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shamefilledsnzblog · 7 days ago

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A Desperate Cover-Up

So, this was meant to be for @lostatsneeze 's Sick at a Ball prompt game (linked here), but it ended up being nearly 4000 words and I never even got these poor fools to the ball! That might need to be Part Two...

Characters are my DnD OCs: Perry, a human of minor nobility, a self-styled Gentlman Druid with a fascination for all things fungal and a terrible immune system. And Serafina, a purple tiefling, the bastard (but beloved) daughter of an immensely wealthy lord, who happens to have the kink.

Perry has an utterly miserable cold, but Serafina is still determined for him to make a good impression. Featuring some inducing, some mess, some sneezing while hiding.

“Again? And now? Peregrine, I really do feel awful for you, but this is the third time in as many months, and your timing couldn’t be worse!”

“Believe me, I’m distressingly well-aware. But surely it’s not too.. t-hhiieehh… HIESshhHYIEEW! Snf… Too obvious?”

Serafina refused to dignify that with a reply.

She had come to meet Perry at the gate of her father’s townhouse, all excitement. For months, she had been urging her father to finance Perry’s Underdark expedition. Months of carefully explaining to him how the discovery of newer, safer trade routes and outposts could be invaluable to his business (and, of course, he would be aiding in the advancement of science via enabling Perry and his companion Janessa’s studies, but as she had repeatedly stressed to Perry, that was not an aspect likely to win her father’s interest). Months of sitting with Perry, watching with increasing endearment as he plotted routes and consulted notes of prior expeditions.

Her father had grown increasingly interested, and multiple meetings with Perry had convinced him of the young man’s intelligence and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, they had not convinced him of Perry’s resilience. Between his numerous allergies, asthma, and two truly brutal head colds, he had sneezed, snuffled, coughed, and wheezed his way through nearly every meeting. Each time, as soon as Perry left, Serafina’s father turned to her, shaking his head.

“I’m not doubting that his heart is in it, and he’s got the brains. But surely he’s too frail for such a dangerous journey?”

Tonight, at a small, formal dance, her father had agreed to give Perry one chance to make his case. And Perry had shown up with the most glaringly obvious head cold Serafina had ever seen.

“I… I’m sorry. We could say I was kept away by some emergency?”

“Which he’ll expect you to explain next time, and we both know you’re an utterly miserable liar. Oh, Peregrine…”

Perry’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he dabbed at his red, raw nose with a handkerchief, wriggling it and sniffling wetly in irritation. His sinuses sounded full to the brim with congestion, and by the looks of that twitching nose, he was just desperate to sneeze it all out. His voice was hoarse, and he muffled constant ticklish coughs into his handkerchief. Pronouncing any word with an ‘n’ or ‘m’ sounded utterly pitiful. His skin, always pale, was chalky white, dark, bruise-like shadows lurked beneath his eyes, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. He had no hope whatsoever of convincing anyone that he was well.

Well, not without help.

Serafina turned to her shy elf maid, Mayna, keeping her voice low.

“Mayna, go and check that there’s no one around the back door, and let me know when the coast is clear. I’m taking Peregrine to my bedroom to see if I can’t work a little of my magic on him. You’re to give me a warning should you see anyone coming. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss. Good luck, and feel better, Sir Peregrine.”

Perry’s reply was lost in a miserably wet sneeze. Mayna hurried around the side of the house. Serafina grabbed Perry while he was still in the process of blowing his nose, dragging him out of sight.

“We’re going to make this work.”

“I… IiieESHIEEW! Guhh… I’ll do my best, Miss DeVille.”

Mayna returned shortly, her eyes wide and nervous, gesturing for Serafina and Perry to follow. Dragging the snuffling, coughing Perry behind her, and hiding from a few servants on the way, Serafina finally reached her bedroom and shoved Perry inside. With one last look at Mayna, who nodded with timid determination, she shut the door and turned to look at her project.

“We have a lot of work to do. Starting with that voice.”

She pulled up a seat at her dressing table and gestured for Perry to sit, which he did with some relief. Poor thing, if he was running a fever, as she suspected he was, he must be awfully achy. Not to mention, he would usually be immensely flustered at finding himself somewhere so intimate as her bedroom. Instead, he just seemed exhausted. Serafina squeezed his shoulder encouragingly before going to her bedside table.

Sure enough, there was a packet of lozenges in the top drawer. An enthusiastic singer, proud of her voice, Serafina always tended to keep some on hand. Taking the packet and pouring a glass of water from the bedside carafe, she passed both to Perry.

“Drink that. All of it. And suck on one of those. Right now, you sound as if you’ve gargled broken glass. We’ve half an hour before you’re expected to arrive, so let’s make it count. How many handkerchiefs do you have with you?”

Perry, drinking the water and grimacing with every swallow, stopped and tried to catch his breath. He seemed to be having a hard time drinking with his nose so badly blocked.

“Four.”

“And how many are left in a usable condition?”

“Two.”

“That won’t be enough. I’ll fetch some of mine; don’t worry, I’ll make sure they’re unscented.”

Perry tried to respond, but the even with the lozenge and water, the tickle in his throat became too much. He doubled over, coughing until he was red in the face. Already Serafina could hear a damp rattle that suggested this cold would be going to his chest, and probably making its home there for a good long while.

“Deep breaths, Peregrine. Finish that water, then I want you to have another glass. How’s your head?”

“Aching t-terribly. HhhHIESHOO!”

“Probably even worse after that. Poor thing, they do seem to sneak up on you when you’ve got the sniffles, don’t they?”

Retreating into her ensuite, she opened the medicine cabinet, rifling through the contents. Headache powders. Cough syrup. Balm for chapped lips. She grabbed all three, soaked a flannel in water, and returned to find Perry blowing his nose. It sounded as if there was no end to what he needed to clear out.

“I think that’s that handkerchief spent. Sounds as if you’re still awfully stuffed. Say something for me, let’s see how you sound.”

Giving his nose one final wipe and wrinkling it with a damp snuffle, Perry sighed.

“I’m so terribly sorry. Even if I do manage to pass myself off as healthy, I’ll still no doubt get you sick, and probably poor Mayna as a result.”

“You may pay me back by naming a new discovery after me when you get to the Underdark. Not some foul slimy toadstool, either. Ideally something purple and magnificent. As for Mayna, I’ll see that she’s given all the time off she needs, and is thoroughly pampered. We need to clear you out a bit more, though, if we’re to convince Papa. You still sound miserably stuffy. Take a new handkerchief. Blow again.”

Obedient as ever, Perry took another handkerchief from his pocket and began another weary series of blows. As he did so, Serafina mixed one of the powders with water, and poured a dose of cough syrup.

“Both of these down, quick as you can. We still need to get to work on covering all that red.”

Perry grimaced as he looked at both medicines, but obediently downed the cough syrup, spent a few moments grimacing at the taste, and set to work sipping at the medicine-laced water.

“Speak for me again?”

“You deserve more than just a fungus named after you, Miss DeVille. But of any I discover, I promise, I’ll name the loveliest after you.”

“I’m not sure I trust your judgement on that. I’ve seen you go misty-eyed over something that looks like a cauliflower with a skin condition. I shall expect full illustrations and descriptions first. Unfortunately, I think we’ve got more work to do on those sinuses first.”

Perry turned to see her going to her writing desk, and taking up a delicate feather quill. His nose twitched at the mere sight.

“Please, no.”

“You know a good sneeze tends to clear you up when all that congestion is being stubborn, and even as sensitive as you are, I don’t believe you can do it on command. I know it’s unpleasant, but we’re running low on time, and all that blowing is just giving me a redder nose to fix.”

Perry let out a slight whimper, but sighed and nodded, allowing Serafina to draw close. She came to stand before him, cupping his cheek and tilting his head so that he was looking up at her. Unable to resist, she gently stroked his cheek with her thumb. It really was unhealthily hot.

“Poor thing. That’s quite the temperature. I know you must be feeling so unwell. You just need to do your best a little longer, and we’ll try to make your excuses early so you can go home and rest. Now, close your eyes.”

Perry did so, leaning slightly into Serafina’s hand, seemingly seeking out the relative coolness of her skin. How wonderful it would be, Serafina mused, to lead him to her bed, and join him there, letting him seek the touch of as much of her as he wanted.

Those thoughts would have to wait. With her free hand, she set the very tip of the quill to that poor, long-suffering nose. The reaction was immediate.

“HeEhHH! IehehHEH! Hm.. hff… Iehh-hihh… HEH!”

“That’s right. Sensitive, aren’t you? Relax. Let it happen.”

Perry couldn’t reply even if he wanted to. His lips parted, revealing a slightly curling tongue. His eyes squeezed shut, a tear of irritation rolling down his cheek. And that poor nose… Serafina kept gently brushing beneath those delicate nostrils, watching them flare in torment. Almost as if inviting her to go deeper, begging for release from the tickling.

Another time, she might have teased. Let the quill linger, just enough to tickle, not enough to bring him satisfaction. Let him hitch and gasp and squirm, let him plead for release. Another time she would enjoy drawing things out, letting that nose grow redder and redder, letting it sniffle and twitch and leak, before finally enveloping it in a handkerchief and letting the poor man sneeze until he was satisfied.

Tonight was not the night for teasing. With a deft twist, she inserted the point of the quill deeper into a flaring nostril, drawing forth a gasp of irritation, a great, flustered snort, and…

“HhhHGYIESHIEW!”

Perry barely got his handkerchief up in time, sneezing wetly into its folds. Serafina rested a hand on his shoulder, gently stroking with her thumb.

“Well done. You’re not finished, are you?”

“GHHIYIESHOO! SHIEEWW! Guh… Pardon me… SNRFff!”

“Don’t sniffle it back. We want it all out, remember? Nice gentle blow, that’s it. Good, I can hear things loosening up. Now, there’s a few more sneezes in there, I think.”

Perry nodded, finding a clean spot in his handkerchief to nuzzle into, his nose plainly tormenting him. Her hand still on his shoulder, Serafina felt him breathe in great unsteady gasps, plainly trying to bring on another sneeze. Taking his hands, gentle but firm, she pushed them down, removing the handkerchief barrier hiding his face.

“There. Don’t fuss at it, just let that poor sore nose do what it must.”

Perry nodded, eyes closed, crinkling his nose, lips parted, plainly battling a truly torturous tickle. Even after emptying a good quantity of in into his handkerchief, moisture still pooled beneath his raw nostrils, clearly irritating them further. He sniffled desperately against the irritation, and tried to raise his handkerchief again.

“Hhyiehh… Hehhh… SNF! Hfff… Ghhihhhehhh… Hyehhh…”

Serafina pushed his hands back down once more, and raised the quill to his nose.

“It’s teasing you, isn’t it? Not to worry, we’ll soon have it out.”

This time he let out a strangled whimper as the feather touched his sore nose. Serafina could feel his breath, hot and urgent against her hand, and once again cupped his cheek, tilting his head up to face her. She flicked the quill back into place, seeking the sensitive spot in those inflamed nostrils, while Perry snorted in irritation again, another tear spilling over his cheek as he began another round of desperate hitching.

“Ghhyieehh… Hhihhh… HYiehhh… HEHhhh… SNRF!”

The feather was becoming too damp to do its job. Serafina twitched it more insistently, scratching against the raw, sensitive walls of Perry’s nose, while he plainly struggled not to pull away. When she withdrew it and set to work on the other nostril, a string of mess came with it.

“HhH-Hhh… Hhyieehhh… I… I can’t… Hghhyyiehhhh…”

“You can, and you will. A little deeper…”

Another deft flick of the quill, and Serafina seemed to have found the spot at last. Perry’s face contorted in ticklish agony, and though he pulled away and raised his handkerchief as quickly as he could, Serafina still felt the mist of the resultant sneeze on her wrist. A slight shiver ran through her, and warmth stirred in her belly.

“HhHGYIESHHEWW!”

It was the wettest yet, and Perry seemed spent. Breathing heavily, avoiding Serafina’s eyes, he once again began soaking his handkerchief with the newly loosened congestion. When he could at last speak again, his handkerchief was rendered useless, but his voice was noticeably less congested.

“I’m so very sorry. You must find this utterly repulsive.”

You poor man, if only you knew.

Serafina fondly brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. The relentless sneezing had caused a few to come loose from his ponytail, framing his face rather nicely.

“You aren’t repulsive in the slightest. You’re just miserably ill. Sounds as if you’re a little cleared up, though. Let’s get to work repairing the damage.”

Taking the damp flannel, she carefully wiped Perry’s face, being careful of his raw nose and chapped lips. Perry leaned into the cool cloth, and Serafina held it in place for a moment, allowing him a moment’s relief after his efforts.

“Poor Peregrine. No dancing for you tonight, I think. Your partner would feel you burning up immediately.”

Opening her cosmetic drawer, Serafina began to go through the contents. Perry looked on with weary eyes, taking the flannel himself and holding it to his overheated brow.

“I don’t know much about cosmetics, but surely yours are some shade of purple, to match you? I don’t know that it’s going to help me.”

“Most of them are. But I ‘borrowed’ this one from Delia one day when she was being especially unpleasant. She hides from the sun at all costs for fear of developing freckles, so she’s almost as pale as you.”

Removing the ‘borrowed’ powder, and a jar of moisturizing lotion, Serafina opened both, and swatted Perry’s hand away when he reached for them.

“Oh no you don’t. You said yourself, you know nothing about cosmetics. You’ll leave this to me, thank you.”

“You’re having entirely too much contact with this wretched nose of mine. I’m sure you’re going to catch this.”

“Then you shall have to find a way to make it up to me. I’m sure between us we can think of something. Now, hold still, please.”

Perry flinched as Serafina dabbed a little lotion on his nose, beginning to gently rub it in. It felt even warmer than the rest of him, and twitched charmingly. Once again Serafina had to remind herself that now was not the time to tease.

“It feels odd. Is it having an effect?”

“Not on the colour, I’m afraid, but it might soothe you a little, and it will make it easier for the powder to stick.”

At the mere mention of powder, Perry gave a nervous sniffle. He watched and swallowed hard as Serafina picked up the powderpuff, disturbing a fine cloud of the cosmetic.

“I know. You need to try not to breathe in while I apply this. Close your eyes, and try not to think about it.”

Perry did as he was told, holding his breath and refusing to look. Even so, his nose scrunched and wriggled as Serafina applied powder in deft, careful dabs. It was going to require more powder than she had imagined.

“Alright. Take a breath now, then we’ll try some more.”

Perry let out the breath he had been holding, together with a few ticklish coughs that made him wince and press a hand to his chest. His nose twitched again. And again, more desperately. His eyes began to develop that familiar, distant look.

Serafina pressed a finger beneath his nose, giving him a stern look.

“No. If you sneeze, your handkerchief is going to undo my work.”

Perry sniffled. Serafina gave his nostrils a firm rub, feeling them twitch and flare. A tentative hitch. Another.

“Peregrine. No.”

At last, Perry’s breathing settled, and he opened his eyes. It was hard to tell if the flush on his cheeks was from fever or embarrassment.

“I think it’s under control.”

“Good. You need some more powder. Hold your breath again.”

The second application seemed even more irritating than the first. Perry’s tormented nose scrunched and wriggled, and his chest shuddered with the urge to take in a great hitching breath. Serafina finished the second coat, and once again pressed a finger beneath his nose.

“You’re doing well. Deep breaths. Try not to think about it.”

“I-ihh… it won’t le-hehhh-t me think of much… much else…”

Before Serafina could reply, Mayna’s timid voice sounded from outside the room.

“Good evening, Lord DeVille! Miss DeVille is just getting ready!”

Perry froze in horror. No matter how innocent the circumstances, being caught in the bedroom of Lord DeVille’s beloved daughter would be a disaster, even if he was in perfect health. Seizing him by the arm, with no time to hide him anywhere safer, Serafina dragged him to his feet and shoved him behind her bed, hissing in his ear.

“Not a word from you, and for the gods’ sake, not a sneeze!”

Serafina seated herself at her dressing table just as her father knocked on the door.

“Are you decent, my dear?”

“Just putting on some finishing touches, Papa. I’ll join you shortly.”

The door opened, and Serafina forced herself not to glance nervously at Perry. She didn’t need to see him to know that he was struggling. Her father, elegantly dressed in his evening attire, entered, greeting her with a fond smile.

“I don’t know why you fuss about with all that makeup. You look perfectly lovely to me.”

“A lady is always on display. One must attend to the details. Did you need something, Papa?”

Maddeningly, Lord DeVille seemed in a mood to linger.

“Your young man hasn’t arrived yet. Odd, given he’s usually early. I hope he’s well this time.”

While her father looked over her array of cosmetics with fond amusement, Serafina chanced a glance at Perry. Her heart sank. He was huddled as far out of view as he could, but from what she could see of the part of his face not buried in his handkerchief, he was on the verge of giving himself away. His shoulders shuddered with desperate hitches, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sure he’s perfectly well. He’s been most enthusiastic about this evening.”

Lord DeVille gave a huff of amusement.

“I’m not sure what he’s more interested in. My finances, or my daughter.”

“Peregrine’s always perfectly respectful on both subjects.”

Lord DeVille frowned, nodding to the open powder sachet and bottle of cough syrup on the dressing table.

“You’re not unwell yourself, are you?”

He reached out and felt her forehead. Ordinarily Serafina would have been touched by his concern. Right now, she struggled not to squirm in frustration.

Hold on, Peregrine. No matter how it tickles!

From behind the bed, she heard the desperate “hmp!” of a painfully stifled sneeze, and she coughed slightly to cover the noise.

“A slight sore throat, Papa, nothing more. Given I’ll likely be asked to sing tonight, I thought I ought to take some precautions.”

That, at least, would take the blame off Perry when she inevitably caught his cold.

Lord DeVille looked unconvinced, but he patted her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I’ll not have you pressured into singing if you’re not up to it. And early to bed for you tonight! No lingering to discuss toadstools with that poor besotted fungal fellow!”

“As you wish. Was there anything else?”

While her father looked elsewhere, she chanced another glance at Perry, and her heart began to race. He stifled another sneeze into his handkerchief, managing to keep it perfectly silent, but that would not be the case for long. Even pinching his nose harshly and forcing his mouth closed, he was on the verge of coming undone.

Lord DeVille picked up the jar of powder, giving a hum of amusement.

“This wouldn’t be the powder Delia was throwing a tantrum about, would it, my darling?”

Another muffled “hnk!” from behind the bed. Serafina suspected she had moments to act.

“Is it? Oh dear, I must have picked it up by mistake! Here, I’ll see that it’s returned to her!”

She reached for the powder, and in doing so, allowed her sleeve to catch the glass of water she had poured for Perry, deliberately knocking it into her lap. She leapt up with a cry of alarm, her voice covering up a muffled “HM-ph!”.

