#sanguisstella

[sinistercall]

        『 ... 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧 … —              ...   𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄 … 』

―  𝐀  𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘  𝐈𝐍  :     ... ʙᴇɪɴɢ  ᴍᴏʀᴇ  ᴛʜᴀɴ  ʏᴏᴜ  ᴡᴇʀᴇ  𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃  ᴛᴏ  ʙᴇ  ,  ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ  𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒  ᴛʜᴀᴛ  ʙɪɴᴅ  ʏᴏᴜ  ,  ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢ  ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ  ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ  ʏᴏᴜʀ  𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒  ,  ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ  ʟɪꜰᴇ  ɪꜱ  ɴᴏᴛ  ꜰᴀɪʀ  ᴀɴᴅ  ᴘᴇʀꜱɪꜱᴛɪɴɢ  ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ  &  ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ  𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄  ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ  ᴛʜᴇ  𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏  ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇꜱ  ᴏꜰ  ʏᴏᴜʀ  ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ  ꜱᴇʟꜰ  …

@𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 @𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋   ―   selective  and  private  blogs  featuring  Astarion  and  Ithuriel  :  Baldur's  Gate  3 . ᴄʜᴇʀɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴄʏɴ & ᴇɢɢ / ©

        『 … 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐋 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 - 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞              𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 … 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … 』

[goldspxcld]

❛ your conniving acts is never a sight i will grow old of . it’s very amusing to see blighted thine eyes riddled with tepid piss . ❜ venore admissions , tipping the barrel of his mug back . the iron clasps surrounding the girthy bosom glinting in the dim lantern light . it was at a certainty , the last surviving descendant of the yril'lys house left a great deal to be desired in terms of emphasis on lack of regality ; nigh nearly every sentence he spoke was also laced with a lick of inebriated profanity . for a drow raised in such a fine house , befit of battles & feasted loyalty , even raised by a chosen priestess of the lolth — he certainly hadn’t picked up any manners . ❛ i don’t even need to be sober to know you’ve somehow — someway — weaseled your arse into convincing that barrel-sharped fellow into giving you his most valuable family crest . depending on the bastard’s familial status , those are probably worth at least a night at some luxury inn . ❜ the gold at best , was worthwhile at least .

tawny lips press against the wetness of the iron surrounding the rim of the mug , a dull gloss evident , presumably from blend of cheap ale & his own spit . the menzoberranzanian’s contented gaze stilled on astarion as he downed the rest of the mug’s contents , finalizing with a swallow . his tongue wallowed in the aftertaste of the beverage , before poking out from his lips & folding to rest between the ridges of fang & gum . he does this for a few beats as the mug was once again placed annexed to a passing barmaid that uttered annoyed grievances to his horrendous demeanor . not that he cared to appear tasteful to some folk . he got shit even if he was trying to cozy up to some would - be companion . easy on the eyes , sure .

❛ i’m sure you would like that , wouldn’t you ? after all , your complaints thus far on this journey have been in wanting of a supple bed to rest , yes ? ❜

if there was a word he could describe this vampiric spawn : it would be … princess . astarion wasn’t a fellow that made his stomach recoil & convulse into vomit . as things normally did with the way death seemed to be fucking prancing on hells gate every damn centimeter in stride . the bloody spawn had an appetizing face , sultry voice even . white hair sprouting into a grandeur of loose curls , swept behind his pointed ear . red eyes that knew how to fucking rile someone up ; whether it was lust or hatred , that was left to the grantee . astarion’s looks made the enraptured need not explain . venore would be wise to assume it was among the latter of seduction . at least enough to warrant a damn crest in hand .

❛ zifreinn vith rasimorf … ❜ venore grovels out . his tongue rolling distinct hard lettered syllables as he spoke his mother - tongue . ❛ at least one of us doesn’t have to find somewhere to piss & sleep . a hay stack might do me sumn’ good actually … ❜ he scratches his head . he somewhat recalls a stable being located abreast of this dilapidating old tavern . dark , quiet … enough for him . asides from it smelling like horse shit . then again , his eyelids would be heavy enough for him to just collapse on without a care .

starter for @sanguisstella .

[moonmaidened]

❝ Soooo, ❞ he chimes, gesturing flippantly, already determined to be the thorn in at least ONE person's side today, ❝ in the spirit of... comaderie. What do you say to me and you slipping away for a few moments. And if a few goblins and their newfound possessions go missing, what's the harm? ❞

The well-practiced smirk he wears on his features has never failed him before, and he HOPES it's equally effective on the cleric. He'd lay the charm on thicker, drape an arm around her shoulders, or lean into her space closer if he wasn't convinced she'd snap him in two.

|| @sanguisstella

@sanguisstella | unprompted asks

the moment upon hearing his voice shadowheart is quick to force back an annoyed lift of her brow, forced to avert her attention from the artifact in her hands to whatever it is astarion has approached her for. though it seems as he continues to speak ( so much for waiting for her to prod ), his idea doesn't seem half bad.

" what, did ithuriel turn you down? " okay, so perhaps she has a bit of bark today. she's half ready then and there to turn, granting him a cold soldier, yet something compels her to listen. to contemplate. she shakes away the whys before she further loses herself in thought, soon returning to the now.

soon a scoff comes to, pocketing the artifact and glancing about. everyone else is seemingly busy after all -- lucky her for being the chosen fodder for his amusement. " haven't you had enough goblin business? i've rather not return to that camp should our paths will it. my lady is not so pleased to have me squandering about an old selunite temple, ruined or not. "

that's a lie, she just doesn't want to admit the tug she feels. the one that desires her to glance upon the statues a bit longer than any sharran should.

