#the bard with the magical voice

[sadmages]

Durge thoughts

[antaripirate]

i finished The Fragile Threads Of Power a few days ago…

when i first found Lila Bard, it felt like a miracle. by the time i finished acol, i didn't think it was possible to feel any closer to her. but fuck me was i wrong.

i don't have the words to explain how i feel right now. i will always have Lila Bard, and that means more to me than i can ever explain. i don't know how to explain why she's so important to me. but oh my fucking god.

and it's not just her. kell, oh kell. i would do anything for him, no matter what.

alucard, rhy, and others for reasons i won't elaborate on right now for spoilers' sake.

i will write something that resembles coherence when my thoughts settle.

but just know that this book was perfect in every possible way. it was everything i ever wanted, and everything i never knew i needed.

this book destroyed me. i have not cried so hard in years. but having read it i just feel truly happy, even though it tore me apart.

this book is home.

[purplebass]

Lila and Kell visit her childhood home and she relives some memories.

Some emotional hurt/comfort for you all 💜 Since today is mother's day, let's say this is a sad take on this holiday.

[youareunbearable]

I was listening to Blood Upon The Snow by Hozier and GOD what a Himring theme like imagine???

Maedhros is newly "healed" from his 30 years or torture, just gave up his throne and crown to his uncle and is determined to travel east to build his strong hold against Morgoth. Everyone is worried, like yes he's technically healed but Maedhros has a… violence to him now. He is colder, both at the touch and personality wise. There is a glint in his eyes and his brothers (and cousins, and his aunt and uncle) all look at each other with worry behind his back as he now prowls as he walks.

Maglor is the most worried. He's more in tune with the world and the Music around them, and while Maedhros' song isn't twisted like the thralls they've met, it's brassy now. Before, back in Valinor, Maitimo used to sound like a string quartet, complex and intricate, like a beautiful glass mosaic that told a whole story without words and still let light shine through upon everyone in a splash of rainbow beams. Now, there is a thrumming undertone that's deeper, richer, that makes the almost word filled song of the strings become shrill, like they're crying out. The bass undertone sounds like the marching of an army and the strings sound like a death wail of the doomed. It makes Maglor's skin crawl as he watches his brother, not knowing what to make of the change in Song.

He listens, and he follows Maedhros. Climbs with him up the tallest, coldest peak he finds in the east. The mountain is cold, the wind is biting, and the snow is deep-- not that that is a hindrance for the Elves, but the horses have to trudge through snow that is basically up to their chests. The music here is also cold, sharp woodwinds nipping at the ears and shrill strings that rattles his bones. Maglor opens his mouth to complain, to urge his brother to turn back down this damned mountain when he finally breaks through the cacophony and hears his brother's song.

For the first time since the darkness engulfed Valinor, Maedhros' Song was steady, quiet, finding peace and blending into the rush of Music wiping around them. Maedhros himself looks at peace, eyes closed and face upturned to the weak sun. Between the rich red of his hair, regrown down to his shoulders since they had to shave it after his rescue, and the deep scarlet of his Feanorian robes, Maedhros looks like a spot of blood upon the snow. Maglor shivers, suddenly overcome by a vision of his brother drenched in blood, mouth curled into a snarl like a feral animal, surrounded by endless white and red all around him.

Maedhros begins to hum, a low tune that does nothing but send shivers up and down Maglor's spin.

"Brother, please, let us leave. There is nothing for us here, maybe if we keep travelling east there will be a better place to set up camp." Maglor begs, walking closer to Maedhros.

"No." Maglor freezes at the word. There was an undercurrent of command, of steel. "This place speaks to me, I will make our stronghold here."

Maglor gapes, he looks around at the barren mountain. Nothing but rocks, and snow, and sparse shrubs. "Here? Really?"

Maedhros nods. "Here. Her name shall be Himring, and she will withstand any siege." He hums again, the notes low and easily swallowed up by the wind. Maglor with his keen ears could pair the simple tune and worried at his lip when he noticed that it was actually a very basic version of the Song that screamed around them.

If he listened closer, he could almost hear the words in the Song. His heart clenched as he watched Maedhros turn and begin ordering their men, getting the wheels of creation of their base set into motion.

Maglor looked around the mountain side again. He could feel the glee of the mountain, at how the rocks thrummed beneath their feet and snow. It felt vicious, like hunting dogs straining at their leashes, an eager glee that felt almost bloodthirsty. Maglor just hoped that it just would be directed towards helping their cause, and not be their downfall.

To all things housed in her silence Nature offers a violence

[undead-potatoes]

Some baby mamas >8)

Decided to make up some visuals of what their moms would look like bc why not! So we have the mamas on each side with pretty baby bard in the middle for comparison. I think I did pretty well, considering what I had to work with, tried to get a little bit of both of them in there.

I don't have any names for anyone yet, so I'm just gonna call them Mama D(row), Mama O(rc), and B(ard) for now.

Mama D is a half-elf drow, and can be a bit of a stereotypical overbearing mother, fussing and getting all up in her kid's business. She usually means well, her meddling coming from a place of worry, warranted or otherwise.

Mama O is a half-orc, and a more laid back counterpart to her wife. She's always been more lenient with B, perhaps a bit too lenient at times, but the two temper and balance each other out in a way.

They run a small florist business in Baldur's Gate, a business started by Mama O's own parents, and later passed down to her. B both lives and works with their moms, with the drag queen gig being something they do some nights and weekends.

