#oc: ferelith | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soft-serve-soymilk · 2 years ago

Note

For Archus

16 - how good would they be at having to make up a fake name/backstory on the spot? would it be believable?

40 - a sound that can make them instantly freeze?

And from the soft oc asks: 6 - What calms they down most when they're anxious?

I feel like banging one of these out for once!!! So here we go I wanna detail my head child in full rather than snippets <3 @hungrydolphin91 i’m tagging you too bc i’m dragging you into this as well :>. You know you want to read it~

I have an obsession with making my children in picrews,, can you tell xD

This is Archie! Otherwise known as Archus Dandelion, he is on the older side of these head children at 19-years-old. He’s the older brother of Dism, and that is probably single-handedly the most important plot point in this entire goddamn canon please internalise that into ur little head <3. He is also a living, breathing cinnamon roll dressed with a thick layer of trauma and mental illness :>. In other words I adore him and would do anything for him. The series of unfortunate events goes as follows:

-His mom dies in childbirth -He contracts an autoimmune disease (myositis, my most beloved disease to study of all time) -His brother is kidnapped and he’s made to watch -Due to the aforementioned familial events,, any semblance of family stability and love has all but disappeared in his father’s depression (and hence alcoholism) -His life actually becomes better for a time as he runs away from it all. Except, no medical healthcare for said autoimmune disease and the fact he practically comes close to starving to death basically means he tempted fate -As a scapegoat, he gets whisked to Another World where he gets fused with these special lil creatures known as the spiriters in a bid to maybe Not Die -Following that, he is semi-unwittingly part of many science experiments until he becomes a full-grown adult with his own means of rebellion~! For all that, he is surprisingly put together on the surface. And yes, all of this was completely necessary to have the kind of character + development the story *ahem* needed :>. To elaborate on what his fusion actually entails, let me first explain what a spiriter is :3. Spiriters are creatures older than the first people of Oskopnir, born of the mana sea as it was touched by Ferelith’s and Joseph’s presence (remember that super long mega-dm I sent u Shadow? Yeah that one. read it again if u forget). Their purpose was originally to signal that a person needed “help”, like someone to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on. However, as the wars went on and bitter malaise seemed to become more a common thing in Oskopnir, they became tainted with that emotion. And they begun to hunger for it. Lust for it, even. Modern-day incarnations of spiriters will damn well force their victims into uncomfortable outfits, or even turn them into eldtrich abominations to drive people into emotional disarray and generate that sweet sweet food. However, it is not always a parasitic symbiotic relationship with these guys-- quite often their mana is seen as a source of strength and pacts are quite common as the dark mage mercenary population grows in recent times. Factor in these two concepts and you kind of get the idea what being fused with these kind of thing is like. Archie has a mask he cannot take off for one, with a black hole that covers his eye like an empty mire,, like the number zero. Quite a sensitive spot to hit if u ask me, for a person with non-existent self-esteem. If you push his emotions off-kilter his form only becomes more monstrous to reflect this; all sorts of fangs and horns and bony shins will jut out, and parts of his skin will blacken. But he also has so much more magic potential than he could have normally,, at least until the spiriters decide they can poison his mind by downplaying it significantly :3 In terms of disposition, Archie is a sweet boi first and foremost. Easily on the list of Top 3 Most Compassionate ocs. Selfless most likely to a fault. He has no self-esteem to speak of. But he’s playful, whimsical even, and enjoys storytelling to the 3 kids he keeps as wards (to protect them from Mr Evil Scientist Man Erk).This, however, is also muddled with the fact he is so so so so stuck in the past, and in denial with where a lot of his life has ended up actually. And this, in turn, feeds into his deep-rooted envy problem he kiiiiiiiiiiiind of has with present-day Dism (which is also terribly misguided). However! He is also very proactive,, and a great political lobbyist with a healthy sense of justice, which is important as he spends a lot of his time advocating for the rights of the Lucid Dreamers :). And he is very street smart!! As well as creative :3 Really, he’s an inverse of his brother in thematics. Dism fears being alone (because he is “““““nothing”““““) and Archie fears being nothing (because he is ““““alone”““““) Also, both the Dandelions are the most Romantic Saps ever. Seriously, ask Inigo and you’ll hear quite some sentimental sighing about the fact :) Ok time for questions i can’t choose!! 16 - how good would they be at having to make up a fake name/backstory on the spot? would it be believable? This is his speciality, actually. He is the number 1 master at bullshitting people, and this is one of the few areas he takes pride in :>. He finds it fun to flex his creative muscles, and it does a fair bit to light him up from his dysthymia :). Also he loves swishing around his long bishounen hair, and he actually grew it out for the very reason of using it to spin more believable yarns ^^. And he is so sincere during all of this too and you really can’t help but fall for the charms and find it the most convincing narrative you’ve ever heard :) 40 - a sound that can make them instantly freeze? *belts on top of lungs* ARCHIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE :0 PTSD-induced flashbacks from watching his brother be torn away from him will absolutely do well to fuck him over,, and you can probably tell who takes advantage of this at some point :)))))))) Pro tip: When u are in distress, refer to him by his proper name. Both of you will be thankful for it later (it helps him keep more calm under pressure, and Archie is a very panicky individual under duress) Soft oc asks: 6 - What calms they down most when they're anxious? Hearing someone’s voice :D. Keeps him from being trapped in his own mind so much, something he seems to have a nasty habit of. And it doesn’t feel as deliberate (and hence counterproductive) like drinking tea or breathing exercises do! If he has some time to prepare before an important event, a nice warm bath or hot spring trip will do well to flush his mind of worries, since heat is one of the few sensations he can still feel as he loses his grip on his humanity. So yeahhhh, 5673482328329329320 million years later and here’s an overview on my son!! I still feel I can’t do him justice in words :/ (this is really left better to Inigo). But!! I hope you enjoyed reading ^^

