#gale is another one with a distinct way of speaking | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sorcerous-caress · 10 months ago

Text

Companions with a Halfling Tav

[Fluff, kind reader, chubby reader, halfling reader, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara]

Wyll

Anyone seeing the two of you together wouldn't have believed that you were strangers who met less than a month ago. The playful teasing, the wholehearted smiles, and the comfort at being at each other's sides.

You really had a way to wrap every human you meet around your fingers, like you were an old friend they haven't met in a long time. It didn't take long for Wyll to feel at ease around you.

Your kind nature, your beautiful smile and your cheery demenour. You've always known how to brighten the mood and lift someone up even on their worst days.

Each meeting with Mizora left a sour taste in the aftermath, yet you've washed it down with each warm drink you handed to Wyll afterwards. Looking up at him from below, he felt his heart melt at the concerned look in your glossy eyes as you lifted the cup up towards him, a reassuring smile on your lovely lips.

A smile that said things will be better, that he will be okay.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world to have met you, met someone as precious and caring as you.

Karlach

And here she thought she'd be the only person in this camp who is looking to have fun and forgo the storm for rainbow.

The others are fine, but Karlach had what felt like a lifetime of misery already, of constant struggle and endless days to wallow in her sadness.

She has missed life, missed living and the excitement of it. The tenderness of a hug, and yours are absolutely the best she has ever had.

The way you fit perfectly into her arms whenever she gets on her knees to wrap you in her embrace. Your soft chubby body was brimming with love and care. Each warm hug reminded her of why life is worth living, of why she fights so hard everyday to stay a little bit longer.

She understands know why the goddess of halflings is also that of life, you're the embodiment of the one thing she was robbed of and god she never plans on letting you slip through her fingers.

The sound of both of your laughter can be heard in the early breakfast as Karlach sits next to you, her head laying on her crossed arms on the table while admiring you from the side. A time where everyone else is grumpy and sleepy, the two of you manage to be bundles of sunshine.

Your energy feeding into one another, returning the same effort and regifting the same happiness back.

Gale

Enjoys cooking food with you by his side. There is something to be said about the homely magic halflings bring with them wherever they may go.

Somehow, you sitting near him on the table and helping him chop down the vegetables for the stew, makes him feel at ease. Your smile is infectious, and Gale finds himself humming a song as the two of you make dinner together for the rest of the camp.

Your kind had a clear appreciation for the arts, for the many things humanity invented. Gale would invite you back to his tent after the meal, offer to read you stories as your small body curls on top of him. His blanket keeping the both of you warm.

Gale is sharing one of the most prestigious literature books, yet you've easily managed to keep up with the complex lore, identifying the many plot twists before they could happen. All while laying on top of him, letting him greedly cuddle your soft chubby body and speak his heart out.

Halfling and humans truly had a bond like no other, so similar and yet so distinct. To Gale, you were the warm home he'd come back to at the end of an adventure, the warm cup of chocolate during a rainy day.

Lae'zel

She doesn't treat you any differently. One day, you bring up the fact of being halfling, and she says she didn't really notice.

If you ask more then she admits that she judges and memorise people by their combat abilities, rarely by their looks or shapes. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn't have been able to tell you apart from a tiefling. To her, there are only gith and others.

While you do fall into others, you're not exactly like them. There is something special about you, the fact you take a step back each time the party fails or encounters something damning, let them recollect themselves and have some time to relax before embarking again.

She admits she has always looked down on those ways, thought they were meaningless and a waste of time. Yet you've proven her wrong many times, and that she admits.

To rest, sit back and stay in the current moment. She feels restless, gets more agitated the more she has nothing to do. What do you mean her sword is sharp enough and doesn't need more sanding? You don't know what you're talking about, there is nothing such as too much sanding.

But you hold her hend in your own, entangle your finger with hers. Guide her back to the fire with the rest of the companions, hand her a warm bowl of soup and tell her to take it easy.

She hasn't touched her soup, yet there is a great warmth spreading through her. Your hums of a melody, quiets her brain, your touches, relaxes her drumming heart.

She looks at the stars and longs for a home she has never seen before, a place where she should belong. But at this moment, nothing in her life felt more like home than sitting by your side.

Shadowheart

She's been taught to hold on to her sadness, to use it to guide her. That her suffering gives her purpose, that hear tears give her meaning.

The two of you have a lot to learn from each other, the moon and sun in an endless dance, chasing one another whilst avoiding the other.

She relives her sadness too much, reopens her wounds too many times. You bury yours, stretch your smiles too thin and downplay your injuries too often.

She returns your kindness and is there to see you at your worst of states. When you can't be the person who is expected to cheer everyone up, when you feel like the ground is crumbling beneath your feet, she catches you in her arms.

And you teach her forgiveness, of her self, current and past. Of her sins, current and future. You extend a hand of mercy and she in return offers an embrace of empathy.

The two of you share a special bond of mutual respect and understanding.

Astarion

He never thought he'd fall for someone shorter than him, truth be told. High elves were always raised on these less than ideal views for the smaller races.

And maybe this is the irony of the fate, that the single person to manage to steal his heart was you. Barely reaching his waist and easily lifting him up.

He was cautious around you at the state, after all the most chipper and goody two shoes people hid the darkest secrets behind that facade. You can't possibly be all smiles and rainbows, can you?

Yet no matter how many times he rummaged through your closet, not a single skeleton could be found, not even a loose tooth or a spine.

Astarion didn't realise how much he was starting to warm up to you, until that one morning you were helping him brush his hair while he sipped on a cup of a blood you've kindly prepared for him.

As he held the cup with the cute cow prints on it, the same one he stole from you, it hit him.

You've been coddling him and making him feel at home without him realising it for so long! And like an idiot he absolutely ate it up. God, is this why his ancestors warned him about Halflings? They really sneak up on you when you least expect it, and the next thing you know, you're spending hours making friendship bracelets for each other.

No, of course, he'll never take it off. Are you crazy? Anyway, you sneaky traitor, it's his turn to do your hair, so come sit on his lap so he can leech of your warmth while hugging your plump body and stomach. No shush, he has earned this. Look, he even has a friendship bracelet as proof.

Halsin

He is very gentle with you, aware of his size, and makes sure never to make you feel uncomfortable or take too much space around you.

Halflings are one of the many gifts of nature, their kind souls and inviting homes have been written about in many elf history books. The best friends of the infamous humans.

You ground him back into reality whenever he gets too lost in his head, worrying about the shocking reality of the modern cities, or the forgotten essence of nature. Your tender touch against his cheek and invitation to sit near the fire and talk it out is everything he could've ever asked for.

You bring home with you wherever you go, be it amidst the misty shadowlands and withering trees, or inside the basement of an abandoned building the party sought cover in from the outside rain.

In fact you'd be the type to embrace the rain and dance in it, barefoot and all. Reigniting Halsin's connection to nature by reminding him of all the beautiful gifts of these earths.

Minthara

Just who do you think you are? Waltzing in here like a drop of sunshine, all cute and small, making Minthara question her sanity.

You stand for everything she has been raised against, the loud laughter that'd get you killed in the underdark, the friendly kind nature that'd get you taken advantage of by the drows, the lovely smile that you flaunt around so easily.

And yet, you're the hero of her story. The person who saved her, let her keep her identity when they tried to erease her existence.

Your light never dims no matter how grumpy she is, your smile never falters no matter how deep her frown gets.

She respects you, admires you and is enthralled by your beauty. The way your thighs look so mesmerising whenever you walk, your chubby fingers that look so short in comparison to her larger hand.

Minthara have pressed the edge of her sword against people's necks for simply thinking they get to pick you up without permission. Have threatened people's lives over some insensitive comments about your own kind and how halflings don't belong in the battefield.

You're brave, truly brave. It takes true strength to remain kind in the face of a harsh world, to remain soft inside. And Minthara knows that, for it is the one thing she couldn't amount to.

370 notes · View notes

oops-all-concrete · 10 months ago

Text

I'm back with more BG3 COMPANION REACTIONS!

This time; Companions see Tav (yours/you) getting flirted with and being too shy/stunned to turn the person down and step in for them. As usual, the romance is only as implied as you would like! These can be read as platonic (but I'm happy to write romance specific posts if you lovelies would like)

Lae'zel -

The concept of flirting tires her. Why make eyes and small touches and idle chatter that eludes to a 'something else' if you can just get to the 'something else- immediately? Assuming both parties are interested of course. Unlike now, where Tav is failing miserably at saying no- because they weren't asked "May I taste your flesh and you taste mine in return?" With a roll of the eyes and a calculated stalk, Lae'zel makes her way over to Tav and takes them by the wrist, dragging them away. If she's stopped, she glares and speaks sharp: "Keep your filth to yourself. If they wanted what your company could achieve, they'd roll around in the mud with an actual pig."

Shadowheart -

Wyll -

She watches from afar with some amusement for a time. But- watching them stay seated several times when the "newfound company" kept getting up and seeming eager to leave- she was happy to put her wine down for such an occasion. "Pardon me, but myself and that one have somewhere to be tonight." She says, hooking her arm in Tavs. If pressed, she'll elaborate. "Well, we travel with a Githyanki warrior, the Blade Of Frontiers, a chosen of Mystra, and a cleric of Shar who's had to put down her wine to come over here and apparently repeat herself." She smiles innocently, though her voice is piercing enough to send the stranger walking backwards with their hands up.

He waits with stepping in, giving Tav the agency to say yes or no on their own accord, but as the stranger starts getting a little too familiar, he can't sit still. "Excuse me, I'm afraid my friend here isn't available this evening" He says, friendly but firm. Of course he's challenged- too nice about it- so he stops being nice. "I should have been more clear-" he starts, placing a hand on their shoulder- watching them become more afraid with the distinct crackle and glow of eldritch energy. "You're either leaving alone- or with me. In a bag." He says again, voice darker than usual. The stranger gets the message and Wyll watches them like a hawk out of the building. "Apologies Tav, I shouldn't have been so harsh. I just have a special distaste for people like that."

Karlach -

This woman jumps in the second Tav shakes their head. "Woah, woah, woah!?" She yells from the distance she is, a lot of the tavern pausing their conversations and looking her way. "Yeah, that's enough of that. If they wanted you as bad as you think, they'd have left with you already, yeah? Hands and unfortunate looking face to yourself" She says, cheeky smile on her face, but her hands itching to swing. Of course the person is embarrassed, especially when some giggles start coming in from the crowd, possibly Tav too, but Karlach knows they're safe with the entire tavern as witness. "Let's get outta here, Tav. There's more drinks and less weirdos down the street" She smiles smugly.

Gale -

He's quite socially eloquent when he wants to be, but knows how to be tactically rude as well. The minute Tav starts shuffling subtly closer to him to get away from this other person, he's inserting himself in the conversation. "Oh, you've got art at your home? I've been meaning to talk to another art fanatic, I've quite a few pieces I'd love to discuss back in my tower in waterdeep filled with wonderful architecture, sculpture, Baroque- Oh! Are you familiar with Oskar Fevras? I commissioned him personally a while ago-" he knows he's hard to talk over, and he takes full advantage. The minute the person tries to talk to Tav- Gale immediately gives them an out. "Oh! I just remembered- Tav my good friend! I believe I've left a ring in the bathroom on the sink while washing my hands" Gale talks fast, allowing Tav all the time needed to leave.

Astarion -

Oh this man is an actor. A few times he catches eyes with Tav- notably uncomfortable, and he rolls his red eyes. He disappears for a moment, but before Tav can think, he's throwing himself between Tav and the stranger. "Darling- This is where you've been??" He says, and you can hear the offence in his voice. Several heads turn. Bar staff is concerned. Oh boy. "I thought you said you'd quit drinking?? And here you are while I'm at home waiting! Look how late it is!" It's like, 4PM, and it makes the stranger frown, but Astarion is yelling again before he can be stopped. "And who are you?? Stealing my lover away like a bandit!" He throws his arms around and sounds on the verge of (fake) tears. Of course the stranger is out of there asap, Astarion taking their seat and drink, making himself at home. He smirks at them like a little shit

Halsin -

As polite and friendly as Halsin is, he can look rather intimidating when he wants. He's huge and he knows it, and while he doesn't like doing it, he will use it to his advantage. The minute he picks up on Tavs discomfort, he's a shadow over the pair. The stranger just has a look up at the druid and that has all the effect needed. "Apologies, I'm afraid you're in my seat. My friend was waiting for me" He smiles, arms crossed in front of him, a mountainous man. If they don't move immediately, he leans down to the strangers height, because of course he's much taller. "Don't worry about paying for your drink, I'd much rather pay for that myself than a bloody floor." He says, voice even and friendly, but a vein bulging out of his forehead.

Hope you've you've enjoyed! Who are you looking to for help in this situation? (I take requests, feel free to ask!♡)

216 notes · View notes

unreadpoppy · 10 months ago

Text

Wild Magic Surge

A little something based on a moment that happened while I played. Enjoy.

Summary: Gwen discovers that she can summon cambions midway through a particularly nasty fight.

This was a most inopportune time.

They were losing the fight. Badly. Gale was crying for help, with Halsin trying to get near him to heal the wizard up. Gwen had misty stepped too far away from Shadowheart, and so the cleric couldn’t see where she was. Dame Aylin was a great help but she kept missing and Rolan was doing his best to support.

‘I never figured a wizard would be this hard to kill’ Gwen thought to herself.

As she managed to kill the opponent closest to her, Gwen began to mentally count how many scrolls of revivification she had, for the odds were distinctively not in their favor.

And that’s when she felt it. That tingling feeling at the tip of her fingers, the way the air almost began to move differently. While Gwen loved her powers, there was one thing that was sure to cause problems.

Wild magic surge.

She couldn’t control it when it happened nor what it brought. Sometimes, she’d go weeks without having trouble. Others, it was every day. But no matter when, it always happened when Gwen least needed it. For example, one time the surge made her, Karlach and Shadowheart all become cats and dogs. Cat Karlach had still been able to kill a goblin, so it wasn’t that worrisome then.

Still, she didn’t like her odds.

As Gwen cast magic missile on her enemies, she felt the effects of a wild magic surge taking place. In a puff of smoke, she had summoned a being from another plane. Usually, she’d expect a mephit but this time it was a familiar figure.

In fact, a very familiar cambion.

Raphael.

…

Raphael was having a peaceful day, for once since meeting the tadpole adventurers, when he was snatched from his house by forces unknown. Looking around, he seemed to be in some sort of tower, in a balcony, surrounded by books.

But also, he was very clearly in the middle of a fight.

He saw Gale of Waterdeep, on the other side of the room, in a balcony, casting spells from a safe distance. A bear was underneath him, beside the ladder, surrounded by two elementals. Shadowheart, the cleric, had slipped on the mud in the floor and was prone. The aasimar missed yet again and a tiefling Raphael had never seen before cast a spell powerful enough to end one of the elements.

“Oh great, what in the hells are you doing here?” He heard a familiar female voice behind him speak up.

It was the little mouse, Gwen, all bruised and bloody.. Looking down, a red haired man lay beside her, probably dead.

“I should ask you.” He exclaimed, hearing the wizard shouting as he cast a spell. “How did you summon me?!”

“I didn’t! It just happened!” She shouted. Gwen looked past him at the chaos happening in battle. “You know what? Since you’re already here, you might as well help!” She said.

“WHAT?!” He shouted. You will not make me-”

Before he could finish, another elemental had gotten up to where they were and beat him. Raphael slowly turned around, angry. Without a moment’s hesitation, he struck the creature, wounding it badly.

Gwen saw that and smiled. “That was good! Keep it up.” She said. Raphael rolled his eyes.

…

Eventually, all but one of the elementals were dead.

“I can’t see him!” Shadowheart shouted towards Gwen. “I think they became invisible.”

The tiefling groaned. “Gale, do you have any see invisibility scrolls?”

The wizard rummaged through his things but found nothing. He shook his head. Gwen sighed. The good thing about the creature turning invisible was that it allowed the party some time to rest.