B has a mostly good relationship with their moms, with the usual tension that comes from living and working with your parents every day, and having a mom who's maybe just a taaaad bit too nosy about your private life (trust me, I know).

The Mamas used to drag B with them out camping quite a lot when B was a kid, partly because the Mamas enjoyed it, partly to scout for any good spots to harvest wild flowers. They'd teach B various survival skills too, like how to secure shelter, heat, and food, as well as recognizing local flora and fauna, and maybe just a little bit about celestial navigation too.

(Also kind of a sidenote, but I'm contemplating on making Mama D an old ranger. Maybe the Mamas had some sort of meet-cute out there in the woods at some point, like running into each other while they were hunting or something).

When B disappears, the two don't think much of it at first; it's not unusual for B to be gone a few days, and sometimes they just forget to tell them. But when B doesn't show up again after a few days they start to worry, which eventually turns into to panic as time goes on. They spend the better part of 3 months looking for B, asking people about them, making missing posters, and reporting them missing to the Fists (not that that was ever gonna do anything).

Mama D especially is beside herself with worry, freaking out, crying, struggling to eat or sleep. Mama O tries her best to stay calm to reassure her wife, to not lose her cool and coming up with plausible explanations for what has happened to their kid, but she doesn't believe herself any more than her wife does.

And then B finally shows back up again in Baldur's Gate after 2-3 very long months, looking like they've been through the hells and back, followed by the most eclectic entourage you've ever seen lmao.

[drawbudd]

Wait what if instead of a siren being a type of demon siren was actually a subclass in bard magic

[lupismaris]

You ever get a small seemingly insignificant idea for a scene in your writing and then twenty minutes later it's devastating you

Yeah

[piscodemon]

MAN we had the last session of a mini-campaign my friend homebrewed tonight and like. I cried no less than 4 times. My PC wrote down the partys journey of them saving all these people from all over the continent (?) But. Because of the transient nature of dreams, people began to forget, and her story was widely regarded as fiction. 🥲 she's a mercenary and writer now. From squishy wizard/Artificer to Merc is a funny pipeline but when your teacher forgets you because you had to give up an important part of yourself and you lose all sense of who you are, what are you to do? You can't go back to that life when there's nothing to go back to.

[yourplayersaidwhat]

The party whose entire thing is to try to avoid combat are in hiding, trying to figure out how to deal with an assassin with an element of surprise on their side

Bard: I could cast Sleep on her that worked with the last unhinged enemy... Ah shit no she is an elf. I am useless then

Rogue: I could do my classic move---

Bard: Exploding all of us like last time?

Rogue: ....no I have given up my magic studies 

Bard: Nonono fireball was good. Just do it when the helpful NPCs are not around her

Rogue: I meant more like getting close to her acrobatically and stabbing her

Bard: Not sure that is gonna be enough

DM [OOC]: Does [Cleric] have poisons maybe?

Cleric [OOC]: No???? Only healing potions??? Why would he???

DM [OOC]: Oh he is taking his oath seriously

Cleric [OOC with a very cheerful voice]: I could put a blood curse on her though!

Once the players stopped laughing, we did do indeed just that. Cleric used his blood hunter multiclass to put a blood curse on her, and Rogue managed to do his acrobatics to subdue her. And so the Avoiding Combat Party managed to avoid combat yet again 

[nimthirielrinon]

I need to talk about Gale’s insecurities. For all his noted overconfidence, this is a man whose entire self-worth is based on his prowess with magic.

He was a “gifted” kid whose abilities started out well advanced for his age, just to begin with. He very much thinks of himself as annoying, which you learn in the Durge playthrough after the dead bard incident, when he says that if being annoying we’re reason enough to kill someone, he’d “be dead 1000 times over!”.

If you romance him and convince him not to take the Crown after the second romance scene in Act 3, he mentions how he’s used to being seen as over-confident and even self-deluded regarding his abilities, which I think would only make him posture even harder as a defence mechanism.

I think for a long time, his relationship with Mystra was likely something he used as a flex on other wizards who had been cruel or mean to him, based on how he brings it up, when he does.

But what gets me is his utter relief whenever he isn’t rejected by Tav. When he first opens up to you, he has pretty much already prepared himself to be kicked out of the party. He’s even got a plan for when his bomb goes off, to do the least amount of harm he can, and when he says “Even I’ve grown tired of the sound of my own voice” I swear his voice cracks and he sounds like he could cry.

If you romance him, when he tells you he’s in love with you, if you say “I love you too” instead of going straight for a kiss, he’s once again relieved. Despite the fact that you’re there with him and have been romancing him, he still has a doubts that you would return his feelings.

It’s no wonder he made the mistakes he did. This is a man who’s been told his entire life that he’s annoying. Though he’s had other mortal lovers (and we don’t know how those relationship were, only that they clearly ended), he is clearly primed for rejection. And then his ex-girlfriend, the goddess of magic herself, tells him she’ll only forgive his transgression if he kills himself.

Like I said at the top, his precocious talent for the weave is the entire basis of his self-worth, unless and until Tav assured him that he has value beyond his mastery of the Weave. It’s no wonder he felt like he had to “prove” to Mystra that he loved her enough. As long as his self-esteem was based on his magical abilities, he was never going to feel like he was good enough, especially for the goddess who is all magic. He was never going to be able to feel as though he was loving her well enough.