" and before you ask anything else: no. "

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐔𝐑𝐋 𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒

I won't lie I've been in a very whimsical, romanticizing-my-life mood today and that is what this is about to be; mayhaps a little "Oh No Robin's Falling in Love" playlist. Which is always funny to me because yes he's a POS but man when he loves he gives EVERYTHING. Despite often trying to convince himself otherwise. ━ So let's begin this soft af nightmare ride:

𝐖 : 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙱𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙽𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚒𝚎 ━ 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝙸𝚛𝚒𝚜

𝐈 : 𝙸 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 ━ 𝙰𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚞𝚗

𝐓 : 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎 ━ 𝚂𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚃𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗

𝐂 : 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚁𝚞𝚜𝚝 ━ 𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕

𝐇 : 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝙼𝚎𝚜𝚜 ━ 𝙶𝚘𝚝𝚢𝚎

𝐂 : 𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 ━ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝

𝐑 : 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚎 ━ 𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛 𝚁𝚘𝚜

𝐀 : 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚆𝚎 𝙳𝚘 ━ 𝙾𝚑 𝚆𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐅 : 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ━ 𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕

𝐓 : 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚞𝚗 𝙽𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚊𝚢𝚜 ━ 𝚅𝙾𝙲𝙴𝚂𝟾

𝐀 : 𝙰𝚕é𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚒𝚛𝚎 ━ 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚅𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐍 : 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗 - 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚜

𝐃 : 𝙳𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 ━ 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚟 𝚂𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚟

𝐁 : 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 ━ 𝙺𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎

𝐔 : 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕 ━ 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚂𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜

𝐑 : 𝚁𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕 ━ 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐈 : 𝙸 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 ━ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘

𝐀 : 𝙰𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚍𝚜 ━ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝙾𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊

𝐋 : 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 ━ 𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝙾 𝙽𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎

𝐃 : 𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕'𝚜 𝙵𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 ━ 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊 𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚖𝚊𝚗

𝐈 : 𝙸𝚗 𝚊 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚔 - 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛

𝐑 : 𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 ━ 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚜

𝐓 : 𝚃𝚠𝚘 ━ 𝚂𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚝

Tagged By: @nameaprice ( sorry this took so long!!! its ... long. LOL Thank you!! ♥ Tagging: @windchaser, @agonizedembrace, @aquatic-hybrid, @pitgritted, @sanguisstella, @mxlevolence, @manufactoredxbyxdesign, @yanlei, @piltover-sharpshooter, @1ststab, @kalijhomentethi, @hemoplagued, @bells-of-black-sunday ( nah jk I know you did it already HEHE ), @lncarnon, @saviourofzaun

[sinistercall]

@sanguisstella

I EXIST, I EXIST, I EXIST // ON HOPE AND LIFE

Euripides Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides (tr. Anne Carson) // となりのトトロ My Neighbor Totoro (1988) dir. Hayao Miyazaki // Mary Oliver Invitation // Virgil The Aeneid // Ocean Vuong Night Sky with Exit Wounds // ESA/Hubble & NASA, M. Sun Hubble Views an Active Star-Forming Galaxy // Samuel Beckett Waiting for Godot // Leonard Cohen Anthem // K.C. Cramm tender is not a bad word // A Hidden Life (2019) dir. Terrence Malick // Richard Siken Scheherazade // Emily Dickinson // 光画日記 (via @uroko) // Sophokles Elektra (tr. Anne Carson)

[moonserved]

#   𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃   ,   an   independent   &.   selective   blog   for   𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙱𝙴𝙻,   from   𝖡𝖠𝖫𝖣𝖴𝖱'𝖲   𝖦𝖠𝖳𝖤   3.   canon   compliant   &.   headcanon   based.   as   overanalyzed   and   loved   by   mel   (   she  /  her,   +25,   gmt -3). 

— 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉:   @moonmaidened @delphinixm @sinistercall @sanguisstella @moonspear

                     𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃,   𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾   𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒   𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋   𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘   𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀

             𝐈.   carrd.         𝐈𝐈.   prompts.         𝐈𝐈𝐈.   headcanons.         𝐈𝐕.   blogroll.

[sinistercall]

𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 ━━━ @sanguisstella

She could not 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 the last time she'd acted so quickly; the instinct surged through her veins like 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 as she hurled herself into the path of the glinting lone arrow that had sang through the verdant lush growth around them. With a swift and powerful motion, she swung the blunt of her sword, the impact sending shards of wood and sharpened metal into the air to mingle among the freshly shaken pollen before vanishing into the forest's underbrush. The suddenness of her movement left the world around her in a 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑, and she barely registered the soft thud of the freshly slain deer as it tumbled from her shoulders to the ground. Sweet perfume wafted off its pooling lifeblood — once a radiant force to keep the beast alive, now just a darkened 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 upon the path's trodden soil, but she found herself unaffected by it; 𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 had its hold on her, demanding her attention.

Pointed ears zipped forward in shock and with a racing heart, the tiefling raised her shield just in time to catch the next incoming threat; he force reverberating through the metal and sending a tremor up her arm when the spear pointed tip of the arrow head halted its movement only a few inches from her left eye. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. Ithuriel's arm curled 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 towards Astarion, and with teeth bared in a primal snarl she began to scan across the tree line in search of the next home for her axe's edge.  ... 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

"Astarion! What do your elf eyes see?" She asked quickly, an uneasiness settling in her stomach when she realized just how 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 she could actually see within the thick woodland; and the fact that they were being hunted only served to amplify her said sense of 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃. The tiefling felt tense — to say the least; her posture defensively tightened, muscles coiling like a spring ready to unleash whatever 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 filled fantasy she'd had last night. She could almost taste the heat of that fevered dream on her lips, feel it gripping her heart — and it was swiftly becoming something rather difficult to ignore.

"Filius caniculae!" She spat, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 actually, infernal blazing across her tongue quick enough to set flame readied to burst forth in a blaze should her grinding teeth grant it 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄. Ithuriel deftly sheathed her short sword, the metallic whisper of steel sliding into its scabbard with a bellish 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬! before her shield clattered to the ground, forgotten. Oh she was 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐅𝐅 now. Her weapons were practically ripped from their hold, and her pale fingers nocked an arrow to her bowstring; the supple wood creaking in protest under the pressure as she drew the string back enough so the arrow's quill brushed along the curve of her ear. Her hackles rose.

" — Show yourself, you 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 welp!" The words nearly erupted from her, tone infused with a primal ferocity that surged within her like a tidal wave. It was a feeling she hadn't tasted in some time, and the thrill of it both terrified and exhilarated her. It made her feel 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄. It made her feel 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄. But regardless of whatever inner drama her worm was being entertained by, there were much more pressing matters in the real world. With eyes ever searching, the tiefling hissed lowly, her keen ears folding sideways as they 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 to capture any sound that might betray their unseen foe. But another sound caught her ear instead. His 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 voice. There was something 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐋𝐘 reckless in her trust of Astarion and as she let his smooth tone instruct her, she felt the weight of his confidence 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 her own. With a deep breath, she freed the tension in her bowstring and released the arrow with his command. By some divine intervention, Lathander’s guiding hand seemed to steer her aim, as the arrow soared through the air — swift, unwavering, and true — finding its mark with a satisfying 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐀𝐋 of pain.