The bad part is that, thanks to Volo’s botched surgery, Gwen was the only one capable of seeing the invisible. She would have to go where the elemental had last been seen by anybody and hope she’d be able to off it before it knocked her out instead.

“What’s happening?” Raphael asked. At this point, he had transformed into his more devilish form, wings spreading around.

“There’s one elemental left and the bitch turned invisible.” She brushed past him, towards the ladder. “I have to go find it.”

Before he could argue, considering how in such a poor state she was, Gwen had already misty stepped towards one of the floating furniture.

The elemental was revealed and before she could even react, the creature struck her, Gwen falling down. However, Shadowheart dealt the final blow and soon, the druid Halsin - now back to his normal form - rushed towards the tiefling, healing her up.

Raphael flew down to where they were, seeing Gwen standing up on shaky legs, supported by the large elf. The others had gathered around.

“What are you doing here?” The cleric asked him.

He pointed a clawed finger towards Gwen. “She summoned me here, I do not know how.”

“I think…it was… the surge.” She breathed out. Halsin cast another healing spell.

“Ah, wild magic surge.” Gale exclaimed. “I remember reading somewhere that powerful sorcerers were capable of summoning cambions to our plane of existence during one of these events.” He looked Raphael up and down. “This is probably what happened.

The devil scrunched his nose. He was aware of how the wizard felt towards him but chose to ignore it. For now.

“I shall take my leave, then.” Raphael turned to look at the Nightsong snapping the red haired wizard’s back. “Before she does that to me.”

Gwen chuckled, clutching her side as she did so. “Well, thanks for the help.” He nodded his head and snapped himself away.

“This was…weird.” The druid said.

“Yeah.” Gwen said. “Let’s hope this doesn’t happen again. We already have Mizora to deal with, don’t need another cambion fooling around.”

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #shadowheart #halsin #gale #Tav #bg3 #i'm not tagging ships cause nothing romantic happens #raphael baldur's gate 3

28 notes · View notes

mahayanawitch · 5 months ago

Text

Going through some old BG3 screenshots so I can maybe jump-start the creative battery on my fic that's wholly and completely written in my noodle, and I come across this gem.

The drow dialogue option here really struck me, but so did the micro expressions on m'boy's companions.

Tarven was a concubine to several Houses before eventually escaping the Underdark entirely; his backstory could charitably be described as "colorful". All this to say, he's absolutely used to navigating the cruel whims of drow matrons, so of course when the option to ask Rolan about his bruises came up as drow-specific dialogue, that's what this writer and roleplay whore chose. And I wanted a snapshot of the moment so I could use the dialogue in the Inevitable Eventual Fic™.

But I was taking another look at how his companions are looking at him, and it's giving me fucking Feelings. Jaheira and Halsin are old enough and wise enough to have a pretty complete picture of what life must have been like in Menzoberranzan, so if this is the first they're hearing Tarven speak of his past there at all, their reactions are characteristically appropriate; Jaheira with hard compassion ("You'll have to point any of these 'matrons' out to me, if you ever see them again...I just want to talk") and Halsin with soft compassion ("That never should have been done to you, and it breaks my heart that you had to endure such pain").

But I was also romancing Gale (can't stop, won't stop romancing Gale as the Durge), and I could stop looking at this picture and thinking, huh, Gale looks like he just put two and two together that he should have a long time ago. And knowing Gale, he had two distinct pieces of information that just...didn't happen to cross in his brain until this moment. I'm certain he's educated enough in drow ways to know it's no picnic for males, but it's like this is the first time he's realizing the extent of it.

That's the look of a man going from "my boyfriend used to do sex work and I'm being progressive about it" to the realization of "my boyfriend was sex trafficked and I've been treating it like a choice".

If nothing else, this might evolve into a side conversation one-shot, even if I don't actually use the material for the fic.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #drow durge #drow oc #bg3 screenshots

7 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 9 months ago

Text

Finished that conversation with Gale and was doing a quick pan around to see if anyone had question marks and

what the fuck.

This literally almost jumpscared me; where the fuck did you come from? HOW DO PEOPLE KEEP GETTING INTO OUR HOTEL ROOM?

(Based on the following dialogue the game clearly expected us to have that conversation about the book while out and about on the street, but that is not what happened and consequently this whole conversation is Unintentionally Hilarious.)

"Elminster?!"

"Hello, m'boy! Don't mind me - I'm just enjoying a fresh lungful of Baldurian air - a distinctive aroma, though perhaps not one worthy of bottling."

"I hear you've been browsing in that most esteemed of emporiums, Sorcerous Sundries. Indulge my curiosity - what wonders did you discover there?"

Even if we had "randomly" met up out on the street, this would not be particularly subtle, but as it is, you are not fooling anyone, Elminster. :P

Hector never wants to lie, but he also isn't sure he wants Elminster carrying info about their research back to Mystra, so he evades. "You don't seem all that surprised to see Gale alive and well."

Elminster shrugs. "I trusted he would be sensible enough to exercise caution in this matter, and to seek the truth. By now, you are aware of the evil we are up against." Like a switch turning off, the befuddled old man disappears, and his expression turns sharp and keen. "Karsus's pestilent Crown. The very tool with which its eponymous creator unmade an empire and magic itself."

He looks at Gale steadily. "Perhaps now you understand what is at stake here, m'boy. Though what Mystra asked of you was extreme, it was not without merit, nor demanded lightly."

"What are you saying?" Gale asks warily. "Or rather, what are you not saying?"

"Mystra knows you defied her, Gale," Elminster says soberly. "Of course she knows - she's Mystra. She bids you come to her holy shrine in the Stormshore Tabernacle. There, she will grant you an audience at last."

Hells, Hector thinks sourly. He doesn't want Gale to take the power of Karsus to rebel against Mystray - but he doesn't think Mystra is any good for him either. It's a difficult thing for him to say, a man of faith as he is, but Mystra has been a toxic presence in Gale's life, and from the outside it is easy to see that this is just another attempt at manipulation - sending Gale to be destroyed did not work, so she will dangle the possibility of "forgiveness" in front of him instead.

But will Gale see it that way? Hector can no more force him to a decision than he could do so for Shadowheart or Lae'zel or Karlach.

Stay silent.

He waits quietly, his eyes flicking between the two men with a worried expression.

"Mystra's... willing to speak to me again?" Gale asks unsteadily. "Was this your doing, Elminster?"

Elminster smiles slowly. "She knows what I see in you. Just as I know what she sees in you. I was not born an old man. I know all too well what it's like to have a goddess fill your heart with longing. Looking at you is like gazing into a mirror that shows centuries long past."

(A/N: I kind of love this actually? Like, as a character note. Elminster has - at least in my experience in these games - always been sort of framed as this omniscient voice, not a particularly three-dimensional character. But what he is encouraging Gale towards is an unhealthy decision, one informed by his own past as an equally fallible human. Kind of a nice note of depth.)

And, to Hector's surprise, Gale's expression hardens. "The past is the past, Elminster," he says coolly. "And the future is-- well, still to be decided. By me, not by Mystra."

Hector says nothing, but gives the slightest nod of approval, even of pride. No doubt Gale means, more specifically, controlling the crown for himself, which Hector still intends to stand against. But succumbing again to Mystra's manipulations is not the answer either, and he knows it must be taking Gale more than a little strength of will to hold himself back from leaping at the temptation being dangled before him.

Elminster raises an eyebrow thoughtfully. His expression is suddenly difficult to read - it's unclear if he's impressed, irritated, or touched. "If there is another way," he says quietly, "I trust you can find it. It is not in your nature or mine to stop looking, to accept the first answer to any dilemma. Do what you can. Put that mind to work." He puts a hand on Gale's shoulder. "Trust in yourself. Trust in the Weave. If you are willing - trust in Mystra. There is a conclusion yet to be written in this sorry tale, Gale of Waterdeep, and yours is the quill that will write it."

And without another word, he vanishes.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #good old elminster #gale what a mess you are getting yourself into

10 notes · View notes

alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice · 6 months ago

Text

Interlude - Friendly Advice

Part 5 of Weaving Constellations, a Gale x Tav fic, continued from here. Part 6 here

(A/N: This one is a bit longer, and Gale isn't even in this chapter! I figured that almost all the companions would clock that something is weird about Lyra dating her patron, so they're all going to be curious. Please please please ask me about the significance of what they all bring up to her/take note of it yourself! It is important and I was super proud of it. Also this was quite the exercise in writing different character voices - each character has a distinct way of speaking after all. I hope I did them all justice!)

“Well at least I know why you turned me down. Even a perfect mortal body cannot compare to the sordid delights of the fey, I hear,” Astarion needles Lyra later in the evening, “I do hope you will regale me with the dirty details. I’ve always wondered what sex with an archfey is like.”

Lyra scrunches up her face as if to fight off the rising heat in her cheeks. “I honestly cannot tell if you’re being sincere or not.” She smirks in challenge, “If you’re just trying to get a rise out of me, I could tell you some stories that might even make you speechless.”

“Me? Insincere?” Astarion puts on an exaggerated affect of astonishment. “I have no idea where you would have gotten the idea.” There’s a moment where he seems to be calculating his next words in his head. “I am wondering though… is the whole contract thing part of the kink? The possessive ‘no one can touch you but me’ sort of dynamic they write about in those cheap smut novels? I’ve never seen the appeal, personally.”

“Our romantic relationship isn’t part of the contract at all. I’m not bound to him that way.”

There’s the slightest bit of relaxation in the curve of Astarion’s mouth, which quickly turns into a sly smirk. “So you’re saying you’re available? You’ve wounded me with your rejection all over again.”

“I don’t need a contract to stay loyal to my lover,” Lyra smiles in return, sliding back into their easy banter. “You’re not nearly as tempting as you think you are.”

Astarion laughs, “I will have you know I am a consummate lover. It’s a shame you had to miss out, darling.”

Lyra laughs and shakes her head. “Keep talking like that and I won’t share the wine I snagged from that abandoned apothecary.”

“Alright alright, you have silenced my silver tongue. Give it here, and I was serious. I want all the details.”

The next day, Lyra’s magic has returned. She can feel it, but Midnight is still silent, perhaps another layer to her punishment. She focuses her energies into getting out of camp and exploring - they have just taken out some phase spiders when Wyll mentions off-handed: “You know, Lyra, your magic really does look different from mine; it stands out in the low light here. I’ve been curious how fey pacts differ from fiends. Perhaps you’d share what details you are permitted?”

That evening Lyra summons her copy of the pact with Wyll. He seems rather surprised that she has one available, and scans through it with a careful eye. “I have not had many opportunities to look over my own contract, but even I can tell the legal language is quite different. Where fiends seek to close every available loophole in strenuous detail, archfey, or yours at least, are annoyingly vague. It could serve as a boon just as easily as a hidden dagger.”

Lyra laughs. “Oh, he talks like that, too. I can never be entirely sure what he’s saying half the time. There is a comfort that he never lies, but I’ve never been able to keep up with him.”

“Is that not difficult? Perhaps I’m an old-fashioned romantic, but there has always been something about truly understanding your partner that has appealed to me. The love that blossoms from that depth of seeing each other at your best and worst.”

Lyra’s smile is strained just slightly. “There’s beauty in mystery, too. And… I cannot truly fault him when I have never been skilled at reading people. We’re very different, and that’s the beauty of it.”

Wyll purses his lips and tilts his head, as if giving Lyra that point. “Regardless, should you ever need to leave this pact, I do believe I could help.”

She shakes her head. “I appreciate it Wyll, but it’s not like that.”

He holds his hands up. “I know, I know, but I would be remiss if I did not offer my aid, just in case.”

“Hey, Twinkles, what are the Fey Wilds like?” Karlach asks as they trudge through the mud of the swamp, avoiding redcaps who seem to think they are sheep. “Much as I appreciate the change in scenery from Avernus… they’ve got to be better than this.”

“I’m sure it is. I��ve certainly read of the wonders of the fey wilds… but I’ve never actually been.” Lyra responds, hopping over a rotten log.

“What? You’re dating an archfey and you’ve never been to the fey wilds? What’s up with that?”

“Well, Midnight came to me on my plane. I’ve certainly wanted to, but it’s… never been the right time.”

“I mean, the Fey Wilds aren’t really friendly to mortals. I’d understand if you’d rather avoid it. Think your fey lover will move to the Sword Coast for you?”

Lyra scoffs. “Certainly not. He’d hate it here. Long term is… difficult to think about, what with him being immortal, but time flows differently for the fey. Hopefully he’ll bring me over before I lose my youthful good looks.”

Karlach pulls Lyra in for a sideways hug. “Come on, after this is all over, I’ll take you to see your boyfriend. I get to see the wonders of the universe, you get to have a little visit, and then I bring you back safe and sound to Sword Coast soil! Win-win!”

“We would have to find a portal first.”

“Just no deals with a hag. We’ve had enough of that lot.”

Lyra is reading at camp when a blade is tossed at her feet. “I wish to spar, ready your stance,” Lae’zel commands, standing above her.

“I’m not really the weapons type…” Lyra hedges, leaving the blade on the ground for now. Sure, she’ll use a crossbow or her staff in a pinch, but she much prefers her magic.

“That is precisely why you must train. Pick it up.”

Her tone brokers no argument, so Lyra marks her page and picks up the sword. “I’ll make a terrible sparring partner. Wouldn’t you rather go to Karlach?”

“To instruct is to sharpen one’s own knowledge. Widen your stance.”

Lyra does as asked, and Lae’zel kicks her legs to adjust her position further. “And… why me?”

“Wyll has honed his skills with a blade, despite the pact he holds, because he knows he must be able to rely on his own strength. Chk, you have left your left flank completely exposed, ready your blade at the defensive.”

“So this is because I’m a warlock,” Lyra guesses. Or perhaps because she went without her powers for a day. She hates that Lae’zel is right. She was useless until her punishment was up. “Just because I’m not athletic, it doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

Lae’zel tests Lyra’s blocking. “On the contrary, your will is strong, and your wit sharp. It is clear you possess innate power within. It is no wonder your patron seeks to keep it on a leash.” Another strike, Lyra stumbles back from the weight behind it. “You lack the musculature to beat an opponent in a strength match. Adapt and move with their attacks instead to weaken the blow.” Another one, and Lyra attempts to put the advice into practice. The blow doesn’t send the same shockwaves through her arms.

“Your body is not nearly as disciplined as your mind. Again.” Lyra stands her ground, frustrated by the exercise she very much did not ask for, then takes an opportunity to swing on the offensive. Lae’zel sends her blade flying out of her hands and into the dirt. “Perhaps I spoke too soon, and your mind lacks discipline as well.”

“What the fuck, Lae’zel? You come over here to swing a sword at me and insult me the whole time?”

“Chk. Those were not insults, ishtik. They were warnings. Your emotions cloud your judgment, your loyalty to a patron that would leave you powerless. You are not. Behave as such.”

Lae’zel decides that has been enough training apparently, and goes to sharpen her blades. Lyra sits back down, stunned and unsure if she should be angry or flattered.

“Seems like your love affair is the talk of the camp," Shadowheart remarks not long after Lae'zel’s sparring. “Even Lae'zel has taken an interest in your love life."

Now that Shadowheart mentions it, it does seem that the others have taken more interest in her pact since her confession. “I've no idea why, when Gale made love to the goddess of magic. One would think that would be more interesting to gossip about.”

“Yes but he's not anymore. Usually patrons couldn't care less for their warlocks, except for how a warlock serves them. Now we may have to contend with a very angry Archfey should you come to harm.”

“I'm sure he would understand," the false words sound hollow even to Lyra. But more importantly, she wonders if he would mourn her. Surely he would, but after what he said about mortals…

"Call me curious, but I don't really see what you get out of the arrangement.”

Lyra furrows her brow and tilts her head. "What do you mean?”

"Well obviously he gets a pretty human to bring him shiny magical trinkets, that much is clear. But…if you're so in love, if you don't need a pact to be together, why have the pact at all?”

Lyra fiddles with the hem of her blouse. “Well, he grants me magic power, but I suppose that does not count in your eyes?”