I guess what I’m saying is that his “ambition” and his hubris make so much sense when you consider the hinted-at reasons for his insecurities, his clear desire for friendship and affection (he summoned a Tressym who became a lifelong companion and a lava mephit or something with whom he is still in touch; he even says he didn’t have friends growing up), and his main talent/special interest.

I think he’s a superbly-written character, and I definitely feel like he deserves neither death nor godhood, but a good and comfortable life surrounded by a loving family who encourage him to be his best self.

[pheonixgrave]

Ignore It (18+)

This is really my first time posting a story to here, I usually only do it to AO3, but this is what I made this account for. Might as well start using it?

WARNINGS: Heavy smut, corruption kink, mild blood kink? (not sure about that one) Fem Tav, hetero relationship, stress fucking, not beta'd, angst, use of cunt

Smut blow the cut, please enjoy!!

Trekking through the wilderness was exhausting as is. But the bickering? That was starting to drive Tav crazy. Vampire this. Shar that. Eating magic this. Demons that. It was always something else. No matter what she did, they were always at each other’s throats. Oh the irony in that. Maybe the Illithid worm wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe this, the arguing, was the worst thing to happen to her. If she had to hear any Githyanki phrases in the next thirty minutes, she might kill Lae’zel herself. Tav was at her wits end, ready to beat her head against the nearest tree just to see if that got rid of the tadpole. It would be a win-win if it also got everyone else to shut up. 

They didn’t even let up at camp. Sure, they all had their respective tents and spaces. But the glaring. Oh, the glaring! Not a moment of peace before bed. She sat near her bedroll, closer to the fire Gale had set up. A tankard in hand, her back to the more vocal members of the party. She could practically hear Lae’zel glaring at Astarion. And Shadowheart wasn't exactly quiet about her distaste for him either. It’s not like there was an Infernal being less than ten yards away from him. Or a Warlock just across the flames. 

She very quickly downed the rest of her drink before tossing the tankard near the flames. Curling up in her bedroll, she tried to block out all of the noise and barbed words. It was currently taking everything in her to not scream at her first three companions. They had all been through something insane and deadly. Why could they not have it in them to simply get along? It felt impossible. 

Fortunately, her sour mood was noticed by her party. Not that she’d realize it at the moment. The biggest point of contention, Astarion, managed to get the courage to walk up to their fearless, albeit grumpy, leader. He nudged her with his foot. Which he immediately realized was a bad decision. Taz shot up to meet his eyes in the blink of an eye. “What do you want?”

The bite in her voice was unmistakable. But he knew how to handle it. “I want-”

“Don’t bother,” she cut him off. She never cut him off. She was more than happy to let him talk at her sometimes. The final glare she gave him was intense as she stalked towards the lake, away from everybody else. Astarion watched her walk away. Did he only watch to see her hips sway? Absolutely. But that didn’t change the fact that the Bard needed to relax. He smiled to himself before following her. “Didn’t I say don’t bother? I’m not in the mood to be your midnight snack tonight.” 

He didn’t fail to match her step. “Why darling! Do you truly think so little of me?” He pouted. 

Tav just sighed, “Take your antics somewhere else for now, Astarion.”

“Will you just sit down?” He pushed on her shoulders, forcing her down.

Much to the rest of the party's dismay, she did trust the vampire. Whether that would lead her to her own doom was yet to be seen.

Her knees crumbled under the pressure as she fell on the ground. She shot another glare in his direction but that didn’t seem to dissuade him from his plan.

“You’ve been far too stressed today, darling.” He purred in her ear, his hands never leaving her shoulders. 

“Astarion?” He continued to move her body until she was on her stomach.

“Shhh, do you trust me?” Gods, that man was always far too much for Tav.

“Should I?”

He chuckled as he readjusted himself so he was sitting on the back of her thighs, straddling her. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not immediately rub her ass. Gods, it always looked so perfect when she walked. He took a deep breath before applying pressure between her shoulder blades. He felt her body tense before slowly relaxing. 

It wasn’t what she expected. Was he giving her a massage? His hands worked slowly from the base of her neck to her waist. And-oh? Did she just moan? 

“It’s alright, my dear, I love hearing you.” He smirked before continuing his work. He continued like that for a few moments, just enjoying the little sounds she was making. “Let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

She pushed him off her, rolling on her back and sitting up. “So that’s what this was? Just an excuse to get me naked?” That fire was coming back.

“Darling, if I was trying to get into your pants, I’d try flattering you more first. Unfortunately, it is difficult to get this right over your clothes.” He sat next to her, staring out at the water, just watching the water crash against the coast. “I was taught how to do this a long, long time ago.”

She stared at the rogue before swallowing. The tips of her ears and the back of her neck were flushed. But she did trust him. He would say if this was untoward. Right? With a shaky breath, she sighed but said “Alright.” 

Astarion watched her shaky hands start to untie the little knots holding her bustier. His mouth started to water, but he had patience. As she shrugged the last of her tunic off, she covered her chest and turned the other way. He did manage to lay down her tunic so she wasn’t just laying on the dirt anymore. She laid herself in front of him. He could feel how shaky her breath still was as he climbed on top of her once more. 

He resumed his previous work, addressing the knots in her lower back. The elf’s skin was so soft, so warm. He found himself just getting lost in the feeling of someone trusting him. It was a strange feeling but a welcome one. 