An overwhelming impulse surged through her 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒​​​​​​​, urging her to lunge into the thicket, to tear apart and feast upon the intruder threatening their safety, bathe in their blood, drink their fluids — the 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 Bhaalist agenda. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for action, yet her feet felt anchored to the ground by heavy lead weights that defied her desire to flee or fight. It was only when the familiar, intoxicating scent of Astarion’s cologne enveloped her in 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒 and 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 that she felt the tension 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄​​​​​​​. Instantly, the bow slipped from her fingers, falling to the forest floor beside her shield with a muted thud, as she whirled around to meet his cherry eyes.

“Oh, thank the Gods — ” she exhaled, her worry melting away as she examined him with frantic eyes, the relief she felt upon seeing his skin, unmarred and radiant, soothed her frayed nerves like cool summer rain. Without even a second thought, her hands reached forward and pulled him against her chest in a warm 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 that made the world, at least for her, nearly fade away. Ithuriel squeezed him firmly; the jabs and teasing that would surely come later were but a distant thought. Everything seemed eclipsed by the sheer 𝐉𝐎𝐘 of his safety. 

“The Lord of Light smiles upon us today, Astarion,” she whispered into his neck, not much caring — or perhaps not 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 — about the intense fluttering of her heart. With a subtle shift, her gaze drifted back to the bushes that framed their path, where moans and whimpers echoed eerily. A mischievous 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 sparked in her cerise eyes as she mused and faced him with a laugh, “And look! We've found you breakfast!” 

[sinistercall]

『 "𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓" 』

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 ��𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯; 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘮, 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘯-𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

Such a thing graced Ithuriel's eyes as she cut back into reality once more, finding herself laying down within her tent atop her bedroll - it smells sweet, like cinnamon ; how had she gotten here? Cinnamon ... Kettle ... Tea - Her gaze flicked over to spy that fluttering imp, right, she remembers now. The group had settled down for the evening after finishing up various chores, and she had thought it better for the night to read that 𝐆𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐘 romance novel Astarion had lent her. Something to clear her " 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 " and hopefully lead to ... " 𝘦𝘹𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 ". The comment racked a shudder across her being. Fel (   𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦?   ) had arrived shortly after, happy enough in her presence to speak with her plainly; his voice - despite all of the horrid vocabulary - somehow was a comfort. She'd managed to convince him to settle down in his chatter beside her, but ever diligent to work he kept twitching - so she had given him laundry to fold while she ‘studied up on runic symbols’. A lie, but one he didn't seem displeased by despite her confidence that he knew what she was actually up to. 

"Ahh you always were 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 for knowledge Master! You should really rest though, my Lady, you must be tired from all of the sorocide from today. However, if you insist, I will stay here to watch over you and make sure you complete your studies."

Like a parent guiding their child. Had it always been that way? Had there been a point where the Scleritas held her 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐞 hand? Much to her chagrin, it brings a soft grin to her lips - a fleeting one as she peeks over to her gentlegoblin. She had no memory of being a child, no memory before waking up on the Nautiloid ... Surely she was 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓, once? He had mentioned being a "   𝘋𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘩𝘢𝘢𝘭   '' himself, something made to aid and protect Bhaal's most beloved child - Perhaps if there was any good within the 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑, he had placed it into Fel to keep her company and guide her along the way ... If not just to puppet her back into the Dread Lord's sticky and crimson embrace. The Butler began to hum as her cerise gaze trailed downward to her - well, 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 - book once more.

"𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘳, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘌𝘰𝘸𝘺𝘯, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦?’ 

Surely he'd given her the wrong novel, this was far from some cheap romantic smut fest she had expected to open into, and she was unsure if she was disappointed or not. It was a fabulous book, one she had almost instantly bonded with; a traveler on a long journey fighting against his own corruption. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 - 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. Instinctually her stare lifts to the rest of camp, alone in her tent but never truly lonely; someone was always out and about. The Sharran and Blade of Frontiers seemed locked in wicked debate, though their voices were soft their bodies told a new tale. Yes ... That was it, she concludes - the book she was so fond of; it reminded her of 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. Introduced crudely but swiftly found to be resourceful and, well, a joy. She should speak to her soon ... maybe the two could step aside from their differences. Although the woman’s piercing expression did little to ease any doubts dancing about Ithuriel’s mind.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘌𝘰𝘸𝘺𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

Ithuriel observes over the camp once more before white moon-kissed locks greet her, eyes angling lower to watch Astarion mumble and pace about while holding a book that seemed much too heavy for his nimble statue. Her lips part with a tilt of her head, her own wintry hair spilling over her shoulder as she finds fuzzy moss growing in her. It's warm and fluffy and invades every part of her form, the garden inside of her chest feels like it's going to sprout from her mouth - and her ears flutter as though she were a butterfly prancing about from petal to petal. A blushing flush ran across her cheeks, she is safe in her small den ; and Astarion is far too preoccupied. She tries to further indulge in those 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘 feelings, and in the selenic glow, soft rays of silver and blue - he's as beautiful as glistening dew and the call of bird song. To her own reluctance, Ithuriel's mind begins to twist herself into the visage before her, next to him and listening to his murmurs of frustration and amusement. Her steady intelligent gaze studied him closely, noting the strength in his forearms that bore every inch of his determination and longing for freedom. 

Insurrection. Spite. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ... 𝘠𝘦𝘴 ... 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴.

That is when those sanguineous eyes meet hers and lock in, her tadpole twitches - longing to reach out - but the shuddering of her skin gives her the strength to break the look between them. Ithuriel had never been looked at so 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘, within a moment he had undressed her soul - even buried under blanketed layers of wool she'd never felt so naked. The tiefling dares to look back at him; her veins turning to ice at the stark realization that he has not broken away yet. Not once.  Those eyes are full of a deep understanding and calm indifference. It is a crimson sea she wishes she could pour herself in to become the foam atop each wave of his iris. She is a person and he, as another person acknowledges that. 

                                               ... 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ...  

How long ... How 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 had it been since she had felt like one? Not a monster, not a 𝐆𝐨𝐝, not a 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐍 -

" - Master, I have finished! -- Ohhh! Oh my Lady, did I startle you? It still pains me so to see my little liege in distress." The Sceleritas comforted quickly, soothing Ithuriel back from her skittish yip. "You appear to be on the same page as before! Are you troubled, Master?"

