marlfox1017

[marlfox1017]

Girl needs more wine

[marlfox1017]

Hi Marlfox! For the fluff prompts "♗: One falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap", either for your canon Shads x Del or for the modern AU one, please 😊 -Shadowfallen

My pleasure, Shadowfallen!

Here's a little fluffy piece from my modern AU, With You, I'm Home, with Del and Jen. And, thank you. This helps me find the ending for chapter 3. Now, I have to finish the middle.

Safe With Me

Jen had had too much wine. She’d chalk it up to being nervous about seeing Del at her parents’ Memorial Day party. Karlach’s pep talk about trying to hook-up with Del only added to the anxiety. Now she was at the tipping point between giggly tipsy and needing to lie down.

Where had Del gotten to? She carefully treaded the boards of the farmhouse porch. There, on the porch swing sat the gorgeous veterinarian. This woman had been her best friend, but the helicopter crash had robbed her of most of her childhood memories. Over the last two weeks, Jen had reread Del’s letter and looked over old photographs. Even if she couldn’t remember the details of their friendship, she felt a strong connection, an attraction to her. There had been something growing between them before they parted ways, she to the navy and Del to college. That parting had not gone well judging by the letter and the fact that Del had not seen her in twenty years. She sighed, damnit, she wished she could remember so she knew how to proceed!

For now, she would smile and flirt with the vet. ��Is this seat taken?”

Del looked up. “Oh? Not at all, help yourself.”

Karlach leapt up, “Wyll, we should get going. It’s late and you have work tomorrow.”

Wyll seemed a little confused, but stood up. “True. Thanks, Jen, for inviting us to the party. We’ll find your parents on our way out and thank them, too.”

After they had walked away, Del looked at her watch. “I should think about heading home, too.”

Jen clamped her hand down hard on Del’s knee. “Oh, don’t go yet! It feels like you only just got here!”

Startled, Del looked at Jen. “Are you alright?” She put her arm around Jen’s shoulders.

Jen immediately melted onto Del’s shoulder. “Actually, I’m not. My head is spinning. Too much wine, I think.”

“Ah, okay. This porch swing won’t help. Can I take you inside? The living room, maybe?”

Jen only nodded, and Del helped her stand. “Ready to go inside? Take my hand.” Del was surprised by the iron grip Jen had on her hand, she didn’t let Jen see it. They entered the house through the kitchen. They walked past Arnell and Emmeline loading the dishwasher. Del gave a little smile and wave, but kept walking.

The Hallowleaf’s living room hadn’t changed much since Del was last there. She smiled, looking around her. While the furniture and TV were new, everything was arranged as it had been over twenty years ago when she and Jen would spend weekends together. She coaxed Jen to sit on the sofa, and as Del sat beside her, Jen immediately stretched out on it with her head in Del’s lap.

Del chuckled. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

Jen’s eyes were closed, but she smiled. “Thank you. Everything feels like it’s spinning.”

“Okay. Open your eyes and look at me.” Jen opened her eyes and looked up at Del. “Good. Focus on me. Deep breaths. The spinning should stop soon.”

“Hold my hand, please.” Jen had gone quite pale.

“Sure. You’re doing well. You’ll be okay.”

Jen cracked a small smile. “You act like someone who regularly deals with people swooning around them.”

“As a matter of fact, you’re not a real first year vet student until you pass out in front of an instructor. I’ve had a lot of practice lately.”

“Well, you have an excellent bedside manner, doctor. Thank you.” Jen took another deep breath and closed her eyes.

With her free hand, Del brushed hair out of Jen’s face. Her breath hitched, but her eyes stayed closed.

“Are you feeling better, Jen? Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks. Just sit with me a little longer.”

Del laughed. “I’m happy to. Besides, I’m trapped.”

Jen opened one eye. “I think you like it.”

Del laughed harder. “Honestly, I’m used to it. You always fell asleep on me, often literally.”

Now both eyes were open. “I hope you have some evidence to back up that claim?”

“I do! You never finished a movie with me. You either fell asleep on the floor, on the sofa, on my shoulder, or in my lap.”

“Hmm, I can see that. My attention span isn’t great on a lot of things. What kind of movies did we watch?”

“We watched most genres, but sci-fi was our favorite. Oh, and period romances like Pride and Prejudice. I love a slow burn romance.”

“Well, we need to revive that tradition. Get a list together. We can have a date night.” Jen closed her eyes.