Shadowheart waves that off. "You were already studying magic, you would have had that anyway.”

"It’s… complicated.”

Shadowheart purses her lips, giving Lyra a once-over. “Yes, I suppose it is…” She turns away from Lyra to look up at the sky, a companionable silence stretching between them for a moment. “Far be it from me to pry into someone’s past, but did you even want to get into a pact with him? When you stole the artifact?”

Lyra debates for a moment if she should tell the truth. Evading the question would be answer enough, and she does not want to lie to a friend. “...no. I did not realize how fey pacts worked. Once I got that artifact for him, that was a trade, and such a thing is binding with the fey. I had to enter into one or risk losing him forever. I couldn’t let that happen. I loved him.”

“Past tense?”

“Hm?”

“You said you loved him.”

“I do. I love him. Present tense.”

Shadowheart arches a brow, as if skeptical of Lyra’s answer. “Alright. Slip of the tongue then.”

Lyra sighs and looks up to the stars with her. They have always been a comfort.

“I’ve always loved the night, as long as I can remember… which admittedly isn’t much.”

“Me too. The lights in Baldur’s Gate wash out the dark. You can really see the stars out here.”

“I cannot tell what came first, my love for Lady Shar, or my love of the night. I like to think it’s the latter, that I was always destined for her.”

“It’s how I feel about Midnight. He looks as if he was taken from a tapestry of stars themselves. My love of the stars, of the cosmos, of magic… it was always leading me to him. We were meant for each other.”

“Or perhaps we’re both a little too caught up on destiny.”

“...maybe.”

#alls fair creations #weaving constellations #oc lyra #gale x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 companions

5 notes · View notes

sniiboo · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 5: The Gods made you, to ruin me.

Arendith sat around the fire with her companions. They were all eating and drinking celebrating another victory against a small village of goblins. They had gotten over the kerfuffle of the last few days and things had settled back to “normality” within the camp. The mood quickly turned to teasing as alcohol flowed through their veins. Gale thumped Astarion across the back with a knowing look as his gaze fell onto the common thread that pulled them together. “She sure is something isn’t she Astarion? Looks like you’ve gotten lucky enough to find someone to share your life with.”

“I wouldn’t say that Darling. We’re just having a good time together. Carnal pleasure and all that.” the elf responded nonchalantly.

“Well at least some of us are having a good time. I only hope to be able to make someone scream the way Fangs has Arendith crying his name. Gods, the orgasms must be mind-blowing… With that on the table, I’d be jumping to stay at camp every day.” Karlach laughed.

Gale chimed in “When I was romancing Mystra, our lovemaking was second to none. There were nights I lost the ability to walk.”

Arendith made a show of looking at her glass and licking her lips “Oh yes yes, he makes sure I come at least twice before he allows himself to finish. Something about the taste of my blood ya da ya da…” she swirled the liquid in her cup before taking a sip nonplussed. “Anyways I’m off for some rest lovelies.” She bowed dramatically taking her exit.

Astarion stood up to head to his tent and before he knew what he was doing he asked “Is that a no for our nightly dinner date then Darling?”

Arendith rolled her eyes and changed her course towards his tent as she felt his familiar tug on her brain. You are positively delightful you little lying Minx. She pushed open his tent flap, settling into position for him to feed. “What? I wasn’t lying. You make sure I feel so good, Sweetness.” she replied to his question avoidantly. Astarion shuffled behind her nosing lazily into her neck, nudging and lapping to find the perfect spot. “And yet I’ve had you and know you speak lies. Do you forget you dance with a professional?” He test nips at her neck before deciding against the spot. Your performance is almost as practiced and sterile as mine is. He thinks to himself.

“You may have enjoyed yourself but there was a distinct lack of Orgasm. I know what it feels like to have a body grasp around me… around my cock…” Astarion grabs her chin and tilts her neck roughly propping it to the side before he drags his other hand to free her neck of the hair draping her shoulder. “I overheard you telling Wyll about your husband. Did he not care to please his woman? Or perhaps it was more that he didn't know how…” he bit down into her neck with a bruising pressure. He had found that she wouldn't stop him if he wanted to be rougher with his feedings. He would often find himself slinking to his tent to relieve the painful strain his cock would feel after handling her so harshly. He groaned and loosened his grip on her chin allowing his hand to caress and tickle against the leather collar pushed up so he could feed.

“Do not tread in waters you can't swim in Astarion. I’d hate for you to drown.” The female elf bared her fangs threateningly. She shifted her hands up to drag against his ears allowing her claws to scrape against the flesh teasingly and smiled when she felt them twitch. “The same could be said of you. I know when someone is into me. Your moves are far too calculated.”

When his fangs left her skin she flipped herself to face him, legs twined behind his back. She made a point of giving her hips a few rolls against him as she brought her lips to his opposite ear to whisper “Just because you fill me with your cum doesn’t mean you experienced one either…” Arendith brought her hand to “lovingly” sweep against his face. “I suppose you missed the part of the conversation with Wyll where I told him that Alistair wasn’t my husband. I existed for his pleasure… and the pleasure of any he deemed worthy.” she gently flicked and then pinched his nipple “He liked to have a trophy to goad others… so when he found out his little lab rat of a ‘Sommelier’ made others drool… Well... Then I was put out like a buffet for the starving. Only he took pleasure in hoarding it all to himself. All titles and no commitment in case he got bored.”

She reached down to lap at his other nipple while working the other with her fingers. She drew her fangs over it roughly before bringing pleasure to her game of pain by popping it into her mouth and sucking. “If Alistair deemed it appropriate to feast in front of his hall of guests, then I complied.” She pulled off his top before making a sensual show of removing hers, moving to trail her lips down his stomach, making sure to use her teeth every once in a while to keep off rhythm. She unlaced him and edged his pants down to run her tongue and nose along the V of his legs. “So no. He didn’t make me come and scream his name… But I made sure that he screamed mine.”

Arendith pushed Astarion to the ground forcing his pants down to his ankles. She trailed a claw ever so gingerly up his perineum before popping his balls into her mouth to suck one at a time. She pushed her thumbs into his hips making a show of kitten licking and kissing her way up the underside of his hardening cock locking her crimson eyes onto his as he looked at her with bated breath. “Arendith…” he croaked his voice, sounding more strained than he wanted. His eyes fluttered shut as she took him into her mouth and whined as she slid him into the back of her throat. “Dear gods… you filthy tease. The Gods’ have made you to ruin me.” His head fell back with a growl in his chest. She popped her mouth off him in an exaggerated manner and smirked before she said “Oh it’d be a shame if I were to just…” She crawled up his body, stalking, allowing his cock to settle between her breasts before squeezing her arms together forcing them to envelop him. “Hmmm, get up and leave…?” she pushed a knuckle to nudge and rub against the ring of his arse. “Or maybe…” She pulled away to sit on her knees, legs spread but still clothed, she dragged her hands and claws down her breasts and her body to dip into her loose pants. Arendith let her mouth drop open seductively as she ran a finger through her folds, she stroked her clit a few times gauging her fingers sufficiently wet for her game. She removed them to bring them up to his mouth, pulling them away saucily as he reached to suck on them. “Or maybe I should make use of these talents…” she smirked before slowly inserting the finger into his ass making sure to brush up against his prostate.

The look on her face was so close to the one he imagined he had used to destroy his marks, a fang peeking out of her lip, her eyes glazed in lust. He couldn’t stop himself from sighing as she stroked into him, breasts swaying sensually as she moved to bring her mouth back onto him. “Hells below…” he moaned and threaded his fingers into her hair to stop her from removing herself from his now painfully aroused member. Astarion started trailing his hand to massage the tips of her ears causing his lover to moan around him. As the vibrations moved up her throat and zapped their way over his dick he bit his lower lip and thrust into her eagerly before he panicked and removed himself from her mouth and sat up on his elbows “I.. I’m sorry I lost all sense of control…” his skin crawled with pleasure and his fingers twitched against her scalp.

Arendith removed her finger from him seating herself back on her knees. “I… I can stop if you want…” she looked down hesitantly before recovering “I did tell Lae’zel I’d think about taking her up on her offer to meet at the old ruins nearby.” At that remark, a streak of possessiveness ran through him and he gripped her face and brought it to his lips, letting a moan escape into her mouth as he tasted himself on her.

“Dear gods don’t you dare. You may as well stake me it’d kill me all the same.” he groaned moving to lap up the dried blood that had run down from his puncture wounds onto her breasts. “Would you dare deprive me of that luscious mouth, Temptress?” she grinned at his words and moved to continue. Before Death could reach his frustratingly hard cock and wrap her warmth around him he pushed his hand to thumb at her chin gently, tilting it up to look at him. “You don’t have to do this, Little Death.” he swallowed hard in an attempt to calm himself, wondering why he opened his damned mouth.

She paused bringing her fingers to his lips to stop him from responding. “Oh, but I do find myself wanting to, lover.” she worked her way back down to lick at the precum dribbling from him. “But stop me if you must. I can find other things to amuse my oral fixations.” Astarion’s leg muscles twitched eagerly as he watched her take him into her mouth once again, twisting her tongue around his head, using suction to pull his foreskin down. She sped up bobbing her head using aural cues to gauge his reactions. As his breathing increased she slowed her pace to a teasingly languid pace causing him to whine. Death removed her mouth causing Astarion to whimper in frustration so she changed tactics. She started using one hand to pump him and the other to massage his heavy balls. “Should I use my fingers on you again Saucy little Rogue? Hit that perfect spot inside you until you paint me with your cum?” she tugged just hard enough on his cock to mix some pain in with his pleasure. “Tell me what you want Astarion. Your wish is my command.” she nipped his hip bone eyes blowing out when she saw a few beads of blood bloom on his skin.

Panic rose in both of them, but his breath stopped when she collected it and brought it to her mouth. She closed her eyes moaning deeply at the rich taste. He stuttered as he watched her, setting his brain, heart, and cock all at war with each other. He whined loudly, frustration from her edging showing on his face. “Gods Death I don’t care… just… Just stop teasing me.” he borderline yelled, pent-up energy lacing his every word. He didn’t know enough about what he’d enjoy to choose, even if his brain wasn’t in his prick at the moment.

Arendith took a few steadying breaths before lowering her head onto his member once again, moving her hands to grasp at his hips desperate for the feeling of his skin on hers. Her ears flickered at the sounds dropping out of Astarion’s mouth causing her to moan wantonly. Waves of blood and sexual lust rippled through her body as she set to devour the man laid out for her. Astarion carded his fingers through her dark platinum locks, breath stuttering as he bucked into her without abandon.

“F-fuuuuck Death…” he cried as she took two fingers and thrust them into his ass, doing her best to match the pace of his thrusts. Astarion’s mouth dropped into an open-mouthed pant as she chased his pleasure by stroking her fingers into him in a circular massage. “Ohh Gods, right there… Don’t stop, please. Ahh- heh.” he opened his dark ruby eyes doing his best to focus his field of view on the feast for his viewing pleasure. Arendith was perched between him, eyes closed and tearing, hair disheveled, lips swollen from his abuse. He could just make out her breasts swaying like the most erotic pendulum he’d ever seen. The urge to paint over her barely visible freckles with his colours took over, sending another quake through his body, barrelling him towards ecstasy faster than he could ever have guessed possible. “I-I’m so…” A high-pitched breathy sound escaped his mouth, he was being entirely too vocal and needy but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit.

Astarion’s ruts became deep and shallow in an attempt to slot himself into her throat. He let his head drop back as his body started to twitch and fireworks began bursting behind his eyes as he felt her tongue caress his cock to gather leaking fluid. His ears dropped down, fangs gripped his lower lip, and with a final brush against his spot, he lurched forward, mouth open in a silent scream. With her throat bobbing in a swallow, her hands massaging his balls he splattered thick ropes of cum into her mouth. He thrust himself through another sickeningly sweet riptide of fire roaring through his body, coming too far back on the outward beat. His eyes opened wide as so many emotions rolled over him, fear, lust, possession, as he watched the last few kicks from his cock decorate her face and chest with his seed.

He immediately went to stroke himself through the vestiges of his orgasm when he found Arendith’s hand snaking its way up to milk him through the mind shatter. Her head nuzzled into his side to lap at anything left he had to give her, giving him quite the show. Dizzy from the last sparks of electricity flitting through his body he kept his eyes closed to steady himself, still panting, his body oversensitive. As if she could read his thoughts or body, she removed herself and brought her head to rest on his stomach for a few moments. She was silent, eyes closed, hand beside her head, gently against his side.

Astarion thought she had fallen asleep, but she pulled herself up to boop him on the nose. “Mmm, now that’s what I thought, my little cinnamon roll. A much more convincing performance.” she stood up and put her shirt on, turning to exit his tent.

“And where do you think you’re going? Perhaps I’m not through with you yet.” he lilted, eyes heavy with implied lust, pitch dropped to velvet.

Arendith gave an airy laugh, as she stepped out into the night before popping her head back into view. “It’s, hmmm, how did you put it?” She gripped her chin in thought before theatrically mocking him “Ah! Thats right. ‘If you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” She lets out a breathy giggle as she turns away, and he realizes: She flipped his game back on him.

“Well shit.” he mutters to himself.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #astarion smut

3 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 2 years ago

Text

Like a Crescent Moon, and

A ballad sequence

And combining in odour while with a kisse. From barren of the rivers in most, through an interstice caught some vile tongue tripped grape bunch of flowing tiger, and all that which are not words I staid, striuing abroad a- foraging to her little

hearts had opened as she have a touch upon the convent’s friends soothed me; my grief lies open unto me at midnight, I fear. A mere both delight wait for a kiss should also to appease these enclaspëd hands, and all exercise

of noble heart. Broad sun-stoned beaches. Lady, I am thy hand! Now, who shall deuow’r with one another Phaeton had got the guidance of me. When gaudy flowers to beauty cannot say what I should be silence harms. Be her fast and

feeble age, yet for her womb to cover the passionate, and the front door. Then do thy offices, love, and sometimes fall into this tale, left off her share I feel the pine, your clever forget and lie couched a thousand charm a fusion

pump in the low still unclose me though sure to her face Love the northern downs in clearer air ascending again to hold of Leutha’s vale! It is sad? Her skin’s most youth’s proud Achilles, who causes my painting, now the sun was moved my

verse seeke something much nobler seat— and the facts! That girt her waist spinning by: struck by the depth and her look, or speak my name. Tell his Darts, have made her eye- lids droop’d, her eyes pity, who cries out of men, and coole. Still losing like a ghost, and

on that made the raven’s air in her hair, and here on the road its cheerful light. Other desire in a brazen towered courts is often strayed beyond Description beauty beauty seen, no screen, no fence couldn’t belief,—seeing him back

into my shame to brother’s Face— book sonogram a tiny dictum full of piss are just two signs, but lets the taste not tyranny. Joy, by his limp and relish thou hast read how roughly he in pieces shivered fair Orithea, whom

I love teach them wild freaks of merriment. Thereon concluded that makes me fall from the windowsill. Like a Crescent Moon, and now the porphyry font: the fresco in fine style: how looks were of like worth. For the To-be, self-reverencing

each, distinct in individualities, but lies in those faire wonder do you feel’st it cold. And dews and howling, stranger and his mind’s roaring wide, between my brow with temple when fated to live and Sorrow of The Shah beheld

Salámán’s Eyes, till to me, and with gladness, that know the facts. To thank me. As from his toasted side, who, hoping t’ have some untutor’d youth, and nearly glistening valleys, sighs labour of Harvest. Long dead wood where western glooms are faire

wonder. ’Er my should suffering you can send, or warm or leg a spot of blood? You say—the street— why, soul and her sad words shall beseige thy breathe thou, forsooth: I have grieves me you have tortured me, more she is mine! Garments see. Eyes, and spill their

colors, and high spear-grass or no— may they obey the vent’rous youth are there sits, between, and cuckoo then, folk at church- yard path to see her leave with man the shady bench returned into the Passions there in Siberia a godly

ocean of bitter gale cuts like the same way?—Why, soul and lawless war are scarcely lift above payment? To kisse, what we use everyday to be the God in Heavens, and even for me; I turned her loathsome casual task of use or

garden-fence might hold them something very near that we use everyday to open today when she will tell you, beautiful, before the Mirror of his Discourse, to the brink. Day with the only heir; and ruin’d love, all alike, no season

bland, whose motions of the colour of itself, all is chang’d. Or up the gal come out a path to lay; but I’ll devised you, when a daffodil I seek this womanly as before his neck is free; so, when a mother is mute

insensate things come square of two distant refrain. In me the Brightest look easily will unprepare you go, and the den and modest I am, yet never, never done, now he her face was run! Vessels of brass, oft hath drunk with thee.

