#will bards write about them.....and how true to life will it be

[magicalspit]

me reading the discourse posts in the cr tag like do you think these are the exact arguments people are having in exandria about bells hells for the next decade or so

[nerdallwritey]

Awfully Fond of You

Request: i was wondering if you’d be willing to write a little something for act 1, during the tiefling party for an autistic tav who has a crush on astarion but also has body insecurities + SA trauma, maybe instead of the usual scene that goes down they request to bathe with astarion instead? a tav with poor interoception (sense of awareness with one’s body) who loves to help and touch others but doesn’t quite register others touching them or how they feel about it but still craving intimacy with astarion is something i’m obsessed with (*^^*)*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･* i love your writing style and NEVER request so im super nervous!!  - 🪴 (Link to original request here).

Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Rating: 18+ - no smut, but mature themes Word Count: 7.7k CW: Very vague alludes to SA trauma, reader is a sweetie pie, Astarion is an idiot as always - No explicit smut this time; this one's mostly fluff! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3

a/n: Hello folks! I come bearing my very first request fulfillment! As you can tell from the ask, 🪴 anon wanted something very personal and sweet, and I'm incredibly honored that they chose me to see their vision come to life. I did my best to hit every beat they requested, while also staying true to my writing style, which, of course, means there's plenty of banter to be had. Yes, it is a bit similar to An Evening To Ourselves and Perfect Every Time (I swear I was in the middle of writing that one when I received this request), but I'm pleased with how this new remix of Astarion's Act 1 romance scene turned out! And yes, the title IS based on a lyric from everyone's favorite Sesame Street bath time song, "Rubber Duckie." HIT IT, BOYS! (Thank you, as always, to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) NOTE: This Tav is completely separate from bard!Tav and does not take place in the same universe as Beauty and the Bard. Part 5 of that coming soon! And my request box is open!

Without further ado, 🪴 anon, I hope you like it!

The air in camp was abuzz with laughter and cheer. Booze flowed into goblets and down throats, and smiles graced the faces of nearly every guest currently in attendance of the last minute celebration thrown together by you and your companions.

With the goblins and their leaders defeated in what turned out to be a rather difficult encounter, Halsin and Zevlor had insisted on celebrating with you and your party at your campsite before the tieflings made their way to Baldur’s Gate within the next few days. 

Alfira supplied the evening with a somewhat constant stream of joyful songs, only stopping every so often to enjoy a drink with Lakrissa, while other tieflings danced and mingled with each other, relief and excitement making their shoulders relax as they reached for more goblets of wine. 

You were in the process of making your rounds through the party; you’d shared a drink with Shadowheart, some jokes with Gale and Karlach, a quiet moment with Wyll, and a confusing conversation with Lae’zel about limbs being torn from a neogi? You weren’t entirely sure what those even were, but you had to assume they were a fearsome creature if Lae’zel was bringing it up. 

That only left Astarion.

To be honest, you’d been avoiding him all night. Try as he might to catch your eye whenever you passed by, whether it be with a pointed clearing of his throat or a blatant call of your name, you would zero in on something else, and focus all your attention on that. Even if it meant sitting through an extended conversation with Volo. 

But now, there was nowhere left to go. Unless you opted to avoid him completely. And that would only lead to questions from your companions that you wouldn’t know how to answer.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. No. In fact, it was the exact opposite. You liked him a lot. And you weren’t sure what to do about it. 

Astarion was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and you were… you. You’d been you, your whole life, and knew for a fact that the pair of you were an odd couple. Where he was crass, you were kind. Where he was violent, you opted to talk things through. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but enjoy spending time with him. His bloodlust was fascinating to watch, and you loved sparring both physically and verbally with him. More than once, you’d both saved the other’s ass in a sticky situation during battle. More than once, you’d allowed him to drink from you to ease his sanguine hunger. 

You were pretty sure that at the very least, he considered you a friend, though you weren’t sure he’d ever directly admit that to you. Unlike Gale and Wyll, who often reminded you how much they appreciated your friendship, Astarion was much tougher to read. Yet despite his somewhat malicious name calling and disapproval towards your actions, you couldn’t help but feel that he had a soft spot for you. Even when you were telling him he couldn’t kill a man in cold blood, it seemed like he legitimately enjoyed your company. The thought made you smile softly.

Taking in a deep breath and straightening your posture, you finally willed yourself to approach the vampire.

His eyes lit up in that way they often did when he was preparing to tease you.

“There you are, darling,” he said, dramatically. “I was worried I’d never see you again.”

“Worried I’d leave you, huh?” you teased with a smirk. 

Astarion tsked. “Perish the thought. But I recognize someone avoiding me when I see it.”

“Ah,” you clasped your hands in front of yourself, looking down at the ground, “you noticed that.”

“When I usually have to pry you away from me, yes, I noticed.” He took a swig of the wine he was holding.

You nodded and bobbed back and forth on your toes. “Best for last, I guess?” you shrugged your shoulders and smiled at him, hoping he’d drop the subject.

He hummed lamely. 

“So,” you perked up, “are you enjoying the party? I see you’ve been indulging in the spirits.”

“Watching me, were you?” Astarion smirked and you held up your hands, caught.

“Guilty.”

“You know,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I never pictured myself as a hero.”

You reached out to squeeze his arm. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes met yours, and he gently pulled his arm out of your grasp. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” He closed his eyes and took another swig of his wine. When he brought the bottle away and opened his eyes, he met you with a scowl. “I hate it. This is awful.”

You laughed. “Really? Saving lives is awful?” 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “We killed some goblins to save some tieflings. The tally of lives didn’t change much.”

“You’re awful,” you shook your head affectionately. 

He looked smug before puffing his chest. “And what do I get for all my hard work?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“Nothing but a pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” 

You pursed your lips and reached for the bottle, brushing your fingers against his own. 

“Let me try,” you said, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a sip. Your tongue was flooded with the bitter taste of fermented grapes and something else you couldn’t place. Your face scrunched at the flavor and Astarion snorted.

“See what I mean? Awful.”

You handed the bottle back to him, smacking your tongue to get rid of the aftertaste. He took the opportunity to continue speaking.

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?”

You let out an amused scoff. “Knowing you, it probably is.”

Astarion lifted a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Oh, don’t be so sour. I like a good time as much as anyone.”

“‘Sour,’” you repeated, pointing at his wine bottle. “Good one.”

He smirked. “You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling.”

“Oh, really?” You lifted an eyebrow. “And what does that entail?”

“We could get a little closer, so to speak.”

You were suddenly very aware of how close you were standing to Astarion. You took a considerable step backwards and crossed your arms. 

“Sorry, I was really close to you just now, wasn’t I?” You rubbed up and down your bicep awkwardly.

Astarion blinked before his face settled into a seductive smirk. He reached his free hand out to rest on your hip. “On the contrary, my dear. I rather like it when you’re close.”

“Oh, good,” you sighed in relief. You brought your hand down to where Astarion’s rested on your hip. “Sometimes I can’t tell.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hip slightly. “So what do you say?”

“To us getting closer? I don’t mind!” To emphasize your point, you took a step forward and rested your other hand on his shoulder.

Astarion furrowed his brow. Then he chuckled again, gently removing both of your hands from his body. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other.”

“Okay, now I’m really interested in what kind of entertainment you have planned.” You smirked at him, sensing a shift in his tone, but unsure of what it meant. “Don’t tell me you’re a master of shadow puppets or something.”

He smiled skeptically. “Very funny,” he said slowly. “But I trust you’ll meet me?”

You giggled. “Yes, I’ll see you later, Astarion.” 

“Indeed you will, my love. Indeed you will.” Rather than bid you a proper goodbye, Astarion brought the wine bottle to his lips once more and turned away from you. 

You spun on your heel and made your way back to the party. 

This was fine. Good, even! Spending time one-on-one with Astarion was probably exactly what you needed if you wanted to navigate this silly crush you’d developed. Sure, he’d just called you “my love,” and that was a new one, but it wasn’t that much different from the other pet names he threw at you and your companions. You didn’t need this foolish infatuation distracting you on your journey or, gods forbid, diverting your attention during battle. No, this would be the perfect time to remind yourself and your fluttering heart that Astarion was, first and foremost, your friend, and a person. It didn’t need to be anything more than that. 

Your feet carried you not too far from Astarion’s tent and landed you at Karlach’s tent, the tiefling in question currently lying on her back, looking up at the stars.

“Hey, Hot Stuff,” you said, standing over her. 

“Soldier!” she grinned, her eyes a bit fuzzy from the wine. 

“This seat taken?” You kicked your foot over some dirt to her left. 

“All yours,” she said, sitting up to join you. 

You settled down next to her and watched the party still taking place at the center of camp. It sounded like Gale and Lae’zel were having some sort of heated argument over which main courses were best to prepare for battle, while Halsin awkwardly weaved between them to gather a plate of food for himself.

“Saw you chatting up Fangs just now,” Karlach playfully air-elbowed you, careful not to accidentally touch and scorch you. “Did he have anything good to say?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you shrugged. “He was an ass to me, I was an ass to him, the usual.”

Karlach nodded. “Sounds about right.”

You both sat in pleasant silence for a moment before you laughed a little. “It’s funny, he actually asked me to spend time with him tonight, after the party.”

Karlach furrowed her brow. “After the party? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, “he said we could ‘make our own entertainment.’” You made air quotes when you repeated his words. “I figure he wants to read together or something. It was just weird how he phrased it.”

She sat up a little straighter, her expression growing more serious. “Hang on, what were his words, exactly?”

You leaned back a little, confused by her sudden interest in your mundane conversation with the vampire. “Um… I don’t know. He said he didn’t like being a hero, I told him not to say that, he said he wanted more than a pat on the head and bad wine, I tried the wine and it was bad, he said he wanted a little fun, ‘is that so much to ask?’ and I said ‘knowing you, it probably is,’ and then he said we could make our own entertainment. Or something like that.”

“Huh.” Karlach thought for a moment. “I think he means to bone you, Soldier.”

You sputtered out a laugh. “What?! No he doesn’t!”

“He sooooo does!” Karlach barked out a laugh. “And good for you! I know I’d ride him to the Feywild and back if I had the chance.”

“He does not,” you said again, trying to convince yourself as much as you were trying to convince Karlach. 

But you faltered. 

“Does he?”

“Soldier,” Karlach lowered her head at you, giving you an incredulous look, “he was absolutely asking you to get nasty with him.” 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!” she threw her hands up in the air. “We all see the way you look at each other! You practically undress one another with your eyes every time you see each other!”

“No we don’t!” you argued, but shrank back when Karlach raised an eyebrow at you. 

“You do. You know you do.” 

“Am I that obvious?” you asked, lifting your hands to your cheeks as you felt them heating up. 

Karlach started counting on her fingers. “He’s always the first one you check on after a battle, you’re always walking next to him when we’re traveling, AND you let him drink your blood. Weirdly often. Which is gross.”

“I like helping him,” you countered weakly. “And I always check on you guys, too!”

“Of course you do, Soldier, but we can all see how you two treat each other differently.”

You peered over at Astarion’s tent. He lounged comfortably amongst his pillows, a book propped open in his lap and his bottle of wine was not too far off. 

How could he be so casual and relaxed about all of this? The thought of talking to him later tonight made your stomach drop.

“What if I turn him down?” you asked softly, leaning forward to hug your knees.

Karlach’s expression softened. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She reached out a hand, but retracted it. “If I could, I’d rub your back like my mum used to do when I was a kid.”

You smiled over at her. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “If you don’t want to sleep with the leech, that’s your choice. Don’t let him talk you into it if it’s not what you want.”

“I’m not entirely sure what I want,” you admitted, looking up at the familiar stars above.

Karlach sighed. “Well, you don’t have to decide anything tonight.” She nodded her head towards his tent. “In fact, I could go beat the shit out of him, if you’d like.”

You laughed. “Not necessary. But I appreciate the offer.”

“I’ll do it.”

“I know you will,” you smiled and settled your cheek on top of your knee. “I do really like him,” you confessed.

Karlach thought for a moment. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the problem?” She cocked her head curiously.

You sighed. “Sex isn’t really something… I have a great relationship with.”

“Ah,” Karlach nodded. “Same,” she joked, flaring her flames a little for good measure.

You snickered quietly. “I won’t get into it, but… yeah. No thanks. For now, at least.”

“Say no more,” she held up her hand and turned to observe Astarion at his tent. “You could always just see what he has to say? Maybe he just wants to show you he’s a master at shadow puppets or something.”

“That’s what I said!” you laughed, and Karlach joined in.

When you’d both settled, she spoke again. “But seriously, Soldier. Astarion may be a freaky vampiric bastard, but I don’t think he’d hurt you.”

“I don’t think he would either.”

“He knows we’d kill him.”

“I’m sure you’d all take turns sending him to the hells.”

“You bet your sweet ass we would,” she brought her fist to her hand as if preparing to punch this hypothetical Astarion. 

After another quiet moment, she spoke again. “You don’t have to go with him tonight. Or, I could come with you, if you want. As backup.”

“Thanks,” you said, “but I think I need to have this conversation with him alone.”

“Of course.”

You looked back over at Astarion’s tent. He was now standing and stretching his arms over his head. When he caught you watching him, he smirked and threw a wink in your direction. You quickly snapped your head forward, back towards the center of the party. Groaning, you brought your hands up to cover your face.