“Hmm, I can do better than a list. I have all the DVDs.” Del blinked. “Did you say date night?” She looked down at Jen.

Her breathing had evened out. Her lips were parted slightly. Jen had fallen asleep in her lap like she had done countless times before. She had felt safe enough to drift off.

Del didn’t want to disturb her. She decided there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

[marlfox1017]

New Wind Change chapter out! Forecast is for mystery and intrigue!

*thank you @fogno for the epic image.

“Please – don’t touch that,” Florwyn says nervously as Shadowheart attempts to wrest the rucksack off an unconscious Arabella’s back.

She would much rather Shadowheart was nowhere near the rucksack at all. Just the memory of the magic that had emanated from there makes her want to shiver – gods, just what has Arabella gotten herself caught up in?

Florwyn had been alarmed enough to ask Shadowheart to sedate Arabella as a precaution – just until they are ready to deal with whatever could have made Arabella behave so alarmingly. They have decided the sorcery shed is the best place to try and figure out how to help her, as they can try to contain any strange effects there and spare Silfy from seeing anything upsetting. That is – if they can persuade an excited Silfy to entertain herself and keep away while they try and help Arabella.

Shadowheart casts Florwyn a tight look in response and glances at the storm sorcerer’s hands. Florwyn realises she is obsessively wringing them together and clasps them to her stomach instead, forcing herself to take a measured breath. With Silfy shadowing her closely, she needs to at least try and project calm – however much she would like to fall to pieces for a few minutes before they move on.

Shadowheart leaves the rucksack alone as asked and instead tries to settle Arabella more securely on Owly’s back.

The strange words Arabella had spoken before she had fainted seem to reverberate endlessly between the two women: ‘Florwyn would never leave you – not willingly.’

They haven’t been able to address any of it yet, since their next priority after seeing to Arabella was reuniting with Silfy and letting her know all was well after all. But it doesn’t mean the words have been forgotten. Far from it. The space between Shadowheart and Florwyn has seemed to become more tense with each passing second as Arabella’s words sit heavily at the forefront of their minds.

Are Arabella’s words even worth worrying over? Or were they just the ramblings of a brain that was compromised by magic?

READ MORE

[marlfox1017]

[marlfox1017]

I did the same thing! What was wrong with me? *Looks at the Sharran. Oh, yeah!*

jesus f christ i'm on fire this week

[marlfox1017]

🥺

A gentlewoman 🥰

[marlfox1017]

Open for asks!

Nonsexual acts of Intimacy - Select from the following and send me a pairing

[marlfox1017]

Moonbird beauty!

Vow Renewal

So a year ago I shared this cringe wedding post and this year I decided to be even more cringe and celebrate their imaginary wedding anniversary with a bang.

[marlfox1017]

I know the companions all have very similar stories of abuse from gods and people in power, but Durgeheart has such a unique case of golden child burnout.

It's the lovebombing from father/mother, the way they parade you around as their trophy kid, the pressure and expectation to be this manufactured prodigy, how invested they are in your upbringing and fulfillment of THEIR aspirations for you, and the disappointment you become in their eyes should you fail to live up to them. You will have nothing but the dirt beneath your fingernails as you're forced to begin again, relearning how to simply be.

At least Shadowheart and Durge aren't alone.

[marlfox1017]

Wow!

shadowzel AU — medusa and her blind lover

'What was it that stayed my hand then?

With dagger held unsheathed, blade pointing in its side'

Upon learning of Lae'zel, the terrible local Gorgon that occupied crumbled ancient ruins somewhere out in the country, Shadowheart had been set on killing her and turning in her head for the reward. She was blind, after all, and likely would be unaffected by the monster's terrible curse.

But when Shadowheart becomes prey herself, hunted by a band of brigands crueler and greedier than her and after the same prize, she is fated to a brutal mauling. Unknowingly she flees straight into the Gorgon's den, and when Lae'zel locks eyes with the criminals they seize, turning to stone within seconds, allowing Shadowheart the chance to slip away and hide. With Lae'zel distracted, she has the perfect opportunity to ambush the monster; what she does not expect is the sound of the tall, rippling form of Lae'zel slithering around the corner of a ruined column to confront her.

Shadowheart can hear its raspy breathing, can feel the coolness from the way its shadow blocks the sun as it towers above, only feet from her; she grips the pitiful knife in her sweaty palm and prepares to strike as close to the neck as she can get. All she needs to do is cut off its head, and then she was rich.