" ... No. I - Thank you, Fel. I - I," her hand fidgets forward to free the clasp of her tent, closing off herself from the outside world. From Warmth. From Friends. From Love. She doesn't dare look at any of their companions. Not now. "I think I will be turning in for the night, I ... Will you stay? I ... I think even with my loss of memory I have missed you."

"Ah ... Master, you make a butler 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇! I'll carve that compliment into my heart! Worry not, my demiurge, these feelings of distraction will wane soon enough and you will be back on your feet by the next moon! A person of your fine 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 is never down for long, I know the unholy guarantee of your Father's legacy will spur you on. It is woven into you."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

✧ ── 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 ۞ 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ɪᴛʜᴜʀɪᴇʟ ʟɪꜰ - ʙᴀʟᴅᴜʀ'ꜱ ɢᴀᴛᴇ 3: ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴜʀɢᴇ - @burntscars

[moonmaidened]

❝ Shadowheart.... Shadow.... heart.... ❞ What an abysmal name; no material to work with here at all. How DEMENTED must your parents be to name a child such a thing. But what if— he gasp, the epiphany lighting up his brain in a way he rarely experiences— what if she picked her name HERSELF? ❝ A perfectly dreary name to go with her dark and unpleasant attitude. We all go through phases, I suppose. ❞

His little REVELATION does nothing to aid him in his endeavor of simply talking to the woman without both of them resorting to throwing verbal barbs back and forth. Oh, well. ❝ Darling, ❞ a safer nickname than comparing her to anything as DELICATE as a flower, certainly. Or perhaps she'd like it? He'd have to test that theory later. ❝ Do slow down. Surely there's no rush to dive headfirst into goblins again, hmm? ❞

He puts on what he knows in his undead heart to be his most CHARMING smile; handsome, disarming, and not at all a threat to anyone he's flashed it to. ❝ I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Why don't we take some time to get to know one another? Perhaps.... tonight over a bottle of wine? ❞

The vampire can feel his smile slipping into something a little too wide, too HUNGRY. Still, he's entirely sure he's the most beautiful creature in a hundred mile radius— there's absolutely no chance in the hells the half-elf would turn him down. She'd be a fool to; does she know how just how COVETED he is back in Baldur's Gate? A thousand maidens have fallen for his charms, and she's undoubtedly just one more.

love, @sanguisstella <3

On the contrary, Shadowheart had thought her name to be fine.

Not that it even mattered -- whatever her true name is long gone. Not by choice, the Sharran cleric thinks, but by will to accomplish Lady Shar's mission. That, above all else, comes first. What irks her, is how common others are to poke and prod where their noses clearly don't belong -- and Astarion is no different.

Time and time again now, all these new ... no, she wouldn't call her companions 'friends' -- not that Lady Shar would even allow such a title -- poking at her name. Her desire to get this over with so she can get back to what she's meant to do. Who she believes in ; it only frustrates her further. Why bother with the idle chit chat, truly, if by the end of the night and these parasites are gone so too, will they.

" What? Do you not want to rid yourself of our little problem? " Spoken through thin lips, and narrower eyes. Tense she stands, gloved hands anxiously treading over the foreign artifact in her hands. It had saved them once already -- why did Lady Shar want it? " Personally, the sooner we make way to the Underdark, the better. If we have to beat a few more goblins, so be it. "

Ah, there it is.

Is everyone so keen on getting to know one another? Don't others know when to drop a subject? Frankly, she's been more than content not knowing what his -- or anyone else's -- past contains, and sincerely wishes the same feelings to be placed towards her. Apparently, that is not so simple. Perhaps she needs to brood more, cast a harder stare at him in particular.

However ... a bottle of wine also never hurt anyone. One night of relaxation surely wouldn't kill them -- they all should have been well dead by now. Is it Lady Shar protecting her? Or is it this object she retains in her hands? Her brows tremble at the thought, not entirely wishing to dwell on it further.

' Forgive me, Lady Shar ' she idly thinks to herself, a quiver to her lip before she finally raises her head to meet his gaze. " Fine, if you so desperately wish to talk, I'll listen. " A part of her wonders just how much of a mistake this could be ; the curve of his lips being far too daunting -- inviting for casual chit chat.

" Meet me by the waterfall later. " Shadowheart says, ill attempts of being aloof. " I must attend to my prayers first. "

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

✧ ━━ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔? 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 — you were given the choice to live, a thousand times over, and yet you never choose it. not intentionally, oh no, you didn’t know it was a grave you were digging. but with every turn, you were twisting the knife deeper. every decision doomed you more. had it been anyone else, they would have made it. but you? you are so perfectly you, there was no escaping it ... 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒.

Tagged By: @agonizedembrace (thank you! ♥ Tagging: @deathfxnds, @yanlei, @kalijhomentethi, @pitgritted, @bells-of-black-sunday (Tarhos beloved), @mxlevolence, @thegoldentigress, @nameaprice, @risingshine, @steel-and-fire, @noctumsilenced, @witches-and-weirdos, @lncarnon, @songofsilentechoes, @aquatic-hybrid, @piltover-sharpshooter, @sanguisstella, @weldlune, @johnnysslaughter

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

✧ ── 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄?

Tagged by: @warmothered ( thank you! ♥ Tagging: @bells-of-black-sunday @agonizedembrace @hemoplagued @sanguisstella @witches-and-weirdos @manufactoredxbyxdesign @kalijhomentethi @lightshielded @burntscars @mxlevolence @saviourofzaun @steel-and-fire @fluxjumped @bloodandhairspray @nameaprice

IN YOUR TEETH

━ love has uneven edges but it is something you sink your teeth into. with love you give all of yourself over and feel everything as it happens- good and bad. for you love can be a fight, whether it's hard won or hard lost (or hard to hold on to), love has a way of leaving it's impression in your skin. it's not that it hurts, it's just that it knows your tender spots and seems to hit those first.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅?

✧ ━━ 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐬:

patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?

Tagged by: @bells-of-black-sunday ( Thank you! Tagging: @agonizedembrace, @hemoplagued, @kalijhomentethi, @kingoftheravens, @sanguisstella, @manufactoredxbyxdesign, @rxgalbullxt, @aquatic-hybrid, @songofsilentechoes, @noctumsilenced @johnnysslaughter

[sinistercall]

Leave it to the rest of their eclectic little group of tadpole-inflicted comrades to ruin a PERFECTLY radiant afternoon— something in the planets must have aligned for the entire party to be in such a disgustingly good mood, even Lae-zel and Shadowheart are behaving civilly, for once. Even more APPALLING was the scene before him, everyone's favorite warlock doing his honest best to try to lead Ithuriel through he proper steps of a waltz. It'd ALMOST be endearing if Astarion could stomach the sickly sweet sight without wanting to vomit. Wyll's hands holding her's too softly, their bodies too close, their smiles too bright— he's had ENOUGH.