“What am I gonna do?”

~~~~~

Staring into the trees ahead of you, you remained frozen in place. 

The party had died down and dispersed about an hour ago, giving you and your companions plenty of time to perform a quick cleanup and head to bed. And just as Astarion had said, once a peaceful quiet had enveloped the camp, he’d come to your tent and wordlessly motioned for you to follow him. 

Now you were wringing your hands, trying to convince yourself to follow after him into the forest.

Karlach was right: you didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to do. And Astarion was a reasonable guy. 

To a degree.

Okay, no he wasn’t. 

He was always prepared to kill someone who wronged him in an instant. But surely he’d be reasonable in this department. Your gut told you that that was true. And if it wasn’t, you’d sicc Karlach and the others on him. 

You knew it wouldn’t come to that, though. You felt strongly that he was the type who wouldn’t react rashly to a rejection. 

Before you’d even made up your mind to do so, you found yourself walking into the trees, following the general direction you’d seen Astarion head off towards. The least you could do was hear him out. And who knew, maybe this would be a funny anecdote in your friendship later on down the line. Only time would tell.

It took a few minutes of mindless wandering before you reached a clearing. You kept going, prepared to keep walking until you eventually found Astarion, when you spotted him emerging from behind a tree in your peripheral. 

You screeched to a halt and turned to face him, growing stiff with nerves when you realized he was shirtless. 

“There you are,” he said, his hand lingering on the tree behind him. “I’ve been waiting.” 

He approached you slowly. 

Seductively. 

You stood completely still.

He continued, “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you.”

You swallowed thickly.

He moved even closer. “Waiting to have you.”

“About that,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady, “what exactly do you mean?”

Astarion’s sensual expression morphed into one of confusion. Then he laughed a little. “Isn’t it obvious? Tonight is about pleasure.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” you muttered.

While you were pretty sure he heard you, Astarion pressed on anyway. 

“Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

“Astarion,” you said quickly, surging forward to grab his hands in yours, “please.”

He looked surprised, but quickly recovered with an alluring smirk. “Please what, darling?”

“We don’t have to.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Don’t have to what?”

You groaned and leaned your head forward to rest on his bare shoulder. After a second you lifted your face back up to look at him. “We don’t have to sleep together.”

This time, Astarion looked stunned. “Then… what are you doing here?” 

You shrugged. “I thought we could talk.”

Astarion pulled away from you and took a step back. “‘Talk?’ I thought we had an understanding?”

“See, that’s the thing,” you said, “I did not understand.”

“Hmm,” he hummed and tilted his head in disbelief.

“I’m serious,” you said, stepping closer to him again. “I thought you wanted to spend time together.”

“Oh, but I do,” his lips quirked up mischievously. “I mean to spend the entire night with you, my dear.”

“And while that sounds great, I think you and I are having different thoughts about how to spend that time.” You held his gaze, willing him to hear you.

He humphed. “So you don’t want to have sex with me?”

“Not right now, no.”

He sputtered his lips together and threw his arms up. “And what does that mean?”

“It means… It means I don’t want to have sex right now. At all.” You watched his face scrunch in incredulity. “It has nothing to do with you!” you clarified, grabbing one of his hands again. “Believe me, this is all me.”

Astarion looked you up and down, scanning your body language. You still held his hand and leaned into him ever so slightly. 

“What’s this then?” he asked, placing his free hand over the hand holding his.

You pulled away from him completely. “Sorry,” you said, “I end up touching the people I like. I don’t realize I’m doing it.”

He narrowed his eyes, putting the pieces together in his head. 

“You like me.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want to sleep with me.”

“Yes.”

“So… what? You want to be friends or something?” He made a sour expression.

You laughed softly. “I’d like to think we’re already friends, actually.”

“And why would you think that?” Astarion asked, but you saw in his eyes that he was teasing.

You smiled lightly. “Maybe because you won’t stop following me around Faerûn?”

“Well, it’s not like I-”

“Or maybe because you’ve had a taste of my blood and now you can’t get enough?”

“Okay, that’s-”

“Or maybe because Karlach said you treat me differently than you treat everyone else.”

“She did not!” Astarion sounded genuinely scandalized and you laughed.

“Face it, pretty boy, you like me, too.”

Astarion groaned and rolled his eyes. “This is not at all going how I planned.”

You pursed your lips and wrapped your arms around yourself again. “Sorry.”

He glanced back at you and saw you staring at the ground. He sighed. 

“No, I’m sorry, darling.”

You met his eyes. He stepped closer and placed his hands on your cheeks. Instinctively, you leaned into his touch. 

“I assumed you wanted the same thing as me, and I was wrong.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Still,” he said, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek, “I misread your touches as advances rather than…” He searched for the proper words. “One of your quirks.”

You exhaled, amused. “You didn’t entirely misread me.”

“Pardon?”

“I do like you. A lot. And if things were different, maybe I would sleep with you, but…”

Astarion pulled away from you and held up a hand. “No explanation needed, darling.” He smirked. “But it's good to know how you feel.”

You felt your cheeks go red. “Yeah,” you said, suddenly shy.

Astarion clicked his tongue. “You’re so adorable when you’re thinking of what to say.”

You shook your head and patted your cheeks. “I have another idea,” you said.

He nodded for you to continue and crossed his arms.

“Um… if it’s alright with you, I…” You paused, not exactly sure how he’d react. 

“What is it, darling?”

“I’d like to… bathe you.”

Astarion uncrossed his arms and looked rather dumbfounded.

“What?”

Your words came out clumsily and a little too fast: “Or not! I don’t know, I just like you so much, and I’d like to be closer to you but I don’t want to have sex with you so I thought maybe we could get closer another way, or maybe-”

“Okay,” Astarion interrupted.

“Huh?”

He moved closer to you and brushed some hair out of your face.

“Okay,” he repeated softly. “Let’s bathe together.”

“Oh,” you said, disbelief painting your features. 

Astarion laughed. “Did you assume I’d say no?”

You shrugged as a smile grew on your face. “I don’t know what I expected,” you reached for his hand, “but I’m really glad you said yes.”

~~~~~

The walk back to camp was pleasantly silent, save for the crickets singing their nightly aria. Astarion kept pace with you, the back of your hands brushing every so often, each time sending a tiny shock wave through your body. 

This was happening. You were going to have a private, intimate moment with Astarion. Even if it hadn’t been what he originally intended, you were happy to think of a compromise that still allowed you to get close to him in a way that you knew the others in camp hadn’t, and probably wouldn’t. It made you feel special.

Happy.

And nervous. 

Nervous as all hells, to be honest. You felt your heart speeding up with every step you took, bringing you closer to camp.

“Something wrong, darling?” Astarion asked, giving you a sideways glance.

You jumped a little when his voice broke the silence. “Huh?”

“Your heart, love. It’s pounding.” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly. “Nervous?”

“Oh, that.” You held a hand to your chest and focused on slowing your breathing. When you turned to look at him, you asked, “Is that weird?”

“Seeing as how this was your suggestion, maybe a little.” He smiled and nudged his shoulder into yours.

You groaned. “If this is too weird, let’s just not.”

Astarion halted and grabbed your wrist to stop you. He spun you to look into his eyes. “Whatever’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, darling, cut it out.”

“Oh, okay great. Done.”

“Really?”

“No, not really!” You narrowed your eyes at him.

He sighed. “Never is that easy, is it?”

It was a rhetorical question, but you shook your head anyway. 

“Well, whatever’s making you nervous, I’ll strive to steer clear of it.”

He looked at you expectantly, as if he wanted some sort of explanation. You avoided his eyes and moved to continue walking towards camp. He followed close behind.

“It’s just that…” you paused, trying to collect your thoughts. “I haven’t been… naked in front of someone. For a while.”

Astarion bit his lip, mirth in his eyes.

“Don’t laugh!” you exclaimed, mortified.

“No, no, darling!” His tone was gleeful. “Apologies. It’s just that that’s what’s making you nervous? I’ll have you know that you’re one of the more beautiful creatures who I’ve attempted to bed. You have nothing to fear. I’ve seen all manner of bodies and I can assure you, yours will be nothing short of exquisite. In fact, your shyness is rather endearing.” He smiled at you, looking like he might still be withholding a laugh.

You flattened your lips into a line. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” You began walking ahead of him but stopped when you heard him call your name.

“I may be a rake and a thief, but I’m no liar.”

You blinked at him. “Yes you are! You lie all the time!”

“Okay, yes, sure, but I don’t lie about things that matter! Things like this!” He motioned up and down, indicating your body.

Just as he did so, the two of you emerged from the trees and into camp. You held a finger to your lips and indicated for him to be quiet. He nodded and padded after you as you crept quietly towards the shore of the lake that lapped quietly next to your sleeping campsite. You bent to pick up towels, along with the bucket that held soap and other washing supplies that you and your companions shared in an effort to stay clean on the road. You held them up and motioned for Astarion to follow you again, away from where Withers stoically kept watch, and more towards where you’d spoken with Wyll earlier in the evening. When you turned to face Astarion, his eyes were full of questions.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” you asked.

He perked up and grinned. “My love, there is nothing I’d like more.”

You searched his eyes one more time to make sure he was serious. When you were satisfied with what you saw, you motioned for him to step into the lake. 

“Ladies first,” you teased, looking anywhere but at Astarion.

He, in turn, looked down his nose at you. “I know what this is,” he said, pointing a lazy finger at you.

“What’s what?”

“You’re stalling, darling.”

“I am not!”

Astarion crossed his arms and tilted his head towards you, unimpressed.

Your posture fell into a slouch. “Okay fine, maybe I am stalling.”

“Really?” Astarion said dramatically before dropping his arms to his sides again. He approached you, close enough to where you could feel his cool breath on your face. 

He placed both of his hands on your hips. You looked down to watch as his fingers drummed a calming rhythm into your sides. He whistled quietly, gaining your attention. 

“Let’s start here,” he suggested, now fingering the hem of your shirt. He refused to let you look away. 

You nodded.

“Good,” he purred as you raised your arms and helped him take off your shirt. 

The cool air of the evening immediately sent goosebumps down your arms, and you unconsciously crossed them over your chest for warmth.

Astarion tsked. “Come now,” he protested and placed two gentle hands on your wrists, guiding them to your sides. “Lovely,” he praised once he was able to look at you. 

You made an uncomfortable sound before placing your hands on your waistband. 

“These probably need to come off next, right?”

“Typically that’s how one bathes themself, yes.”

“Right,” you agreed, watching as Astarion mirrored you and reached for his own waistband. You looked down at your legs as you removed your pants, leaving you in only your underwear. 

“Goodness, love,” Astarion said quietly and you looked at him shyly. He himself was now only in his underwear. “You have nothing to be shy about. You’re magnificent.”

“Would you shush and get into the water please?” you half teased, half begged. Anything  to end this weird tension you were feeling. 

“Alright,” he laughed softly before reaching for the waistband of his underwear. He looked at you for approval. When you nodded, he removed them in one fluid motion as if he’d done this a million times. Maybe he had.

Regardless, you couldn’t help but stare at the space between his legs.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Eyes up here.”

“Sorry,” you said, immediately flicking your eyes up to his face. “I didn’t- It’s just-”

Astarion chuckled. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Your turn,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

You bit your lip and slowly reached for your underwear. When you pulled them off, Astarion watched you without a hint of judgment in his eyes. You ran a hand through your hair and shifted nervously on your feet. 

He held out a hand to you and you stared at it before looking up at his face. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going in this frigid water alone, are you mad?”

You laughed and took his hand. He instantly pulled your body to his, holding you so that you were chest to chest. He gave you a seductive smirk before leaning in. You leaned away, avoiding his advances. You shook your head ever so slightly before stepping into the gentle water. Astarion remained standing on the shore before following after you. 

Braving the cold of the water, you sunk down until you were sitting in neck deep water. You let the bucket you’d brought with you float next to you as Astarion crept through the water, clearly freezing. 

“Why did I let you convince me to bathe at night? There’s no sun out to warm this wretched lake.”

You ducked your mouth below the surface to blow some bubbles in his direction. “You should know by now that dunking your whole body helps you warm up faster.”

He gave you a dirty look before slowly sinking down in front of you, yelping and contorting his face the entire time. You couldn’t help but squawk out a laugh. 

When he was fully seated, he pulled you towards him, making you sit in his lap. He gave you a sensual look that had you frowning and pulling back. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“When I said I wanted to bathe you, that’s all I meant.”

“Ah.” His tone was confused. Then he shook his head. “Right, sorry. This is - well… you know.” He smiled, looking like he was admitting defeat and that he wasn’t pleased about it. “I have no idea what to do with you.”

You swam behind him, pulling the bucket of soap towards you and laying your hands on both of his shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything.”

He spun to face you. “Nothing?”

You nodded and he huffed out a laugh. “No sex, no fooling around…I’m sorry, darling. It’s just - having to slow down, it’s… I’m just not used to it.” 

“That’s okay,” you rested your hands on his shoulders again. “We’re in no rush.”

He hummed. “Can you… I don’t know. Help? Show me what to do?”

Laughing, you took his hand. “I’ll try.”

You led your weightless bodies into shallower water and had Astarion sit facing away from you, towards the shore. Reaching for the bucket again, you pulled out a bar of soap and a sponge. 

“Relax,” you cooed, seeing how tensely he held his shoulders close to his ears. 

He let loose a breath and you watched as he relaxed his muscles. Your eyes traveled lower, suddenly catching a glimpse of a complicated and gruesome scar on his back. Your eyes widened, taking in how the water and moonlight reflected off of it. Calmly, you dipped the sponge in the water and added soap before gently rubbing his right shoulder. Astarion melted further, allowing his neck to tilt forward, which, in turn, gave you a better view of his scarred flesh.

“Um… Is it okay for me to wash your back?” you hesitated in bringing the sponge across his shoulder and over his back to his other shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t - oh. I suppose you’re talking about the poem.” He barely looked over his shoulder at you.

“I’ve never seen a poem like this,” you said quietly, a hint of anger in your voice.

He chuckled darkly in response. “It’s a gift from my old master, Cazador. He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas. Do you like it, darling?” He shimmied his shoulders, mockingly preening over the evidence of his own torment.

“Not at all,” you said evenly, continuing to wash his shoulders. 

“Ouch, love, you’d hurt his feelings if he heard that.” Not a hint of joy reached his eyes.

“I don’t much care about the feelings of this old master of yours.”

“Oh, be still, my undead heart,” he held a hand to his chest sarcastically. Then he sighed. “You’re allowed to wash it. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” His voice was quiet when he said, “Thank you for asking.”

Wordlessly, you moved the sponge from the back of his neck to his shoulder blades. 

“I’m not going to break,” he laughed softly, “you don’t have to be so gentle.”

You increased the pressure you were applying to his skin before adding more soap to the sponge. “Move up a little,” you instructed, tapping him to move closer to the shore. “Lean forward.”

Now you had a better angle to wash away the grime of the road from his back, and an even better view of the scar. You clicked your tongue and set to work. 

Perhaps uncomfortable by your silence, Astarion began to speak again. “He, Cazador, composed and carved that poem over the course of a night.” There was a venom to his words. Maybe a deep regret, or a weighing sadness. “He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

Your hand paused over a particularly brutal ridge. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your cheek against the raised tissue. “You’re brave for enduring that.”

“What are you doing?” Astarion straightened, making you push your cheek further into his skin. 

You pulled back immediately. “Sorry, I wanted to hug you. I should have asked. I just… wanted you to know that I care.”

Astarion looked over his shoulder at you blankly. “You ‘care?’”

You nodded. “Turn back around, let me keep washing you.”

He gave you a slight nod before facing forward again and leaning over. 

After another silent moment of gliding the sponge across his back, you asked, “Any idea what it means? Or is it just some pattern?”

Astarion let out an unamused laugh. “Hells if I know. Not sure how much you know about vampires, darling, but typically, we can’t see our reflections.” He spoke as if talking to a child. 

You splashed his back with a small wave from your hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You’re lashing out at me when I was just asking a question.”

“I-” He paused. Then he fell silent.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped but… I’m not your enemy,” you said gently. “We don’t have to keep talking about this. We don’t have to talk at all.”

Astarion groaned. “Silence is dreadful, darling.”

“Is that why you never stop talking?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood again.

“Good one,” he said flatly, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “I only talk because you lot never have anything interesting to say.”

You scoffed with a smile. “I have plenty of interesting things to say!”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Like-” you thought for a moment. “Like the other day! When I was talking with you about your embroidery!” By now you’d moved on to washing over Astarion’s arms. You spun him to face you so you could wash and massage his hands. 