Tav, on the other hand, was getting lost in his touch. His cold hands worked their way up her back and she liked it far more than she thought she would. What started off as little moans slowly became louder. It didn’t help that he was an expert with his hands. And her mind started to trail off to things that were unbecoming of a lady.

But Astarion could feel her thighs clench. No matter how she tried to move without him noticing too much. Gods, he could almost smell her arousal. Over 200 years old and here he was, still trying to keep himself from getting hard. But then she moaned his name. And what little restraint he had disappeared. He put his hands near her head before leaning down towards her ear. “This wasn’t an excuse to see you naked but you are making it very hard to not act on my…baser impulses, my dear.” He felt the shiver go down her spine. 

“Astarion,” she moaned again before grinding back on him. And she got what she wanted when he flipped her on her back without moving from his spot. And there she was, laid out in front of a vampire spawn with her chest bare. She looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure how to go from there. But him? He had far more experience than most. He moved faster than she thought. He captured her lips as he slotted himself between her thighs. And just like that, his hands were everywhere. 

It was like he couldn’t decide where he liked them best. Her throat? Her breasts? Her hips so he could grind against her? He just couldn’t decide. And she tried so hard to keep herself quiet. But then he moved his lips down her neck, his fangs brushing over the still healing marks from the night before. He thought about feeding for a moment, but something far more filling had his attention right now. He moved until he had her nipple in his mouth. Flicking the nub with his tongue, his hand went to massage the other one. He wasn’t gentle. No one that knew Astarion for who he was thought he was a gentle man. It was rough but Tav didn’t seem to mind. 

In fact, Tav seemed to love it. Her back arched into him. “Astarion!” And then her hands were on his shoulders, urging him downwards.

And he didn’t want to fight it. He kept moving, biting and nipping at her stomach. And then he got to her trousers. He sat up, panting and looking wild. His fangs were bared and he was panting hard. He threw her legs on his shoulders, tossing her loafers somewhere behind him. And then he went to work on the knots holding her trousers up. Which he made very quick work of. He shimmied them off her, making sure to keep her underwear on for a moment. He stripped off his shirt before returning to her mouth. 

He needed her. 

“Astarion, please, touch me.”

He was quick to snake his hand towards her cunt. And even quicker to find the spot that made her gasp into his mouth. Gods, he could do this forever. He made his way back to her neck, lapping over those same marks. Her hand tangled itself into his hair and the other gripped his shoulder with far more strength than he expected. His cold hands were a sharp contrast to the warmth of her. Her head was thrown back against the ground as she gasped for air. She was shaking. 

It was already so much for her. She had been so pent up and so angry. But the way he worked her clit? It was a way no one ever had before. Not even herself. In fact, no one had ever touched her like this before. Nothing past shy kisses or heady glances. If she had known, maybe she would have lived her life a little differently. 

But once her back arched and she cried out his name? She clenched around nothing. She felt so empty now and he hadn’t even gotten close yet. He chuckled as best he could, “Already, darling?” he muttered against her neck.

“I-” she gasped once he slid a finger inside her. “Astarion,” his name rolled off her tongue and he swore he wouldn’t mind hearing her do this forever. He could still feel her cunt clench around his fingers and he groaned. He couldn’t wait much longer but she was enjoying herself. “I’ve never-” he curled his finger before adding a second one. 

“You’ve never felt this good before?”

“Done this before,” she managed to gasp out before he curled his fingers again. 

His hands stalled for a moment and she whined. “I’m to be your first?” She nodded, wriggling her hips, trying to will him to move again. “My dear, why didn’t you say anything?” He removed his fingers and she cried out. “Shhh, I have to make a good first impression, don’t I?”

He practically ripped her underwear off. She was a virgin. He couldn’t lie that it made him even harder to think about being the only one who got to touch her. But he had to take care of her if he wanted to be the only one.

He buried his face in her cunt, holding her thighs open with his hands. Tav covered her mouth to hide her cries of his name. But it was his name on her lips. His fingers going right back inside her, where they belonged. His lips on her clit. He groaned again when she came, this time right on his face and hands. He lapped at her for a moment longer and started pistoning his fingers in and out. He couldn’t help but watch her cum make a mess of his fingers. 

“Astarion!” She cried as she came on his fingers yet again. “Please!”

“Please what, my dear?” He wiped her juices off his chin before closing the distance between them. His lips hovered over hers, those red eyes glazed over with a hunger. Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled at him, all too happy to offer herself to him. She bared her neck. And dive he did. His fangs pierced her neck once again as he drank. He knew better than to drink more than his share but he wanted nothing more than to keep drinking as she wrapped her bare legs around his waist and rubbed her cunt against the fabric of his trousers. He released her neck and practically shredded what was left of his clothing. 

He leaned back for a moment, taking in the sight. This elf, a noble from Waterdeep, was laid out before him. Freckles dotting her skin and her blonde hair spread out like a halo before him. It would be angelic if not for the blood slowly trickling out of her neck. “Astarion,” she whispered. Her voice was full of something he couldn’t quite place. Something he had pushed aside a long time ago. 

All he could do was nod before he lined himself up to her. As he slowly slid in, he swore that this was the closest he could get to heaven. 

Astarion wasn’t small. Tav could feel his cock stretching her cunt out. Why did no one ever tell her it could feel like this? She gripped his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him once more. She sighed as he finally finished. “Gods above, you’re amazing.” She whispered, almost too afraid to say it. Too afraid to say the other things on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes traveled down his body to where they were connected before looking back up at him. 