“Oh! My dress!”

“There now, my dear, it’s just a little water, I’m sure there’s no damage done!”

“Perhaps not, but I can’t wear this now! Better let me change, Papa, if you want me downstairs by the time guests arrive!”

Lord DeVille nodded, turning back to the door.

“I’ll leave you to it. Not to worry if you’re a little late, I’ll make your excuses for you.”

The moment the door closed, Serafina dived behind the bed, dropping to her knees. Perry did not even seem to notice her. He was lost to the build-up of a sneeze that had no hope of being silenced. Serafina hurriedly seized a pillow from the bed and pressed it over his face, praying that between the muffling effect and the closed door, her father would not hear.

Perry lurched forward, delivering a flurry of violent sneezes into the pillow.

“HHIEMMMPHHH! MMPHH! HHhuHMMPH!”

Serafina rested a hand on his back, rubbing soothingly as he sneezed again and again, the explosions gradually growing weaker until he was left panting, raising his head from the pillow at last. His eyes streamed, as did his nose, and all traces of powder were thoroughly removed. The cool silk of her pillow had been left damp and darkened from the results of his sneezes.

“Miss DeVille, I’m so very…”

“No apologies, please. Bless you.”

The stifling had undone her efforts in making him sound less ill. He sounded just as congested as he had when he arrived, and looked utterly defeated, as well as humiliated, as he took out his handkerchief and gave his nose an exhausted blow.

“Truly, though, I am sorry. I really think I ought to go home.”

Serafina helped him to his feet, and guided him determinedly back to the dressing table, where she picked up her quill once more.

“We’ve come this far, and I’m not one for admitting defeat. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

#dnd snz #snzfic #oc: perry #oc: serafina #someone help this poor man

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commander-rahrah · 1 year ago

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Talking to the Moon

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5000 (haha.. whoops) Warnings: slightly suggestive for a tiny moment but SFW, swearing, PTSD, trauma, past/implied abuse, fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

Summary: Set in early Act II. Reader/Tav's origin of their powers is revealed to the party and there is a negative reaction to it. Astarion attempts to comfort reader with his usual routine and provide a "distraction" but gets rejected. He begins to question their own reasoning and feelings, and realizing that he might be feeling something… different.

Note: This is still a GN!Reader/Tav in second perspective with no names or y/n. However, there is some backstory (noble background and a deity) and appearance descriptors (only freckles and hair colour) assigned to the reader/Tav. I really enjoy the dynamic of the moon/stars that I have with my own Tav named Olympia and Astarion and for this particular idea I wrote I felt the backstory was too important to leave out!

I am an avid D&D player and I loooove making OCs (its a problem I have like 30) but this particular backstory and character that this is based off of is very dear to me, so I really hope your enjoy!

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨

You were all gathered on the grounds just outside of the Last Light Inn, heading back inside the main doors with Jaheira and Isobel. The safe haven protected from the forces of the Absolute — thanks to you and your companions quick action. The remaining Tieflings and the other inhabitants of the inn still shaken from the sudden attack, but resting safely inside. “I’m thankful you were all here to stop the attack.” The cleric of Selûne said softly.

Isobel then looked over her shoulder at you, stopping for a moment as she looked you over from head to toe. “And you... I recognize my goddess’s powers within you — but they are so different from mine. Your magic is not born out of devotion for her.”

“What is she talking about?” Shadowheart asked from your side, whipping her head to you so fast her black braid flung out behind her.

You swallowed. You had been dreading this conversation. Fearing the moment it came out. “Yes, I, uh—,” You stumbled over your words, your tongue suddenly heavy in your mouth. “I was blessed by Selûne as a babe.”

Isobel raised her eyebrows, her lips stretching into a slight smile. “A blessing indeed. A drop of Selûne's own powers lives within you. You use it well.”

You bowed your head, your cheeks flushing a bright shade. Embarrassment and chagrin flooding you as every single member of your party turned to face you — varying reactions on all of them.

You eyes were still on your boots as both Isobel and Jaheira bid you a goodnight, telling you of your own rooms upstairs before disappearing amongst the many doors of the inn. The rest of your party quiet — not even Astarion had opened his mouth to fill the silence with a comment or joke.

The voice who broke it was the one you had dreaded the most. Shadowheart’s voice was a harsh whisper, but it still cut you deeply. “I cannot believe you. You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

You winced, your teeth biting into your cheek, “I wasn’t lying. I just… didn’t tell you.”

“You just didn’t tell me that you are blessed with divine magic from my goddess’ enemy.” The dark-haired cleric scoffed, her nose crinkling so much that the scar across her face shrank considerably.

You thought of all the nights around the campfire sharing soft laughs, the early mornings that you helped braid her hair. This was why you had been avoiding it. You didn't want to lose that. Shadowheart had become a friend, an ally. “I didn’t want to ruin anything, we’ve grown so close and… it’s not like I worship her. I don’t say my prayers to her every night, I was just a babe—“

“Well I do!” She raised her voice, a few passing Harper’s stirring in shock at the outburst before shuffling away. “In Shar’s name. This is unbelievable — I’ve been mere feet away from you this whole time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But you kept your devotion to Shar a secret and when it did come out all of us have been nothing but accepting.” Your eyebrows were furrowed together in worry. This was going exactly as you had dreaded. You’d hope your friendship would be something she would consider however…

“Alsoooo,” Astarion drawled, “The last time you had a disagreement with one of us, we woke up to you holding a knife to Lae'zel’s neck. Can you really blame them for not bringing it up?” He wagged his fingers at her, a single white brow raised.

Her nostrils flared as she flashed a look to the vampire, before turning back to you. “This is no disagreement. This is wrong, this is against everything my lady stands for."

“Shadowheart, please. You are my friend—“ You began to beg, but the cleric cut you off.

“No. Not anymore. We will continue to travel together to reach Moonrise Towers. We will get rid of these tadpoles and then we are done.” She spat.

“I—,” You choked, unable to think of what else to say. How else to defend yourself. You realized that Shadowheart’s mind was made up, no matter what you said right now.

“Shadowheart,” Astarion cut in again, stepping in front of you almost protectively. “Enough.” His voice a low growl.

Gale and Wyll stepped forward too, concern etched on their face. Karlach’s own features were torn — her eyes flitting between you and Shadowheart with immense worry. Lae'zel remained in the back, her muscular arms crossed over her chest as she observed silently.

The dark haired cleric shook her head, a loud breath escaping her before she stormed off up the stairs. Her armor and weapons clanking loudly as she stormed away.

“Princess, come on!” Karlach shouted after her, starting up the stairs. But she paused for a moment, stretching out to grab your elbow gently. “It’ll be alright giggles, ok? Don’t worry about it.”

You could only nod as you watched the Tiefling chase after her, both of them disappearing upstairs.

“Well, that was hard to watch.“ Wyll murmered, offering you a pained smile.

You waited for the sound of a door slamming above, before turning to head up the stairs yourself. You felt your throat tighten as you fought to keep your tears at bay. "Today was a lot. I think I’m just going to find my room now.” You barely waved goodbye as you took the worn steps two at a time, disappearing from your group without a backwards glance as a few tears broke free.

“Wait, do you need—“ Gale began to trail behind you, his brows knitted together and face pained.

“Let them be, Gale.” Astarion waved a hand to stop him pursing you up the stairs. “Let them drop the mask for a while. If you go barging in there right away, they will paint a smile on their face and act like everything is fine.”

A look of surprise crossed his face before the wizard let his shoulders slump, “You’re right.”

A sound of delight escaped the vampire, before he cupped his pale fingers around his pointed ear, “I beg your pardon, could you say that again? I didn’t hear you.”

Gale let out a large huff, before he admitted “I said you’re right. I’ll let them be.”

“Oooh, Gale. If you’re trying to woo me, at least buy me dinner first.” Astarion pretended to twirl his hair, before flashing him a wicked grin.

Gale pushed his face into a palm, letting out another exasperated sound. “Gods, save me.”

• • •

You were sat on the bed, your back pressed into the back of the headboard with your knees pressed to your chest. It had been a few hours before the tears had finally stopped, leaving you feeling even more exhausted and drained. You weren’t sure when the news of what lived inside you would come out — but it went exactly as you feared it had. The betrayal and anger on Shadowheart’s face was repeating over and over in your mind. The rest of your party had seemed accepting… but it was hard to tell what exactly they were thinking.

A sudden knock at your door had you scrambling to right yourself, wiping at your damp cheeks and eyes with the back of your hands. You fixed your shirt, and stretched out your legs to look as if you were just relaxing on the bed before letting out, “Come in.”

Your voice sounded much more meek than intended.

Astarion poked his head through the door, a strange combination of both hesitation and curiosity painted across his pale face. “Hello pet,” He purred, lingering in the door way for a moment.

“Astarion, hi.” You sat up a little straighter, surprised to see him. “Come in.”

He shut the door softly behind him, “Feeling any better? Or did Shadowheart come find you for an encore?”

You shook your head, “No, she’s stayed in her room — thank the gods. I don’t think I could handle another moment like that tonight.”

His eyes betrayed him for a moment, glancing to the floor, “Yes, well usually I would say it’s entertaining watching someone else’s drama unfold… but I didn’t enjoy that.”

He swayed over to the bed, sitting on the edge. Not close enough to touch, but you couldn’t help the small fluttering that erupted in your belly as he sat next to you. How casual it seemed, how easy it had become.

You shoved the thought away, instead scrunching your mouth up as you spoke, “I was avoiding it for a reason. I feel terrible... I shouldn't have hidden it for so long.”

“Well, if you were looking for a distraction…” He stretched his hand over to you and drew lazy circles on your knee before dragging it up to your thigh. “I can be of some assistance.” A seductive smile curved his lips, his eyes darkening.

Your expression crumbled as the crack you had just soothed in your chest starting to form again. “That’s all you see me as, isn’t it?”

“What?” He asked, his hand freezing on your leg.

“Sex. That’s the only way you see me.”

“I—“ His eyes widened with bewilderment, before he blinked at you. “I don’t— I mean.” He continued to stammer, his fanged mouth hanging open in genuine shock.

You let out a sad sigh, your eyebrows furrowing like you were in pain. You were. The ache in your chest was growing tenfold, the familiar feeling of your heart crawling up your throat returning. “I’m not in the mood Astarion. If you want to feed, do it and go.”

He instantly pulled his hand away at your rejection, clutching it to his chest with the other one. He didn’t give an apology, nor did he seem interested in your offer to feed. His red eyes were blinking animatedly, as if confused. Before he bowed his head and got off the bed quickly. Then the sound of the door clicking softly behind him an instant later.

You couldn’t hear his steps in the hall even if you wanted to — so instead you rolled over onto your side, curling your limbs into yourself as you screwed your face up once more and cried.

• • •

Astarion didn’t know what to think. What to do.

No one had ever rejected him before. This is what he did, this is what he was built for. To manipulate. To seduce.

To play the dazzling, charming distraction. He used to target the lonely, the distressed and upset… it made the hunt so much easier. And Cazador used to praise him for it — he said the miserable and desperate tasted so much better.

But you weren’t like those easy targets. You weren’t simple, and he should have known better. You were complex and contradictory — not something he appreciated in a target. But something he could appreciate in a fellow person. Things were becoming to muddled, too confusing.

Gods dammit, he had been so foolish. His entire plan could be falling apart now — you sitting up in your room alone mulling everything over.

But what really bothered him wasn’t the idea of his plan falling apart. That his protection from his old master could be gone by morning, leaving him behind to suffer the consequences.

No, what really bothered him, what he was really afraid of was how upset you’d been. That he was the cause of that.

Astarion's skin felt hot and crawling as he realized he had treated you as others had treated him all these years. Trying to use your desire as a way to override any other feeling. To seduce you into acquiescence, to fool you into thinking you needed only him. It disgusted him, what he’d done. Shame coursed through him and his fingers clenched onto his leather clad knee.

He was grateful for the little dark attic he had found above the barn — grateful to be away from the prying eyes of the rest of the party. He couldn't explain this to them, he wouldn't.

A splash of wet splashed onto the back of his hand and he realized he was crying. He'd forgotten he could do that. He'd stopped so many years ago, numbing and willing himself so that none would come. So that despite the pain or hurt he was feeling, his tears would not be there to give Cazador anymore satisfaction. His master didn't need anymore physical evidence of his anguish — his screams and blood and broken body was enough. He had stopped crying years ago. Until tonight.

Wiping his face, he took a steadying breath he knew he didn't need. And then again for good measure. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he stood up with a slightly trembling body. He needed to fix this. For you. For himself.

Before he knew it he was back outside of your door, his fist hovering just above the painted wood. His other hand was picking at the seam of the side of his leather pants nervously. His red eyes stared at the little tray of food he'd brought up for you — resting on the hallway table as he waited to see if you would even let him in. A peace offering he'd thought. A way to get his foot in the door before he could… explain. Apologize.

Chewing his lip, he finally let his knuckles rap on the door. He lingered for a moment, before opening it slightly. The small crack in the door angled enough to reveal you still laid in the bed, your back to the door as you were curled up on the mattress. Guilt flooded through him all over again.

“Gale, I told you I’m fine—"

He pushed the door open a little more, just enough so that is creaked to get your attention. He only poked his head through, enough for you to see his pale face as you strained your neck to look over your shoulder.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Astarion swallowed at the sound of your disappointment. It was not something he ever wished to hear again if he could. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he looked down, unable to look you in the eye, “Will you let me try again?”

“What?”

He finally looked up, his red eyes round and soft, “Let me try again.”

You gave him a hard to read look, before nodding curtly.

Astarion grabbed the door, not closing it fully but just enough that the lock bounced softly back. His pale knuckles knocked again gently, before he heard you let out an exasperated breath. “Come in.”

A sheepish, tight lipped smile spread across his face as he stepped fully into the room and looked at you. You were sitting up in the bed now, your arms crossed over yourself with an unimpressed look on your face. He used his foot to close the door quietly as he held his peace offering behind him.

“I won’t bother you, if you don’t want company. But I noticed you hadn’t eaten. I brought you dinner.” He pulled the tray out from behind his back, showing it to you.

“Oh.”

“And a glass of wine.” He placed everything carefully onto the nightstand, before backing away towards the door. “It’s disgusting.”

A soft laugh escaped you, “Thank you." You took a small sip of the wine, before twisting your face. “Ugh — you are right, that is disgusting.”

“I’m almost certain I saw those Tiefling children your so fond of mixing it themselves. Pray this is a part time gig and they don’t become bartenders in the future.”

The two of you let snickers out through your noses, before the room turned quiet again. “Thank you for bringing this up. I mean it.”

“You’re very welcome.” He shuffled his feet, unsure if that was a dismissal or not. But he also found himself not wanting to leave. His hands were behind his back, his own fingers intertwining and squeezing tightly. “I’m… I’m sorry for how you were treated today. It wasn’t fair.”

Your eyes flashed down, your brow crinkling. “It’s okay—“

Astarion shook his head profusely, “No, it’s not. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t owe any of us anything — not your story, or … or anything else. What you decide to tell us, what you trust us with... that is your choice.”

“Thank you. It’s not that I don’t trust you all, I do… I just.”

He cut you off gently, “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know.” Your finger was playing with the rim of the wine glass in mesmerizing circles, over and over. “I do, trust you though.”

His red eyes lifted from your hands, to give you a quizzical look, “Now, why in the heavens would you do that?”

Your laugh was music to his ears. Full and bright. You shrugged, putting the glass back onto the nightstand — abandoning it and the dinner for another moment. “I just do.”

The vampire couldn't stop the purr that escaped his lips, “Hmmm, other members of our merry party would disapprove.”

“Probably. I think they disapprove of most of my interactions with you.” You said quietly, picking at the blanket you were sat upon.

The room filled with silence for a moment as you thought. “I was just a baby… when it happened. I was born ill — so weak and tired, it was almost like I was a dead. My parents threw all of their power and wealth at every scholar and healer they knew to try and cure me.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up as you spoke, joining you carefully on the bed. Much further then his previous visit. His hands settled onto his own lap as he listened.

“Nothing would work. And with every failed attempt, father become more and more distant. And mother became more and more desperate, hoping for any miracle she could find. She began to pray to any God that would listen, traveling to their shrines and statues. One night, my mother had fallen asleep crying while kneeling next to me. She said she awoke to a breeze and silver light — and the most beautiful woman she had ever seen was standing over us. Her hair was set in long silver waves, a flowing dress cascading over her curves, and a small smile on her lips as she watched the scene of mother and child. 'Selûne?' My mother asked, and the ethereal woman merely smiled again. 'I heard your prayers and felt your tears as if they were mine own. No mother should know the loss of their child.' As I slept, she touched my hair lightly, telling my mother I was pure and good-hearted. Selûne told her that she would help me, but that I would have a calling that would lead me away from my normal life of nobility and comfort. After my mother agreed, a white light shone through the Goddess’ hand, spreading into my hair, into my body and creating an aura around me. My hair turned silvery white, and star-like freckles began to shine all over my skin.” Your fingertips danced across your face, touching the skin that showed the blessing.

Astarion was gobsmacked, his eyes lingering over your silver hair and the freckles that dusted your nose and cheeks. His mind struggling to keep up with the information. “So, what Isobel said is true… a drop of Selûne's power lives in you?”

You nodded your head weakly, avoiding his stare.

“Gods… Why tell me this?”

You only offered a soft smile, “I wanted you to know.”

A thousand thoughts were running through his mind — most of them selfish. He'd prayed to the Gods every night for years, asking, begging, willing them to save him. To give him a swift death. Anything. And never received an answer back. But Selûne had for you.

But now that he knew you, he could think of no one else who would deserve it. He couldn't bare to think what the world would have been like if you had been taken away so early. Where he would be now if he hadn't met you on the cliffside after that damn ship. “Well, it seems that you truly are walking poetry, darling. Our little moon shining a light on all of us.”

He swore he saw you bottom lip tremble at the name.

"Let me tell the others, when I'm ready?" You asked quietly.

"Of course."

The room fell into silence again, but it was more comfortable then before. Astarion found himself lost in his thoughts — a confusing melody of haunting memories, and wishful thoughts.

“You never answered my question before.”

“Hmm?” Your voice had him blinking back to reality, turning his body to look over at you.

“About… how you see me.” Your eyes were big and vulnerable. They tugged at his heart, at the knot in his stomach that formed with the thought of you.

“Oh," Was all he could get out.

“I—I just,” Your voice was feint and nervous, your eyes studying the features of his face intently.

“Don’t ask now.” He blurted, his fingers clenching into a tight fist on his lap.

“What?”

“Give me time. Please.” He begged gently.

Your eyes softened, before you nodded in silent understanding. “I can do that.”

