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cambion-companion · 1 year ago

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Glimpses (Baldur's Gate 3 x reader)

A collection of x reader snapshots as follows: Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale and Raphael. Part II will have more!

"Careful darling, I bite."

"I don't think most people know what you fully mean by saying that, Astarion." You whispered to the Elven vampire spawn as you made your way to the tavern table, flickering firelight making the bustling atmosphere cozy and warm. "It's hardly an appropriate disclaimer."

Astarion's red eyes flicked over to you, a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. "You sound jealous, my love. Don't be, my fangs are all yours."

"I'm thrilled." You deadpanned, your gaze drifting back to the barmaid Astarion had definitely been flirting with. "Do you chat up everyone or were you just trying to get discounted ale?"

"You are jealous!" Astarion chuckled and you squeaked slightly as he pulled you by the waist to sit next to him. "Now, don't go off in a huff." He leaned in and you smelled his familiar scent of cloves and iron. "

"I'm not going anywhere." Your familiar words caused Astarion to still, his hands softening their teasing grip on your hips.

"Darling..." Astarion murmured. He hesitated and then you felt his soft lips touch your neck, no scrape of his fangs against your skin this time. He buried his nose in your hair, and you heard him inhale deeply.

"Like what you smell?" You teased gently.

"Mmm." Astarion murmured, kissing your neck once more before moved his face away again. "Like wine and death."

Moonlight filtered silver through the latticework windows, turning the stained glass to broken shards of ice against the starry sky. You heard footsteps approaching you, soft upon the deep carpet of the hallway. You turned, your breath catching in your throat as you saw Shadowheart walking to you dressed in a gown that seemed to be made of the shadows themselves, hugging her every curve.

"You look beautiful." You said, the words leaving your lips feeling like they did no justice to how your heart was skipping.

Shadowheart looked uncomfortable, pulling at the edges of the fabric that draped so elegantly over her hips. "I can't remember when I last wore something so impractical." Her green eyes met yours. "But thank you for your sweet candor."

You closed the distance between the two of you and touched her hands, coaxing them away from where she was tugging at the dark dress and pulling her into you. You pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed your nose against hers, feeling her body begin to relax at the familiar affection.

"We must make our required appearance at this gathering, and then we can slip away." You promised, your hand ghosting up the side of Shadowheart's neck until your fingers tangled in her long thick hair. "Get into something more comfortable."

"Can we indeed?" Her voice lilted, always an edge of playful teasing to her words. "I suppose it'll do."

You pulled her in by the nape of her neck and kissed her plush lips, dragging a small groan from the woman you'd grown to love deeper than the shades of Night Orchid blossoms.

"Now let's go show Faerun how lucky I am to have you at my side."

"She is the most darling little thing I have every laid eyes on." You spoke fervently, but kept your voice soft as you looked down at the winged cat sleeping in your lap.

Gale approached quietly, his smile fond as he looked at the two beings he treasured most in the world. "She's quite taken with you."

"And I with her." You looked up at him and smiled, it was always such a pleasure to hear his voice and share his company.

Gale crouched down beside where you sat with Tara, his hand reached forward and stroked the Tressym's feathers gently and scratched her sleeping head. Tara yawned widely, showing off her sharp white teeth before she tucked her head beneath a wing and went back to sleep.

You pouted a Gale as he continued showering affection his sleeping friend. Gale caught your eye and chuckled. "I'll pet you too, if you ask nicely."

You snorted but your expression softened when you felt Gale tuck his fingers beneath your chin and tilt your face back up to his. He leaned forward and placed a loving kiss on your cheek. He moved his lips to press against the top of your head and lingered there for a moment. "You'll never know how grateful I am for you." His voice was as gentle as Mystra's weave, it carried notes of magic and the promise of safety. "

"I love you too, Gale."

You grumbled in frustration as yet another wooden match broke in your fumbling fingers. "Gods above..." You muttered, yanking another from the box to try again.

"Not quite." A familiar voice said, and you turned to see a well-dressed noble with dark hair and eyes. He gave you a devious smile and clicked his fingers.

A spark of fire, the smell of sulphur, and your campfire burst into flames that quickly took purchase on the sodden logs and warmed your face pleasantly.

"Ah." You grimaced, fighting down the feeling of elation at seeing your favorite cambion. "Raphael...thanks for that."

"You're most welcome." Raphael said dryly as he approached you, glancing over your bedraggled figure. "Did my mouse get caught in the rain?"

You rolled your eyes, smirking at the familiar needling banter between the two of you began. "What does that make you? The cat, making sure its meal is warm and dry?" You grinned at him as he stepped even closer, pushing into your personal space. "A guardian devil as it were."

You felt his hands dig into your waist, the sharpness of his claws growing more apparent as Raphael slowly dropped his human guise. "You should know better by now." He rolled his shoulders, stretching his wings to their full extent, the flames of your campfire dancing wildly in the gust of wind the motion created. Your hand slid up between his shoulder blades, the heady scent of musk and cherries filled your nostrils as you felt his teeth on your neck. The devil's voice sent a vibration to your heart. "The fox, rather...luring you in inch by inch until you belong to me."

#baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #gale x reader #shadowheart x reader #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #astarion #shadowheart #gale bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #fluff

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takemetomyfragiledreams · 2 months ago

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just another fic in my wip folder about kid!Tim and ghost!Jason:

Tim doesn’t get a chance to visit Robin’s grave until well after the funeral. He’s been waiting anxiously for the press to lose interest in the tragedy that is Jason Todd’s death, made popular only because of the man that adopted him. From what Tim knows of him, Jason would hate it, but Jason isn’t around anymore to call the press out on their behavior.

It’s been raining a lot since the announcement. Gotham is always downcast; always inflated with heavy clouds and thick smog, but it’s been worse lately. The streets are constantly slick with rain, to the point where flood warnings have been going off on the television for weeks. It’s as if Gotham herself is in mourning for the bird that was grounded too soon.

The graveyard grounds are thick with mud. With grim determination, Tim trudges through each sucking step. It’s hard work that leaves him panting under his raincoat. The earth itself is begging him to turn back but he’s far too stubborn for that.