Her grip on the dagger tightens and her blood runs icy when the creature cornering her utters a single phrase in its gritty, underused voice.

"Are you injured?" it croaks coldly.

Shadowheart hesitates. Turns out her theory was correct; though she can feel the Gorgon's molten gold eyes bearing into her own, her body remains soft, alive. She tests her lungs, and fresh air flows in through her nose. She is alive.

'I'd been set upon by a predator

It was just looking for a meal, I saw ribs and fearful eyes'

Lae'zel is not stupid; she's been hunted day and night for years now, but nobody has ever gotten close enough to harm her.

Until Shadowheart.

She cannot immediately deduce Shadowheart's original intentions, for all she appeared to be was a helpless blind girl pursued by rapists and murderers. However, her disability proved itself a threat to Lae'zel; she can get close, too close. Close enough to land a deadly blow if Lae'zel is caught unawares.

So she decides to kill her. Eliminate such a threat once and for all, and Lae'zel can go back to her cold, isolated life in the ruins.

It had not been long since Lae'zel sent her away, letting her leave freely if she promised not to try anything stupid. That was her first mistake: showing her mercy. Shadowheart took this opportunity and fled, battered and exhausted. She'd be slow, easy prey.

She finds the girl in the evening, struggling through a waist-high grassy field. She must have lost the path at some point and failed to find it again. The tall foliage made the perfect cover for a creature like Lae'zel, who could easily weave her way through the blades and take her prey by surprise. As she draws nearer, the scent of copper fills the air. Peeking over the grass she can see that Shadowheart is struggling for a multitude of reasons; the thick grasses slow her down, yes, but she is more slowed by the deep gash in her side, blood bubbling out between her fingers as she attempts and fails to staunch the flow.

Lae'zel may be a monster, but she is more honorable than kicking a creature while it's down. She watched the ailing girl for a few moments longer, gauging how far she might make it. She only gets a few dozen more steps in before she crashes to the ground, uttering a pained groan before going still and quiet. Lae'zel quickly scans the area for any other life. Satisfied by the silence, Lae'zel darts forward and peers down at Shadowheart tangled in the grass, covered in smears of dirt and dried blood. She seems much less threatening in this state, and the Gorgon cannot help but give in to her piqued curiosity; she scoops the white-haired woman up and roughly tosses her over her shoulder, sliding effortlessly through the field once she finds a useable path that leads toward her temple.

Shadowheart is all but dumped on the dusty floor to wait there until she regains consciousness. Then, she will be Lae'zel's to do with whatever she pleases.

'What is it that stays my hand now?

With so much misery that I could mercifully put ends to

For that animal I let slink off into the undergrowth, unscathed

Do I not fear death, but just pretend to?'

Shadowheart is not a prisoner, Lae'zel insists. She is a merely a guest who is not allowed to leave until she recovers. This leaves her with plenty of time to plot and scheme, to plan the slaughter of this demon and be done with it. But night after night, she lies awake sleepless, unable to bring herself to action. She cannot bring herself to kill the creature who likely saved her life, who continues to let her stay in its home and asks nothing in return.

Maybe she plans to wait until Shadowheart is healthy again to kill and eat her. She doesn't know. Instead of worrying over it, she talks.

She mostly talks to herself for the first few days. When Lae'zel is around—usually only to check that Shadowheart had not tried escaping for the third time—she says little to nothing; her vocabulary seems to consist primarily of grunts and sighs and hissing. A lot of hissing, especially when Shadowheart accidentally shifts too close.

She comments on the Gorgon's collection of swords one night as she is slithering away into the darkness. It's a desperate grab at any kind of communication, and Shadowheart knows she's struck gold when she hears Lae'zel halt, then turn a fraction in the dirt.

"You wish to know of my swords?" she whispers, her tone suspicious with the barest hint of surprise.

Shadowheart nods all too eagerly, and she spends the rest of the night listening to Lae'zel tell the stories of nearly each and every one. Some she left out; whether they were too painful a memory or an insignificant one, Shadowheart did not know. But she listened.

And then the person behind the monster began to show through. Shadowheart would garner little bits and pieces of her history throughout the stories. She pointed to the jagged scar running down her right shoulder blade and told the tale of a clever thief who used mirrors to try and outsmart her. He'd managed to sneak up behind her and land a brutal slash down her back, but it wasn't enough to kill her. She puffed with pride as she regaled how she twisted and snapped him up by the throat with her injured arm, and grinned wickedly as his face froze in terror, the expression forever carved into stone.