Relief flooded him, his fingers relaxing and shoulders drooping.

You seemed content on letting it drop, instead grabbing the plate of food next to you and balancing it on your knee. “Where is my roommate for the evening?” You asked, before taking a bite.

“Lae'zel? Oh she deemed the lodgings unacceptable and that she would rather die than join us soft-skinned weaklings in a room. She set up a tent out front in the dirt.”

You finished chewing, before grinning. “That… checks out.”

“So you get a luxurious evening alone. At least one of us does." He feigned a frown, before waving his hands dramatically, "I get to spend the night listening to Gale and Wyll snore.” He rolled his eyes before speaking again. "I will say charming Wyll did volunteer to sleep on the floor so I could have half the bed, bless him.”

“You could stay here if you want. To sleep, I mean.” You offered easily, pushing the food around your plate with the fork as you waited for him to reply.

He blinked again, caught off guard by your proposal. “Oh, that’s not necessary—“

“Astarion, really? You’ll share with Gale, but not with me?” You teased, a single eyebrow arching.

He stared at you for a moment, dumbfounded before nodding, “Alright. Eat your dinner. I’ll get my things.”

• • •

Slinking into his room, Astarion left out a sigh of relief as he realized it was empty. He needed a moment to ground himself and stop his spinning head. He had no idea what today would bring, but this whirlwind of a night was not at all what he had expected. He started grabbing his night clothes he had laid out on the bed in his shared room with Wyll and Gale, stuffing them into his rucksack.

But he bristled as he heard steps approaching, looking over his shoulder to see his two fellow male companions enter the room.

“Ahhh, they you are Astarion. We wondered where you scurried off too.” The wizard spoke, tucking the book he had in his hands into the crook of his arm instead.

“Oh, I found better company than the likes of you.” He shot back sarcastically — earning an eye roll from Gale.

“Did you now?” The warlock asked with eyebrows raised, before bending down to his own pack to untie his bedroll from it.

“Don’t bother with the bed roll tonight, Wyll. You’ll have to keep Gale warm tonight.”

"Where are you off too?" Gale asked, his brows furrowed.

Wyll studied him carefully, before offering a little smirk to the vampire. “Off to sleep under the stars?”

“Amongst them actually.” Astarion replied, keeping his face perfectly neutral. As if to not give anything away.

Wyll gave him a knowing look. “You be a gentleman, yeah?”

“Aren’t I always?” He said with a little bow before grabbing his bag and slinking out of the room.

• • •

Your room was very quiet when he emerged back in it. Your empty dinner plate was sat on the edge of the nightstand, the glass of wine mostly untouched expect for that first single sip. The candles were starting to flicker with their last remaining life, the glow now a deep set orange instead of a bright yellow light.

You had stepped behind the privacy screen as you changed, only the outline of your figure could be seen through the sheer material stretched across the wood. He’d seen your naked body before, as you’d seen his — several times by now, actually. But he respected the privacy — appreciated it actually. There was something quite raw about getting undressed in front of someone like this. Something vulnerable.

Something he wasn’t quite ready for.

Realizing he had been staring at that screen and your outline, he sat his bag down on the dresser and began sorting through his things. He heard the soft pads of your feet across the worn floorboards, before the creak of the bed as you laid in it. He turned around with a fake cough, his own night clothes in his pale hands. “May I?” He jerked his head towards the screen.

You simply nodded, turning on your side away from the screen to face the ajar window instead.

He changed efficiently, tugging on the delicate breezy nightclothes before padding bare feet to place his folded clothes on top of his rucksack. He swallowed thickly as he turned to survey the room, to the large space you left in the double bed — intended for him.

"I don't bite." You muttered with your eyes still closed. Like you could sense him hesitating.

He barked a laugh, before moving to his side. "Cheeky pup." He slid into the bed, savoring the feeling of the soft sheets on his skin, the way the mattress hugged his tired and sore body. He hadn't slept in a real bed in ages, in well — he couldn't remember how long. He thought he had gotten used to the small comfort of his bed roll and tent these past weeks, especially when he compared it to the stone floor of Cazador's dungeon and kennels. But remembering the simple luxury of this room and bed would put his tent to shame once he returned to it. His pale fingertips rubbed the soft fabric covering his body, committing to memory.

You adjusted yourself next to him, moving your pillow in a way that wafted your scent throughout the room. It made his movements stop, frozen as his senses were overwhelmed by you. You smelled sweet and warm — inviting. And it had nothing to do with the scent of your bouquet that usually clouded his mind. Licking his lips, he forced himself to look away from you — instead looking up at the dark ceiling, as the last flickers of the surviving candle in the room began to fade away.

"Good night, Astarion." You mumbled into your pillow, your voice already sounding heavy with sleep.

"Sweet dreams darling." He whispered back.

You had fallen asleep next to each other before, of course — laid out in that forest or on the sands of a beach after wondering off away from the others to have your way with each other.

This... this was different.

He couldn’t will himself to fall into a trance. No matter how hard he tried. Instead he was still staring up at the grays and blacks of the dark ceiling, becoming more and more increasingly aware of your breaths and the thrum of your heartbeat.

Only once he had heard them slow down, only once he knew you were in a deep sleep, did he chance looking over to you.

Your face was peaceful, serene as you slept. He wasn’t sure if it was actual moonlight trickling in, or just the cleric Isobel’s protective aura that had cast the blueish white light into the room. But either way it was resulted in Selûne’s power, and even in your sleep you were basking in it. The freckles that marked your checks and nose were almost glittering in the light. The silvery white of your hair shimmering. Your soft lips slightly parted as you dreamed.

Gods, you were beautiful.

Astarion closed his eyes as he was suddenly reminded of his times stuck in those wretched dungeons in the palace. Not what torture or pain he had to endure there. No. For once, that was buried away.

No, instead he recalled what he stared at to get him through those never ending sessions of abuse and torment.

The night sky through those barred windows.

The stars, somehow still blinking and winking from him through the city smoke and light.

And the moon. That beacon of light in the black sky — constantly changing its shape and colour. But it was always there when he needed it to be. When he needed to look up, to be somewhere else, to think of something else — the moon was always there.

Shining. Listening. Understanding.

His eyes opened again, staring again at your tranquil face, your slumbering form curled into the soft bed and sheets.

You were so much more than he had bargained for. A companion blessed with a drop of an actual god’s power. He should have been thrilled — that his plans for protection and well-deserved justice on Cazador was even easier to achieve than he first thought.

No. Instead he realized he was feeling something else. Something… new.

That even though he had missed the sun, longed for it for two hundred years, delighted in the colours it cast the world in it. That even though he could finally enjoy the sun's beam, and bask in the it's warmth and golden glow. Despite all that, he knew that the sun would never understand him like the moon did.

Oh shit.

He had royally fucked up his plan.

Part II: here

#bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion/reader #astarion/tav

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galedekarios · 10 months ago

Note

you mentioned a few days ago about how Eilistraee's connection to Mystra is part of what bonded Alton and Gale initially, can we hear more about that? sorry i'm just a huge Eilistraee fan and love your ocs so much so my ears perk up whenever they're mentioned at the same time

i apologise in advance because this got away from me!

i already had something written up from a while ago, but your message gave me the motivation to polish and finish it.

thank you. 🖤

"May I enter, my friend?"

Gale’s only answer is a ragged breath coming from the far side of the ruin. The small space is only illuminated by a single candle by the entrace, the dim light not enough to banish the darkness reigning inside entirely – at least not for his poor human eyes.

"...You may.”

Gale steps inside the crumbling ruin Altonaufein had made his sanctuary right from the moment they had made camp a tenday ago, the stone walls a protection as much as at least an illusion of privacy, "I'm going to approach, Altonaufein. I have something for you."

Through squinted eyes, Gale is barely able to make out the shape of the drow: Sitting on the ground, back to the wall, knees half drawn up, both of his arms loosely resting on them. His short-cropped hair a stark contrast even in the low light.

It's dishevelled, tufts of white sticking up at odd angles, reminding Gale very much of his dear Tara – of when he was young and, to tease her, had brushed back her fur the wrong way. She’d complained, of course, though more for show, and unlike Tara, Altonaufein has twin scimitars resting close to his side. Gale has seen their deadly dance firsthand.

The search for the Githyanki crèche had not gone well. They had found Zorru, yes, but what had followed had been a tense moment between his two companions.

Lae’zel and Altonaufein – their relationship between the two was strained at the best of times – of which there aren’t many lately, Gale finds himself thinking ruefully – yet when Lae’zel had commanded that poor terrified tiefling to bow, lower and lower, to humiliate himself before her, the drow’s eyes had glowed like freshly spilled blood, scarred hand tightening on the hilt of his blade, Drowic harsh on his tongue. Gale had interfered before the situation could truly escalate, but the moment had stayed with him on their track back to camp all the same. As it had with Altonaufein, evidently.

So close now, he catches the red glint of Altonaufein’s eyes again, muted now, but still there. The flickering candlelight casts sharp angles on the drow’s face. Many fainter at heart would turn heel at the sight, run screaming for a mob, for pitchforks and pyres, but Gale finds himself not so easily cowed.

He’s a wizard of Waterdeep after all and has dealt with far worse than a taciturn drow.

“I took the liberty of preparing you a cup,” Gale holds up a warm steaming mug, its strong herbal scent gentled by spices and honey, “Peppermint and balsam with a dash of sweetness. It calms more than the discomfort of our current surroundings.”

Red eyes flick from Gale to the mug then to Gale's face again. It doesn’t take someone particularly insightful to spot the distrust in them.

"Why do you keep doing this?" The drow’s raspy voice is low and rough, as if a hand had wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed too tight. Yet it was no hand, Gale knows. Its loneliness, isolation, its claws sunk deep. Altonaufein had held himself apart from the group since the beginning. And who knows of his experiences before all this, too.

"Because you are in need of a friendly hand," Gale’s tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he was speaking a simple truth, obvious to anyone who would care to see it. As if he wasn’t talking to a drow, ruby-eyed with Lolth’s touch. A hint of a smile twitches his lips as he remembers the drow’s own friendly hand pulling him for the unstable portal, saving his life, grip strong and sure.

"Do I?" Altonaufein lets his head fall back towards what's left of the ruin's stone wall.

Refusing to let himself be discouraged, Gale still holds the mug, waiting for Altonaufein to take it.

"Does the thought not bring you some peace, my friend? Having an ally in this journey that we have so unexpectedly found ourselves on?" Gale asks, brown eyes patient, free of judgement. He wishes to understand, but at times he feels like navigating conversations with Altonaufein is like navigating the waters of the Sea of Swords. In a rowboat. On a starless night.

He doesn’t blame the drow for it. He’s heard hushed whispers at the Promenade, a few tales at the Yawning Portal, from a moondancer here and there, caught too deep in their cups, caught even deeper in their memories.

"Peace?" Altonaufein's mouth thins, lips pressed together, gazing at the night sky. There is a pause and Gale almost thinks the drow will leave it at that before he continues, "It might as well be up there, with the moon and the stars. I'll never have peace." A breathy sound follows, one that Gale realises is a laugh, bitter as nightshade.

Gale frowns, brows drawing down. The thought doesn’t sit right with him.

Never knowing peace? No one deserves that, he thinks, his own hand unconsciously reaching up to lay over his chest, where, under the threadbare fabric of his tunic, the deepest of the bruised purple lines of his magical scar remain well-hidden.

Banishing the shadow that had crept through his mind like the sun rising over clear waters, a poem comes to him, a second nature, its words familiar, “Speak with me. Speak of the broken past, named and not. Speak of the uneasy peace we share. Speak with me, through the night, the night air, the breathing particles of other lives. Too much to carry around the heart. Speak free.”

At the confused look in Altonaufein’s red eyes, Gale cannot help but smile. It seems a different strategy will have to be employed. Luckily, he has many at his disposal.

Ah well, it's no trouble at all.

Casting a minor illusion, a gentle moon appears between them, almost translucent; a faint purple glow illuminating their faces in the half-dark.

“Let me propose something to you,” voice slow and measured, Gale’s eyes hold the drow’s gaze, “You told me you look to the moon. What if I tell you about what I know of your goddess while you drink the tea? It'll keep you warm and chase away your worries – for a spell, of course. I promise, no magic in it, not even a whisper of the Weave.” With a chuckle, he adds, “Save perhaps for the magic of Mother Nature herself, I suppose.”

Where at first the drow had startled at the unexpected motions, hands reaching for the weapons at his feet, seemingly innately recognising the arcane power behind them, his shoulders lose their tension when he sees the illusion of the moon.

Altonaufein's weary gaze lifts from the illusion hovering over Gale’s palm to search his face. They are the eyes of someone who is unused to promises given and kept, but he seems to find what he was looking for, hand deceptively sure when he takes the mug Gale is offering.

He was right. Gale knew there were the first fragile seeds of trust here, between the two of them, he was sure of it, and, by Mystra, he’s glad he had been right. He had had little cause for gladness in years.

Settling against the rough stonewall, too, only a arm’s width away from Altonaufein, Gale moves his hand in front of both of them.

He’d startled the drow just a moment ago and he refuses to make the same mistake twice, “Let me show you something – or someone, rather. The moon you look to, the goddess that has guided you, is none other than the Dark Maiden, Lady Silverhair.”

The moon in front of them changes into a new form, one of a female drow, dancing, bare, save for the silver hair falling in long waves around her body like a long silver veil, a sword in her hand, a smile on her handsome face.

“When Corellon's wife, known then as Araushnee, tried to kill him, he forced her, and all dark elves, into exile. They were all expelled from his haven, Arvandor, with the exception of his daughter,” Gale cannot help the dramatic pause he makes, a storyteller before a grand reveal, “Eilistraee.”

There’s an undeniable spark in Altonaufein’s tired eyes as he leans forward ever so slightly, mug held tight in his hand. Gale catches the motion instantly for what it is: The drow is engrossed in the story he weaves.

“The Dark Maiden, compassionate, asked him to banish her, too, so convinced she was that the dark elves would need guidance to travel the surface and to fight this evil that would inevitably take form again, known later as Lolth.“

Eilistraee’s illusion is joined by another figure. A woman.

“Eilistraee became a friend of Mystra, the goddess of Magic and the Weave.”

With the mention of her name, Gale feels the by now familiar combination of sadness and melancholy, love and pain, twist his heart. Not allowing himself to linger, the wound still so fresh in his mind, he pushes on.

“She is and embodies the Weave itself. I used to see it completely, all around us, but now… Well, perhaps that is best saved for another time. Another story.”

With a flick of the wrist the illusion is gone, only leaving behind rolling waves of purple and blue.

“This is the Weave, connecting us all, connecting everything through magic. During the Time of Troubles, the Gods walked among us. Eilistraee appeared to mortals, too. If my memory does not fail me, she appeared in Waterdeep, in a location that later came to be known as the Dark Maiden's Leap, a site of pilgrimage sacred to her. The goddess ventured there to rescue a group of drow refugees and lead them to safety. In honour of her deed, a temple was founded, the Promenade, safe in Waterdeep itself.”

As he tells his story, Gale shifts – the hard stone wall bothers his back, yes, but the story draws him in as much as it does Altonaufein – his shoulder almost touching the drow’s.

“Now, that's something I can speak about first-hand: I visited it myself. The Promenade of the Dark Maiden is a sacred temple of Eilistraee, located in the Undermountain. It’s there that her clergy stops the horrors of the Underdark from reaching the city while, at the same time, helping all those in need. Slaves, escapees, lost souls.”

Gale steals a glance at Altonaufein out of the corner of his eye, “Admirable, really.”

Clearing his throat, he continues, “Eilistraee fought many battles and, in one of those battles against her mother, she was killed. Yet soon, she returned. After the Second Sundering, she was seen again in Waterdeep. Three years ago, we witnessed the Dark Dancer, near the walls of the city. In that year, Waterdeep welcomed an influx of moondancers.”

Over his outstretched palm, a figure appears once more, with silver hair, dancing under the moon, brighter than before.

“It's said that the Dark Maiden has helped Mystra in containing and repairing the Weave for many years. You see, their friendship is very deep. They help each other, they share the Weave.”

With a flick of the wrist, the illusion is gone again and Gale tries to chase the wistfulness away that had risen up in him so sharply, almost stealing his words.

Altonaufein's eyes are wide as he turns to look at Gale. There's wonder in them and longing and... hope?

That hope, that spark he sees, makes Gale smile again, soft and small and private, “The Dark Maiden and Mystra revel in freedom and in mysteries, in the little chaotic marvels that magic brings, in nurturing beauty, in embracing the happiness that living in this world, in beautiful Faerûn, inspires.”

The drow, who had been mustering him so intently before, drops his gaze to the floor in what Gale can only assume is a force of habit. It's clear to Gale that his words touch something inside Altonaufein so he decides to simply press ahead, “Now you know why I keep doing this. How can I see a follower of the Dark Maiden in need and not offer him a friendly hand? I want to honour our ladies' friendship, Altonaufein. Life is all about humble miracles."

Silence follows, but Gale cannot find it in himself to regret his words. He nearly makes to stand as only the steady rush of the waterfall sounds around them – then, quietly, "Thank you... Gale."

Words rough with emotion that have not been wrest back under control, still, it's the first time the drow has called Gale by his name.

Not rivvil.

Not faern.

Not even a cautious abbil.

Simply ‘Gale’ – and Gale's smile widens further with the realisation.

"Don't mention it. I hope that my little story brought some comfort to you.”

"It has," Altonaufein’s answer is curt, but there’s a gratefulness in those red eyes Gale can see as clear as day. Scarred hand reaching out, the very tips of Altonaufein's fingers hovering just over Gale's heart, drawing away before they can truly make contact.

"You are... kind,” the drow’s words are halting, as if they taste odd on his tongue.

Gale doesn't move away, only glad that the drow is willing to break his walls – at least for today. He stands, rubbing his back, almost comically, exaggerating in hopes of winning a smile from the drow, "My, this wilderness takes some getting used to, I do so long for a proper bed with at least a dozen down feather pillows..."

When he sneaks another glance at his companion, Gale sees that he has won this battle, too.

"I suppose I need to prepare dinner, otherwise we’ll have to suffer Karlach’s cooking. If you are in the mood, please approach the group tonight,” with that, Gale casts a final illusion before he turns to leave: The Dark Maiden dancing under the stars, Mystra at her side.

“It will last a few moments, my friend.”

Altonaufein's eyes linger on Gale’s back a bit longer than perhaps necessary before focusing on the illusion the wizard had crafted, and his heart feels oddly light with it.

On a night when the moon shines as brightly as this, the unspoken thoughts of even the most discreet heart might be seen.