It’s dark which is why Tim thinks he’s alone at first. The flowers left on Jason’s grave are bedraggled from the storm. Tim’s seen pictures of the angel built into the stone but it’s different being so close. The gloom makes it seem taller, more severe. Rain drips down from its praying palms, washing away some of the mud creeping up the bottom of the grave.

Tim rocks back on his heels as he takes it all in, suddenly unsure of what to do. He’s never been to a funeral before. He’s got no first hand experience with how these things go. There is only the constriction of his lungs, like a vice slowly closing in on his ribs, and the tears he’s cried since he realized the announcement wasn’t just a cover.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he isn’t sure what it is he’s apologizing for. For thinking Robin above death? He saw the Flying Grayson’s fall, he should know better by now that no matter how magical a person seems, they’re always going to be left shattered across the ground.

He blinks water from his eyelashes; is it rain or tears? Tim doesn’t know. He places his bouquet of flowers amongst all the rest. White orchids and blue forget-me-nots. You are always loved. You are never forgotten.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

He sniffles, sure that he’s crying now, and wipes a hand across his face. “Robin,” he whispers, like the secret it is.

There’s a wet sucking sound from the other side of the grave; Tim freezes in place. For a moment there’s nothing but the pitter patter of rain, and then comes something like a sob. He approaches the side of the grave hesitantly to peer around the back. There’s a small body back there, curled up on itself and splattered in mud.

Tim gasps and quickly rounds the grave. “Are you okay?”

There’s no reply.

He bends down next to the body. They’re shaking harshly; a flash of lightning shows that some of the patches of mud look darker, almost like blood. Tim hurries to pull his raincoat off to wrap around the stranger.

“Come on,” he says, shivering as the rain begins to soak through his clothes. “I’ll help you, okay? You just have to walk.”

There’s no reply but when he stands the stranger stands too. He takes their arm to lead them back the way he came, steps even more determined than before. It’s a task to fit two bodies on his bike but he hardly notices a weight difference. He squints through the rain on his way home, using all his concentration to ensure they don’t crash. His teeth are chattering by the time they arrive at Drake Manor so he can only imagine how cold his guest must be.

“This is my house,” he explains, as he lets them in. He’s tracking mud across the floor but he’ll have to deal with it later. “Come on, I’ll take you to the bathroom so you can shower. You can wear my clothes.”

Tim starts the shower for them when they say nothing. He makes sure it’s nice and warm before forcing himself away. “It’s ready. Use whatever you want, I’ll leave you clothes by the door.”

Again, there’s no answer.

He hurries through his own shower in the guest bathroom, mind racing with thoughts of what he needs. They’ll need hot food. Blankets, too. What if the stranger is in shock and that’s why they’re silent? He nearly works himself into a tizzy over the possibility and rushes back to his room.

The shower is still going so he waits. And waits. And waits.

“Hello?” He finally calls. The door creaks open as he peeks in. The room is thick with steam; he squints at the shape of his raincoat on the floor and looks further in to the shower. “Do you need help?”

There’s no reply. Tim steps forward hesitantly; he knocks on the glass door before pushing it open a crack. There’s no one there.

Here’s what Tim knows: there are only one set of footprints on the wooden floor. His bike didn’t feel like it had another person’s body weight on it when he rode home. He doesn’t remember ever touching skin or feeling any warmth from the stranger. They never spoke.

Hallucination? Maybe. But Tim didn’t move the bottles in the shower and he didn’t put his raincoat on the floor. Something isn’t right and he’s going to get to the bottom of it.

Tim returns to the graveyard the next day. His nose is stuffed up and he’s got a cough from being in the rain for so long the day before, but he’s determined. Someone was at Jason Todd’s grave last night, someone who was definitely a child like Tim. Robin would make sure they were safe; Robin would solve the mystery. So Tim can do nothing less.

The rain has washed away any traces of last night. The holes his feet left behind have been overtaken by puddles, which leaves him no way to look for a second set. He brings out the little hand held flashlight he brought along to search the gravesite. There’s no trace of anyone.

Tim rocks back on his heels with a frown. He thinks back over his actions the previous day; he didn’t bring flowers this time, if this is magical in nature does that have something to do with it? He said words too, though he doesn’t think they were all that magical. Either way, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Robin.”

He cracks an eye open and feels silly when there’s no change. “Maybe it was just a hallucination,” he mumbles. “Robin would know what to do.”

There’s a gasping sound from behind him. Tim whirls around to find a small figure bent double in the mud. He kneels beside them, hands hovering a few inches away from their skin.

#jaytim #jaytim fanfic #fic: what the raindrops couldn't touch #wip talk #my writing #this is not as depressing as it sounds or seems

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revasserium · 1 year ago

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Hi! It's me, I'm the problem Jazz again 🤣

Ikemen Prince ask for either Leon or Silvio with prompt number 88 please 🙏 ♥️

send me a number and a character :)

priceless (88. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.)

silvio; 1,374 words, fluff and... fluff LOL this is only tangentially inspired by the prompt u__u whoops

01.

when you break his heart the first time, he doesn’t really know it’s real. he presses the lips of a dozen priceless wine bottles to his mouth and imagines every one to be yours — he drinks until the world is spinning, the way it spun when he asked you to dance for the very first time.

he gets drunk on the sound of your remembered laughter.

he makes a mess of the sheets, of his silk-lined robes, of all the richest furs in the corners of his closet — he falls asleep wishing that this were all but a dream.

he wakes up and has to deal with the realization that it is not all just a dream and that for the first time in his life, this isn’t something he can buy his way out of because what is the price of heartbreak? the tag on the pieces of a shattered wish — he screams into every single pillow he owns and falls asleep at noon.

02.

the second time you break his heart, he catches your arm before you can leave.

“what d’you want?” he asks, desperate and imploring, with a shudder in his voice that he’s never truly heard there before but —

you shake your head.