The sad excuse for a novel he'd been reading is slammed shut ABRUPTLY, a dull thud as it's tossed to the side so the vampire can make his way over to the pair.

An IRRITATED click of his teeth is the only sound offered before he oh, so politely shoulders his way into Wyll's place. "Gods above, you're both so clumsy. You'll let me handle this, won't you...?" Whatever the warlock answers is INCONSEQUENCIAL, the spawn already spinning them so their friend is out of eyesight ( the real view is in front of her already, isn't it? ). ❝ My apologies, darling. I just couldn't bear to sit idly by and watch the two of you embarrass yourselves in the middle of the entire camp any longer. ❞

He realizes too late that he's made the grave error of placing himself front-and-center to something that may read more intimate and genuine than it really is— a MISTAKE he won't make twice, though he'll do his best to relish this moment while it lasts. It'd be a shame to waste the good weather, after all. And the paladin just looks so, so STUNNING in the sunlight ( what a shame their most delicious moments under the cover of night ).

❝ I absolutely refuse to believe you've never done this before, not even you can be that uncivilized. ❞ The tiefling's movements are CLUMSY and UNSURE, but not the steps of someone ignorant to the motions— she seems to need little guidance, effortlessly following the sway and flow of his body, pressing herself closer with the delicious kind of confidence he normally has to TEASE out of her. Perhaps, like most things, this is just something else she's lost— forgotten with the rest of the mysteries of her past. Though he's certain there's a little more BLOOD on her hands than either of them know, he silently hopes she's at least had moments like this before, small moments to enjoy herself, to be HAPPY.

A rather UNBECOMING thought, and he catches himself smiling much too casually. He's certainly gotten sloppy. Well, he thinks, no choice but to do what he does best—

❝ You know, there really was no need to try to make me jealous. If you wanted to be close to me, all your sweet little self had to do was ask. ❞ Always one with a flair for the DRAMATIC, he takes it upon himself to pull the paladin impossibly closer, swiftly pressing her flush to him before lowering her into a exagurated dip just so he can press his lips closer to her ADORABLY pointed ears. ❝ Or perhaps, ❞ he hums, ❝ it was me who wanted to hold you just. Like. This. ❞

He pulls her up before he has a chance to dwell on how UNSETTINGLY easy it was for that last part to slip out— the taunt hitting too close to the truth for his comfort. Sloppy indeed....

|| @sanguisstella (o:

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊'𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓.

Horrifically the topic of her request had come up within one of those novels 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 had lent to her - his insistence of getting her books was ... endearing to say the least - and she wished to know all she could about the novels presented to her, but there were many things she'd forgotten after the tadpole had burrowed into her mind. There was a strange innocence in the way she approached him, Ithuriel had always known Wyll to be a 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 and noble man - a protector she felt safe with, someone easy to 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓. Revealing her secret to him was inconsequential, at least at first when the Warlock had promised to teach her - she was unaware that the lesson would begin immediately, and terribly, in front of their many companions. A few chuckles and smiles surround the pair, the warmth of Wyll’s hands allows the crimson shade of embarrassment budding upon the apples of her cheeks was soon to fade into a soft hue of joy - she even lowers her gaze to part his in order to stare down at her feet, observing the 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍 of movement between them. Ithuriel savors it. She feels akin to a ray of light dappling through the lush green canopy framing their camp, an air of 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 curiosity bounces her skirts and hair as they dance; it is moments like this, when she is drenched in sunshine, that she can feel Lathander cupping her heart and murmuring in her ear. 

  Her sense of wonder at each step is delightfully sweet, a simplicity and an openness that was almost child - like; within this moment she had found how to be at 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄 in the middle of her stormy life. For a few minutes in time she was free of every shackle that had ever been placed upon her, she was her own person able to decide what she wanted for herself. Her canines bite softly into her lower lip, pushing the plush in while the vision of one of her companions comes to the forefront of her thoughts. A melody plucks itself within the echoing recesses of her mind, she doesn't remember where it is from but it lends itself well to the situation before her; her feet do not succumb to her usual clumsiness. Even when he seems to trip she catches their footing and keeps pace; although her brow quirks up when she notices that his shoes are 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 - but her lips were already moving and her head was already lifting to see ... 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍.  No no - stop!

  "Oh W-Wyll, I feel like a princess - "

But its too late, the words had spilled most of the way from her tongue, Ithuriel only able to catch the last few - and suddenly her face feels 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. Her breath catches, she hadn't expected Astarion to prance his way into her personal space; let alone start crooning about his jealousy, she only imagine how he would mock her later about revealing such girlish whimsies. A princess. 𝐇𝐀! Worse still is the way she's unable to turn away from him, did a part of her hope that he'd mosey his way into this waltz? The vampire’s presence invades every corner of her perception, his cool hands against her waist and palm, the teasing scent of his cologne. He’s everywhere and she’s unable to deny how eagerly she 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 in his visage. 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 is reflected in the clarity of her wide eyes - the pale rays of light igniting his curls into a halo; she hates the way her heart flutters and a nervous giggle leaves her. As though she is a young 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 again looking up at some fae prince and ... 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺; 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘰? She finds herself allowing it at the gentle teasing and genuine grin curling his petaled lips; it suddenly feels safe to open this softer, ethereal side of her soul to him. She shines with the light he provides and he was the brightest shade of gold she’d ever seen, one she wanted to 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 herself in. 

  "Ah - Astarion - ! Wait!" 

  Another swell of laughter leaves her once their bodies are 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 and he is expertly tilting her back to see a new angle of the world, palm holding the small of her back with a strength hidden by his lovely form. Ithuriel pulls her focus from the touches across her body to focus on the mass of birch trees behind them; waves of black and white - a never ending ocean with a bright leafy abyss dappled with brilliant gold patches. Her hair brushes the dirt when she’s suddenly descending even further. Ithuriel instinctively coils her arms around his back and shoulder to cling into the fabric of his shirt; perhaps she was frightened he would drop her? Hot breath tickles her ears, causing them to flutter like flustered 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘 wings - she feels light as a feather on a spring breeze; floating over the lily ponds and catching the blossoming hue of their flowers and her face. It pains her that she cannot pick up the rush of his blood - the soft 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐒 in his chest were silent … and she cups the back of his head. Her mind opens to him once they begin to straighten out again, although her arms do not shift from their embrace - her heels lift and her fingers card through his hair ... It is time for 𝐇𝐄𝐑 to whisper lilting croons into his pointy ear, or rather, for sweet words of adoration to caress across the loathed scars upon his throat. 

