#tips for playing bards

[auntphibian]

Playing a Bard Tips!

not Scanlan but want to play a really good bard? read ahead!

so I LOVE and I mean LOVE playing bards. Bard and Paladin are my fav classes to play, but honestly I would say I’m best at bard. literally every DM I’ve played a bard under has complimented and given me special items because of how I play and I think I can give some handy tips. 

tip 1: use rhymes and this cite specifically https://www.rhymezone.com/ 

when giving bardic inspiration I always (except a few times) have a rhyme to go with it. saying “I play my lute” is fine but making little rhymes really pulls other players in. it’s also way easier than trying to write an entire song like Scanlan does, plus I can’t sing and it doesn’t take up as much time. 

tips for rhymes, find words you associate with each PC. 

look up rhymes for fighter, ranger, cleric ect. and try to make it fit. for example “he’s rather esoteric, our cleric, far from generic, and never barbaric, he’s calm even when I’m hysteric”. all of those come up when you look up Cleric. it’s a short inspiration that can fit most clerics but will make the one you’re inspiring feel good.

rhyme with names. names especially make other PCs feel good because it’s generally unique to the character. however names are hard because rarely will names fit perfectly in a rhyme, so just grab the last part. like if their name is “Zaram” you won’t find a rhyme, but you will if you look up “ram”. of if their name is something like “Garcar” pronounce it out loud and find a word that sounds like the last part. “car” is pronounced like “sar” which sounds like “Czar”, now you have a rhyme. “my friend Garcar, is a little bizarre, but careful if you Spar, because he’s a rock star”.

situations are great too. This could be based on the mission or recent RP. if you’re fighting vampires look for vampire rhymes, if you’re fighting goblins look for goblin rhymes. An RP example, in my current bard, Meku’s, game the barbarian said something like “I longingly look at the hammer” so my rhyme was “making quite the clamour, I don’t mean to yammer, but you seem enamored, you really want that hammer!”. It adds to the RP they already started and makes them feel heard. 

Tip 2: tell Jokes

I always play horny bard characters so my jokes are usually dirty jokes, but this doesn’t just apply to that. Really lots of situations call for jokes, or you can just make it a character trait they always tell jokes. This really brings RP out of people. Similar to before, look up jokes based around class, RP, or situation. A PC likes jewelry, look up jewelry jokes. Dumb blonde jokes can become dumb barbarian jokes. Fighting vampires, look up vampire jokes. Call out who you want to RP with like “my PC scoots closer to other PC and nudges them saying ‘There’s a bunch of food set out, we must be in the vampire’s casketeria!’” this will ALWAYS get a response. A groan, a “they roll their eyes”, a “they laugh”, or anything else. Now you have a dynamic set up with that other PC. 

This can happen during combat too. Spells that involve talking, like silvery bards, vicious mockery, or really any, can just have you making a joke as your spell casting. For example I like the Spirit bard subclass, in it you have different tales on a chart. So I looked up jokes based around those charts. One was “clever animal” so my joke was “people say dolphins are as smart as humans but I think they’re jumping to conclusions”. This led to the party talking about what a dolphin is and how smart they might be. It was fun, simple, and relaxed RP that made the party feel closer. 

Now jokes are hard, I suggest just stealing off the internet. You don’t have to be crazy creative with it or anything, if anything stupid jokes are more fun. However, you will have duds. There will be times where your jokes aren’t recognized and you will feel crummy. Just move on and don’t let it get you down. 

Tip 3: give gifts!

I can’t express this enough. Non-mechanical gifts do WONDERS for RP. Most of my bards make friendship bracelets for the party and this always goes down amazingly. A special card or pressed flowers, or a trinket made into a necklace, all things that will really just make the other PCs feel special. I’ve had campaigns end where the PC describes being buried with their friendship bracelet. 

Also, make a big deal of it if someone gives your PC a gift. Talk about them putting it on the desk in their room, or a special pocket. Say “thank you” in whatever way feels character appropriate. If it’s a big deal to your character say they tear up, if it’s small slap their shoulder, that sort of thing. 

I’ve never had a DM charge my PC more that a silver for these sort of gifts because they recognize that it’s good for building party cohesion. 

Tip 4: fashion

Give your bard a style. This could be a cowboy, or Gucci, or like a fool, or in Meku's case, like a spirit Halloween store. It makes them stand out as an individual but also gives other PCs something easy to work with. You make a bad joke and they say “oh quiet cowboy”. 

Speaking of cowboys, make your character wear a hat of some sort. There is so much description you can do with a hat alone. Someone casts gust, “my character holds their hat in place”. Under the frightened effect “she hides her face in her hat”. It’s also a easy target for other PCs. a rival PC might teasingly knock it off their head, one might ask to wear it, other might brush it off for you. It’s a very stylistic item that doesn’t have to be tracked or anything so it makes just randomly bringing it up easy. I’ve had other PCs start wearing the same style of hat as my PC. 

Ask other PCs to help with style. If someone mentions their character’s hair cut, say “oh my god it’s beautiful, could you style my hair”. Y’all, a hairstyle is the strongest of RP bonding things. I guess because it’s almost always visual so all PCs have thought about it. From “let me braid your hair” to “can you cut my hair” or “what products are you using” it’s amazing. It can really apply to any aspect of style but hair is just a insanely easy and simple way to build a bond between PCs. 

Lastly, have a key color. This is super important in my opinion. Give your bard a favorite color and use it OFTEN. Meku’s favorite color is purple. All her magic is described as purple, all her clothes are purple, if she’s buying an item she asks for purple, ect. It’s again super easy but a huge way to make your bard stand out within the party and seem extra charismatic. 

Tip 5: describe EVERYTHING

You don’t need to write a novel's long description or anything but every little description makes you seem more charismatic. When Meku casts dimension door I say “you see a sparkly purple door open up as she uses dimension door.” polymorph, her animals are always described as purple and sparkly. Last session had a good one, she used heat metal then fire bolt I described it as “she glares at the man, blows into her cupped hand like she’s blowing on a ember. Then removes a hand and flicks her middle finger up with a fire bolt going into his face”. It’s not super long but adds a lot of character to the bard and adds visually to a fight. It also got a few laughs because it killed the guy. 

I recommend giving your character an element or material as a theme. I’d clear it with the DM that you aren’t changing damage type, just taking creative liberty with description. If your bard is water themed, describe things like cure wounds as “a faint mist sprinkles over you and you heal for__”. Eldritch blast could be flicking water droplets off your hand. Heat metal could be boiling water, haste could be tossing them a drink. These small things really just add a lot. 

Feel open to act a fool. I’m sure a stern bard can be fun but I have the most fun playing the class clown style bard. You fail a dex check at catching something, say “I got it!! Uh.. oops” or “she puts her hat up like a shield and gets knocked on her ass”, “eats dirt” is another good description. It makes your character seem endearing and makes you seem really good at handling failure. In a weird way it makes your character cooler. A stern fighter who is gruff and strong getting knocked prone will seem embarrassing because the character is supposed to be cool and competent. A silly bard getting knocked over then making a joke as they jump back up makes it seem like nothing can affect your character. Everyone will fail at some point so being foolish with the failure just makes the character seem more charismatic. 

Tip 6: have a journal or doc 

I always make journals for my bard and bring it with me. In my spare time I’ll write down jokes or rhymes or descriptions of spells. I divide the journal up, spell descriptions in one part, jokes in another, and inspiration rhymes in another. Divide inspiration rhymes up by PC and have a general section as well. Cross out or add a checkmark when you use the joke or rhyme so you can keep track of what you’ve used already. For spell descriptions just add a brief description and have it handy for when you cast. “Mending looks like bright red thread weaving through the material and magically joining it together” then when you use it say “you see red magical thread sew the two parts of the page back together”. I forget to describe spells a lot so having the page open helps you make it fit the situation. 

Inspirations are especially important to write down. I have been playing bards consistently for the past 5 or so years on a weekly basis, but even I have a hard time coming up with a rhyme in the time it takes to get to my turn. Have back ups written down. Sometimes you’ll just need to be honest and say “I don’t have a rhyme right now, but inspiration to pc”. However you look like the best player in the world if it’s consistent. It’s not a ton of extra work but it seems like it in the moment to everyone else. And they do appreciate it. I get DM inspiration frequently because my DMs really do enjoy my silly 4-6 line rhymes. I do keep rhyme zone pulled up with my dnd beyond so I can make a spur of the moment rhyme, but most of my rhymes were thought about at work, or school, or while driving, or wherever.

[lovebirdgames]

DnD/Fantasy AU! What would the boys' races be? (Cadence would be human)

Sorry for the wait! I’M GLAD YOU ASKED because I’ve been meaning to draw this forever since I’ve been obsessed with Baldur’s Gate 3 (it basically makes up my DnD knowledge)! I had their race/classes jotted down in my notes for months. Here’s what I came up with, hope you like it!

[awesomechocolatesauce]

Violin playing is very popular in the Myconid Colony. 🎻

[trevisos]

xar wants to leave volo to die here soooo bad. so bad. but even ASTARION is like “we should prob save him :/“ and they’re like FINE. WHATEVER.

[docjayfeather]

All of the Ren Lore i’ve compiled from his single player series and old streams

Favorite meal is roast lamb and roast potatoes

Has an ex-girlfriend

Hates One Direction

Was on a boating team in high school

His mother’s first cat’s name was Ebony

His single player world started in 1.2

Ren’s favorite language is Spanish

Ren has been to Spain several times

His brother had a dog named Rorschach

Ren’s favorite armor set in the original Diablo was the Moon set

Ren and his brother used to have to shower/bath together, then dry off infront of an electric fireplace. Through a series of events, young Ren got his butt stuck to the glass pane of the electric fireplace, and has had a scar on his butt since.

Ren has said “I always think about [Ren’s brother’s username] when I think about my butt”

Ren knows how to do a cats cradle

Ren used to have frosted tips

Ren’s favorite commander deck is Kraum/Tymna

Ren got kicked in the literal butthole by a horse

Ren likes burning things

Ren created a rigged marble slot machine in high school

Went on an introspection journey, visiting all the places he lived and all his jobs pre-YouTube

Did the insane thing of asking the lady who was now living in his first house if he could go inside and check out his old room

Ren had a patreon tier where he’d sent his patrons a “Ren Crate”, a lootcrate full of stuff

Ren doesn’t drink (anymore)

Officially has OCD

Ren loves apple juice

Ren loves driving games

Event manager for The Deftones once

Plays MtG on Sundays

Ren wants to retire with Doc

Ren’s wants his spirit animal to be a shark

Ren’s favorite book series is LotR

Ren is “below-average hairy”

Ren’s favorite season is Autumn

Ren’s birthday is October 11th

Ren is a slut for tiramisu and ice cream

Ren wants to open an LGS/tabletop cafe

Ren is not a religious person

Ren worked in a seedy pool bar

Ren almost got an upper back tattoo

Ren loves green tea

Ren is Left Handed

Ren was at one point a vegetarian for several years

Ren has lost his wallet multiple times, once leaving it on a train

Ren eats a whole lemon every day, and drinks lemon juice straight from the lemon

Ren got in trouble at boarding school for “trying to summon demons”. He was just playing MtG.

Ren has had a pair of lucky underwear since he was 18

Ren’s favorite ice cream is strawberry

Ren loved getting aggressively physical in rugby

Ren loves cinnamon buns

Ren used to have super long butt-length hair

Ren really liked playing with fireworks when he was younger. They’d bury huge ones in the sand near their house to make craters.

Ren loves Love Island

Ren can only sleep on his arm

Wears exclusively Star Wars socks and has matching pajamas

Beat Gabriel Nasif in a Magic Grand Prix

Ren hates Oysters

Ren’s favorite dog breed is a chihuahua??

Ren’s favorite dnd class is bard

Ren enjoys cleaning the bathroom the most out of any room

Ren’s favorite musical is Les Miserables

Ren has a favorite kitchen knife, and used to cook a lot.

Ren’s favorite tool is the hoe (of course)

Ren and Iskall used to play League

Never farts irl

born in the same city as J R R Tolkien

Ren named his first car Maximus

Ren is a bath person

Natural Mace Race runner

Ren really likes pet rats

Ren has a very consistent shopping day of tuesday

Ren has an extremely strict sleep schedule

Ren has 7 pairs of the same pajamas to wear 24/7

Ren has a BA in English

Ren does 100 push-ups a day

Ren does a 15k bike ride every day

Ren had a max weight of 110 kilos, is now down to 80

Ren uses youtube in light mode

Ren has seen Metallica live

Ren wore fake glasses in college

Ren has 20/20 vision

[domsaysstuff]

Okay so this idea has been rocking around my empty skull for some time now just we know that Eddie can be a pretty mean DM and a shithead and I've been thinking abt romances in D&D and how it would work in Hellfire

And I had this thought that Eddie would like be "no romances!!" to the Corroded Coffin group (before the kids joined) and they're like why? and Eddie just to tease them says that he doesn't want to pretend to fall for their smelly ugly faces

Which just motivates them to try and seduce like every character that Eddie introduces for a fucking month and it leads to the creation of the rule: Every romance/seduction directed roll must be rolled above 15 to succeed AND if Eddie decides that the attempt is particularly bad the roll is with disadvantage

The Corroed Coffin boys are obviously teasingly like ohhh so we get an advantage if it's good?