“i — i don’t want anything from you.”

he feels his fingers slip from around your wrist as you purse your lips and stumble back half a step. but that’s all he needs. he’s needlessly reminded of a story he’s heard a long, long time ago — about a genie and a girl who accidentally summons him. about the genie who asked the girl what she wished for and she told him she didn’t. the genie stayed with that girl for years and years and years, and in the beginning, whenever she asked him to do anything, he’d ask if that was her wish but she’d shake her head no. she’d tell him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to.

and yet somehow, he always found that he wanted to.

silvio wonders what he really wants, and the answer comes — clear and quiet as a winter stream —

he wants… you.

03.

the third time, he thinks he can get used to this.

04.

the fourth time, he’s ready for it —

“no,” you say, shaking your head, frowning at something he’s demanded of you.

“alright then,” he says, shrugging.

you blink, watching him as he turns away. watching him as he takes three steps away from you before you reach for him, tugging him back by the sleeve.

“what — that’s it? you’re… not gonna force me?”

he chuckles, “what’s the point if you’re just gonna snark at me? and anyway — i’ve got proper maids for this kind of stuff.”

“fine then,” you say, petulant, your voice sharp in a way that makes his lips twitch.

he grins, cocking his head as he watches the color wash up into your cheeks.

“fine,” he parrots back, his own voice painfully sweet and just as smug. he revels in the way your eyes flash, the way your fingers curl into fists at your side as he turns away.

so it really does take two to tango.

05.

“y’know, a million girls would kill to be in your place right now.”

“then why aren’t they?”

“hm? why aren’t they what?”

“why aren’t they here, in my place?”

silvio licks his lips, tasting salt and heat and the midnight air.

“cause… i didn’t really take to any of ‘em.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“and you just so happened to take… to me. why?”

silvio shrugs, “you’re beautiful.”

“bullshit — there are plenty of girls out there prettier than me.”

“prettier, yeah. but more beautiful? no.”

your breath catches in your chest — hook, line, and sinker. you feel the tug in the base of your belly, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“w-what? that… that doesn’t make any sense.”

silvio only laughs, casting his eyes back out at the florid lushness of his palace gardens, teaming with the world’s rarest flowers — the night blooming cereus, the elusive ghost orchids, the fire lilies, and his prized juliet rose bushes. he leans over the thick railing to tug one from it’s bed of thorns, pressing it to his nose and taking a deep breath.

“it took my best gardener 12 years to cultivate one o’ these,” he says, twirling the peach-colored flower between his fingers.

“wow,” you say, eyeing the small, unassuming bloom, “that’s… a long time.”

“yeah, sure. but the gardener was rewarded pretty damn well for his work.”

at this, you heave another sigh, leaning up against the stone banisters.

“and i’m sure that’s the only reason he worked as hard as he did, right?”

silvio traces a finger along the edge of a velvet petal, admiring the fractal-like formation of the flower’s center.

“yeah… i’m sure it is.”

06.

the sixth time you reject him, he almost laughs out loud. it really is fun pushing all your buttons after all.

07.

the seventh time, he curls his lips around the shape of your name and dares to ask why.

you tell him, “because… it’d be nice of you to ask instead of demand for a change.”

he shivers at the gentleness of your tone, at the feather-soft of your confession, the pink that kisses your cheeks like the rosy-fingered dawn.

“but… if i ask, there’s a chance you’re gonna say no.”

you laugh and roll your eyes, “i say no anyways.”

“so why bother askin’ when i know what your answer’s gonna be?”

“because… sometimes, if you give someone the choice to stay or to go — they’ll surprise you.”

08.

“can… can y’just… stay? please?”

“...okay.”

09.

“when’d you learn how to say please?”

you twist to face him in the silver light of an encroaching dawn.

silvio groans as he buries his face in the silken pillows, his hair a hallo of lingering moonlight.

“dunno — shuttup… it’s too damn early.”

you allow yourself a smile and snuggle in before drifting back off to sleep.

10.

“kiss me.”

silvio smirks, cocking his head, “no.”

you narrow your eyes, frowning even as he chuckles, his fingers tight around your waist as the pair of you spin in ever and ever faster circles to music only the two of you can hear.

“why not?”

“cause…” he bites back, laving his tongue luxuriously across the expanse of his bottom lip before tugging it between his teeth, “y’didn’t ask nicely.”

you fight down the urge to push him away but his grip on you is tight and true, strong and steady and… so very nearly sweet.

“fuck off.”

he grins a foxhole grin and you feel yourself sinking into it’s depths, deeper and deeper as he spins you beneath his arm and dips you low, low, low.

“nope — pretty sure y’didn’t ask there either. and… that ain’t proper language for a lady, now is it?”

you roll your eyes as he pulls you back up and the dance begins again.

“fine,” you bite out, sparing him a half-hearted glare, “can i please have a kiss?” you ground out the words, even as the heat crests up your chest and bubbles over into your cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of your ears.

“hm… now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

he leans in and you let your eyes flutter shut.

when he breaks the kiss, he is smiling.

“kiss me again,” he says.

you smirk, “what happened to asking nicely?”

“hn. don’t feel like it — too much trou—”

but you cut him off with another kiss, and briefly, silvio considers the merits of tugging away if only to tease you about the impropriety of interrupting a prince’s speech before he’s finished. and then the next moment, he decides that, really, he prefers just kissing you instead.

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ardenrabbit · 1 year ago

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quietly presses my face against the window

your fic is really beautiful and very fun to read. i am not normally a fanfic person but this one i would recommend to anyone and everyone who knows tgcf (and i will)

Thank you so much!!! I'm so happy you're enjoying it :D There are so many good tgcf fics out there! I'd encourage exploring them! Here are some of my favorites: we're after the same rainbow's end by @naamah-beherit - Modern AU where Hua Cheng helps get Xie Lian out of an arranged marriage. Really sweet look into their mutual support and admiration. Beautiful inner voice with Xie Lian's POV. This is a really great "Xie Lian learns to set healthy boundaries in his life" story. Complete

Fluid Dynamics of a Fish Out of Water by Antaresia - AU where Xie Lian is a dragon, as in, carp-turned-dragon-turned-human. Really fun incorporation of Chinese dragon mythology. Aligns pretty closely with canon with most of the background, but diverges. Ongoing