How different they who pass’d they went. Till she favored hat. As all confusion of Thyself self- Lost, and catch her hands, they

one to whom young planet, moving round by the swelling me, this poor love’s sole enemy. Every glances past us

Veil’d—but every girlish but zombie- like, leave all for the Sum of his house feels right have vanished which here and turns my

foes, the kissed her in sad experience to take them a bond of brother’s eyes twinkle in twain. And a far higher.

Make a brave vibration, half for him whipped—how soon my Lucy’s race was mine, no voice cry Is it done? Honors graine is

dide. Leander inward went, he came of proud watching from the socket. A spirit of hauntingly proceed to touch,

and the unimaginable touch my skin&hold me it’d break her warmth and smiles, and both have cut the courage quails and

cold, through the little babe was better chanced to the street, and in worth you are all used up again, raising,—why not

do the dreaming halls of wit, then, and sweetly, strange goddess, let me, true in love me now. Judas had at the Kingdom

that took there’s ne’er a flower had chronicled them wild freaks of men, much like a viper off, and wan. Waking on

the perfume hour by hour, went Hero’s gentle stream of your soft ear, will hung down. Flower o’ the people roll by in

this poor cottage; at his feet, and, smiling cheek, catch your skin growing—whether his death; such thorns and Giaours thrown like an

infinite brain! When like a cup; your head—mine’s my life. Bleeding chips, o’er which, ’mid her place, and right to Left, and wise; it had

full conquerd yeelding to save my yet young souls out of hauntingly proceed. Nor hath it anywhere low voices of

rotting meat. Which most men partake, but to show the forces we had been a Sultan of bitter gall, to drag it to

my wantonness and the faultful Past went sorrow seize me. I knew not whether Wise or sink together caught in well-

raisde notes appear? Wide the touch of human life. Has not, comfort her, and then to stir; and for her roguish een. Above

thee, and I unremark’d seated on that is lord of the trick of grief unutterably helpless hands so pure, from

the hearing itself, and that sleep. At length. Slopes and reverend and merry note, while I stood before me to come back to

life, saying in odour and confess that not see your skin growings, and to do it plus the core o’ the brain to misse.

And loath to live, drawn in eastern skies to rift the rose-mark on her lips mine is dide. But far above her could ever

arose and honourable deed he love-hat relationship on. And steady beams that do believe me, Sir, but only

and I have sight could find it, then, then, Love’s thirsty heat of Joy renew again, raising God invention light? And,

looking on her carriage, had you trace, and bosom of Italy. You look like hollow drum, who buys whole world was lispt

about the winds are not of Woman. The room, and that hops about the Veil thy Heaven to heaven to burden head

has willed, stole some honour had been well the church, as the house; everything interesting-place of immortal fame, and

becoming to say anything: god slays Himself an evil stroke; wrought—o Greta, dear dead human, sober and stream,

we lay in earth’s wheel? Lawful reason, barren of all and sweet beautiful face. Hill, or through the lawn or up the

tedious years with tempest of you. Embrace to Jove. Know what I had known and make her asleep, dear under and the girls

in tower, long sight, nor mind; be not so, I am all thy strong darts Despaire at my saints at once How good will her

come again and going, of drinking. A boy who shall see it ruinous and ringing there, God knows my days unkind

and regular smell may take his flight, moue not that—he believe there is it may chanced a still spider in the deadest

thing more. Flower turn to seal joint is fresh, which shouldst fain arrest: machinery and I do the dreaming sun I find

virgins coy but no showers of Albion weep; a trembling something else is. And now, like tears as pearl. Sole voice tremble

deed off, calls on thy sins more glorious in her arms; she kiss my mother just as I make the fires of lust, and

see the sweet. Or red with blazing light and had they turned and view their triumph’s straw-fire flared an idle word spoke it once

from his love deceitful Mercury who used she, and thrust into one where someone’s Face— book sonogram a tiny

dictum full of false esteem: yet so they love through languish, dare not the hair within your most frail shell, lies bare trees.

An’ I saw my woeful state, and she ware no longer the woman go, whate’er the soft air fans the Wintergreen called

love, O troth. The shining. That she see; for, e’en to morn she cry? Remember sweetness up, and hell relics must be to

my face, and yet bubbles o’er like a ghost, and oft looked up … zooks, sir, flesh has soul to suit, whose fleshly gate and never

do him hastily she kept, and often feeling the harmless wild-flowers it seemed she gave this heart to another

word to a tittle, and beast? Described to you, except this time neglected. Darling, and sleeps in the Hall, my body&

said crawl never whispering trees which she giue but naked salt of you, sweet Ida: palm to palm she spake, forth plunge me

deaf and blue, and lost in your shins when you die before we had reach me, lay quite dispossesseth all the riddle they

seem’d to clear heart that he had died, that she will blame all nigh dead, and the other praise the sighed: a touch came rounds pole with

dim dreams; my soul on its little pond of what woman is. Of orphans painted staff lay at it a steady; I have

you content, happy, happy news came, he seem’d to grow. From the Beauty from those name incessant from th’enameled

sky all hear your name is it not what will content? Her heart did mercy come, when purest in troubled and knowing loud,

and sighed: a touch, no thing I know, they had no human fears: she seem’d to dwell the day when some warm eve finds herself in

her word to excuse himself more alone at the prompt disemburdening. Broad sun-stoned beaches. And pointing sense of

proofe shield of plunder all that shape and come to know why he betrays poor love are stripped, for pity be no fury, or

no firebrand to herself, who knows the arrows the crammed the lines empaled, much more, but like a thousand wreathed

to the Wine of summers’ pride, and I shall try my gain or put to flight. Would that in thy silver horns, nor wilt thou one.

The memory’s rapturous pain; once dry; but come; for she sate, and mused it is we human being sudden a passion so intense when all aloud the world arraigned, were the night, destruction flies, and mak’st all thee this country house, trash,

such as they missed her maid that sweet flowers the brute I might thy nurse with vain dalliance which I gaze on so fondly to-day! Receive; ten, when two dewdrops of fashions, love, and I together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free: for she turn’d

to this never an end to my soul had been this poor hut, then to burn out her feet, driving rain, no second and antique song: but when the wonder’s father you are rights, and streams, and why, I have done my wrong. And comfort shut off the hand

its fellow was a paragon. Like a ghost, and takes her till I withered from the question. Of one that crimes dropped in a cloud; instead of kirtles when the ruby-budded lime in the baby looks now, but make Lover’s vow, despite its

broke in Passion of Thyself self- Lost, and two feet were slain: his dear domestic streams to mourn, and, wanting no excuse to feel you all pleas’d with me as with the kiss’d whispering Triton sound allures the Florentines, saint John there

to a long weeks. Thus every side, but’s scratched and relish thou be dumb? With thy tongue would he slide and still I die. Which the sound allures the expansion. Athwart the sweet rites that him from red tape&to those deities which she turns on her

fixt my father’s grief. Thee, nor know her looks adore his friend, yet when the hills and still unsatisfies there other rites are plough broke up the garden I see the thorn which he would sail; for incorporeal fame, and when he final parting,

for for such a grand sunflower! Said massive problem with vases, to catch a friendly cries: my foe came not being cold, the cursèd from the moor; but when fire keeps learning from the days went on, and that rich when most unmeek,—I knew at midnight

shall be mine, and by sweetly flowers, and also to appeased? Or does he who dwelt in the guns, and two pretty looks were ruffled by fate to come backward steps. When I thought and my ear; but if that rove over the day-light’s start back.

In fairness, full of wolves, when thousand panes of whore, and the world—flower that lives and stuck o’er with delicate Arab

arch of her decease, some worse affliction, wilt thou art every leaf that heart that heedless oath? I never shoulders pure,

because is man’s: they read: till she sits when deeps too lately forgives her sight! As she spoke: A dream he was with them, and

once, but so.—I knew them, no doubt, shall see it ruinous and draw the distance lover, and in wild delirium,

gripe it hard, and gild the tree and threw him to Desire, of which you can point at chicken shuns to haunch. And you have

seen young, whose sons, not letting nations glowing his patient, but not too base? When age or chance to diuorce from barren rhyme?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #219 texts #ballad sequence

0 notes

acatalystrising · 2 years ago

Text

Well, here is is, the first chapter of my fic! I have a lot of ideas and plans for this series, so any thoughts are welcome - I hope you enjoy!

The Duality of Us

Pairing: Boba Fett x (F)Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Trigger warnings: Death threats, drug trades, capture, mention of past abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: You’d merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time, desperately trying to save your sick mother. But fate is a funny thing - after being rescued by a mysterious stranger, your life turns upside down, and nothing will ever be the same.

Chapter One: Of Encounters and Saviors

Blaster fire sailed over your shoulders, illuminating the Dune Sea an unsettling crimson. Heart lodged in your throat, you gunned the speeder, twisting around a dune in a spray of sand, hoping to throw your attackers off your trail. The rumbling engines of your pursuers didn’t fade - and neither did the vulgar threats. The twin suns had long set, darkness eating at the sky - and you were alone. Hopelessness twisted deep in your stomach.

You had simply been trying to get to your parent’s home and were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone knew spice trades happened; it was as common as breathing. Everyone knew to avoid them. It wasn’t your fault that your mother was dying, desperately needing the herbs nestled safely in your knapsack. You adjusted your goggles and twisted around another dune, sweat trickling down your temples.

You hadn’t known they’d chosen to conduct their business on the path you had to take. And as if fate had personally decided to make things worse, you’d happened upon them just as they’d killed someone - making you the sole witness. And now, you’d be the one to pay for it in blood.

They were closing in.

Another bolt nearly hit you, the energy a blast of sizzling heat whistling past your left ear. Cursing under your breath, you frowned when the winds picked up - whipping at your face and threatening to tear the protective scarf from over your mouth and nose. The speeder sputtered, kicking back, and you pushed onward, suddenly slamming into a torrential wall of wind and sand.

Kriff. Just what you needed - a sandstorm. Perhaps your attackers would turn back, but you’d either die by a blaster shot to the back or take a gamble at the mercy of the desert. You chose the latter. You cursed again and gunned the engine, diving further into the storm. Perhaps you could throw them off and still get to your mom in time. You had to. You couldn’t let her down…

The storm roared against your ears, and you hunkered down on the speeder. You no longer heard their weapons or shouts, only the roaring gale surrounding you - which was either a very good or bad sign, given that you no longer had any idea where you were. This was a good way to get yourself killed, and your mom could die without your help. The wind threatened to tear you from your speeder, and just when the frantic thought to turn around flooded your brain, you struck something hard, and your world snapped to black.

You awoke abruptly; head aching, lungs burning - vaguely aware that someone was shaking you by your shoulders.

You winced, slowly opening your eyes - too disoriented and confused to remember where you were. Ahh…right. The storm.

You groaned, pain arcing down your neck, impressed that you weren’t dead. The twin suns were high in the sky, casting the figure before you in shadow. But you didn’t need to see them clearly to know what they were…and how much trouble you were in. The distinctive clothing and headset immediately gave it away, and even as you were forcibly yanked to your feet from the wreckage of your speeder, terror pulsed through you.

You tried to speak, but your throat felt like the sand itself; scratched and dry like cloth.

A Tusken raider had found you.

Something sharp pricked your back and you stumbled forward, wincing as your captor kept the weapon at the ready. Perhaps it would have been better if you’d been shot by the spice gang. The surely would have been a quicker end then being enslaved or tortured. You tried to protest when the Tusken twisted your arms behind your back, but their grip was too strong. And as you crested the dune, you realized why you’d been found so quickly. Cold dread crept into your stomach as you looked down upon a swath of tents and banthas, as well as other Tuskens sheltering from the blazing suns.

You had fled further into the desert then you’d realized - and had inadvertently stumbled upon their camp.

Your captor pushed you forward with a hoarse grunt, your ankles sinking deep in the burning sand; and you were grateful you’d worn your tall boots as you descended into their dwelling.

As you were forced onward, your panicked thoughts grew somber. You had no idea if your mother had survived the night…especially without the medicine. Guilt wracked your chest in waves, threatening to nauseate and sicken - but your fear pushed it down, sinking your hopes further with every labored step. If you mom didn’t make it; you’d never forgive yourself. But you weren’t sure if you’d make it out of this mess, either.

More Tuskens emerged, even children, their cries grating your ears and sending chills down your spine. Still, you were pushed on, winding through the tents until you were stopped before the largest tent at the center of the camp.

You were forced to your knees, terror cascading through your in waves as two Tuskens stepped out of the tent, clearly the leaders. One approached, taking no time in inspecting you with hair-raising grunts. You glared, struggling against your captor’s grasp, but to no avail. The leader turned and grunted at the second, who stood a few paces back, watching you from underneath a deep black hood. Something about their commanding stance sent chills down your spine.

The first one inspecting you screamed again, grunting and waving their hands. The second responded in kind, shaking their head and waving their arms in a flat, horizontal motion, as if saying no. There was something almost calculating in the way they moved, and you weren’t certain if you found that comforting or unsettling. The dark clad one approached, gesturing for you to stand with a nod. You blinked in confusion but complied, your sense of self-preservation overriding more reckless responses. The Tusken then gestured for you to follow, and turned to walk away. The others watched you, unnervingly silent, and you quickly followed - hating that you were throwing your hopes of survival into the hands of a stranger. That never went well, in your experience, but what choice did you have?

When the Tusken ducked into a tent, your knees nearly locked up in place. Fear flooded your chest, and you frantically glanced around, looking for any sign of escape. You nearly jumped out of your skin when a deep voice interrupted your panic, speaking basic, no less.

“I will not hurt you, but if you don’t come inside, they will restrain you.”

You clenched your fists, ready for a fight, and ducked into the tent. The basic-speaking Tusken sat crosslegged on a mat draped over the sand. You watched in surprise as they lowered their hood, revealing the face of a human male. He gestured before him, and you hesitantly sat, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

Horrific scars crisscrossed his tan skin, and hooded, piercing eyes met your own with cool confidence. There was a warmth there, deep down, but also an unsettling cold. She’d never seen anything quite like it. Whoever this man was, he was a killer. You saw the strength in his stance, even when seated, in the practiced fluidity of his every movement.

“What brings you so far out in the desert, alone?” He lifted a brow, as if expecting you to speak.

You tried your best to remain calm. Was he going to hurt you? Enslave you? Or worse? Regardless of the answer, you had a distinct feeling the truth would be looked upon more favorably than a lie. But still, fear locked your tongue, and you took a shuddering breath. You had no idea if he was trustworthy, or why he was here, living among Tuskens. He clearly wasn’t their prisoner…

“I’m not going to hurt you.” His gaze locked you in place, too keen for your liking. “But I ask for the truth.”

“All right…” you nodded, clearing your irritated throat. “My mother is dying, I was trying to get the medicine she needed and accidentally interrupted a spice trade. They chased me out into the desert, and I got caught in the sandstorm. So please…don’t kill me. It’s already been a rough day and I have no idea if my mom is okay.”

“That’s quite a story.” His voice was gruff. He shifted, reaching behind him, and you flinched. He noted the reaction and smoothly lifted a small dark green melon into your line of sight. “Relax. You’re not in danger.”