"Doubt that would happen boys, but sure, if you make me, Eddie fucking Munson, to blush like a fair maiden then you'll get the advantage on the roll"

They try, they really do, but all the CC boys succeed in doing is killing off all of their party in three sessions and Gareth who is a little shit is actually rolling his third character (because the consequences of a failure are fucking brutal) by the time Jeff and [unnamed freak] give up

After that they know better (except Gareth who still sometimes does that just to annoy Eddie and be a little shit) to try and then the kids join Hellfire and Eddie has even less of an desire to flirt with fucking Wheeler, Henderson and Sinclair (they're baby children!!)

But the kids are a little shits too and they see Gareth being a little shit so they copy

It ends badly for them, they gripe about Eddie being unfair because like "all three of us have girlfriends Eddie and you don't so we clearly know more about romance then you do" Dustin not only gets a flick on the head for that but his character might have ended up being put into situations™ throughout the session that are "totally unfair!"

But fair to say all of Hellfire knows the rules and all of hellfire knows that no matter how well they try and how smooth they are (they really aren't ever smooth) Eddie will not blush or even consider they attempts as "good", the best they got was "tolerable" (Lucas got it and he's still very proud of it, as he deserves okay?), Eddie is impossible to fluster and so it's just is this fun thing they sometimes do when they feel particularly like little shits

And that's it about it

Until Vecna and all the upside down shit and the surprising friendship of Eddie and Steve happens

And suddenly Steve Harrington is not only sitting but playing D&D

Everything is going actually pretty good and Dustin practically vibrates out of his chair at how proud he is of Steve for how well he is doing so far and then

And then Steve tries to flirt with a pretty bard

Dustin deflates, he is ready for the absolute disaster that is going to fall upon Steve, he makes eye contact with Lucas - both of them ready with "it was actually a pretty good line tho!" at the tip of their tongues to defend Steve's decisions, he doesn't know Eddie's special rules after all and it would be funny to see Steve fail, sure, but it's Steve's first game and the kids wanted it to be good for Steve so convincing him to play again would be easier

But now Eddie is going to absolutely rip into him and Steve will never want to play again and-

"Roll with advantage" Dustin gasps, audibly, loudly, the room is silent, except for Steve who's very unaware of the chaos he just created and just rolls the dices, his usual confidence in place

And if someone looked closely - and all of the hellfire is fucking looking - Eddie Munson has indeed a light blush on his face

[sh1-n0bu]

yall this is my first time requesting something from someone so im a bit nervous but

imagine overstimulating venti until he cries 🤭

also can i be 🌊 anon ? PLEASE tell me if anything i asked made you uncomfortable!!

♡︎ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙙’𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 ♡︎

characters: sub!venti x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, size kink, dacryphillia, reader’s genitals/pronouns are never mentioned so the cock can be interpreted as a strap on

notes: of course you can be 🌊anon! and yes, i’m slowly coming back to life. man author’s block is hard to beat. also, if this get’s flagged by tumblr when i wake up tmrw, i’ll delete it and post it again so don’t get too scared if it’s suddenly gone bbies

venti, or better yet known as barbatos to his people, was never really much of an archon.

he never plays by the rules, governs over his people nor even tries to abide by celestia’s rules. often, the wind spirit simply prefers to lay back and watch as his people takes care of any problems. they’re strong after all, his children always has been. of course, the windborn bard slurs out words of being the anemo archon in his drunk dazed self but no one ever takes it seriously.

and another thing was that, venti never worships the celestia. the floating island in the sky is full of nothing but liars, manipulators and cowards. besides… why would he worship those pathetic things when you’re right here?

why kneel before them when he can kneel before you?

why worship those who spat venom everytime they open their mouth when ballads and praises, songs of life flow from yours?

why chase after meaningless praises when your words sting like the strongest alcohol, burning his throat, making his eyes water as he becomes more and more addicted to you?

that’s exactly why the anemo archon prefers to worship you instead. when you braid his hair and comb out the knots as he nuzzles against your form, dazed and sleepy.

when you’re there to console him, help him through his darkest days when those wretches of celestia has done nothing.

when you’re kissing away the tears that spill from his eyes, shushing his slurred speeches and sobs of pleasure as you continue to ram into that one spot inside him, making him shriek and spill over his stomach again and again.

the windborn bard could worship you for eternity.

spilling another load into his stomach, the god in your arms spasms and twitches as his legs weakly wrap around your waist to at least try and calm the twitching of his small body.

dear stars above, you felt so big he could almost feel your tip in his stomach in his sex drunken haze. slurred whines of what seems to be your name flowing out of his mouth as he tries to keep his last threads of sanity together but how can he do so when he can just feel your previous loads slipping out of his rim and down to the sheets.

it all felt so hot, the room was so hot, everything was spinning. the warmth of your cum seeping out of his hole, the slight bulge in his stomach, the feeling of your finger wiggling in next to his already stuffed hole and pushing the cum back inside while your cock stays in — venti lets out a weak sound.

“look at you, little bird. you’re leaking out my cum that i worked so hard to put in you. can’t have my hard work being spent, right?” you coo out teasingly, a grin bit too sadistic tugging on your lips as venti writhes under you when you add in another finger. stars above, were you trying to break him?

venti couldn’t respond. he couldn’t even fully understand and register your words. brain too fried from the previous rounds of your just absolutely handling his small body around, pinching, teasing, smacking, leaving marks and hickeys but he loved it all.

as a response, the bard only weakly bucks his hips back into your strap again seemingly wanting more. my, what an insatiable little bird.

throwing his leg over your shoulder, you take out your fingers from his hole and squeeze his tiny waist once in a warning before fucking back into him again. small whines, weak noises and slurred whorish moans spill out from under you, the anemo archon far too fucked stupid to even try to properly say your name anymore.

making a grabby motion with his hands — a silent ask to hold you close while you fuck him full of your cum again — you decide to be nice and lean down, the absolutely filthy wet noises of your cock easily entering him causing venti to dig his blunt nails into your back, pulling you closer to himself.

feeling another orgasm building up embarrassingly quickly, the archon chases after your lips with weak whines, a sob following as you deny him of a proper kiss. instead teasing him by kissing his soft cheek. he didn’t even realize he was crying.

but soon those soft and weak whimpers and slurred words turn into a sharp scream as he feels himself cumming into both of your stomachs again, a sob of your name following along as you chase your high, getting more frantic with your movements.

the archon feels himself getting filled up again when your hips stutter, causing the short man under you to whimper a quiet “[n-nameee…❤︎︎]” in your ears.

after having caught your breath, you pull away from him slightly. pushing his hair away from his face, you couldn’t help but laugh as you wipe away his tears. but that laugh is cut off short as the archon bucks his hips against yours again, a cheeky grin pulling on his lips.

[greer2301]

My Mothers Keeper

Daemon X Fem!Reader

|Step father x step kid fantasy taboo|

Reader is of age!

Smut! MDNI !

He looked so good, his blonde hair cut short, brows pulled together as he leant back and took a sip of his wine with his free hand thudding his fingers along the edge of the table.

I know what those fingers feel like. The euphoria they bring me when he plays with the bundle of nerves between my legs, I know how they fit in my mouth and how my juices taste on them. Daemon Targaryen, my step father, my mother’s keeper and the only man to know what I truly desire.

He sat conversing with Jace about his swordsmanship, he didn’t give away if he noticed my hand creeping up his thigh. Having been leant against his chair for quite some time now no one questions when I lean in a little more. Mother too immersed in what Luke has to say to pull away her attention, I work my hand over his clothed length smirking when I feel him harden in my palm and his body slightly tenses. I loosen the lace on his pants just enough to pull him out, slicking my hand with his seed as I begin to stroke him slowly. I take the opportunity that no one’s paying attention, slipping beneath the table as I keep working his cock.

I wait a moment for someone to notice, my core throbbing as I stroke his thick cock knowing anyone could catch us if they paid any attention. I take him in my mouth, licking from his base to the tip swirling my tongue and tacking him in fully hollowing out my cheeks, bobbing my head quickly and stroking what I can’t reach while twisting my wrist. Daemons hand moved from the table to hold my hand that rested on his clothed thigh, squeezing at times to let me know it feels as good as I think it does. His hand moves to my hair and he shoves my head down without warning, my gag reflex triggers as he blows his load in the back of my throat I swallow and pull off slowly. I clear my throat after I sit back in my seat, taking a sip of wine and placing Joffrey on my lap as his nurse maid brings him in.

Slowly everyone disperses from the dinning area, I step into my room to take my bath, the boys are gone down to the dragon mont, Joffrey is off with his nursemaid and I have no idea where mother and Daemon went. I strip of the days clothes and get into the bath, unbraiding my hair as I breathe in the rose and vanilla oils in the water humming a tune from a bards ballad. I was washing my hair when he came in through one of the old tunnels, quietly sitting at the table across from me and pouring himself some wine as he watched me finish bathing. As I was ready to get out he brought a drying sheet, extended me his hand helping me down the steps while admiring my bare self.

“You’re truly an amazing creature” Daemon started “A little fox, sneaky, beautiful and vicious” Daemon teases as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close and kissing my neck. Running his hands around my damp curves as he walks us to the bed, his lips molding with mine before he removes my towel and lifts me onto the bed. Daemon wastes no time as his fingers immediately make contact with my aching core, my slick coating his fingers as he skillfully manipulates my clit. “You’re such a pretty whore, a whore for your daddy huh” Daemon grumbles out, his voice thick with lust as he looks into my mixed coloured eyes and watches the look of pleasure on my face.

“Only for Daddy” I tell him with a tremble, gasping as he inserts two fingers in my aching cunt and starts ruthlessly thrusting into me. “Mmm- you were fucking made for me” Daemon says as he moves over me, removing his hand from me and placing his mouth on my clit, his tongue drawing shapes as he applies more pressure. “S’good daddy, please don’t stop, fuck” I moan out as he places his fingers back in and sets his pace again his mouth slurping my juices relentlessly as he shakes his head with a moan. “Need yo- your cock, Daddy please” I moan arching my back as I feel my climax coming. Daemon just moans in response pressing his head against me harder, with one last flick of his tongue I cum. Shaking and sweating, hands holding his head in between my legs moans flowing loudly out of my mouth as he rubs my thighs his tongue slowly helping me ride out my high.

“Now you’ll take Daddy’s cock you little slut” Daemon demands as he unlaces his pants, pushing them down and rubbing his hard length between my lips collecting my slick, without warning he thrusts into me, my hand finding his hip and our eyes locked as we both moan at the sensation. Daemon is ruthless in his speed, slamming his hips into mine with each thrust squelching sounds being heard around the room as his dick forces my cunt open. Our moans are hardly held back, his hands holding my legs bent and pushed back as one of mine plays with my nipple and the other grips his wrist. “Daddy feels so good!” I moan out, back arching off the bed as he thrusts deeper, his head thrown back a little before he looks back at me with a smirk “This is Daddy’s perfect fucking pussy. I’ll burn any man who tries to claim it” Daemon groans as he lets go of my leg and moves to wrap his hand around my neck, cutting off blood flow with the new position his pelvis slaps my clit with each thrust.

“Gonna fucking cum Daddy” I moan out as I scratch his wrist, my pussy tightening around his cock as I start to see stars. “Cum on Daddy’s cock sweet girl” Daemon demands, speeding up his thrusts and pushing me over the edge, shaking as I choke out a moan and cream all over his pretty cock, Daemon moans as he spills his seed in me and stays still for a moment. “You’re going to bare my child, you will never know another cock” Daemon says breathlessly, walking to the basin and grabbing a damp cloth coming back to wipe me off and then himself. Daemon says nothing else as he crawls into bed and holds me close, caressing my shoulder as I snuggle into his side. “We are not naming him fucking Aegon” I tell him finally realizing what he said. “On that we agree” Daemon says with a chuckle.

[no-road-home]

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern on Backerkit now!

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern is a GMless one-to-three shot TTRPG based on games like MF0: Firebrands and The Sundered Land. It's a collection of 20 mini-games where former adventurers open a tavern together and reintegrate into society after a life on the road.

What happens after the adventure? What does daily life in a fantasy world look like? Stewpot draws inspiration from stories like Dungeon Meshi, Redwall, Frieren, and Bartender, as well as various aspects of D&D. It's a great way to wrap up a long-running fantasy TTRPG campaign.

Start a garden, cook monsters, run a festival booth, reforge old weapons, flirt with mysterious strangers, and more in a new version of the game with tons of art and new storybook-style layout!

(more info and full description of the mini-games in the read more!)

The structure of the game is based on characters having an Adventurer Job, with Adventurer Experiences that represent their abilities and powers, and a Town Job with Town Experiences. You can make new characters just for the game, or bring in old characters and recreate them with the existing Experiences or write your own.

As you play the game, you'll cross off Adventurer Experiences as you let go of them or let them fade into the background, and gain new Town Experiences that take their place. Along the way you'll upgrade your Tavern and give each other Keepsakes!