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Unfortunately, darling, that’s not an entirely interesting topic, seeing as how I was in the middle of mending a shirt and you just wanted an excuse to talk to me.”

“I did not!” you denied, massaging between his fingers. Unconsciously, his fingers curled around yours before retracting and flexing. 

“Deny all you want, you still didn’t say anything interesting.”

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “If I’m so uninteresting, why did you want to spend the evening with me of all people?” You were massaging his other hand. 

“You-” He paused again.

“I?”

“You’re… I’m still trying to figure you out.” His voice grew softer when you pulled yourself closer to wash across his chest. You sensed the shift and looked up at his face to make sure he was okay with your actions. When he nodded minutely, you continued. 

“If you’re trying to figure me out… one might say that you’re interested in me.”

He groaned. “Say whatever you want to help you sleep better tonight, darling.”

“Uh huh,” you said pleasantly to yourself, feeling like you’d won. You looked away to add more soap to the sponge and when you looked back, you realized how close you were to his face. His pupils were blown wider than usual and you could see yourself reflected in his eyes against the moonlight. His breath tickled your face. 

He watched you with an intensity that had you hesitating. Why was he so-?

“Look up,” you said, looking up yourself to demonstrate what you wanted. “Please.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could before looking up at the sky. 

You carefully brushed the sponge along his throat, pausing briefly when you got to the twin wounds on his throat from the night he was turned. You circled them gently with the sponge before rinsing the suds with water cupped in your hand. A shiver ran through Astarion’s body.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said looking back down at you once you’d finished rinsing the suds away. “But I’d very much like to kiss you.”

You blinked a few times before resting your forehead against his. When you pulled back, you asked, “Is it okay for me to wash your hair?”

Astarion looked at you for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again. “I suppose so,” he said.

“I don’t have to. Your legs are still-”

“I can handle my own lower half, thank you.” He winked at you.

You smiled and handed him the sponge before bringing yourself to rest behind him again. You gathered the bucket that was still floating nearby and submerged it until it was filled about halfway with water.

“You can either dunk yourself, or I can pour this over your head,” you held the bucket for Astarion to see.

“I’m actually quite enjoying you taking care of me, darling. I trust you won’t drown me.”

“A mistake,” you said, pretending to dump the bucket over his head all at once. “Can vampires even drown? It’s not like you need to breathe.”

“I’d rather not find out, if it’s all the same to you,” he smirked. 

Instead of dumping the entire bucket on his head like you threatened, you poured a gentle stream along the back of his skull before moving forward to evenly wet the rest of his hair. 

“Bloody hells, that is cold,” he pushed some flattened curls out of his face.

“For being a fearsome vampire, you sure are a wimp,” you teased. 

“I could rip your throat out.”

“And I might be able to drown you.” You placed firm hands on both his shoulders and pushed gently, as if you wanted to test your theory. 

“Terrifying,” he smirked, running the sponge along his legs underwater.

“You should see what I did to those goblins who were holding Halsin hostage.”

Astarion laughed. “I know, darling, I was there. Who knew you could be so hellbent on vengeance?”

You laughed softly, coating your hands in soap before running them through his curls. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like?” he prompted.

“Astarion!” you exclaimed sarcastically. “You want to know more about me?”

“Well if I knew you’d make a fuss, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Despite his tone, his eyes were closed in pleasure as you continued to massage his scalp. 

You chuckled quietly, trying to think of something to share with him. 

“I’ve lived in Baldur’s Gate my whole life,” you started.

“A shame we never crossed paths.”

“I’m not entirely sure you’d spare me a passing glance.”

Astarion opened his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

You shrugged. “I read a lot, growing up, and liked being indoors. But I also liked the outdoors. I helped my dad tend our garden, and helped my mom cook dinner–”

“How quaint.”

“We’d visit my aunt in the Upper City every Midwinter, and I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up.” 

“Pity, you have such a promising career as a spa keeper.”

You examined Astarion’s head to make sure you hadn’t missed a spot. When you were pleased with your own work, you continued: “This is the first big adventure I’ve ever been on.”

“First brain worm?” Astarion opened one eye and pointed to his temple.

You laughed and nodded. 

He smiled. “Mine, too.”

You filled the bucket with more water and held a hand over his forehead to keep soapy water from splashing into his eyes when you poured the fresh water over his foamy locks. 

Astarion sighed as the soap began to wash away. You filled the bucket again to repeat the process. 

“Did you ever foresee yourself bathing a beautiful vampire, when you were a child?”

You pursed your lips. “I mean, I had my hopes.” You smiled as he let out a laugh. 

“Tonight definitely didn’t go how I expected,” he admitted.

“You didn’t foresee yourself getting bathed by your incredibly interesting leader?”

He let out an amused breath from his nose. “No I did not.”

You finished rinsing out the last of the soap from his hair, but continued raking your fingers through it. “Are you disappointed?” Your voice was small.

He turned to face you, making your hands disconnect from his curls. “Not at all,” he said, sounding genuine. “Pleasantly surprised, actually.” He thought for a moment. “And cleaner than I’ve been in weeks. Probably.”

You laughed. “Happy to have provided my services.”

He smiled at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “This was nice.” He lifted his hand to swipe through his hair. “Let’s hope you didn’t ruin my hair.”

“With soap and water?”

“You might have done it wrong,” he teased.

“How? It’s soap and water!”

“Not so loud,” he chuckled, nodding his head towards camp. You could vaguely hear Gale snoring in the distance. 

“I’m leaving,” you joked, moving to get up, but Astarion grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into the water.

“Am I not to return the favor?”

You looked back at him and half smiled, patting his cheek. “I’m not convinced you’d do a thorough enough job.” With that, you pushed away from him and got up, gathering the bathing materials and walking back to shore where towels awaited. 

Astarion sputtered behind you. “How dare you! I could give you a massage, the likes of which you’ve never experienced before!”

“You know, sometimes, Astarion, people do things for other people, and don’t want anything in return.” You threw the towel over your head to start drying your hair before wrapping it around your body. 

Astarion did the same before bending to pick up your discarded clothes. “I- Well… You-” He sighed heavily. “You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?”

“I’m not trying to be,” you shrugged.

“And yet,” he sidled up next to you, offering you his arm, “you are.” 

You took his arm in one hand and the bucket of washing supplies in the other and followed him as he led you back into camp. You placed the materials back where you found them and brought your newly freed hand up to wrap around Astarion’s arm. You leaned your head onto his shoulder. 

When you arrived at your tent, he handed you your clothes. 

“I suppose this is where we end our evening,” he said quietly so as not to wake the others.

“I suppose so,” you agreed, your eyes shining as you looked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Thank you for letting me do that,” you said, still holding his arm. “I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“I did,” he said. “Very much, actually.” When he saw the excited look on your face, he amended, “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not weird,” you said, weirdly.

“Uh huh,” Astarion said, pulling his arm out of your grip, not unkindly.

“We can do it again,” you bobbed on your feet, “if you want.”

“I… could be persuaded,” he nodded.

“Good,” you said. Then you surged forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. Goodnight Astarion.” You turned and ducked down into your tent.

“Pleasant dreams, darling,” he said softly. 

You didn’t see how his hand lingered on his cheek where your lips had made contact, didn’t see the small smile that crept onto his face or the mask beginning to slip. 

Instead, you had pleasant dreams filled with laughs and curls and a flash of fangs accompanied by a smile of delight. 

[tcustodisart]

Connecticut Tav | Wood Half-Elf | Beast Master Ranger

So, this is my sheet for @bareee's @tav-dex. Went a little overboard and made a whole ass character sheet (man the last time I made one of those was so long ago). I want to write something about my cringe boy so. Buckle up because it's going to be long and poorly written (I suck at writing).

One edit because I'm a dummy, his alignment is neutral good not true neutral idk why I did that.

He was born and raised in his mom's and step-dad's tavern called Crow's Perch (not as fancy as Elf Song but in a different category as Blushing Mermaid)(the tavern thing is just for the sake of a joke that the most popular drink they serve is called 'Connecticut Water'). He has an older brother, who's a bard. Despite the description for Urchin background ("After surviving a poor and bleak childhood") he had a happy childhood, filled with love and support. The two brothers treated the whole Lower City as their playground: breaking into places just for fun, pick pocketing nobles, climbing Wyrm's Rock Fortress etc.

His love for beasts and creatures of any kind comes from the stories told by his step-dad (both him and Tav's mom are retired adventurers). Step dad was the one who told Tav about Darkmaw the Wicked *wink wink*.

At one point he got tired of the city life and decided he wanted to become a ranger. After successfully fulfilling some contracts he became so confident of his skills he tried to build a trap all by his own. The trap exploded right into his face (he himself has no idea how it didn't kill him or damaged his eyes). After that he was sulking in his hunting hut for a month. The experience humbled the boy. Most of his adventuring prior to the nautiloid could just be boiled down to hanging around one village and talking local boars out of destroying potato fields, and occasionally getting rid of poachers.

Before the abduction he was on his way to Baldur's Gate to see his family (which he hasn't seen in months).

Trivia (because it's easier to write stuff this way):

His hair started to go grey at the start of Act 3 from the weight of responsibility and stress.

In Act 1 he was corresponding with his family thanks to Faust. After entering The Underdark he stopped sending letters (In Underdark because it would be hard, in Act 2 because he didn't want the bird to be killed by Shadow Curse).

Despite being close to his family in Act 3, he didn't visit them or send any messages in fear that Gortash and/or Orin would hurt them.

He carries with him a razor and some fancy oils for his beard.

His brother wrote one ballad about him, soon after that Tav forbid him from writing more (it was very much not accurate).

His step-dad taught him how to fight with a sword, while his mom taught him archery and the art of stealth.

Tav's biological father died when he was very young so he has barely any memory of him.

Tav's a walking Merlin app, he can identify any bird by just listening to it.

He loves climbing trees. Either to rest on a branch or to scout the surroundings.

He loves picking up herbs and making potions.

Despite growing up in a tavern he's not much of a drinker.

He's very self-conscious about his height and chest-to-belly area. He tries his best not to show it.

At one point he was persona non grata at Sharess' Caress.

He enjoys fishing.

Sir Daisy Dewdrop Fluffington is a name of his childhood plush.

He knows how to play lanceboard (he often plays against Gale and tries to teach it to Wyll).

He draws in his journal. He drew all of his companions at least once.

He almost cried when Jaheira called him 'cub' and almost called her 'mom' in response.

He's scared of Lae'zel. But tries his best to understand and help her.

He had countless heart-to-hearts with Karlach.

In his journal he described Astarion as 'his equal on the battlefield'.

[amphinomusthemusical]

Fun facts about our musical :D!

Amphinomus breaks the fourth wall more than anyone. He's the only suitor who regularly talks to the audience—and yes, no one else hears it in-universe.

In every scene he's in (unless it’s explicitly noted otherwise), Melanthius is either handling, yelling about, or chasing a goat. Sometimes he's sacrificing one. Sometimes it’s just a dramatic emotional support goat. Watch for it. It’s canonically his comfort zone.

Leodes grew up in the palace with a mind wired for stillness and detail, which is a cruel joke when your world is made of echoing chambers and clattering goblets. He has hyperacusis, which means the sound of a lyre being tuned improperly or a goblet dropped in the wrong octave can shut down his entire afternoon.

Antinous once tried to arm wrestle a cow and lost. He claims the cow cheated. He will proudly recite entire battle poems by memory. He genuinely believes Penelope will fall in love with him if he just yells loud enough and slaps enough goats. Every time a servant quits, he thinks it’s because they “couldn’t handle how cool he is.” He keeps a dagger in his boot, whatever the Ancient Greek equivalent to a flask was in his sash, and approximately three secrets he will never tell, even if tortured. One of those secrets is that he has a massive crush on someone, and it’s not Penelope.

Eurymachus is terrifying in the way a beautiful knife is. He doesn’t yell like Antinous—he whispers, smiles, and then ruins someone’s life in under six words. He and Melantho play power games like it’s foreplay, but he’s the only suitor with a vague understanding of strategy. He absolutely does not believe in love, but he has been caught staring at the stars when no one’s looking. He once considered leaving, but realized chaos is more fun when you control it. He smells like wine and cedar and danger, and somehow he’s always just cleaned his nails.

Melanthius hates everyone, but not in the same way. He hates Antinous for being loud, Eurymachus for being cruel, Leodes for being morally consistent, and Amphinomus for being thoughtful because it makes him feel weird things like self-awareness. But he tolerates one of the servants, mostly because she can throw a dagger better than he can, and once threatened to make him eat raw barley if he insulted her again. Melanthius cries exactly once in this musical, and it’s offstage when no one can see. He also once made a goat wear a crown. It was a good day.

Melantho is fully aware she’s smarter than most of the palace. She knows exactly where to step so the marble doesn’t creak and how to braid her hair in the style of three different kingdoms. Her hobby is eavesdropping while doing chores no one notices—then reciting back conversations verbatim at the worst possible time. She’s in it for survival, but if you look closely, there’s a flicker of loyalty that no one’s earned yet. She secretly likes painting but pretends it’s “childish.” She and the Palace Artist have a weird sibling energy that swings between “I will kill you” and “you’re the only person who understands me.”

And Phemius—ah, poor Phemius. He didn’t ask to be the bard to a court of degenerates, but here he is, plucking his lyre while praying not to get stabbed before sundown. He’s seen things. He writes little epics in his head that he’ll never perform, and one of them ends with Amphinomus walking away from it all. He kind of hopes that version comes true.

Amphinomus has read every clay tablet in his family’s archive, even the ones with smudged ink and chicken scratch from scribes who’d rather be anywhere else. His favorite? A trade ledger from three generations ago that includes tiny doodles of goats fighting in the margins. He once tried to start a correspondence with another prince about philosophy, but the guy just sent back a picture of a spear. He thinks he’s not interesting, but he has dreams that feel like prophecies and keeps sketching maps of places he’s never been. Sometimes, without realizing it, he hums old lullabies his mother sang to him during wartime evacuations.

Leodes is the kind of guy who sleeps four hours a night and still looks like he’s been up for three days. He once tried to politely refuse Apollo’s blessing and ended up stuck with it and an unsolicited musical talent. He can play the lyre but only does it when no one's around. He has a bad habit of falling for people who are completely and utterly out of reach, then praying about it like that’s going to fix anything. His handwriting is so perfect it looks like it was printed, but his art is terrible—stick figures and strange spirals and smudges of ink that somehow get on his face every time.

Amphimedon insists he's not dramatic, but once faked being poisoned because he was bored and wanted attention. He nearly convinced everyone it was a curse until he got up mid-"funeral" to ask if the figs were fresh.

Elatus is calm. Too calm. He’s the kind of guy who smiles as Antinous throws a goblet and just says, “He missed.” He once broke a table in half during training and apologized to the table. He plays the flute when he thinks no one’s watching and has secretly been sneaking food to the palace cats. He knows Amphinomus doesn’t belong with the suitors and kind of acts like a tired big brother even though he’s only a few years older. He and Leodes have entire conversations in eye contact and exasperated sighs.