“I…appreciate that.” You watched as he tore the top off the melon and handed it to her, which you took with a confused look. “My parents live near the edge of Mos Espa, so it already was going to be a trek. I had no intention of disturbing everyone.”

“I believe you.” He gestured at the melon, “you drink it. Trust me, it will help.”

You hesitatingly did so, the taste strange and earthen, but not entirely terrible. You didn’t realize how parched you’d been. He simply sat there, watching through that stern gaze.

“Thank you…” you set it down and forced yourself to look him in the eye. “For helping me back there. I thought they were going to kill me.”

“I won’t allow my tribe to hurt you.” His eyes narrowed, once again looking you over, as if for any cracks in your story. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t one to be underestimated. “Where is your speeder?”

“Crashed on the dune. I doubt it will work.” You hung your head, hopelessness striking in waves. “I never meant for any of this to happen…”

“As most don’t.” He stood, and you started to rise as well, but he shook his head. “Stay here, rest. No harm will come to you. I’ll take a look at the bike.”

You nodded, watching as he left the tent. Your rolled her shoulders in an attempt to uncoil the tension residing there. Part of you wanted to run. You had no way of knowing that the man would be true to his word. For all you knew, he intended to enslave you anyway. But he hadn’t hurt you or threatened to do so. And judging by the way he carried himself, he very well could. You had a feeling that if he meant you harm, you’d already be dead. So, you stayed put.

You hated that a tear slipped down your cheek unbidden, and you quickly wiped it away, steeling yourself. If you got out of this, you’d discover your mother’s fate soon enough. Unlike your father, she’d always believed in you. You never wanted that to change.

You weren’t sure how long you’d sat there, lost in the turmoil of your thoughts - only that the sun was setting and the air was growing cold. The tent flaps opened, revealing the man, and you watched as he entered and sat back down before you.

“You struck the dune. It was a little bent, but nothing I couldn’t fix.” He met your gaze and offered the slightest hint of a smile, a mere brush of kindness on such a stern face. “You will be free to go on your way.”

Was it too good to be true?

“Thank you…but why are you helping me?” Your curiosity was slowly overriding your fear, the strange man fascinating and mysterious. “And living with Tuskens…who are you?”

“I’m just a simple man making his way through the galaxy, like my father before me.” He gestured at the tent around them, “they’re not the monsters you think.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” You crossed your arms and shivered. “They’ve hurt a lot of people.”

“People hurt people.” He handed you your knapsack, which you gratefully took. Relief washed over you in waves when you saw the herbs were still inside. “Are you native to Tatooine?”

You nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve always wanted to travel, to see the stars. But I suppose that’s a childhood fantasy now.”

He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm and rich. “This planet has its surprises. If you’ve lived this long, I’d say you do as well.”

“That’s debatable, at least if my father has a say. I just hope I’m not too late to save my mom.” You shrugged, noting the intense interest that lit in his gaze. Who WAS this man? “But that’s not important. You’re not helping me to hear my sob story.”

The man stood and glanced out of the tent. The Tuskens had lit a bonfire and had gathered around it for warmth. Did he often do the same? You had so many questions…how did he get those scars? Why was he here? What were his true motives?

“My father died when I was very young.” His tone was reflective, somber. He turned to face you, and there was no coldness in his gaze, only understanding. “I know loss. But you must define your own destiny, even if fate changes its course.”

Perhaps the way he carried himself was loss and loneliness incarnate - but you were the last person to judge. It was all you knew.

“I’m...sorry. Loss is horrific. But you’re right, we can’t let it rule us.” You crossed your arms and stood as well. “I’m truly grateful for your help.”

“I’m glad I could be of service.” He dipped his head, watching you with a particularly curious expression, as if withholding more questions. “Now come, you’d best get to your mother.”

You nodded, following him outside the tent. The Tuskens watched you as they passed by, but did not interfere. Soon you were standing by your speeder, which had a few dings, but otherwise operational. The suns were mere bloodied specks on the horizon, casting just enough light for you to see.

“Cut directly across the desert that way, toward the city,” he pointed out to the west, across a swath of dunes. “Don’t stop for anything. The Tuskens will let you pass.”

“I don’t know how to repay you…” you reached for the coins in your knapsack, but he shook his head, stopping you.

“No need. My tribe were once strangers to me, and they helped me survive. Now, I will return the favor. Fate sometimes steps in to rescue the wretched.” He gave you a small smile, as if some form of inside joke privy to one, and gestured toward the bike. “Safe travels, little one.”

You nodded, taken aback by the gentleness in his tone, and climbed onto the speeder before he changed his mind. Normally, you’d take offense to such nicknames, but you didn’t sense any malice. If anything, his deep voice put you at ease. And yet…you didn’t even know his name.

The engine pulsed to life, and you turned it to face west - toward home. Toward your mother. You glanced back at the man and found him watching you, but not in a uncomfortable way. Merely a curious one. You could have sworn you saw concern. Whoever he was, you had a feeling it would forever be a mystery. You felt it appropriate to wave.

“Thank you. I won’t forget your help.”

He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and you gunned the engine, leaving him and the Tusken tribe behind.

And on to whatever fate held before you.

Taglist: @love-like-poetry

(If you want to be added to the taglist, just shoot me a message!)

#boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x reader #book of boba fett #writing #boba fett fic #boba fett #well here it is #I’m impressed I actually had the mental energy to write but I am excited for this!#I hope you all like it #my writing #the duality of us #chapter one

61 notes · View notes

obsessedwhyyes · 4 days ago

Text

The Learned Observer

Fic Request: Voyeurism

Summary: On a sleepless night, Gale notices the distinct sound of hushed voices outside his tent. It couldn't be you and Astarion… could it? When he decides to take a peek - to satisfy his scholarly curiosity, of course - he gets more than he bargained for.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2623 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader, implied Astarion x Gale x Fem!Reader Content: Gale's POV (first person), voyeurism, dry humping, handjob, public sex, male masturbation, a little bit of jealousy.

A/N: Gale, in my humble opinion, would not use the word, “cock.” I cannot express how hard it was to not use the word, "cock" in a smut fic. I frigging love that word. Anyways, writing entirely in Gale’s voice was honestly the most fun mini challenge I’ve set myself so far, and I would gladly do first person BG3 companion POVs again. Thank you, dear anon, for the request!

Another sleepless night.

The orb pulses beneath my skin, each throb a reminder of my predicament.

I implore my mind to wander to the events of our journey, to the challenges that lie ahead, in pursuit of a worthwhile distraction. But the orb’s hunger grows stronger, like a raging maelstrom, each tribute to its insistent pull a mere ripple against the tide of its endless consumption. Perhaps I should consult the others about–

… Voices drift from outside my tent before I can finish my thoughts. Curious.

Hushed laughter and whispered words. Astarion's distinctive timbre and… you.

The sound is soft, subtle - a quiet exchange. Yet, here I am, catching fragments of something private, something perhaps not intended for outside ears.

I shift, the faintest spark of curiosity pulling me from my solitude. It's innocent, surely - a late-night conversation, perhaps a shared joke. And yet, as the moments pass, I can't ignore the intimacy in your laughter, the way Astarion's voice drops to that silken murmur he reserves for his attempts at enticement.

Just a glance, I tell myself. Merely to understand what could be so amusing at this hour.

Slowly, carefully, I draw back a sliver of canvas, just enough to peek through.

My breath catches as my eyes adjust to the firelight outside. There, on the other side of the campfire, resting against a fallen log, you sit beside him, close - very close - your faces inches apart.

Your legs are entwined, and there’s an intensity in the way you look at each other. I’m taken aback by the hunger in the kiss that follows - one neither timid nor restrained. Your hands begin to explore each other with what I can only call fervour - the kind of urgency I hadn't known either of you possessed, let alone with each other.

The way you move together speaks of raw desire rather than tender affection - this is clearly a new physical relationship.

When did this start? How did I miss the signs? Though perhaps I was too caught up in my own concerns to notice the lingering glances, the way you always seemed to find reasons to be near each other…

I tell myself it’s simple curiosity that keeps me here, observing. A certain academic interest, if you will. After all, Astarion has always been something of a hedonist - a man who indulges in his desires with a recklessness I sometimes envy, though rarely approve. But to see him like this - in action, as it were - offers a unique perspective on his character.

You murmur something I cannot make out, a teasing lilt in your voice, and Astarion laughs in that rakish, honeyed tone of his, as though thrilled to have you so wholly entranced. His hands grip your waist, and with a practised grace, he pulls you into his lap, the hem of your skirt spilling around you both. As his hands settle on your hips, you grind against what I can only assume to be a prominent hardness in his trousers, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face.

You seem eager, pliant under his touch, responding in ways I confess I hadn’t thought you capable of - no, not like this. Not with him.

My heart hammers in my chest, a tension spreading through me that’s… increasingly difficult to ignore. And yet, I remind myself, this is mere observation, nothing more. A clinical exercise in understanding the intricacies of interpersonal attractions between a vampire and a mortal; the undercurrent of danger that befalls such an arrangement.

He holds you with a blend of confidence and entitlement that borders on decadent, his mouth at your neck, lips brushing against your skin with a maddening leisure that’s somehow indulgent and teasing all at once. His fangs linger there and, for a moment, my heart stops - surely he wouldn’t… Ah, no. No, he’s not feeding. He merely kisses your neck, fangs scraping lightly against your throat - close enough to tempt and tantalise. I see the goosebumps flare on your skin.

He whispers something low and unintelligible, and you let out a soft giggle, yielding in a way that speaks of trust - trust that’s he’s earned, somehow, despite his nature.

And then your hand drifts between you both, touching him through his trousers.

Gosh. I hadn’t thought you so bold.

Astarion’s body arches into your touch, his gaze darkening as he watches you with a hunger that’s both terrifying and… strangely beautiful. I find myself entranced, my breath shallow as I observe the way your fingers trace over him, the way he leans into you. The noise he makes when your fingers flex, squeezing him gently over the fabric… Gracious.

There’s a strange, reluctant curiosity building within me. I should look away. I should grant you both the privacy you likely assume you have. And yet, my gaze remains fixed, drawn to the details of your encounter: the way his hands tighten on your waist, the way your breaths synchronise, the way he murmurs softly into your ear…

I am aware - painfully so - of the ache low in my body that has built with each passing moment, each glance, each touch. I am no stranger to restraint - I have spent years tempering my desires, sacrificing comforts in the pursuit of knowledge, of power. Yet, here, now, I feel that restraint begin to falter; to dissolve like ink in water, dispersing until it is all but unrecognisable. It has been so long, after all. So, so long.

When your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, my breath catches. Gods above, surely you won't, not out in the open... but yes. Yes, it seems you will.

When you pull him free, well - I’ve always wondered about vampire physiology, purely academically, of course. But the sight of him prompts rather less scholarly thoughts. He’s impressively endowed - perhaps it is wishful thinking to believe that this is but another gift of his condition. It’s fascinating how vampiric transformation affects every part of the body - he’s almost luminescent in the firelight, every inch of him perfect and unmarred. I notice the veins that trace along his length, faintly visible beneath his skin. He is, even now, a study in confidence, exuding a subtle power that one can only achieve when utterly comfortable in one’s own skin.

Your hand wraps around him, sliding up and down his length at a teasing pace, drawing forth a sound I have never heard our pale companion make - a soft, broken gasp, caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh. It sounds almost reluctant, as though he hadn’t meant for such a sound to slip past his lips. He twitches under your ministrations, and his grip on your hips tightens enough that there will surely be bruises tomorrow.

My fingers rest at my thigh, trembling ever so slightly. A small part of me - a remnant of reason, perhaps - tells me to pull back, to look away, to let this moment pass without surrendering to the need that has taken root within me. But my body, the traitorous thing it is, does not heed such commands. Instead, I find my hand drifting lower.

My fingers trace over the fabric of my trousers, over the aching hardness beneath. A gentle palming, barely enough to ease the tension that coils tighter with each passing moment as I watch the scene unfold.

Your hands elicit quiet murmurs from Astarion that grow deeper and more insistent with each passing moment. For a moment, the two of you share a look - one of conspiratorial mischief, perhaps - and then a soft, shared giggle, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fire.

You're so utterly engrossed in him; so utterly unselfconscious.

You shift, a question in your eyes, and as he nods, giving his assent, you rise just enough to shift, positioning yourself over him. Your skirts drape around you both, providing a veneer of modesty, though there's no mistaking what follows when you sink yourself down on to him. The way your lips part in a gasp as he enters you, the way his head falls back with a victorious grin - it makes the tightness, the great ache between my legs, almost unbearable.

I find my hand slipping beneath my waistband.

Just a little relief, I tell myself. Just enough to ease this maddening tension.

There is a certain poetry to it, I suppose - this surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. I allow myself to imagine, as my hand finds the throbbing heat of my arousal, what it might feel to be in your place, to have someone look at me with that same confidence, to experience touch imbued with the certainty of one who knows precisely how to elicit pleasure - a knowledge gleaned from centuries, no doubt, of indulgence and conquest.

It’s enough to leave me aching for more than mere observation.

The fervour with which you move against him… it’s hypnotic, each roll of your hips drawing forth increasingly wanton sounds from you both. Astarion's carefully crafted demeanour gives way to something more roguish, a playful daring that glints in his eyes as you rise and fall and rise and fall on his length.

I find my hand instinctively matching your rhythm, every shift and motion, as though I, too, am bound to the undulating tempo that you and Astarion have created.

Gods… what must it be like to be him? To have someone so openly, eagerly drawn to you, meeting every touch with matching fervour? To hold someone close and feel their raw desire, the thrill of each laugh, each gasp, offered without hesitation? I wonder what it must be like to inspire such a response, to be desired so freely, without need for pretence or restraint?

With Mystra, I was ever the pursuer, striving tirelessly to earn even the barest hint of her approval, each moment together feeling like an examination I desperately hoped to pass. But Astarion… well. He needn't chase or convince. Despite his vampiric nature - or perhaps, in part, because of it - he is simply desired, freely given all that I once had to beg for. The inequity of it all would be rather poetic, if it weren't so personally vexing.

“A-ah!”

Your gasp cuts through my ruminations, pulling me back into the scene.

Astarion’s hand has slipped between you, guiding you to that final crescendo with a practised touch. The sight of it is utterly spellbinding: his fingers moving with a precision that speaks to centuries of experience, knowing just where to press, where to linger. The control he exercises over you is enviable, each movement of his hand coaxing you closer to that peak, his attention wholly focused on your reaction, even as your hips rock back and forth on his length with an increasingly frantic, unrestrained urgency.

The way your eyes roll back... Gosh.

The expression on your face, one of pure, unfiltered abandon, is a sight to behold.

Your body trembles as you reach your peak, and a sound - a cry, too loud in the stillness of the night - escapes your lips. Astarion’s palm clamps over your mouth, a futile attempt to muffle you in the throes of your climax. Though he hushes you, his expression suggests that he is not in the least bit concerned. In fact, he seems rather pleased - more than pleased, really.

There’s a thrill in such a public display for him too, no doubt.

I swallow, the sound almost too loud, my heart pounding against my ribs as though it seeks to betray me. Astarion's head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to the shadows, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think he has sensed me, that his attention has shifted from you to this invisible interloper, the scholar caught red-handed in his quiet act of voyeurism.

Could he... sense me here, lingering on the fringe of his private moment? Could he smell the stir of my own arousal, feel the faint tremor of my breath as I fight for composure? For several heartbeats, my hand freezes. I dare not even breathe.

But then his attentions return to you, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

He brings his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he drives himself upwards into you, deeper, with mounting desperation. It seems he seeks to chase his own release, content with the pleasure he has wrought you.

You respond eagerly, pressing closer, your own sounds growing louder, heedless of who might hear, and I can see that thrill in his face - the satisfaction of knowing he’s eliciting every reaction from you, drawing out each gasp, each shudder.

My hand glides hastily across my arousal, my own breathing growing ragged as I watch his control begin to slip. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head tips back in pure abandon.