Games from the old Itch.io PDF version (0.41):

The First Step: Before you decided to put down roots here, before you found this group of friends, what were you doing? What was the first thing you learned about how to live in town?

NPC Sidequest: Your adventuring days may be over, but there are plenty of people in town that could use your help.

Wear and Tear: There’s always something to fix, or clean, or pay off.

Market Day: You never would have guessed how many things you need just to keep a tavern running. 

Homegrown: There’s something special about using ingredients grown nearby. Why not give growing your own a try?

Sliced: Sometimes supply routes get disrupted. Or maybe you just want to stand out from the rest of the taverns. Whatever the reason, you’re playing this game because you want or need to do one thing: cook with monster parts.

Romancing a Stranger: Someone in the tavern makes eye contact with you, and their gaze lingers a little longer than you’d expect. Your co-workers urge you on, and make every excuse they can to send you over to talk to the lovely Stranger.

Off the Clock: Where do you go after the tables are wiped down? Who’s heard every story you have about the worst people who have walked in?

A Friendly Tavern Brawl: Every tavern has its rowdy patrons. You know they’re good at heart, but sometimes when the ale is flowing and spirits are high, things get a little out of hand. How do you handle the situation?

Festival Day: Your town has a few festival days a year, and they’re some of your busiest. How do you prepare? How do you handle the influx of people?

A Bard's Tale: During your time as an adventurer, you accomplished many daring deeds. In fact, some of those deeds are retold to this day by travelling bards.

A Glass of the Gods: Sometimes a troubled adventurer will come in, looking for answers, and letting them drink themselves into oblivion is the wrong answer. It's up to you  to  mix the perfect drink, something perfect for the situation that can push the adventurer to look inside and find the answer on their own.

A Distinguished Guest: Someone important is in town, and they’re already almost here. The tavern has to be at its best for this guest. After all, they might leave a generous tip.

In the Rhythm of Things: Time passes. Rough edges are sanded down. Before you know it, life in town has become like breathing. You gather in your favorite part of the tavern and wonder where the time has gone.

New games for this crowdfunding campaign:

Shields and Skillets: Enchantments are volatile things, especially when they sit unused for long periods of time. You have to let go of your old equipment before it’s too late.

Shelter from the Storm: Early one morning, you feel it. A familiar ache in your bones. Something is coming.

A Funeral: As an adventurer, you said farewell many times. Sometimes it was only temporary. Most of the time, it wasn't. 

Retracing: You've left town for something: an errand, a vacation, an old favor. Suddenly, you recognize the route you're traveling. You've been this way before, during your adventuring days.

A Fleeting Memory: Something about the way the fire flickers lingers in your mind. The smell of hay and clover brings a tear to your eye. A fading memory resurfaces.

A Familiar Face: An old friend you haven't seen in a while has stopped by. Why not show them around the town and the tavern?

[mayakern]

doodled a new character concept during dnd

she’s a barmaid with a sweet look who is uniquely skilled at getting good tips

she’s probably a rogue, but i could also see her as a bard… or, to totally go against appearances, it would be very fun to play her as a barbarian

(btw if you want to use my dnd designs you can do so by supporting my patreon)

[miriamforster]

Okay so I’m running two sorcerer Tavs right now, one where everyone got a level of bard early and one where no one bards at all. Results so far;

1. Most characters being bards is definitely better than no bards. I’m gonna try barding at least some people every game.

2. Gale especially in early level has no real bonus actions, so adding a healing spell and a way to buff that doesn’t take a spell slot is really useful for him.

3. Tav is the same, but I’m going to try and wait to bard her at level seven so she can get the power boost that comes at level six.

4. The only people I didn’t give a level to on my all bards playthrough were Lae’zel and Shadowheart. The level bonuses for fighter and light cleric were just too good to give up.

5. There’s a fun flavor to a fight where everyone is healing and boosting each other. It feels very interdependent and teamwork-y.

6. LOTS of available bardic boosts to ability rolls, which is super nice.

7. In the bards version, Gale plays the violin, Wyll plays the lute, Astarion plays the spider lyre, Karlach plays the drum, and my halfling sorceress and Halsin both play the flute.

My new BG3 strategy is to give everyone one level in bard. This does two important things.

1. Gives everyone healing word as a bonus action.

2. Lets me start a folk band

[itsonlydana]

hello! I see you have requests open...(?) for the hobbit/lotr, and I was wondering if I could request a modern!thranduil x reader fanfiction? the reader is some sort of barista/baker/other thing, and Thranduil is obviously all rich and shit and comes in once, is enamoured by shy, flustered reader and then becomes a regular? obviously, they end up together in the end. thank you!

Lattes and Love | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

it's a rainy monday, perfect for a meet-cute with the new, handsome and rich customer that you totally don't embaress yourself in front of

tags/warnings: coffeeshop!au, fluff

word count: 2,7k

an: oh, this was such a good request! Thoroughly loved writing it :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

"Falling for customers strictly forbidden!" was the non-negotiable rule for anyone who found themselves working at the loveliest café in Laketown; 'Beans & Leafs'.

Despite being written out on a wooden board behind the counter and in the kitchen, this rule was obviously ignored by more than half of the employees; the others were either happily coupled up, had no interest in romance, or had such an unhealthy work-life balance that this didn't matter anyway.

You, on the other hand, a longtime single and die-hard lover of romance novels, were one of the employees who couldn't go a month without an over-the-counter crush, serving coffees and teas as well as heart eyes and shy blushes.

You had perfected your craft of pouring coffee while thinking of scenarios where, instead of getting a tip, the handsome brunette with the gentle smile would wait until the end of your shift and invite you out for not coffee, but a drink, perhaps.

These fantasies did no one any harm; you would even go as far as to debate that the love you pledged for the customers was an ingredient that fitted exquisitely into the crushed beans and steamed milk.

There had never been any complaints, so there was no reason whatsoever why your boss, Bard, flung his arm out and pointed at the sign when the doorbell chimed one rainy Monday morning.

The weather had been particularly awful the entire weekend, clouds hanging low and leaving you to barricade yourself into your apartment, and when you'd left the house this morning, paddling away on your bike and avoiding muddy puddles as well as you could, the skies were still gray and gloomy. Inside the café the warm lamps tried their best to fight against the pale sunlight that fell through rain-streaked windows, coloring everything in washed-out watercolors.

When you followed the length of Bard's hand however it was as if the sun broke through, even if it was only for the few seconds you stared at the man who just entered the shop and stepped into the small line of customers.

He was breathtakingly gorgeous, right up the alley of models you saw in fashion magazines with his sharp cheekbones and the pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged his waist perfectly. Even his long black coat seemed like it was tailored for his broad shoulders and he looked, by all means, expensive.

"Eyes, Darlin', eyes."

It was only when Bard gently nudged his hip against yours as he passed you from behind and tapped one finger against the sign again, that you bewilderedly realized that hadn't been a direction to the customer's eyes – oh boy, they were twinkling like starlight – but rather a command to advert yours.

"Stop bossing me around," you groaned quietly, glad for the jazz music that played from speakers over your head and the chatter of the few other customers that had found their way into the 'Beans & Leafs'.

"I am your boss. I have every right to command you 'round," Bard said, knocking his knuckles against the sign, "And a rule 's a rule. Doesn't matter if you're the best worker I've got 'round here."

You stuck your tongue out at him of the corner of your mouth under the pretense that it was nothing but concentration over the milk you were pouring into a cup for the customer in front of you.

"You're so annoying," you said as you turned your back on the counter to grab a new cup. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

The question was directed at Bard but it's not his warm voice that answers your teasingly snappy question, but a deeper one without the familiar drip of Bard's accent:

"Yes, actually, so I would appreciate my latte with three shots of espresso for takeaway please."

You immediately flew around, hot shame bubbling up straight into your cheeks as you squealed, "Oh shit– I mean, shit, sorry!"

Of course. Of course, the 6ft beauty was the next in line, casually resting one arm on the counter and scrutinizing you with those captivating bright eyes that, now that he stared at you and there wasn't anything between you except the bar and miles of shame, did look exactly like starlight. This was so unprofessional and it didn't help that you were frozen on the spot.

You heard Bard's rough laughter, saw him shaking his head in not-so-quiet disbelief out of your peripheral vision and it only fueled the blush that took over your whole face. "I'm so sorry," you apologized and lowered your chin to look away from the customer and down to the coffee machine instead.

Flaming red cheeks reflected in the silver metal greeted you as you let the machine take over for the espresso – arabica beans from Brasille, rich, sweet and slightly nutty, and, if brewed correctly, which you always managed, would leave a lingering taste reminiscent of dark chocolate. "Whole milk, oat, almond, or soy?" you asked, swallowing the lump of embarrassment that was lodged in your throat.

"Oat, please."

You nodded and fell into the rhythm that you were used to, that, despite the hope the ground would tear up and swallow you completly, comes like second nature. "I just want to let you know that I truly wasn't talking to you," you started and foamed up the milk, hiding behind the steam.

The customer huffed out an amused laugh. "No? You're only that cheeky to your employer?"

Great, now he thought you were an employee who didn't respect her higher-ups. "No no! It's a joke," you cringed at the nervous chuckle you laughed, "Nothing serious, just joking. He knows I would never disrespect him, he's a good boss, one of the best actually! And–" you heard your rambling and wanted to close your eyes at the next blink and never open them again, "– and I should probably stop talking now."

Bard passed you again, patting one hand fatherly on your shoulder though this helped barely because the slight touch immediately zipped straight through your spine. In what could only be described as unfortunate timing your arm flinched forward, breaking the carefully concentrated pouring of steamed milk into the paper cup, and to your horror you watched as the foam parted through the coffee.

And created the perfect heart.

You gave yourself a second to breathe, to stare down into the paper cup and this was totally fine; you made latte art all the time and most of your favorite customers got a heart one day or another. And even if you didn't know the man at all and already made a fool out of yourself, other coffee places did this as well.

It's just coffee.

But it was never just coffee with all the love you poured into it, wasn't it?

So you steeled yourself, ignored the churning of your stomach, and plastered on a flustered smile. "Here's your coffee, Sir." The heart cheekily smiled right back, foam bobbing on top and this was definitely a moment you would be thinking about, maybe even use as an opportunity to reevaluate the importance of Bard's stupid sign. "Cash or card?"

He already pulled out a sleek wallet, manicured nails and long fingers pushed a neat $20 over to you. He wore a smirk, the corners of his mouth turned so far up that white teeth showed and dimples buried themselves into his cheeks. "Cash. I suspect the tips go straight to–" one finger lifted and pointed straight forward, "you?"

"Me," you repeated and quickly shook your head, "I mean yes, they go to me."

"Good," he chuckled, "wouldn't want anyone else to share what you earned rightfully, don't we? Keep the change."

"But Sir!" you protested because this tip was ludicrously big for a latte; more than double the amount of what he had paid for the drink on its own without the free show of you being a complete fool.

The man arched an eyebrow though it carried nothing but curiosity instead of the superiority that it would communicate by an older, more stuffy guy.

You busied your hands, cleaned the frother, and emptied the remaining ground coffee into the trash before you ran a rag over the machine, or otherwise, the probability of ruining your nailbeds was much too high. "The coffee's maybe not to your liking – what if you absolutely hate it?"

"Then I will simply order another one another time," he replied and the hope that sprung up inside your chest, another time– another visit, he would come back– bounced around your ribcage and threatened to burst right through.

Your throat clicked as you swallowed, looking up from the dark brown coffee that filled the next mug, coffee black, arabica beans imported from Peru, fruity and perfect for the cappuccino order, up to the man, this stunning beautiful man who tipped like he could throw away money and not notice the amount missing, the epitome of all what you've dreamed about and exceeding those standards the longer he stood around.

You grabbed the opportunity, damned the sign because why the hell should anyone be forbidden to fall in love with him and bit down on your lower lip, smiling softy.

"Could I get your name?"

"I already have my coffee," he said amused and the heat was back in your cheeks. "But it's Thranduil. Nice to meet you," Thranduil's starlight eyes dropped to the name-pin buttoned to your apron and flittered back up, warm and deep voice wrapping around your name in a manner that was close to too overwhelming. "Now, let's try this drink, shall we?"

Completely entranced by his soft-looking lips that twitched back into a smile at the sight of the heart, eyes locking on yours again as he lifted the cup, you watched him take a sip.

A soft hum.

Long lashes fluttering shut against the apple of his cheek.

Yep, there was no way back from this. By the end of your shift, you would probably bike home and dream about this moment, when Thranduil opened his eyes again and you were still staring, caught despite the line forming behind him, other customers held up by Bard, this wonderful man you would never ask anything of him ever again, and Thranduil competed in the new game of who would look away first.

"Sweet," his voice was still deep, coated by a warmness that only satisfactory coffee would bring, and you swore you tasted the chocolate on your tongue as you bit down on it.

The way your eyes scanned the work area to check if you had accidentally poured sugar into his coffee, he didn't order any, right? – and while the oak milk carried some sweetness with it, it wasn't much but what if– were a clear message of slight panic, nervousness of having gotten his order wrong and Thranduil quickly deescalated the deep frown forming in your eyebrows.