Penelope is in this musical technically, but always shadowed, never quite within reach. She appears in flashes—mirrored reflections, movement behind curtains, and when she does speak, it’s like an oracle. Amphinomus has tried to talk to her three times. He always forgets how to speak. She’s fully aware of the chaos in her hall and has a detailed psychological breakdown of every suitor stored in her mind. She reads more than all of them combined, and once kicked Antinous in the shin. It wasn’t in the script. She’s not sorry.

The suitors have a game they play every week called “Odysseus Wouldn’t.” It’s a competition to do the most ridiculous thing they’re sure the king would never do—last week, it involved eating a whole pomegranate without using hands. Antinous always wins. Amphinomus has never played, but they put his name down anyway and lie about his score.

Melanthius has a soft spot for goats with crooked horns. He pretends he doesn’t but if one goes missing, he’ll search for it before checking on the suitors. He once beat Antinous in a wrestling match and hasn’t spoken of it since out of pure survival instinct. If he ever quits, it’ll be because he walked into the wrong conversation between Eurymachus and Melantho and decided he’d rather live in a cave.

Phemius has a song for every possible disaster. He hums them based on the mood in the room. If he ever stops humming, it means someone’s about to get stabbed or proposed to. He once got so fed up with the suitors arguing over wine that he played a dirge until they shut up. They thought it was a curse. He didn’t correct them.

[plussizefantasia]

Fluttering Heart

Fluffober Day 13: Soulmates

Kili Durin x f!human!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

AN: OMG! This has definitely been my favorite to write so far. I love Kili with my whole heart and that for sure came out while I was writing. I really want to see about making this a longer series once October ends, if anyone wants to see that leave a comment and let me know.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

The culture of the dwarves is much like their treasure, kept under lock and key. Histories, customs, and traditions all are played very close to the chest of the stubborn race. The only beings who are let in on the secret are those lucky enough to be a fated match. 

There are different names for these matches in every culture, Soulmates, true loves, twin flames. The dwarves called them Ones. To find your One was said to be the best day of your life. At least that is what Kili thought, he wouldn’t know though. He hadn’t met his yet. 

His uncle’s one had been the Hobbit, Bilibo took longer to fall than Thorin but fell just as hard if not harder than the dwarf. The two were very much in love, it was sickening. His mother’s One had been his father, and he doesn’t remember much about their time together. Fee’s One was a lovely lass that had come from the Blue Mountains to try and establish herself as a seamstress under the mountain. 

All of them had told him how wonderful finding their Ones was, even Thorin whose One was not of the race of Dwarf and thusly did not feel the same pull that he had. Thorin had to actually make Bilbo fall in love with him, which amused Kili to no end because of how much their two personalities seemed to clash. 

Kili hates spending time under the mountain now, he loves Erebor and takes pride in the fact that he was one of the brave few who had reconquered it, but everywhere he looked he saw people being happy with something he did not have. 

The feeling went much deeper than those childhood squabbles he had had with Fili when the two pebbles would play together. Jealousy over toys was easily remedied, the ache that had recently taken up residence in Kili’s heart was much more difficult to push aside or fix.

So he had taken to going for walks. He had volunteered himself too many times to be the point of contact for the King of Dale. He had told Thorin it was because he wanted to prove that he could be trusted with matters of diplomacy. He might not be next in line, but he was still a prince and could take care of these things. It was on one of these trips to Dale that Kili met the very person who would change his life.

She was of the race of men and seemed to work in one of the few taverns that housed the nightlife of the town. Kili was in a sort of informal meeting with Bard, his son Bain, and the Captain of the Guard. They were discussing a deal between the two kingdoms where Erebor would provide the army of Dale with iron-forged armor and weapons and in turn, Dale would pledge their allegiance to the kingdom under the mountain in any future battle. Kili couldn’t help but find the humor in the reversal of roles as if the company had not asked and pledged the same things five years ago. This clause was only one of the facets that made up the current peace treaty in the works. It was Kili’s idea to have the meeting in a less tense and stuffy room than they were previously held in. 

“Everybody has to eat Bard, why don’t we eat and talk at the same time? I’m sure we’d all be much more comfortable.” Bard had agreed at the behest of Bain who had laughed and reminded his father of the last time he had had a proper meal. After that, the men had embarked towards Bard’s favorite tavern. And judging by the way he had jovially called out to the man behind the bar, he was at least acquainted with the people who worked there.

Their waitress was a beautiful woman, who had skills like Kili had never seen, and he had been in a lot of taverns. She was able to carry three trays of piping hot food at the same time and at one point he had even seen her stack and move at least twelve pint glasses to a rowdier table towards the back of the establishment. And she did all this with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. 

If only he would actually get to talk to her. The tavern was busy and she seemed to be one of the only other people working besides the man behind the bar and whoever was preparing the food to be served. She was never in the same place for a very long time. After she had gotten their initial order she had placed their pints down and immediately zipped off to fulfill the next request. 

Without the ability to actually talk to her, Kili had to settle for second-hand knowledge. “So what can you tell me about the woman who served us?” Kili asked nobody in particular.

“Why, do you fancy her?” Came Bain’s reply.

“No, but any woman that can carry that much and move that fast without wasting a drop is certainly one I want to get to know.”

“Her name is y/n, She’s apprenticed to Brant, the man who owns this tavern. She arrived in Dale a year or two ago. I think she's from Bree but she's settled here. I think she has an arrangement with him, when he finally retires the place will be hers.” Bard had explained, throwing a somewhat scolding glance at his son. Kili might be young and more carefree than his uncle but he is still a prince and Bard did not wish to offend him.

“Interesting, any idea why she left Bree? It’s quite a long journey to take on your own.” Kili asked. 

“Why don’t you ask her?” A third, much more feminine voice replied. Kili who had not seen her make her way over to their table, had nearly jumped out of his skin. The other men tried and failed to hide their amusement at his predicament. “After all, I’m sure she’d be willing to tell you as long as she didn’t catch you talking about her when she wasn’t around.” She had said all of this with a smile spread across her face and delight in her voice. Kili wasn’t really sure how she felt about his impolite inquiries, but she hadn't chased him out of the establishment with a broom yet, so he thought he was okay.

“I’ve gotten everyone else settled and thought I’d come visit the King, how are you this evening King Bard?” her attention was firmly placed on the King of Dale now, and Kili longed for her piercing gaze to once again land on him.

“I’ve told you, it’s just Bard, all of this King nonsense will just go to my head,”

“Of course King Bard.” She smirked and turned towards the rest of the men. “Anything else I can get you, gentlemen?” With a firm nod at their newest order, she spun and headed back towards the bar.

“I think I’m in love.” Kili had said under his breath. 

“I think it’ll take you much more than that to win her over.” Bain had replied, hearing Kili’s self-confession. “Every time we’re in here I see her turn down men. Granted, most of them are usually drunkards but the principle is all the same.”

Kili was certain that the fluttering in his chest and the feeling of light-headedness had to mean something. And given that both the feelings had started right after she had spoken to him, he was pretty sure he knew what it was. 

“Here you are boys, four more pints and a basket of bread, on the house.” She had placed the basket of bread and little bowls of butter and honey on the table. When she pulled her hand away it bumped into Kili and sent a wave of shocks all the way up his arm.

[mogruith]

OC Questions

Thanks for tagging me in your original post @ratchsellsfornax!! I also enjoyed your posting the answers to these for Micah! It took me a bit with a busy weekend and start to the work-week but I've finally ironed it out.

Anyway, on to the blabbing about my baby boy, Coranzan.

👕Appearance 7. Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?

Not exactly in looks per se, but Coranzan was inspired in many ways by a human bard lay-worshipper of Eilistraee he met while training as Cleric of Eilistraee, based loosely on my oldest OC and account namesake, Mog Ruith. He mentored Coranzan while he was in Clerical training and cheered him up with the grandest tales of romance and adventure, introducing him to many foreign concepts that would consume Coran to understand. It changed Coranzan from being somewhat dismayed about living on the surface to inspired and embracing of it.

📦Objects 14. Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want?

Coranzan has done a LOT of writing. And lot of it was frankly terrible until he received some of the aforementioned mentoring. Although he doesn't travel with them, his Waterdeep family home contains a chest full of many of his early drafts in attempting to write. They range from over-the-top ballads to cheesy puppy love letters. He keeps them with a mix of pride and embarrassment.

🍽️Food and Drink 10. What is a childhood meal your character cherishes?

As a common Menzoberranyr, he didn't have access to any rich foods, so nothing that would sound particularly special. But a simple bit of spore bread sweetened with the jam of cave vine grapes would be as a fancy and tasty dessert to him.

🌤️Weather and Nature 2. Has your character had a meaningful encounter with an animal?

Nothing terribly meaningful, but some of the rare still moments Coranzan enjoyed were when he was made to sit quietly and listen to the night - a challenge for someone constantly on the move. When given the time to focus and decompress, the sounds of night-singing songbirds (blackbirds, mockingbirds, nightingales, etc) would catch his attention the most. They would occasionally end up in some of his songs and poems, sometimes appearing as characters in his fictional ballads. During the quieter evenings, he loved to imagine the tales they could be telling in their songs.

🤝Community and Relationships 3. How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?

Coranzan has always been a bard first and foremost in his heart, despite all the other life changes he's ever made. Since he was a sprog, he's his happiest with an audience and loves to perform. And true to his insufferable ego, he's quite proud of his form and knows he cuts a striking figure when he dances, so he engages in it at every chance.

💓Mind, Body and Soul 19. Are there scents your character dislikes?

Stealing this answer from another ask: The smell of exhaust and lubricants from machines and mechanical constructs like the Steel Watch. Coran hadn't encountered very many of these kind of creatures before, but encountering so many in Baldur's Gate resulted in a strong dislike of the smell.

🎲 Hobbies and Activities 3. What is a talent your character wishes they had?

Coranzan wishes he had a talent for comprehending mathematical concepts and solving such problems quickly. If it can't be understood intuitively, and has any abstractness to it at all, he can't envision the concept and make sense of it. Numbers, generally, give him a lot of trouble. He admires those who can seemingly do it all in their heads.

No pressure tagging @moriarfer @pavusprince @majorasnightmare @arach-tinilith @hootshooligan @the-weeping-dawn @albweado @mystxmomo @lutethebodies @nemo-of-house-hamartia @autisticdrizzt @bloodsol94 for whatever OC and fandom you feel these questions would fit best with!

If you are dying to talk about your OCs and we're mutuals, please don't feel shy about doing this and tagging me. I am nosey and love to read and reblog about other people's OCs.

[girl4music]

Lucy and Renee are right. You're either looking through the eyes of one or the other of them when you watch the show. I am always looking through Xena's eyes. So as much as it may have frustrated me that Xena could never let Gabrielle live up to her full potential as a warrior, I completely understood why because her motivations for doing this were written and portrayed extremely well. The truth was Xena was terrified. There is not much that can scare the Warrior Princess but she was scared stiff of the inevitability that Gabrielle would end up like her. That she would come to know the pain and the heaviness of dealing with war. Of becoming a battle-hardened warrior. She knew she couldn't stop it from happening but she tried her hardest to avoid or prevent it even if it meant stifling Gabrielle's capabilities and all that she had to offer towards the Greater Good.

It was more than just wanting to protect her. She wanted to save her from the life that she had lived up until the point of meeting her and the only way she knew how to do that would be to delay her growth. But what was most fascinating was how much Gabrielle resisted that objective. How much she stuck up for herself and defended her right to be treated as an equal partner in fighting the good fight against evil. That's what makes Gabrielle such an appealing character. It's because she refused to let the love of her life restrict and limit her from what she knew in her heart was the truth of who she really was. She was a true warrior. That didn't always mean she was or had to be a physical warrior. But because her true way was to protect and defend, then it was always right for her to become exactly that and that Xena would just have to accept the consequences because if she truly loved her - if she was truly in love with Gabrielle - then she also knew that that was just how it had to be as well no matter how much she may have feared what that might do to her beloved bard because there is nothing romantic about controlling that narrative. The narrative that makes 'Xena: Warrior Princess' so much more worth watching than it would be if the character of Gabrielle didn't have her own individual journey to go on and evolve from alongside Xena's.

The show is a love story all throughout and Xena and Gabrielle's all-encompassing and ever-evolving loving relationship is a fundamental element to just how strong and substantial the show writing is. But it really wouldn't be that way if these characters didn't have their own respective individual lead main character stories and they didn't have to figure out how to navigate their lives and their love around them.

They were both about protecting the other and I think it was really important to show how that can be unhealthy as well as healthy and that keeping each other safe means that sacrifices had to be made and that they disagreed with each other frequently because of that. It was a very significant point of conflict in their relationship that had to be carefully written so as not to seem incongruous with all the other stories and narratives going on in the show. The writers knew how to write the drama between them as naturally and organically as possible so it never comes off as some soap opera where there has to be The Drama for the sake of having drama. No, the drama was very much tied into their characterization and when you have lead multi-dimensional characters, that characterization will be wavy and fluctuate because real life human beings are wavy and do fluctuate.

It might be frustrating to see it but it's important for you to see that relationships of real authentic love are hard work and will always be.

But it's as I keep saying... This show is a fantasy show only in its environment and storytelling. Its characters and themes are real.

And there is nothing realer than Xena and Gabrielle's relationship.

[ellenwhore]

yandere, dub-con (?), coercion, stalking, toxic idealogies, mr man is delusional, sexual implications, vague mention of masturbation (m), murder, su1c1de. love at first sight. pining. somewhat alternate endings.

yan!bard who's fingers fall from his lute when you walk into the inn. and suddenly everything quiets down, murmurs into a deadly silence. the crowd muffles it's breath. the revered performer gasps audibly, though not loud enough to warrant notice. not enough for a single soul to notice how his eyes tremble upon you; a stranger in the middle of the night. you, who's suddenly interesting..

he giggles (as he does and must) and his plucks his strings again to the cadence of the music that's kept him alive, as though nothing happened. as though no flutter of heat stung through his ribs when he saw your moonlit flesh, lurking away from the raucous noise in the corner. deliciously mysterious. what brought you here? why arent you listening to him?

and he does flash his charming smiles at every teetering maiden and (as always) denies any coin for his songs. only now, with every chord, his fingers quiver. with every thank you his throat burns. you've consumed his mind. already, some random person he has never spoken to or seen before. fate often wilts her own garden but maybe you'll sprout from ashes.

(he's met you for an hour)

—

— definitely more of a pathetic yandere, eager for your sweet praise. it starts chaste. subtle, even. with every visit, his breath sharpens further and he's walked up behind so many times but his fingers just don't make their way to tap on your pretty, pretty shoulders. (how do they look underneath those clothes?)

— and you; stubborn, infuriating little you, you return every single nightfall and oh god, is it driving him mad. your silence. the way you don't even spare a single glance at him and mind you, he is handsome! (or so they say to him.) is this meant to be? perhaps a higher being wants for him to grovel in his own vicious longing, to be struck so profoundly that he loses what made him him in the first place. and perhaps it's true. hes tongue-tied all the time, and his heart leaps at the familiar creak of wood.