—Izumi Shikibu, “On a Night—”, trans. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani in The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono No Komachi & Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan

#a big thank you goes to lairofsentinel #who helped me lay the groundwork for this as well as alton and gale's dynamic <3 #i'm mildly mortified now and will go into hiding #otp: a soul that steels my own #ch: gale dekarios #ch: altonaufein #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #fic: mybg3 #text: asks

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we-are-inevitable · 6 months ago

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vivid picture in my head of jack looking at davey all pleading because his character is one death saving throw fail away from being full dead and their party doesn't have revivify because nobody wanted to play support and davey refusing to bend the rules to save jack's character when he rolls another fail. also jack's character had a normal person name like. mike. and years later whenever they're bickering for fun jack will say "well you killed mike my best friend mike!" and davey just has to take it because he did kill mike. nobody else knows what's going on

-asper

YES. all of this. oh my god im using this as an opportunity to rant for a second. rest in peace mike

jack is such a dramatic player and he really loves jokingly lying to davey while they’re playing. like

“Let’s see… Uh, Jack.”

“Yes.”

“Does a 25 hit?”

“…No.”

“Really? Huh. I’m pretty sure it hits.”

“Nah. Nope. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”

and it’s that playful bickering that really gets them going bc what’s the point of d&d if you don’t have fun with your boyfriend ???

also i feel like jack kelly as a character is a tiefling rogue. but i feel like jack kelly as a Player would really love playing as magic casters, primarily a sorcerer- and i think that wild magic fits him so well

jack takes his characters so seriously. even his joke ones. i can see jack being a middle school anime kid who made OCs and looked up deviantart adoptables on pinterest and was constantly drawing his own little people in his sketchbooks (even though he takes that to the grave) and that weird kid never left- he was just dormant until davey put a character sheet in front of him

davey is the same with his NPCs though lets be real. the day jack draws davey’s favorite NPC is the day davey considers proposing

i don’t think that jack would ever DM but charlie probably would, and jack and davey are menaces when they’re both players. their characters always end up sleeping together and falling in love. it’s inevitable (hah)

anyway yeah jack gets really invested in his little gay people in a way neither himself nor davey expected and it’s a great time for the both of them

@loving-jack-kelly

#jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies #david jacobs #livesies #newsies musical #javid #javey #ask a jac !

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thatfooltheycallweaver · 3 months ago

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Patchouli and Candlelight

Day 3 of @fluff-cember

Prompt: [Alt] Hot Bath

Pairing: Aveline [OC] x Zevlor

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 [Dungeons and Dragons]

Word Count: 736

At the end of an Elturian autumn, there was always a cold snap. It only ever lasted a few days until warming back up for a short while before the winter fully hit, but it always made the conditions for an afternoon of riding through the heartlands interesting. Halfway through their ride, a heavy rain had begun to fall, soaking through their cloaks and making the end of the ride a race to get home. Of course, despite the biting cold that had finally gotten to them, the priority were the horses: removing the tack, picking the mud and smaller rocks out of the hooves, and brushing out the coats. It was warm enough in the stables that they wouldn’t have to worry too much. Zevlor wrapped his arm around Aveline and quickly guided her inside. She removed her boots and cloak, hanging them by the hearth as he set about starting the fire. She traced over his shoulder as he worked, untying his cloak to hang it. He looked over his shoulder and smiled, murmuring a thanks. Despite the house beginning to warm up, he was not satisfied on her behalf, watching her sit and try to warm herself in front of the fire. The tiefling left the room and drew the water they had stored for a bath, casting Produce Flame. He first used it to light candles to place around the bath to set a certain ambiance, to get a particular type of warm lighting that he had been envisioning for their moment, and then to heat the water. He looked around on the shelves, glancing through the bath oils, and felt the patchouli one was the more fitting of selection. He poured it in, and stretched his hand over it to feel the warmth rising off the surface. After a moment, she appeared behind him, both curious and missing his presence.

“What are you doing, my love?” She asked. He stood, taking her hand.

“The fire didn’t seem like it was much help, so I drew you a bath.” He chuckled, tracing her knuckle with his thumb. “Although…” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it with a smile. “...I’d hoped to join you.”

“How could I leave you to freeze when you’ve done so much to spoil me?” She kissed his jaw in return, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of his golden-brown hair back behind his horns. “Do you truly think I am so cruel?”

“Never. I know you would not treat me that way.” He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. She traced up from his side to the laces on his shirt, pulling them undone. He shrugged out of the shirt, shuddering slightly at the cold air. He did the same with her, undressing each other; every inch of newly freed skin met with a reverent caress. Zevlor couldn’t stop staring at her form. She pulled away for a moment to tie her red hair up, looking back to find his soft gaze settled on her.

“You stare as if you haven’t seen it a thousand times before.” She murmured, a little embarrassed.

“Can you blame me? You are my wife. I’ll see it thousands upon thousands times more before I even begin to tire of it.” He responded, kissing her forehead. Aveline melted into the affection as he guided her to the bath, getting in first to lean back against the wood. She got in after, sitting in front of him, between his legs. She leaned back as the warmth from both her husband and the water began to make her comfortable, to chase away the chill that had stuck to her skin. “Is it hot enough for you?” He asked, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, one arm wrapping around her waist.

“Yes, my heart. I’m perfectly comfortable. The patchouli was a nice touch.” She tilted her head back onto him, looking up. “Are you?”

“I could do with you being a little closer.” He pulled her in a bit more, keeping her back pressed against his chest. She reached over to the side, running her fingers along his leg, just wherever she could reach. He did the same over her hips, taking care not to scratch her. He kissed the top of her head, adoring the way the smell of wood smoke clung to it. “And now I’m completely content, my love.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dnd #zevlor #oc: aveline #oc x cc #fluffcember #fluffcember 2024

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galedekkarios · 11 months ago

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male oc (tav, durge) x gale fic rec list! ✨

in no particular order + heed the tags, ratings, and warnings before reading!

Beneath the read-more you'll find 40 recommendations with their summaries attached. Enjoy!

Anxiousscrambles' entire BG3 collection (17 Works).

You'll find lots of Gale x Durge, featuring Dreuer, a middle aged tiefling warlock (who I love so much). They've written about Gale and Dreuer's journey from the beginning to the end of the game, as well as their life after (and a little of Dreuer's life before, too). Both characters grow and develop across each fic, both as individuals and partners, and it's just so lovely to witness them both being written with such care. There's a bit of everything, too, when it comes to content.

the night so black that the darkness hummed by persephoning

Kidnapped on his way to Waterdeep, elven bard Ruadhán Riddon wakes up with a blinding headache, an illithid tadpole in his eye, and no clear way out of either mess. To his dismay, the magnitude of the situation only grows worse by the hour, but there's more good hidden beneath the darkness than he expects.

Ship to Wreck by Snailsnol

“Teach them spell shield, first.” Anyir instructs as he limps back to his desk. “Yes, but my issue is how. I can’t simply tell them to cast Spell Shield while I throw a fireball at them.” Anyir sighs like that’s a great disappointment. “And additionally, you are a proficient martial fighter, the throbbing of my thigh is proof of that and I cannot teach them any of the skills you or your siblings share.” “Oh-khay. Explain Spell Shield me like you would your students.” Anyir says, scooting his chair up next to Gale’s. He barely resists the urge to bump their knees together. “Speak, magician.” ----- After defeating the Absolute, Gale finds himself alone in his tower again despite extending a hasty invitation to the artificer, Anyir. He desperately tries to shove the disappointment from his mind and bury himself in teaching his students, but his fool heart clings to it like a web. Until one day he is no longer alone and realizes existing is much different when you aren't the only one doing it.

you say love, i believe it to the bone by alliancedogtags

"Gale," the paladin finally spoke, voice quiet under the crackle of the fire pit and the breeze in the trees around them. "Surely you know that with or without your magic, you are still an incredible man?" Gale couldn't answer that. He tried, mouth opening, but no words came out of it. His usual charm of words, the security blanket of knowledge, the comfort of a conversation's upper hand. There was nothing. Not when they were alone. Not when Mylo looked at him like that. his finger traced the muted purple line down the side of his neck. "Gale," Mylo repeated again, softer this time, and something laced his words. Not just something, no - a certain sadness that escaped in the pitch of his voice. Not even pity. Sympathy. "Great Gods, Gale. If only you could see yourself the way that I do."

Sage and Lavender (Series) by TheMoYouKnow

Evander: 42, Half Wood-Elf Ranger. Hails from the area just outside Baldur’s Gate. Gale: 38 (probably), Human Wizard. Famously from Waterdeep. One shot pieces written at random for different points in their timeline, but the series will always be reordered chronologically after a new piece is posted.

Gale & Devour (4 Works) by CaptainNautical.

The link features four fics for Gale x Devour, a Dragonborn fighter. Devour is a beautiful character, and his relationship with Gale is so tender and touching in every fic.

Ironfire by scarvenrot

But beneath Gale’s hands, and in his arms, the withering ache of muscle turned from burden to gift, because it called such a fount of affection out of him. Every stroke of his fingertips, each careful brush of lips against flesh was a balm against burns, ice to swollen bruises, warmth to the joint. Krull didn’t have the right words for it all. You make me feel strong, was all he could say. Stronger than I ever have. Was this how his mother had felt, Krull wondered, when she had come across that bumbling, balding man and his goat farm besieged by goblins all those years ago? Did he unwittingly charm her with his earnest humanity, his love for his little home and his modest life, his empathy for livestock that ran so deep that he called them his family? Krull had never asked, and he didn’t know. But he imagined it must have been so. That it was written in his blood for him to love a human being so fully, so simply, for every fragile piece of who that person was. *** A half-orc barbarian and a human wizard fall in love.

gale gets good dick anthology (Series) by auriadne

maybe a joke, maybe not. mostly home to m!durge/gale fic. (op chiming in to say that this is some extremely delicious well-written smut, just in case the "maybe a joke" bit threw you off!)

Taste You On My Lips by Djarfskald

Gale had only intended to impress Tristan with a bit of magic and show him how it felt to touch the weave in the ways he did. What Gale hadn't expected was what the tiefling showed him when they shared that moment. All Gale could think about was seeing more, and it turns his already interesting predicament into something wildly unexpected.

Under the Stars, in Your Arms by weenietime

Gale had never been sure that scales would be a feeling he'd yearn for, but now he was finding himself bubbling with desire to run his hands along the textured skin below him. The warm surface was rough against Gale's softer skin, his human form pressed against the chest of a Dragonborn. He didn't have to imagine Altid underneath him anymore, because he was actually here; his hands gently grasping Gale's clothed love handles as he laid beneath him, warm breath tickling Gale's neck. (Aka me needing to write my first Tav and Gale makin' love underneath the stars)

Devour by Sylpherna

Gale contemplates the destiny Mystra had ordained, while Estevan begs him not to follow through. They fight, and then they fuck about it.

Skornweave (Series) by BoilingHeart

A cleric of Ilmater with a dark past falls for the wizard of Waterdeep. Both find in each other not just a new meaning of life, but the meaning of love and passion.

Shelter (Series) by Iselea

A series about my dragonborn Tav and Gale of Waterdeep. Hailing from Alaghôn, the capital city of Turmish, Tavraskirno Marivaldi is a dragonborn who ventured far into the Sword Coast to visit his adopted human sister who had settled into Baldur's Gate, only to wake up in the nautiloid with a tadpole in his head.

let it bleed through my fingers, a treasure in my hands by blazeofglory

Gale tosses his head to the side, practically writhing on the bedroll, and River spies a glint of silver, almost lost amongst Gale’s lovely brown hair. His earring. Mystra’s symbol. River cannot abide by Mystra's mark on something that belongs to him.

Magic of a Different Kind by Girlfoxgirl

My Githyanki Tav Genos and Gale share an intimate evening sometime following their first experience in the Weave. Character development and smut.

Cooking Time by Tal_Art (Tal_Monarch)

Gale panics when he sees smoke coming from the tower only to find Tav has attempted to cook.

My Hand That Will Not Harm You by goddessofcheese

The tent fell quiet again as he moved his attentions over to the other hand. The worries he’d dredged up wouldn’t quite leave but he found them easy to drown out by focusing on Gale’s high knuckles. His pulse, steady and strong beneath his grip. The fastidious cleanliness of his fingernails. Every so often he looked up, to make sure he wasn’t pushing too much into the mystery pain of what the wizard had to live with, but was glad to only see him with his eyes closed for the most part, fully absorbed in the relief. Pride flitted into Zen’s chest at being able to give that to him. Pride and… something else. Something… now altogether unfamiliar. He wanted more. ----- Alternatively, Gale finally accepts some help with the pain.

Wizards and Evil Lizards by SunflowerRose22

On a whim, the Dark Urge sneaks into Gale's tent one night. He's been craving the wizard for quite some time now and has decided to make Gale his.

Crow and Seagull by Subaruchan192

After two weeks at sea, Gale and Karasu finally arrive in Waterdeep. Both are looking forward to finally starting a new chapter in their lives together.

Want is a Four Letter Word by Saccharine_smiles

“Why did you–ugh–you confounding man!” The fear is evident in his voice and his fingers shake from where they begin the incantations of healing he knows. His eyes squint in agony at seeing Tav bloodied and beaten beneath him and he swallows the cry that claws at his throat knowing that this was his fault. “I like it when you use big words,” Tav says, head lolling onto one shoulder as the warm, soothing feeling of Gale’s magic overtakes him. It is the softest touch he’s had since the last time Gale had reached out to him with kindness. He is still not used to it.

I Want To Hurt You (I Want To Love You) by Brittany_Hamato

“I want to hurt you,” Tav’s voice rumbled from his chest, making Gale’s muscles quake and his chest tighten. “Excuse me?” “With your permission, I want to break you. I want to take you apart, piece by piece, and take everything you have to give, then take just a bit more.” Tav sat closer, his hand trailing across Gale’s shoulder blades, sending trails of electricity over his skin. “Please, gods” Gale choked on the aborted noise, it wasn’t quite a word, but Tav heard him anyway. Tav moved in closer, pressing his lips to Gale’s pulse as he nearly whispered his desires. His hands wandered lower, one supporting his back while the other tangled in his folded hands. “Your goddess can’t protect you from me,” Tav snarled, teeth pulling threateningly at his earring before continuing back down his neck, “and my god wouldn’t take away my toy.”

Forward, This Book is Dedicated To, Epilogue by upwards_descent

Gale is a disgraced and somewhat washed-up professor at the local prestigious college when he crosses paths with a handsome stranger at the library. Would this be the romance he needed to fix the hole in his heart, or was he just needlessly putting his own soul on the line once more?

fall away by whenwindwhispers

The Shadowlands have made our beloved party gloomy. Some members are becoming irritated by the smallest of things. For Gale, he is drawing the line at dirtying his favorite robes any further, and Whisper has the perfect solution: why not carry him? In short: Gale discovers he really likes being carried by Whisper.

Gum on your shoe (Series) by Lintu

1: Gum thought he'd been cursed to face the worst scenario taught to him by his people. Perhaps maybe a ghaik tadpole was the ticket he needed to see the world. Small segments of my tav, Gum, exploring Faerun and bonding with his new found companions. 2: "Wow. That's some sleight of tongue. Never seen that before." Gale watched as Gum stood, stolen ring in hand. "I have," Karlach replied. "But that's another story for another time." 3: Gale was left drowning in misery, the egg he intended to fry for breakfast past burnt and stuck to his pan. The very knowledge that he had turned Gum down, pushed him into the spawns arms, made Gale want to scream. --- Gale and Gum navigate both tadpole removal, abolishing the absolute, and their relationship.

My Many Tavs (Series) by upwards_descent

1: A series of snippets revolving around my Tav (Cairros Elrûn, a woodland elf Evocation Wizard) and his lover, Gale. Hella gay, super cute, with some bits of backstory for my boy sprinkled in. 2: Another series of snippets, this time featuring Gale and my other Tav, Rizal Aganaad the swashbuckling elder tiefling bard. A bit more angsty, a bit more kinky, just as fun! 3: A third collection of snippets romancing Gale, now with added Dark Urges! Featuring Autumn A. Augustus, soon-to-be redeemed human Great Old One warlock

A Talk About Control... by Faetality

Gale wants to talk about his pursuit of a certain artifact. Kai’chrell finds himself less than enthused with the idea and the urge… well. It raises its head at the worst of times.

You are Beautiful, Like I've Never Seen by Eternal_Starr

“You’re worth something to me…” He promises. “Worth a lot to me. And you are important in this world, even if you don’t feel it…” He watches as tears begin to swell in Gale’s eyes before he blinks hard to push them back down. He turns to meet Altair’s gaze, a warmth glowing inside them. Silence creeps in again. Neither of them dare to break it. ----------- Gale feels his death will make his life worth something. Altair claims he's worth something now.

Gale's Folly by arcanewriter

“Another night, I want to show you my home. Waterdeep. Tonight .. can you just hold me?”

Well Rested by Lintu

The gang gets to Baldur's Gate and stays a night at the Elfsong.

don't accuse me of accusing you by sertuna

Elminster delivers a message from Mystra. Callesian gives his opinion on the matter. “If you have something on your mind, I'd surely like to hear it,” Gale spoke at last as they locked eyes. He paused in response, leaving Gale to witness the gears turning in his mind as he formulated a response. Every feeling that had been stirring within him that evening threatened to bubble over the edge. Callesian knew if he let out even an ounce there would be no slowing down. For all the good rapidly escalating emotions did a barbarian in combat, it wasn’t a conduit for rational discussions. At last, he settled on what to say. “No, I don't think you would.”

Silly, Silly Tav, Or: Gale Gets Buttfucked Through The Portal by faeblesmith

“It seems… unstable, somehow. Normally, magic this old is the most stable sort, with decades, centuries, even millennia of support. There must be something very powerful behind this mass of sparks. Just as Tav gets within arm’s reach, someone half falls from the portal. Ass first. Bare ass first. “Hello? A hand? Anyone?” Tav stares at the ass, unable to even think for a moment, let alone move to do anything about some man’s bare ass (and legs, quite a nice set of ass and legs at that) jutting out from… the sheer rock face on the side of a hill.”

The Stars Can't Compare by Brittany_Hamato

He wants to forget his goddess and Eliminster's words. Instead of worrying about the orb, or the decisions left on his shoulders, Gale wants to just spend a night watching the stars. Tav decides to distract him. Gale is definitely distracted and certainly not complaining.

Roar of a bear by Subaruchan192

Gale is awestruck the first time Karasu turns into a bear and due to this distraction, gets hurt. The bear gets feral and afterwards they share a moment of tenderness and maybe flirting- or whatever these idiots understand by flirting.

wordlessly and entirely by reddragoncrush

The hungers in Gale never quite died, but sometimes they were silenced. Or, perhaps, more interestingly, he hadn't done what he needed to sate them.