"Ah, don't worry. I wasn't talking about the coffee," Thranduil said, and, lifting the cup to his lips, he winked at you over the rim.

He left you like that, mouth hanging slightly open while your mind ran the calculation of whether or not he had flirted with you.

You spent the rest of the day in a haze, only managing the midday and afternoon rush with the memory of Thranduil whom you swore, you saw rushing past the window of the shop in the evening, long hair flying in the wind at his quick steps and if your mind didn't play tricks on you, his head turned when he passed you, eyes finding yours in a second that quietened down all the sounds.

The next day, he came in again, a phone pressed to his ear and an apologetic voiceless: "So sorry," when the call was seemingly important enough for him to take his latte, foam-heart included, and dashed back outside, leaving you another hefty tip but no further interaction.

You sighed.

For good measure, you even glared at the sign.

Thranduil stopped by on his way to work every morning from Monday, Thursday and Friday, ordering his latte until it waited for him at exactly 7:45, the heart inside the coffee wandering onto the takeaway cup when you started scribbling his name onto it, first on the dot of the 'i' and then, later, when you were brave enough, next to the name.

It was a hurdle, more than often you had the sharpie pressed into the paper, blacking out from sheer panic that seeped through you like the dark ink that ended up either a smiley or a flower or full stop.

Thranduil would come in, sweep you off your feet by simply smiling or smirking at the new doodle on his coffee, steaming hot as soon as the bell announced his arrival, and leave. Never without tipping you enough for you to buy a new bike at the end of the first month of him visiting the 'Beans & Leafs'.

On Saturdays, Thranduil came in and settled his tall body into one of the window tables, entirely oblivious to all the ogling he got from passersby as well as customers, they stared all the same at his beauty and the weekend always got better because his sole focus was on you.

On Saturdays, he got his coffee, a Cappuccino served in dark blue mugs that complimented his white-blond hair and the rosé of his lips that savored every last drop, and he started asking you for your opinions on the breakfast options.

The first time he did it, long legs crossed over each other and his head propped up on his hands listening intently, you rambled on the entirety of the menu, babbling on and on and on:

"We got wonderful apple rose tarts, that truly look like roses, and rhubarb pie or a lemon shortcake – that one goes perfectly with the chocolaty taste of the coffee beans! And we have croissants, banana bread, and a cheese Danish!"

"Mhmm, all of those sound ama–" Thranduil started but was interrupted by your nervous continuing chatter:

"And of course, you could have a chicken and avocado sandwich, if you want something more savory. Or our chefs make a mean bacon and egg one with arugula and a blueberry vinaigrette?" you asked and threw a quick look to Thranduil who hid his amused smile that lit up his whole face behind his fingers. "Oh, or are you a vegetarian? Then I would recommend the olive, tomato and hummus bagel, but maybe you don't like olives. For that, we have a walnut quiche–"

"Yes, I am vegetarian–"

The smile bloomed past the, noticeably large, hands, the corner of his mouth curling up while his eyebrows furrowed in the concentration of keeping still, watching you in awe as your breath held on far longer than his ability to remain calm and it was only a matter of time until you were done.

Your eyes landed on the dimples, the soft crow feet next to his eyes, and low on oxygen you finally managed to detangle yourself from the menu that you had previously, in preparation for this moment, had carefully written down on your notesblock, the page now crinkled at the edges and most of the ink smeared under the hard press of your thumbs.

"Great! Do you want me to repeat the vegetarian options?"

Thranduil ordered all of your recommendations.

Not all at once, it wasn't past you to bring out dozens of plates at his request but Thranduil kept to two cups of coffee and worked his way through the display of cakes, pies, breads, rolls and sandwiches, always prepared by you.

You served him his first coffee with a heart in his mug and a plate for him to eat and after rushing through the next hour, eyes locking across the room now and again whenever you looked up from the coffee machine and he from his plate, you would bring him his second cup, carrying the heart-coffee and another one for you to sip on during your break, legs brushing against each other under the small table.

It was there, at this table, that Thranduil asked you out, not two months after the first interaction.

It was also at this table that he kissed you for the first time, tasting like love, lattes and a bit of chocolate.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[gatorbites-imagines]

Astarion Ancunín x Bard Tiefling Male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been playing Baldurs Gate 3 little by little, and I’ve fallen for this vamps’ charms. I blame Twilight. Reader is a Tiefling Bard cuz that’s what my player character is. I also have only played DnD like twice, so I know nothing about races or canon. If you guys have any cool dnd facts, let me know, id love to hear them.

Heres just some light and overall headcanons, there’s no specific theme.

In the beginning like any relationship started with Astarion, it wouldn’t be romantic from his part in the start. You, being a bard, have met and experienced a lot of people, so you can read between the lines in his actions though.

You aren’t cruel when it comes to helping others, not one to fit the stereotype some people seem to have for Tieflings and bards. You are just perspective, and you’ll need a reason to do something, having been burned so many times in the past by trying to be good.

Early on, before you knew he was a vampire, the two of you could regularly be found sitting a bit away from the fire at night as the others slept. You would play your instrument at a low volume, as the sound helped your allies sleep, and Astarion would stay nearby since you guys were allies.

Overtime it would develop into something more, you two would flirt, and feelings would actually bloom. It even reaches a point where you might start writing poems or songs about Astarion and your feelings for him, though you’d never show them to anyone, especially not Astarion, his ego is already big enough.

Astarion would struggle with the feelings he is developing for you, as we all know he would. In the beginning he would deny it, and try to convince himself that it was just something going hand in hand with lust, or something about being free and in the sun.

As the story goes on though, we all know that Astarion becomes softer and finally accepts his feelings for you. The two of you being shunned in ways from society, him being a vampire, and you being a Tiefling, probably helps build some solidarity too.

After you guys officially get together, hed start making jokes about you writing ballads about him and his excellence, and you’d joke there’s no need for that. In the end he would figure out the songs you wrote about him before you guys even got together, and of course he preens like a peacock.

I don’t know if Tiefling blood tastes different or has different properties, but to Astarion, the first time you let him feed on you, he would never be able to feed on anyone else. You are perfect to him, from the top of your horns to the tip of your tail.

When you guys cuddle your tail curls around him, and it even seems to do it without you realizing during the day. It becomes a joke amongst your friends, much to your embarrassment.

You being a Bard and Tiefling also means higher charisma, you two are probably lethal when it comes to persuasion or anything involving your charms and lies, especially when you work together.

I don’t know if Astarion plays any instruments, since he wouldn’t have been able to do so for all the years, he’s been under Cazador, or I assume so. But even if he did, I could imagine him asking you to teach him how to play your instrument.

You being a Tiefling also means you are warmer to the touch, and Astarion being a vampire means he doesn’t have any body heat. So, he’s like a big lizard or cat when you guys’ cuddle, just curling up in your arms or melting against your chest.

[girlwithadragonheart]

Farewell, Wanderlust

Halsin x Fem!Reader

Summary: This takes place long after the events of bg3. Halsin is visiting Baldur’s Gate, and he makes a stop at the Blushing Mermaid. He meets a serving girl that reminds him of himself, and finds himself drawn to her.

Word Count: 9.8k

Warnings: Tension, teasing, mentions of the Struggles of Women™, Cursing, Mentions of assault, molestation, rape, etc. Halsin sees through your bullshit, Mentions of Halsin’s trauma (the Shadow Curse), You are a caretaker of a younger sister, Tav x Astarion mentioned, tav x astarion make an appearance physically, banter between Tav/Halsin/Astarion/you, so much tension, did I say tension? Smut, piv sex, nipple play, body worship, talking you through it, this is more for the feelings than the smut, be aware of that before diving in, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, switch dynamic, so many feelings

This is smut. I am not responsible for the media you consume

Gaelic translation: Mo Chridhe means My Heart

A/N: I made this post about this concept because it's been floating around in my head. This song is a vibe and it's the vibes of this ✨

The music flowed through you as the men shouted and cheered along with the racy tune. You sang and clapped along, keeping things lively as they got deep in their cups. A soft touch on the shoulder here, a nudge of the hips there. It was as easy as breathing to you, and the tips made it worth it.

Hiking up your skirts, you stomped your boots against the floor and climbed up onto the table to dance. The men hooted and hollered as you tapped your heels along to the beat, clapped your hands and let your voice ring out with the bards on stage. 

Swinging your skirts, you danced away from grasping hands, tsking with a condescending tone at the lust-chasers. Their hands were covered in grease and rot, trying to soil you with their intentions.

Moss green eyes followed you from the back of the room. Halsin leaned against the far wall, watching the display, his drink all but forgotten in his hand. He watched the way you nimbly escaped the leering men, pressing two fingers to their foreheads and pushing them back enough that they fell back into their chairs.

As much as he was loath to admit it, he understood the way they were feeling. Something about the warmth of your smile was all-encompassing. It wrapped around him like twisting vines, urging him toward you.

The crowd cheered louder as you spun, skirts swirling, but beneath the noise and smiles you felt the weight of their stares. It was strange how such lighthearted music could surround you while you danced on the edge of frustration and loathing, smiling as you always had, even when all you wanted was to disappear.

He crossed his thick arms under his chest to regain some sense of control. It lasted him all of a second as your eyes swept the room, catching his with a small smile. Your gaze raked over his form, and there was a glint in your eye that wasn’t there before. He felt laid bare by your eyes alone, and while he was conscious of the way he stood out in a crowd, this was different.

You had the masses at your feet, but you sought out his attention. His cheeks flushed under the weight of your appraisal. He was used to it, however. He knew by many standards, he was considered exotic, being such a large elf. He had never quite been able to bend to the whims of the elven beauty standards, constantly trying to stoop too low to fit under that bar. He was much too large, and much too masculine for the non-conformity his race often had.

So no, he wasn’t beautiful, not by any standards other than the exotic ones. At least in his mind, this was true.

You, however, had other ideas. Something about those warm green eyes reminded you of sunlight filtering through trees, and though he looked battle-worn, there was a gentleness to his presence that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was drawing you to him, and you weren’t sure you would be able to stop once you let that feeling take root.

His presence was such a contrast to the rabble you normally dealt with. The rough clawing hands trying to tear your skirts and see your skin. The men hoarding, drunk on ale and lust. But there was something more than lust in his gaze. It went beyond just a carnal desire, and it was trying to reel you in.

As you twirled and spun, the joy of the music faltered in your steps for a moment. It was overshadowed by a pair of eyes that lingered a bit too long, a bit too low. Your smile didn’t slip, but something inside you did. A little crack. You caught the man’s gaze, tsking with a teasing smirk, but it was harder to shrug off than you wanted to admit.

The music rose like a great wave, and you spun, your voice ringing out, harmonizing with the instrumentals behind you. Your voice crested and fell, your chest rising and falling with great breaths as you posed on the table, skirts held out in one hand, the other poised in the air delicately.

You caught his eye again---the large elf in the back, his presence calming in the sea of drunken faces. There was no hunger in his gaze, just… interest. Curiosity, even. It was such a stark contrast to the clawing, desperate hands you had just brushed off. You smiled at him, but something stirred inside you---a yearning to be seen for more than just this dance.

Halsin put two fingers to his mouth and produced a loud whistle as everyone cheered and applauded. Your eyes caught his and you winked before disappearing behind a partition.

The elf took a sip of his drink, feeling it warm his chest before setting it down, lest he make a fool of himself.

Behind the partition, your smile fell. The music and cheers were muffled now, but their clawing stares still clung to your skin. How long had you done this? Pretending it didn’t bother you, letting them think you enjoyed their attention, their touch. It was exhausting, yet you did it every night. But why?

You freshened up your face with powder as your chest heaved with the effort of breathing beneath your stay. Carefully running fingers through your hair to give it that desirably unkempt effect that everyone always loved.

When you came back out, you felt the eyes following you. They made you want to be desperately and completely unattractive. Their eyes crawl and claw along your skin, marring you with their intentions. It’s impulsive, the way you want to pull your face off, to be around them it’s fucking impulsive.

You didn’t know why you did it every day, every night, the masses lusting after you in that disgustingly toxic way that had you leaving with bruises on your hips and welts on your cheek.

For every woman is a work of art and should be treated as such. They are not men, they are made of ass and glass. Their skin is clay and painted blue, their head can detach. They are statues with a pulse they are art you can fuck. 

They are paintings with legs. 

They are art you can fuck.

Wife, whore, mistress, maid, mother.

To be admired takes precedence over admiring. To be desired takes importance over desiring. 

Take the screaming one because a woman who doesn’t want it is much hotter than one that does.

You can be anything you want, you could be anything, but not theirs. You would not be theirs.

With practiced poise, you square your shoulders and straighten your spine, tying an apron around your waist to serve the people.

Halsin watched as you worked, seeing you flit around the space like second nature. As though this was where you belonged. But he saw beneath the brave face. He saw the twinge of your eye when someone got too close. He saw the twitch of your fingers when someone got handsy with you. He saw the grit in your jaw when you smiled.

You may seem like this was your home, but he knew that was likely the farthest thing from the truth.

It was a beautiful facade, and once again, Halsin found himself drawn to you. He saw parts of himself in you that he hadn’t seen in years. It made him yearn to know you. To know himself. To see himself the way others did.