#my ocs #pav's ocs #not my most most beloved but still immensely fun! He has interesting dynamics and relationships with a lot of other people :>

3 notes · View notes

dragonswithjetpacks · 10 days ago

Text

Chapter VI : A Quick Laugh at Death

Paring: Astarion x female!mc

Rating: M (18+)

Spice: Slow Burn

Dinner that night consisted of a very passive aggressive discussion between Shadowheart and Lae’zel. And as much as Ferelith wanted to be involved in their squabble as a simple distraction, she was driven into her own dilemma. There was still no sign of Fian. No whisper. Not even a sigh. And each time she searched it was just that silhouette in the corner of her mind. He was still there… but nothing more. Without Fian she could be a danger to herself. But she couldn’t let the others know. Not yet. Not until she trusted some of them. Or got them to trust her. Not that it was difficult. Ferelith was a respected member of the Upper City. And the Upper City was so easy to please. A big smile, bat of the lashes, and a short compassionate speech sent her on her way. There was no faking this. And she knew she wasn’t going to try. She was no longer the Bookkeeper here… she was Ferelith… the Sage.

Here is the Ao3 link OR you can just keep reading here to read about Ferelith counting Astarion's abs...

At least she had that in common with Gale. As well as books. And wine. Just as she began to think it may not be so difficult connecting with her comrades, she exited her tent to find him grooming himself… in front of himself… He leaned forward, observing his own double, looking for any of his fine features to be out of place.

“Be with you in a moment,” he said as he heard her growing closer, his voice doubled as well.

His attention never left the mirror image. Ferelith snorted a bit, rolling her eyes with a sigh as she glanced around for something else to keep her occupied. She allowed him a few more seconds before she grew impatient.

“Is there a reason you’re studying your own image?”

Gale turned, a smirk shot at her to acknowledge the teasing tone.

“Indulging in a spot of vanity. Handsome devil, aren’t I?” after a wave of his hand to dismiss it, he spun around to give her his full attention. “Be that as it may.”

It slowly fizzled down to a few sparks behind him. He folded his hands behind his back, very much in the astute sort of way she would have imagined. His brow lowered and she could feel the tone shifting to a more serious matter.

“Ceremorphosis. What does it make you think of?”

“The tadpole,” she answered, knowing it was what he expected.

Still, he responded with utmost enthusiasm.

“Spot on,” he winked. “Day one: fever and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations and graying skin. Day three: hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices. Need I go on?”

“By all means,” she nodded.

“Day four: excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition. Day five: the host's personality has disappeared. Fingers, toes, and limbs elongate,” he became a bit aggravated as a small chuckle fell from her lips. “I take it you get the picture.”

“I’ve already committed to the lesson, Gale,” she grinned. “Might as well get my money’s worth.”

“Day six,” he lowered his brow, clearly not humored by her sarcasm, “The flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven: a mindflayer is born. This is the most annotated version, of course.”

“What you’re saying,” she shifted with crossed arms, “is that I can at least keep my sense of humor until the fifth day? I’d say we only have another night’s worth of laughs, Gale.”

“I’m glad your coping mechanism consists of deflecting the seriousness of this problem with jokes,” he replied.

“You’re no fun tonight,” she tilted her head to the side. “But no worries. We’re two days in. We should have clearly turned gray by now.”

“Spot on again,” he flicked a finger at her. “Orifices remain blissfully unbloodied. Our heads remain clear, and our blood temperature is normal. Any expert will agree: this is… abnormal.”