Even in Darkness by PerditionLaFey

Post- game end, Male Tav was injured and has lost their sight, maybe for good. Gale comes along to provide some much-needed comfort.

shake like the bough of a willow tree by deathishauntedbyhumans

They never last long like this, either of them. The few times they’ve made love directly after fighting something that has made an honest attempt to kill them have always been hot and dirty and rather to the point. Tav doesn’t mind, though— there have been other moments, other times where their lovemaking has lasted much longer, been much sweeter. This is different. This is… stimulation, for the sake of stimulation.

an incantation of tongue by sanquines (wraithes)

Gale's desires are a well untapped, the cool waters of his mind plagued with wanton ripples. In attempt to free himself of one man, he finds himself with two — a challenge even the prodigy struggles to wrap his mind and mouth around.

an abundance of moments by floralprintshark

Gale struggles with his feelings for Tav and talks to pretty much everyone about this except to Tav. (Tav called Suvi, they're a Tiefling bard with the urchin background)

Counting Sheep by Nightwang

“That’s not what I meant. I was thinking more of turning that big, beautiful brain of yours off.” “Oh really? Well now this I’d like to see. What great plan do you have, oh fearless leader? A sleep potion? Perhaps a nice chair to the head?” For the prompt Gale/Any - Cockwarming on the Baldur’s Gate Kink Meme

God of Ambivalence by SpaceMonkeySalsa

A tiefling Artificer trying to carve a new path for himself splits a large stone on a beach to discover something truly shocking: a wizard missing a hand and in need of a lot of help, and magical items. Lucky for the wizard, Elion happens to be a fount of magical items.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale x durge #bg3 gale #bg3 #bg3 fic #fic #one thing about me is i be reading 🫡

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multi-lefaiye · 9 months ago

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the eden linnaeus powerpoint

we did it, gang, we climbed this whole mountain.

inspired by @vacantgodling, here are the slides for my eden linnaeus powerpoint <3 because i love him.

i had a lot of fun making this, so i hope y'all enjoy <33

tagging the Eden Fanclub/people i think would be interested in this: @anexor @skitzo-kero @vacantgodling @invaderskoodge @paradoxspir1t

@drawnecromancy @astral-runic @void-botanist @vampiresdrinkfruitjuice @chaieyestea

slide transcriptions under the cut!

SLIDE 1:

A Guide to Eden Linnaeus

Or: I’m kind of unhinged about this purple boy. And now you will be, too!

by @/multi-lefaiye, your local purple tief enthusiast.

[Image ID: A heroforge model of my character Eden Linnaeus, a purple-skinned tiefling with white hair, a van dyke beard, and black horns. He is shown from the chest up, smirking as he looks to the right. End ID]

SLIDE 2:

Who is Eden?

Eden Linnaeus is the character I play in my fiance’s D&D campaign “Into Darkness We March,” which has been going since 2022.

The basic premise of the campaign is that a group of characters from vastly different time periods have all been revived in modern day, and they’re looking to put a stop to a terrible curse slowly rotting their world from the inside out.

Also, all of these characters fucked up big time in life and were struck with the curse, too! :D

The curse is based on the concept of the seven deadly sins, so each character has an associated Sin. I’ll get into that more shortly.

Anyway, even though Eden was originally made for this campaign, I’ve become so attached to him that I’m keeping him as an OC outside of it as well.

Something about a purple demon boy can just be so personal

SLIDE 3:

Eden Linnaeus is the son of a famous necromancer and a powerful cleric. However, his father, Abdiel, abandoned the family when Eden was very young, leaving him to care for himself, his younger brother, and his dying mother, despite being only a child at the time.

As he grew older, Eden came to deeply resent his father, the rejection and abandonment leaving him feeling worthless and lost. And after his mother’s death, he silently vowed that he would get revenge, that he would punish his father for leaving him behind. He would prove to everyone, especially that deadbeat sack of shit, that he’s not worthless. In fact, he’s the best. And he won’t rest until Abdiel lost everything.

This ambition drove Eden for many years, leading him to become an accomplished and respected magic user. However, it also destroyed him slowly, leading to him pushing away everyone who still cared about him until he was completely alone. Which was fine by Eden--who cared if everyone abandoned him? He’d prove them wrong, too. Fuck them.

But in the end, Eden never had the chance to really prove himself. When he was 28 years old, shortly after finishing his phD, he died in his lab, alone and forgotten by history.

Then, just over 600 years later, Eden came back… and he’s not wasting this second chance.

SLIDE 4:

Basics - 1

Name: Dr. Eden Linnaeus

Yes, he has a fantasy PhD.

Nicknames / Aliases: Ivaebhin (Kader only), Ed (Michael only), Jericho Ferebey (rarely)

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Eden is trans, as a note. He’s got that autistic tboy swag.

Orientation: Gay

Class: Artificer / Warlock

Sin: Pride

Eden’s sin is pretty self-explanatory. For much of his life, he’s been motivated by an intense, all-consuming need to be the best in every situation, better than everyone around him. Even if it destroys him.

[Image ID: A drawing of my OC Eden, shown from the waist up and facing the right. Eden is holding both hands up and smiling at a ball of magic floating above them, depicted as purple with a gold outline and a smiling face in the center. He's wearing a red jacket with a popped collar, a golden necklace, a black t-shirt, and a pair of red fingerless gloves. The background behind him is dark purple with gold accents, and his name is written across the bottom of the image.]

SLIDE 5:

Basics - 2

Species: Tiefling

Languages Spoken: Infernal (native), Common (fluent), Elvish (fluent), Sylvan (proficient)

The version of Elvish that Eden knows is rather archaic compared to modern Elvish, but he still understands modern Elvish decently.

Education: He has a fantasy PhD in alchemy, lmao.

Deepest Fears: Fire, extreme body horror, his body or mind deteriorating, being overshadowed by his father.

Fun fact: Eden can’t stand the smell of cooking meat for the same reason he’s afraid of fire :D

[Image ID: A drawing of Eden sleeping on the floor, with straighter hair than usual and without his facial hair. His eyes are closed and he's resting his head on his arms. The whole drawing is tinted a light purple. End ID]

Outdated art, but still cute!! This is from before I settled on his horn design and decided how curly his hair should be. And before I gave him facial hair.

SLIDE 6:

Appearance

Purple skin, with patches of scales on his face, shoulders, and hips

Curly white hair that grows past his shoulders, usually in a ponytail, and a van dyke beard

Black horns, with a crack in the left one

5’3” (approx 160.02 cm)

Multiple ear piercings and an eyebrow piercing

Various scars, most notably on his arms and face

Details on next slide :3c

Right hand slowly turning dark grey

Little spikes on his tail, especially at the base and near the tip

Usually wears a lot of red and black

[Image ID: A fullbody drawing of my OC Eden Linnaeus, squatting and facing slightly left. Eden is wearing a dark shirt under a red jacket, dark pants, red fingerless gloves, and knee-high boots. He has a small smile on his face, and his tail is curled slightly around him. The background is dark purple, with a yellow gradient starting from the center. End ID]

SLIDE 7:

Notable Scars

A black handprint on his right side.

This scar is from the time his father almost killed him during a magical duel when he was 19.

Jagged scratches across his face.

From the creature that killed him, lashing out and slashing his face in fear.

Long scratches along his arms.

How he actually died :(

A crack in his right horn, and a ring of scar tissue on his tail.

These are from the same event so they go together. Eden cut these parts of him off for a ritual, but they grew back immediately when the ritual was complete, leaving just the scars behind.

[Image Description: A drawing of my OC Eden Linnaeus,, shown shirtless from the waist up with one arm raised and his hand resting on the back of his neck. He wears a red and gold compression bra and black slacks, and he has multiple gold piercings. Notably, he has a black mark on his right side shaped like a handprint, his right hand is covered in a dark mark, and he has scars on his arms and face. The background is a block of dark purple with gold accents and a gold question mark next to Eden. End ID]

SLIDE 8:

Personality

Eden is a very stubborn, egotistical jackass much of the time. He’s better than everyone around him and not shy about telling them that.

… However, under that, he is incredibly, deeply insecure. Eden believes wholeheartedly that he has no inherent worth as a person, and people won’t stay with him if he’s not The Best.

He cares so so deeply about those close to him, but he struggles to accept that they might care about him, too.

Very logical, very low empathy. Articulate and intelligent.

Extremely passionate and excitable, loves to learn and share information.

Lowkey highly self-sacrificing.

[Image ID: A drawing of my OC Eden Linnaeus, shown from the chest up with a tired, disgusted expression on his face. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he's holding a cigarette in one hand. End ID]

SLIDE 9:

Key Relationships - 1

Dr. Abdiel Linnaeus is Eden’s father, who left when Eden was only six years old. For most of his life, Eden has been haunted by the shadow his father left behind, fueling a burning resentment for the man who abandoned him. Before his death, Eden dedicated his life to destroying Abdiel’s legacy, desperate to punish the man who hurt him, and also to prove that they have nothing in common.

As much as Eden hates to admit it, he and Abdiel are very similar. Two sides of the same coin, one might say, with very similar sins weighing on them.

Eden wants to destroy Abdiel only a little more than, on his worst days, he wants to destroy himself.

Hannah Linnaeus is Eden’s mother, who died when he was twelve years old. He remembers her very fondly, so much so that he puts her on a pedestal in his mind. Though Hannah tried her best to be a good mother, she ultimately failed to protect Eden, too, and left him deeply, deeply broken and hurt. Many of his insecurities stem from Hannah, and how she compared him to Abdiel at nearly every turn in an attempt to convince him to forgive his father.

Hannah loved Abdiel, even though he left her, until the day she died. And for that, more than anything else, Abdiel deserves to burn, as far as Eden is concerned.

SLIDE 10:

Michael Linnaeus is Eden’s younger brother, who Eden had to raise almost entirely alone, despite only being a child himself. For most of their lives, Eden and Michael were extremely close, and Eden has always been very protective of his brother.

This made it hurt all the more when, as an adult, Michael decided to forgive and reconnect with Abdiel. Eden couldn’t understand why Michael would forgive the man who’d abandoned them, and this sparked a long, drawn-out falling out between the brothers.

By the time Eden died, he and Michael had stopped speaking entirely.

Kader Al-Masri is Eden’s childhood best friend and first romantic love. The two met as young children and became fast friends, and as Eden’s family fell to pieces, Kader’s family stepped in to help out and take care of the Linnaeus brothers. And as Eden and Kader got older, they developed romantic feelings for each other, and they started dating as teenagers.

In the end, they broke up before they left for university, because neither of them wanted to try long distance, but they always thought they might try again someday.

Eden always thought they’d get married someday. But, things don’t always work out that way. Kader found someone else, and his friendship with Eden fell apart when Eden reacted badly to the news.

SLIDE 11:

Family Tree

[Image ID: A simple depiction of my character Eden's family tree, from his grandparents to himself and his brother. On his mother's side, his grandparents are listed as 'Mg. Ansel Ferebey' and 'Jeriah Ferebey.' On his father's side, his grandparents are listed as 'Noa Linnaeus' and 'Sylaris.' His mother is listed as 'Hannah Linnaeus' and his father is listed as 'Dr. Abdiel Linnaeus.' Finally, he and his brother are listed as 'Dr. Eden Linnaeus' and 'Michael Linnaeus' respectively.]

Michael went on to marry and have children of his own as an adult, but Eden never met any of his nieces and nephews, so I didn’t wanna list them here.

SLIDE 12:

"Mini Eden," AKA Eddie

Eddie gets his own slide, because I love him so much.

Baby boy. Baby. Baby bastard.

Eddie is a homunculus, an artificial being created from part of Eden’s soul.

He also has all of Eden’s personality traits turned up to an 11, for better and for worse.

He’s rude, loud, and whiny, but he’s deeply protective of Eden. In many ways, Eddie is basically his son, not that Eden would admit that.

About the size of a gerbil. Soft and warm and furry.

[Image ID: A drawing of my character Eddie, a small, bat-like creature with purple fur and a lighter underbelly. He has a mop of curly gold hair and yellow eyes, as well as darker horns. Eddie is wearing a red vest and his hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He has a vaguely humanoid face and is smirking as he glances to the right.]

SLIDE 13:

Magic Color-Coding:

As a fun treat for myself, Eden’s different spells are color-coded based on the source of the magic powering them. When he uses these spells, they manifest in these colors.

Innate Tiefling Spells: These spells come from Eden’s demonic heritage on both sides of his family tree. Many of them are associated with fire in some way, and as such, these spells manifest in shades of red and orange.

Artificer Spells: Eden’s artificer spells are those he learned growing up or during his time at university, and he knows them inside and out. They don’t feel magical to him anymore, often manifesting as silver or a very light grey.

Warlock Spells: His warlock spells, meanwhile, are an unknown, terrifying new power granted to him by a being whose motives he’s uncertain of. He’s still learning them, and on some level they frighten him deeply. As such, these spells manifest as a very dark purple, almost black.

Cleric Spell: All of the characters in this campaign, regardless of class, have one cleric spell, gifted to them by the goddess Phara. These spells in some way reflect the character’s true souls and intentions. Eden’s cleric spell, Shield of Faith, manifests in gold, with touches of blue to represent the goddess’s influence.

[Additional Details: The color names mentioned in the above text are the colors mentioned.]

SLIDE 14:

Associations

Animal: Lion

Color: Gold

Zodiac: Leo

Flower: Laurel

Tarot: Knight of Wands

Song: Faust, Midas, & Myself - Switchfoot

Misc. Associations for Symbolism: Kintsugi, the sun, Icarus, stars

[Image ID: Two screenshots of Eden as he appears in my save of Baldur's Gate 3. In the left one, he is shown with longer hair that's shaved on one side, his eyes closed as he smiles. He has silver piercings. He's wearing black and red armor and has a gold staff strapped to his back. In the right one, he's shown with different piercings and shorter, spikier hair, his eyes glowing green. Here, he wears leather armor, and he has a black staff strapped to his back. End ID]

Two different screencaps of Eden in BG3--one with short hair, one with long hair. Unfortunately both with wayyy straighter hair than he should have, but none of the curlier options feel like him either, so this is as close as I could get.

He’s such a model to me.

#multi makes text posts #eden linnaeus #oc powerpoints #i love u eden #this was a labor of love #also if i missed something in the id lmk!!

31 notes · View notes

ellekhen · 5 months ago

Text

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 73 - Awaken and Rest

Chapter Summary: The party reunites for a desperately-needed rest.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 373K+ words; Chapters 73/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

When Church comes to, he finds the world frozen in time.

And then he sees her.

The Raven Queen stands there — watching him from behind an unblinking, haunted-looking Astarion. She appraises them both, tilting the pale mask of her head. Her many eyes wink as her feathers flutter in a nonexistent wind.

“Oh Church…” the Raven Queen murmurs sadly. “See how easily he overwhelms you?”

“Stay away from him!” Church snarls at her.

The Raven Queen sighs, gesturing down at the vampire spawn.

“All it took was exterminating one undead — one suffering soul — and you would have had my protection until the day you died… and beyond. Your shadow never would have bested you.”

Her mask drifts lower as her wings flex.

“It is not too late for you to win back my favor.”

Church stares at her incredulously, and he almost wants to laugh at the ludicrousness of her proposal.

“I don’t want your protection,” he spits. “I don’t want your lies, and I won’t hurt him.”

“Oh?”

The Raven Queen’s feathery body grows longer, more monstrous as she stretches forth to crawl over to him. But the tiefling stares as steadily as he can as her mask studies him closely, even though every cell of his body screams to turn and hide away.

“You saw what became of you without my protection. Is this your final decision?” she asks him softly. Dangerously.

“I won’t vow to destroy the undead,” Church says evenly. “Not for you. Not even for my own soul.”

“Your mind could die. Your soul could sunder. Is that what you wish?”

Church huffs a bitter laugh.

“Well, you said ‘could,’” he mutters. “Does that mean I have a chance after all?”

The Raven Queen laughs — as if taken aback.

“There is always a chance, however small,” she muses. “But embracing that chance also means embracing the far greater possibility of endless suffering and death.”

Church stares and stares at the frozen Astarion, wishing he had time to help him understand…

“I don’t want to die,” he croaks. “But I want him to live more.”

“Even if his life will bring more death and damnation? Not only to you, but to many, many others?”

Church closes his eyes for a moment. He can still smell the foul blood and viscera caked into his clothing by whatever transpired during his sleep.

“…yes,” he whispers.

The Raven Queen’s mask looms over him, studying him closely.

And then she giggles.

“How delightful,” she murmurs. “How curious. How deeply…” she takes a deep, shuddering breath as she retreats back into her smaller form. “How… horrible,” she says, voice distant, “Oh. I see your path before you — the turns in the road manifesting like newborn stars. You poor things…”

Church frowns at her.

“What are you—?”

“Where one door closes… another opens,” the Raven Queen lilts. “I still see tragedy in your futures. Such sweet, sweet tragedy. But, oh! It is ever-shifting. Yes, so many possibilities are ripe for the picking…”

Church swallows, his mouth dry.

“You intrigue me, child,” the Raven Queen declares, amused. “I will keep my eyes on you both. I will send my witnesses. They know your names.”

“Just leave him alone!” Church beseeches her. “Leave us alone.”

“Fret not, child. No pact will be made today… by your choice alone,” she says softly. “But the offer still stands, for as long as you are capable of making that choice. And that choice will linger there beside you — your destiny. Your doom.”

Church reminds himself to breathe.

“So what happens now?” he asks her, voice cracking. “Is my soul lost? Is that the tragedy?”

The Raven Queen hums dubiously.

“I see the potential for a tragedy far more delicious… provided you survive this one. You will have a short reprieve when you wake,” she says enigmatically. “What you will do with it, I do not know. Not yet. You will play your part, and my children will watch. Whether it’s tomorrow or a hundred years from now, we will be waiting for you.

“And then, when all has come to pass, I will see your face in the Fortress of Memories, my child. And when that happens…” she summons the silver orbs of Astarion’s memories once again, smiling at them. “...you may collect what was lost.”

Without further ado, she disappears in a flurry of wings.

Church slumps back to the ground, his consciousness fading as time begins to pass once more.

Without the protection of any entities, it’s only a matter of time before the shadows will claim him again.

Well.

He won’t spend it waiting for that to happen.

