#growing up hungry

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Almond Milk

-

Sometimes I don't know what's actually me.

I'm sure that's confusing,

So hear me out, if you have the time.

I believe we are made of wires

And memories.

Pathways to which we learn lessons.

For example,

If you speak too loudly and are shushed,

The wire bends within you.

You learn to speak softer.

I'm not sure, I suppose,

If I really like almond milk,

Or if you taught me that there were good foods

And that there were bad.

I'm not sure if blending almonds with water really does taste better,

Or if the wire within me tangled into a ball

To fill my stomach instead.

I trusted you to teach me young,

Yet I have memories of us,

Counting every damn almond in the house.

Strange how I have no memories of us

Actually eating one.

x

..

..

..@nosebleedclub April 17th- Almond Milk

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

AHHHHHHH ur latest movieverse charles is so precious,,, i want to pinch his cheeks and stretch them like mochi

squihshy..

[bloodydeanwinchester]

god the number of things they wrote for dean on spn that were just meant to be silly funny moments but then actually when you think critically about them they actually point to the deep childhood trauma he’s dealing with. like how did they write something so layered and meaningful by mistake like that???

[royaltea000]

[jttw oc] cursed to be an obligate carnivore, ate his entire family one particularly bad winter

[fromtheseventhhell]

"Sansa = Ned 2.0 and Arya = Catelyn 2.0" is one of those takes where you can just tell people are more attached to the aesthetic than anything. "The Stark girls are most like the parent they look least like" sounds good on paper and people run with the idea, regardless of how it actually fits into the story. A majority of the justification relies on misinterpreting all of their characters + a healthy dose of fanon. What gets me is that this is the same fandom that insists that Lyanna, only compared to Arya in the text, is equal parts Arya and Sansa but Ned and Catelyn, two fully fleshed-out and complex characters, have to be more like one girl or the other? There's just nothing in the story to justify being so adamant about these comparisons. Arya and Sansa have parallels with both of their parents but at the end of the day, they are unique characters with their own stories. I'll never understand why people want to flatten these complex characters down to their most basic tropes and fit them into restrictive boxes just for a "poetical~" comparison.

[fluffybellyhog99]

Sitting in front of the House door enjoying some fresh air

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

Astarion x Tav

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

request: for @aristenfromwarsaw

Fangtastic days of our lives

➹summary: a comforting day/evening in the life of Astarion and his love Aristen after post-game settling down, takes an unexpected turn as Astarion while enjoying his new found life and love, sees something of interest…

➹pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Aristen by @aristenfromwarsaw)

➹content/tags: fluff, comfort, romance, smuty flirting, fun, slice of life, little tiny bit of angst and guilt

➹word count: 5,036

➹cameos: @evander-jane Devana Lysander @alpydk Ragnar @goromimii @pinkberrytea (by order)

➹a/n: another belated birthday present for @aristenfromwarsaw  Thank you very much for all the great photoshoots you always did for me, just like that. Such things really fill my heart with joy. I hope you like it. Thank you for trusting me with your Tav Aristen. I take writing other OCs really serious, because an OC is very personal thing and it is way harder to get them in character. I used the infos/backstory you gave me once about Aristen for the best I could.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

Fangtastic days of our lives

Teak, mahogany, oakwood, dried tobacco with the hidden essence of vanilla. From somewhere the sweetness of honey and roasted nutmeg.

These were impressions of antique wood, boiling kettles, clanging beer mugs and laughing voices that filled the Elfsong tavern.

It was like a honey-colored, subterranean, starless sea.

A sea of ​​people, scents, voices and music.

A sea of ​​life that would envelop the coming evening when the sun would have completely disappeared, making way for the aurora again after the starry night.

Astarion was acutely aware of his surroundings. Perception meant survival.

But not today…not anymore.

He could simply explore and enjoy his surroundings while he waited for his beloved:

Aristen the storm sorceress and former daughter of Bhaal. She was able to walk in the sun and as a vampire spawn he had to wait until the sun had made the rays that were fatal to him disappear.

That didn't matter to Astarion. He was used to the night.

But he never wanted to go back to that cold, lonely life.

The Sorceress, along with the other companions, had freed him from slavery once and for all. But it was she alone who had given him back the vision of his eyes, of his entire senses. Astarion could sit in the tavern and just be, taking in the surroundings of life.