  "Then I'll be sure to ask you everyday, I know how embarrassed you get over this - Don't worry, it will be our little secret." 

  Ithuriel doesn't wait for Astarion to catch up, she cannot 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊 his defenses to come back when she finally has him so vulnerable and moldable - maybe right now he will finally 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 her words. I care for you. Let me in ... please. She hugs him firmly. Implacably - the warmth pouring from her soul a confirmation that she would do this as long as he needed. All 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. All 𝐃𝐀𝐘 - until their bodies settle into place and become intertwined trees, she would be there to sink her roots with his. She doesn't fail to note how easily their bodies mold and move to fit the other, and their forms pressed so intimately together seems to slow her racing heart. No longer does her skin produce electric shocks but instead melts into a pleasant enduring sense of 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 that pulls a sigh from her lips. 

  𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 - 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

  However time stalled for no man and soon she's remiss to find herself lowering down onto the flats of her feet, connecting fully with the earth once more. Already she misses the scent of his perfume. What had felt like an eternity to her is but a few minutes of time as they continue their waltz throughout camp. Thankfully none of their companions notice the 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 way she leans into him, it is easier to feel free when he is with her; it is easier to be 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 enough to grasp what she wants. To allow her scarred fingers to 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 the 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 of his soul. As much as she yearns to stay in this sanctuary the paladin decides to take it upon herself to bring them both down from that whimsical little ... moment they had just shared. She opts to take hold of his hands again and spin their steps closer towards the edge of camp. She senses a fleeting chance to tease him back within his stunned state, an opportunity she was not above taking - not when he looked so ... 

𝘏𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦?

  Her words follow the sway of their bodies and she begs her voice to not betray her, he would laugh at the depth of feeling within her chest. Ithuriel is unsure if he would ever be able to accept it. "I was actually speaking to Wyll to show me this dance so I could better understand the movements of the characters in the book you lent me. Although there were many other things I did not know about either, would you like to be the one to teach me all of them, Darlin - Ah - !"

  The edge of a root snags under her ankle and little can be done before she stumbles just enough for gravity to take them both tumbling down the hill’s curve, angled just enough that there is no hope of stopping the descent into the valley below. Verdant ribbons lick against her camp clothes, painting the pale linen strokes of lush green and bright yellow as she rolled through the foliage. Her laughter echoes through the valley they find themselves collapsing into, a glimpse into an 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 version of her soul; free of Bhaal, of duty, of rules - and the world's wonder reflects in her starry cerise eyes. Ithuriel lifts her face towards the sky once the momentum stops and her flailing form is brought to a halt, the clouds are beautifully swept across the endless azure of the sky - and the burning yolk of the sun seems to smile down at her. Soon that happiness is directed towards the 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 as she observes his messy tresses - unable to help herself but to pluck some of the grass from them. Gods above he looks perfectly 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 and she knows she looks just as messy - the snorts and gasps for air don't stop and only after using all of her will to relax does she speak:

  "Y - You look like a potted plant!"

  Her chest jumps when she finally settles back down, laughter relaxing into low giggles, having moved closer towards the vampire once more; it seems she was interested in the heat he managed to bring to her cheeks. Soon those plucky slim fingers are carefully 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 through the pale curls framing around the angle of his temple, each thread alight with the brilliant luminescent 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐎 behind her silhouette. She's curious in how being around him manages to stretch time - their ticking bombs meant little to her right now; somehow as long as he is beside her she knows her heart will still find a way to 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐏. Ithuriel slips a few flowers by his ear, followed by a gentle caress to the beautifully carved face under her, “There … some daisies and dandelions, you do make a rather pretty vase, Astarion, like you were made to only exist in the sun.” Her own hair had become unraveled with their tumble - and it creates a curtain around their heads when she gazes at him, a waterfall of Lathander's light. The fire behind her eyes, usually intense enough to sear flesh and bone, had simmered down into crackling 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 while she regarded him. Part of her longs to curl her fingers around the back of his head to have him rest against her. Instead she lowers into the sea of grass beside him, both of them hidden away from the rest of the world's judgemental 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒; she felt safe interlocking their fingers and pressing their foreheads close. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩. It's quiet away from camp and it feels almost wrong to break it.

  "Let's stay here for a while longer, I'm sure the others will come in due time - but I wouldn't mind having some alone time with you. Will that help cure you of your jealousy?"

━━ @sanguisstella

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

✧ ━━ 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

Tagged by: @witches-and-weirdos (thank you!) Tagging: @bells-of-black-sunday (for Aita?), @agonizedembrace, @pitgritted, @manufactoredxbyxdesign, @coolrpblog, @leadxxr, @mxlevolence, @deathfxnds , @deathdxnces, @sanguisstella, @kalijhomentethi @steel-and-fire, @chaotick-musings, @thegoldentigress, @aquatic-hybrid, @dethdvncer, @risingshine, @seekslight, @yanlei

name: Robin A. Baudelaire

nickname: Birdie, Little Bird

gender: Cisgender Male

romantic orientation: Biromantic (closeted - male leaning)

preferred pet names: Darling, Love, Beloved

relationship status: Single

opinion on true love:

"Mortals cling to the idea of such fortunes, don't they? Two people destined for one another, capable of a never ending love that transcends all. It is quite a dazzling prospect, is it not? How many countless tales have been woven in its name? How much blood has been spilled for it?" Robin scoffs, a bitter twist to his lips as he recalls the image of Knight and his Pretty Bride, of their perfect union. A sinking feeling settles in his stomach; heavy and suffocating. He keeps his eyes facing ahead, focusing. "Love. The word itself reeks of mockery. In this cruel world, true, heartfelt love is nothing more an illusion, a weakness that people use to manipulate the pitiful. A lie concocted for fools who lack the wit to see reality for what it is: a harsh, unforgiving joke." His fingers curl into the loose lock of white hair framing his face like delicate tendrils of moonlight, "A myth. A story to sell books and make women swoon. A man would be a damned fool to waste his time chasing after it."