...doesn't it all mean ; the suffering, the desire and the mutual pining (he's quite certain of that) — that you're simply the other half of his soul? the verse that melts into his life and ends it too? love is horrible. clawed and gruesome, but that's the beauty of it, isn't it? a butter-slick flutter in the heart can wield knives and burn corpses. (or maybe he's just reading from a book. but alas...)

— it's driving him inane, composing pieces while his mind itself pens songs to you, odes to your unfaltering visage, writing about the human condition when really he only wants to delve into you. the poor man errs on five songs ; hes far more willing to play your chords, I'm afraid. (and he'd do so with perfection, if you'd let him. winds whisper that he has a silver tongue, does he not?)

— and sure, praise withers away into dust and regulars that he's known for years frown at his 'deplete in talent' and the innkeeper pats him on the shoulder after a miserable failure and gruffly tells him that 'maybe searching for a better means of livelihood would be clever, eh?'

— but. they're all so blind. this sudden incompetence, unraveling of tunes and his lack of focus, it's not his fault. why must he suffer for the ignorance of these artless fools? they barely notice the world's magnificence stirred into the most loveable bag of bones among them. they can't possibly understand his genius or yours, those ordinary people.

— an artist is barely anything without his muse and thus, without you, of what is he use? he needs you. needs you because you're the scream that haunts his nightmares, the melodies in dreamwoven land, the wind that brushes by dusk when he's lying beneath his sheets, always thinking of you even when the moon flowers silver in the sky. moonlight thrums through the gossamer on his windows. he shuts it because he has to pen sonnets about you in candlelight.

— why? why are you so stubborn? so infuriating? why?

*

on his knees for your approval, he slips away from that of others .

— and it's particularly rotten satire. a play cursed to loop until death, until the wigs shrivel off and the script gathers dust. you walk in and he fumbles to death. you ignore him, leave and the poor man stares at the door like a particularly ravenous idiot. his words reek of your hair and his quill combs the strands. he's alright with being a thief, for you. (a poetically beautiful thief, of course. always beautiful. your fate, entertwined with his, never grows stale or, god forbid, ugly.)

in his want for your songs, he loses his own. (and his job, aswell)

— when the inevitable comes, ('we're not interested in horny poetry') he smiles. smiles so truly that he fears he's lost his cadence of deception. freedom cloys on his tongue. too heavy. too sweet to bear alone. surely, you would not let a gifted man such as him either away in the streets? after he was thrown out because you poisoned his thoughts? it's your duty, really, to be by his side as he sobs onto infested tomes in some guttered alleyway, whispering that he must uproot himself and his pieces sneeze, head lodged against a pile of fish bones, pecked at by cats.

— ( he was smiling a minute ago, how—)

— and so he begs. pleads, gaslights. with his fingers curled around your soft ankles ; on his knees, as he's always wanted to be, the bard gazes up at your with glistening eyes, though the barely scrutable quirk of his lips betrays him. "please understand, my love—" his head remains pressed to your feet, his lips brush your knuckles, throat drying up at the taste of your ethereal flesh. (and there are other halves he wants to taste.)"its quite simple, really, we're meant for one another and that's exactly I was miser—”

your response startles him.

(i) IF YOU REFUSE.

— his fingers would fall from your ankles. what?

— did you just say..no? to him? to his pleas? to everything?

he'd lunge at you in the blink of an eye ; hands meant to polish lutes now clasped over your mouth to muffle any protests as he rasps, out of breath — his coiffed locks now tousled as he lies atop you on the earth, knees wedging taut between your thighs. “quiet—" he'd hiss, fingernails scrapping the back of your skull. “be quiet. ”

the bard would know precisely what to do, what has always been done in cases of doomed or tragic love, he's flipped through such pages more than he knows — and it's a damn admirable fate, too. gilded. otherworldly. poetic, even. perhaps this shall be painted upon castles in the future when your corpse rots away to dust.

“you want to deny me, darling?" he would coo, hair bristling your neck as he nuzzles in. “do it. i'd never force you to love me anyway.” his breathing would grow jagged as his fingers trail soothing patterns down your spine, as he'd drown in your scent as though he hadn't stolen seventeen pieces of cloth for his own 'sniffing sessions'. (and who wouldn't!)

“im sorry.” his kiss to your forehead does little to soothe the melancholy of death. “im really fucking sorry, love—" and cradling your cheeks won't do any good. he doesn't seem to understand. “but if i can't have you, why should I leave you for others? that'd so be unfair."

a single tear streams down his cheeks.

and then with the plunge of steel in your bones — bleeding apart with inchorent sobs fading into that seem to grow into an echo — your eyes flutter shut before you can hear a yelp of pain mirroring your own, the pierce of steel like that of yours.

—

“ a glooming peace this morning with it brings,

the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:

go hence, to have more talk of these sad

things;

some shall be pardon'd and some punished,

for never was a story of more woe,

than this of juliet and her romeo.”

— Act Five, Scene III ; romeo and juliet by william shakespeare.

—

(ii) IF YOU AGREE

— he'd begin sobbing right there. would probably pepper kisses all over you and get married the next day <3

(sorry i hate writing happy endings ejejejdsnn)

[illarian-rambling]

Because I'm bored, here's a definitive rating of canon and non-canon ships across my works!

(Based on what people have told me they shipped and what I think would be funny)

Starting with my big two canon ships:

Astra/Mashal - This is my ultimate otp, the one I wrote a whole trilogy for. They're fucking adorable together, in all their chaos/calm glory. 10/10 imo, they make each other want to be better people.

Nyda/Kaulakri - My lesbian scientist ghosts, how could I not love you? True rivals to lovers, they get on each others nerves as much as they admire each other. 9/10, only because I haven't actually gotten to a confession scene yet.

Short list, huh? That's why we've got non-canon:

Ivander/Mashal - The foils are foiling. Something, something, Mashal makes Ivander remember the world can be kind and Ivander is someone Mashal wants to protect. 7/10, it's good...

Astra/Ivander/Mashal - But it could be better! Astra adds in a note of tension with Ivander and a note of sweetness because she understands Mashal better than Ivander does. This ship is just Mashal and his two partners who kinda hate each other, 8/10.

Astra/Ivander - Without Mashal as a buffer, they're gonna tear each other into ribbons. 4/10, it'd be fun to watch.

Sepo/Izjik - No, pass, skip. I know they're soulmates but they've got more of a blood brothers vibe than anything. That said, they would totally get married for tax reasons, so 2/10.

Djek/Daedryn - I know she kidnapped him but she said sorry. The street rat/priest vibes would be funny, he'd take her out to a casino and she'd get tempted to cheat at cards them immediately pray for forgiveness. 5/10 because in all universes, Djek has no game.

Izjik/Daedryn - I know she kidnapped her too, but godkiller/priest?? The angst is baked in. Also, Izjik knows Daedryn is easily flustered, so she's just teasing her the whole time. 7/10 for doomed lesbians.

Elsind/Avymere - Hard no. Elsind might be deeply involved in Avymere's love life, but they're besties. Honestly, I can see them in a qpr as the years go on, they're very close. 10/10 for the qpr, 0/10 for anything romantic.

Daedryn/Loqang - For an antagonist/secondary protag, Daedryn sure ends up in a lot of ships. Loqang is her god so... No? There is a deep and passionate love there, beyond anything platonic or familial, but it's not really romantic either, more of a secret fourth thing. 4/10 for anything romantic though, the power dynamic would be kinda fucked.

Anarac/Faalgun - I can see how some people would get these vibes from their casino scene, but if anything, Anarac sees Faalgun as a son-figure and Faalgun sees Anarac as a member of his crew he wants to help out. 1/10 because a rebound might not be bad for Anarac, just not this rebound.

Nyda/Vermir - Canonically, this did happen. Two ambitious scientists who traveled a lot, who were alive in the same time period.... I don't think they had anything more than a fling, but it is fucking hilarious to think about. To be fully for real, Vermir might honestly have been pretty good for Nyda, in the sense of giving her a confident boost for her research. 7/10.

If you've got any other suggestions for ships I missed, I will rate them accordingly 🫡

Until then, have a bitchin day!

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks

@bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast

@the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @watermeezer

@leahnardo-da-veggie @mr-orion @televisionjester @ray-writes-n-shit @evilgabe29

@trippingpossum @tragedycoded @halfbakedspuds @ominous-feychild @cain-e-brookman

@wyked-ao3 @thecomfywriter @mysticstarlightduck @rumeysawrites @the-golden-comet

@cowboybrunch @gioiaalbanoart @theink-stainedfolk @sableglass @thelaughingstag

@finickyfelix

[vintagerpg]

Looking at some recent RPG books this week starting with this beauty, Caer Mundus: The Lost Realm (2021). It’s a system agnostic attempt to reconstruct a plausible Celtic world for RPGs (the people we call the Celts didn’t write anything down, so what we firmly know about their culture is pretty scant). It’s emphatically psychedelic, with mind-altering substances (particularly mushrooms and red honey) fueling magic, visions and bravery.

There’s a ton of tools in the book: dogs, horses, heroic rivals, a system for tracking acclaim (and social stigma), tables galore. There are templates that present Celtic versions of Bards, Druids, Rangers and Warriors that can be laid over most system’s character creation systems. There are, of course, many spirits and monsters derived from the surviving mythologies of the British Isles (selkies, dullahan, coraniaid and so on).

Perhaps the most interesting part of the book is the epic quest line, the Song of the Blaze Above. It begins with an omen of apocalypse, which spurs the three old kings to attempt to purge the ellyllon, a sort of fae culture that has co-existed with humanity. The quest sees the players recruited to unite the three kingdoms (installing new kings if necessary) in order to prepare for the coming battle with the true threat: an army of ogres (who, through their naming, are highly implied to be Romans, at least metaphorically). That battle has three potential flavors: one where humanity can triumph, one where humanity is doomed and one where the ogres are a red herring and the fae are the true threat after all. It’s neat to have all the events mapped out, and pretty clear how you can map them to a system of your choice. Along the way, characters grow from scrawny whelps to epic heroes. There’s an Afanc. What more could you possibly want?

Grim and gritty art throughout, in the vein of Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, but slightly lighter and more realistic. You can catch glimmers of a way of life here. The cover is by Sawblade, whose art has decorated many a death metal album cover. My pal Darkwizard Berserker did the logo.

[ambrosiagoldfish]

First time requesting anything sooo let me know if I get anything wrong but,,, could I request some dragon!reader x Venti (Genshin Impact) fluff ? Dragon in like... The way that Zhongli is with a dragon and a humanoid form. let me know if I should send another ask with anything additional,,

Draconic Inquiries

Venti x Dragon! Reader

Safe for all Audiences!

Warnings: None! Just pure fluff and Gn! Reader!

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1634

A/N: Hi, thank you for the request! I’m sorry it took so long! There was a lot of hiccups that came up this past week, but I’m happy to finally have had gotten to finishing this!

I wasn’t sure if you wanted a Fluff Fic or head-canons so I did both! I would have asked you but I was already upset that it took this long to write, so I decided not to! I also wrote it to be romantic! I hope this is ok! If not, just shoot me another request and I’ll make you a new one!!

Proofread but of course I could have missed something.

He was first introduced to you via The Traveler, and right away he could tell something about you reminded him a lot of that "old block-head" as Venti so eloquently puts it. Of course, you weren’t anything like Zhongli, but there were some very similar aspects between the two of you at a more biological level.

It didn't take him long to figure it out though, despite his carefree and lovable nature, he is quite perceptive. He could tell from the power imitating from you, that you weren't some regular run of the mill Allogene. The power that you gave off wasn't exactly like his or even most of the other archons it was more… Pure? Something more undisturbed than most elemental beings.

Whatever you were, he wasn't sure if you were open about it, Him, being an Archon, would make him relate to you regarding hiding the truth about yourself, if that is the case. So he decided to ask you about it alone. You were a bit hesitant at first to outright admit it, especially to a person who seemed so interested. Being an Elemental beast, were able to sense an alarming amount of Anemo Energy coming from this short drunkard bard, way too much to just be some regular mortal.

When you finally reveal yourself to be a dragon, he's honestly pretty excited. He's only ever met 4 dragons in his 2600+ year life span, Zhongli, who was just annoyed by any questions he would ask, Dvalin, who, despite being one of his closest friends, is also annoyed by many of his drunken inquiries. Durin and Ursa the Drake tried destroying Mondstadt so they were definitely not an option... So he's been dying to ask a vishap some questions.

And Immediately they started

"Dragon's have hoards, right? Surely there has to be a teensy bit of fine wine there? No? Darn it..."

"Can you breathe fire?!"

"Is it true that dragon's are scared of mice? Eh... Wait! no! That's Elephants. Nevermind!"

It was quite a lot to process and answer them all in time before he went on to the next question. Eventually he seemed to run out of them, that or he saw how distressed you were trying to keep up.

"That's enough questions for today, Ehe! Next time we should have our conversation over a nice cold glass of cider!"

"Next time?"

Venti then, from that day forward, had the two of you meeting up more and more, He would bring the drinks, both Alcoholic and Non-Alcoholic, depending on if you drink or not. and every time, Venti would somehow come up with more and more questions about your heritage, nonstop rambling of questions that would go from dusk till dawn. He seemed to never run out of them. But eventually he would start asking questions that weren't about your Draconic lifestyle. Things like,

"So Y/n, have you ever dated anyone before?"

"Hey Yn! Have you heard that the Windblume Festival is coming soon? Ehe, What do you think the original windblume was? Cecilia? Great choice!"

"Have you ever been to Windrise? It's the place with the huge tree! Huh? eh, You haven't? I'll make sure to show you sometime"

The Windblume festival finally comes around, the whole of Mondstadt was in a fury of unending joy, there were games, foods and deserts, the entire of the city’s buildings were all decorated in many different flowers and ribbons. Dandelions soared through the air, each one carrying the wish of a soul in Mondstadt.

The Day was fantastic, but it seems Venti had more energy to spend after the day's festivities, Venti drags you by the hand through the decorated city streets, past the vendor's shops, and over the bridge, all while you were blindfolded. Of course, you were a little scared being led through all these places without even knowing where exactly you were, but your elemental sense was top notch, not to mention your regular senses at that. So you knew you weren't in any real danger.

"Venti, this is a bit dramatic, even for you"

"Eh he… very funny Y/n, but we're almost there! Just a few more steps and... There!"

The pulling of your hand suddenly stops and Venti’s hand lets go of yours, with one quick motion the blindfold obscuring your eyes was snatched clean off. It took a second for your eyes to adjust, the sun beginning to set but even then being blindfolded caused even the slightest of light to sting your eyes.

Looking up, a big tree hung over you both, lying under the tree, just by the roots, was a checkered red and white blanket layed across the viridescent grass, a seemingly warnout picnic basket layed atop it. From where you stood you could make out a plethora of food and drinks, Pie, Dandelion wine, Apples. You certainly knew there was more, you could tell just from your sense of smell.

