyes. "WOAH!" He started looking all over the place, not just at Piper like her costume extended beyond her actual outfit.

"They're watching." At first he sounded haunted or spooked by it. Then the grins came to life.

"They all wanted to come to Delta's Ball. Holy shit."

He'd yet to acknowledge Piper was even there. He was totally just tripping on the eyes. Her face wasn't viewable in the costume but her voice was crystal clear, not muffled at all.

"It's me Bastien."

"I know." He answered but still didn't seem to be talking to her directly.

Piper couldn't tell what was happening with him. She leaned into Maddy and whispered, "Um we're wanted up in the studio to get ready for the dance. Should I change into a normal dress after I can't tell.. He looks so happy."

Thomas actually had to get ready for the ball in a separate room. He knew that if he didn’t, he’d be dropping things, buttoning up buttons wrong, not getting his tie set in place, or getting the swoosh of his hair right. Valerie would be far too much of a distraction. So he would leave her with a graceful kiss to the hand, and a ‘Try not to look in the mirror too much, or I’ll be stuck staring.’. It was easier for him to get dressed that way, plus he was a man and only a suit was really needed. He tried to look sharp. Dapper. The collar showing off beard that was growing back in nicely after the wacing fiasco. That didn’t keep it at bay for too long.

His first reaction at seeing Valerie? Jaw dropped. No, like, actually. Dropped. Down to the ground. It was close to popping. He was speechless for the first couple of minutes, and finally, the back of his fingers made their way against the mesh layer that exposed the beautiful skin beneath, feeling it. “The angels, not half so happy in Heaven went envying her and me,” He spoke softly, quoting Poe.

He treated Tree as an old friend, when they met once more. He held onto Valerie’s hand to make sure she was comfortable before he moved onto the one side and even then, his hand wrapped around the back of Treebeard’s head so he was ready to grab her if she started to fall backwards in the momentum of being carried up.

And everyone else took the bus which did not look like a normal bus anymore. It had become Figaro’s little project, keeping their mind away from the missing of their father, of their friends. Losing Lance, Arthur and Wulf had been a ttough blow. Forever fucking grateful that Willem wasn’t there, though. It wasn’t anything that a youtube video would be made on, the bus wasn’t a house but instead of seats, comfortable couches stolen from neighboring homes were screwed right down. Made it a bit more cozy. More speakers. A television where Speed was always showing. “I heard you like buses so you could watch a bus while you ride a bus,” They’d say, trying to sound like XZibit. And they still very much wore their Gilbert Garfield costume. And they very much brought Iorek, red scarf still on, as their plus one. He was housetrained and dignified and the invitation didn’t say anything about not bringing an animal. Iorek lounged in his own special air conditioned section in the back of the bus, with his own couch that took up the whole width of the back.

As for Frank, he was with Delta through all the preparations, only leaving her side once in a while to take care of something on his own, and he was dressed to the nines tonight. He nearly wore the costume again, the leather had always had a nice feeling against his skin, the braces too, but he went for something more luxurious, more worthy of a ball. He’d walk with his other head, large hand against the small of her waist, eyes scanning everyone as they came through, catching every thought. Like Thomas, he was used to being on a security detail at all times, only he used his telepathy rather than his sense of hearing or smell.

He wasn’t pleased by the Cheshire situation, his face remaining in it’s usual dead-eyed stare. He wanted this to go perfectly, for Delta’s sake. This was the first big event in Feral. The first time everyone was getting together. It mattered to her more than she would express, he knew that, so he was putting work in, or at least attempting to. Cheshire’s mind was too maddening to really read.

Thomas and Valerie, Thomas leading her in by holding her hand up in the air as if they really were the fancy people that they looked like. “Ahh - there she is, I was wondering why I hadn’t seen her around our Lothlorien lately,” He said, pleasantly surprised.

And there was Maddy, dressed like the starry night sky with that corsage on her wrist. Did it match her outfit? Not at all. Did she still accept it proudly and with a flush on her cheeks when Bastien had brought it out? Absolutely. It was a Halloween ball. Not everyone needed to be matchy matchy. She had her eyes on her husband, making sure he didn’t get too far, while her phone was tucked neatly into her bra, an app connecting her phone to the baby monitor down in their dungeon-home, ready to vibrate if crying started up.

And there was Clopin. Still in his Beef costume, rips and asscheek sticking out … tastefully. Stitched up makeup that he’d say was an homage to the King of Franks himself. He’d give a full on bow as he walked in, on his husband’s arm.

Elsa had grown a little distracted by the polar bear in the back. One would think she would be used to bears, considering who she was with. Who she had been spending all of her time with. But the woman in red did look a little confused as to why there was one on the bus. And was it -

Was it drinking a coke?

GoGo definitely joined Scout since she wanted to see Feral in all of its glory. She heard the stories about New Orleans, the way that it had been, but this was their first time in this new, darker place. She came inspired by Morticia Addams, taking a day off from studying and work - thank fuck for that. Elsa greeted them all, giving Dale, Chip and Scout large hugs. She had missed them. She wasn’t going to pretend that she wasn’t. Koda had been good for her - she was visibly more happy, almost glowing, than she had been before, rocking that sexy but still more on the conservative side dress.

Ellie came on the bus, grinning at Figaro’s costume. “Do you have a powerpoint about … what this is?” She asked the person who was dressed as a cat behind a mask of some old guy. The only way that she knew Gilbert was his voice in the Aladdin movie, so the face was totally unfamiliar.

“I’m working on it,” The muffled voice behind the mask.

And then the shout from Dale made the redhead turn her head and there he was. Her best friend. Her person, other than Babyface. There was a big hug, in which she totally wrapped herself around him, arms and legs, nearly tackling him to the ground. This was one of the reasons why she wore shorts. She knew she was going to be in a tackling mood when it came to Curls McGee over here. “Fuck you for never coming to visit!” She balked back, her grin stuck on her face.

She waved to Scout over Dale’s shoulder, and then proceeded to ruffle up Dale’s hair even further. “Yeah, I know. He loves me,” She grinned, cheesily, and finally let her legs down but kept her arm around the Laveau, her eyes then settling on her Aunt. “Hey Aunt Elsa. Hey Koda. Should I call you Uncle yet?” She teased.

Elsa tutted and rolled her eyes, though they shined with delight at finally, after ten months, seeing her niece again. She was growing up so fast. Almost looks like she went from a teen to an actual young woman. Probably came from dealing with adult problems like not having a home, and dealing with loss and yet - Ellie looked Happy. Which was all that she could wish for. “I see your attitude hasn’t changed.”

“I see your fashion sense has. You look great,” Ellie said, taking in the appearance of her aunt in formal dress. And not just stuffy old lady clothes, like … cardigans. The two women met then in a hug, and it was probably one of the few moments that she would be away from Dale or Babyface’s side all night.

#delta and frank's ball #we can split this up if need be #valeriexthomas #dalexellie #kodaxelsa #kodaxellie #piperxmaddy

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