She also tells stories of recent onslaughts of attacks, some by targeted monster hunters and others who happened to wander into her domain and wanted what she had for themselves, and what she had admittedly wasn't much. Shadowheart learns, through glimpses into Lae'zel's past, what a tortured life she's lived. She almost wonders if killing her would be a mercy, but shakes the thought away as Lae'zel dives into another tale centered around a bejeweled dagger. Then another, this time a hunter's bow.

By the time she is telling the story of the ogre and his crystalline club, Shadowheart is drifting into sleep.

'For it was starving, it was hungry

But had eyes too close to let me'

For a very long time, Lae'zel killed anyone that walked into her temple, whether she meant to or not. Innocent, curious children and poor lost elders were not even spared, and over time her heart grew cold and hardened from it. She learned to accept that she would be alone until her final day, and made surprisingly easy peace with that fact.

But then Shadowheart came into the picture; an equally as lonely annoying little farm girl with an overambitious sense of adventure, given her particular limitations. She intrigued and infuriated Lae'zel to no end. Why did she keep her up into the late hours of the night, when her time could be better spent curled into some cold corner, fighting for any scrap of rest? Why did she return day after day, sometimes staying away for as long as a week at a time, yet always comes back? It distressed Lae'zel greatly how empty and chilled the temple felt without Shadowheart's presence when only a month ago it would not have bothered her. She may have even preferred it. But now the wind whistles too loudly as it tears through the columns, the echoes of crumbling structures startle her when she is too deep in her head. It is driving her mad.

She watches the sun during the day and the moon during her sleepless nights, both in an endless rotation but never touching. How she longs for them to touch. The thought disgusts her, but she dimly wonders when Shadowheart will come back anyway.

'If you were easy to kill, I would have done it already'

Some days, when thoughts of Shadowheart torment Lae'zel to no end, she once more considers killing the girl. Out of sight, out of mind. But the image of Shadowheart bleeding, choking, dying by her hand tortures her far worse than even the tenderest of desires.

'Plagued by phantom noises

That that skeletal beast was haunting all my steps'

During the first few nights of Shadowheart's recovery, when she was delirious with pain and sweating with fever, she thought she could hear the heavy drag of a serpentine body around every wall and column. Her heart would race with panic while her body remained sluggish and weak, trapping her in place. If she were to be Lae'zel's prey, there was nothing she could have done to stop it.

Even after some flimsy semblance of trust had been established, both women slept with daggers under their bedding for some time.

'Questioning all my choices

With that dagger held unsheathed, I felt sick at my contempt'

Even after her body recovered, Shadowheart suffered. She struggled with the guilt of her choices; she could have killed Lae'zel as she intended to and save hundreds of travelers from a stony demise. But as she comes to learn, it is not Lae'zel who is the monster. It is humans.

For as long as Lae'zel has existed in her current form, she's been hunted. A target was planted firmly on her back the moment this terrible curse was inflicted upon her. She refuses to share her origin story, how she came to be this way, and Shadowheart does not press. Instead, a thick, sickening lump of empathy, remorse and fury lodges itself in her throat and sticks fast.

Every time she sees Lae'zel, with every new bit of information she learns, the lump grows and it chokes her further.

'For you were lonely, you were like me

Like some outside force had sent me

If I was easy to kill, you would have done it already'

Lae'zel's loneliness is not as apparent as Shadowheart's. She hides hers well, whereas Shadowheart's desperation for connection shows more plainly, and that scared Lae'zel. She kept her distance, only checking on the girl once a day at first, but over time Shadowheart's tendency to chatter away in that clipped, sarcastic tone of hers wore down Lae'zel's walls. The way she asked questions drew her in. Unbeknownst to Shadowheart, the monster's heart ached in very much the same way as her human one did.

Shadowheart gave up on killing Lae'zel a long while ago. She kept their visits a tightly bound secret; it wasn't as if anyone would notice she was missing anyway. Even without her eyesight, by now her feet carried her to the temple through memory alone.