As you flitted between tables, balancing trays of mugs and pitchers, you caught the Druid’s gaze again. Unlike the others, his eyes didn’t follow your every movement with hunger. Instead, there was a quiet warmth in his gaze. One that made your steps falter, just for a second. He lifted his goblet in a gentle, unspoken request. You nodded, disappearing through the crowd for a moment before reappearing to refill his drink.

Your hand was steady as you refilled his drink. 

“Your dance was… captivating.” His smooth deep voice washed over you from head to toe as he watched you pour the amber liquid. The compliment was genuine, and it didn’t hold the same lustful undertones that most did. “I am Halsin,” he said, introducing himself.

A smile graced the corners of your lips. “Thank you, Halsin, I am glad you enjoyed it. It’s not often we get such… interesting company in this part of the city.”

He chuckled, “Interesting, no doubt? None more intriguing than you, I’ll wager. Tell me, if you find this company so repulsive, why torment yourself with the work?”

“Repulsive? What gave you that idea?” You said smoothly. He simply raised a brow, bringing his newly filled drink to his lips. “It pays,” you sighed. “I need the money, really. It’s not easy trying to support more than yourself in this city.”

“I see,” he hummed. Halsin leaned forward, voice soft and kind. “It must be tiring dealing with these crowds every night.” He paused, studying you carefully. “Perhaps after your shift you’d like some fresh air? A walk under the moonlight… It’s quieter out there,” he suggested.

The offer caught you off guard, your lips parting slightly. A walk? With him? He had a presence, a calmness that intrigued you. A break from the noise, the stares, sounded too good to be true. Certainly too good to refuse.

“Maybe,” you offer a teasing grin. It was less theatrical now. “If you promise not to ask me to dance again. My feet are killing me.”

Halsin chuckled, the sound deep and comforting. “Only if you want to.”

“Alright,” you said, pushing off the beam and adjusting your apron. “But if you get any ideas about trying to twirl me under the moonlight, I might have to reconsider.”

Halsin’s grin widened, warmth in his gaze. “I’ll behave… for now.”

The noise of the tavern slowly dimmed behind you as you stepped out into the cool night air. The breeze was a welcome contrast to the heat and chaos inside. You paused at the entrance, pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders as the weight of the night settled over you.

Halsin was waiting nearby, a quiet presence amidst the shadows. His broad frame seemed even larger beneath the glow of the moon, but his expression was soft. Patient. He offered you a small smile, and without a word, you both began to walk.

In the back of your mind, you worried, but you pushed those thoughts aside. She would be alright on her own for a while longer. She was likely asleep by now anyway.

The night was calm, and the streets of Baldur’s Gate were quieter at this hour. Only the occasional murmur of drunkards stumbling home or the distant clatter of hooves disturbed the peace. Your footsteps fell into an easy rhythm, and for a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable---it felt like a release after the constant noise of the tavern. You found yourself stealing glances at the elf beside you, watching how the moonlight caught in his hair and softened the hard lines of his face.

After a while, Halsin broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that blended with the night air. “I can see why you’d want to escape from all of that,” he said. “The noise… the attention.”

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “It’s exhausting,” you admitted quietly. “They think it’s all fun and games. And maybe sometimes it is, but most of the time… I feel like I’m wearing a mask for the performance’s sake.”

Halsin glanced at you, his gaze thoughtful. “A mask?” He knew of course what you meant, but it felt like an invitation to speak of your troubles to someone who just wanted to lend an ear.

You gave him a small, wry smile. “To keep them at bay. To keep myself from… I don’t know. Feeling too much. Letting it get to me.” You kicked at a loose pebble in your path, watching it skitter ahead of you. “It pays well, but I’d give almost anything to get out of that place.”

He nodded, his understanding evident in the way he listened without judgment. “And yet you stay. For someone else, no doubt.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “My sister. She’s younger, and I’m all she has. This job is what keeps food on the table and a roof over our heads.” You laughed softly, but the sound lacked humor. “Not much choice in that, I suppose.”

Halsin’s eyes softened. “You care for her deeply,” he said softly. “It takes strength to carry such a burden. I understand what it’s like to protect someone.”

The empathy in his voice surprised you, but it shouldn’t have. “Do you?” You asked, curiosity piqued.

He paused, as though contemplating how to share what was on his mind. “Once, long ago, I fought on the front lines against an evil that plagued Reithwin. I was friends with a young fey boy who relied on the lands to survive just as they did him. We failed that battle, and the land was plunged into darkness.”

“The Shadow Cursed lands,” you said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of the horrors that used to roam there.”

He nodded solemnly. “It took a century, but I found myself aiding a group of adventurers that had to pass through there. The evil they fought had turned out to be the very same man who had cursed the lands all those years ago. With their help, we relinquished the curse and brought light back to Reithwin. The fey boy, Thaniel, nearly hadn’t survived. The world is not kind to those who cannot defend themselves.”

There was a weight to his words, one that mirrored something deep inside you. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, your earlier lightheartedness slipping away. “You say you lost the battle. It sounds like you lost much more than that.”

“We all lose, in time,” Halsin said gently. “But I’ve found that with loss, there comes clarity. And with clarity, a chance to rebuild.” He glanced at you, his gaze intense, but warm. “You, too, have that strength. I see it.”

His words struck a chord in you. The way he looked at you---not with hunger or desire like so many others, but with genuine respect---made something inside you stir. You’d spent so long being admired for your beauty, your charm, but here was someone who saw deeper. Who understood.

You walked in silence for a while longer, the path beneath your feet turning from cobblestones to a dirt trail leading toward the outskirts of the city. The sounds of nature began to replace the distant chatter of the city---the rustling of leaves, the quiet hum of insects, the occasional hoot of an owl. The moon hung low in the sky, casting everything in a soft, silvery light.

Eventually, the path led you into a small clearing surrounded by trees. The air was crisp and fresh, and the moonlight bathed the space in an ethereal glow. You stopped, turning to face him. “This… this is nice,” you said softly, your voice barely over a whisper. “Peaceful.” 

In truth, you had no idea this was out here. You’d been born and bred Baldurian and there was no reason for you to ever travel when everything you needed was right there in the midst of the city. Finding somewhere quiet in nature was often the last thing on your mind. But here, with him, it was at the forefront.

You glanced up at him, watching as his eyes took in the surroundings with a calm familiarity. His presence was grounding, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe without putting on a show.

“It is,” Halsin replied, his voice a deep rumble in the quiet night. “Sometimes, when the world is too loud, I seek places like this. It helps me remember what matters.”

“I hate the way they look at me,” you admit to him. “As if I’m something they have any right to. Something they own,” you spat.

His expression softened, and he stepped closer, his warmth enveloping you. “You’re not,” he said firmly, his voice like a steady heartbeat. “You’re more than what they see. More than they could ever understand.”

The sincerity in his words hit you hard, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped closer to him, your body craving the solace his presence offered. His hand found your cheek, rough but tender, and you leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

“I…” your voice was barely a whisper. You could feel the pull, the magnetism between you, a need for connection that went beyond words.

Halsin’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. “I see you,” he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of your temple.

The space between you disappeared,and your lips met his in a soft, tentative kiss. His touch was patient, gentle, as though he were holding back a great storm for your sake. His other hand moved to your hip, holding you softly, not like something to own, but something to cherish. The kiss deepened, your lips parting to welcome the sweep of his broad tongue, and your heart raced in your chest. But just as your hands found his broad shoulders, a tremor of doubt ran through you.

“I… I can’t,” you stammered, your fingers still curled in the fabric of his tunic. “I don’t… I’m not ready. Not yet. It’s---”

Halsin brushed a thumb along your cheek, and you quieted. His eyes softened. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently. “Not to me. You should never feel rushed. I’ve been alive for three hundred and fifty years, I can wait a bit longer.” 

You nodded, a mix of relief and guilt swirling inside you. “I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He stepped back and cool air rushed between you. The warmth of his presence was sorely missed. “When you’re ready.”

The intimacy hung in the air between you, a tether that hadn’t snapped but was left suspended. You both turned, continuing the walk in silence, but the weight of what could have been lingered in your chest long after you returned to your apartment above the Elfsong.

You’d been thinking about that night for days. The way Halsin’s presence had calmed you, the way his touch had stirred something inside of you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And now, with every passing day, you couldn’t shake the feeling of regret. Why had you pulled away? Why hadn’t you just allowed yourself that moment of connection?

Tonight, the tavern was rowdier than usual. Men sloshed their drinks, and the noise was deafening, but your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts kept drifting back to him---to Halsin, and what could have been.

Things were harder since then it felt like. It was more difficult to pull on the mask, and even more difficult to pull it off when you were done performing. All of those clawing hands felt like they were gripping everywhere. Like they were trying to restrain you and pull you back in to keep you from feeling fulfilled. To keep you from having fun. To keep you from being free.

After your shift, you headed out into the night, the streets quieter now. The air was cool again, but this time it didn’t bring the same sense of peace. You felt the weight of eyes on you---eyes that you had learned to ignore but never fully escape.

The alley was dark and narrow, the dim light of the tavern barely reaching the cobbled street as you stepped outside to catch a breath. The night had grown quieter, but you still felt the ghost of eyes on your skin, crawling and biting like the memories of lecherous hands from nights past.

You didn’t hear him at first---the heavy footsteps that followed as you made your way down the alley, the stench of ale and filth drifting toward you on the wind. The faint clink of a bottle hitting the ground. Then, the voice---low, slurred, but unmistakably familiar.

“Oi,” came the rough, rasping call. “Where you off to in such a hurry?”

Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as you quickened your pace, the cold weight of dread settling in your stomach. You knew that voice. One of the drunkards from the tavern. His slurred words echoed in your mind, followed by the clumsy grad he’d attempted earlier in the night. You’d laughed it off then, but now… Now you were alone.

A hand shot out from the shadows and grabbed your arm, yanking you back with brute force. You let out a sharp cry as your back hit the rough stone of the alley wall. The smell of alcohol and sweat overwhelmed you, and his breath, hot and rancid, fanned across your face.

“Didn’t get a good enough look at you earlier,” he slurred, his voice thick with menace. “But now… I’ve got you all to myself.”

Your blood ran cold, terror sinking its claws into your chest as his filthy hands grabbed at your waist, his body pressing you hard against the wall. The alley was too narrow, too dark. There was no way to scream loud enough, no way to escape the iron grip that pinned you in place.

You struggled, pushing at his chest, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. His hands roamed, pawing at your skin, tugging at the ties of your dress and corset, nearly tearing the thin material. Panic surged through you, your vision narrowing as rage and and fear tangled in your throat.

“Let go of me!” You snarled, but your voice wavered.

He laughed, the sound dark and predatory, like a wolf toying with its prey. “Come on now,” he taunted. “You wanted this. All that dancing, all those smiles. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the attention.”

Your mind screamed as you writhed against him, but his grip tightened. You could feel the anger rising, hotter and more dangerous than the fear when there was nothing you could do about it. It swelled in your chest like a damn about to break just as tears filled your eyes.

They would never know what it was like to dance in the fear that you did. Forever living in headlights, the hunted, the deer. You were only prey for the predators. Not the top of the food chain, but certainly higher on it than you were.

Whore, mother, sister, slut.

Nurse, sinner, virgin, bitch.

It didn’t matter what title you had, you were seen by most men the same way.

Sex doll, slave, toy, cunt.

Your elbow connected with his ribs, hard enough to make him grunt, but he didn’t release you. His hands scrambled for purchase, his grip brutal and unrelenting. He was stronger than you, even drunk. You kicked, you clawed, every inch of you thrumming with violent desperation.

Your vision blurred with tears of frustration. Your mind was a blur of survival and sheer, primal rage. You clawed at the ground, searching for something---anything to fight with. But before you could find purchase, the drunkard’s grip tightened again. His weight pressed you down like a stone, and you felt your body beginning to numb from the terror, the suffocation.

Then, just as your world began to shrink to the horror of his hands on your body---

A deep, thunderous roar split the night.

Halsin.

In an instant, the weight was gone. The drunkard was torn off of you as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. You gasped for air, rolling onto your back just in time to see the massive druid towering over the man, his broad chest heaving with fury.

“You dare lay a hand on her?” Halsin’s voice was low, dangerous---like a storm about to break. His eyes glowed with barely restrained rage as he looked down at the man crumpled at his feet.

The drunkard groaned, scrambling back, but Halsin was quicker. His hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him effortlessly into the air. The man’s feet kicked helplessly as Halsin held him aloft, his grip tightening with every second.

“You will never touch her---or any other---again.” Halsin’s voice was a growl, primal and unyielding.

For a brief, terrible moment, you thought he might snap the man’s neck right there. But instead, Halsin threw him to the ground with a sickening thud. The drunkard lay there gasping, clutching his throat, eyes open wide with fear.

Halsin took a step forward, looming over him. “Run,” he commanded, his voice deadly calm. “Run before I change my mind.”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling and tripping over himself as he fled down the alley disappearing into the night.