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year ago

Text

She’s said the wrong thing. She doesn’t fully understand how, but she can certainly feel Astarion bristle at those words. Nettie remains unaware of their internal conversation, digging around at her table full of alchemy sets and important looking herbs. If you think that, as a reward for simply existing, the world is going to hand you kindness, you are a bigger fool than I took you for. When Nettie turns around, finally having finished her piece, she holds a thorny branch. If I must be a fool, at least I am a kind one.

summary: the tadpoles prove to have some use, and aruna proves to be a bigger fool than astarion expected when she trusts the wrong person.

wc: 4k+

warnings: continued memory loss, being poisoned? just canon-adjacent violence and such. nothing crazy.

a/n: mom can you come pick me up i think i'm projecting too much onto one of my ocs again (also experimenting with placement of the read more this time don't mind me)

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Was Aruna someone’s daughter once?

It’s the only thing she can think of after she speaks to Arabella’s parents. A young tiefling girl, currently being interrogated, her parents desperate and brimming with fury as they try to find a way to save their daughter.

Surely, Aruna was someone’s daughter once. And if she was the one in interrogation, life at risk, she’d want someone to offer to help her as well.

The druids that had been arguing with the tieflings let Aruna and Astarion through under the premise of Kagha wanting to speak with them. Which, in all honesty, doesn’t sound very promising. But Aruna is determined, mind rattling with thoughts of Arabella, someone’s daughter, and her singular goal of saving her.

“What in the Hells are they doing?” Astarion questions the center of the grove, several druids gathered around the center point that appears to be a small idol.

Aruna hadn’t even noticed the green flow of magic, had hardly heard the chanting, “Who knows?”

It’s a pathetic response. Hardly humoring him, falling terribly flat as she continues to take large steps in the direction of the stone door the druids had pointed out to them.

Was she someone’s daughter once? Did she have parents out there, just like Arabella’s, anxiously seeking her return?

“You’re telling me you’re not the least bit curious about that?” Astarion squints after her. When she doesn’t respond, he reaches out for her, fingers wrapping around her sleeve just as she had done to him by the ox. But his touch is a bit rougher, a bit more secure. Less instinctual. “I find that incredibly hard to believe. What’s wrong?”

She blinks rapidly at that, taken back by his sincerity, “Since when do you care about something being wrong with me?”

“Since you’re leading us, specifically me, into a possible fight while seeming impossibly distracted.”

Right. He didn’t want to be led astray, walked straight into danger, when she was in this state. It was nothing more than that. And that was reasonable.

But she can’t stop picturing it; was she something small once? Something impossibly delicate?

She sort of feels delicate now, void of memories and uncertain of just who she is.

“I can’t remember if I have parents,” she admits all in one breath, uncomfortably aware of both his eyes on her and his hand that had yet to leave her arm, “I can’t remember if I had a childhood.”

“That’s all?” he scoffs, hand finally dropping, “You’re worried about if you had a childhood after agreeing to free some foolish tiefling girl?”

His words are hard, but she can still see right through his mask – her words have given him something to think about as well. A kindred emotion, a flash of something lost, sparking behind his eyes for only a moment.

“Yes, that is all. You seem to forget while you all have your own personal journeys and motivations that I can as well.”

She doesn’t know herself. All she knows is this, whatever this journey of their group had become. All she knows is the tadpole, the beach, her companions. She just recently learned about her magic while it’s clear the rest of them have an entire artillery of memories in which they’ve perfected their crafts.

Of course Astarion is better with his daggers. He must have practiced wielding them for years, and remembers that practice. Aruna might have also, but she can’t recall it. The fact that she remembered how to even hold them properly is a miracle.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says just as she sees Astarion’s hard exterior beginning to soften. She doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want empathy. She just wants to help the girl, “Let’s just talk to this Kagha and help Arabella.”

Before she has the chance to turn, Astarion is speaking to her lowly, disregarding the way she clearly wanted to move on from the matter, “I do apologize. Your condition… does slip my mind. I forget myself.”

“It’s not a condition,” she snaps, “It’s… it’s temporary. Maybe once we get rid of our parasites, I’ll regain my memories. It’s fine.”

Parasites. That’s what these tadpoles must be, leeches that have taken home in all their minds, and Aruna is just the unluckiest of the bunch to be stuck with one with a craving for memories.

She’ll remember. She has to.

“For what it’s worth,” he takes a step closer, nearly whispering, as though he’d rather die than allow anyone to hear his next words, “I do believe you had a childhood. We all must have, even those of us who can’t recall them.”

If she had been a little less absorbed in all her own issues at the moment, she might have picked up on that little word: us.

She would have noticed Astarion’s grouping of himself in that category.

But she doesn’t. She only turns and continues onto their mission, to find Kagha and Arabella, completely unaware that Astarion has bared a vulnerable fragment of himself to her. The moment passes, and she never witnesses the fall of his face as he realizes that the thread of connection has gone entirely over her head.

—

Aruna doesn’t know what her experiences with snakes had been prior to all of this, but she’s starting to sense they were not good. That, or all her survival instincts that were a product of human evolution were far more overactive than everyone else’s.

Astarion doesn’t even flinch at the snake. In fact, he looks monumentally disappointed when Aruna manages to persuade Kagha to not kill Arabella by letting the bloodthirsty creature sink its fangs into her.

“What a waste of a perfectly good show,” he sighs wistfully, watching the girl run off and out of the underground room they were now standing in.

One sharp warning glance from Aruna, and he’s smart enough to not make another comment on it.

“You wanted to speak with us,” Aruna says as she approaches Kagha once the death viper has long since departed. If Astarion notices, he certainly keeps quiet with his teasing.

“Indeed,” Kagha looks up. She still wears a veil of authority, holding herself bigger than she is as if to prove herself, “You are the ones who fought at the gate against the goblins.”

Suddenly, Aruna feels a squirming in her mind, a sudden presence pressing against her tadpole. It’s unfamiliar, sharp, but not unbearable.

The same experience as when she had met each of her fellow ailed companions, but to a less intense degree.

Obviously.

Aruna is shocked when she swears she hears Astarion mutter the sarcastic reply as it echoes in her head. She turns to look at him, but his lips are sealed tightly, wearing a bored expression that morphs into offense when he catches her glance.

Why is she looking at me like that? I didn’t say that outloud, did I?

It’s nearly impossible to school her shocked expression, but Aruna manages.

Astarion certainly did think the sarcastic reply, but he didn’t say it outloud. Aruna shouldn’t have been able to hear that. And yet the squirming in her head increases, and she has the sinking suspicion of who the culprit behind the shared thoughts might be.

Interesting.

“We are,” she answers Kagha before the pause grows so long it becomes suspicious, “And the druids at the entrance said you wanted to speak to us. So, please, by all means…”

She trails off, but her eyes continue to flicker towards Astarion. He’s growing more antsy under her watchful gaze, but she’s not going to scold him for being a sarcastic ass in his mind.

Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe the tadpole is draining her of memories and sanity.

Imagined or not, tadpoles to be blamed or not, Aruna remains distracted for most of her conversation with Kagha. Her focus wanes, only leaving just enough sensibility to make out that Kagha wants their group to clear the way for the tieflings to leave the Grove. The ceremony that Astarion had questioned outside, was being executed with the intent of sealing the Grove off. No one leaves, no one enters.

It’s all a bit morbid. And it makes Aruna’s bleeding heart ache for the tieflings. Predictable, she swears she hears Astarion’s voice say as her face contorts at that shared information.

She feels the crashing waves of Astarion’s irritation over all else when Kagha finishes her short speech.

“I’m asking you to help them. Will you?”

He already knows her answer. And so does Aruna – there’s not a single way in which she’ll walk out of here without agreeing to do so.

But she does take pause, and she does consider her options. Astarion may be shocked at the fact that she takes his reaction into consideration during these decisions now, but she does. And for all he seemingly loathes helping others, he is concerned with the parasite – he’s concerned with finding a healer, just like everyone else in her party.

“I’ll help,” the quietest of groans are already escaping Astarion’s lips, but they grow quiet when she continues, “On one condition.”

“Offering conditional help?” he admonishes, “I didn’t think you had that in you.”

For once, please shut up.

She doesn’t say it outloud. She thinks it, shooting the thought like an arrow, straight for the pressure of the presence against her tadpole.

It wasn’t an imagined connection. It’s clear Astarion had heard her by the way he nearly staggers not even a second after the thought has passed.

Very interesting.

“What’s your condition?” Kagha demands, looking between the two with brewing suspicion.

If she knew about their tadpoles, she’d probably kill them. With that damn death viper, no less.

“There’s a healer here by the name of Nettie,” Aruna feels Astarion perk up, all his dissatisfaction with the idea of helping the tieflings quickly fading, “I’ll help them, if she helps us.”

“And what would you need a healer for?”

“None of your business.”

Even Astarion is shocked by the sharpness of Aruna’s words. But when she looks at Kagha, all she sees is a woman turning her back on the helpless. And it sparks a new anger inside of her, a sense of righteousness that had to have been ingrained in her at some point. Whether it be before all of this or if it is simply a pillar of who she was, who she is, doesn’t matter.

Kagha is someone cruel. And Aruna suddenly realizes that cruelty is not part of who she is, not at her core.

Kagha smiles, a forced diplomatic grin that reeks of ingenuity. “You’ll find Nettie somewhere around here, feel free to seek her out as you please. But after you’ve seen her, I do expect you to speak to Zevlor, and to keep up your end of the bargain.”

There’s no need for Aruna to bristle at the words or her condescending tone. Astarion does it for her, and without looking, she knows his hands twitch beside his daggers.

Her dagger-happy friend, her shadow. She was never worried about blindly walking into a fight when it was him at her side.

Nods are exchanged, and when Kagha turns her back, Aruna is quick to guide herself and her companion across the room, narrowly avoiding the abundance of mud.

He doesn’t say a word until they’ve walked through a second doorway, entering what almost resembles a library of some sort. She expects a comment on her lashing out.

He surprises her when he simply says, “We have to talk about it, you know.”

“Out of all our companions, you are the one I least expected a lecture from regarding being rude-”

“I couldn’t care less regarding your attitude with the druid,” he interrupts, stopping them just before they cross into what looks to be a living quarters. A hospital, of sorts, “I mean the tadpoles. You spoke to me, without uttering a single word aloud. How?”

He doesn’t know that he initiated that connection. “I- You’re serious, aren’t you?”

His lips curl, nose scrunching, “If you’re about to tell me I’m going insane, I might go find the nearest stake and put myself out of my own misery.”

Stake? How oddly specific.

“See?” he exclaims suddenly, pointing at her accusingly, “I heard that! And yes, death by stake is quite specific, but don’t read into it too much, darling.”

“Get out of my mind,” she hisses, more mindful of being quiet than he was being, “Gods, Astarion, I don’t know. Technically, you opened up that connection. I heard your thoughts first. Which, by the way – thank you for not being such a smartass out loud in front of Kagha.”

His eyes widen, “Oh. Oh, you… heard that?”

Instead of answering properly, she only puts on her worst impersonation of him, accent and all as she tries to perfectly mimic his “Obviously.”

“I do not sound like that.”

“You certainly did when you said it in my head.”

“No, I did not. My voice is far less nasally, far more refined-”

“Who cares?” she cuts him off, “The point is, we can use these parasites for our benefit until we rid ourselves of them. Imagine the potential of using those private… channels to speak to each other when we’re in front of an enemy.”

“I’d hardly call Kagha an enemy,” he snorts. But he doesn’t dismiss her idea, softening up in consideration, “I suppose you’re right. The only issue, of course, is how we opened up the connection to begin with.”

He’s right. Aruna isn’t so prideful as to fight him on that, nor is she idiotic enough to force the misfortune of figuring out the answer to that solely on him.

“Well, what were you feeling when you first thought that?” she asks carefully. She isn’t trying to pry, something she’s starting to figure out he’s not fond of, but to simply get answers, “I wasn’t hearing your every waking thought before then.”

He blinks rapidly, and she swears for a moment that he’ll take a step back. As though she’s gone too far. As though what he was feeling in the moment is private information that she hasn’t earned the knowledge of yet.

He doesn’t. “I… I suppose I just wanted to say that outloud, to you.”

That alone has a dozen implications.

“I need more than that,” she squints her eyes, “Especially considering it wasn’t something very important-”

“Making a sarcastic quip,” he looks pained as he elaborates, “Whenever I have something… particularly annoying to say, I enjoy watching your reaction to it. It’s fun to see you scramble when I run my mouth.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, but it does make sense. When she had sent her own message to him, she’d been feeling almost the exact same way – regarding wanting to talk to him, not so much as wanting to annoy him.

“I focused on the presence, or whatever it was, of your tadpole in my head,” she says, glancing over his shoulder as she catches sight of movement in the next room. A woman of shorter stature, hovering over something on one of the stone platforms, “So I suppose that’s the secret to it. Knowing us, another situation will arise soon enough for us to test our theory.”

He has more he wants to say. She can see it clearly in the press of his lips and the flare of his nostrils, but he doesn’t dare to speak whatever weighs on his mind, “Right. Of course. Knowing us.”

It was probably just another complaint of the way Aruna keeps getting them into trouble. He held his tongue, and she’s probably better for it.

Probably.

When they continue their exploration of the area, Aruna decides to take her time in surveying the new room rather than heading straight to the woman she had spied over Astarion’s shoulder. Tables of medicinal items, ranging from mugwort to jars of odd liquids, almost appearing to swirl with the night sky inside. The shelves of books, tomes, and slabs alike also pique Aruna’s interest. She wonders just how much trouble they might get into if she sent Astarion on a quick roundup of some of the interesting reads; his hands were far quicker and more adept for slipping them unnoticed into their packs. He’d proven such with the apple.

She doesn’t even notice that the thought has slipped down their tadpole connection until Astarion is shooting her an amused look, crossing his arms as he stares her down.

“And I thought you were against thievery,” he murmurs, voice low enough so that the woman on the other side of the room won’t hear them.

Aruna really has no defense. Besides, aside from his torment of teasing, Astarion doesn’t seem to actually judge her for having any slip-ups in morale, “I am. Hence why I didn’t ask that of you.”

“Say the word, and I’d do it,” he holds up a hand, wiggling the fingers for emphasis, “You could have your own precious library to rival the wizard’s – for a price, of course.”

“A price?”

Her grin is impossible to miss. Radiant, it’s golden cast reflecting right back at her off of Astarion’s own lips.

“You didn’t think I’d do that type of work for free, did you, darling?”

It’s a fun dance. A momentary distraction. For just a few brief seconds, they’re simply two people teasing one another, unbothered by their current circumstances or situations.

“Of course not. And, just out of curiosity,” she hums, well aware that in a few moments, they’ll need to approach that strange woman. They’ll have to drop the illusion and return to reality. But that specific warmth that only he seems capable of triggering has begun to burrow into her chest again, and she chases after the feeling, “What would your price be? If I did request that of you?”

He hesitates. She had expected a quick answer, a rapid-fire she’d struggle to keep up with. She hadn’t expected for a genuine look of contemplation to cross his face, as though he was struggling to even come up with a response for the hypothetical.

“Your daggers,” he says, although his tone isn’t quite as playful as it had been. His eyes flicker down at the blades tucked safely into each of her hips, and when they rise to meet her eyes again, it’s clear he’s somewhere far from her. Lost in thoughts, lost in his own mind, “You seemed quite defensive over them the other night. If they are special, and you’re hardly adept at wielding them, I might as well make use of them.”

“You’re not getting my daggers,” she shakes her head.

“Then I suppose you’re not getting your library.”

She laughs, and she prays he doesn’t hear any of the concern brewing beneath it. She prays that he’s still too far in his own head to recognize the way her attitude dips to meet his own deflation. Her laugh is as disingenuine as his forced smile he offers her, effectively ending the conversation.

He’s gone somewhere, somewhere so far that she couldn’t possibly follow, tadpole or not.

She finds herself hoping it isn’t quite as lonely as her own mind.

—

Nettie is… nice.

Or, rather, nice enough.

She’s fairly patient with Aruna and Astarion when they first approach, ignoring Astarion’s rude comeback to her requesting they give her just a second. She reacts kinder than necessary when Astarion prods the bird she had just healed as they pass by, prattling on about how the bird needs time to heal and how Astarion could benefit from exhibiting kindness to others.

At least his responsive scoff stays between Aruna and Astarion, echoing down the connection of their tadpoles.

She’s nice as she inquires what’s wrong with Aruna, she’s nice as Aruna explains the tadpole, and she’s nice as she offers to bring them back to her own private enclave for further examination. Hells, she’s even nice as she explains her entire experience with tadpoles thus far; a story involving another healer named Halsin, another unfortunate tadpole to be studied, and the dead drow on the table that Aruna tries to not stare at.

Something about the sight of the drow makes Aruna’s chest ache. An indescribable sorrow. A mourning she can’t recognize.

Halsin sounds more useful than this bore.

Astarion’s voice in her head cuts through all that odd grief, helping her shake it off easily.

Give her a chance.

I gave her a chance when I didn’t interrupt her ridiculous spiel regarding that damned bird and kindness.

And what makes that bird any less deserving of kindness than you or me?

If you think that, as a reward for simply existing, the world is going to hand you kindness, you are a bigger fool than I took you for.

When Nettie turns around, finally having finished her piece, she holds a thorny branch.

If I must be a fool, at least I am a kind one.

He doesn’t have a snarky response for that one. As a matter of fact, all that Aruna can feel through their connection is a resigned sadness. Something old, something yearning, something learned from a different lifetime. It makes no sense to Aruna. He doesn’t know her. Her being a fool shouldn’t affect him. Aruna’s own feet being set on the path of kindness has nothing to do with Astarion in the grand scheme of things beyond their journey to rid themselves of these worms. She’s the one with the ominous letter, she’s the one with debts to be paid regarding him once it’s all said and done. Her foolish kindness shouldn’t affect him.

And yet, it does. To a startling degree that Aruna can’t even offer proper focus to at the time being, because her focus must remain on the healer in front of her.

Because Nettie is nice enough, until she isn’t.

A series of questions, as if Aruna was on some impassable trial, is all it takes for the smaller woman to lose that nice exterior. And Aruna is unsure if maybe it was her tone to blame, being a bit too snippy with Astarion’s anxieties pounding at the back of her head. Or mayhaps if it is her memory loss to blame, making certain gaps impossible to fill and certain answers impossible to be honest. She doesn’t know where she went wrong, but she did – she’s gone terribly wrong the moment that Nettie’s face hardens in a flair of certain impassive determination, and she reaches out for Aruna’s hand.

Don’t.

Aruna can’t decipher if it was that knowing animal inside of her or Astarion that warns her so ferociously. Perhaps it had been the tadpole, a self-serving parasite that got them into this mess to begin with. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.

She only knows that the moment those thorns scratch her palm, it hurts like all Hells.

It burns. Terribly. And Aruna, for all her cluelessness, knows that healing shouldn’t burn.

She tugs her hand away from Nettie impossibly fast the moment the tips of the thorns have dug in, looking down at the angry pink scratches left behind. Only surface level, but they burn.