No more looking for victims. No more fear. Never again.

The Elfsong Tavern was full of life and he was part of it.

So after hundreds of years, Astarion could finally taste life again. See it. Hearing it with his pointy ears and feeling and smelling it warmly with the scent of pumpkin, butterscotch and spicy beer.

A quite pretty bard with white freckly tattoos on her face and braided crimson hair beneath her Tiefling horns played the lyre on the Elfsong stage. Astarion noticed dagger-shaped earrings on her pointed ears. The Avernus fire of her origins blazed in her blue eyes as she sang:

“Empty kisses, shallow words,

Fiery passion only hurts

When the sorrow takes an oblivion hint

Will you cure and begone with the wind…”

Astarion continued to look around while the sadly whispering voice reached his elf ears.

“I hope someone sings a song like that for me too. Such expressions of love really manage to make me weak,” sighed a tall black-haired woman, whose face bore at least as many tales of adventure as freckles.

"Me too. But I really hope that the ballad has a happy ending,” replied a long-haired beauty at her table. The human woman's wavy, light hair framed a gentle face with captivating blue eyes.

“Oh you heard that? Oh no! ", the adventuress, ashamed, put her hands on her head with her side-braided hair and covered cringing with embarrassment one of the green eyes. "I should stop talking loudly to myself."

The other woman laughed a little and her wavy hair swayed on the shoulders of the long, light dress with floral embroidery: “It’s all good. I won’t tell anyone else.”

She winked briefly.

“But tell me…” she took her hands away from her face with the little different eyes, “…you’re not from Baldur’s Gate either, right? You also speak with a different accent than me.”

"Correct. I come from the East..."

“What did she say? Sêlune guide me?”

Astarion was distracted by an almost desperate voice that sounded at least as concentrated and angry as it was beer-soaked.

He saw a barbarian sitting at the next table, holding his beer mug almost too tightly.

The raised dark blonde hair did not distract from the piercings and black war paint, which Lae'zel would certainly have approved of.

“Okay, can I memorize this Sêlune prayer or not?” he muttered to himself and downed the beer in one gulp.

Astarion had seen him before and that evening he had stared at Shadowheart the whole time. Was the barbarian building up – or drinking up - the courage to speak to Shadowheart next time?

The vampire was distracted from the barbarian when a pale woman walked past his table accompanied by a brown-haired man. He noticed them because they both had scars on their faces. But no, that wasn't it at all. Something else drew his attention to them...they smelled somehow, almost reeked of...swamp? No magic.

That same hidden scent of feymagic that came from the black haired adventuress with the freckles.

The woman's pale face was friendly, almost cheerful. She enjoyed the music and the sad ballad. Did she know the feelings and sad love that the Tiefling woman sang about?

Astarion was all the more struck by the face of the dark-clothed man with the scarred hands who accompanied her: he was rigid and joyless and his eyes had an almost malicious shimmer. He didn't seem to suit her. He walked rigidly like an aristocrat or a trained soldier, or was he rigid because of the blade - that was clearly visible to the Rogue - that he wore under his clothes?

The man's gaze fell on the bard's dagger earrings. But not only the brown-haired human looked at the earrings, but also a white-skinned, tall elf who walked behind him. Astarion didn't know what was more noticeable: his large deadly sword, the long white hair, the black tattoos on his face, or...or the earrings in the shape of a dagger that hung from his ears.

He nodded almost imperceptibly to the bard and she returned his nod briefly.

Frowning, Astarion averted his gaze and looked around the taproom.

Many of the guests listened attentively to the ballad. Couples in love held each other tightly and some wiped a tear from their face.

“…in the dark of the night I see your tears

Rubies glisten full of pain

Rage and misery

Don’t get lost in brandy, bergamot and rosemary”

The ballad finished gently and the bard stood up.

"Thanks! And now for the bard duet!”

With a wave of her hand, she invited her partner onto the stage.

Wild white hair adorned the scarred drow face. It looked like survival for Astarion.

She could be young and old at the same time, that's how it was always with the elves. Young pretty faces and centuries behind them. Sorrow, suffering, joy. Everything was possible.

The narrow waist with the subsequent curved hips and thighs with short pants was adorned with a weapon belt with a sword and a flute.