Your body shook as the adrenaline slowly drained from you. You sat up, your breath coming in ragged gasps, trying to gather your wits. The fear, the rage---it still clung to your skin like a second layer of filth. On top of the first layer which you felt you would never wash off. All the places where he had touched you burned on your skin.

But then Halsin was at your side, his expression softening as he knelt before you. His hands were gentle now as they brushed the dirt from your arms, his gaze filled with concern.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low, soothing.

You shook your head, your throat too tight to speak. Your heart still pounded in your chest, but you felt… safe. His presence was like a balm, the rage that had once twisted his features now replaced by an almost unbearable tenderness.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, his large hand cupping your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. His thumb traced a soft line across your skin, grounding you in the present, reminding you that you were no longer alone.

Tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes again, this time from relief rather than fear. You had been so close to breaking, to losing yourself, but now here he was---strong, unyielding, and yet so impossibly gentle.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as you finally allowed yourself to feel the weight of what had just happened. He pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms. The alley was quiet now, the only sound the faint rustle of the night wind and your own uneven breaths,

You leaned into him, your face buried against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was steady, like the forest after a storm. His scent---earthy, like pine and damp leaves---calmed the last of your trembling nerves. For a moment, it was all you could do---just breathe and be held.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, your hands still resting against his broad chest. His eyes, normally so warm, were now shaded with worry. Halsin’s hand brushed the side of your face, tucking a stray lock behind your ear. “I should have been here sooner,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I should have protected you.”

You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall again. “You did,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “You saved me.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, just watching you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch gentle, as if he feared you might break beneath it.

“You are so much stronger than you know,” he said softly, his thumb grazing the curve of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “But you should never have had to fight alone.”

His words hung heavy in the air between you, and for the first time, the full weight of what had happened hit you. The fear, the rage, the helplessness---it all came crashing down. You tried to swallow it back, tried to keep it together, but it was too much.

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop it, a sob tore from your throat. You turned your face away, embarrassed, but Halsin was already there, his arms tightening around you, pulling you back into the safety of his embrace. “It’s alright,” he whispered against your hair. “Let it out.”

And so, you did.

The sobs came hard, each one ripping through you as the shock and terror of the attack poured out in a flood of tears. Halsin held you through it all, his large hand stroking soothing circles on your back, his presence a solid anchor in the storm.

“You remind me of a willow tree,” Halsin said, his deep voice cutting through the noise in your mind. “Strong, but flexible. A willow bends in the fiercest storms to withstand it but never breaks. It sways with the wind, rooted deeply in the earth, steady and enduring. You are like that---resilient. Even when the world presses against you, you bend, you adapt. But your roots remain strong.”

His thumb brushed over your cheeks, wiping your tears gently. His voice was quiet, but filled with warmth. You found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him as he speaks, your mind stilling to his gentle tone.

“And yet, like the willow, there is a softness to you, a grace. The way you move, the way you face life’s challenges with quiet strength… it reminds me of the branches that gently sweep the ground, giving shelter and peace to those who need it.”

He paused, his eyes meeting yours as he gathered you against his chest, cradling you like a mere babe.

“But you are also like the forest,” he continued, his tone shifting as though he were speaking of something sacred. Perhaps it was sacred to him. Perhaps you were sacred. “Vast, full of life, ever-changing.” He said, standing with you as though you weighed nothing. “There is a wildness to you. Something untamed and beautiful. The forest does not seek to control or be controlled; it simply exists in harmony with itself, with all its seasons and cycles. Like the forest, you have a depth that cannot be easily understood---mysteries, strength, and a wild spirit that draws others in. You are captivating.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, green eyes filled with sincerity. “In the forest, there is peace, but there is also power. You hold both within you. Like the trees that grow tall and proud, and the earth that nourishes all, you are a source of strength for others, even when you don’t see it.” His voice was barely over a whisper. This was meant for your ears only, to soothe your mind alone. “And like the forest, you are ever-growing. You change with the seasons of your life, becoming something new, something more, while still holding the essence of who you are.”

Halsin’s gaze lingered on you, as if he saw not just your present self, but the many versions of you that had come before and those still to come. “You are the willow---graceful, strong. And you are the forest---wild, deep, and full of life. Both are beautiful, in their own ways, just as you are,” he said softly. “You are far more complex than the drunks of this city like to think, and more beautiful than the sun filtering through autumn leaves.”

You heard everything he told you and everything he didn’t. You heard him say that you were worth more than just your beauty and your body. You were worth more than what they made you out to be. And you knew now. You knew he could see you for what you truly were. For what you always had been.

Gradually, your tears subside, and you squeeze his shoulder, moving so he can set you on your feet, though you keep a hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Would you like me to take you home?” He asked. “Or somewhere else, perhaps?”

You thought about returning to the Elfsong. You thought about the noise and the people and the constant hum that filled your mind when you were there. Always double checking if the door was locked, making sure the windows were shut and locked, making sure no one was hiding in the dark spaces of the room to hurt you.

But then you thought about someone else. “My sister---”

“I sent Jaheira to check on her. She’s staying with her and her children tonight,” Halsin said. “She’s safe, don’t worry.” You almost cried again, just at the notion that someone had cared enough about you not only to protect you, but to protect someone you cherished by extension. He must’ve seen it in your smile or your eyes because he just smiled softly at you, a quiet assurance that things would be okay.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” You told him honestly. “My only other option is my parents in the upper city and…” you scoffed. “They’re about as likely to help as the man who did the hurting.”

Halsin was silent for a moment, his mouth drawn into a thin line. He wished he had done worse to that man. “I have somewhere you can stay. Tav and Astarion own a house in the upper city, we can stay there. You’ll be safe.”

“The woman who saved the city?” Your eyes went wide. “I couldn’t possibly impose on them.”

“You can, and you will,” he said, tone gentle but leaving no room for argument. 

Halsin’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back as he guided you through the city gates. “Come,” he murmured, his warmth steady beside you. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet. You’ll feel better once we’re away from all this.”

The two of you walked through the dim, cobbled streets of the Upper City. The night was cool, the stars above shimmering faintly through wisps of clouds. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. With each step, the tension of the night began to loosen, like vines slowly unwinding from your heart.

The thought of staying with Tav and Astarion left you unsettled at first---two legends in their own right, people you'd only ever seen in passing. They had saved the city, but still, the idea of intruding on their space made you hesitant. Yet there was something about the way Halsin had said you will---firm, but not unkind---that reassured you. He wouldn’t take you anywhere you didn’t didn’t belong.

When you arrived, Tav greeted you at the door, all warmth and open arms, as though she had expected you. “Come in, both of you,” she said with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “We were just about to have dinner.”

Astarion leaned lazily against the doorway to the parlor, dressed in silk that shimmered like moonlight. He was definitely pretty, and you could see the appeal. He kept his eyes on Tav, swirling his wine glass. He looked serene as he watched her, body relaxed and a small smile on his face as he regarded his love.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around you like a blanket. The air smelled faintly of roasted meat and herbs, and a fire crackled in the hearth, filling the space with a cozy glow. It was a far cry from the Elfsong---quiet, safe, and comforting in a way that felt foreign to you.

“Make yourselves at home,” Tav said, waving a hand toward the dining room. “There’s plenty to share.

“Come, sit with us,” Astarion added, his voice smooth as butter. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We don’t bite. Well, I don’t---not tonight, at least.”

You managed a weak smile at the vampire’s teasing. Halsin guided you to a seat at the table, sitting beside you as Tav set an extra plate in front of you. The meal was simple but hearty---roast venison, roasted vegetables, and warm bread.

“You’re welcome here for as long as you need,” Tav said softly, sitting across from you. Her words were earnest, her expression kind. 

“Thank you,” you managed a smile at her.

“Of course,” she said. “Halsin has spoken so much about you, it’s only right.”

You glanced over at him, the tips of his ears pink as he ate, ignoring the teasing stare from Tav. “He has?” You blinked. You were surprised he had thought about you beyond that first night, but perhaps you shouldn’t be. 

“Of course,” she said. “He had said he was going to invite you here this night, I am glad it worked out.”

Halsin cleared his throat, and you just stared at him. “Not exactly, Tav…” he said carefully. “Our dear Y/N narrowly escaped an attack tonight, I was lucky I got there in time.”

There was a time Astarion wouldn’t have cared, and may have felt a bit smug that he wasn’t the only one. Perhaps his time with Tav was helping him grow. He rested a hand over yours and squeezed gently. His skin was cold to the touch. “No one deserves that. I know better than most. You are safe here,” he promised.

You could only nod. The knots in your stomach loosened a bit---enough for you to eat, and appreciate the meal being shared with you. Astarion, of course, didn’t have any food in front of him, but he sipped his wine.

“So,” Tav said. “Halsin says you’re a performer?” She asked, a knowing glint in her eye that told you she was changing the subject to alleviate some of your stress. “I can understand why, you must have the masses swooning at your feet.”

Your cheeks warmed. Something about Tav saying it changed the way it felt. Rather than the men grabbing after you, you had this woman appreciating your beauty. “Only occasionally,” you told her. “Most of the time I’m just a server.”

“Ah, I see, so Halsin got lucky then,” she shot a teasing smile in his direction. He shook his head fondly, eating his roast rather than dignifying her with a response. “Well, I for one would love to come watch. What say you, Astarion?”

“Oh, darling, you know I’m always down for a show,” he flashed a grin, his sharp canines glinting in the light.

Your blush deepened, and you took another bite of your dinner. Halsin seemingly had it right, not to bother arguing with them. But you felt him nudge your side, as if to say I see you. “She sells herself short,” Halsin said. “It’s far worth any amount of coin you can pay, and a shame you get nothing from it.”

You looked up at him. “I get tips,” you said quickly. “It’s not as though I gain nothing from it. It’s how I met you, after all,” you smiled up at him.

Tav watched you thoughtfully. “Do you have any family in the city?”

“That matters? Only my sister. My parents live around here in the upper city,” You told her. “The (l/n)’s. We aren’t particularly close.”

You saw Astarion’s face twist. “I know that name,” he was silent for a moment, as though trying to remember something. “They had ties to the Szarr family, did they not?”

You saw Tav’s eyes go wide, and you looked between them. “They did when I was young. I’ve not kept in touch with them after fleeing with my baby sister.” You watched Tav squeeze Astarion’s hand. His eyes went unfocused, the epitome of a thousand-yard stare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to cause upset--”

Astarion loosed a breath, chuckling without humor. “You haven’t dear.” Your gaze flicked around the room. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time. You said you escaped? Good on you. So did I.” He raised his glass to you, draining the rest.

The dinner passed in a blur of conversation, though you mostly listened as Tav and Astarion spoke with Halsin. Their camaraderie was easy and familiar, filled with inside jokes as playful banter. It made you feel like a welcome guest rather than an intruder, and slowly, the tension in your shoulders began to ease.

When the meal was over, Astarion poured wine for everyone, his gaze flickering between you and Halsin with sly amusement. “I do love hosting surprise guests,” he said with a grin. “Especially ones who bring such interesting company.”

Halsin gave a low chuckle but didn’t rise to Astarion’s bait. Instead, he turned to you, his hand resting lightly on your back. “You’re tired,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nodded, exhaustion settling over you like a heavy cloak. Halsin stood, gently guiding you to your feet, and Tav gave you a reassuring smile. “Sleep well,” she said softly. “You’ll be safe here.”

Halsin led you up the stairs to one of the guest rooms. The bed was large and covered in soft blankets, a small window cracked open to let in the cool night breeze. It was the kind of room that invited rest, but when Halsin turned to leave, you caught his large hand in your own.

“Stay,” you whispered. The word came out softer than you intended, but it carried the weight of everything you couldn’t quite say.

Halsin’s gaze searched yours for a moment, and then he nodded. He didn’t ask any questions---he simply stayed.

He helped you out of your outer clothes, his hands gentle and deliberate, as if he understood how much care you needed right now. When you were down to your shift, he cupped your face gently, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

Something about his touch was the only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you sane. Slowly, as though waiting for you to change your mind, he sat on the edge of the bed, removing his boots as he looked at you.

You bit your lip in quiet contemplation as you watched him get comfortable in this space with you. You both were laid almost bare before the other, a show of silent trust. You stepped between his parted thighs, carefully cupping his cheeks and tilting his face up to you. His moss green eyes searched yours, and slowly he rested his hands on your hips.

You let the breath you were holding from your chest, eyes fluttering closed from the warmth of his palms against the thin fabric separating him from your skin. Somehow, you were closer to vulnerability than ever, and yet you knew you were completely safe here, with him.

You leaned down, lips a hair’s breadth from his, and you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead to his with a sigh. Halsin’s thumbs rubbed soothing circles against your hips. “You don’t have to do anything,” he reassured you softly.

But gods you wanted to. You wanted this. You wanted to make this choice. It was your choice, and it was one you regretted not making sooner. “I want to,” you whispered. “I want to replace their touch with yours.”

You felt his voice rumble in his chest as he spoke. “Come here, to me.” His hands trail reverently down the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward to straddle his lap, needing no further encouragement.

His hands returned to your hips as you pressed your lips to his softly. The kiss was slow and deliberate with a tenderness that made you ache. He kissed you as if every touch was a promise to erase the memories of all the hands that had hurt you before—replacing those memories with thoughts of him; his scent, his touch, his warmth, it consumed you and you thanked him for it.