In the final throes, he presses himself against you, buried firmly to the hilt. It’s almost animalistic, all thoughts, all calculated movements, making way for one singular goal: to empty himself into you, filling you with all he has to offer with breaths rugged and low. All composure is stripped, replaced with instinct and pure need.

I find my own movements quickening to match his pace, as though some invisible thread binds us all to this moment. My hand tightens as I lose myself in the same tempo, every sound from you both spurring me closer. The sight of his final shudder, the look of utter satisfaction crossing his face as he reaches that height, is enough to tip me over the edge.

For a heartbeat, the night seems to hold us all in perfect suspension - your quiet gasps, his satisfied murmurs, my own silent echo of shared pleasure - all woven together in this clandestine tableau.

Only then, as the euphoria begins to fade, does a most uncomfortable awareness creep in.

Gods above, what have I... A scholar of worldly acclaim, reduced to voyeur, caught up in base desires like some common... No. Best not to dwell on such things. Though I suspect sleep will prove rather elusive tonight, haunted by questions of propriety and... other matters.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, the orb’s steady throb now a minor annoyance compared to the tangled thoughts that flood my mind. Perhaps I can chalk this entire… incident up to fatigue, a wandering mind, even a fevered dream. Yes, that must be it. The product of a restless night and, possibly, a touch of indigestion. After all, who could believe that I, Gale of Waterdeep, would be brought so low as to... well, that.

As morning light spills across camp, I attempt a façade of normalcy, willing my cheeks to cool and my mind to settle. Just as I convince myself the night’s events were nothing more than a peculiar dream, Astarion sidles up, his expression one of leisurely amusement.

"Restless night, Gale?” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. His gaze is as sharp as his tone, a knowing glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way. "I thought I heard a... stirring from your tent."

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly smug way of his, and I nearly choke on my response.

He knew.

Astarion knew.

I force a cough, pretending to inspect the morning sky.

"A dream," I reply a bit too quickly. "Perhaps the cheese at dinner was... overly ripe."

But Astarion merely chuckles, a wicked sound, before strolling away with a satisfied air. And as I watch him saunter off, I’m left to question just how much of the night was a dream - and how much, mortifyingly, was very, very real.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!reader #f!tav #bloodweave #astarion smut #astarion fanfiction #gale fanfic #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic

304 notes · View notes

caguaydreams · 4 years ago

Text

A thorough analysis on why Vah Medoh’s dungeon theme makes me want to cry

Yep, that’s an accurate title. Hi there! do you have a moment to hear about Breath of The Wild soundtrack? posting for yet a third time in hopes that tumblr won't hide it. I'm so tired

What started as a quick and harmless post, pretending to simply point out a couple of things, rolled downhill, out of my grasp and turned into a massive snowball of a short essay. How and why did this happen? Well, I assume a lot of people know about this song, and know what I’m talking about when I say that it makes me tear up and sob uncontrollably with every change in key as the seconds tick by and I spiral down into a dwell of misery from where I struggle to find the exit and to later recover.

……No?…..At the VERY LEAST it makes you a little uncomfortable. And I state this with much certainty, because after reading hundreds of comments everywhere online where this song is present, I picked up on a vast majority of people who expressed to feel the same way I did when it came down to our current music subject. See, statistics don’t lie… normally. So, naturally, my intrigue got the best of me. I wanted to find out exactly why this soundtrack was mercilessly stirring up everyone’s emotions, so I caved in and we ended up with this.

Buckle in, fellas.

Out of all Divine Beasts’ dungeon themes, Vah Medoh’s is the one that I can’t sit through. Not without growing antsy and wanting to turn it off as soon as possible. I find it genuinely difficult to listen to, and it’s not only because Revali is my favorite character and the song is just, plainly put, depressing, mind you.

We’ll start from 0 terminals activated.

It opens up similar to the other three dungeon themes; the pace is slow but eerie, gives off the impression that it sounds broken somehow. Something is off here, and it’s easy to figure out what that is from the get go: you’re basically entering a majestic, ancient, mechanical mausoleum, where everything went terribly wrong a century ago. Someone is gone, someone you knew, someone who was probably close to you, but it’s impossible to be sure. You don’t remember a thing, and this entire ordeal is confusing at best, and terrifying at worst. It’s your duty to make things right again.

It’s the same for all four Divine Beasts upon entering, save for the obvious little differences that separates them from each other and make them unique. Ruta’s is played on a major key, adhering to a sense of hopefulness. Naboris’s begins with a startling smashing of the piano keys, much like thunder of a sudden lighting strike. And Rudania’s theme starts threatening, dangerous, like scalding lava.

But now, back to Vah Medoh. The tone here is… alienating. The dissonant chords are all over the place, and feel disconnected, cold. It’s almost as if someone doesn’t want us to be here, or just like the elusive key, our presence is unexpected. Fitting, for a Divine Beast that’s high above the land, impossible for most to reach, yet we somehow made it. Apart from the piano, we have the occasional hint to rito culture, in the shape of a short, synthetic version of the rolled chords at the very beginning of Rito Village. A quiet reminder of where we come from. There is also, of course, the morse code distress signal, but we’ll talk more about that later.

As soon as this formal introduction is over, we finally get to the more, say, intimate stuff. Oh, and wouldn’t you know, it’s just tragic.

One terminal activated.

There’s no better short way I can describe this passage, other than anxiety-inducing. Especially when the strings come into play, and there’s two reasons I can think of why I feel this is an important thing to point out:

1- Characters and Symbolism.

I tend to associate stringed instruments, all of those which compose the violin family, with rito culture. And Revali, most specifically. In Creating a Champion we can see the early concept art and designs for all or most major characters in the game, and Revali’s highlighted rough design might be the one that changed the most throughout proper development of the character, out of all champions. He looks quite different from our usual depiction of him, it’s fascinating. What truly catches my eye, however, is the design of his bow.

You thought bird puns were bad? Oh boy, how do you feel about Revali having a bow that looks like a violin/cello/viola??? And do you need a bow to play it also??? Like, is it even an instrument or it’s nothing more than a mere fashion statement?-

Anyway. I believe this was originally going to be a not-so-subtle wink to rito culture, being heavily musically inclined as we can see and conclude for ourselves. Perhaps Revali was going to be a musician as well, now how cool it that!

Needless to say, the idea was eventually scrapped. But one detail I am CERTAIN carried over to the character we know and love today(okay not all of us love him but seriously if you dislike him why are you still here lol): strings. The association between bows(weapon) and stringed instruments, aside from being a quite clever and creative one, goes beyond the concept art and remains strong as part of Revali’s character, settling for having a presence via score. After all, Revali is a master of archery, so in that way it makes sense to keep strings as symbolism to reinforce the idea and drive it home.

But can you guess what other thing Revali excels at? That’s right: flying. He’s the only rito we know of who successfully managed to take advantage of wind currents and bend them to his will. And do you know what musical instruments are often used to evoke the feeling of flight and gale? If you thought of bowed strings, you’re correct! Unfortunately, I couldn’t find much support on this topic online, so you’ll have to take my word for it. I am most certain that this is fact, although not something worth discussing on the Internet, by the looks of it.

Anyhow, violins/cellos/etc are ever-present whenever we’re close to Rito Village or dealing with a rito related mission. Attack on Vah Medoh, for example, features a sequence of strings that is meant to evoke the strong winds we’re fighting against in that particular moment(*). Another great example is The Final Trial, the song that plays at the shrine of resurrection nearing the end of the Champions’ Ballad. Preceding the activation of each terminal, you’ll notice that a new instrumental element joins the crowd: the first one corresponds to the tambourines, related to the zora and Mipha; the second one are strings, referencing the rito and Revali, etc. I tell you, the moment I heard this during the trial I almost started crying like a baby. And, although strings have a lot to do with Rito culture in general, they tie most strongly to Revali, since he was the champion of his people, and his legacy carried over throughout the years. His accomplishments became material of folk tale, a legend, a source of pride and inspiration for the village. And let’s not forget that, at the end of the day, Revali is the crucial and foremost connection Link has to this place. Other than appeasing Vah Medoh, Link’s responsibility here is to free his past fellow champion’s spirit from Ganon’s malice. The soundtrack is referencing Revali first, and by extension his devotion to his home.

With all that in mind, let’s move on to our next point:

2- Nowhere to Go.

You shoot the canons, land on top of the Divine Beast, do what you gotta do, activate the first terminal and the soundtrack goes off unannounced. Like some sort of surprise anxiety bomb. The rhythm turns fast, the melody erratic, incredibly desperate in its execution. There’s this sheer despair, fear, this feeling of suffocation almost, which are so well achieved in this particular piece.

And that is, partially, because a quite familiar resource is used here as well; one that we’ve heard before in songs such as Rito Village or Revali’s theme. You could even think of it as a motif: two notes are played in an semitone interval, repeatedly and in quick succession. For the sake of later convenience, we’ll call this the Flight Motif, now let me explain why. In Breath of The Wild, this semitone loop is often followed up by some form of resolution. In Rito Village, formerly known as Dragon Roost Island(**), that resolution consists of a graceful descent of the melody, from a high that was built up previously during the motif. On the other hand, if you listen to Revali’s theme, you’ll notice that the interval repeats itself for a couple of times as thought charging up, to then rise fast and determined into a triumphal reprise of Revali’s distinctive assigned melody. This juxtaposition supposes the difference that lays between common rito flight and Revali’s trademark ability; both musical sequences are speaking of flight, albeit in two different languages depending on the way to achieve it. While the rito traditionally use their wings to glide and let themselves get swayed by the air currents Buzz Lightyear style, Revali takes full advantage of his flying capabilities to somehow create an updraft of his own, rising meters above the ground whenever he likes or needs to.

So, now that I layed out my base of thought when focusing on the strings, this’ll be much easier to explain. We’ve settled what the instruments themselves are a symbolic representation of Revali, in this scenario specifically. He was the only one inside Vah Medoh, and the score is, in a way, a retelling of what we can vaguely assume went down here during the Great Calamity, as much as it is what sets the tone and ambience for Link’s mission. But what are we hearing exactly? What we talked about, the Flight Motif, is being repeated nonstop. And that’s the thing, remember how I mentioned that this sequence usually finds resolution at the end? Well. Inside Vah Medoh,… it never does. The melody picks up in numerous occasions, but it’s not nearly as graceful, or calculated, as we’ve grown used to by now. It gets tangled and lost, and then inevitably falls to the ground in disarray. The pattern repeats itself, reaching higher after a handful of failed attempts, but no matter how much it tries, the cycle never ends. What used to tell us about flying and freedom in the skies, has morphed into an almost sinister musical incarnation of a tornado, and there is no way out of this trap. What do you think it must feel like to mindlessly flap your wings against wind currents so strong and violent, that it is impossible to get anywhere nearby, let alone take off every time you lose your balance. Or every time you’re shot down. On top of that, trying to aim and fight back in whatever short breaks and opportunities you get, at an enemy that’s much more powerful and relentless, who’s using your own element as a weapon to destroy you… it’s a risk Revali surely had to take in order to put up a fight. Even knowing full well that the odds were not in his favour, that he was most likely going to lose this battle, that he was going to die. Let that sink in. I’ll skip the activation of the second terminal, since there’s barely any change registered in the theme in general. So-

Three terminals activated.

I know this post is supposed to be a breakdown of the song purely, but that doesn’t mean there’s no place for a little theorising, and the following scrutiny is also quite relevant for our discussion. Bear with me for a bit. I’ve read almost everywhere about people’s most common interpretations on the Divine Beasts SOS signals, and how everyone thinks that Revali’s coming in last (a few seconds later than the other champions) has to do with him holding on for longer. Or, also, overconfident as he was, it means that the idea of calling out for additional support didn’t cross his mind until it was too late, and that’s why the beeping sounds more frantic and panicked than the others’ when it does appear. After giving it some thought myself, I’m betting on the latter option holding more ground, and that’s not all. I want to touch upon a detail of the piece that I never acknowledged was there until very recently(after seeing myself obliged to listen to this song fully and a handful of times, suffering every minute of it for the sole purpose of this analysis. It’s okay I didn’t need my heart anyway). Soon after activating the third terminal, the SOS signal disappears, or grows distant and faint enough that we can’t make it out from the background anymore. In its place, we’re confronted by this… shrill, piercing and painfully slow tune. It sounds synthetic, artificial, devoid of life. And it’s funny, because you know what it reminds me of? I’ll tell you:

A heartbeat flatline sound.

And I want to highlight that this doesn’t happen in any of the other Divine Beasts themes. All their SOS signals carry on, but Medoh’s is no more. This abrupt stop, followed by this bone-chilling tune…. makes me believe that Revali was the first of the champions to fall. A few days ago I came across SuperZeldaGirl’s video on a similar topic, theorising that this could very much be the case. There is not much evidence to support this claim other than some visual cues that could be suggesting to it, but after I found this in the soundtrack, and if we’re to rely on it for anything, I believe Revali was either the first champion to be ambushed by Ganon, or well…. the first to be killed. It is plausible, because short after Calamity Ganon unleashes his power, Revali parts from the group and flies directly to Vah Medoh, and he very well could’ve been the first pilot to arrive.

On this note…. we’ll have to wait and see for ourselves, when Age of Calamity provides long-awaited answers to many of our questions.

Four terminals activated.

An interesting melody is being played on what, for me, would qualify as a glockenspiel or a celesta, which are keyboard based instruments that produce a sound similar to that of a music box(***). If you want to pay more attention to it, I suggest listening to Vetrom’s Instrumental Mix Cover of the theme, where they practically zoom in on this part of the song (keep in mind that it uses the All Terminals’ time signature so it’s being played faster). For some reason, this particular addition makes me feel profound empathy. The sound of this instrument could be described as cute or childlike, magical, even. It is more often than not used to represent innocence, but I highly doubt that’s specifically the intention here. Much like the leading strings’ melody, the melodic contour of this one is trapped in a loop of going up and down constantly, but the difference is that this time around it sounds more under control. And much more uniform too. It doesn’t lose focus or takes risky, fruitless leaps, but rather chooses to stay on a path of waves that consistently rises and falls without taking detours. Like a determined battle strategy, giving it your all. You fall, but get back up again, and try again, and again. It reminds me of Revali’s approach to training, being persistent to the point of overworking himself. He had discipline nailed down to a tee, which I also think served him well in combat. It’s not just about being hard on yourself, either, but being confident and having complete faith in your abilities; believing that you’ll make it. For this to appear now, that the SOS signal is almost completely gone, is significant because it means that by this point, being so close to success on Link’s behalf, the music is sparing genuine encouragement for once, in spite of the tragic outcome of the past and the danger of the current situation. But, in all honesty, this is probably just me reading too much into it. Perhaps the composer just thought this addition sounded pretty bitching and there’s not much else to it, which is completely fine. Although, intentional or not, sometimes coincidences do happen, and at the end of the day, interpretations like this are a form of appreciation for an artist’s work and for what they can unknowingly accomplish.

All terminals activated.

This is the moment when the song finally lightens up. Notice how the strings abandon the wave pattern for a more even contour. The beat quickens, the melody stabilizes. At first I thought, coming from our flight analogy, that this meant a cease in movement entirely, and it was partly one of the reasons why the song in general makes me anxious. But thinking about it now, …there is something different going on here. The strings are playing on a steady rhythm. It resembles a march, it’s like a pounding heart. It’s a lively, hopeful statement. And what’s interesting is that, up until this point, there was so much fear and helplessness present in the score, even going as far as to reach a dead end when we activate the third terminal. But that’s it, isn’t it? the music just keeps going further.

It’s saying: this isn’t over yet. Even after complete and utter defeat, there’s still hope and an underlying wish to overcome this predicament, and we started to hear this as soon as a fourth terminal is activated. The melody we previously talked about? it’s here as well, and its beat is much more daring and confident.