The skilled hand whirled out a shiny silver flute and the duo began to play:

„Two bards do the trick, because bards do it better

Drow or Tiefling, it doesn’t matter

Shiny white hair, or wagging tail

Their persuasion will never fail“

They quickly changed the melancholic mood and the silver flute had a captivating sound, as if it were a homage to a goddess.

“One plays the flute, the other smashes lutes

Buy us a drink and we’ll tell you who is who“

A Tiefling whose rosé colored hair matched her white pink frilly clothing cheered enthusiastically to the tavern song.

Astarion heard her applaud with a giggling laugh. Cute little laughs with a sweet smile upon her light face.

It was that kind of sweet laugh that told the vampire how innocent, unspoiled, kind and naive the person was.

Yes, the delicate Tiefling woman was a sweet, innocent thing, Astarion could tell that with just a sideways glance of his red eyes. The sweet and naive kind of girl that immediately fell for him. Who he easily ensnared and seduced for Cazador. Or was she one of the people he would have avoided because they were so naive...innocent, undeserving of it? He would probably have avoided her if possible because such a sweet, lovely person didn't deserve to fall victim to the vampires.

Astarion closed his eyes briefly and grimaced at the emerging memories that he immediately wanted to repress.

Thanks to his beloved Aristen, he no longer had to do this.

He was free.

Cazador dead.

All of Baldur's Gate saved, saved from the Empire of the Netherbrain and the Mind Flayers.

Yes, thanks to the blonde adventuress whose fate was forever intertwined with his and all her other companions, he had escaped his fate as a slave. Their courage and their determination, with the help of the other fighters, allowed him to defeat Cazador.

But not only that, the storm sorceress had also given him love and patience. And the confidence to be better than Cazador. He didn't need blood-soaked, soul-eating power to be safe, to be worth anything.

Astarion would never have to hurt innocent people against his will again.

All thanks to her.

And yet Aristen did not consider herself to be good, nor to be lovable.

She loathed herself for her actions as a born Bhaalspawn, which she only dimly remembered. No one could hate her more than she hates herself.

And perhaps it was even worse for her, imagining every day what atrocities she had committed in the name of the God of Murder instead of knowing for sure.

She didn't see herself as a lovable hero, a savior. Astarion wished so much that she could see herself through his eyes just once. Then she would finally forgive herself.

The problem was that the sarcastic vampire had never said that to her and perhaps never would. There would always be something gnawing inside him, at his battered heart, that would prevent him from casually revealing his innermost, deepest feelings. What if he did lose her to someone else one day?  If it would not be an arrow or observer to steal her from him? How could he then pretend that his vain heart had not been destroyed for all eternity?

Darkness crossed Astarion's face at all the thoughts and he shook his head with his white curls to drive them away.

Once again he let his gaze wander over the audience, while his pointy elven ears only casually listened to the singing of the bards. It was only thanks to his beloved Aristen that he was able to recognize the diversity of the guests gathered. To be recognized again.

It had once been a faceless mass. At some point, after all the years of slavery under Cazador, the people in the taverns had become nothing more than a uniform mush to him. Victims, cattle like sheep, to his master. Criminals who hurt him and whom he hurt in return and they became victims of the vampire lord.

Dark, blank faces.

Without eyes, without soul. Just like Astarion himself had felt.

But after Aristen came into his life - with the craziest tentacle adventure of his life - everything had gradually changed.

First he recognized her blue eyes, then her face. The smile of her lips plagued by guilt and bloody ghosts of the past. The same smile as his own.

Then he saw all the faces, the people, their stories and lives again.

He saw the colors. The differences and the similarities. He heard the voices, the laughter, the music. He noticed the scents and smells again. Astarion saw joy and life again.

A scent that stood out from the rest of the tavern's smells suddenly tickled Astarion's nose.

Orchid drifted discreetly from the front door.

A slightly tickling shiver ran over the tips of his elf ears, while Astarion was already peering towards the door with large, round eyes.

Like the true epiphany she was, a blonde woman made her way through the elven song. Her appearance truly stood out from the rest of the tavern's audience:

Her delicately pinned hair and a ladylike, sweeping blue dress made her truly look like a lady of name and rank.

Astarion smiled as he looked at Aristen's appearance.

She always made an effort to look chic and beautiful, no matter what the circumstances. Like a true lady who belonged in a ballroom and not a tavern.

A ballroom, not a bhaalroom.