Digging for Orchids by @bettsfic - Modern AU where Xie Lian is a fallen star actor suffering from an old injury and Hua Cheng is a hot art student who becomes his very helpful roommate. Really fun twist on Hua Cheng's hero worship. Also, Hua Cheng speaks eight different languages and I'm obsessed with him about it. Complete

a glimpse of light by @parsnipit - Post-canon de-aging fic where Feng Xin, Mu Qing, and Hua Cheng fight over how to best raise/protect tiny Xie Lian. Mainly Feng Xin POV, which is hilarious and amazingly well done. Really REALLY great exploration of Hua Cheng's insecurities in how worthy he is of Xie Lian. Like. I love this one ok. I reread it every few months. Complete

Lips That Would Kiss by Boomchick - Canon divergence at the very end of the story. Hua Cheng becomes a ghost fire and Xie Lian has to navigate his days and take care of both of them, waiting for Hua Cheng to recover his strength. Incredibly sweet and heart-wrenching. Angst with a happy ending. Complete

#clintbeefwoods #tgcf #fic rec

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tlbodine · 2 years ago

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NEVEREST Now Available for Pre-Order

A woman’s search for her missing husband’s body on Mount Everest sends her into the grip of ancient forces that don’t want her to leave in NEVEREST, out April 25 from Ghost Orchid Press.

Ally Wilkes, author of All the White Spaces, called it, “An intense psychological study of obsession, jealousy, and hubris, set on the body-strewn slopes of Everest [...] Perfect for fans of Amy McCulloch's Breathless, or Sarah Lotz's The White Road.”

“NEVEREST weaves a deft, intoxicating spell of grief, intrigue, adventure, and the ghosts of our pasts. Beautifully paced and haunting in all the best ways, by the end of the journey I felt almost as breathless as a doomed climber. Bodine spins a talented and imminently enjoyable tale—settle in for winter horror at its best,” said Laurel Hightower, author of Below.

NEVEREST is available immediately for pre-order:

Publisher Website

Amazon

Goodreads

Review copies are available - if you're a bookblr or reviewer, hit me up and I'll get you an ARC.

#cover reveal #writeblr #horror #my writing #bookblr

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dexterity8 · 3 days ago

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Worthmore

6 - Triplicity

The low chime of the final bell echoed through the stone corridor, signaling the end of the day's lessons. It reverberated faintly in April's chest as she secured the lid on her cauldron and gave the emerald concotion inside one last glance. Success still felt somewhat foreign, but the warm satisfaction that lingered in her veins reminded her that perhaps she was starting to find her rhythm.

Ominis set down his stirring rod with a soft clink, his pale fingers brushing the rim of his cauldron as if to double-check its position before stepping back. "Ready?" he asked, his tone more statement than question.

Sebastian, already gathering his supplies, gave an exaggerated stretch. "Been ready. Merlin, I deserve a break after over-performing all day." He slung his satchel over one shoulder and grinned, ever the picture of casual confidence.

Relief rippled through the castle like a collective exhale, students spilling out of classrooms with an air of liberation. April, Sebastian, and Ominis were no exception. They filed out of the Potions classroom together, weaving through the lingering crowd until the noise began to dissipate, replaced by the soft trickle of water from the grand fountain at the heart of Central Hall. The light that streamed in through the tall windows caught the droplets midair, casting ripples of silver along the worn flagstone floors.

Sebastian leaned casually against the fountain's edge, his satchel slung haphazardly over one shoulder, while Ominis stood with his hands clasped loosely in front of him, his expression unreadable as ever. April lingered beside them, her arms crossed, more out of habit than disinterest.

The steady trickle of water provided a momentary reprieve from the din of passing students. April hadn't expected to end her first day with these two, let alone enjoy it. Her morning had started out suffocating, the walls of the Ravenclaw tower pressing too close, too sterile. Yet now, she stood here, shoulder to shoulder with two Slytherins who had somehow made the day feel less like a gauntlet and more like—

"—Hogsmeade."

April blinked, snapping back to attention. "What?"

Sebastian leaned forward, his brown eyes bright with sudden enthusiasm. "We should go to Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" she repeated, her voice hitching just enough to betray her surprise. The idea of going to the village on her very first day, before she'd even had time to properly map out Hogwarts in her head, felt slightly reckless.

"Why not? Ominis needs supplies for that ridiculous plant he's trying to grow."

"Ghost orchids aren't ridiculous," Ominis interjected, though his voice lacked any real protest.

Sebastian waved him off, undeterred. "And I need a butterbeer. Or pepper imps. Or both. Merlin knows I deserve a treat after how stellar we were in Potions today. Come on, April, don't tell me you're just planning to sulk around the Ravenclaw common room all evening."

April hesitated, her weight shifting from one foot to the other. That had been the plan��retreat, regroup, keep her head down—but the thought of folding herself back into the solitary quiet of the Ravenclaw tower felt... dull now. Like stepping back into something she'd outgrown without realizing it.

"I don't know..." she said, feigning reluctance. "I was thinking about it, but..."

"But?" Sebastian prompted, leaning in.

"But it's not exactly the most thrilling option."

"Exactly!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly.

"But Hogsmeade's a bit of a walk, isn't it?" she pointed out, though her protest lacked real conviction.

Sebastian waved her off. "I'll carry you if your legs give out."

April shot him a withering look. "You'll do no such thing."

He smirked. "Your loss. I give excellent piggybacks."

Ominis stifled a laugh, shaking his head as if to distance himself from the ridiculousness. "Let's at least make sure we're back before dinner. Some of us like to eat on time."

"Noted," Sebastian said with a mock salute, though the gleam in his eye suggested he had no intention of sticking to that promise.

"It's not that late. We'll grab your herbology junk and then—Three Broomsticks, Honeydukes—maybe even Zonko's if we've got time."

"Fine," April said at last, though she made a show of groaning about it. "But only if you swear you're not dragging us halfway across the highlands for no reason."

Sebastian grinned. "I solemnly swear."

"Sounds cryptic," Ominis deadpanned.

"Sounds promising," Sebastian shot back, pushing off the fountain's edge. "Shall we, then?" he added, already heading for the castle doors.