“Shit,” he panted, withholding every emotion that came flooding through him. Instead, he snaked a hand underneath her thigh, lifting it up before he began to thrust.

She thought just having her inside him felt amazing. But this angle had her barely able to breath. She threw her head back and arched into his body. It was all she could do to hold on to him as he upped his pace. Tav could barely gasp out his name as she tried to look at him. His eyes were shut and his hair was more than perfectly tousled. “Beautiful,” was all she could get out before she tightened around his cock. 

“Shit!” He followed closely behind her, seemingly unexpectedly. They laid there for a moment, just feeling each other before he slipped out of her. She cried, a palpable sense of emptiness. He watched her breath for a few moments longer, secretly enjoying his cum starting to drip out of her cunt. Normally, he’d leave. He’d get up, put his clothes back together and leave. But Tav? Something told him he couldn’t. So he grabbed his tunic and wrapped her in it before carrying her to the water. 

He tried not to notice her nuzzling his neck. He tried to ignore the praises she said. He tried desperately to ignore the draw she had on him. He tried to ignore her moan as he set her in the shallow water, gently taking his tunic off her shoulders. Instead, he sat next to her and let the water wash away the previous activities. 

[galeorderbride]

Good lord! That Gale fic?! I made a GRAVE error and read it at work and now I have to concentrate while doing business things?! 10000/10 no notes! Thank you so much!!

What if Gale used Invisibility with a consenting Tav?

Ohhh you’re a gem for saying that thank you <3 and I hope you recovered from workplace smut (I have definitely made the same mistake lol)

You put a thought in my brain, anon. I made this little ficlet based on what you suggested :)

18+ MDNI for smut, including: inappropriate use of invisibility spell (consensual), surprise intimate touching, fingering

I wrote this with F!reader as the subject, hope that's ok <3

Words: 1164

Gale wasn’t a man to do the expected. When you permitted him to use an invisibility spell in your—private moments—he wasn’t going to simply sneak up on you while doing dishes or writing letters. He decided to take the time to make things elaborate, unexpected to the nth degree. Which is why, when he finally did execute his plan, you figured he’d forgotten about the conversation. You couldn’t deny your slight disappointment, anticipating a playful surprise as days went on. Never knowing when he’d take action. Only to have nothing happen. 

He was a busy man lately, now that he was a full time professor at Blackstaff and midterm season was peaking. Locking himself in his office for hours at a time, missing dinner if you didn’t bring him a plate after you’d finished. Followed by copious amounts of ‘thank yous’ and kisses on your cheek. Making sure you knew he hadn’t forgotten you, even if he holed himself up for so long. You tried to remain resilient, trust that he was preoccupied and once this time of the semester was complete, he’d be back to his attentive self once again. 

Self care was a good distraction from the hollow silence of the tower. Tara wasn’t even there to lift your spirits, visiting Morena for the night. Instead, you ran yourself an indulgent bath, using extra honey scented bubble bath and rosehip oil. Frothy suds blanketing the top layer of the hot water as you sunk your body into paradise. Letting yourself fall under the spell of relaxation as you tried to get your mind off the isolation. 

The dripping tap and gusts of wind against the glass windowpane were all that could be heard. Humming to yourself your favourite tunes from the bard performance you and Gale attended a week ago. Eyes closing as you became lost in the warm water, the perfect temperature for you. 

Until a shift in the formerly still water catches you off guard. A smooth, tranquil wave of the bubbles splitting in two, as if a hand broke between. Teasing through the gap of your spread knees. You hardly noticed at first, just thought it was a twitch of your leg or stretch of your foot. But the light flow around your skin becomes a soft but evident caress from ankle to calf. Someone is touching you, but you are completely alone. 

You unleash a shaky breath, a fearful but intriguing jerk within your muscles as the invisible touch hastens to move further between your legs. Ripples of water now waving in full force, sizeable enough that you pieced together just what—or who—guided such spontaneous magic. 

“Is that you, professor?” You say, voice hitching with captivated breath as the formless hand brushes against your cunt. Featherlight to the point where you wonder if you even felt it. 

No response, the typical verbosity of your wizard masked for effect. Part of you fizzled with fear, a tiny threat of a question in the back of your mind that asked if Gale was the one touching you or not. But you were more than familiar with the way he circled around your clit, the patterns of which he teased even though he’d swear there was no routine. After months of living with him in Waterdeep, when he’d seldom go a day without ravishing you, you found little trouble recognizing the force to be him.  

You giggle flirtatiously, head lying back against the ridge of the tub as invisible fingertips went from tickling to softly rubbing your clit. Letting your ankle lift through the steamy bubbles and hook over the edge. Opening further for him, biting your lip in sinful satisfaction as you catch the desirous sound of his shaken breath in your ear. Definitely him, drowning in the essence of your soaked up pleasure. You moan a little louder for him, a sign for this new ghost lover of yours to keep going as you climb further toward climax. 

Splashing increases around you as your lower body jolts with pleasure. Gale slides one finger inside, curling upward in the perfect way. Your skin runs red in a lusty blush as you picture what your pussy might look like as an invisible finger thrusts into it. Getting penetrated by nothing yet filled even further as he slips a second finger inside. 

Your moan is almost guttural, ferally chasing that high. You say, “Are you going to show yourself or am I gonna cum all by myself?” 