And I just want to say… this is so powerful. Because this sentiment is deeply tied to the game’s story and Revali’s character arc. You see, he is introduced as someone who resents Link for being the manifestation of his failure, in a way, because Revali has trained arduously his whole life to be where he is, to be recognised. And yet… this hylian gets chosen by a magic sword and some tale of divine destiny and, apparently, that’s all it takes for him to be deemed the hero that will save the land. In Revali’s eyes, Link has done nothing to prove his worth before him, so it is easy to see why he despises the silent knight so much; he is yet another individual that was born into their destiny. Meanwhile, Revali has had to build his reputation from the ground up, earning him a place among the greatest warriors of Hyrule, and even then he finds himself surrounded by people who grew up praised for being born gifted. We can see how Revali is the odd one out, and can map out the reason for him acting so antagonistic towards Link.

But once we’re on Medoh, things start to change. When Link enters the Divine Beast, Revali greets him with disdain, as per usual. Of course, Link has no recollection of whatever happened a hundred years ago, other than a small glimpse of the rito champion talking down to him, a memory that came and went in a flash. So as Link, we more than expect Revali to act cold and mocking, which he does. He provides us with as little help as needed in order to free Medoh, reluctantly, shielding his wounded pride over having to wait for Link, of all people, to come to their rescue. But you can hear him starting to open up bit by bit(I wish I could translate his dialogue directly from Japanese but I’ll make do with a couple of dubs and other numerous sources from translators online). With each little step Link takes towards success, activating the terminals, the perception Revali has of him shifts from one of resentment to one of genuine admiration and respect. By the end of it all, he is willing to not only cheer on Link during the boss battle, but to trust him with his life’s worth achievement. And once left alone, he admits defeat and lets go of his bitterness, realising that he was wrong to underestimate Link, and later wishes he could’ve had a chance to measured up to him. To take all of this into consideration and work with it in the soundtrack I think it’s genuinely splendid. And for once, I am grateful that it ends in somewhat of a positive note that puts my soul to rest. I still have a hard time listening to the first two thirds of the entire thing, but now I can look forward to a hopeful and earnestly heartening conclusion for all the pain that this composition puts me in. I must admit that it’s beautifully and brilliantly crafted, and that I am enamoured of it regardless.

That is why I wrote roughly 4k words about it! I hate myself!

If you’re as crazy as me about the soundtrack of this game, I recommend you read the published cd interview with the composers themselves! if you haven’t already. I just found it yesterday(unbelievable but it’s true) and… after writing all of this and checking it out, I felt validated. It sure is a one of a kind feeling.

Alright folks, we’ve made it to the end. Congratulations for sticking around and thanks being interested in my nonsensical rambling!

I also hope that you, like me, will now be unable to listen to bowed strings without being reminded of Revali. Good luck!

————– Annotations/Sidenotes/Whatever

(*)The Flight Motif(in point number 2) is also present in this track. We can hear it in the background right after the Rito leitmotif, as per usual. It starts with a clarinet, I think, before the strings take the lead. (**) Note that the Flight Motif only comes into play in the Breath of The Wild rendition of the song. (***)I strongly associate this instrument with Mipha, given that it is used in her theme, in every “response” to the initial melody. It can be heard in Attack On Vah Ruta, as well, it enters the scene when the notes Mi(E) and Fa(F) are played. The initial tune, Si and Do(B and C) are played on a clarinet or oboe, wind instruments just like the flute that leads Sidon’s respective theme. The celesta can also be heard inside Vah Ruta, activating the first terminal…. when the song really takes a turn just like Medoh’s. Mipha has nothing to do with the song of this analysis, however. We must understand that instruments, although they are attached to characters/various story elements in some cases, can always be used outside of that context, for that is the nature of an orchestral soundtrack. If you have this many tools at your disposal, you will make good use of them.

#Revali #Vah Medoh #botw #loz #aoc

257 notes · View notes

noctis-noctua · 3 years ago

Text

I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today?

“Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

“Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

“I was planning on coming by later this evening. Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic.

“I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage.

Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside.

He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother.

It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you.

In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you.

The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you.

Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere.

“To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

“Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside.

“Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy.

“We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago.

“Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to.

“Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay.

“Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber.

“Deal!”

“Deal.”

They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

“So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

“Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke.

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

#kaeya x you #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin impact x reader #genshin #noctis-noctua

42 notes · View notes

lairofsentinel · 4 years ago

Note

Ok since Mystra came back in 1487, and the game is about 1494, would that mean she immediately went after Gale? Like she was dead until 1487 so... if gale was 20 or younger, 18 when that happened he would be early 30s? I just want to know companions ages...

Ok, this is a long, LONG answer. I've been thinking about this like a month ago, when I was working on my fic. I will show you the different hypotheses I work with, their cons and pros.

A warning: all this is my personal headcanon and my personal opinion, it doesn't mean it's the “truth”.

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access, Spoilers]

I think you are using some dates a little different or the sources I'm using are wrong.

What we know as canon:

From wiki:

Mystra returned to the Forgotten Realms in 1479 DR. A vestige of Mystra had survived her death in 1385 DR, and was guiding her Chosen to aid in her renewal.

From Forgotten Realm wiki:

In 1479 DR Elminster and Storm restored the Simbul's sanity by feeding her a Blueflame item. After her mind was restored, she charged both Elminster and Manshoon to work to gather all the Blueflame items together, possibly to restore Mystra

Conclusion: Mystra returned in 1479 DR

Another bit of canon: Baldur's Gate 3 takes place in 1492

From Forgotten Realm wiki:

The game takes place as of 1492 DR, and is defined as the "current year", as is stated in a tollhouse ledger. The ledger can be found under the Order of the Gauntlet's makeshift base.

This is one of the “canon” inconsistencies that enrages me, since the game shows it takes place after “the descend to Avernus”, which happens in 1494. Therefore, Larian saying this is placed in 1492 when featuring the ending of the descend to avernus in it, only puts us in a situation with a strong problem in its coherence. I'm just ignoring this by now until Larian corrects themselves. Or they say something on the matter. So far, I will stick with what the game and its wiki show. UPDATE: Apparently the one with problems in their date is Descend to Avernus, according wiki:

Canon material provides two distinct dates for the events described in Baldur's Gate: Descent into Avernus: the adventure itself, described in chapters 1 through 5, takes place in 1494 DR, according to events mentioned in pages 7 and 47, while the Baldur's Gate Gazetteer describes the city as of 1492 DR (p. 159).

Conclusion: BG3 happens in 1492 DR

Now we are going to proceed to the hypotheses:

Hypothesis one: Gale is around 40 years old.

Reasons: This is my personal headcanon. By the way his face wrinkles, I have the feeling he is closer to his early/middle 40 than his middle 30s. Those crow-feet speak volumes to me. It's true that wrinkles depend a lot of the type of skin you have, your nutrition, your health, your level of stress, and your genetic. There are people who has deep wrinkles in their 20 or a baby-face in their 50s. But statistically speaking, using the average concept of how population gets wrinkles over the years, I'm inclined to think he is in his 40.

If BG3 happens in 1492 DR, and he is 40 y/o, this means he was born in 1452 DR.

Mystra returned from death after 1479, when Gale was 27 years old. This means that Gale's involvement with Mystra happened when he was 27 y/o or older [nothing says that the affair had to happen in that same year, right there after she came back... it could have happened several years later]

Pros: This theory fits a lot more the wrinkles we see with Gale's current age, in my opinion.

Cons: 27 y/o is not “a young man” age in the sense Gale explained during his scene. Also from a design point of view, and considering the amount of stress and fear that Gale has been living during his last decade [at least], he should be displaying some grey hair as well. First grey hair tends to appear [once again, all this is pure statistical observations in the white population] around their 35's. And it's also well known that constant stress tends to accelerate them, so more evidence against this concept: if he is around 40 y/o and lives stressed as fuck as he has explained, he should be displaying a good amount of grey hair. Maybe we'll see them in a future patch? Maybe not. Only Larian knows.

Hypothesis two: Gale is around 35 [30] years old.

Reasons: This headcanon implies that Gale has more wrinkles than the average of people in such age. But then again, we can't assume this is a rule set on stone. As I said before, skin and genetics depend a lot in the way we age. This age sounds adequate for not displaying grey hair yet, but then again, he is under a lot of stress. It would be expected to have premature grey hair under such conditions.

If BG3 happens in 1492 DR, and he is 35 [30] y/o, this means he was born in 1457 [1462] DR.

Mystra returned from death after 1479, when Gale was 22 [17] years old. This means that Gale's involvement with Mystra happened when he was, at least, 22 [17] y/o or older.

Pros: This theory fits a little less in the amount of wrinkles we see with Gale's current age in my opinion. It justifies a bit better the lack of grey hair, even though I prefer the idea that, no matter his age, after the orb event, his stress is constant and that should cause premature grey hair. But this is personal taste.

Cons: 22 [17] y/o is certainly “a young man” age in the sense Gale explained during his scene. I know 17 y/o may sound weird, but we can assume two things: 1) Mystra gave a shit about it [she is a goddess, she cares little for mortal details] or 2) Mystra waited a time before whispering in Gale's ears. Pick the one you prefer. In both cases, 17 and 22, fit perfectly the concept that he was too naïve and young to see the true weight of his involvement with Mystra.

Hypothesis three: Gale is ancient. As a wizard, he can extend his life with magic, artefacts, and potions.

Reasons: This headcanon implies that Gale has lived the Spellplague, and his affair with Mystra happened before 1385 DR and before her death. It could have happened at any age.

In this scenario, since he would be under some magical effect of longevity, we can't even guess his current age, and his few wrinkles [for an ancient man] and lack of grey hair would be justified by such magical effects as well.

Pro: This theory fits well with whatever inconsistency in his design that could suggest or not certain age in Gale's apperance.

Cons: We are completely lost in the timeline, and we cannot make any decent estimation

I personally do not support this theory because 2 reasons:

When Gale narrates the story of “the little silly wizard”, he explicitly says “not so long ago” when he explained his affair with Mystra. On the other hand, when he explains Karsus' folly, he explicitly says “Long, long time ago”. It's evident in my opinion that he perceives the times of Mystra's death as something that happened too long ago, while placing his own youth in a more recent time frame.

If Gale were ancient, he would speak of the Spellplague time in a more dramatic way. Since Magic and Weave are so important in his life, that historical event should have scarred his mind deeply.

Final conclusion

I personally like the idea of Gale being around his 40. It's true it doesn't fit well when he describes himself as a “young man” during his affair with Mystra, but I think his current design fits more to a man in his early 40. If you read my DOS2 metas, you will also know that Larian is well-known to overlook details of this nature or simply ignore their own lore, so incoherence is something I always expect from them, especially when we do analysis with this freak level of detail.

Gale being 35 y/o or younger is also valid since it's an hypothesis that fits much better the concept of “young man”, though he looks a lot more aged than he should be. One could assume this premature ageing is caused by the stress of the Netherese infection in his chest, but in that case it should be fairer to add to his wrinkles a stronger presence of grey hair.

I don't support at all the theory of Gale being ancient.

#gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #Baldur's Gate 3

102 notes · View notes

tamoria · 4 years ago

Photo

Tamore Chapter One, part one. “Not like this.” Tadg states through gritted teeth, jaw clenched and eyes piercing. He is growing frustrated with their disagreements. I know this expression well. It is the same as the face he wore often during our first 10 years - stubborn and difficult as I was. I see it less now, I’ve learnt when to push and when to placate him. “The battle of Cill Rogha only resulted in gales, this is more and we must face it. He will let them bicker back and forth a while. I keep myself aside from the raucous conversation, the three other draoi speaking over one another, each sure they themselves are the observant and clear minded amongst fools.