opinion on love at first sight:

"Love at first sight… More stupidity. Ha! Lust at first sight, certainly. The human heart is weak, emotional - primal. It can never make a decision like love that hastily; poisoning oneself takes time, after all."

how ‘romantic’ are they?:

━━ Just ignore ol mister soggy socks up there - he's just a bitter little thing. It takes a lot to keep his attention and curiosity, let alone for him to actually fall in love; it will take a lot of interaction and chemistry to work. I'm sure in some ... messed up, toxic way he is romantic; romantic cannibalism and obsession. Maybe once his story progresses and if he becomes less ... that - then perhaps more standard forms of romance would apply. Even then I cannot see a world where a romantic, or any type frankly, relationship with him would be strictly healthy?

ideal physical traits: ━━ Robin experiences basically non-existent levels of lust in Dead by Daylight, he cares very little for the physical and much more for the internal workings of a person. Even in life he was never tempted by the hot sin of desire; bodies are flesh and bone, but what makes a person tick? That is a measure of their soul. Maybe a nice voice - mostly because there's going to be a lot of conversation and I can't imagine him wanting to listen to a voice that grinds his ears. Maybe????

ideal personality traits: ━━ That being said there's plenty of these that are reaaallly important to him in regards to every interaction he has. Robin at his core is a dark empath who uses his understandings of people to manipulate and puppet them. He cares very little for people who let him do this, or who don't even realize its happening; so when someone plays against this his interest is immediately drawn. Keeping it requires pragmatism, sadism, being intellectual and being able to keep up with him in conversation and debate. Robin likes a high level of self confidence in the people he speaks to, as to match his own - catching him off guard or matching his wit will absolutely delight him. Robin is a monster who finds enjoyment amongst his own kind. Perhaps he falls in love with a darkness that he recognizes in himself; a place where the worst parts of him can find a home. Man, maybe he is romantic!

unattractive physical traits: ━━ Less so a trait and more so a habit but bad hygiene. Despite his carnage, Robin remains immaculate - he's well groomed, clean, and he does not smell. As I said prior, Robin's focus on the physical is so minimal that I can't even think of anything he'd be physically unattracted to because it matters that little to him.

unattractive personality traits: ━━ Ok now I can talk. There are quite a few personality traits that Robin hates, particularly in this verse. Stupidity, forgetfulness, being pretentious, lacking tact, childishness, being loud. He finds naivety and innocence to be pathetic, something to snuff out. Robin reaaallly has trouble trying to interact with anyone he thinks of as unintelligent; there are very few exceptions to this rule, but they would never be considered attractive to him. He's also incredibly pragmatic, so any sort of idealistic lunacy borders on the imbecilic to him. Being a ruffian, or a brute too.

ideal date: ━━ I think dates are pretty much ... constant when with him. He doesn't find romance in outings or decorative flair or anything like that - its just what's coming out of the person's mouth and the exchange between them. It's also practically impossible to have dates in the Fog I'd think - but then again a nice joint slaughter is always fun. Literally any interaction is quality time to him since it's all that matters to him. Although I imagine he would, at some point, love to see the ocean since he's never seen it before. But that's a pipe dream in the Fog. Plus, the pragmatism thing, there isn't really time for a fancy outing - it's a waste of time better spent else where rather than preening.

do they have a type?: ━━ See "ideal personality traits" because I accidentally went overboard and explained it all up there.

average relationship length: ━━ With the intensity and depth of his genuine relationships, I imagine its an all or nothing sort of thing. Anyone who is with him will see the most vulnerable parts of him, bold of you to assume he would ever let them go.

preferred non-sexual intimacy: ━━ Yes. Ok but seriously, like I said before Robin cares so little about physical things already that sexual intimacy is pretty much off the damn table and in the trash. That being said physical intimacy lends itself to strengthen emotional bonding; emotional intimacy is the bed and support and physical intimacy is the blankets. That sort of thing. The bed by itself is fine, its comfortable and easy to rest in, but blankets are never unwelcome. Granted its something he'd have to get used to since he never had any lovers in life, and with his role in his Church - had very little physical contact in general. He's so physically starved that he's sensitive, but overtime it'll be fine.

"What is this?" "Affection." "Disgusting................. Do it again."

opinion of public affection: ━━ Robin is a reserved person, and he often won't partake in PDA. Not because its "sinful" or because he didn't grow up seeing it everywhere within his small village - but because of his own need for privacy. Anything touchy or any vulnerable will take place in privacy, or well - given the thread he's currently in - dire moments of possible death, public or private. He does, however, like playful banter regardless of who's watching or where he is.

past relationships?: ━━ None. He had no lovers in life/before the Fog.

[sinistercall]

🖤 you have to do the thing for star now (o:

@sanguisstella

🖤 - 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐓.

Just a little shitty cup full of even shittier wine - and how 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 it was to be pressed against his full, pretty lips and to feel the hot pang of his breath across the rim of its glass. Ithuriel knew she was staring at him; captivated by his striking features as she stared at him from the opposite side of the roaring fire, disregarding Wyll's 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐂 narrative in favor of seeing how the flames danced in Astarion's crimson gaze. She was lost in her daydreams up until the point when Karlach filled her mug with the watery beer they had located en route to establishing their camp. Ithuriel momentarily wondered if her laughs sounded 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 enough to hide that she had missed almost all of Wyll's story - but then someone else began to speak. Her lily-curled ears caught onto that tenor immediately; the vampire's polished and soothing voice, accompanied by his 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 peals of laughter brought her attention westward to focus on the conversation he and Lae'zel were having.

With a covetous gaze, she traced the shimmering edge of his goblet as it touched his mouth - and the pang of jealousy was enough to shake her core. Especially when her eyes met his through the dancing firelight. How was he able to 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 such a fierce desire within her heart? To the point where it ached to be set free from its constraints and unite with the one it had been yearning for - how many times had she tethered it back down? Even upon their first meeting she had leashed any initial feelings she might have had towards him; her mind had danced with thoughts of a 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄 - 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵?

Yes. It was. How couldn't it be when he disarmed her with a single 𝐂𝐎𝐎 of her name? That all of her fangs and fury and bloodstained claws seemed to fall away from her body the moment she had to interact with him? Her harsh edges were transformed into soft 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐄, and her menacing growls were shushed down until they held no 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇. Bhaal seemed to have no dominion when Astarion held her; or at least that is how it felt. Ithuriel's heart yearned for nothing more than to spill her own blood - to be gripped and 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐃 out of the cage of flesh it called home. Or … Had called home. Now it had found home in Astarion, and it's deepest wish was to be enshrined in his chest - or to be cradled in his deft, capable hands. 