With his free hand, he snapped his fingers with a loud flick. Gale appeared behind you, resting his arm around the tub as your eyes stared upward at him. Strands of hair hanging around his face, the circles under his chestnut eyes darkened even further with incurable lust. Finished by a smirk so irresistible you’re sure you could explode just by looking at him. 

Moving his free hand to your breast, prodding at the plush flesh, he says, “I’d hardly be able to concentrate if I tried. Watching you come undone for me…I can’t think of anything else.” 

Gale smashed his lips against yours, passionate and fiery. The same pace as his thumb rubbing your clit, fingers thrusting assertively up. His other hand worked your nipple, pinching and twisting in just the right spots to get your entire midsection in tingles. Slipping his tongue into your mouth just as you let out a pleasurable yelp. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge of paradise. 

He doesn’t miss a beat, maintaining rhythm even as your body writhes in ecstasy. Your kiss slips away, mouths still hovering over each other, drinking in your air. You shudder out, “D-don’t stop…nearly there…”

His breath is hot, keeping your foreheads together. Leading you up and up that hill of no return. He growled, “Yes, good. Do it for me, do it now.” 

The crackle of his voice is enough to fully tip you over the edge. Your sex blossoms with a wet, intense orgasm that spreads throughout your lower body. Gale laughs quietly, taking in the satisfaction of finally unravelling you after so long waiting to strike with that invisibility spell. Days of thinking about the perfect time, now coming to fruition as you fall apart around his fingers. He can’t wait for the rest of the evening. 

Your body calms down, settling into the lukewarm water filled with soap lines and sweat. Gale gives you no time before he scoops both arms under you, lifting you from the tub in a bridal style carry. You giggle as you hug his shoulders, rubbing your nose against his. 

“Thank you for lifting me,” you say, “My legs are like jelly after that.” 

He chuckled, “Well, it’s the least I could do. Considering I’m about to take you to the bed and make the rest of your body—like jelly.” 

“Oh? Invisible or not?” You asked. 

As he flipped you onto the mattress and climbed over you, he said, “Why not both?”

[pavus]

What began as a personal project of mine has spiraled into something way bigger and way more intense than I anticipated, so I figured I might offer it up to the Dragon Age fandom at large in case there was any interest in participating!

So, here's my idea for #VEILGUARD30:

Starting on October 1st and going day-by-day until right before Veilguard's launch on the 31st, this little event will begin! Whether you're inspired to write Dragon Age fic before the game's release or interested in developing your Rook, you're more than welcome to participate! And don't feel pressured to post every single day if that day's prompt doesn't appeal to you — this is meant to be engaged with to inspire you rather than bully you into writing every single day in October.

I posted this early to give everyone a running start, if they intend to participate or fish for curiosity and interest otherwise!

All sixty prompts are written down beneath the cut.

GENERAL WRITING PROMPTS.

Joining. Armor. Vhenadahl. Deep Roads. Bards. Carta. Dragon. Sovereigns. Potions. Orlais. Harrowing. Romance. Andraste. Campfire. Vallaslin. Lowtown. Mabari. Close Call. Elfroot. Demon or Spirit. Qunari. Templar. Halamshiral. Blood Magic. The Inquisition. Darkspawn. Dalish. Red Lyrium. Dreadwolf. The Veilguard.

ROOK DEVELOPMENT PROMPTS.

Name. Age. Race. Background. Class / Spec. Gender. Sexuality. Parentage. Siblings. Early Childhood. Adolescence. First Love. First Hate. Favorites. Injuries / Scars. Distinguishing Features Voice Type. Vices. Virtues. Homeland. Height / Build. Hair / Eye color. Personality. Aspirations. Fears. Hobbies. Views on Magic. Views on Elves.. Views on the Veilguard. Views on Solas.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

I feel so dumb for never having realized this before but I was thinking about the bookend in AGoT between the Others, the dragons, and two heroes: Waymar Royce and Daenerys Targaryen.

While squaring off against the Others, Waymar Royce asks for a dance.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

It’s notable that this scene is eerily silent save for the bits of dialogue. And when Waymar’s dance finally begins, there’s a notable lack of music.

The pale sword came shivering through the air. Ser Waymar met it with steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. Royce checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again.

I’ve always asserted that Ser Waymar is a failed last hero if we judge his success based off Old Nan’s blueprint.

So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds—”

Both Ser Waymar and the last hero lost their companions and both had their swords shatter to the cold. Yet Waymar failed to complete one important step: find the children of the forest. The children are also known as “the singers”. So it’s notable that Ser Waymar attempts to dance without any music(ians) to accompany him. And because he does so, his dance ends in failure.

But then we have Daenerys Targaryen in the Dothraki Sea.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

Dany performs a miracle in bringing dragons to life, the first person to do so in centuries. And these dragons sing a song that proclaims her, an exiled young princess and a widow, Azor Ahai reborn - the champion of fire, and warrior of light.

This bookend between the first and last chapters is so poignant. It’s not just that fire has returned to combat Ice. It’s that Dany brought back the music necessary to complete this dance. We start the book with a failed hero and end it with the rise of a true one; also interesting that Waymar’s end comes while he’s down on his knees whereas Dany rises to her feet reborn.

This makes Dany’s identity as the promised prince(ss) all the more impressive.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door.

Waymar failed because he didn’t have a song to accompany him. Yet Dany has a song to dance to. A song of fire.