His hands began to map your body like the roots of a tree seaking the earth—gentle, insistent, and sure. Where others had taken, Halsin only gave, only cherished. His kisses were soft, coaxing you open, and his touch was reverent, as though you were something precious to him.

“You are safe,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm on your neck. “And I will keep you safe. No one will ever touch you again.”

His words settled deep in your bones, wrapping around the places where fear had taken root,soothing them with a steady warmth. His hands, still at your hips, were grounding—tangible proof that this moment was real. That he was real. That you had chosen this, and he would honor that choice without hesitation or expectation. The tenderness in his gaze was almost too much, and yet you craved more, needed more.

You shifted in his lap, sliding your arms around his neck as his hands roamed up your back. His touch was slow, reverent, as if each movement was deliberate—like a druid tending to the forest, patient and loving. His fingertips traced the curve of your spine, a soothing pattern that made your breath hitch. There was nothing hurried in his exploration. No rush, no demand. Only the steady reassurance of his presence.

When you kissed him again, it was deeper, more intentional. The softness of his lips against your carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. This was not just a kiss—it was a reclamation, an act ofhealing, a promise that what came next would be only what you desired. Halsin’s hand cradled the back of your neck, guiding you closer without ever forcing you. His other hand remained at your waist, anchoring you to him, letting you set the pace.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, drawing a low rumble of pleasure from deep in his chest. The sound vibrated through you, spreading warmth across your skin. His kisses trailed from your mouth to the curve of your jaw, then down your neck, each press of his lips a silent affirmation: I am here. You are safe. This is yours to take. Yours to have.

You tilted your head to give him better access, and his lips traced a path to the hollow of your throat. His breath ghosted over your skin, sending sparks down your spine, and you gasped softly, your body arching into him.

His hands slid beneath the hem of your shift, brushing along the sensitive skin of your thighs. His touch was gentle, as if he feared he might startle you—but you leaned into him, silently urging him on. Halsin responded with a deep exhale, as though your trust was a gift he didn’t take lightly. Slowly, his hands traveled upward, caressing the soft curve of your hips, his fingers splaying wide as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent against your collarbone, as though the words themselves were sacred.

You shivered under his touch, every word, every kiss, unraveling the tension you had carried for so long. His hands reached the small of your back, pulling you closer, pressing you fully against him. The sensation of his solid frame beneath yours made you feel both protected and powerful, as though reclaiming something you hadn’t realized you’d lost.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection, but not impatience. “If you’ll let me.”

A flutter of anticipation stirred in your chest, but there was no fear, only want—want for him, for this moment, for the peace his touch brought. You nodded, your heart pounding as you reached for the hem of your shift, drawing it slowly over your head.

Halsin’s breath hitched at the sight of you, but there was no savagery in his gaze—only awe, as if you were a rare and precious thing. His hands followed the path his eyes traced. His touch was light and gentle despite the calluses on his warm hands. He was sure of his path as he caressed your bare skin. With every stroke of his fingers, you felt the ghosts of unwanted touches fade, replaced completely by this moment.

“I will care for you,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet devotion. “And I will never hurt you.”

Your chest tightened at his words—not from anything other than the overwhelming sense of safety they carried. You leaned down to kiss him again, your hands bracing on his broad shoulders, and he met you halfway, his lips soft and coaxing as your lips parted to his tongue. There was no rush, no urgency, only the slow unfolding of something deeper—something neither of you needed to name.

His hands roamed over your body, mapping every curve and dip with reverence. He treated you like something sacred, his touch steady and deliberate, as if he were tending to the delicate petals of a flower or coaxing life from the soil. And you bloomed above him, your skin tingling under his palms, your breath hitching with every kiss he pressed to your skin.

You shifted in his lap, the soft friction drawing a low, satisfied hum from Halsin’s chest. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements without controlling them, letting you find the rhythm that felt right for you. There was no expectation, only the slow, deliberate merging of your bodies and hearts.

The shift in his lap stirred a quiet groan from his lips, low and rumbling, the sound vibrating through your skin where your bodies touched. You leaned into him, relishing the way his hands tightened every so slightly on your hips, as if he needed this connection as much as you did. His hands against your skin were taut, not to control, but to anchor himself to you, as though you were the only thing tethering him to the ground. His lips parted against yours, and his breath came in warm, shallow waves, brushing your skin like a summer breeze stirring through the canopy.

You felt the warmth growing between your thighs, and your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his tunic. His body radiated heat, and he only pulled back to allow you to slip his shirt off. Your hands trailed his muscled chest and shoulders, nails scratching lightly at the hair on his chest.

His stomach was soft but you could feel the muscle beneath as he tensed with ragged breaths as you explored his body, mapping it in just the same way he had mapped yours. Your fingers trailed over his strong shoulders to the large biceps that were wrapped around you. It wasn’t a cage, it was a blanket. It was a soft landing after all the nights you spent with knees against bricked roads.

"I want you," you breathed, shifting down against his lap. "I want all of you." It's both a plea and your consent. His hand trails up, cupping your breast and rolling your nipple experimentally. You moan, arching into his touch as his mouth savages your neck, licking, kissing, biting wherever he can.

“And you shall have me,” He murmured against your skin. He lowered his mouth to your other breast, swirling his tongue over your nipple and nipping lightly against the bud. You whined, pressing up against his mouth.

He teased you until your buds were red and raw, overly sensitive from his attention. Leaning back, he pulled you with him until his back was flush to the mattress. He watched you like you were his goddess and he was ready to worship you completely.

His hands trailed over your body reverently. When he held your waist, his thumbs nearly touched with how large his hands were compared to you. Your wide hips, though, were soft and the perfect grip for him as you ground down against him with a smile gracing your lips for the first time in days.

He groaned, hips bucking up into you as his head dropped back. “Silvanus preserve me,” he mumbled. If this is to be my end then so be it, he thought. “Mo chridhe…” He squeezed your hips, fighting the urge to grind up into you. You watched his mossy green eyes flash golden before returning to their normal color.

You leaned over him, lifting up to untie the laces to his breeches. With his help, you pushed them down his thighs, feeling his thick length slap up against your ass. You smirked as he loosed a breath heavily feeling you grind back against him eagerly.

“Is this for me?” You tease, sliding your lips over his chest, pressing kisses and love bites where you can.

“All of me is yours, mo chridhe. Every part,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion and need. He had waited centuries to find the person who would so thoroughly complete him.

You smiled, leaning forward to press your lips to his, a kiss that was so soft compared to the heat of this moment. Reaching behind you, you guided his length to your core, gasping soundlessly as you lowered slightly. The stretch of him was much more than you were used to, and his eyes widened as you slid just past the tip.

Your thighs held you suspended as your mouth dropped open in a silent whine. “Shh, little dove,” Halsin rubbed his large palms soothingly over your thighs. “I know. Easy,” he murmured, moving his hands back to your hips and back to your ass, squeezing to distract you from the sting of the stretch.

When your breathing had evened again, you made yourself drop all the way down, ass and thighs slapping against his hips. “Halsin,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back as your body adjusted to the intrusion.

Halsin let out a guttural moan, hands tightening on your hips. “Gods. You feel… exquisite.” You managed to look at him to watch the green and gold in his eyes battling for dominance. His abdomen was tense and chest tight, as though holding back.

“Take me,” you tell him. “Have me. I am yours.”

“Are you sure, my dove?” He asked breathlessly. “I fear if I take control I will not… give what you deserve.”

“Please,” you whimpered, shifting slightly with a moan as he reached the deepest parts of you. Halsin’s eyes went straight to the bulge in your lower abdomen where he rested, and he groaned.

With a smooth motion, not disconnecting the two of you, Halsin flips you onto your back, holding himself over you with one hand beside your head. “You are beautiful,” he muttered, free hand trailing over your body.

Slowly, he began to thrust, the drag of his cock numbing your mind to any thoughts but those of him and this moment. “Fuck, Halsin,” you moaned. His thrusts weren’t fast, but they were hard and deep, hitting every sensitive spot in you.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and the feeling of being so completely taken was both terrifying and exhilarating. But with Halsin, you knew you were safe. His hands roamed over your body, his touch gentle but firm, guiding you through the sensations.

As he thrust deeper, you arched your back, meeting him stroke for stroke. The friction between your bodies was almost unbearable, but you welcomed it, needing the release it promised. Halsin's breathing grew ragged, his muscles tense beneath your nails. You could feel him tensing, and with a gasp, he ground his hips into you one last time. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he thrust deeply, hips snapping as he emptied himself into you. His body shudders as he lets out a long, satisfied groan, his eyes locked onto yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he collapses on top of you, their hearts beating in sync.

"Halsin," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. His weight was a comfort, his warmth seeping into you. You closed your eyes, letting the feelings wash over you. This was more than just sex—this was a connection, a bond forged in passion and trust. And in this moment, you knew that you were finally whole.

His eyes met yours, and a smirk fell over his lips as he started trailing kisses down your chest, down your stomach, biting your thighs, as he settled his lips around your clit and sucked.

Your voice broke as you moaned, back arching up off the mattress. “Oh–” Your mouth fell open as your hands tangled in his hair. You couldn’t decide whether you were trying to pull him closer or push him away.

You felt his tongue swipe through your folds, and he moaned, tasting both your essence and his, and by the gods if it wasn’t the best meal he’d ever had. "Fuck," you hissed, feeling the pleasure build up inside you. Halsin's tongue and lips worked in tandem, driving you wild with each flick and suck. Your hips bucked up against him, seeking more contact, more of that incredible sensation.

You could feel your body tense, every muscle coiled tight. "Halsin," you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. And then, with a cry that echoed off the trees, you shattered. Waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you panting and weak as you came down from the high.

Halsin kissed his way back up your body, his green eyes full of love and satisfaction. He pressed his lips to yours, tasting your warmth mixed with his own. "My heart," he murmured, trailing his fingers down your side.

You sighed, curling into him. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment. You knew this was just the beginning, but for now, you were content to bask in the afterglow of your union.

He pulled you against his warm body, cradling you like a babe as he rubbed your back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Worry no more, mo chridhe, I have you.”

“What does that mean?” You asked sleepily. “You said it more than once.”

“My heart,” he answered. “For that is what you are and what you hold,” he told you.

You only hummed in response, nuzzling your face into his chest. “Will I see you again?” You were not a fan of asking the hard questions, for you always feared it would end with your heart broken.

“As long as you wish it, I will be here. I have responsibilities in Reithwin, but I promise to visit often,” he squeezed your hip lightly. “Push those worries from your mind and rest. It has been a long day and a longer night. Sleep, little doe. I will be here when you wake.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement to fall into a peaceful slumber.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: This was so freeing to write and just enjoy while I'm trying to cope with life. I can’t believe it took me a literal month.

I hope you enjoy!

Let me know if you want to be added to the Halsin Tag List

Tag List: @leiotyp @thoughts-of-bear @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @madschiavelique

[dhampling]

butter gn!reader, 2.5k

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.

-

you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage outside the Elfsong.

word count: 2,538

crossposted on AO3 HERE

read the tags and decide your fate!

He’s softer this evening and the room is fuzzy.

The smell of richly slow-roasted meats & seasonal field greens slapped up high on battered dishes and lathered with fresh salted butter, topped with baby mint, with window-grown rosemary; with truffle salts and crushed peppercorns. Red wine gravy. The open kitchen and the overworked barkeep with sweat glistening at his cheekbone.

Chalices lift from sticky dark tables, sleeves animated in shades of burgundy & emerald moving yellowed, peeling playing cards to chests. Hands joined in prayers of gratitude and glory. Extra chairs for those held close. Laughter; lilting as the bounce of those who whirl around the open floor to the sound of the bards, folding over in some giddy stupor and barreling back to the bar for more.

You nurse a now-warm pint of Balor Ale with eyes closed, calm in empty contemplation as the city smells and sounds wash over you. A late summertide tapestry. 

Though people mill about the bar frenetically and the sounds from inside the Elfsong are as raucous as ever; it all knots together to form a sweet, almost melancholy ambience. 

Nearby merchants bellow late-day deals on (mildly) heat-foetid produce. Peals of children laughing as they bomb through the cobbles. 

Occasionally you’ll flit your lazy eyes open to find him amongst the throngs of people inside.

And in perfect view, he lounges on the back support of an open booth seat Karlach occupies. 

Other party members dot similarly around the bar area and the wine flows free as the Chionthar among them. Legs crossed one over the other and cool hands coloured in late amber - one to support, the other to hold the stem of an ‘aged’ Rosymorn Firewine which threatens to spill a little overside as his arm moves in conversation.

From this angle he’s captured beautifully in the gloaming tenday light and from his slightly straightened poise it’s clear he knows that you’re watching for him. 

A voyeur. 

He’d question your intent, right by your ear, in a sing-song voice so sinfully rich it’d go straight to your head; before chortling in that one silly way he knows never fails to make you smile and capturing you - his darling dearest - in a kiss for the ages. 

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried. 