“Don’t question it so much,” she shrugged. “In all my existence, the only reason I owe my life to anything is because of the abnormal.”

“I’ll toast to that,” he smiled uneasily with a hint of intrigue. “The pragmatic in me, however, sees only the silence before the storm.”

“And what sort of storm do you think it will be?”

“Hmm…” thought for a moment but only shook his head. “It’s just something to sleep on. We should get some rest.”

“Right,” she smiled with a slow nod. “Well thank you for the lovely imagery. I’m sure it will be just what I need to soothe me into meditation tonight. Good night, Gale.”

“I’m only here to help,” he gave a half salute.

Ferelith waved her hand slightly in his direct to bid farewell as she made her way back to the fire. They had acquired a few extra blankets. And she was lucky enough to procure an additional pillow. Leaning against her new luxurious cot was her pack, waiting patiently for her hands to dive into it. And standing directly across the fire, just as he was the night before, was Astarion. He seemed to be waiting as patiently as her pack.

“I saw you getting a lecture from our magical friend,” he said the moment her face felt the heat of the fire.

“It was quite informative,” she responded.

“Descriptive, at the very least.”

“I have to say,” he said leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d look worse. But no. Not a tentacle in sight.”

“Thank you,” she turned her shoulder toward him. “I’m hoping it will stay that way.”

“Naturally,” he rose a brow. “But I was thinking… what if it doesn’t?”

Ferelith had thought about what would happen if she did change. But she was too stubborn to linger on the thought for long. She was not willing to believe it could happen. Nor was she willing to admit to anyone else that it was even a possibility. Astarion was quick to catch this as he could see sentiment had no impact.

“Of course,” he went on, tilting his chin to the side with a gleam in his eyes that lingered to her chest, “first sign of change and I’ll have to stop that pretty-little-heart of yours.”

The excitement in his voice stirred something in Ferelith. It made her uneasy. She crossed her arms to distract his stare. She used to people staring at her chest. And he found it amusing that she thought that was what he focused on. But it did not matter. He could hear the sound of her pounding heart. And after what he said, it was beating faster.

“I am open to suggestions. Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer not to die,” she said dully.

“Well now you’re just being closed-minded,” he teased. “There are some lovely ways to go.”

“First I listen to Gale talk about the details of turning into a terrifying monster and now you’re telling me all the options I have in which you could kill me? Whoever said chivalry was dead must have no taste for macabre.”

“To be fair, you were the one that pushed the wizard to give those wonderful details. I am giving you these options as a gift.”

“I am ever so grateful. Do go on about the beautiful ways in which I can ensue death.”

“You know, I watched urchins freeze to death on the street. It looks peaceful – just like falling asleep.”

“Very poetic… I wonder if drowning feels the same.”

“So you do know how to play,” his shoulders fell back. “Oh, come on. Humor me. If you had to choose…”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath with a few seconds of thought. “A knife,” she said with an exhale. “Make it a quick death. I’ve already suffered.”

“A classic,” he gave a nod of approval. “One good thrust to the heart and you’re gone. We need a good blade, of course. Don’t want to waste time hacking and prodding with a dinner knife.”

It was sudden. The widening of her eyes. And the first quick laugh that came from her mouth. She almost seemed shocked at the sound she made. Her mouth even hung open as she gawked at him. And then she really let it out. A loud series of rhythmic laughter. It was wicked… and beautiful. She rose her brows in disbelief that he had truly made her laugh.

“We have that covered then, don’t we?”

“Well,” he said, leaning forward toward her like they were a couple of children, “I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all a worst case scenario, obviously.”

“You’re terrible,” she rolled her eyes with one last tit of laughter. “What about you? Is there any way you’d like for me to end your life?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said with a condescending tone. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Dealer’s choice then,” she said such a contradicting tone that he had to truly study her expression. “I’ll make sure it’s a lovely surprise.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll disappoint me,” it was meant to be a compliment but he deeply desired to match her tone, making it sound more like a threat. “Now, enough of this talk or we’ll get too excited. Let’s get some rest. The sooner we start tomorrow, the better our chances of keeping this hypothetical.”

“I take it you’re joining our venture to the tiefling and druid camp, then?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied. “I’ll go wherever you lead.”

“I’d be careful with those words,” she teased. “You’ll never know where I’m going to lead you.”

“Even better.”

She shook her head with a foolish smirk she could not hide. After one last look she strode over to her cot. “Good night, Astarion.”

“Good night, Ferelith.”