I think this raises some interesting questions regarding the nature of this great conflict. There not only has to be a song to dance to, but it seems that there is a key distinction between the singer and the dancer. Rhaegar Targaryen failed to fulfill the prophecy because he was the singer and not the dancer. His role was to provide the hero’s musical accompaniment. In a way, it’s almost like he as the bard is the herald. And the herald is rarely, if ever, the main character. So notice how Rhaegar heralds the hero, the king, while looking at Dany.

But! - there’s different kinds of songs. Dany has one, made by her dragons. But it’s not be the only one. The children of the forest are heavily associated with the last hero and while Waymar Royce is dead, there lives another: Bran Stark.

Bran found the children, the singers, and is a step closer to completing the last hero’s journey.

Now Bran is an interesting case.

“Go,” Bran whispered to his own horse. He touched her neck lightly, and the small chestnut filly started forward. Bran had named her Dancer. She was two years old, and Joseth said she was smarter than any horse had a right to be.

He has a dancing horse but at some point has to leave her behind. So does that mean that he has to learn to do the dancing in his own way?

And I find it interesting that Bran has a female dancer horse because this creates a neat parallel with Dany, a dancer who may also be the stallion that mounts the world; if it’s not her, then it has to be her mount, Drogon. This is important if we consider that the last hero, Azor Ahai/the promised prince, the Stallion That Mounts the World, etc. are all different yet complimentary manifestations of one heroic legend.

But the issue of songs doesn’t end there because there still exists one Jon Snow, another version of the last hero and promised prince. Jon isn’t a bard but he has been positioned as being adjacent to dancers. I won’t harp on about Jon’s parallels with Waymar Royce because they’ve been done to death. But it seems that Jon, like Bran and Dany, will succeed where Ser Waymar failed.

Because not only does Jon have music to herald him:

That night he dreamt of wildlings howling from the woods, advancing to the moan of warhorns and the roll of drums. Boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM came the sound, a thousand hearts with a single beat.

But he is also positioned as a last man standing among many dead heroes:

“Stand fast,” Jon Snow called. “Throw them back.” He stood atop the Wall, alone. “Flame,” he cried, “feed them flame,” but there was no one to pay heed. They are all gone. They have abandoned me.

And he has a sword that will not shatter against the cold:

“Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist.

It’s noteworthy that Jon is the son of a singer, Rhaegar Targaryen. The very singer who sang the song of ice and fire; and notice how Jon is clad in both. Plus he has been mentored by another, Mance Rayder, whom he eventually succeeds.

At a quick glance, it’s very interesting to me that Jon is constantly listening to songs beyond the Wall. There’s the song of the blue winter rose (which in a way heralds his own birth), the song of Joramun and the Horn of Winter, and many others.

It’s also noteworthy just how often giants are mentioned as the subject of songs in Jon’s POV chapters. I bring this up because of the Last of the Giants:

Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth. The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth.

I think there is a parallel here between the dragons, the giants, and the children of the forest. These are all dying species, yet they linger on for the song of ice and fire still needs to be brought to completion.

And let’s consider where our heroes fit in all this. Dany commands the dragons, Bran learns from the children, while Jon begins to befriend the giants. All these creatures make musical accompaniments for our heroes to dance to.

Lastly, I’m inclined to think of the Stark girls though I’m not entirely sure where they would fit in all of this. Arya, at some point, trains to be a dancer:

On the way back to his chambers, he came upon his daughter Arya on the winding steps of the Tower of the Hand, windmilling her arms as she struggled to balance on one leg. The rough stone had scuffed her bare feet. Ned stopped and looked at her. “Arya, what are you doing?” “Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself. Ned had to smile. “Which toe?” he teased. “Any toe,” Arya said, exasperated with the question. She hopped from her right leg to her left, swaying dangerously before she regained her balance. “Must you do your standing here?” he asked. “It’s a long hard fall down these steps.” “Syrio says a water dancer never falls.” She lowered her leg to stand on two feet. “Father, will Bran come and live with us now?”

Now Arya is no singer, but her wolf is.

In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her.

On the other hand, Sansa is no dancer but she is known for her ability to sing. And boy does she sing beautifully.

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears. Gentle Mother, font of mercy, Save our sons from war, we pray,

In fact, a lot of Sansa’s songs are prayers for those who dance to the music of swords. Her songs are soothing, calming. And see this during Stannis’ assault on Kings Landing when she is able to calm Sandor and the noble women through the power of song. Hers is not a song to dance to, it’s a different kind though I’m not entirely sure what it entails. I do want to say, though, that Sansa is often paralleled with creates that take flight; various birds and bats. So she is a singer, much like the dragons.

I may have neglected other characters here, but I just thought it was intriguing that our main heroes (Jon, Bran, Dany, maybe Arya) are all positioned as dancers for the song of ice and fire.

[moonselune]

Hey! Could you write something about jealous Gale, Wyll and Astarion, please? 💕 (Thank you!!)

jealous jealous boyyyyyyy I loved this so muchhhhhhh jealous prompts just make my brain go brrrrrr

Gale:

You had always admired Gale's prowess with magic. His spells were elegant, his incantations precise. Yet, on this particular day, as you walked through the bustling streets of Baldur's Gate, a different mage approached you, offering to teach you a new spell.

"Allow me," the mage said smoothly, his eyes lingering on you with more interest than was purely professional.

You hesitated, intrigued by the promise of new knowledge. Gale, walking beside you, stiffened noticeably. His jaw clenched as he watched the mage perform a simple cantrip, showing off a minor illusion with a flourish.