Ominis fell in step beside April, his pace measured but certain. He had a habit of tilting his head slightly when he walked, as though listening for some unseen cue, but he followed their movements with remarkable ease. "You're sure about this?" he asked quietly.

April glanced at him and then at Sebastian's retreating figure. Sure? No. But something about the way her feet felt lighter and the air seemed less stifling told her it didn't matter.

"I think I am."

The late afternoon sun greeted the trio as they stepped out onto the grounds, warm despite the faint autumn chill that clung to the air. Leaves danced lazily on the breeze, their gold and amber hues catching the light. The path to Hogsmeade stretched out before them, winding through fields and hills that seemed to shimmer in the distance.

Sebastian led the way, talking animatedly about the different shops they'd pass and what sweets were worth their weight in galleons. April followed close behind, half-listening, half-taking in the scenery—the pinkish orange hues of light that bounced seamlessly off the black lake, the scattered trees that swayed in the fading afternoon light, and the faint sound of birdsong all around them.

They were nearly halfway there when they passed by a wooden bridge. It stretched out over a shallow stream, the planks weathered by time and moss. On the far side, a forest loomed. Dark. Dense. It seemed to shift as if breathing, the branches twisting overhead like silent sentinels.

April slowed, her gaze snagging on the crooked sign nailed to a post at the bridge's end:

"FORBIDDEN FOREST—DO NOT ENTER."

The words stood out starkly, carved deep into the wood. Below them, additional warnings had been scrawled in red paint—some fresh, some faded, all equally foreboding.

Sebastian noticed her lingering gaze. "That's the Forbidden Forest," he explained, his tone conspiratorial. "We're not supposed to go in, obviously. Dangerous creatures, dark magic, the works. And lately, there's been a spike in poacher activity."

April tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. "Poachers?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "My uncle says they're after all sorts of things—unicorns, phoenixes, whatever rare magical creatures they can get their hands on. Not that I'd recommend checking it out or anything," he added with a smirk. "Unless you're feeling particularly reckless."

April's lips quirked into a wry smile, but before she could say anything, Ominis cut in. "Let's keep moving," he said firmly, his voice cutting through their musings. "The forest isn't our destination, and I'd prefer not to linger."

Sebastian chuckled, clearly amused by how quickly Ominis had shut her down. "Relax. She's too scared to sneak in there anyway."

"Hey!" April protested.

"Am I wrong?"

She wanted to argue but stopped short, her gaze flickering back to the treeline. There was something about it—something primal and untamed that made her stomach twist. But there was also... intrigue.

"Come on," Ominis urged, stepping forward again. "The more we stall, the more likely we are to miss dinner. And at this rate, perhaps curfew as well."

"Yeah, yeah," Sebastian said, rolling his eyes but following anyway. "We'll make it back. Probably."

"Sebastian—"

"I promise!"

April smirked lightheartedly as she fell into step beside them again. Despite Ominis's obvious caution, there was a small, reckless part of her that lingered on the forest even as they walked away.

But for now, she let it go.

Hogsmeade came into view just as the sun began to dip lower, painting the rooftops in hues of copper and crimson. Smoke spiraled lazily from the chimneys, carrying the faint scent of roasted nuts and melting chocolate. April's earlier complaints faded with the sight, her steps unconsciously quickening. The village was alive with activity—students milling about, shopkeepers calling out deals, the clink of mugs and laughter spilling from the Three Broomsticks. It was a far cry from the imposing grandeur of the castle, and yet it still felt just as magical.

As they crossed the threshold into the village, April found herself smiling despite the ache in her calves. This wasn't what she'd envisioned for her first day at Hogwarts. It was better.

Sebastian stretched his arms dramatically, tilting his head back as if to drink in the atmosphere itself. "I mean, it's almost too perfect, isn't it?" He smirked, turning toward Ominis. "Wish you could see it, mate.

Ominis didn't even flinch. "Yes, thank you, Sebastian," he said dryly. "Do let me know if the cobblestones are particularly scenic."

April stifled a giggle, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Sebastian only grinned wider.

They lingered outside the first row of shops, pressed against windows fogged from the warmth inside. April found herself trailing her fingers along the glass, her eyes drawn to the displays of potion bottles and trinkets, stacks of colorful quills, and shelves lined with spellbooks. She didn't even realize how long they'd been standing there until Ominis cleared his throat pointedly.

"If we want to have time for any of this, I need to grab my supplies first," he said. "Dogweed & Deathcap is on the far end of the village. Let's not waste daylight."

Sebastian groaned but didn't argue, and April—despite being equally tempted to duck into the nearest shop—nodded in agreement. "Fine, but you're buying us all something sweet afterward," she said, nudging Ominis's arm lightly.

"I'll consider it," he replied, already starting toward the bridge that crossed the stream dividing the village.

The stone archway overlooked clear, running water, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple. April leaned over the edge as they crossed, briefly mesmerized, before Sebastian tugged her away by the sleeve.

"Come on, we're not stopping here," he said. "Unless you're planning to push Ominis in?"

"I heard that," Ominis called ahead, his tone flat.

April smirked but let Sebastian steer her along.

Dogweed and Deathcap stood on the edge of the village, perched on a little hill that overlooked the fields beyond. Its crooked roof sagged under the weight of climbing vines, and the windows were clouded with streaks of dirt and condensation. It looked more like a witch's cottage than an actual shop, which April supposed was part of the charm.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and dried herbs. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with glass jars and potted plants—some of which twitched when they walked by.

"Fertilizer," Ominis said simply when the shopkeeper asked what he needed, his voice soft but certain.

The transaction was quick—almost disappointingly so—and before April even had a chance to fully browse, they were already stepping back outside.

"Well," Sebastian said, brushing stray bits of dirt off his sleeve, "that was thrilling."

Ominis ignored him, tucking the small packet of fertilizer into his robes. "We're done. Now we can discuss where to go next."

They regrouped in the center of Hogsmeade, where the plaza bustled with people weaving between food carts and shop entrances.