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

The next day brought a heavy fog over the camp, dampening both their supplies and their spirits. The overcast was holding on a bit too long, but Ferelith knew the higher the sun rose the brighter the sky would become. The human, the gith, and the two elves made their way out of camp, leaving Shadowheart behind to guard it. To her disappointment, they had all agreed to take Lae’zel to question the tieflings and examine the grove. Ferelith had calmed the cleric earlier that morning, promising that they would resume looking for the temple as soon as they returned.

The path to the grove was not far and Ferelith questioned how they had neglected to follow it before. But that faded quickly as they passed by many… many goblin traps on their trek. There were nets, poisoned arrows, spring traps… all triggered. Some with blood. There were also abandoned goblin weapons. Also some with blood.

“I think we should take a moment to really prepare ourselves for this tiefling camp,” he said with an overthought of wishful thinking. “Our main goal is information. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“Relax, Gale,” Ferelith said while throwing a strap over her shoulder. “I plan to do most of the talking. Then we’ll see what sort of supplies we can grab. There won’t be enough time to cause any damage.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gale whispered slightly to himself with a shrug. “I can think of a few things that might cause some damage.”

She ignored him, rummaging through the items in her pack until she felt the cold texture of leather beneath her fingertips. She pulled at it revealing a neatly folded leather chest piece.

“Here,” she held it out to Astarion.

He took them, a bit disgruntled but willingly. Though he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do as she kept searching through the pack.

“Am I supposed to hold onto these?”

“Put them on,” she directed, otherwise paying no mind.

“Right now?” he dipped his head low as he questioned her, staring at her face while waiting for her acknowledgment.

Ferelith dropped her bag on the ground and turned to address him. “That is my suggestion. Your city clothes likely won’t do you any good out here.”

“You’re wearing city clothes,” he pointed out.

“I’m wearing leather,” she motioned.

And she was right… she was wearing a thick leather corset over her blouse. Her pants were leather. Her thigh high boots were leather. Her cuffs were even leather. Ferelith may have had the look of the Upper City about her, but she did not look nearly as privileged as he did.

“And so should you. One because it offers more protection. And two because you don’t want to look like a total lost cause.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that last part because this is a very expensive doublet.”

“I’m sure,” she grinned lovingly.

Astarion tossed his new leather armor to the side to free his hands and Ferelith went back into her pack. He began to work on his doublet right away. And when Ferelith looked up with a new cloth shirt in her hand, he was already sliding it down his arms. She saw the back of him in his white shirt. His silly white shirt with silly frills around the collar… and the cuffs of his sleeves… and the way that it rode up ever so slightly as he removed his doublet. She quickly recalled the strength of the man when they wrestled in the dirt during their first encounter. But seeing it was… well… nice…

She continued to watch as his hands came up, his fingers loosening the string that kept his collar upright. And found herself fixated on those fingers. Pulling. And then lowering to the hem of the bottom of the shirt. His back flexed and his hands grasped the edges as he began to pull it over his head. Ferelith swallowed… hard… The doublet was not adding anything extra to what she had felt before. The man had been much thicker than she had expected. He was still lean but the cut was quite impressive. So much that she had started to count the curves on his abdomen.

Astarion paused, sensing the heart rate of someone near him increase. And he was no fool to think it was Lae’zel… or Gale. He turned to see Ferelith with crossed arms watching him very intently with her bottom lip very slightly tucked between her teeth. He rose his brow and looked at the shirt she held her hand.

“Oh,” she said softly. “For underneath.”

She held it out to him. And she watched his forearm as he took the shirt from her. Cheeky woman. He rolled the shirt onto his forearms, giving her a little more time before he covered his body with the cotton shirt. It gave him little satisfaction to wear what she gave him. But the desire in her eyes was enough to forgive how itchy it was on his skin.

“Well, you certainly have no shame,” Gale nudged her.

“No,” she she agreed. “I don’t. I’m in the wilderness, Gale. My eyes are hungry, too.”

“Careful. Some of the tastiest looking berries are the most poisonous.”

“Better than death by ceremorphosis.”

The back of Zevlor whisked away, his tail thrashing back and forth with irritation as he left. They had helped the grove defend the gate but it seemed as though the trouble was pointless. The tieflings and druids were at ends with one another, each seeking a way to rid the annoyance of the other. Ferelith had intended to tell the tiefling leader that it simply was not her problem. Though she couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for the lot of them. So she mentioned having a word with the druid left in charge.

“What are we messengers, now?” Astarion seemed the most annoyed of them all.

Ferelith stepped close to him, too close for comfort. It made him shift backward, which is exactly what she wanted. He took several steps back just so she could hiss at him out of hearing range of anyone else. She kept her head down as she spoke.