-

You see he looks to you after what seems to have been a joke told by one of the group, eyes heavy lidded with joy and the worn creases by his eyes a little deeper by the day. Checking in. You join your friends when you want and are gratefully received on those many occasions, but you revere your time alone. He holds back because he doesn’t want to upset you in the slightest. 

Despite reiterating that he is forever welcome to join you in said alone time - and all puns entailing your ‘ alone time ’ whispered in a soft silken purr aside - you feel it in the way he speaks to you. 

A fruitfly hums by your ear. You swat it away and look to him once more. 

Astarion’s eyes are back on the group. 

He listens to stories beyond your earshot and smiles, lolling his pretty head back and dipping to sip from his glass often, the tips of his ears twitching ever so slightly as he does. You clock the sparkling glassware as opposed to the standard tavern-offering pewter chalice and grimace. A heavy bell rings from one of the gilded towers in the near distance.

There’s a cathedral near where you’re from - you remember your visits there as a young thing. The height of the tallest spire seemingly miles above your tiny skull. Ribbed vaulting and lancets. You’d marry him there, when he’d let you, in one of the smaller chapels just off the aged cloister walkway. 

The old stone reminiscent of so many who’d loved in all sorts of mangled, patchwork ways before you two were even a thought. 

You’d find a way for the sun to forgive him once this was over, so he could stand in the light of a stained rose window and feel faith in something the way those born into religion do. 

A reception bursting at the seams with old friends at the Elfsong. You could dance yourselves to the point of a tired stupor with reason enough to do so. A celebration. 

Travel across Toril and find a way for him to be able to stomach real food, maybe. Have a cake with marzipan and trifle with rich sherry-soaked sponge for the guests. For him.

His lips show the faintest touch of a wine singe as he looks from Wyll and across to Jaheira, squinting in the sun before standing to - presumably - head to the bar. 

-

You close your eyes again and somewhere in the middle distance, bells continue to ring. A dopey grin as light heeled footsteps approach.

“I think everyone was beginning to wonder if we’d had a tiff.” 

Astarion sniffs gently and sits - almost slumped - toward you before leaning in for the kiss.

His lips open lazily to meet yours over and over again, skimming over the back of your teeth with a tannin-stained tongue and all the urgency of a tenday rest. A cold thumb brushes over the apple of your newly freckled cheek. 

A carafe of freshly corked wine on the bench before you both, glassware and a plate with warm bread. The butter you’d smelled earlier. 

“Could’ve come to me sooner, lover.” You pose with a slow blink, holding his arm still at the wrist to keep his hand to your burning face. 

Foreheads meet. The sun beats in the back and the still early evening air is interrupted by the faint buzz of insects and far-off children.

“I know. I do. You just looked so very deep in thought. Our heroic leader.” He jokes, emphasising ‘heroic leader’ in a mock grizzled tone before his head leaves yours and bringing you into his torso with his arm around you. 

His stillness feels reverent. 

He doesn’t jostle, not a single gesture. You steadily pour two glasses of Firewine from the hefty carafe and sit back into him again. 

“I was thinking about you.” You say in earnest while moving to toy mindlessly with the hand draped over your shoulder.

“Hm?” 

A flicker - his eyes are on you, a familiar burn, a fire poker. He knows that he’s often the subject of your pondering (if your word is to be believed) and has spent days of his own considering what that could mean.

On nights where his tongue sours with centuries of fermented scorn and his bedroll soaks through with thick, cold sweat; your mind is a fertile meadow and he resides as naught but a simple buxom milkmaid - giving and dense and virile atop dry grassy knolls and by stony running rivers, rutting and riding and suckling and spilling with bare teeth brushing shining cheekbones and dirt smears on thighs. Dimples on cheeks. Eyes of green and silver, blunt teeth.

“You. I was thinking about you.”

Astarion looks into the oncoming twilight. He rests his head to the side on yours, then nestles in a little. A sigh.  

From that meadow however, there’s a house with a thatch roof in the far distance; in which he sits by a roaring fireplace in comfortable clothes of his own choice and you, bundling through the door with a basket of fresh produce to stew in hand. 

Those lips alone capable of crafting a euphoria akin to a godsly blessing on him. 

One bedroom; perhaps two. 

Maybe even three. 

“How so, my sweet?” He speaks with the familiar measure of a thousand yard stare.

He doesn’t make the voyeur joke you’d seen so vividly in your mind’s eye, nor does he collapse around you with both arms at either of your sides and his chin on your head; burying kisses into your hair and cackling maniacally. 

His laundry must’ve dried on the balcony in your party’s quarters during the blazing height of Flamerule. Ruffled shirt linen, crisp and earthy.

“You want to know how I was thinking about you?”

A soft intake of breath. 

“Yes.”

You shift a little to look to the Lower City further down the hills and pathways of Baldur’s Gate, the span of the Chionthar and its banks now lit with flaming torches. 

The racket continues inside the Elfsong with songs being sung; food arriving at waiting tables and being spooned, hot, into hungry, wet mouths. Sweat slickened palms joining in prayer. Yellowed cards downed and reshuffled, hands dealt. Bards plucking at lutes and lyres on streets and in parks just far enough away.

He looks to you as you roll your tongue around the inside of your cheek. Soft round eyes seeking permission to dream alongside you. 

‘I was picturing a wedding. Our wedding. In the cathedral back near home - I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before.”

Though it hasn’t been left to sit long enough to aerate, you take a long sip of wine and a cloying film of carnelian remains on your tongue. 

His eyes sharpen.

“You didn’t just propose to me, did you?’ 

He quirks a brow.

‘Really, darling? Here?’

He gestures to your surroundings while feigning disdain and reaching for the other glass. You begin to shake your head.

‘Come on now, little love. Not even a ring?”

Astarion drinks. His voice is lower. You roll your head back in loving laughter and wriggle yourself from his grasp, buttering a chunk of bread before popping it cleanly into your mouth.

”You want a ring?’ 

A sip. A smile.

‘Go nick one. You’re the rogue here.” You quip, chewing still on the crust and wiping your fingers on a scrap of cloth. 

He brings them to his lips and licks clean any trace of salty butter, kissing each pad of calloused flesh attentively before sipping from his glass. 

“Thieving my own engagement ring? How very sad.’

Spare hand gesturing once again to the tavern in such a blasé fashion it would make you cringe if you still put any doubt into his estimation of you.

‘This whole thing.”

His brows furrow in jest, the corner of his mouth pulling at a quick smirk. 

“Steal one for me, then.” You suckle at your wine, keeping the vessel close pressed to your lips lest their wavering seriousness give your smile away. Astarion studies you.

“You’d accept a stolen ring as a sign of promise? Of intent to marry?” He queries, though not sounding as airy - nor aghast - as he likely means to.

“Depends who stole it.”

He looks back to the city in the distance. Silence between the two of you.

“What were you picturing in that pretty head of yours? The wedding.”

His hands roll over one another nonchalantly as he says the word. Wedding. The glass sloshes. He’s toying on the precipice of serious, a scene he can’t quite play at comfortably yet.

“Oh no no no, my love. You’ll recoil. It was far too homely for your tastes.” You shake your head animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis. 

He leans in towards you; a sordid grin. He’s comfortable now. The warmth in which his shirt dried vividly present.

“Oh go on, darling. Make me squirm. Tell me every fang-rottingly flaccid detail and I’ll absolutely hate it, I promise.”

You choose to forget the face of endless night this evening. 

The anticipated fast approaching absence of the tadpole means - most likely - the rescinding of Astarion’s ability to walk in the sun, to bask under the stained glass rose in the chapel; or to waltz in a quiet midday embrace atop the Elfsong veranda.

“Can I trust you to be as absolutely appalled as I imagine you’ll be?” You whisper, saccharine in mock secrecy. 

“I swear it. Hand on undead heart.” 

He lingers barely above you, solemn; a voice of liquid gold. 

You let the silence hang.

“A chapel’

He winces.

‘Cold and draughty in some early morning moment - a choir elsewhere in the building, not close enough to be loud but not far enough to have their verses be wholly indiscernible in song.” 

“Go on.”

“Maybe a little austere in tone owing to the nature of the environment, but each moment feels anticipatory. A small - no, intimate - service, fast but…’

You tap your fingers on the dry wood of the bench. Trying to recall the exact sentiment.

‘Eager. Full of devotion so sickeningly true it literally fizzes below the surface of the flesh. Both of us.” 

Now you sip, content. Astarion looks into the distance 

There are no burdens pertaining to the ‘Absolute’. Life is being lived and the day feels as if it is ending only for another one - just the same - to rise in its place tomorrow. The idea of fighting and peril waits for the morning chimes. An unspoken agreement.

“I keep forgetting I can make choices like that now, truth be told. To commit myself to something with no intent other than that which I decide.”

He’s wistful. A little contemplative. Fingers tapping away.

“There’s no rush, my dove.’ 

Eyes back on you, hand reaching for yours.

‘Besides - for the trifle I pictured at the reception; we’d need to solve your little taste problem first before I’d dream of allowing such an indulgence to go to waste.”

Astarion coughs, a glint in his eye.

“You’re questioning my taste now?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at your choice in partner.” 

He laughs softly.

“You're an insufferable thing.’

Your fingers & knapsack are both heavy already with stolen gems, as are those of every friend you’ve met along the road. Rings of onyx, quartz; once personal keepsakes & now your plunderer’s spoils. He’s like a magpie whilst rummaging through burlap sacks and rotten barrels. Token pieces without rhyme or reason.

He knows they’re worthless to sell on, anyway.

‘Who knows, though. I might like that. Once I know who I am again.”

Wobbles his head. Examines his pristine fingernails, buffing them softly against his blouse.

“Did you just accept a proposal that you fictionalised in the first place?” You gulp the last of your glass before refilling it swiftly.

“No. But now, you’ve got me thinking.”

“Pray tell?”

He looks at you, eyes now awash with mischief. 

“Though I absolutely adore the vision of you on your knees for me - you know I do pet, hush now - I also like the idea of claiming the pose for myself. In a way that’s meaningful for me.’

He sips. You remain in place, hushed.

‘I’m not a details man, my love.’

Eyes on you.

‘Don’t do it for me. I want to. Once we know where we are.”

You beam at him. Pinpointing the moment he turns from rogue to butter, a soft smile on his face. Sincere in the last of the sunshine.

You’re not hinting, and you’d never intend to. When - or if - you’ll tie the knot is as asking the length of a piece of string. 

The road which brought you to this very bench, however; has been one fraught with similar nonsensical questions.

[squiddy-god]

Love on the breeze

Re-uploading from terminated blog squid-god-supreme, this is honestly just a self indulgent venti fic because I love him

CW : tooth rotting fluff because I'm sad- gn! Reader, mischievous x mischievous, venti uses anemo on you

The winds seemed to sing to the beat of his heart while he held you, a joyful tune that made your stomach fill with butterflies. He held you from behind while you sat under a tree. His hands laced with yours and his head nuzzled into your neck as he gave you a squeeze. “My heart sings for you love~” he mumbled as you giggled, trying to move away so he didn't tickle you. “Nope!” he rolled over, still holding you and taking you with him.

Your head hit the soft ground as grass touched you cheek “ehe i won't let you go” he sang again. “Cheeky bard” you rolled over to face him, a smug smirk plastered proudly on his face. His teal eyes gleamed with playfulness as his finger came up to boop your nose. You glared halfheartedly as you pecked his lips, his smirk falling as his cheeks were lit aflame, bright red spreading to the tips of his ears and you could swear the tips of his braids were glowing lightly. “Why so quiet venti~ cat got your tongue?” you teased lightly, eyes holding nothing but love for the childish bard. “Aww~ come on that's no kiss! How about another? “ you pretended to ponder it for a minute as he flung his arms around you. “Please? Please please?” 

“Hmmm, I don't know venti~ what's in it for me?” he pouted at your response, cheeks puffing out before he sat up and smiled at you. “Why don't I sing my sweet, and you can pay me with kisses” he suggested as the wind swirled by his hands, wooden lyre and iron strings settling softly against him. You nodded enthusiastically and shot up to sit criss-cross next to him. 

One strum then two, his hands danced across the strings as his voice joined the breeze. Leafs swaying to the rhythm of his song he watched you as you listened with closed eyes, content smile on your face. He stood up, fingers still delicately playing his lyre as he sang his gentle song. His voice was gentle, like summer breezes it made your heart warm and content. But alas his joyful song was over far too soon, lyre disappearing with asure light. “Now for my payment~ he looked at you excitedly. Falling into your arms upon seeing them outstretched and inviting.

He wasted no time peppering your face with kisses from the tip of your nose to your cheek he left no space un kissed. “Hmm, for such a great song I think I deserve one more kiss” he giggled before pressing his lips to yours, hands cupping your cheeks with the utmost love. Venti loved freely, the affection and adoration he felt for you flowing threw his touch and makinging you feel giddy. 

“Now how can such a cheeky bard always leave me so lightheaded?” you asked as he pulled back for air. “Why that's my love course~ stealing the air from your lungs” he laughed and you let your head rest in the palm of his hand. “I love you my sweet cecilia, and my heart only sings for you” 

You kissed him again, a gentle smile shared between the two of you. “I love you too venti, with all my heart”