But Aristen loved all facets of life and also sat in the meadow under a tree in the forest with her fancy dress on.

If Astarion had his way, then very soon she would be pressed into the grass beneath him with the dress rumpled.

He chuckled dirtyly to himself as he couldn't help but think of that thought. And before he even thought about the first visit to his grave together, he shook his head and pushed it all away from his white curls.

"Darling..." Astarion stood up after Aristen made her way to him, having spotted him with a smile beaming with joy, "...you give me all sorts of ideas as always."

“What do you mean?” the high elf asked in surprise and blinked in confusion because she couldn’t follow him.

“Nevermind little love,” Astarion grinned mischievously and briefly kissed her delicate hand in greeting. He gently stroked Aristen's hand again as he slowly lowered it.

“The sun has already set enough for you to go out, Astarion,” his lover informed him. She would pick him up when it was safe for him outside.

"I've already run errands from a few merchants," Aristen spoke as the two left the tavern.

"Nice. Then we can now buy the rest together. Have you got everything so far?” asked Astarion.

The blonde nodded as they stepped outside.

Astarion sucked the air outside the elfsong into his lungs. Had breathing changed since he became a vampire? After all, he was undead.

Astarion didn't know. He couldn't remember, it had been too long.

In addition, the past no longer counted - smiling, he glanced furtively at Aristen who was carrying the basket with the purchases - only the present and the future counted.

“Yes, I did the grocery shopping that wasn’t of interest to you,” the blonde laughed and winked knowingly. “There was wonderful blossom honey, I couldn't resist,” enthused the sorceress, rolling her eyes heavenly at the thought of it and licking her lips in anticipation of the taste of the honey.

“Then I can taste it from your lips and tongue,” Astarion whispered seductively.

"What?"

“Oh, nothing…” the pale elf just grinned again.

His pointed ears were suddenly tickled by the brush of her lips as she leaned in very close to him.

“I heard you very well, my dear,” she whispered to him, her blue eyes sparkling meaningfully at him after she leaned back and gave him a knowing smile.

The vampire laughed. It was a serious laugh. It went from its sonorous, seductive, dirty murmur to a deep rumble before dying out in a high-pitched spike.

“I saw such a beautiful pair of earrings in the window at the Glitter Gala,” sighed Aristen languidly after she continued the story.

“So why didn’t you buy it, darling?”

Aristen shook her head: “Because it’s not necessary. I prefer to save our money for important things. After all, magical artifacts are expensive and the most important thing is that we find something that makes you immune to the sun.”

Yes, that was the ambition and current mission of Aristen and Astarion: to find a way for the vampire spawn to walk in the sun again.

Their friends also kept their ears and eyes open.

Gale read every book that might contain useful information.

Shadowheart, as well as Lae'zel on her travels through the astral planes, always sent them messages when they heard about mysterious artifacts.

And Halsin and Jaheira also reached out to all their acquaintances from near and far.

"If you hadn't used so much of our gold to rebuild the city and help its people, then you could afford any jewelry you wanted," Astarion nudged her with his shoulder and winked knowingly. The slightly accusatory tone was just an act.

“You know I wanted to try to somehow make amends for my actions when I was under Bhaal's control. This will never work, I know that. I can't bring back the people I killed. But I can at least try to help those left behind. It's too little. It’s no consolation…but at least it’s something.”

There was sadness in the blonde's voice. The look in her blue eyes was sincere before they slid slightly to the ground.

Astarion didn't like that, so he decided to cover up the whole thing: "I don't know what you're doing with this penance and compensation anyway."

He casually folded his arms behind his head and sounded as indifferent as he could.

“But…” he grinned playfully at the blonde Sorceress, “we could visit The Counting House again with Minsc. Then we have enough money to play benefactors and buy jewelry and beautiful clothes.”

Aristen raised an eyebrow with an amused grin: "You want to volunteer to do something with Minsc, really?"

“Now that you mention it…argh…better not. You may find him amusing, but he's always bursting in to chatter about his hamster at the most inopportune times. The guard almost caught me picking the lock of the Tabernacle when he suddenly stood loudly behind me, screaming my name and his hug almost broke every bone in my body.”

“What did you want at the Stormshore Tabernacle outside of opening hours?” Aristen asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing!” Astarion quickly dismissed the topic. Too fast.

“What’s next on the list for today?”