'You are at my feet, we're by the fire

You're a gentle beast and I'm alive

You are at my feet, we're by the fire

You're a gentle, purring beast and I'm alive

You are at my feet, we're by the fire

You're a healthy, gentle, purring beast and I'm alive'

As Shadowheart slowly peels back Lae'zel's layers, she finds something she doesn't expect: a highly intelligent, fiercely loyal and passionate companion. She became somewhat protective over Shadowheart in the weeks they grew closer, threatening to hunt down and slay anyone who even mildly inconvenienced her. Underneath Lae'zel's pointed scales, sharp teeth and head full of writhing snakes is a women starved of loved yet too prideful to admit it.

One night, as Shadowheart reclined by the fire with Lae'zel curled next to her, she studied the beastly woman she harbored a thinly-veiled affection for. The serpents sprouting from the Gorgon's scalp formed a languid pile of warm bodies in Shadowheart's lap while her head rested atop a pillowy thigh. She found it interesting and endearing how the snakes mirrored Lae'zel's condition. When she slept, they slept. When she was ill or injured, so were they. They showed excitement and thrill in their own way when Lae'zel discussed a topic she was passionate about. They even seemed to like Shadowheart.

Past her broad shoulders, the wiry expanse of her body was cradled comfortably by her serpent half, and Shadowheart wondered with some shame whether she could fit in there next to her. She stroked a finger along the length of a dozing snake's head and smiled to herself when its strange reptile eyelids fluttered. Lae'zel twitched and muttered in her sleep, and Shadowheart's heart clenched painfully at the implications of this kind of trust. She couldn't hope for something more than this.

She brushed her fingers along Lae'zel's long bony ones where they rested palm down against her thigh, and froze when she shifted. Groaning softly, Lae'zel's clawed fingers unconsciously wrapped themselves around Shadowheart's smaller, chubbier ones, gentle with her even in sleep.

Shadowheart's breath staggered and caught in her chest, and considered letting herself hope after all.

[marlfox1017]

🥺

just god's favorite princess and her puppy-eyes bard

[marlfox1017]

What are you waiting for? Go read this!!

I'll Be Your Light Part 2 now out!

A wolfheart story for people who don't like werewolves.

After

“You have to eat,” Shadowheart says briskly, using every ounce of her Sharran-honed self-control to keep her writhing emotions locked beneath the surface to project a calm she does not feel.

A bandage has been wrapped around Kat’s head, covering her eyes, and the ranger sits slumped against a pillar, barely responsive.

Halsin had carried her out of the forge and back to their camp in the Sharran temple. After some awkward standing around, everyone scattered to dwell in their own thoughts. Some had whispered conferences in distant corners, while Shadowheart was left to watch over their leader … or the woman who was their leader, because how can Kat still lead them now? And what will happen to their group without Kat keeping them together? This is a brand new worry Shadowheart had never imagined they would have to think about, not while Kat was at the helm smoothing tensions over, keeping them focused and moving forward.

Kat has been the only one of them who made any real effort to forge bonds beyond the strain of their shared predicament. Somehow, she managed to pull their disparate group together and even get them co-operating despite personality clashes and the ever-threatening hopelessness of their mission.

Whoever leads next will have big shoes to fill, but fill them they must for their tadpole problem has not become any less urgent.

Kat sighs and holds out a hand for bread that Shadowheart carefully places in her palm.

Her other hand gropes around the floor for the cup of water beside her and Shadowheart is on the brink of helping – about to cry out a warning – but too late, the water cup is knocked and spills, seeping water into Kat’s trousers.

“Well. This sucks.” Kat’s voice is brittle from humiliation. “This fucking sucks.”

In one angry twisting motion, she throws the bread aside, and the cup after it.

She breathes heavily, clenching her fists together as they listen, Shadowheart wincing, to the rattle of the cup descending with excruciating slowness down the chasm it had fallen into. Then there is a ringing silence.

“Never mind,” Shadowheart says in her best trying-to-patch-things-over voice. “Let’s go to your tent. I can help you get changed – ”

“What, are you going to be my nurse now?” Kat says hotly, and with far more bitterness than Shadowheart had been prepared to be on the receiving end of – not from Kat. “Changing my pants – like I’m a baby?”

“N-no,” Shadowheart starts uncertainly. “But Kat, you’re going to need to accept some help, to begin with at least. Until you get used to – ” Her soothing words are violently interrupted.

“I don’t want to get used this!” Kat yells. “This is bullshit!”

Bullshit! The word echoes around the chasm, over and over, as multiple suffering Kat’s protest the unfairness of it all.

“I know,” Shadowheart says, stricken and blinking back tears, and not knowing what to say. “It’s complete bullshit, Kat!”