But the most notable feature about the fairytale esq scene in front of you was Venti, holding something, a bouquet of Ceclia’s

"These are what you believe to be the original Windblume right? I picked them myself so, rest assured! They’re guaranteed to be the best of quality, ehe!"

"Y/n, the time we’ve spent together these past few months have meant the world to me... Since the moment you arrived in Mondstadt, you’ve been tangled up in every thought of my mind, you've become all I can think about, my one and only worry, my muse, my... everything... What I'm trying to say is, Y/n, I love you and if you feel the same, could you continue being my muse?" His arms stretch slightly to you, offering you the bouquet in his hand.

Everything about this, the scenery, the way he asked, down to the golden hour from the sun, it was all so unforgettable. Your hands slowly move to grasp the Cecilia’s, bringing them up to your face and smelling them.

“Nothing would make me happier, Venti”

Venti’s eyes lit up, blush washed his face as a soft breeze quickly caried him over to you as he practically tackled you into his embrace, the sudden forces causes you both to spin in each others arms, all while Venti’s heartfelt laugh drowns out all other sounds.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” His voice grew louder with the repetition as a gleeful smile plastered on his face. He reaches back from his embrace, quickly grabbing his lyre and giving it a few test strums.

“The day isn’t over yet! Allow me to serenade you with a song I’ve made especially for you, my muse.”

And with that, you both continued to laugh and sing throughout the night. The sounds of the feverish festivities of you both echoed through Windrise, your love that would last for eons to come, dancing across the wind.

You both truly, couldn’t be happier.

HEADCANONS

Venti always makes sure that he’s always there for you when you aren’t your best mentally or physically. He cudddles you when your sad, listens to you when you’re upset. Overall he may be a loud bard but he’s also a great listener!

And speaking of cuddles he LOVES them. Since youre a dragon, your body temperature is a lot higher than humans, so he loves the warmth close to him. And if you ever decide to cuddle while IN dragon form then he wouldn’t let you leave for a while. (I also headcanon that since he’s a wind spirit, his body temperature isn’t that high so he’s often a little cold, so an S/o with a high body temperature would be perfect for him)

Regardless of if you can fly or not in dragon form, he loves to go on walks with you, and by “walks” I mean YOU do the walking and he just sits on your back. If you CAN fly than he’d be less of a koala and actually fly with you.

(You may have scared a few of the locals but love is love)

If there’s ever a time that you have to fight, either to protect him, yourself or something else, he will always have your back. Of course, him being a Wind Spirit and an Archon he has at least some power but after losing his Gnosis and him being demoted to the least powerful archon, he’s not incredibly strong. But you being a dragon seems to make up for his lack of power. The times you’ve saved him from some lowly fatuus trying to ambush him, he really couldn’t be more thankful.

He’s really into PDA (no surprise there) so kisses, handholding, etc are all commonplace. He's also always bringing you gifts like food. He’s not much of a baker, but he’d try to make anything for you that you’d want. (Just uh… don’t expect it to be anything spectacular)

Gifts he likes are Cider (obvi) and of course, Apples! You’d get him the finest of wines, (that’s totally not from your dragon hoard, because you are TOTALLY not that kind of dragon •-•^) and he would love them more each time.

He would eventually introduce you to Dvailn (it’s his best bud so it’s a given you’d meet him eventually) and Zhongli who he thought you two might have something in common with.

Overall, having a dragon S/o is one of the best things to happen to him (Tied only with that time Diluc accidentally left his wine cellar unlocked) He’s always wanting to learn more about you and loves spending time with you!

[dapandapod]

A whisper of truth

Hello there, loves, long time no see! This little floof thing was written in a live write backi n 2022.... back in the good ol' days haha, and was promptly forgotten! Rediscovered it "recently" and decided it's time. We all deserve some good ol' fluff, I miss them, I miss writing them. I confess I have started like.... 10 new wips in 2 new fandoms, and my brain is a scattered mess in general, so posting old feelings it is, because it feels good and everybody deserves soft things. So please enjoy! <3 On Ao3 here

Oxenfurt is a lively place. Students and shops and carts on cobblestone and the marketstands and shrieking children. It is a town, like any other, only this one is where Dandelion finds himself again and again. His home away from home, or as close to a home that the poet dares call it.

The summer is slowly tucking itself away, fading before burning into bright colours of fall. Usually, at this time of year, Dandelion would still be between cities. Usually, he would either be called between courts or travel the roads to grace taverns and inns and travelers alike with his presence, his voice and his lute.

This time, however, he already finds himself in this seat of knowledge and learning. The yearly bardic competition had been held later than usual, and now it is too late in the season to make any journey make it worth his while.

Especially when his dearest friend is here, staying with him in the little house he is renting. Two stories, narrow stairs, but with thick carpets and two bedrooms. The bath house is only a few streets away, the stables just twenty minutes walk.

It is not unusual for Geralt to come and visit him when Dandelion is stationed at the same place for some time. It is unusual, however, how Geralt of Rivia is making a place for himself in Dandelion's home. The guest room is occupied with herbs and bottles and books and suspicious liquids and jars. The room where they spend most of their time together, a little parlor with stuffed chairs, a fireplace and a few bookshelves, has traces of him too.

His swords are resting against the wall, there is a stray sock forgotten under the table, a hairband on the tea table. Not that Dandelion does not have traces of himself everywhere in here, but for Geralt to blend into his chaos, to add to it, it's putting his mind in a spin. It doesn't seem like the witcher is much inclined to leave, this time.

Geralt is always teasing him about how he can't keep a secret to save his life, and as that might be true, Dandelion has found a way around that. It is not a secret as it is a truth, his one truth that keeps him awake at night, keeps his legs in motion and his heart aching. He may take many lovers, but his heart is already taken. Dandelion writes of love, writes of hope, writes of longing, sings it loud and screams it to the night sky. All hear but none listen.

Dandelion is in love.

Helplessly so. Many believe he falls in and out of love all the time, and well, maybe he does. He wonders if anyone has noticed, but it's always less so when Geralt is around. It's like he settles. That empty place in his heart that he keeps trying to fill is adjusting to wrap around the shape of a witcher. His witcher.

Tonight, they are enjoying the late summer's eve together, Dandelion sitting on the stuffed chair they dragged out on their small porch. Geralt is placed on the floor, leaning back against the chair between Dandelion's knees, the poet's fingers gently detangling the strands after their visit to the bath house.

"Would you mind much if I braid it?" Dandelion muses.

"Not when it's still wet. It will get wavy when I let it out."

"So don't let it out. I swear to you, good friend, my skills in braiding are unmatched!"

"What a humble bard you are." Geralt teases, but Dandelion can hear the smile in his voice. Dandelion smiles too, content with white, soft hair between his fingers and the arms resting around his ankles. The gentle and easy way that Geralt has started to touch him puts stars in the sky and warmth in his heart.

"I could braid it and then let it out."

"You would call it a masterpiece and demand it stays."

"I might." Dandelion admits, carding his fingers a bit higher, sorting out the strands for the perfect braiding size. "But who am I to stand in the way of art? Who are you, master Witcher, to stand in the way of the muse, working through my fingers?"

Geralt scoffs, shaking his head gently, undoing Dandelion's not so discreet preparations.

"Well then, braid away then, oh vessel of muses, may it be better than last time."

Dandelion divides the hair into sections again, trying to decide what kind of braid he’ll do.

"Anything would be better than last time." he defends himself. "You drank me under the table and then begged me for a braid, you heathen. Can't be the vessel of muses if my hands have eight fingers each!"

Geralt chuckles and squeezes his ankle just a little.

Dandelion is a master of many things. Seven arts, if one were to look at his degrees. Hiding his love in plain sight has become another thing he has mastered. Affection given to any and all, his heart worn on his sleeve, as effective today with Geralt as with anyone else.

The braid takes form, Dandelion taking his sweet time. Not so very accidently, his fingers touching Geralt's temples every now and then. It is soft and warm, and Dandelion undoes his works a few times just to keep the excuse to touch his witcher going.

The fourth time he does it, Geralt leans his head back against the chair and looks up at him. His fingers are now resting over the witcher's cheekbones.

"Did your muse finally leave you?" Geralt asks with a smirk. Dandelion just wants to lean down and press a kiss to those lips.

"I hope he never does." He whispers, thumbs gently moving over Geralt's cheeks.

The moment it leaves his lips, he knows he said too much. He can see it in the way Geralt's eyes shift, feel his own heart racing and beating and fluttering.

Now he knows. For all his screaming all it took was a whisper for his truth to be known. His not-secret.

There must be something showing on his face, because Geralt slowly turns, shifts in the cradle of Dandelion's hands, and nuzzles into his palm.

A soft kiss, warm and dry and fleeting, is pressed there. For a moment, Dandelion thinks he dreamt it, but then Geralt is reaching for him, turning between his knees to face him properly.

"Wherever you are, I will find you again." Geralt promises, knocking their foreheads together, hand finding blond curls and holding Dandelion close. "Wherever you find yourself, you will find me too."'

"Our paths are not always the same, they may split and they may join, but know this, Dandelion, my fantastic, unbelievable friend. I will always find you."

It’s spilling over. Every feeling, every word, stacked on top of each other, and Dandelion finds himself falling.

Falling forward, angling his chin, his breath coming short, helpless to his own aching heart. A soft kiss, warm and dry and fleeting, he presses to his witcher's lips.

Geralt kisses him too, rising up to his knees, arms winding around Dandelion's waist, bodies pressing closer. The empty space in his heart is filling up, and he wonders if Geralt had one too. The way Geralt holds him close, like he is precious to him, like he matters, like he longs to fill up that void that only a dramatic, ridiculous poet can fill.

The braid remains unfinished until morning. That night, the guest room remains a guest room, a witcher and his bard spending a night together, sleeping in each other's arms. They kiss, they touch, they taste, they feel, they are whispering truths and tracing lips and leaving traces of themselves on each other.

Come morning, Dandelion finishes the braid. Geralt makes fun of it, and Dandelion gets his revenge by nipping at his ear.

Maybe they will stay in Oxenfurt as the summer fades and the colours of fall start to burn. Maybe they will part ways as snow comes, or maybe they will enjoy the quiet dark together. For now, they spend time in a lively Oxenfurt, filled to the brim with students and shops and carts on cobblestones. For now, they will explore this new thing they have, this old thing they have shared for so long. And will share for even longer.

For now, they have found each other.

[writer-and-thrasher]

This might be controversial, but I'd actually be pretty excited if Fig does switch to Paladin/Warlock. I'll be sad about her not being a Bard anymore, but I don't think she needs to be a bard to make music and find joy in that.

When we first meet Fig, she's a scared and lonely teenage girl. Her whole life has been turned upside down over the course of a summer, so music is an outlet for her. She can't trust her mom or Gilear, she doesn't have any friends, she's so alone.

And then she meets the Bad Kids, who over and over do things to help her or just be with her. Gorgug learns to play drums with her, Fabian buys her a guitar pick, Adaine sent a Nat 20 into Hell after her, Kristen keeps her protected in twilight, Riz killed a man to make sure he wouldn't hurt them.

Before the Bad Kids, Fig had no one that she could trust to have her back but herself. She's got a lot of feelings that have nowhere to go. She's miserable. But now, she has people she would lay down her life for. They know her, even the stuff she'd rather they didn't. And they love her for the things she doesn't feel she should be accepted for. Deriving her power from the bonds she's formed with the people she loves is honestly so poetic and so true to her character.

I also, again, don't think she needs to be a Bard to love music. I love writing stories, but I'm probably not going to be an author. Having a hobby, or even fully a passion that you explore on your own time, is healthy. I hope she continues with music, but deriving power from how much you love your friends is really beautiful.

[aortaobservatory]

Classes of Light - AO Classpecting

Chosen Keywords: Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning

TEZ Keywords: Knowledge-seekers, students, problem-solvers, precision, scholars, researchers, resourceful, driven, (fussy, pedantic, insensitive)

CANON: Those bound to the aspect of Light are the universe's knowledge-seekers. They are, above all, driven to learn and understand. They are great alchemists, able to take multiple sources of information and synthesize them into something useful. They are scholars and researchers, absolutely dedicated to knowledge for knowledge's sake. They are the ultimate students, and although that might conjure up the image of people sitting around peacefully waiting for knowledge to be brought to them, that couldn't be further from the truth. The Light-bound will go after knowledge with a fierce intensity that others may find distasteful. They aren't overly concerned with laws or norms, either. They often take rules as simple suggestions, instead searching for loopholes or work-arounds. At their best, the Light-bound are resourceful and driven. At their worst they can be fussy, pedantic, and insensitive.

All of the analysis written below is my own writing, analysis, and thoughts as based on the sources I consulted. The statements are my own analysis, but they may function as a "fill in the blank" statement for you to create your own interpretation of the classpect as you please by replacing the aspect word with any of the provided keywords above.

Sources consulted: (dahniwitchoflight), (rosespecting), (godtier-haven), (TEZ), (MSPA Wiki)

LINK: (Classpecting Analysis Masterpost)

TAGS: [Mage], [Seer], [Witch], [Heir]

TAGS: [Knight], [Page], [Thief], [Rogue]

TAGS: [Sylph], [Maid], [Prince], [Bard]

-aortaObservatory

Knowers/Changers

Mage (Active): Know - Too Much Experience with Light

A Mage of Light is almost constantly experiencing knowledge and evaluation from the people around them and their surroundings, which gives them a unique understanding of how insight and the meaning of something can help a situation... or hurt a situation.

A Mage of Light is flooded with Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), uniquely experiencing both the good and the bad of it. As a result, they gain a unique understanding of what Light is and does, often resenting it or becoming jaded and frustrated with it, but never rejecting it. Their challenge is to become open to new insight or different perspectives than their own.

Heir of Void (Inverse): As the Mage of Light knows Light in a flood of both good and bad, they end up embodying Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have an indirect relationship with Void; because they know and experience Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they fully embody and thus must change Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Mage of Light does not undergo the Heir of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Heir class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Seer (Passive): Know - Too Little Experience with Light

A Seer of Light is surrounded by secrecy and many potential unknowns, and lacks knowledge and insight in their life, and as a result are driven to learn everything they can about meaningful evaluation in order to understand what they previously lacked.

A Seer of Light studies Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), craving knowledge of it from their previous lack of it. They seek knowledge of Light with a fierce intensity in order to gain more understanding of it, acknowledging the potential consequences of doing so and dealing with them later. Their challenge is to learn how to translate their insight and knowledge into action and decision, as well as learn how to manage their engagement with Light so as to not overwhelm themself or others.

Witch of Void (Inverse): As the Seer of Light attempts to gain experience with Light from their previous lack of it, they end up changing Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have a direct relationship with Void; because they change and thus half embody Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities), they gain experience with and thus know Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Seer of Light does not undergo the Witch of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Witch class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Witch (Active): Change - Too Little Embodiment of Light

A) A Witch of Light embodies knowledge and the insight it gives them, in order to change their own and others evaluation of what something means.