“We really have to go to the Devil's Fee. It has finally opened since the devastating battle against the Netherbrain and the reprocessing. If there are special artifacts or information about them anywhere, it’s there!”

Astarion nodded eagerly and the two elves walked quickly through the streets of Baldur's Gate.

"Oh no! No no no!” Helsik shouted from afar as her eyes saw Aristen.

The Sorceress blinked in confusion at the violent reaction and she looked around to see if anyone else was behind her, as the shopkeeper thought she might be.

“Not you!”

"I? But…"

“Nothing but!” Helsik cut her off. “After last time, I already told you that it was too hot to be seen with you and that the store was off limits for now. After the fuss you caused with your little friend and the black-haired fuzzy head.”

Astarion grinned briefly. He knew exactly who the saleswoman was talking about. After all, they had learned of Bhaal's daughter's past and how she had been involved in the Grand Design.

“I have new business partners, so I don’t need loud attention, after all, hell operates quietly.”

“We don’t want to cause any problems, I swear!”

The vampire let his eyes wander over the lavish and devilishly mysterious display while Aristen soothed Helsik.

“We just want to buy an artifact or information. Nothing improper, nothing complicated, nothing dangerous. Just good old Mammon.”

“Child, you will never have as much gold as I want from you so that I can burn my fingers again because of you.”

"Are you sure? I'll pay any price...whether it's gold or otherwise. We're just looking for a way to break the vampire curse of being vulnerable to the sun. Please."

Helsik laughed briefly, compassionately, not maliciously: “Deary, at the Devil’s Fee we don’t break curses, it’s more about the other way. That should be clear to you from the name.”

“My Love…” Astarion slowly tore his eyes away from the display cases and stood next to Aristen again, “…let me talk to her. I think I can convince them better with less…emotional involvement based on old stories.”

“Are you sure?” Aristen asked, unconvinced.

“Of course, baby…” he was already pushed the Sorceress toward the exit, “…you go do the other errands in the meantime and leave this to me.”

Aristen left the devilish business and made her way to the large square of the lower city wall. She visited the arms dealers and her thoughts continued to dwell on the fact that if even devils couldn't find a way to free Astarion from his curse, who would?

She would never give up hope. Anyway, Helsik was probably right: if it was about help, then hell wouldn't be a good negotiating partner.

Maybe they should trust in nature, magic and clerics. The gods may not have heard Astarion then, but perhaps they could now request divine intervention?

The vampire could walk in the light of the Moon Maiden, perhaps Dame Aylin and Shadowheart could ask even more of Sêlune. Maybe she could expand her moonlight.

Perhaps…

“STOP IMMEDIATELY!”

Aristen was snapped out of her thoughts and the blacksmith who was stationed across from Sorcerous Sundries just handed her back Astarion's freshly sharpened dagger.

“COME BACK IMMEDIATELY!”

From the direction of the Devil's fee came rumbling, loud voices and, above all, lightning and sparks.

“Stop the criminal scum!” shouted a city guard. “Subject, let him stand still!”

“Where for?”

“That way!”

“Or rather there?”

“I thought I saw something in that direction…”

“Then I here, you there,” the steel armored guards rumbled.

The clatter of steel armor slowly faded from the blonde Sorceress's ears, but a perfume that differed from her own scent of orchid and rose reached her nose.

Aristen smelled cherries, musk, palmarosa, black pepper and…

“Does this belong to you, little mouse?”

…sulfur.

Raphael's slightly tanned complexion stood before her. His brown hair was done to perfection with meticulous work, as were his clothes. Large, sparkling brown eyes regarded her, both sublime and mischievous.

The devil in human disguise had the white-haired vampire in tow, holding him by the collar like a naughty schoolboy.

"Raphael..."

“So you still know my name. Ah…very good. Tell the wizard of yours that too. Hopefully he’s still looking for my crown?”

Aristen nodded: “We defeat the brain. The crown will then be at your disposal. That’s how it was settled.”

“Excuse me…” the vampire groused

The devil released Astarion, who grumbled and moved his shoulders.

“Stealing from a shop that has connections straight to hell, very very naughty.”

As was his style, Raphael moved his hands theatrically while his voice whispered mellifluously. The reprimand was more than just played as amusing.

“Anyway, you were there in vain. There is nothing to buy there that could solve the vampire's little “problem”. Otherwise they would all be walking around here freely in the sunlight. Or not?”