She wondered if he would press her beating and bloody heart to his lips too … if he would be 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃 by it's sickeningly sweet taste or find solace in its warmth. Ithuriel wasn't sure if she was ready to face his scrutiny; she had witnessed his derisive treatment towards those who appeared to want him. Want. What a simple, 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 little word. She did not want him. No no no - far worse: Astarion had gradually taken over most if not all of her thoughts; like an instinctual need - hunger pulled by a taut, elastic 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 that she had valiantly battled against. But the paladin couldn't resist for long and soon enough every action that she made rested under neverending blanketed questions:

𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘈𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘗𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺? 𝘕𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺? 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙.

A brief, disdainful and acrid snort escaped her as she began to 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐃, recognizing that he would scoff at her vulnerability if he ever found out about the extent of 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐘 he had over her emotions. Ah … what had he once told a previous admirer? Something about "𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴"? Ithuriel's declaration of those 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨 would have meant her demise, she was sure of it. The parasitic entity's domination of her mind would have been a 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 outcome to the humiliation of rejection - she could not fathom facing him after that. Worse still was the thought of no longer gazing into his tired, soft eyes - rubies sanded down into perfectly smooth marbles. She didn't want to think of what they'd look like staring down at her with abhorrence; all her mind could do was beg for him to not hate her. She was 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘. Gods above please let him forgive her for imagining him in her stories - 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 - please forgive her for 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 that he possibly could ever feel the same. 

Forgive her for thinking about how the sunshine would have danced upon his curls in the summertime - how her hand would have held his in their youth had the world been kinder. The both of them pressed close together watching Lathander's fingers give way to the calm of night ... 

For now the tiefling found herself lost in her own drunken reflections, casting a scornful glowing gaze upon his stupid 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄 from across the campfire, oblivious to the fact that she had been fixating on it throughout the entirety of Wyll's story. With the night's breeze changing westward a sudden plume of smoke pulled her away and a rough, forceful cough erupted from her while a burning sensation brought tears to her eyes and blurred her view of 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍. Ithuriel was 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋 for the small sparkling pearls dappling the curve of her wintry lashes; she was finally free of him. The paladin sighed in relief with a small shake of her head as she made an effort to remain 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 upon rising and unwittingly attracted the focus of Karlach and Gale who both raised a curious brow towards her. Quickly, she wiped her eyes and spoke,

𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙩, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙, 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙚?

"I ... I'm going to go to bed now, I think. I'm just a little tired from the events of the day,"

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥 - 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱.

"Goodnight."

━━━ @sanguisstella

[sinistercall]

A few goblins he could deal with. But HUNDREDS? Actually, hundreds?! The sweet little tiefling might be losing her mind, or she's too much of a BLEEDING heart for her own good. Astarion is already voicing his displeasure to the situation, whining loudly in hopes to be louder than WHATEVER power is compelling her to aid these strangers.

❝ —it'll take HOURS to kill them all. We should just go. ❞

But it's too late— the paladin already pledging herself and EVERYONE ELSE'S aid to that pathetic grove. Wonderful.

❝ Darling. Love. Kitten whiskers— can daddy have a moment to speak to you privately...? ❞ He just wants to talk....

@sanguisstella

  "𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄, 𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐒 ... 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅."

There is a hint of annoyance in how she regards him, brow furrowed with a slightly wrinkled lip, although it is quick to fade into a more startled appearance once his previous words about leaving the grove settle into her mind. It was as though she could not hope to even begin finding an excuse for this type of complaint. Had she truly been sheltering a 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 all this time? Ithuriel's ears swiftly angle down while her cerise eyes became swallowed with her expanding pupil, the abyss reflecting his wintry tresses - as though she were finally recognizing whatever darkness he may have been hiding from her. He had always been 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 - a thorny maze hiding a beaten lamb, Astarion ... just a wee little 𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 when he had lost it all - with proper navigation perhaps she could reach him; or so she had thought.

The tiefling lets herself settle back into the reality of Emerald Grove surrounding her, freeing herself from the troubled, agonized misery that was Astarion’s mind and heart. Lathander had kissed the Grove with gently cascading light - each blade of grass ignited into a beautiful shade matching the grove’s title. The paladin's gaze flicks to the side as she drinks in the sight of children cuddled up to their grandfather under a peach tree fresh in bloom - even her Urge doesn't bubble in delight at the thought of their tattered bodies littering this wondrous space. Nausea settles in her stomach like curdled milk at the bottom of a glass - visible and conspicuous; she's unable to 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 her hurt and surprise - it paints and piles onto every feature of her face.

  𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

"You are right, Astarion, it will take hours - hours to save over a hundred innocent lives from despair and dread; something many a person should have done but didn't. I will not fall into the category of people who stand idly by and let hundreds of lives be lost because 𝐎𝐍𝐄 act of altruism may disturb my day. I ... I had thought you would feel the same as me, but I ..." Her gaze begins to blank and the longer she watches him, the more her brows relax and lower into something far worse than anger; and even worse than disappointment - there was ... Nothing. Just like the falling leaves in autumn she was soon left barren and cold before him; there was no flame within her except the swirling bile in her stomach which threatened to bring up her breakfast. What kind of person would just allow such a slaughter to happen? What kind of person was he? The screaming thoughts render her nearly placid, and it was that distinct lack of 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 in her voice that illustrated her true feelings hiding under all of this civility. 

“They called me 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 - without hesitation." 

Those with rose and blushing flesh like her - swiveling horns and pointed tails; seemingly hell spawned devils - how kindly they'd regarded her ... How quick she was to melt into their warmth and gentle hand; family maybe, more likely something feasible and earthly to cling to. What feelings of dejection had she kept so feverishly 𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘? Had he not even been able to detect them? What yearning screamed and ripped itself forward even past her Darkest Urges? Ithuriel shifts her focus past him as though he has become yet another 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄 for her to overcome. Her hand rests upon the hilt of her blade, yet her fingers never curl to unsheathe its mighty edge - instead she spares him one last glance as she steps to the side of him to approach the others within their party:

"You may leave, if you like, I don't own you. If you wish to go, then go - I will not stop you." 

@sanguisstella