B) A Witch of Light embodies the evaluation of what something means, in order to change their own and others knowledge and the insight it gives them.

Witches are self-assured and conclusive individualists. They pick and choose which parts and pieces of Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning) fit into their own already determined desires, making Light embody themself and changing it to suit their own wants and needs. Their challenge is to achieve a stable balance in themself without losing themself to Light or their own changing whims.

Seer of Void (Inverse): As the Witch of Light changes the pieces of Light within themself, they end up experiencing Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have an indirect relationship with Void; because they change and half embody Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they gain experience with and thus know Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Witch of Light does not undergo the Seer of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Seer class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Heir (Passive): Change - Too Much Embodiment of Light

An Heir of Light embodies the ability of evaluation, meaning they are knowledgable; however, only by changing themself can they change the insight they gain and the meaning of it.

An Heir of Light inherits and embodies Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), allowing Light to change themself or itself. They have huge amounts of Light related strengths, allowing themself to be surrounded by Light or naturally gravitating towards it. Their challenge is to not get stuck on Light, to know when to move on and change themself to keep themself balanced.

Mage of Void (Inverse): As the Heir of Light embodies Light within themself, they end up knowing Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have a direct relationship with Void; because they fully embody and thus must change Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they know and experience Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Heir of Light does not undergo the Mage of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Mage class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

-

Utilizers/Allocators

Knight (Active): Utilize - Too Much Skill with Light

A Knight of Light would be very skilled in using the knowledge they possess and the insight it gives them, to protect and defend the evaluation of others and the meaning given to them.

A Knight of Light is extremely adept with their Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), their driving effort to protect it and others through it. They are loyal to Light's cause and naturally gifted with it, using it as a tool to achieve whatever they set themself to. Their challenge is to learn how to be less harsh on themself, to accept and learn from failure, and to accept the assistance of others when they need it.

Rogue of Void (Inverse): As the Knight of Light utilizes Light from their loyalty to it, they end up valuing Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have an indirect relationship with Void; because they utilize and are skilled with Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they value and thus give/allocate Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Knight of Light does not undergo the Rogue of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Rogue class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Page (Passive): Utilize - Too Little Skill with Light

A Page of Light is a beginner when it comes to learning and evaluating the knowledge they gain, but they repeatedly strive to master it using the insight they've acquired and the meaning they've ascribed to it.

A Page of Light starts unskilled in Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), learning how it works and how to use it to its full potential over time. In their many attempts to master Light, they teach others the value of Light, becoming an unintentional source of inspiration. Their challenge is to keep at it, learn from failure, and eventually master Light, being able to confidently provide Light to others.

Thief of Void (Inverse): As the Page of Light attempts to gain skill with Light from their previous lack of it, they end up allocating Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have a direct relationship with Void; because they take/allocate and thus do not value Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities), they gain skill with and thus utilize Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Page of Light does not undergo the Thief of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Thief class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Thief (Active): Allocate - Too Little Value towards Light

A Thief of Light lacks knowledge and evaluation in their life, resulting in a fierce desire to possess such things for themself and leading to them not understanding the value of the insights they gain and what that means, as they take knowledge and the evaluations of others from others and hoard it all to themself for their own benefit.

A Thief of Light takes Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), either craving it fiercely from their lack of it in their lives or simply because they like it, stealing and hoarding it all for themself and their own personal benefit. Despite their outward confidence with Light, they often take it at face-value without learning of its true value, being unsatisfied with how much Light they hoard and craving more and more. Their challenge is to focus less on attaining and more on learning about the value their aspect, as well as to let others have their aspect and learning why it is important to others.

Page of Void (Inverse): As the Thief of Light allocates pieces of Light to themself, they end up gaining skill with Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have an indirect relationship with Void; because they take/allocate and do not value Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they gain skill with and thus utilize Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Thief of Light does not undergo the Page of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Page class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Rogue (Passive): Allocate - Too Much Value towards Light

A Rogue of Light would redistribute, allow others to take, and/or give knowledge and insight to others in the name of balancing the meanings born of evaluation.

A Rogue of Light gives Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning) away, either because they have a lot of it already, or are able to get it so easily they don't know what to do with so much of it. They often know the true value of Light, and are able to see where there is too much or too little of Light and redistribute it in a balanced way around themself. Their challenge is to not let Light run dry within themself, and to learn how to healthily balance Light in themself.

Knight of Void (Inverse): As the Rogue of Light values Light within themself, they end up utilizing Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have a direct relationship with Void; because they value and thus give/allocate Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they utilize and are skilled with Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Rogue of Light does not undergo the Knight of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Knight class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

-

Enhancers/Destroyers

Sylph (Active): Enhance - Too Much Reliance on Light

A Sylph of Light is a pure source of insight and the meaning behind it, and driven by knowledge and evaluation, attempt to restore/purify the meaning behind others insights.

A Sylph of Light starts off relying on themself for Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), attempting to heal, restore, and enhance Light in others. They are a pure source of Light for others, and though this can cause frustration and irritation in themself and others, they can see ways for Light to help and heal the struggling of others. Their challenge is to learn how to listen to the needs of others instead of assuming they know best, and to balance themself by learning that it's okay to rely on others for Light sometimes.

Bard of Void (Inverse): As the Sylph of Light enhances Light from their love of it, they end up fearing control of Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have an indirect relationship with Void; because they enhance and rely on Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they fear control of and thus destroy Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Sylph of Light does not undergo the Bard of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Bard class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Maid (Passive) - Too Little Reliance on Light

A Maid of Light relies on anyone or anything but themself to tell them knowledge and information as well as what it means, before learning how to rely on themself, restoring and purifying their knowledge and what it means for themself through precise evaluation and insight.

A Maid of Light starts off pushed around by others' view of Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning), but eventually allow Light to heal, restore, and enhance themself, making them into an entirely new person and purifying their aspect to themself. They start out relying on others for Light or being told by others how to interact with Light. Their challenge is to listen to themself instead of others, and to not let others opinions dilute their aspect as they restore it for themself and allow it to make them into a new person.

Prince of Void (Inverse): As the Maid of Light attempts to gain reliance on Light from their previous lack of it, they end up destroying Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have a direct relationship with Void; because they destroy and thus cannot control Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities), they gain reliance on and thus enhance Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Maid of Light does not undergo the Prince of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Prince class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Prince (Active): Destroy - Too Little Control of Light

A Prince of Light is surrounded by knowledge and the evaluative demeanor they crave, but they can't control it or have no means of reaching it, so they lash out because of their own insight and meaning, to destroy the evaluated knowledge that others have, in the name of their own insight and meaning.

A Prince of Light destroys Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning) with Light or in the name of Light, and as a result, often end up appearing as Void (Secrecy, Unknown, Potential, Possibilities) at first glance. Princes start off with disdain or hate for Light, likely because of its overwhelming presence in their lives, and because despite its abundance, they can never seem to grasp or control it for themself. Their challenge is to be able to recognize Light's presence in themself before they destroy themself beyond repair, and learn that they do not need to control or bend Light to their will.

Maid of Void (Inverse): As the Prince of Light destroys pieces of Light in themself and others, they end up gaining reliance on Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have an indirect relationship with Void; because they destroy and cannot control Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they gain reliance on and thus enhance Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Prince of Light does not undergo the Maid of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Maid class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

~

Bard (Passive): Destroy - Too Much Control of Light

A Bard of Light is surrounded by a lot of evaluated knowledge, but fears being controlled by it or fears the control such things have over them, and as such ignores the evaluated knowledge and allows it to deteriorate via keeping it unknown and letting it wonder into possibilities; only by embracing meaningful insight can they begin to destroy the secrecy that destroyed them.

A Bard of Light allows Light (Knowledge, Evaluation, Insight, Meaning) to be destroyed via simply not reaching out for it, and ignoring its presence in their lives, leading to them appearing as Void (Secrecy, Unknown, Potential, Possibilities) at first glance. This is typically due to a fear of being controlled by Light; while they may see benefits to what it could offer them, they can also see all the downsides to it simply because of their fear of what could go wrong. Their challenge is to be able to embrace Light and not be ruled by its whims, learning to control the way it impacts themself without letting it be destroyed.

Sylph of Void (Inverse): As the Bard of Light fears control of Light within themself and others, they end up enhancing Void, whether on purpose or accidental. They have a direct relationship with Void; because they fear control of and destroy Light (that which is knowledge, evaluation, insight, and meaning), they enhance and rely on Void (that which is secrecy, unknown, potential, and possibilities). Because the inverse classpect is a ghost of the true classpect, the Bard of Light does not undergo the Sylph of Void's challenge; their relationship with the Sylph class and the Void aspect is purely surface level.

[yurisa-ayrton]

Yurisa Ayrton | Black Butler OC

‘Death has always whispered in my ear and escorted me through my short life, but now I have become its voice. It's ironic.’

B-day: december 10, 1710

Height: 171

Race: Grim reaper

Close relations: James Erton - father | Dona Isabel de Tovar - mother.

Personality

Yurisa is difficult to describe. Uninterested in anything but work and a closed woman, by the looks of it. A workaholic with a penchant for pedantry. Has almost no socialising apart from work. Although maybe it seems that way because anything non-work is too personal to show? And in over 100 years of being a reaper all of this has become so commonplace in her eyes? Because delving deeper into her life reveals some things that interestingly complement her quiet character. Yurisa usually has a clear daily routine. The reaper wakes up at 8pm, as her work shift starts at 9pm and ends usually around 4-5am. And so early in the morning, while the chance to meet colleagues is minimal, the girl trains, jumping on the London rooftops for a while. Next, her day is spent in reports and other boring chores. The rest of her time is usually free Yurisa is very fond of strong black tea combined with a dusty old book from the Department's library, she's most interested in old scientific papers, even if she's not close to the field. At one time, when she was a nanny for little Samuel, she was interested in fairy tales, choosing mostly Welsh authors. Speaking of Wales, Yurisa is Welsh and has managed to carry her language and culture through the years. Her people have a rich poetry, an important role was played by bards, deep down Yurisa would like to sing and live like bards, but all the music she had was an old violin, which was given to her by Samuel's father, and she learnt the notes herself. So during the day the melancholy singing of the violin in the hands of the grey-haired reaper can be heard from the her room in the reaper's dormitory, or any other quiet secluded place in the department. Yurisa, although she has good combat training, is actually quite harmless, she does not even touch insects that accidentally flew into the room, she catches them and lets them go.

Biography

Yurisa was born in a quiet Welsh village to Isabel and James, and the family was an unusual one. James was a scientist, though atypical, always going on about how he was sure humans existed, other humans, called them reapers and tried to find such, claiming to have seen a reaper at work once, seen a reaper pierce a dead body and a film fly out of that body. Told that he thought about how he would be next, lying on the floor after a drunken scuffle, he felt himself dying, but he survived and has been trying to unravel what happened ever since. Her mother on the other hand, a spy from a religious Order who was sent to Wales from Spain, the Order was anti-science with religious beliefs. Isabel as a spy was doing great, no one guessed, not even James, and in fact in his activities she was hooked like a predator, learning more and more.

Yurisa was born, even as a child showing herself to be a quiet docile child, spending most of her time doing quiet activities. As a toddler, she helped her parents with work in the fields, learning to herd sheep and look after hens. She quickly learnt to read and write, becoming a real pride for her parents. But the family happiness did not last long, James learnt of Isabel's true origins when he caught her passing information to the Order. The people from there quickly learnt how their spy had been exposed, orders were given to eliminate the family

After hours in the fields with the sheep, 9-year-old Yurisa was returning to the house, where the front door was left open and a small group of worried neighbours were standing around. Upon seeing the girl, a familiar auntie ran towards her, but another unfamiliar man quickly took the girl away and put her in a wagon while she understood nothing. Yurisa cried and begged for an explanation of what was going on as her ancestral home grew farther and farther out of sight. The stern man, irritated by her crying, coldly informed her that the girl's parents were dead and that her new home was now an orphanage.

Just like that, Yurisa's life was turned upside down. Her simple quiet and kind character was hidden behind a shroud of mistrust and secrecy. In the orphanage no one offended her almost, but also not particularly friendly. But in general, the opinion of her was positive, especially among the older children, who sometimes helped the newcomer in return for interesting stories from her, and sometimes - for help in learning to read or write. The teachers at the orphanage also liked the girl, who was never a problem. The orphanage was decent, close to fields, and the children were often allowed to go for walks, which was good for Jurisa's adaptation.

After a year of living there, financial problems started and it was decided to close the orphanage and distribute the children to other orphanages. So, on placement, Yurisa was once again sitting in a cold wagon on her way to one of the London orphanages Life was already much, much harder there. There were more children, and their more urban character was rougher and harsher. No one greeted Yurisa warmly: on the contrary, the village girl faced a group of bullies, which the other victims of their attacks sympathised with. Food here was meagre due to lack of access to fresh produce. Teachers were angry and strict, ignoring the antics of the bullies, who were difficult to deal with. It was made worse by the fact that Jurisa spoke little English and her Welsh accent was mocked by others. There were a couple or three kids who seemed to get along with the girl, didn't judge and defended her, and she did the same, even standing up for the other kids sometimes, but she wasn't in a hurry to let anyone get too close to her. One thing that was always good was access to the library, where there was almost no choice, this led the girl in the direction of old occult literature.

At the time, some wealthy childless family took an interest in Yurisa, and the girl was quickly taken into their home. It's hard to say how happy she was about this, it seemed like she was, but it was as if Yurisa could sense something amiss coming from these people.

The beautiful new house had a dog, beautiful paintings, an heirloom knife, soft furniture and warm blankets. The girl only took a couple of books with her. Her new parents bought new clothes for her, a cute little dress, took care of her hair, her skin, making Yurisa look like a neat little doll. And she, like a good daughter, helped around the house, and in the evenings closed her ears and eyes as soon as she heard the beginning of drunken squabbles.

And her occult research did not stop, in a book she found an interesting ritual, and in clever language it was written that such a ritual was able to return to the conductor of the dead loved ones. Any person would immediately realise, having read the instructions, that it was just suicide, but it seems that Yurisa's despair clouded her vision, and she quickly gathered all the necessary things, waited for a certain day and time. 30 minutes before midnight, the girl lights nine candles, placed on the pentagram drawn on the floor, between the candles lay the fragments of that book, and in the middle, dressed in a beautiful snow-white dress, sat Yurisa with that very relic knife, pressed to the heart and reading a memorised text in Latin. Midnight, a sigh, and the point of the knife pierced the epigastrium, after which the bleeding body lay on the floor.

The reaper, who had been watching the scene through the window, restrained his emotions and made a note in his book, and, having bare his scythe, jumped through the window of the room. In this case, he didn't need to do the typical death procedures. He just gently took the girl's body in his arms and headed for the reaper department

Unclearly after how long, Yurisa opened her eyes, seeing only a white ceiling. She jumped up abruptly, looking around dazedly. The place where she had inserted the knife hurt terribly, but upon feeling there, she felt nothing to indicate a knife wound, but her dress was soaked with a huge bloody dried stain in the area. Some woman burst into the white room, exclaiming "She's awake!" What's going on?