“Listen. I don’t want to be here surrounded by groveling druids just as much as you do. But we are stuck out here. If we don’t find help soon then we could at least have the tieflings on our side.”

“Not a fan of druids, are we?” he lifted a brow.

“That isn’t up for discussion. Have any more questions?”

“No, no,” he held up both his hands. “Just thought an alliance should have been discussed before our arrival. Rather than my appearance...”

“I don’t think now is the time to complain. Not after seeing those goblins,” she ran a hand down her face.

The goblins were a problem. A massive problem. More than the gnolls Zevlor spoke of.

“It makes no difference. They’re all going to die anyway.”

Ferelith groaned quite loudly. “We are going to die if we’re not careful.”

“She’s right,” Gale interrupted. “It doesn’t help to make a few friends in a time of need.”

“Let’s hit the merchant. Get that information for Lae’zel. And see if we can’t hone in on a cure.”

“What about the healer here that Zevlor mentioned? Or the archdruid Halsin?”

“I’m not letting a damned druid in my head,” Ferelith spat. “Not a chance.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed at her. “Maybe some of us do not hold as much as prejudice as you do.”

The two glared silently at each other only long enough for resentment to settle in.

“We’re wasting time,” Lae’zel interrupted. “Zorru is here. And we grow closer to discovering the location of the creche.”

Ferelith closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If Fian could speak she wondered what sort of opinion he would have about seeking aid among druids. But he couldn’t. And as she realized her hands were aching from how tightly she squeezed them, she relaxed.

“Alright. Let head down.”

Though she gave him one very pointy glare ass he walked past him in the direction of the camp below. Just at the edge were a stack of rocks with various goods spread among them. In front was a gnome. She took a quick look further down noting the scattered tieflings, the goods they carried, and the makeshift shelters they had built into the rock.

“Refugees… adventurers. No one in years. And suddenly, we’re overwhelmed,” the gnome said to them as they slowed, still observing the refugees. “Thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you.”

“Brave enough for a discount?” Ferelith snapped her head toward him.

She could smell the dirt on him. He was part of the druids.

“I… uh… I still have to supply the refugees with what I can. I’m already-”

“Oh, fine. We’re too short on supplies to haggle, anyway.”

Ferelith reached down to untie her coin purse. But stopped. She looked down at her feet and shifted them a bit across the earth. She could feel something. The ritual.

“Are they really locking down the grove?” she turned back to the shop keeper.

“I know it’s drastic… but more monsters seem to terrorize this region everyday.”

“Monsters? More than just goblins?”

“There are gnolls taking out caravans along the Risen Road. Not to mention whatever that crash is bringing in.”

Ferelith reached up, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Is it too much to ask for you to delay the ritual simply to supply me with business?”

When she looked up she met eyes with Astarion who was on the other side of the rock display. The sound of the gnome seemed to drown out. He nodded down toward the table. And Ferelith looked to where he notioned. The weapons were so… basic. And dull. There were a few backpacks. And he had a few meals prepped close to the fire. But everything else was… useless. Even the scrolls. She felt her face turn sour as she looked back up to the rogue. Who was holding… a kitchen knife. He held it up with a shrug.

“It appears these are some dire times,” she sighed, interrupting the gnome.

“You sound just like Kagha.”

Ferelith’s head snapped down the shop keeper.

“Are these the only weapons for sale?” Astarion spoke before she went off on another tangent.

“These are the only ones I am selling,” he said firmly. “There is a blacksmith further into the camp. Though I’m not sure he has much to offer.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Ferelith went back to her coin purse. “Here. For the supply pack. And take this locket. I’ll trade you for… two potions?”

It wasn’t much. It was literally all he had. He grabbed the potions from behind him and handed them to her while Gale grabbed the supply pack off the ground. Lae’zel had remained behind them, her eyes scanning the tieflings below. Ferelith knew if she had gone on her own it would have turned out very poorly… and more of those tieflings would be dead.

“What a sad display,” Astarion grumbled next to her as they descended further into the grove.

“Find anything worth pickpocketing?”

“Unless we want to sell it back to him, no.”

“Let’s have a chat with the blacksmith, then.”

“Is the blacksmith necessary?” the gith rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” Ferelith said firmly. “We’re lucky there’s even one here. Perhaps we’ll get luckier and there will be an apothecary. The herbs Astarion found are close to useless.”

“I warned you,” he shrugged.

“Those powdered mushrooms could have killed me.”

“It wouldn’t have been my first attempt to kill you.”

“And likely not the last.”

#astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion slow burn #mc:ferelith #astarion x oc #ferelith writing tag #dwjp writing tag #theurgist

2 notes · View notes