Kat takes a deep breath, and then deflates completely, her anger gone, her body sinking heavily against the pillar. It is a far more alarming sight than the anger on their normally indefatigable ranger who has cheerfully encouraged them through all their challenges to date.

“But also, I’ve water all over my pants, and that’s embarrassing,” Kat says in a low, lifeless voice, holding out her hand for Shadowheart to help her up and guide her to her tent.

Shadowheart leads Kat, not daring to say anything when there are no right words to say, other than warnings about uneven surfaces ahead that she delivers in an unnaturally calm voice, trying to keep her own roiling emotions in check.

There is another pang as she realises they will need to procure a stick for Kat to use to feel for obstacles ahead. Will Kat ever be able to track, and nimbly skirt through forests again?

Don’t think about it, Shadowheart tells herself firmly, as she leaves releases Kat’s hand at the entrance to her tent.

Shadowheart has never been inside her tent before. Everything is tidily packed away or folded neatly – the bedroll is even rolled up and stored in a corner, as though Kat is prepared for travel at a moment’s notice. Even Kat’s few changes of clothes are folded in a perfectly crisp, uniform manner in her rucksack. Removing a fresh pair of trousers disrupts this perfection, but it can’t be helped.

“Just put them in my hands, Shadowheart,’ Kat says in an empty voice from beside her. “I don’t want you to dress me.”

“All right,” Shadowheart says quickly, relieved and feeling guilty for it that Kat cannot see how upset she is. It couldn’t be clearer that Kat doesn’t want her around for a moment longer than necessary. She understands why, but it still hurts.

“Just … go …” Kat says, turning away from her, holding the trousers slackly in one hand. “Please, just go.”

Shadowheart makes a noise in the back of her throat of assent and rushes out of the tent, her lip trembling, tears threatening to fall.

She cannot blame Kat for being angry and hurt, but the dismissal still stings.

For Kat does not know that Shadowheart is out on a limb, defying every instinct her religion has instilled in her, in trying to help at all.

READ THE REST OF PART 2:

[marlfox1017]

How they flirt with you {BG3 Female Companions}

Took me longer than it should but here it is! Here’s my last post featuring the male companions.

Lae'zel

Lae’zel doesn’t drop hints or play games. If she wants you, she’ll make it known but only if she deems you worthy. Flirting, to her, is a display of strength — hers and yours.

She’ll comment on your fighting prowess long before your beauty. That’s how you win her interest.

“You fight with purpose. Precision. I did not expect such competence from someone so soft-spoken.”

Her compliments sound like challenges

“You held your ground. Most would have fled. I approve.”

(Yes, that's flirting.)

When Lae’zel desires someone, it is clear. But it comes with the expectation that you’ll meet her there — physically, mentally, spiritually. She is not shy, but she is proud.

She doesn’t ask. She asserts.

“You’ve caught my attention. Prove that you deserve it.”

There’s no pretense. If you interest her, she’ll say so. But if you hesitate? She will walk.

“If you cannot meet my hunger with your own, then we have nothing to discuss.”

Physicality is Lae’zel’s language. She doesn’t ease into touch — she seizes it. A hand on your shoulder to make a point. A tug of your arm in battle. If she’s gentle, that’s when you should be concerned.

She tests limits physically, always watching how you react.

“You flinched. Do better.”

When she touches you with intent, it’s possessive and absolute.

“You are mine. Or do you mean to challenge me for your freedom?”

Lae’zel bonds through battle. She respects those who hold their own, who push back, who dare to disagree.

Her flirting is sparring with words or swords.

“You speak like a warrior. But can you strike like one?”

If you challenge her, and survive, she sees you. Really sees you.

“You defy me. That should anger me… and yet, I find it arousing.”

On rare occasions, when trust is solid and the walls are down (if only slightly), Lae’zel reveals her desire for connection. Not through sentiment, but through loyalty.

She won’t say “I care.” She’ll say:

“I would fight beside you until the end. That is not something I offer lightly.”

And when she lets herself be vulnerable (in her own way):

“There is strength in you… and I am drawn to it. Not because you are weak, but because you make me feel… anchored. I do not understand it. But I will not deny it.”

Minthara

Minthara doesn’t flirt for fun. She doesn’t waste words or trifle with trivial attraction. If she flirts with you, it’s because she sees potential either as a lover, an ally, or something in between.

Her eyes don’t just linger — they devour. She watches like a predator sizing up prey, but with a glint of approval.