“What in the hells-” Astarion starts, taking a step forward as Aruna cradles her hand to her chest.

If I must be a fool, at least I am a kind one.

“Be careful – your legs will probably give out first.”

It’s not a cure. It’s not a plant of healing. It burns, its venom sinking its way into Aruna’s veins, spreading with a painful speed, her racing heart only quickening the process.

Aruna doesn’t have the chance to so much as blink before Astarion’s daggers are against Nettie’s neck.

Kind fool indeed.

TAGLIST: @emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson

#ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #the moon will sing #wahoo #aruna you absolute dumb ass you failed that perception check #every day i go through life whispering to myself 'if i must be fool at least i am kind' over and over and over and over #i would rather be foolish and kind than callous and heartless #the older i get the harder it is to maintain that #anyways #three cheers to finally getting to the tadpole connection establishment we're definitely going to misuse that for nefarious reasons later o

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arzen9 · 5 days ago

Text

Can I Be Good? Chapter 3: Part of the Team - Lark

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC 18+ MDNI word count: 4.4k tags/warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Not Canon Compliant, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Redemption, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Mystery, Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Original Female Character summary: Centuries of pain, a ritual, (not) hunger, (not) desire, a lost soul, a search, a yearning, bodies, bodies... And a heart that changes everything.

In the clerb, we all fam.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY IN ADVANCE, LOVELY PEOPLE<3

Thank you for reading! I love you! LOTS AND LOTS of thank you's to @nerdallwritey for reading this through, for supporting me, for being an amazing friend!! ILY!! Can I Be Good? has a playlist, made by yours truly! If you want to give it a listen: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0pXFYWcgOZXxe8Hf39dhfs?si=f8f44e48d2924b1e

Please click here if you'd like to read on AO3 as the "insert link" function STILL hasn't been working for me. Otherwise, continue on here!

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go,” Wyll says on the phone. “It would be nice to meet your coworkers.”

“You mean Karlach specifically,” Lark says with a trill.

“Is that her name?” Wyll asks wistfully.

“Can you not be so obvious with your yearning tonight,” Lark pleads. “She’s my coworker, not your future wife.”

“Could always be both,” he says and chuckles shyly. Lark can hear Lae’zel scoff in the background.

“Well, you guys can come on over here in the afternoon then.”

“And by here, you mean...”

“The Crimson Palace,” Lark says, trying not to cringe.

Wyll chuckles again. “Yeah, I just wanted to hear you say it. Congratulations on landing the job, Lark.”

He hangs up and leaves Lark standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the second floor of the club, phone in hand. Astarion didn’t exactly tell her what to do from now until her little “get together” or whatever, and she hesitates before going back to the bar. For a moment Lark just stands where she is and tries to peer from behind the wall to see where the white-haired woman is, and feels relieved when she spots Shadowheart with her back to Lark, looking down intently at her phone. Maybe she can safely sneak on by and leave unnoticed; but what would be the point? She has to come back for Astarion’s little event anyway. Lark realizes that this place makes her miss the feeling of sunshine on her skin.

“Soldier!”

Lark jumps. “Karlach!” she exclaims. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

The tiefling laughs, open and boisterous. “What do you mean? I thought I was mighty stealthy.”

Lark raises a brow at her.

“So,” Karlach continues, a sincere look in her amber eyes. “Did you get the job?”

“Oh,” Lark says, straightening up a bit. “Yes, I did.”

It seems that Karlach is intent on giving her a heart attack though, as the next thing she knows, she’s enveloped by two muscular arms and lifted off the floor, feet hovering in the air.

“Yes! I knew it! I knew Fa— Astarion would pick you! He can make good choices sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Lark tries to ask, but it comes out as more of a wheeze, being squeezed by Karlach to the point of gasping for air.

“Nothing!” she exclaims, putting Lark back down. “Sorry, I’m just real excited.”

“I can tell,” Lark smiles. She hopes her braids are still neat. “I’m not sure I’m all that exciting, though.”

“Oh nonsense! If Astarion’s excited, you can bet your ass I am, too.”

Astarion is excited?

Before Lark can voice her confusion at Karlach’s statement, Shadowheart beckons them.

“What are you two doing over there? You know I’m terribly nosy.”

Karlach gives her a gentle bump on the arm, and the two make their way over back to the bar. Shadowheart winks at Lark.

“Really glad to see Karlach didn’t squeeze your organs out of your body.”

“Still in one piece,” Lark says. Karlach looks away shyly, but her smile is obvious.

“I’m guessing you’ll be working with us, then?”

Lark nods. Karlach woo’s.

“Excellent,” Shadowheart says. “Welcome to the team.”

“We have to celebrate!” Karlach interjects. “Now? Tonight? Where are your friends you had with you the other night?”

“Astarion’s already got that covered, I think,” Lark says. “He said we would have a little get together here tonight.”

Karlach and Shadowheart exchange glances, but their expressions don’t betray any emotion.

“Well, you can hang out with us until then.”

Something pangs in Lark’s chest. She enjoys the company of a few very specific people— namely, Lae’zel and Wyll. It’s been a long time since she actually hung out with anyone else. All of it is by choice, to be sure. There aren’t many people who are willing to understand and accept Lark exactly as she is. She isn’t even sure how her two best friends do it.

But she would have to admit that Karlach and Shadowheart genuinely seem nice, even though the latter is a tad bit intimidating— whether on purpose or not, Lark can’t decide.

The pitiful look she gave her the first time they met won’t leave her mind.

“Tell us about yourself,” Shadowheart interrupts her thoughts. Then, after a few seconds, “Oh, but first,” she says, gesturing to all the bottles behind her. “Pick your poison.”

“Oh, I’m not sure if I—”

“You’re not working right now, are you?”

“No, I start tomorrow.”

Shadowheart smiles mischievously. “Pick your poison.”

“She might not look like it, but Shads is the best at cocktails,” Karlach offers.

“Hey!”

They both turn to Lark again. Waiting.

“Um, I… Maybe a Bloody Mary?”

The two women smile at her, all teeth. As if there’s an inside joke here that Lark just isn’t privy to.

Shadowheart starts immediately, and Karlach pats on one of the high stools in front of the bar. They sit next to each other.

“What about me?” Karlach pouts.

“You can pour yourself something, can’t you?” Shadowheart says, focused on preparing Lark’s drink. Karlach pulls herself off of her seat dramatically, and joins Shadowheart at the back of the bar, one hand on her hip, looking at the seemingly endless array of bottles filled with liquids of varying colors.

“Are you guys working during the day, too?” Lark asks.

“Oh, no,” Karlach says, picking up bottles, putting them back. “We live here.”

Odd. “You do? Why?”

“And I thought I was nosy,” Shadowheart says, but there’s no venom in her voice. “Why not?”

“Well, I just thought it would be weird living in the nightclub you work at, with your boss and everything—”

The two women fall into a fit of laughter at that. Karlach seems utterly lost. It’s Shadowheart who recovers first.

“Boss? You mean Astarion?”

“He’s the owner, isn’t he?” Lark asks, confused as to why they found what she said so funny.

“Yeah,” Karlach says, wiping away a few tears. “But we’re friends. We work together, not for Astarion.”

Huh. Lark’s mind immediately conjures up the image of Astarion standing on the balcony, surveying the crowd. Observing her.

A shiver runs down her spine.

“Are you cold?” Shadowheart asks her. She’s putting the finishing touches on her Bloody Mary.

Before she can answer, Shadowheart continues, “You’ll get used to it, in time. But Lark,” she looks intently at her while placing the glass filled with red liquid in front of her. “Don’t let our living arrangements distract you from what you came here to do. Astarion would never have hired someone if he absolutely didn’t need help with the masquerade.”

“Of course,” Lark preens at the sudden coldness in Shadowheart.

“Shads, you’re scaring the poor girl,” Karlach returns with a glass of something that resembles the color of her eyes. Bourbon? Whiskey? “We’re happy to have you help him out, Lark.”

“It’s not for me to be weirded out by your living arrangements, anyways,” Lark says, tougher than she intended. “I’m only here to help with the masquerade, as you said.”

“What, you’re not gonna work with us after the winter season?” Karlach says, clearly disappointed. “No way. I bet you’ll stay.”

“We never know what the future will bring,” Shadowheart says, but her smile isn’t so soft this time. “How do you like the Bloody Mary?”

----

Shadowheart’s Bloody Mary is so good that Lark has three of them. By the time the three women finish their last drinks (Lark’s third Bloody Mary, Shadowheart’s fourth glass of wine and Karlach’s… well, who’s counting?) the sun outside is setting, and it’s almost time to celebrate Lark’s new job.

Wyll and Lae’zel walk in as Karlach is showing how she can balance two whiskey glasses on top of each other on her head. Lark doesn’t think she’s drunk— it seems that the tiefling naturally has the sort of courage most people need with the help of a lot of liquid.

Lark beams at her friends. Immediately her posture slackens a little with comfort, confidence filling her being. She feels at home with herself when she’s with them— even Shadowheart can’t scare her now.

“Lark,” Wyll greets her, standing a little further away from where her and Karlach are sitting. Lae’zel stands next to him.

“Well, soldier,” Karlach says, carefully placing the whiskey glasses back on the bar. “Introductions are in order!”

Lark turns to her friends to find Wyll’s gaze laser focused on Karlach, and almost rolls her eyes— then she sees Lae’zel.

Her friend’s eyes are uncharacteristically round, and following her line-of-sight Lark realizes it’s Shadowheart that has softened her up like so.

Oh gods. Lark leans on the bar and places her chin in her palm. This might be an interesting night.

Despite her fear of suddenly being stuck in a weird romcom, her friends are civil in their introductions, if a little stammer-y. Lae’zel’s “surprise me” to Shadowheart’s “what would you like to drink” earns her an amused smirk from the white-haired woman, but yes. Wyll is civil.

Then Astarion enters the room— talking to a man that’s walking beside him, with an impeccably smooth purple shirt and shiny, slicked-back brown hair. Lark’s stomach does something that suggests either nerves or one too many Bloody Mary’s. She settles on the latter.

Karlach and Shadowheart don’t seem to notice the two men, still in conversation with Lae’zel and Wyll. Lark’s focus has shifted though, keen on trying to hear what Astarion is talking to this man about. There’s something in the owner of the Crimson Palace that piques her curiosity to indescribable proportions, civility be damned.

And it seems that Astarion is keen on thwarting her attempts at satisfying that innate wonder, as he immediately lifts his head up to throw a smile at her, effectively silencing his companion. She would give anything to see what goes inside his mind.

He tut’s at the sight in front of him, looking rather amused. “It seems that you have started the festivities without us.”

The man in purple makes his way over to Lark with quick steps. “Miss Promise, I am thrilled to have you join us. Thrilled! Astarion’s mentioned your aptitude in magic, and—” he stops when Astarion places the wide of his palm over his shoulder. Lark eyes him suspiciously, but he acts as if there’s nothing wrong. “I’m Gale Dekarios,” the man says, offering his hand.

Lark gets up to greet him, and it hits her— the scent of rosewater, the swirling of a million stars, the alignment of planets. No wonder he was interested in her magic. They share a knowing smile before Gale retracts his hand. Astarion eyes the two of them, his expression unreadable.

“Please,” Lark says. “Call me Lark.”

“Well,” Astarion cuts in before Gale can say anything. “You now have the delight of meeting everyone. Care to return the favor?”

Lae’zel perks up from behind Lark, immediately peeling herself from Shadowheart and stepping to the side to be next to her friend. It surprises Lark, for a second. Her instinct to protect. Wyll shifts his gaze over as well, but doesn’t move from where he’s standing, next to Karlach.

“Lae’zel,” she says, giving Astarion a nod and nothing else. He tilts his head and smiles.

“I’m Wyll,” Wyll says with a little wave of his hand.

“Oh,” Astarion drawls. “Chief Ravengard’s son, in my club? What an honor.”

Wyll looks down, uncomfortable with the recognition, but only smiles, possibly for Lark’s sake.

“Nice to meet you all,” Gale says, seemingly sensible to the sudden tension. “Shall we take this up to the dining room?”

----

The dining room, of course, is a lot bigger than any dining room Lark’s ever seen, and on the third floor which she didn’t realize even existed, but it makes sense considering how high the ceiling looked when she first entered the Crimson Palace. The room itself is in the middle of the floor, accessible through two sets of double doors. Inside there is not much else but a table (bigger than any Lark’s ever seen) surrounded by about twenty chairs. A grand chandelier hangs off the ceiling, blindingly shiny.

Astarion takes the chair at the head of the table, and with a pat, invites Lark to sit at his right. Despite her obvious interest in Shadowheart, Lae’zel chooses to sit next to Lark, seeing as her friend’s face has flushed with panic due to the proximity of her new boss.

If only she knew.

Gale takes the chair on Astarion’s left side, followed by Wyll and lastly Karlach. Shadowheart stays standing for a moment to talk to Gale, putting her hand at the back of his seat. Observing her surroundings, Lark realizes that she’s the only one that seems to be nervous. Even her friends don’t mind the gathering they’ve found themselves in— Wyll is in deep conversation with Karlach, already able to make her laugh, while Lae’zel steals glances at Shadowheart from time to time but keeps her hand on Lark’s armrest.

“I hope Shadowheart and Karlach kept you entertained today,” Astarion tells her, lounging in his seat like he owns the place.

Well, he does. But still.

Shadowheart gives him a side-eye, but doesn’t say anything before turning on her heels and leaving the room. Lark can feel Lae’zel droop with disappointment.

“Absolutely. Shadowheart indulged me with making my favorite drink. Multiple times, even.”

“And what’s that?”

“Bloody Mary.”

“Ha!” Astarion gives a short, loud laugh. It suits him. “I’m more for red wine myself, but that’s a good choice nonetheless.”

As if on cue, Shadowheart comes back with two bottles of wine clutched against her chest. She hands one to Astarion, and then goes to sit down next to Karlach on the other side of the table. Lae’zel’s mood immediately seems to brighten to see her come back, and it amuses Lark— she has no idea how readable she is.

Only when Astarion pulls out the cork of the wine bottle does Lark realize the table has already been set with plates, utensils and wine glasses— except for Karlach who has an already full pitcher of beer in front of her. Lark eyes the two with a smile as Karlach offers Wyll some of her beer. It’s cute.

“Would you like some?”

It’s Astarion’s voice that snaps her attention back to her side of the table. He’s holding the wine bottle slightly tilted over her glass, ready to pour.

“Sure,” she says. As he pours the dark red liquid into her glass, Astarion watches her— quiet, unthreatening.

“Lae’zel, was it?” he says although his gaze is still on Lark.

“Yes,” Lae’zel responds in an exasperated tone. She doesn’t enjoy needless attention and would probably rather watch Shadowheart over the table.

“Your kind still doesn’t favor our beautiful city, even after centuries. Why is that?”

“You speak as if you’ve kept watch,” she sneers. Lark stares at Astarion, displeased with the comment. She knows Lae’zel isn’t a stranger to these kinds of questions; it bothers her that she faces them nonetheless.

“Merely a history enthusiast,” Astarion smiles.

“Perhaps it’s because your kind favors it too crowdedly.”

Lark takes a sip of her own. It really is going to be a long night.

After all the cocktails she had the first sip of wine seems to go right to her head. The room spins around for a little before she can refocus on Astarion’s high-pitched giggle.

“My apologies on my kind’s behalf, then. Would you like some wine as well?”

“I prefer something stronger.”

“I’m sure we’ll have it.”

Just then, an elf with long, red hair enters the dining room from the double doors on the furthest side, rolling a cart filled with various dishes; followed by a young tiefling with another cart, this one carrying different bottles. Astarion gestures at the tiefling to come over and turns to Lae’zel.

“Let’s drink to your friend, shall we?”

The offer of a drink seems to soften Lae’zel, with the added bonus of her pride when it comes to Lark. She has always been her number one supporter (a position she shares with Wyll); reassuring her that poetry was her calling when Lark wanted to give up and switch to something that would actually make money or that she definitely can down the fourth shot of tequila. No matter what life event it is, Lae’zel’s solid support has remained the same.

Everybody gets their food and drinks; they toast to Lark, she flushes. The night goes on, Astarion’s relentless attention finally leaving Lark in favor of a debate with Gale that doesn’t interest her whatsoever. She and Lae’zel exchange a few remarks about the dishes but don’t talk much of anything since the gith is preoccupied with looking at Shadowheart and looking away the moment she looks back.

Lark swears she will talk to her about adult flirting when this thing is over. Not that she’s an expert, considering she has been single for the past five or so years. Stealing glances needs to be left in high school though.

Astarion abruptly leaving his chair catches Lark’s eye and she turns her head to look at the reason— a tall man with long auburn hair, a prominent nose and thin lips has entered the room, and is now smiling at Astarion, his hand drawing gentle circles on the silver-haired elf’s elbow. The man’s sun kissed skin glimmers under the light of the chandelier, as if he does nothing all day but rub himself in oils. Lark snickers to herself. Why does she care?

She should stop staring. She really should. But then the man leans into Astarion’s ear and whispers something, making the elf smile, and Lark can swear she sees him dip his head to place an almost imperceptible kiss on Astarion’s neck.

The magazines must have missed this piece of news— this highly coveted bachelor seems to either not be a bachelor, or a serial heartbreaker.

Lark would put money on the latter— her new boss doesn’t strike her as the type to swoon.

She tries, very hard, to stop this line of thought. It’s unprofessional. It’s not like her to be this nosy. That’s Shadowheart’s job, isn’t it?

Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice the man leave, or Astarion sit back down. It’s his voice again that pulls her back to reality.

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks, wearing a shit-eating grin that looks almost lopsided. Why is he so intent on smiling without showing his teeth? Perhaps he has bad dentures. Although Lark finds that impossible considering how meticulous he seems to be about his appearance.

She also notices the pet name, but decides not to dwell on it. It seems to be his vernacular. Far be it for her to judge. Maybe he’s just old.

“Yes,” she says, her mouth dry like sandpaper all of a sudden. She takes another sip from her wine in an attempt to cure it.

“Be sure not to drink too much,” he says, twirling his wine glass at her. “You’ve got work tomorrow.”

Lark wonders how sharp her fork just might be.

----

“I think you’re being too harsh on him,” Wyll says on their way back. It’s almost his time to get off the train with Lae’zel after, and lastly, Lark. “He just seems like a typical rich guy to me.”

“And how would you know?” Lark laughs. “Wyll and Karlach, sitting on a tree, sharing beer…”

“Come off it,” he says, but there’s no denying the upward tug of his lips. “We were just talking.”

“For now.”

“I’m happy that you have this job now,” Lae’zel interjects. “But I would prefer not to join any get togethers that your boss organizes, from now on.”