"Tea," Ominis said immediately. "I've heard Steepley and Sons has the best scones you'll ever taste."

"Honeydukes," Sebastian countered. "I need to see if those pepper imps are actually as hot as people claim, or if everyone's just dramatic."

April rolled her eyes. "You mean you think you can handle them and want an audience to prove it."

"And?”

Ignoring him, April turned her attention to the inn a little ways back from where they'd come from, its timbered frame glowing warmly through its tall windows. "I want butterbeer," she said. "Proper butterbeer. Not the bottled stuff my mum makes at home.”

Sebastian's brows rose. "You've had butterbeer before?"

"Of course I have."

"Then you should let the rest of us catch up before you go guzzling another."

April huffed. "I didn't say I'd guzzle it—"

"We're getting off track," Ominis interrupted, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. "Clearly, we're not going to agree, so let's settle it properly."

Sebastian perked up instantly. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

April raised a brow. "You really think that's fair when Ominis can't see what we're doing?"

"I can hear the rustle of your robes, you know," Ominis said flatly. "I'm not helpless."

Sebastian grinned, already holding out his fist. "Come on, let's make it quick."

April went first, facing off against Sebastian with a determined look. They counted together—"One, two, three—" before both throwing down their choices.

Sebastian scowled at April's paper against his rock. "You cheated."

"Don't be a sore loser."

"Fine, but you'll lose to Ominis anyway."

April turned to him next, feeling confident—too confident, apparently, because Ominis calmly played rock while her scissors fell to ruin.

"What?!" April gawked, her eyes wide as saucers. "How did you—?!"

"Lucky guess," Ominis said, entirely deadpan. "Let's go."

Sebastian burst out laughing. "Told you."

April crossed her arms but didn't protest. Not really. She'd get her butterbeer eventually—and Sebastian would probably cry over those pepper imps later anyway.

Sebastian clapped Ominis on the back as they started toward Steepley and Sons. April trailed after them, still grumbling under her breath about blind luck.

The little bell above the door chimed as they stepped into Steepley and Sons. The shop was small but charmingly so—quaint, in the way a dollhouse might feel. The walls were painted soft shades of pink and mint green, bordered by delicate white trim that curled like ivy. Shelves of porcelain teapots and dainty cups lined the far wall, their intricate floral patterns glinting faintly in the afternoon light. Round tables draped in lace cloths dotted the space, each one adorned with a tiny vase of fresh flowers that added a splash of color to the already bright room. The air was rich with the scent of freshly brewed tea and baked goods, and the quiet murmur of conversation made the space feel alive but not overwhelming.

April couldn't help but smile. The place was so... fancy. But not in a stiff, unapproachable way. It felt warm—homey, even. Like a space meant for lingering.

"Blimey," Sebastian muttered, glancing around as he ran a finger along one of the lace-edged tablecloths. "This place is... pink."

Ominis smirked. "You sound scared."

Sebastian scoffed. "I'm not scared. It's just—" He gestured vaguely. "Too delicate. I feel like I'm going to break something just by looking at it wrong."

"Then maybe try not to look at anything," Ominis replied dryly, leading the way to a table near the window.

"Yes, because you're obviously an expert," Sebastian shot back lightheartedly.

April bit back a snort as they settled into their seats, the sunlight spilling through the glass warming their faces. She looked around, taking it all in. "It's lovely," she said softly, running a hand over the edge of the table.

Before long, an older witch appeared to take their orders. She had kind eyes and a warm smile, her apron dusted with flour and her wand tucked into a pocket.

"What can I get for you, dears?" she asked, glancing between them.

Ominis ordered first, his tone polite but businesslike. "A lemon scone and a cup of black tea, please."

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his expression as casual as ever. "Chocolate scone. Chamomile tea. Thanks."

When it was April's turn, she smiled up at the witch. "A blueberry scone and mint tea, please."

"Lovely choices," the witch said, scribbling on her notepad. She glanced at Ominis, who was already reaching for something in his robes. "That'll be three galleons."

"I've got this," he said, pulling a handful of coins from his pocket and extending his hand out for her to take.

After tucking the coins into her apron pocket, she flashed the group a smile and nodded. "I'll have those out shortly.”

The witch then bustled off to the kitchen, and Sebastian turned his attention back to Ominis. "You're paying?"

Ominis shrugged. "You did say I'd have to buy you both something sweet after my errand. This seems fair."

"Well, thanks, mate," Sebastian said with a grin. "I'd say you're too generous, but something tells me you've got plenty of galleons to spare."

Ominis tilted his head, an almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. "You could say that."

April watched the exchange, curiosity flickering across her face. "Do you really? Come from money, I mean?"

"My family's... well-off," Ominis admitted carefully, his tone neutral. "Though that's hardly worth envying."

Sebastian blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Alright, Mr. Moneybags. How rich are you, exactly?"

Ominis folded his arms against his chest uncaringly. "Like I said, I'm well-established."

"Well-established,'" Sebastian repeated, scoffing. "You mean rich. You can just say rich, you know. It's not illegal."

April chuckled, but before the teasing could spiral, Sebastian turned to her.

"What about you? You mentioned you're from London back in Charms, right?"

The question caught her off guard. She shifted in her seat, fingers fiddling with a stray lock of her hair.

"Oh. Um—" She cleared her throat, steadying herself. "Yeah—just off Whitehall, near the Ministry."

Sebastian leaned forward. "Wait—near the Ministry? Don't tell me your parents work there."

"My mum does," April admitted. "She's the head of the Department of Mysteries."

Sebastian's eyes widened. "No way. The Department of Mysteries? And you're calling Ominis rich? You might as well own half of Diagon Alley with a job like that."

April laughed, shaking her head. "It's not like that."

"Sure it's not," Sebastian said, leaning back with a grin. "Here I am, slumming it with two rich kids. Should've worn my best robes today."

April rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered—until Sebastian's next question.

"What about your dad?"

It struck like ice against her ribs. April's smile faltered, and she dropped her gaze to the table.

"Oh." She fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth. "It's just been me and Mum for as long as I can remember. I don't—" Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. "I don't really know anything about him."