“You walk into chaos like it belongs to you. I find that… compelling.”

She uses words like blades – meant to wound or awaken. Sometimes both.

“Be careful with how you look at me. I may take it as an invitation.”

Minthara doesn’t compliment in the traditional sense. Her praise is cloaked in dominance, devotion, or the promise of destruction.

She doesn’t say you’re beautiful/handsome  -  she says you’re dangerous, worthy, unforgettable.

“There is something feral in you. I see it behind your calm facade. Don’t bother hiding it — I prefer the rawness.”

And when she’s soft (rarely), it’s with eerie calm:

“You unsettle me. That should concern me… yet I crave it.”

When Minthara touches you, it is not a question – it is a claim. She’ll brush a thumb against your jaw, rest her hand over your heart, press her body close in battle, not for affection, but possession.

Her physical flirtation is magnetic, full of tension and power.

“If I touch you, it will not be gentle. But it will be unforgettable.”

She touches like she owns the moment and she watches if you flinch or lean in.

“Ah… brave. Or foolish. I haven’t decided yet.”

Minthara is drawn to strength, but what fascinates her is control. The person who stands their ground, who won’t yield easily — that’s who she finds most intoxicating.

She flirts through calculated tension. Hovering at the edge of danger and desire.

“You defy me so easily. I should punish you… but I’d rather find out how long you’ll last under me.”

She challenges without raising her voice. Her stillness is a dare.

“Do not mistake my silence for disinterest. I am studying you. Every breath, every glance.”

When Minthara lets her guard down (and she will, if she chooses you), it’s not with softness but with devotion. She doesn’t fall in love – she offers allegiance. She doesn’t beg. She binds.

Her version of affection is loyalty you can feel in your bones.

“You are the one I would bleed for. That is not something I say lightly.”

And when she does let something slip — real, vulnerable — it’s like watching dusk break open.

“You make me feel… tethered. Not weak. But real. And that is far more dangerous.”

Karlach

Karlach doesn’t tiptoe around her feelings. When she’s into someone, she dives in headfirst, grinning the whole way. Her flirting is loud, honest, and ridiculously endearing.

She says exactly what she thinks — no filter, no hesitation.

“Damn, look at you! You kick ass and you look hot doing it. How is that even fair?!”

She fangirls over you like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen and she means it.

“You’re amazing. Like, hero-in-a-saga level amazing. Just so we’re clear.”

Karlach compliments like she’s been waiting to tell you all the cool stuff she’s noticed. It’s not just how you fight. It’s the way you laugh, how your hair catches the sun, or how your eyes crinkle when you smile.

She gets flustered mid-compliment but keeps going anyway.

“I mean — you’ve got this whole thing going on, y’know? Brave, badass, and — gods, I’m rambling. Sorry. You’re just… wow.”

Her admiration is sincere, not strategic. It’s part awe, part crush, part pure joy.

“If I wasn’t already burning up inside, I’d say you’re making me sweat.”

Karlach is very physical. If she likes you, she’ll punch your arm affectionately, tackle-hug you after a fight, ruffle your hair. But it’s never invasive — her touch says you’re safe, you’re wanted, you’re seen.

She’ll wrap you in the kind of hug that lifts you off the ground and laughs the whole time.

“C’mere, gorgeous! You survived another fight — now you get the patented Karlach Squeeze™!”

She’s the kind to initiate hand-holding casually and then absolutely beam about it.

“This okay? Great. 'Cause I’m not letting go.”

For Karlach, connection is felt. She bonds through shared battle, raucous celebration, and quiet support. Her flirting isn’t always sexual — it’s about joy. About choosing someone and showing up for them, loudly.

She wants to build something with you, even if she’s scared she can’t.

“I know I’m a bit of a walking furnace, but damn if you don’t make me want to try. You make me feel like I could actually have… more.”

She flirts through hype, praise, and lifting you up. Literally, sometimes.

“You did amazing back there! Like, chills! If I had a tail, it’d be wagging right now.”

Beneath her fire is a fragile hope — a yearning for love, safety, home. And if she really falls for you? The flirting becomes something softer, deeper. Still bold, but now threaded with something that looks a lot like longing.

She stumbles, gets quiet for a beat, then blurts it out anyway.

“I think I’m falling for you. Like… stupid hard. And it’s terrifying, but also kinda awesome?”

And when she finally lets go of the fear:

“I don’t know how much time I’ve got left, but if I could spend it with anyone… it’d be you. Every damn second.”