The devil made a sweeping gesture and looked around ostentatiously before laughing.

“I'll talk to Helsik and smooth things over, after all you don't sleep well in unmade beds like in clover. But tell your magician that it is my crown. When he finds it, he has agreed to hand it over to me immediately. Not to Mystra and he certainly shouldn’t get the foolish idea of ​​using it himself.”

“He is not my magician,” Aristen clarified briefly, “Gale belongs to no one but himself. Mystra also has nothing to command him.”

“Does he see it that way too? Or does he like to be walked on a leash? He always just does what others tell him. After all, his own decisions are the stupidest I've ever seen...and I've literally seen it all."

“You mean as stupid as wanting to rule the crown of Karsus?”

“Haha…careful, little mouse,” laughed Raphael. “Just make sure I get the crown as quickly as possible.”

“When Gale finds it, you get the crown. That was the deal. We stick to that. But you'll have to be patient. It wasn't intended that the crown and the stones would be lost again, but it was hard to prevent it when the Netherbrain fell into the sea during the fight."

“I'm surprised you're so relaxed about this. You can't put me on a leash as easily as you can put the vampire spawn on a leash. Or was it rather the other way around and you Astarion put the former Bhaalspawn on a docile short leash?”

Mischief sparkled in the brown eyes of the human-shaped Cambion. There was a subtle, biting, malicious provocation in his words, which he spoke with a sonorous purr, as always.

Astarion's face contorted a little and the vampire barely suppressed a roll of his ruby-colored eyes. For a moment he seemed like a disgruntled cat.

"I think I liked you better when you just rhymed all the time," Astarion replied sassy.

Raphael laughed briefly, unimpressed: “Whatever. Less dawdling and making long fingers, but more diving for the crown,” reprimanded the devil with a raised eyebrow.

The devil wrinkled his nose slightly at the vampire spawn before turning back to Aristen and giving her his full attention.

“By the way, greetings from your fiery friend Karlach and her rapier-wielding colleague Wyll Ravengard.”

“Why are you ordering greetings from Karlach and Wyll? Have you met them?”

“Well, those two made themselves quite a name all around Avernus,” Raphael smiled in his smug way, “furthermore, I greatly welcome their actions against Zariel’s forces.”

He made one of his swinging hand movements with his manicured fingers: “I would like to invite you all to my House of Hope to linger, relax and chat. So you can catch up. You know, the Crown of Karsus is the key that grants you access. And until that happens…fare thee well, little mouse. I hope I will see you soon, knocking on the door of my house.”

As was his style, Raphael bowed expansively and his scent of leather, cedar, lily, rose, oud, vanilla and sandalwood disappeared into a swirl of sparks and sulphur.

“He hasn’t forgotten his flair for great performances. I don't know whether I should admire it or whether he's starting to get on my nerves with it," Astarion sighed briefly before straightening his shoulders and straightening his doublet with a quick tug.

"Anyways..." the vampire turned to another topic, "...I think it would be a good idea if we get out of the immediate area while the city guards are wandering around here."

The elf touched Aristen's elbow to encourage her to leave.

“What did you want to take from the store anyway, in the first place?” Aristen wanted to know from Astarion, curious and skeptical.

“Well…” he started to press and scratched the back of his white curls, “…I saw something…”

"And what was so terribly interesting that you would risk to be arrested by the Flaming Fist?"

“Well...it reminded me of you...and...I thought you should have it. But Helsik is really a cutthroat bitch with exorbitant prices.”

Aristen smiled good-naturedly: “Oh Astarion…”

“However…here…”

The vampire held out a white silk scarf to the storm sorceress.

Aristen's eyes widened. You could see from the shimmer and the way the fabric fell that it wasn't just silk that was woven there. It was definitely the weave itself and more that was at work there. Depending on how it fell and how you moved it, a golden blue shimmered.

“The scarf reminded me of the one you told me about. You know, the scarf with your name on it that you were found wearing as a baby in the Bhaal Temple. It’s one of the few memories you have left.”

The vampire took out a borealis blue thread from his pocket and began to embroider “Aristen” into the scarf.

“I wanted you to have something that you could never lose, that could never be destroyed, that had your name on it. Because if something ever happened again that made you forget...that made you forget yourself, at least you would always have your name with you. Then you know that you are Aristen. Not the daughter of the murder god. Not the chosen one of Bhaal. No Bhaalspawn. Just you. You are Aristen.”