It wasn't a lie. It was just the most concise way to say it without pulling loose threads she didn't want to unravel. She'd finally started to forget him after seething over the topic all morning, but it just wasn't something she could brush off that easily, could she? Even with the words spoken, the weight of them hung in the air like smoke.

Sebastian, to his credit, noticed. He leaned back, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine."

"No, I get it." His voice softened. "Both my parents died when I was younger. I mean, I don't even remember much about them. My uncle Solomon takes care of me now." He paused. "He's...not exactly winning any awards, though."

April looked up at him, sympathy softening her features. "I'm sorry."

"Eh." Sebastian shrugged, brushing it off as if he hadn't just shared something deeply personal. "Could be worse."

They both glanced at Ominis then, as if expecting him to add something. Sensing their gazes on him, he hesitated, drumming his fingers lightly against the table before speaking.

"Well," he said slowly. "Looks like I'm the odd one out. My parents are still alive. Both of them."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "What, and they don't throw extravagant parties in your honor?"

"Not quite," Ominis replied, lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Let's just say 'distant' doesn't quite cover it." He paused, his fingers brushing the edge of his teacup as if gathering his thoughts. "Having a family doesn't mean much when it doesn't feel like you have one at all."

He didn't elaborate, but April caught the tension in his voice. It was subtle—buried beneath the usual composure—but it was there.

For a moment, none of them spoke. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn't light either. It was something in between—a thread of understanding that wove through the three of them, tying them closer than they'd expected to be.

And then, as if summoned by fate, the witch returned with their food, balancing a tray that smelled like heaven.

Sebastian immediately broke the silence, eyeing his chocolate scone like it was the last meal he'd ever have.

"Finally," he said, already reaching for it. "I thought I was going to starve."

The tension cracked, giving way to laughter as April shook her head and reached for her tea.

"Try not to choke," she said dryly.

"No promises."

Sebastian, unsurprisingly, dug in first, tearing into his scone with an enthusiasm that made April laugh despite herself.

"Well?" Ominis asked, lifting his cup. "Is the scone everything you dreamed it'd be?"

Sebastian took another massive bite before replying. "Even better."

April shook her head, grinning as she reached for her own scone. The moment wasn't perfect—not entirely.

But maybe it didn't need to be.

#hogwarts legacy #harry potter #writers #my writing #writing #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #ravenclaw #slytherclaw #slytherin #Spotify

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starcunin · 3 months ago

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@faebhaal | cont’d from here.

Astarion can’t help but be captivated, his crimson eyes drinking in every detail of the scene before him: Ithaca’s lips slick with blood, the rich, intoxicating scent of iron filling the air between them. Her orchid-toned skin gleams with the viscera of the unfortunate soul now lying limp and forgotten on the cobblestones.

She is feral, unbound, and he marvels at it. At her.

He’s drawn closer as if by instinct, his fingers reaching out with a deliberate slowness, brushing against the scarlet smear staining her lips. The warmth of it lingers on his skin, and he brings those same fingers to his own mouth, savoring the taste like a connoisseur with fine wine. It’s sweet—sweeter than he remembers, more than it has any right to be. He smirks, a dangerous curve of his lips, and his voice drops to a purr as he leans in, the words sliding between them like velvet.

❛ You’re too good to me, �� he murmurs, each word laced with a seductive tease, but the affection beneath it is unmistakable. The distance between their bodies vanishes, his cool breath mingling with hers. He dips forward, not quite kissing her yet, but instead running his tongue over the slick surface of her mouth, savoring the mingled flavors of blood. It’s a reverent sort of worship, as if she’s become his personal altar to devotion and desire. It all feels less tainted now—now that he’s truly free—now that he knows she won’t become another one of Cazador’s meals or endless spawn.

But even as he revels in the taste of her, he catches the flicker in her eyes, that faraway glaze that tells him she’s not truly present. Not yet. It’s the Urge—her hunger made manifest, an all-too-familiar companion to his own. A memory of his own leash tightens in the back of his mind, a phantom echo of what he once was: trapped and ravenous, ever at the mercy of darker needs. A shudder ghosts along his spine, a mix of fear and excitement as he realizes how close he is to her when she’s like this—wild and untamed, a storm in human ( or faerie ) form.

Her hands rise, slowly, deliberately, winding around his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch. He opens his arms to her. He feels her press into him, and his tension melts away. He embraces her, opening himself to the closeness, the warmth of her body against his. It’s almost instinctive now, his need to feel her heartbeat against his own still chest.

She kisses him then, her mouth hot and stained, and he falls into it without hesitation, a soft, desperate sound escaping against her lips. It’s a sound he would have been mortified to make before, a sound that betrays how deeply he wants this, how much he wants her. He drinks in the taste like a man starved, letting his tongue slip past her lips to seek more, to claim whatever she’s willing to give. Blood coats his tongue, rich and metallic, and slightly sweet. And then, almost as quickly as she’d offered it, she pulls away, her breath ghosting against his mouth as she murmurs an apology. The word barely registers—he hears the hollow note beneath it, the lack of any true contrition. But oh, he finds that lack delightful. His lips curve into a slow smile, blood still painting the sharp lines of his mouth. He holds her gaze, the desire in his eyes softening into something almost tender as his thumb traces the edge of her jaw.

❛ Don’t be, ❜ he breathes, his voice like silk and shadow, teasing, affectionate. ❛ You know how I like it when you’re naughty. ❜ He leans in, pressing another kiss to her lips, this one softer, lingering. His free hand winds through the rose-petal waves of her hair, the strands slipping like silk between his fingers. For a moment, he lets himself bask in the closeness, in the strange, exhilarating intimacy that only she can offer him.

But practicality soon rears its head, tugging him back to the present, to the reality of where they are—standing over a corpse in the middle of the city, the night yet young but far too exposed. He pulls back slightly, just enough to murmur against her mouth, the edge of a smirk still curling his lips. ❛ But we should probably get out of here before someone finds us making out and bloodied over a corpse. ❜

#just yappin away again #i truly can’t help myself #faebhaal #ic. replies.#v. act iii. post cazador. spawn astarion.#also these two are just…#a mess lolol #i love them

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dorywhynot · 5 months ago

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"King Amron V & Orsiana" Watercolor on Paper, 2024.