Lark puts a hand on her chest and gasps dramatically. “And deprive yourself of the ever-so mysterious Shadowheart? You must really hate the guy.”

“I would have to care for him in order to hate him.”

They laugh. Lark’s head spins lightly, in a nervous but not all too unpleasant haze. She really does have a job now.

She’s not too fond of Astarion either, but he’s not the first asshole she’s had to work under, and he definitely won’t be the last.

“I don’t need him to organize pathetic dinner parties if I want to sleep with Shadowheart,” Lae’zel continue with venom.

“I thought you really liked the crème brulee,” Lark pouts. “And I highly doubt stealing glances like high schoolers will get you anywhere near her panties.”

Wyll grimaces. “Must you always be so vulgar?”

Lark sticks her tongue out at him. Lae’zel tilts her head and stares into the distance for a bit. “What should I do?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Yes. If this stealing glances isn’t how you do it, then I would like you to tell me what to do.”

“I—” Lark stammers. “I’m not sure. I’ve known the woman for like seven hours, Lae.”

“Tell me what to do when you know.”

Wyll and Lark look at each other, smiling. “Sure, Lae. I will.”

Lark goes to bed that night as soon as she makes it home and sleeps soundlessly for most of the night, save for a few instances she thinks she hears a sort of knocking sound. It’s scary at first, annoying after a couple of times.

But the night never lasts and morning comes, the sound of her phone waking her up before her alarm does. She has two texts from an unknown number and sits up to read them, one eye still shut.

Good morning, Lark. This is Shadowheart. You’ll probably want to save my number You can come and start at your earliest convenience.

“Earliest convenience,” she repeats to herself. “What am I, a corporate overlord?”

Despite complaining, she gets up and takes a shower, puts water in the kettle for tea, braids her hair. The chill in her apartment makes her realize she forgot to shut the window again. How does she keep doing this?

On the way to the Crimson Palace, she fiddles with her necklace— the one her dad gave him when she was thirteen. The silver angel holding a garnet warms under her touch.

----

“First day, soldier!” Karlach greets Lark at the entrance, carrying two barrels under her arms. “Break a leg!”

“I’ll try,” she responds before making her way inside where Shadowheart is waiting. The dark blue turtleneck she’s wearing compliments her hair. Or the other way around.

“Hi,” she says. Shadowheart smiles at her, not too icily.

“Astarion’s still in his room,” she says. “You can go wake him up.”

“Wake him up?”

“His room’s on the third floor. Down the corridor to the left.”

“I—”

“He’ll tell you about your daily task, and you can go from there.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh, and Lark,” she seems to hesitate. “Could you maybe… Give me Lae’zel’s number?”

----

The climb to the third floor feels like a strenuous exercise and Lark’s feet want to go back— it seems she has not taken the “personal assistant” part of the job seriously enough. Which is the whole of it.

“Wake him up,” she mumbles, walking down the corridor as loudly as she can. “Does he not have the money for an alarm clock? Probably spent it all on the chandelier.”

Stopping in front of what she assumes to be Astarion’s door, she pauses, one hand on the door handle. “I’ll be good,” she whispers to herself. Then she opens the door.

She’s greeted with another full-length mirror (he must really love himself) and from the reflection she can see herself, but also the bed— where Astarion’s laying, looking at his phone, thankfully covered by dark red sheets.

Next to him is the man from last night— getting dressed.

“Shit,” she gasps and turns her head away, face gone all tomato. Shit. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shadowheart takes this personal assistant thing too seriously,” Astarion sighs. “You should leave.”

When Lark turns to leave, Astarion interrupts her. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

She dares look in the mirror again, only to see Astarion’s gaze bearing into her soul. He’s not looking at his… Partner at all.

The said partner quickly leaves— doesn’t say a word. Neither to Astarion, nor to her, even when he brushes against her shoulder as he walks out.

Lark is still frozen in place, hand still on the door handle. She feels clammy.

“You can come in,” Astarion says, face buried again in his phone. “I won’t bite.”

Out of pocket, Lark thinks. But what’s new?

She fully enters the room, turning her back against the mirror and facing Astarion head on. He lifts his head to regard her and gives a sleepy smile. His hair is annoyingly perfect, and the bed sheets seem to be strategically placed over his waist, the toned muscles of his chest and the lower half of his legs visible.

“I think you should get dressed too,” Lark says coldly. She can feel the warmth thrumming in her cheeks.

Astarion takes a deep breath. “Must I?”

No, a part of her says. She shuts it up.

“Shadowheart told me to wake you up.”

“I’m awake.”

“Okay.”

They regard each other for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity to Lark. She’s uncomfortable. Astarion’s nonchalance doesn’t help.

“No need to reveal all of my quirks from the first day, huh darling?” Astarion laughs. Lark doesn’t have it in her to join him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get dressed and meet you in my office.”

She turns to leave, trying not to look anywhere but in front of her.

“Lark,” he says. Her name sounds like melted chocolate in his mouth. “Don’t get the wrong idea about this.”

“Why would I?” she asks, gaze plastered firmly on the door in front of her. “It is definitely not my place to get any ideas about how you live your life.”

“And how do you think I live my life?”

“He was there last night, wasn’t he?” she blurts out. Why is she blurting things out? “A pity he didn’t stay for dinner. You seem to enjoy teasing people, after all.”

She really needs to shut the hells up.

But Astarion only laughs— that high-pitched, honest sound. Lark’s heart gives a rather strong thump against her chest.

“Darling, you wound me,” he says, and Lark can hear the pout in his voice. “I never play with my food.”

tag list: @nerdalmighty @preciouslittlebhaalbae @aristenfromwarsaw

If you would like to be added to my taglist, please send me a message or reply here!<3

#bg3 #astarion #my writing #baldur's gate 3 #nat writes #my oc #lark promise #astarion x lark #my fic #fanfic #longfic #astarion romance #original female character #vampire ascendant #astarion ancunin #can i be good?

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astarionsilverbough · 1 year ago

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What's the what on Halsin's polyamorous nature in TLOGAM? Just curious if u have thoughts of how that might be portrayed!

(I love that slutty druid and his perspective on """the bounty of nature's gifts""" but I also just want to be a lil tiefling with 2 boyfriends, one of whom is big enough to carry us both on his shoulders, so it works out beautifully for me. Also like hell yeah poly rep also I guess as a secondary bonus.)

,,,, well

the tags do say monogamous halstarion, darling, and while i get that he gives that option i’m of the (possibly controversial) opinion that halsin’s ‘poly’ nature is borne of his trauma from being a sex slave.

he tells us in game that we’re the only one he wants but if we want to wander we can; this is a man who has been grieving for hundreds of years to the point where he can’t see his own value and can’t imagine why anyone would want only him. idc if he remains a poly option but i would love if larian added the ability to tell the poor man he’s all we want, too.

beyond that, i cannot ever abide astarion being coerced into polyamory - he has to be persuaded into it, asks (heartbreakingly) if it’s because you haven’t fucked in a while, and is blatantly and vocally uncomfortable in situations wherein threesomes or foursomes are possible. he’s also wildly traumatized and would say yes to being poly just to keep his partner happy, which breaks my heart even more.

there will not be any polyamory in tlogm. i myself am not against it and do have MULTIPLE ocs that are poly but it really doesn’t fit these characters in my own personal opinion.

#the land of gods and monsters verse #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion #halstarion #halsin #rambles

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unreadpoppy · 1 year ago

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song as old as rhyme - chapter 9

{Beauty and the Beast AU - Raphael x OC (Elize)}

chapter 8

Read on AO3

Taglist: @littlemoondarling @desenhosdebolso @shyminnie07

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this chapter. Maybe it could have been better but this was the best i could come up with. Also, I may be rushing some things but it's so that we get to some important plot points faster. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Haarlep had essentially dragged Elize around the House of Hope, most of the places she had seen before, but hearing them talk about each room did bring her some comfort.

Eventually, they found themselves sitting across from one another in a random room, asking questions about each other. There was a bottle of wine between, which had been mostly consumed by the incubus.

“So, you’re his personal incubus?” Elize asked. Haarlep nodded. “What does that mean?” She had a vague idea that these creatures needed sex to survive but she’d never imagine that Raphael would house one in his home.

Haarlep chuckled. “It means that I do all the work while Raphael lays on his back and barks orders.”

“And why do you look like him?”

“Because Raphael only fucks Raphael, dear.”

“Oh.” Was all Elize could think to reply. “And how did you get here? Why did you start working for him?”

“Curious thing, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, taking a swing from the bottle. Up until that point, he had been the one doing most of the questioning. “I was sent here by his dear father, Mephistopheles, to distract the naughy boy.” He paused. “Although, when that misadventurer, Tav, showed up with their tadpole problem, I had a hard time in doing my job.”

Before Elize could ask further, Haarlep stopped her. “But enough about me. Did you know” Haarlep began the question “that you talk in your sleep?”

“What!?” Elize exclaimed. “I do not talk in my sleep.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do not.” She sipped from the glass.

“I saw you doing it.” Haarlep smirked. “You were mumbling something about ‘mommy’ and ‘sunsets’ and ‘nightmares’.” They said each word in a mocking tone.

Elize’s lips formed a thin line and she used the wall behind her to help her up, visibly upset by that. “I think I should get to work.”

“Oh, come on, just when things started to get good?” Haarlep said, also standing up.

Before they could continue arguing, a portal opened and through it, walked out a dwarf woman and a tiefling girl.

“Korilla, Mol!” Haarlep addressed the new arrivals. ”What brings you here?”

“The master is going to receive an important guest today.” The dwarf replied. “He ordered the house to be clean. Everything has to be in order and everyone is to be on their best behavior.” She then noticed Elize behind Haarlep. “You must be the new girl. I’m Korilla Hearthflame.” She said, with a slight bow. ‘And this is Mol.” The dwarf pointed towards the child.

“I’m Elize.” Was all she replied.

“Now that everyone’s acquainted, it’s time to get to work.” Haarlep said and so, for hours, the four of them made sure that the House of Hope was in good condition. Elize was glad to no longer be the only one holding the broom.

When the master of the house arrived, everyone felt it. It was as if the air stopped to greet him.

Elize and Korilla had been tasked with waiting the table for Raphael and his guest. Both women would take turns serving the meals. Whenever it was Elize’s turn to go in, she would try to do everything as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact.

The guest was an elven man, with long blonde hair. Elize wondered what could he have to offer to be of such importance for the devil, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Now, she was waiting for the dwarf to return to the kitchen.

There was a knock on the door and Elize opened it, allowing Korilla to walk out. Suddenly, she smelled something familiar.

“Is this smell coming from that?” She asked, pointing towards the opened wine bottle the dwarf was holding.

“Yes.” Korilla replied. “It was the guest who brought it and made a point that it was served tonight.”

“May I?” Elize opened up her hand and the bottle was placed in it. She brought the wine close to her nose and took a sniff. Besides the smell of wine, she noticed a hint of berries and a subtle, woodsy and earthy scent. It was when she smelled something very sweet, that she realized.

A memory appeared in Elize’s mind eye. She remembered her mother teaching her about different kinds of poisonous plants and how to spot them.

She also remembered her mother laying on the floor, a drink with that smell rolling on the ground.

Elize came back to her senses. “Korilla, did you serve this to them?” She asked in a worried tone.

“Yes, why do you-” Before she could finish, Elize was running towards the room where the dinner was served.

Elize ran, ignoring Korilla’s shouts, and bursted through the doors of the room.

Raphael, who looked human, put his chalice down and got up, furious. Before he started shouting, Elize interrupted him.

“He’s trying to poison you!” She screamed.

“What?” Raphael replied but before he could go further, his nose began to bleed, and he almost fell on the table, coughing, a hand on his heart. He looked deadly at his guest. Before the man could try to run away, the devil snapped his fingers and the elf disintegrated.

The spell proved itself to use too much of his remaining strength, as immediately afterwards, Raphael fell backwards. Elize ran towards the fireplace and grabbed the poker, using it to pull some coal out. At the same time, Korilla, Haarlep and Mol had arrived.

Elize began to bark orders. “Someone get me water, a plate and paper! Quickly!” They all sprung into action. The girl took the hot pieces of coal in her hands and knelt besides Raphael. His eyes had glossed over.

Soon, Haarlep and Mol appeared beside her with the plate and the water. She poured the water on the plate and began to mix it with the charcoal. Finally, Korilla arrived with the paper. Elize rolled up the paper, making it into a funnel and told the incubus to hold it to the devil’s mouth.

She placed Raphael’s head on her lap, and while Haarlep held the makeshift funnel, Elize poured the coal water into the funnel. She poured a good portion of it and stopped, to see if Raphael reacted.

Nothing, besides some spasms. She continued pouring. Eventually, the plate was empty and Raphael looked as good as dead.

“Oh gods, please…” Elize whispered. They all looked defeated until the devil lurched forwards and vomited the coal out.

He spent a good moment like that until he finally stopped, and just laid on his side, breathing heavily.

Looking relieved, Elize turned to Haarlep. “Take him to his room.” She said. “We will clean this mess in the meantime.” They nodded and carried Raphael out of the room. Now that they knew the master would live, the situation dawned on Elize, and she began to shake slightly.

After the devil and the incubus left the room, Mol got up and turned towards Elize. “How did you know to do that?!�� The young girl asked.

“My mother, she… she taught me some things.” Was all Elize replied. She got up on shaky knees and without another word, began to clean the table.

#raphael x oc #raphael x elize #not tav oc #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #beauty and the beast AU #my writing #haarlep bg3 #haarlep #mol bg3 #korilla bg3

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aurorawinternights · 5 months ago

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OC Deep Dive Questions:

Thank you @adorablebanite for the tag ^.^ looking forward to reading everyone else's OC's as well of course. I would tag but all my mutual's already appeared to be tagged XD.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Do they have any pet peeves?

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

What do they notice first in a person?

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

What animal represents them best?

What is a smell they dislike?

Have they broken any bones?

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Do they have any hobbies?

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

Do they like to wear jewelery?

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Do they have a favourite fabric?

What kind of accent do they have?

OC's name: Lucid Reign

answers to said questions under the cut.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Lucid has a big fear of not belonging and being cast out. As there is a big stigma against individuals who are direct descendants of devils or demons, often getting them chased out of populated areas or being hunted down and killed, she has spent her whole life pretending to be a Tiefling to hide this and survive.

Do they have any pet peeves?

I think Lucid's biggest pet peeve is waking up in the morning and smelling freshly brewed coffee only to find it was made too weak for her tastes. To go along with that she is NOT a morning person so if there is too much chit-chat or high energy before her first cup she WILL have words about it.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

The three items you will find in her room are a signed copy of Volo's Guide to Baldur's Gate (she kind of low key fangirls over him being an aspiring bard and all), a violin that she purchased with her first paycheck, and not really on her room but is on her at all times but an enchanted anklet she has worn since birth supposedly gifted by her mother before handing her over to the Guild as a baby.

What do they notice first in a person?

That would have to be the way they are carrying themselves tells her how she herself is to approach them in conversation. She is a naturally guarded person so she is very adept at picking up body language cues and matching accordingly

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

UMMM... is there an number higher than 10?? Jk...but for real she has such a damn hard time asking for help so often neglecting and hiding her pain. It often takes those around her noticing the damage and forcing her to accept help by convincing her she is not indebted to anyone for it.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

definitely fight mode, vicious mockery anyone? She is very defensive and snarky when feeling pressed though this can turn into flight if it digs particularly deep. Such as talk of her being abandoned or cast out as it reminds her of being cast out by the Guild or more specifically Nine-Fingers. She viewed them as a family and misses them dearly and is looking for every opportunity to return back to them no matter what it takes.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

yes and no to both honestly. Lucid is essentially an orphan who was raised within the Guild specifically by Osgur Hallorn as one of his spies. He is a kind man who looked after all the children he cared for but it wasn't really a family in the traditional sense. As far as Lucid knows (at beginning of the fic) her mother was owed a big favor from Osgur and she was fleeing a cult that wanted to take her child away from her. She had died protecting Lucid.

Lucid isn't really a family person she has no desire to have children or really settle down, very much a free spirit but she is content with her found family that ends up happening to her in the fic.

What animal represents them best?

an accurate depiction of Lucid trying to get Enver's attention

she wants food, attention, and is full of mischief need I say more? She would look at her boss, Enver Gortash, dead in the eyes and knock over a coffee mug, break it, and walk away...

What is a smell they dislike?

Grey Harbor in the mornings, that dead fish mixed with saltwater smell is foul.

Have they broken any bones?

I have outlined a scene where she does get blunt force trauma from a nasty encounter with the Flaming Fists. She also has a pretty knarly scar on her left thigh due to a skirmish where she had to protect her boss. She is his bodyguard after all...

How would a stranger likely described them?

this is funny because she is polarizing either strangers will love her and find her hilarious and charming, or think she is fucking stupid and a pain in the ass.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Sheesh I should have read these before answering XD I accidentally answered this one already whoops. To answer the question though: she is a night owl for sure to her bosses chagrin who is clearly a morning person who just never sleeps.

What is a flavor they hate? What is a flavor they love?

A flavor she hates is anything other than the taste of coffee first thing in the morning. A flavor she loves (besides coffee Aurora...we get it *eye roll*) she loves spicy foods the hotter the better which I headcannon so does Gortash as a like a guily pleasure thing.

Do they have any hobbies?

She is a bard who performs in the Blushing Mermaid on occasion. She also enjoys cooking on occasion and can be found late at night making a meal and cleaning up after herself (she doesn't want to wake up the staff and put more work on them, kind of considerate that way).

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to the surprise?

She would honestly be shocked, no one has ever done anything like this before for her (at start of the fic) and then be ecstatic because there is going to be food, wine/spirits, and maybe someone to spend the night with. She is a Cambion but specifically half-succubus who has needs and wants.

Do they like to wear jewelry?

she is wearing an anklet at all times that is enchanted (for what I cannot say as its part of the plot XD) . Beyond that she enjoys wearing it on nice occasions. she is fond of necklaces and tail and horn adornments (those make pretty sounds when she dances/performs)

Do they have neat of messy handwriting?

She has messy handwriting but its not unreadable. Honestly I can see Gortash being like 'we have to work on your penmanship' and being the one who helped teach her and it went from outright bad to ok (he has more patience than I would XD) making it at least readable.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

If I had to pick two that reoccur the most would be guilt (has to do with the fic) and loneliness. both that she copes with dark humor and a seemingly aloof IDGAF what you think type attitude.

Do they have a favorite fabric?

two actually: satin and lace. Sadly, both are not practical for being a bodyguard, but are nice for performances.

What kind of accent do they have?

English? Whatever the in game for voice 8 would be considered ^.^

#my ocs #tag game #cambion tav

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