The vampire began to embroider an “&” sign into the scarf.

“And well…” Astarion began to shuffle uncomfortably again and focused entirely on his work so that he didn’t have to look his lover in the eyes, “…if you ever forget something again, then you’ll know that we belong together. I don't want you to ever forget me. And so you also always carry my name with you.”

The vampire finished his work and the white scarf now embroidered with new memories read: "Aristen & Astarion"

“There is nothing in the world that would ever make me forget you, Astarion,” the high elf spoke softly.

She closed the distance between the two of them and kissed Astarion. The elf slowly closed his eyes as their lips met. His cool, hers warm. He felt her breathing life into him as they kissed.

"Thank you so much," the blonde said after they pulled away from each other, "you can't imagine how much this means to me. I love you, Astarion."

Aristen held the silky, white and blue scarf in her hands, stroked the pale elf's blue embroidery and smiled. "I think this used to be the color of your eyes too."

She smiled softly, as soft as the silky fabric of the scarf felt on her soft hands. Hands too soft for the crimes they had probably committed earlier in the name of Bhaal. In a previous life.

Aristen raised her eyes, which were also blue, and caught Astarion by surprise. Speechless.

That rarely happened.

Very rarely did the vampire find himself without words.

“Ah, I…” he took a breath to say something, but he lacked a suitable response, so he could only hold his breath, taken aback.

The gentle look in his lover's eyes and her words had triggered something in Astarion that he still couldn't handle: affection, sincere love.

Towards him and in his own heart.

The white-haired vampire exhaled and smiled just as gently at his beloved Aristen.

He reached out his cool hand to her and placed it against her rosy cheek. The blonde nestled herself a little in the vampire's hand and her gaze lingered lovingly in Astarion's now ruby-colored eyes.

“You never stop surprising me,” his whispering voice sounded sincere and just as genuine was the smile he continued to give her.

It was a smile that acknowledged how happy he was, partly surprised, partly just realizing that he wasn't really surprised anymore. And perhaps that was what surprised Astarion the most.

It was a day like any other.

A day like any other.

One day in the rest of their life.

Their life together.

And it was beautiful.

And he would never want it any other way.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

➹a/n: i just gave my own Tav Saulus a little cameo guest appearance  😉 in the style of AU I also inserted aristenfromwarsaws other OC Devana, like a little, what are all the other tavs doing when not being the main character

the great Tavs of my lovely mutuals also did a tiny cameo:

Nala Hartwick of @evander-jane

Thomas Rosewood and Nana of @alpydk

Lovely Vierith of @goromimii jamming with my Saulus, best bardic duo

Mavka of @pinkberrytea

I hope I did the slice of life good justice and you all could taste, feel, smell, hear the life through all the description of scents, etc.

[ihatemakingusernames]

We went for a walk 😏

[mumpsetc]

If you draw suitcase with spotify shuffle I will bite and tear and rummage around like a rabjd aniaml pretty pretty llease carrie? 🥺

(Comment but in ask form so you don't forget)

'Round here, I think the water's poisoned To test it out, I drank a lot As a kid, I lived through Project Monarch This butterfly tattoo sure means a lot

California Wine By Girls Rituals

[wifegideonnav]

hi there’s actually only two rules when it comes to food:

if you’re hungry, eat

if you’re full, stop eating

and you don’t owe anyone an explanation for either case, ever.

if anyone, including your own head, ever made you feel like there were other rules, this post is me giving you permission to stop following them.

[the only exception i can think of is literal surgery. if a surgeon tells you not to eat for a day, fine. everyone else can fuck off]

[neverlearnedtoread]

Uprooted

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐; my favourite kind of fantasy - classic fairytale with a side of 'dont worry about the details' and 'you gotta believe in the heart of the cards!'