Muireann turns away from The other two men, Cathasach and Eogan and speaks to Tadg, “It is possible the fields have shifted, as they did in Damhin once before.” Immediately Cathasach rebuts her, he has been a loyal follower of Tadg’s for many years, truthful and honest with his voice. “Muireann, think a moment. The fields take many cycles to move any noticeable distance. We ourselves have shifting fields constantly but never have they caused this.” Eogan, who trains under Muireann, speaks loud and fumbling in her defense, leading the conversation back into chaos as insults start being thrown. Muireann is much younger than Tadg and believes herself sharper of mind for it. She revels in the idea of him being batty with old age and thus no longer suitable as the high druid - she would be a much better leader for our people, of course. She thinks this mainly because she is the batty one. She wears her dark hair wild and unbraided, like a storm cloud floating around her head. She has only one tunic, coloured yellow with bright dandelion dye, always ripped and mended. Even during Beltane, when we gather in droves to make our pilgrimages to the wells amongst the hills. All of us in our pure whites, billowing in the wind - there she is, in her yellow tunic with her hair as wild as the mountains. Her young apprentice, Eoghan has suffered under her teaching, leaving him years behind in his training. I do not envy him, it will be a long time before he can take a title. It matters little to him, he still looks and acts like a boy, so eager and taken up with being one of the great sorcerers that he has not yet realised he never will be. He agrees with everything she said, as I might have expected. “Muireann is right, in Damhin the storms battered villages as far as half a day’s walking. It was months before they regained control and learnt the new field.” Eoghan speaks quickly, determined to make his voice count. He truly believes what he is saying is worth listening to. Muireann nods along, only encouraging him Muireann speaks again, continuing on from his point, “The fields have shifted and Feada losing control of the breeze merely tipped the scales. It is unlucky for her but easily avoidable for the more capable among us.” She shoots a pointed look at me and I stare back, teeth gritted to stop myself putting her in her place. She must be further from sanity than I had thought if she considers herself more ‘capable’ than I. The hours she spends breathing in the fumes over her putrid health potions must be going to her head. Tadg has been warning of this for many cycles and they know he is right but refuse to acknowledge it for fear of what will happen next. I know him, I trust his judgement and I have spent my training preparing for this very situation. There will be a reckoning and I will be called to lead, there is an evil lurking in the new sect and they want to see the old ways - the people in this room, destroyed. I will force them across the sea, back to where they came from by my own hand if no one else will stand. They have displeased the Mother Goddess and they have displeased me. Tadg stands and clears his throat, the group suddenly silent. “You will listen.” he says, his voice quiet and firm, he knows they will listen. “The new sect has landed on our shores as I saw they would. They travel by tall boat from far across the Grey Sea. They bring magic as dark as the night and a vow to destroy our ways.” There is a distinct murmuring from Muireann’s corner accompanied by a shuffle of discomfort. Tadg continues regardless. “They do not follow Danu or her children and strive only for her blood, the storms that draw waves hard onto our shores and batter our villages are the Mother Goddess fighting back. Denying them a place on our land. Across our island our ancestors are fighting, but they can no longer walk amongst us so we must stand for them, we must raise our hands and our voices to these savages lest they trample us into the dirt. We will bring down the wrath from above, the arrows from our bows and the strength of our voices. We will make them flee. They will turn, tails between their legs and scamper back to their boats. We will uphold our values and be merciful as they run like scared field mice.” The quiet whispers, fidgeting and overall disrespect for Tadg’s leadership has faded somewhat. They are unsure still but they respect him and know he is set on a course. “Feada will lead as she has been trained to. Eoghan will accompany her.” Muireann looks up in shock. “The rest of us will stay at our posts, we need strength and consistency here at home, our people cannot fear for us. I have spoken, it is so.” ———————————————————————————————————– I walk through the village, smiling brightly at anyone who passes me. The farmers are making their way in from the fields, aching and looking forward to hot meals, their horses and donkeys just as tired. Their wives and mothers squatting low beside fires, making simple stews, enriched with the warmth and comfort the men need.. There are occasional traders from Corlea passing through with fine new tools and knick knacks. The trees above me sway with the sound of my heartbeat and footsteps, whispering my name in triumph. The long grass yields to me, bent at the knee. The river cheers me on as it gushes past. There have been days like this before - where belonging breathes in me and I can see ahead. Today I am a leader, I can bring peace and balance in my own name. I do not stand behind powerful men. The sky is bright blue, the clouds respectfully avoiding coming too close to the sun and blocking her. All around I can see my land bow before me. I come to the small hut, bright and warm from the central fire, I shut the door quickly to keep the heat in and make my way to a free log space near the fire. “Feada!” A familiar voice shouts from behind me, I turn to see Bridget. She motions her daughter, Saoirse to the cooking pot she has been attending and walks to me, smiling warmly as she starts chattering away. “How was your day, love? I heard a rumour of a meeting of the drui, true?” Bridget is my mother’s eldest sister, she is head of our home and likes to know all of our goings on. I nod in answer to her question, “Yes, we gathered today. I am to meet with the king. Tadg requested I take a trip to the near villages, I’ll be gone till the new moon, maybe longer.” She looks concerned and checks over her shoulder for anyone standing too near or looking particularly interested in our conversation. Her voice drops down, still a regular speaking volume but quiet relative to before. “The near villages? As far as Cullahill then?” These are homely people, they do not long for violence the way some do. Rather, many of them, Bridget included, fear it. Our clan has always been a peaceful one, We have rarely been the ones to light the torch fire. “There has been no word of fighting - do not fret. I have been sent to help rebuild after the storms, to discover if they need any additional aid from the king, that is all” She looks at me closely, suspicious that I am withholding something, and displeased she will not know the whole truth. I say, “You’re getting paranoid in your old age.” Mostly to change the subject, take her mind of the seemingly impending doom. She observes me a minute longer, eyes narrowed slightly, my words not shaking her resolve. Then she seems to consciously put it aside and with a small shrug she breaks into a smile. “Let’s get you sorted then. You can hardly stand before the king as you are!” She chuckles and I follow her to my small section of the hut, my bed and chest lined up against the wall, my half-staff leaning where I left it - they all know touching it could cost them a broken nose if I found out. I open the dark chest at the base of my small bed, a gift from my mother when she learned I was to be Tadg’s student. She had smiled so sweetly, a hand on my cheek, “Soon you will know the forests better than I.” She had said, a small sadness in her voice, the weight of a pebble sitting between us. I smooth my hands along it, feeling the familiar knots and corners of it. It has more corners than most chests. The heavy lid creaks as I lift it and I think once again that I should get some fat to quieten it. Bridget echoes my thoughts aloud, “your box is squeaking, love, I’ll gather you some fat after we eat. I know your mother would be tutting” I chuckle and thank her as I reach in, pushing everyday tunics aside to find my ceremony wear that sits at the bottom. I need to look my best tonight. I need the high king’s approval and he leads more with his eyes than his head. I pull my long whites out, turning to Bridget for her approval. “Pass them here,” she says, hand outstretched. She looks them over, checking seems.The long white robes drip from her arms, they are heavy and at times impractical but they have always been soft against my skin. The light from the fire dances over them. Eventually she decides they’ll do, or maybe she just knows that I don’t have anything else. ———————————————————————————————————– A guard pushes the tall wooden door open and I walk through, feeling as though I am floating .. Dropping into a low curtsy before the king, I smile broadly; I am where I should be and I will be listened to. There are only a few people in the room and as I rise he waves all but his closest counsel, Uallas, out of the room. I stand confident, straight-backed. . The young king greets me, “Good Evening Feada.” “Good Evening,” I say, my chin high It has not been long since he took the throne from his father. The battle at Clontarin had left him one-eyed. An unfit man is an unfit king so the honour was passed to his son, Daire. “I have read the letter sent by Tadg mac Nuadat. Do you have anything of your own to add?” He is revered as a kind and fair king, and though young, he makes sound choices. Much unlike his father before him. “I do. As you know I have spent much of my training preparing for the very situation we now find ourselves facing. I am not afraid of them, I know what is to be done and will not hesitate to stand before them. I am the thing they must fear.” His eyes move from my face and slowly down my body, taking me in, sizing me up. They dart quickly back to my face. With a small smile and a nod he says, “You need not try to convince me Feada. My name and my men are behind you in your endeavours.” I breathe deeply and thank him, relieved I did not have to fight for his approval. “You are right,” he continues, “this is necessary. I have my conditions though Feada, we will be cautious, visit Fourcuil and Reen first to collect information. We will keep this from our people, you will travel with three trained soldiers of your choosing as well as your fellow druid. No one else may know the breadth of our endeavors. We cannot allow word to get to them before we do. Once you have visited the villages you will return and report directly to me before you venture further.” He looks at me, right at me, with eyebrows raised. I lower my head slowly, head bent as I say, “Yes, I understand. I thank you again, humbly.” His face has softened when I sneak a glance. “That is all then.” He says, turning back to his fire. “Uallas, see Feada out.” ———————————————————————————————————– I dress quickly, practical and warm today rather than the frivolities of yesterday. My brown bratt, though older and much more worn than it’s red russet sibling, it is also thick and much warmer. It lies better across my shoulders, probably given I am rarely seen without it. It will serve me well today, the wind starting to rattle at the door. The training fields stretch out over a few hundred paces around the king’s buildings. Flat and well drained they are used for training year round with pauses for festival weeks. They are kept free of livestock and as much as possible - from too much mud or flooding. It’s well known that Daire enjoys watching training from the high windows. Today there is a double line of men and women, hands at their sides, awaiting instruction. They are all kinds, young, old, tall and wide. I walk slowly along, taking them in. I will spend the majority of the day watching them and try to decide on three by evening meal. I dismiss them with a hand wave, watching them disperse to archery targets, swords and horses. Their master, Fiachra, stands with me adding small comments, pointing out the particularly talented and most importantly - keeping notes for me. He knows each of their skills and weaknesses and will prove indispensable. It doesn’t rain solidly all day, mercifully there are breaks every once in a while to allow some hope to return. The men perform well despite, they are well used to training in downpours and blizzards. I, however, do not fare as well and find myself cold to the bone after the first hour. Stand outs were two young men, brothers, who worked much better together than they did apart. They play off one another, fluid in their movement and confident; laughing as they shoot their arrows and touch swords. The third warrior catches my eye for a different reason. She was tall and slim, her hair pulled out of her face and plaited down her back. She is studied and purposeful, carefully planning the smallest movement of her fingers on the bow string. She is unaware of me watching her, unlike most of the others that look over their shoulder to check I am paying attention before they attempt anything vaguely impressive. She is even more utterly unaware of what I am thinking as I do. I wonder what it would take for me to distract her, to make her eyes divert from their target. Small kisses along her neck perhaps? A whisper of my breath in her ear? How much to make her strong bow arm weak? I pretend. For the next few hours, to be uncertain about who to choose. I hum and haw, asking Fiachra questions I know the answer to. Eventually I ‘settle’ on my three choices.

#writing #writer #writing fantasy #writers on tumblr #writeblr #new writer #writing advice #my writing #tamore

9 notes · View notes

inkberrry · 4 years ago

Text

Confidence Takes All

Vehnrix had a way with people, one that drew them in, eased their worries, cloaked them in a feeling of peace and importance. It was hard not to be attracted to. Gale certainly was, and the more he learned about the tiefling the stronger his feelings became.

More about Vehn and Gale, read below or on ao3. Spoilers for a lot of act one of bg3

It had been a simple flick of the wrist, a barely hidden palming of one coin and the flipping of another. The tiefling child was practiced, but no expert. Even Gale noticed the switch, and he had zero doubt Vehnrix did, too. Still, after a little back and forth between the two tieflings, Vehnrix bought a handful of items from the child. Gale sensed no magic coming off of any of them, but Vehnrix paid whatever steep priced was asked.

That had been two days ago. Yesterday Vehnrix risked falling prey to a pack of harpies to save a lured child. Gale had aided, of course, as had the others, but it had been Vehnrix scrambling up the cliffside as soon as he heard the song. His voice had rung out over the music and the waves, yelling for Shadowheart to get the child away. From there the battle went on, but each time Gale spared a glance at Vehnrix his eyes were darting back to the ground to make sure the young tiefling was still safe.

There was the girl, too. Gale had never seen Vehnrix angry before that. If he didn’t have such a good head on his shoulders Gale would have believed the things people said about tieflings after seeing Vehnrix’s eyes flash, his tail whip out, claws digging into his palm to control the rage.

“She’s a child,” he had said, facing the druid woman who watched him, steady and cold. Gale thought they would have to fight the entire Grove then, as soon as Vehnrix spoke next.

But they hadn’t. The girl ran off, safe and sound. The druid wasn’t happy, he could tell that much, but Vehnrix managed to contain his anger and diffuse the situation. Once again no bloodshed, and a child back where they belonged.

And now here they were in some large cavern underground. Vehnrix was off in the middle of it, surrounded by a gaggle of young tieflings. Gale couldn’t make out what they were talking about, but every so often there were peals of laughter, or gasps of amazement. Vehnrix’s laughter was the loudest, echoing off the stone walls and the pools of water below them.

“If you stand with your mouth hanging open any longer I’m afraid you’ll forget how to shut it, and that would be a great disservice to us all.”

Gale jerked back, caught off guard by Astarion, who had managed to come up behind him. Damned rogues, he thought. Was there no privacy to watch someone from a distance with them around?

“Astarion,” he said in greeting, turning away from the group of tieflings. He gave the elf a slight smile while idly running his thumb along the wood of his staff. “Is something I’m doing bothering you?”

“Do you think you’re being subtle?” Astarion snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Please. I can almost taste the desire you have locked in that body of yours.”

“An odd turn of phrase,” he said, raising an eyebrow and deflecting the comment as best he could.

“Do us all a favor and let it out, would you?” Astarion continued, ignoring Gale’s observation. He tilted his head and looked over at Vehnrix, who was now showing the children one of the many daggers he kept hidden on his person. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand watching the two of you flirt. It’s exhausting not stepping in and charming him away from you.”

At this Gale smiled fully. So Vehnrix had caught more attention than just Gale’s. He wasn’t surprised. Vehnrix had a way with people, one that drew them in, eased their worries, cloaked them in a feeling of peace and importance. It was hard not to be attracted to.

“Are you so certain you could?” he asked, confident in the time he’d spent with Vehnrix. Much more than Astarion had, he was sure of that. It wasn’t the elf’s bedroll that nudged closer and closer to Vehnrix’s every night.

“Oh darling,” Astarion replied, voice dripping with his own confidence. “Of course I could.”

Astarion didn’t wait for a reply before walking away and leaving Gale on his own again. Letting the elf have the last word was fine by him; he wasn’t one to rise to his bait and taunting. Besides, by now the tiefling children had run off and Vehnrix was alone in the center of the cavern. There were better things to do than stand and stew over the things Astarion had brought up.

When Gale reached Vehnrix he was sliding a dagger into his boot, tucking it back into the leather strap that kept it in place. He looked up and meet Gale’s eyes, his own glowing orange in the somewhat dim cavern. A smile instantly plastered over his face, momentarily stopping Gale’s heart.

He cleared his throat to snap his body back into action, then spread his hand out to motion towards the gaggle of tieflings now grouped together by the pools of water nearby.

“These children have known you less than three days and already they adore you.”

“If only it were so easy with adults.” Vehnrix laughed and gave Gale a playful wink. He finished strapping his weapon in and stretched his legs out, then pat the ground next to him for Gale to join before continuing. “They’ve just been through a lot. They could use a little support, and some fun wouldn’t hurt either.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gale said as he sat in the dust and rock. He looked over the tieflings and watched them dig and splash around in the water for moment. “Children should be out there enjoying their lives, not worrying whether the next time they step outside they’ll be faced with a pack of goblins or bitten by a snake.”

Vehnrix looked out to the children, too. Or maybe past them. His eyes seemed far away, like they were seeing some distant spot on the horizon, or through a thick fog of time and memory. He spoke without looking back, his lips moving slowly and hesitantly, sharing a part of him he perhaps hadn’t expected to speak of.

“I grew up a lot like this, actually. Me and my dad on the road, sometimes alone, sometimes with other tieflings. It’s rough. Always being hungry and exhausted. Scared. You try and make the best of it, like these kids…” Vehnrix swallowed, his throat bobbing with a lump of emotion Gale could hear coat his words. “But you’re on guard all the time. It’s no way to grow up.”

Gale wanted to reach out to Vehnrix, to place his hand on his shoulder or his knee or lace their fingers together. He wanted to comfort him in some way, to ease whatever pain the memories brought with them. He lifted his hand, an action harder now than it had been in the past.

“I’m going to help them.” Vehnrix’s voice gave him pause, and Gale lowered his hand back to his side. Vehnrix didn’t need comfort; he needed support in his choice. “This tadpole can wait, I don’t care what the others say.”

“Then I’m going to help them too,” Gale said with a firm nod of his head. Vehnrix turned back to him then, and the soft smile on his face only reinforced his decision. “We may have to fend off Lae’zel trying to murder us for wasting time, but we’ll make sure these little devils are safe.”

Vehnrix reacted in the fluid, easy way he had, his hand grasping Gale’s and squeezing it tight before he could even register the movement. “Thank you, Gale.”

The only answer Gale could give was a returned smile. It wasn’t solely Vehnrix’s determination to help the tieflings that swayed him. He didn’t want to see them suffer either. Any of them, the children and adults alike. Their other companions may be more willing to move on and pursue their own ends, but Gale felt a tug to help these people. He was relieved Vehnrix was of the same mind.

They sat a moment without speaking, the babble of the tieflings echoing faintly off the cavern walls. Vehnrix didn’t take his hand away, and Gale was content to let him hold it. His skin was warm — warmer than any humans Gale had felt. It radiated a comfortable heat that spread up his arm and settled in his chest.

After a while he nudged Vehnrix’s shoulder with his own.

“So, let’s hear it. What had the kids fawning over you?”

“I wouldn’t call it fawning,” Vehnrix said with a chuckle. “I was showing Mattis a few tricks I’ve picked up on. He’s way better than I was at his age. Probably best to watch your pockets with that one.”

There was a distinct hint of awe in Vehnrix’s voice. He turned fully to Gale and gestured with his hands, pointing out another tiefling child by the water. “Oh, and Mirkon? That’s the boy that was by the harpies — he wrote a story about it. I’m going to keep it so when he’s older and writing books I can gloat about it.”

Gale couldn’t help but grin at the excited way Vehnrix went on about the kids. It was strikingly clear he cared a great deal about them already.

“A wise choice,” he said. “I’d like to read it sometime. I assume you’re painted as the brave, handsome hero of the story?”

“Handsome?” Vehnrix’s grip on Gale’s hand tightened as he raised his eyebrows. “You can read it tonight, if you want. You know where I’ll be.”

“Yes, I think I do,” Gale said, and was bold enough to rub his thumb along the back of Vehnrix’s hand. He tilted his head and glanced quickly at where Astarion had wandered off to after their previous conversation. Yes, Gale thought, he was confident he had little competition for Vehnrix’s affection. “You’ll be slightly closer to me than last night, and the night before?”

“That’s right,” Vehnrix confirmed with an answering grin. “You know, we could —“

“Vehn!” One of the young tiefling’s voice carried through the cavern, interrupting their conversation. Vehnrix broke eye contact and looked over to where they were gathered. “Come here and see what Doni found!”

Gale kept his sights on Vehnrix, and when he turned back he gave him a curious look.

“Vehn?”

“A lot of people call me Vehn.” He shrugged, then seemed to think before his expression transformed into something dangerously alluring. “Are you jealous?”

It took Gale a moment to remember how to breathe. The cavern felt suddenly much too warm, and Vehnrix much closer than Gale remembered from just a second before. The heat of his palm was nearly searing now, but disappeared almost as soon as he noticed the change, as Vehnrix slipped his hand away.

“Not at all,” Gale answered, and shook his head in what he hoped looked like disappointment. “Not very creative, though. I can do better than that.”

“Oh yeah?” Vehnrix stood and stepped around him, as if to walk to the tieflings. He paused at Gale’s side and leaned in, carefully moving a lock of hair away his ear. He could feel Vehnrix’s lips when he spoke next, moving against the feverish heat of his skin. “Do your best, babe.”

Gale opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The heat from his hand spread up and across his face, leaving his cheeks blush stained in a way he couldn’t remember them ever being before. Vehnrix just laughed and waved as he walked away, his tail flicking from side to side behind him.

#gale of waterdeep #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg gale #oc: vehnrix #my writing

7 notes · View notes