Yurisa saw everything around her very cloudy and clearly didn't understand what was going on, but her eyes cleared as that woman leaned over to her and gently put on her glasses ‘Well, can you see better?’. The girl silently nodded, being in utter incomprehension. But in the next week, while she spent all her time in that room and regained her strength, everything was explained to her - she was now a reaper, and why it was so. The young reaper accepted this fact surprisingly calmly, though now her head was full of thoughts and reasoning on the subject. After her restoration, she was sent to a reaper school, given a basic death scythe and a separate room in the dormitory Of course, there were hardly any children in the department, so the girl was the centre of attention. The adult reapers cared for her as if she were their daughter, and the reaper who took her away, though he did not tell her this fact, took Yurisa out for walks after her shifts, gave her goodies and entertained her as best he could, taught her everything she needed to know as a reaper. Yurisa grew up and learnt, although her English was still not perfect, she learnt very well, her physical maturation slowed down when she reached about 18 physical years of age. By then she had graduated and entered the workforce as an ordinary reaper, she had changed her round student glasses to the ones she still wore. Around the 20 physical years, while strolling through a street market, Yurisa found a little boy crying against a wall, she learnt that he had lost his daddy in a crowd of people. It didn't take long to find the boy's father, as the frightened father tried to find him himself.

Bennet Cambell incredibly thanked the reaper for helping little Samuel, and a conversation ensued between the two, during which it was learnt that Bennet keeps an illegal clinic ‘for everyone, and even the undead’, oddly enough. Yurisa was plausibly lying about who she was and hiding her eyes behind sunglasses, then why did this man put emphasis on the undead? He also enticed her to visit his clinic house for tea, suspicious, but the girl agreed, knowing she could defend herself.

Already in the clinic, Bennet scared Yurisa with a confession that he knew she was a reaper and she might not lie to him, the girl denied it. The man began to tell her, showed her photos of his reaper clients and convinced Jurisu that he knew who the reapers were and that she should not be afraid, because he wanted to help them, it worked, the girl calmed down. Bennet also shared that he needed help too, but it wasn't necessarily to get treatment, he asked to babysit his son Samuel sometimes, as it wasn't realistic to serve clients and watch the child. Jurisa hesitated, which the man expected, saying: ‘Well… I understand, but if you suddenly decide to do it, I'll really need help tomorrow afternoon’ Bennet did not hope much, but at twelve o'clock in the afternoon the door of the clinic opened, letting the grey-haired woman into the building, where she was met by Bennet and little Samuel, who was wiping the floor. From that time on, Yurisa visited them several times a week, she quickly found a common language with the child, she tried to bring sweets and books for him. The father deeply thanked the reaper for her help, as much as he could, made a delicious dinner, could fit some things. The most valuable gift was two Nepalese black kukri, God knows who gave them to Bennet, but they soon became a new death scythe for Yurisa

(let's assume it was around 1850s, since the events of BB take place in the Victorian era) After a long time, when Jurisah stopped growing physically, around 27, Samuel grew to the same human age, who was still a boy to Yurisa, but a friend like his father. They were the ones to whom the girl was able to open up a bit, sometimes talking about herself and her desires. So, for one of her birthdays, they gave her that antique violin that she carefully played every day.

One thing that hurt a lot in her mind was the realisation that while Yurisa was living her second hundred and not aging, Samuel and Bennet were growing up like normal people, that they would die like normal people, and that maybe sooner or later she would have to take their souls and only memories would be left of these people. Jurisa made the decision to stop using the kukri as a scythe, but to keep it, in her briefcase, as a reminder. The girl's new scythe was a custom made rapier.

[homestucksimplified]

The 12 Classes of Doom.

“Doom is the Aspect of inevitability, destiny, fate, conformity… Doom Players are known to be good listeners, people who understand and will empathize, even if they don’t know how to fix many issues. They seem to be okay with fate, with the way things work, with both contentment and pain. Doom Player Sollux knew that he was going to die, and he accepted it, knowing nothing could be done about it. Doom can be heavily emotional”.

“Doom is a poetic Aspect, and it’s extremely interesting, although rarely depicted in the comic. A Doom Player’s struggle might be about acceptance, a doubt about how it all is supposed to work. It is realistic and skeptical, not always pessimistic instead. Doom can be stability, having an outlook on life that is healing in their own way. I have heard from a Doom Player that “the Life-Doom Aspect pair is the facet of a person that deals with healing. While Life heals through change and improvement, Doom heals through acceptance and adjustment”. This difference is sometimes described as “the vent friend” (Doom) and “the advice friend” (Life). Life is the opposite Aspect to Doom, and it is serving and helpful”.

Sburb Players each have a combination of an Aspect and a Class. Aspects are understood to represent what a player’s goals and actions in life are caused by. A Class is within an Aspect and understood to represent the way they deal with their Aspect.

The Sburb Classes are Maid, Page, Mage, Knight, Rogue, Sylph, Seer, Thief, Heir, Bard, Prince, and Witch. (Lord and Muse*)

(*Classes Lord and Muse seem to only be possible in either Cherub society or in two-player sessions. They are very absolute and it’s rare for a human to identify with their descriptions. I will have to leave them out here and only write about the remaining twelve :)

Adding the Classes to the Aspect of Doom will result in twelve God Tiers. My analyses of them are as follows:

1st God Tier: Witch of Doom

Witch is the Active Class of manipulation. Witches are known to “control” their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Witch of Doom, specifically, would be one of the most repressed people in their lives, always shutting off what should be natural (though they would not be blind to it, they’re not naive about what fate is supposed to bring, they simply no not want to accept that it is true). Witches are characterized by rebellion, and Doom’s rebellion is against fate, the condemnation, sometimes even death. It is impossible to escape from your Aspect but they try their best, but does escaping from destiny not end up becoming your destiny?

Witches of Doom are the most frightened of Witches, but they’re also probably the strongest. I can see them being good liars, and pretty optimistic people, maybe trying to hide the realism or nihilism that might be building up inside them, begging to be seen. They would want to appear more as a Life Player, be helpful and free from destiny and/or suffering. It is through accepting suffering that they will become well-developed Doom Players.

2nd God Tier: Heir of Doom

Heir is the Passive Class of manipulation. Heirs are known to “influence” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. An Heir of Doom, specifically, would passively manipulate fate in a way that might be shown as “coping”, maybe tricking themselves and those around them into believing the opposite of the truth, for example, that everything will be okay when in reality they know it won’t. It can also be the opposite, if they are mostly negative; they could bring people to believe that a perfectly safe and fine situation will actually end in great tragedy. They don’t do this on purpose all the time, though, and unlike Witches, they have more control of that power. It’s not only their way of dealing with fate, it is also what they are naturally inclined to do. The challenge in an Heir of Doom’s life would be not being in control of what is to come.

Heir of Doom is a canon Homestuck God Tier. Mituna Captor is the character that holds that title.

3rd God Tier: Mage of Doom

Mage is the Active Class of knowledge. Mages are known to “understand” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Mage of Doom, specifically, would be aware of everyone’s fates and their own as well. I guess in a non-fantasy world that would be through “connecting the dots” and great observation skills. Mages are the most aware of where they are and of what their Aspect means, so Mages of Doom would be completely accepting of, you know, acceptance itself. In subtle cases they might be realistic people who don’t try to defeat their doom, and in extreme cases they might be people who are completely in peace with the fact that they are going to die. It will depend from Player to Player, but Doom will usually have a connection with suffering. Mages of Doom would be understanding of everyone’s suffering, maybe the perfect empaths. Their mind would never be focused on fixing the inevitable, they only accept it as it is; because if it’s meant to go this way, it’s for a good reason. They don’t go against fate.

I like to believe a Mage of Doom would read this and go “yeah. Guess I’m a Mage of Doom then”.

Mage of Doom is a canon Homestuck God Tier. Sollux Captor is the character that holds that title.

4th God Tier: Seer of Doom

Seer is the Passive Class of knowledge. Seers are known to “study” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Seer of Doom, specifically, would analyse fates and what they might be, what might be hidden behind them, what the reasons for them might be… They are analysts, like every Seer, but of what wouldn’t really appeal to others; of death, suffering, drama, the inevitability of many aspects of life. Seers of Doom would be really interesting people with many interesting hobbies. I can see them, like some of the Time Players, enjoying collecting bones, or rocks that not everyone would notice on the beach. They are probably drawn to endings, and I mean this in the most innocent way. I can connect Doom and Time pretty often, because both overlap when talking about finality; Time for the rush reason and Doom for the fate reason. Does that make sense? Seers of Doom might be really good at understanding how something is going to end, studying situations to figure out motives. What differs them the most from Mages is that they would watch from afar and not feel as intimate with destiny as Mages would.

I don’t know why, but “Mary On A Cross” by Ghost gives me Seer of Doom vibes.

5th God Tier: Thief of Doom

Thief is the Active Class of stealing. Thieves are known to “take” from their Aspect and through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Thief of Doom, specifically, would take advantage of their own ideas of destiny to try to benefit other areas of their life. I see the stealing classes as the most unrelated classes to their Aspects, it is harder for me to figure out who is a Thief or a Rogue, but I can tell that most Thieves are tempted to steal “for themselves”. This has never meant they are self-focused or self-fulfilling, it just means they are less naturally inclined to sacrifice themselves in the name of others. Thieves are usually very comfortable in their Aspects, not ever doubting it, and instead taking every chance they have to perfect it. In a concrete way, a Thief of Doom would, for example, use other’s pessimistic moments to lecture them about it, showing off their certainty in whatever destiny they believe is coming to them. Being comfortable in their Aspect, they would not be affected by suffering as much, they would feel at ease with pessimism. They are confident that if it is the right thing, it’s going to benefit them one day.

6th God Tier: Rogue of Doom

Rogue is the Passive Class of stealing. Rogues are known to “redistribute” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Rogue of Doom, specifically, would be either defined by sweetness or by incapability. Let me explain, Rogue is a Class that is described to be giving, and with this particular Aspect, it could mean sweet but also dangerous things. A Rogue of Doom might be a great listener, giving away their time to empathize with people or make them feel heard at least, but they might also have extreme sides, like (taking the Aspect more literally) leaving their fate in others’ hands or even being killed by them, due to their own incapability to center their Aspects on themselves.But this being said, every God Tier has macabre interpretations that are not great to think about, but this one stood out to me. Being a Rogue of Doom doesn’t guarantee that a person will leave their destiny up to others, but it facilitates it.

7th God Tier: Knight of Doom

Knight is the Active Class of utilizing. Knights are known to “handle” their Aspect and through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Knight of Doom, specifically, would be the biggest stereotype of Doom, pessimistic and used to suffering and being in the middle of the action. “The action”, in the Doom Aspect, can mean death of relatives, for example, and a Knight of Doom might be used to dealing with that. (This characteristic is also present in Knights of Time!) Otherwise, it can mean constantly having to handle and/or explain inevitability to others. Knights might not be the biggest fans of their Aspect, but they will accept it and not even complain that much. This is an interesting fact in Doom too, would they accept… acceptance?

The song “As the World Caves In” reminds me of this God Tier.

8th God Tier: Page of Doom

Page is the Passive Class of utilizing. Pages are known to “rise” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Page of Doom, specifically, would carefully and sometimes accidentally deal with the sensitive topics of suffering, death, finality of all things. It will all naturally come to them, in a way they really have no control or awareness over, and they will accept and accept and just handle everything because that’s the only thing they can do. Differently from Knights, they might feel like they’re useless in relation to the inevitability of change. Their main challenge will be learning how they are balanced in whatever chaos of destiny is happening around them. Pages have the potential of being the strongest Class when they learn the patterns of how they deal and how they should deal with their Aspect. I can see a Page of Doom just feel like they are following and not adding anything to the world, because things always happen without their input so how are they affecting anything? (If there’s any Page of Doom reading this, it’s not true; we are all affecting the world.)

9th God Tier: Maid of Doom

Maid is the Active Class of construction. Maids are known to “create” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Maid of Doom, specifically, would create their own fates! Maids are MADE of their Aspect, Maids of Doom are made of destiny and the ideas of suffering and comformity! Though it is the Active Class of construction, it is also a Class that serves, so it is also important to note that Maids of Doom would do anything to benefit destiny, whatever it might be. They are not the class that knows, they are the class that is.

I find Maids of Doom interesting, because how do you create something that to most others, just comes along on its own? Well, Maids have their technique of building, they will do what it takes until they feel like they are doing their job in a satisfying way. A Maid of Doom might be obsessed with living a perfectly spontaneous life, if that makes sense. They are attending to fate and building themselves from it!

10th God Tier: Sylph of Doom

Sylph is the Passive Class of construction. Sylphs are known to “build” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Sylph of Doom, specifically, would passively work with fate in order to make it easier to deal with, and then build upon it. I can see them as controlling and bossy about the Aspect. To use a random example, I can see them getting angry at someone who gives them advice, because that is not how Doom works. It’s inevitable and unchangeable, and it is the right thing to follow. I always see Sylphs as possessive of their Aspects, like they are the only ones who can take care of it, even if abstractedly. A Sylph of Doom would make their own interpretations of what their doom should be (maybe even macabrely, how their end should be) and will live their lives with those opinions very close to them at night.

11th God Tier: Prince of Doom

Prince is the Active Class of destruction. Princes are known to “wreck” their Aspect and through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Prince of Doom, specifically, would seem pretty edgy. They’d want to be as positive as Life Players, but would fail miserably and fall back into their inevitable pessimism about inevitability. Unhealthy Princes try to escape from their Aspect, and everyone starts unhealthy. They would be constantly worried and angry at their own destiny, and would be awfully aware of it (Mage is the Class of knowledge, but Prince is the one of awareness!) despite their attempts. Destruction can be literal, in this case it might be breaking objects related to fate, like breaking the weapon that is trying to kill you, “biting the hand that feeds you”.

I like to use the song Call Me What You Like by Lovejoy for this God Tier. Especially “I’m not paranoid, I’m a realist; I know you’re gonna kill me”. I also like to say that, while fate is the correct and natural thing to most Classes, to Princes of Doom, it is the wrongest path of all.

12th God Tier: Bard of Doom

Bard is the Passive Class of destruction. Bards are known to “deconstruct” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Bard of Doom, specifically, would not purposefully ruin fate’s plans, but would definitely cause that ruin. Think of the term “back to black”, and the inevitability of going back to old patterns and to what happens spontaneously. Bards have a hard time accepting their Aspects, and can go through weird and unbelievable phases with it. This particular Bard could have a complicated relationship with the fact that everything ends, and other times that some things are infinite, they might at one time be okay with death and at another lose their minds about it. Regarding fate, they don’t know they’re against it, but everything they do works in favor to annulate it. Like Princes, they might prefer the idea of belonging to the opposite Aspect (Life), being more positive and less complicated and ever-changing.