Oh?? 👌😉😏

a really sharp, quick-witted, and willful female protagonist going 'fuck it!' every few chapters or so and doing something crazy (crazy fun) to drive the plot forward, off a new exciting cliff

a soft magic system that really shows off in the best light what makes soft magic systems so valid. its all about the metaphors!! you have to measure the chocolate chips with your heart!!!

nature is so magical and beautiful and deadly. specifically if you treat trees bad they will form a sentient vengeful forest to raze your civilization to the ground and salt the earth with your bodies

kasia. i love an atomic blonde unkillable bad bitch with the strongest queerplatonic vibes with her best friend from birth

a CLASSIC grumpy 'beastly' male love interest. he seals himself away in a lonely tower, makes girls hang out with him for 10 years at a time, and unironically calls himself 'the Dragon'. he even has the audacity to be offended that everyone thinks he's creepy!!!!!!

No.. ❌🤢🤮

if you like having explanations for how magic works and any semblance of a hard magic system in your fantasy, put this book back. 'round here we operate on Vibes Only, babey!!

similarly, if your love language is words of affirmation and/or you think that fanfic-style romance plotlines should stay in fanfic, this romance is Not For You. this is not a judgment, only a warning

Summary: Agnieszka loves her home in her little village in the valley - you know, except for the evil forest simply known as the Wood that's been around as long as there have been people in the valley, with terrible creatures and sentient walking trees. And the century-old wizard known only as 'the Dragon' living in the tower overlooking their land, who takes a young woman every ten years to serve him. But what Agnieszka dreads the most is that her best friend, Kasia, will be chosen next, and that Agnieszka is helpless to save her. Until the day of the choosing, when the Dragon picks Agnieszka instead.

Concept: 💭💭💭💭 I've never gotten along that well with a book blurb, but this one does its damn job - gives me enough plot premise to get me interested without giving it all away, and doesn't make me feel like I've been lied to once I start the book! some stories really don't do what they say on the tin, or take ages to get there at all, but Uprooted starts off exactly at the spot the blurb said it would - with a girl, in a valley, scared of a terrible wizard, about to be whisked away to a tower.

Execution: 💥💥💥💥💥 This story is EXACTLY what it says it wants to be, down to the cadence of the prose - a Polish folklore-inspired fairytale. The rhythm of Novik's narration even fits right - one day I'll get the audiobook for this and get to hear it the way I read it in my head, like a grandmother's bedtime story with twists and eddies and crescendos at the all the right bits. I was in love with the aesthetic of every character, they fit perfectly into the backdrop of what this story was.

Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤❤❤❤ This book aligns to my tastes much the same way An Enchantment of Ravens does, and shares of lot of the same elements without ever feeling derivative - smart girl meets magic boy, causes all kinds of irreversible political upheaval, and lives happily ever after being just as they are - a Girl with The Audacity. its a tale as old as time, and i'll hear it told just as often

Favourite Moment: you know its a good book when you really can't choose a favourite moment - one that comes to mind is agniezska choosing to save sarkan from being grafted onto the heart-tree in the Wood instead of setting fire to it. the 'fuck it!' energy agniezska brings to her moments of crisis is SO good, plus the motif of her always reaching out to sarkan to cast magic together - 'hey real quick, cast a spell with me while you're being pulled into an evil magic tree trying to twist your magic and life force against us. couldn't hurt, eh?' and then it WORKS

Favourite Character: now yall know i love a sarkan-esque character - pathetic wet cat men who are so offended by their own squishy feelings are a great time! and kasia is SO bad bitch extraordinaire, her and agnieszka's love for each other literally makes the plot go - every time, every time without hesitation she puts herself as the last thing standing between agnieszka and the Wood. but agniezska herself is really Something. the way she uses magic, her connection with nature and her refusal to be anything else than what she is - a grubby young woman who wields kindness as her weapon against the world, who holds onto her humanity with both hands and teeth - she shapes this fairytale to be the story she wants it to be, one of connection and empathy. and im still thinking about her introducing the lord of the whole valley to her mother 🤣 power move!!

[toddtakefive]

btw todd’s reluctance to join the dps because he doesn’t want to read (which is then accommodated for) and is scared to put himself out there (which is also worked through) being read as todd not wanting to go AT ALL, and thus neil making the proper accommodations (“todd anderson, who prefers not to read, will keep the minutes of the meetings”) and encouraging him to step out of the box that stifles him being seen as ‘forceful’ or like he can’t take no for an answer makes me insane with rage

[grainmoon]

Styling Stardew Valley characters part 5:

Penny

[niqaboy]

part time hijabis! i love you! if anyone gives you shit, EAT THEM

[artsandstoriesandstuff]

Ginger and Gingerbread or something, I don't know I didn't grow up with this show