After the mage walked away, leaving you with a scroll and a promise to meet again, Gale turned to you, his eyes dark with barely restrained jealousy. "Why would you need someone else to teach you magic?" he asked, his voice tight.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you tucked the scroll into your pack. "Gale, my love, are you jealous?"

"Of course not. It's just… I know your capabilities and it’s insulting to see someone else presume to teach you as if you were an amateur." He huffed, crossing his arms defensively. You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his arm.

"You know you're the only teacher I could ever have," you said softly, looking up into his eyes. You smiled again and pressed a kiss to his cheek, moving to hover over his ear. "Your lessons are much more intimate and attentive."

His tense posture relaxed slightly, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth as a small blush bloomed across his cheeks.

"Very well, then," he said, his tone warming as he pulled you to his side, a hand snaking around your waist, "I have a few new spells in mind that I think you’ll find quite invigorating"

Wyll:

The vibrant melodies of a bard's lute filled the air as you walked through the marketplace. The bard's eyes lit up when he saw you, and he began to serenade you with a heartfelt tune. Before you knew it, he extended his hand, inviting you to dance.

Wyll, ever the gentleman, stood nearby, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the bard's antics. The bard spun you around gracefully, and for a moment, you were caught up in the music and the joy of the dance. But just as the bard pulled you closer, Wyll stepped in, intercepting the dance with a fluid, graceful motion.

"May I cut in?" Wyll asked, his voice polite but firm, not waiting for an answer as he took your hand and led you away from the bard.

You smiled up at him, amused by the possessive edge in his movements. "Wyll, are you jealous?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Jealous? No, no. Gentlemen don't get jealous."

You pretended to believe him, nodding solemnly. "Of course, how silly of me. I'm glad I have such a composed and unaffected partner."

Wyll smiled, spinning you around before pulling you close again. "Just remember who your real dance partner is," he murmured, his voice low and full of meaning.

You smiled again and pressed a kiss to his lips, but to your surprise he dipped you over his leg and deepened it. Kissing you passionately before lifting you back up. You giggled and pressed your face to his chest in slight embarrassment, trying to hide your rosy red cheeks. He laughed and put a hand on your back, definitely not sending a glare to the bard who had seen the whole thing.

Astarion:

Astarion had always been charmingly possessive, but today his jealousy was more biting. As you spoke with an attractive merchant, Astarion's eyes darkened with jealousy. Later, when you returned to him, he greeted you with a cold, cutting remark.

"Enjoying your time with every attractive stranger who crosses your path?" he sneered, his eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and anger. "Or are we just so deperate for attention that we will take any measly means of it."

You bristled at his tone, your own temper flaring. He had been acting like this all afternoon and you had had enough. "What is your problem, Astarion? Why are you being so foul?"

Instead of answering, he turned away, his shoulders tense. You threw your hands up in the air in frustration and stormed off, your heart heavy with hurt. You walked a few metres outside of camp, Scratch diligently following you, and sat on a fallen tree. Scratch put his head in your lap as you stroked him for comfort.

It wasn't long before you heard footsteps behind you. Astarion appeared, his usual confident demeanor replaced with a look of remorse. Scratch let out a low growl, the dog being rather attached to you and sensing how this was going to play out.

You didn't look at him, just remained petting Scratch and looking out into the forest. "What do you want Astarion, or are you just here to shame me some more?"

"I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice lacking its usual sharpness and trembled with an emotion he was unfamiliar with - guilt? Shame? "I was out of line."

You stopped petting Scratch and turned to him, your eyes searching his. He looked downtrodden and overall quite pathetic, his usual bravado nowhere to be seen. "Why do you do this, Astarion? Why do you push me away when you're jealous?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and he walked to you, dropping to his knees. Scratch eyed him with slight irritation as he pushed him out of his spot, but he soon became distracted by a squirrel that ran across the path and he left the two of you to it.

"It's because I care about you more than I care to admit. The thought of losing you to someone else.... it.. it.. terrifies me. Please, I can't lose you" Astarion begged, as he held your hands in your lap, looking up at you with wet red eyes.

You softened, leaning towards him, brushing a strand of his pale curled locks behind his ear. "You won't lose me, Astarion. But you need to trust me."

He nodded, resting his head in your lap. "I know. I promise I'll try to be better. Just… don't ever leave me."

You combed your fingers through his hair, a small smile on your lips as you felt the sincerity in his words. "I won't. Not ever."

my hands slipped and I accidentally made Astarion's a bit angsty - or should I say Ass-starion, am I right.?... I'll leave now.. - Seluney xoxox

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 66

Geralt is sure the bard he's started traveling with is a monster. I mean, an inhumanely beautiful young man with an inhumanely wonderful voice, and an inhumanely positive outlook on everything involved in Geralt's life? Bullshit. And he stayed. Even after the incident with the elves, where he had sad little puppy eyes - that were much too heartwrenching to not be magic - after his lute was smashed. Sure, he got a new and better lute, but surely he'd wanna leave by now.

Geralt starts testing. An "accidental" graze of silver against the bard's skin. Too much garlic on their food. A circle of salt. Fucking anything that reveals what he is! Jaskier, the human, is endeared endlessly with Geralt's shenanigans. How paranoid the poor witcher must be, if he keeps checking to make sure Jaskier hasn't been replaced with a monstrous lookalike in the night!