I had the absolute pleasure of working with author Jelena Dunato and Ghost Orchid Press, painting characters from "Dark Woods, Deep Water". This is one of three postcard prints included in a book box with special hardback editions of Dark Woods, Deep Water, and the new novella "Ghost Apparent".

Check out the book box here!

#dark woods deep water #ghost apparent #jelena dunato #ghost orchid press #watercolor #watercolour #aquarelle #painting #illustration #fantasy #book box

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yellowmagicalgirl · 1 year ago

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Ghost White Orchids

Thora receives a potted orchid. Time will tell whether or not she had overreacted.

@pirate-melody just wanted to wish you lots of love today and in years beyond. I wrote a gift for you, and I hope you don’t mind me writing something set in the Shardrunners ‘verse. The fic takes place between Plenty of Time and Meant to Be.

AO3

Thora didn’t get gifts of flowers, not anymore. She didn’t receive gifts often in general, and they were always practical items like a new dagger. Thora’s birthday had been eight weeks ago, and a potted white orchid wasn’t something practical. And so, she had immediately expected the worst.

First, she had focused her mark to sense what magic laid within it. She was expecting a time-delayed spell intended to manifest a fireball that would kill her and everyone near her. That, or it was being used to scry on her. Someone wanted to learn her secrets. Maybe it was a lucky guess, since white orchids were a common enough flower, but they had already sent Thora her favorite flower. She wouldn’t allow herself to become more compromised.

Nothing.

There was nothing but a fading Risian enchantment, one intended to keep the flowers in a stasis. The magewright who had enchanted them must have done so very lightly, as to not hurt the orchids with the frost.

So there were no magical traps. That didn’t mean the flowers were safe. Carefully, Thora began to manipulate the pot. She gently traced the contours of the pot, trying to find a hidden button that if pressed would shoot out a poison needle. And then she saw the card. It had fallen between the decorative outer pot and the inner pot that actually held the orchid. Slowly Thora removed it from the pot, careful not to disturb the ghost white petals.

Thora felt herself relax as she read the name of the sender. Marianne was too flirtatious for her - and Thora’s - own good, but she wasn’t a threat. Despite the fact that it had to have been a lucky guess, but Thora still appreciated Marianne’s flower choice. She could have easily just gone for the most common option and gotten roses for Thora instead. Thora wrinkled her nose, remembering the disaster that had occurred the last time someone had given her a rose.

Thora flipped the card over to see if there was a message. There weren’t even any letters, just a semicolon followed by a closing parenthesis.

Thora groaned as she crushed the card in her hand. Another wink. So that was what this was. Another attempt to flirt. Thora probably would have preferred some badly written poetry on the card to a winking face. It was bad enough when she saw a winking face from the younger members of House Tarkanan, those just old enough to be sent on jobs and too young to understand that no, using emoticons was actually worse than not using any sort of encryption on the messages. And Lucien really thought it was a good idea to use House members Marianne’s age and even younger as foot soldiers against the Twelve, when they’d likely be even worse?

It was ironic, really. Marianne was competing for a mark, and yet if she gained an aberrant mark she might want to join the House. And if she joined the House, then Thora would have to make Marianne sit on the sidelines, not living up to the full potential that had allowed her to win, for at least a few years. That, or Thora would have to accept appearing as a hypocrite to the abandoned marked kids she and Fileon kept trying to wrangle. Some days, it felt like she was more of a babysitter than a crime boss.

Maybe she should insist on Lucien spending more time with the kids before he tried to encourage them to fight. Thora bit her lip. Lucian had been having a lot of concerning ideas, lately. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him around the kids, even to teach him a lesson. The very Trials that Thora had met Marianne through had been Lucian’s idea, at first. Thora still wasn’t too sure of the specifics of how he was going to help awaken aberrant marks, just had he had done so twice before. At the time Thora had agreed to the Trials, but now? Now it was too late to turn back, and yet Thora felt uneasy about the whole situation.

And not just because one of the competitors was a kid who kept flirting with her through winks and propositions.

Thora looked down at the orchids, feeling a slight sense of calm as she gazed down at them. They were beautiful, and it had been such a long time since anyone had given her flowers. She was going to keep them, but not so close to the front of the manor. She wanted them to be safe, kept away from the public areas of the House. Thora carried them up the stairs to her bedroom, gently placing the pot of ghost white orchids on the corner of the windowsill. Hopefully they would get enough sunlight there.

Author’s Notes

So... I wrote this before you revealed that the Trials would never result in gaining an aberrant mark and were only a trick to get others to do Thora’s dirty work. Um. This is an AU of your fic I guess? 😅 Mainly because I wanted to add a sense of caution to this fic re: Lucien's plans and to contrast them with Marianne's gift.

I acknowledge that it makes little sense for Eberron, whose tech level is roughly set in the 1920′s, to have emoticons which weren’t used until the internet chatrooms of the 1990′s. I thought it was funny for Marianne, and other young adults of Khorvaire, to use emoticons anyways.

The bit about Lucien wanting to use child soldiers comes from my campaign, specifically a plot point that will come about if my players decide to pursue a greater relationship with House Tarkanan than just me occasionally making their contact show up with a plot hook. Thora’s morals are a bit skewed, given that she’s the leader of a group of assassins, but she is heavily against the use of child soldiers. She doesn’t explain her reasoning well enough to the kids of House Tarkanan, though, which has led at least one of them (aka the party’s contact within House Tarkanan) to think that she doesn’t let them do anything cool (just pickpocketing and carrying messages). Meanwhile, the Son of Khyber is scheming to take over the House as part of his quest to exterminate the Twelve, and he’s willing to use the kids (who are desperate to prove their worth after having been abandoned by their families) for this.

#thora tavin d'tarkanan #eberron #my writing #pirate-melody #i hope this isn't in poor taste since it's a currently unrequited relationship #fun fact: for the past week this fic has been called Thorchid and it wasn't until i was looking up shades of white that i figured out a #better title for this lol

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