Shadowheart

Shadowheart doesn’t flirt openly — she flirts defensively. If she teases you, it’s to hide how much she’s watching. If she mocks you, it’s to keep you from looking too closely. Her flirtation is the slow erosion of walls, not the throwing open of doors.

Her sarcasm is a test. If you pass, she starts to soften.

“You’re awfully eager, aren’t you? That’s either endearing or foolish. I haven’t decided which.”

She doesn’t gush. She remarks. Coolly. Casually.

“You did well back there. Surprising. In a good way… I suppose.”

(She’s deeply impressed.)

Shadowheart rarely compliments directly. Instead, she offers observations — noticing things others miss, then pretending she didn’t mean anything by it.

Her praise sounds like critique but her eyes say otherwise.

“You never stop, do you? Always charging ahead. It’s reckless… but oddly admirable.”

If you compliment her first, she brushes it off but then thinks about it for hours.

“Flattery doesn’t suit you. …But thank you. I think.”

Shadowheart does not reach for you easily. Her body is armor, just like her mind. But when she initiates touch — a hand on yours, a brush of fingers when healing you — it’s deliberate and deeply vulnerable.

Touch is trust. And it terrifies her.

“Don’t get used to this. I’m only doing it because you looked like you needed it.”

If you lean in close, she might freeze but she won’t pull away. Not right away.

“Careful. I might start expecting you to stay.”

She’s drawn to those who see through her, who don’t fall for the act. Flirting, for her, is letting someone inch closer without snapping at them. And if you ever call her out on it? She’ll deflect — beautifully.

She’s intrigued by someone who challenges her beliefs, but does it with gentleness.

“You always ask the hard questions. Makes me wonder what you're really after.”

And when she lets her guard drop? You see the quiet craving for connection beneath it all.

“It’s easier not to care. But then you came along and ruined that, didn’t you?”

When Shadowheart truly cares, her flirting shifts from deflection to devotion. Still quiet. Still guarded. But now it matters. And when she says something kind, it feels like a confession.

She won’t say she’s falling for you. She’ll say:

“You matter to me more than I ever expected. …Don’t make me regret it.”

And if she lets you in completely:

“You make me feel like I could choose my own path. Like I already have.”

Jaheira

Jaheira flirts with the confidence of someone who doesn’t need to — she does it because she wants to. Her tone is cool, her eyes sharp, and her smirk always just a little knowing. If she teases you, it's because you’ve earned her attention.

She’ll spar with you verbally before she ever flirts outright.

“You’ve got a decent head on your shoulders. I just wonder how often you use it.”

She flirts through banter, not breathlessness. If you keep up, she’s intrigued.

“Is that your idea of flirting? Hm. Not terrible. A bit obvious, though.”

Jaheira doesn’t offer empty praise. Her compliments are grounded, earned, and always have a practical edge. If she says you’ve impressed her — it matters.

She’ll couch her affection in observations, often made mid-action.

“You handled that fight well. Remind me not to underestimate you again.”

And if she gets personal? It’s brief, rare, and powerful.

“There’s more to you than I thought. I like being proven wrong.”

She’s not overly tactile but when Jaheira touches you, it’s always deliberate. A hand on your back to steady you. Brushing hair from your face. Holding your gaze instead of your hand. Her gestures say more than her words ever will.

She doesn’t ask for closeness. She grants it — quietly.

“Hold still. You’ve got blood on your cheek. …No, I’m not fussing. I just prefer cleanliness.”

If you reach out first, she’ll pause, then let you. That moment of acceptance? That is the flirtation.

What excites Jaheira is competence, independence, and a strong moral spine. She flirts with people who challenge her, not flatter her. If she sees you as her equal, the heat starts to build.

She’s not easily impressed but once you break through, her interest is clear.

“You keep surprising me. I’m still deciding if that’s a good thing.”

She’ll show you affection through shared strategy, quiet partnership, and trusted silence.

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me. You already have.”

When Jaheira truly cares, she stops hiding behind wit. Her tone softens but her strength never dims. She doesn’t make promises she can’t keep but when she offers you her loyalty, her trust, or her love, it’s with unshakable certainty.

She’s not one for declarations. But she’ll say this:

“You make me feel like the world isn’t quite so broken. That’s not a feeling I take lightly.”

And when she finally lets herself be vulnerable — just for a moment:

“You make me feel like the world isn’t quite so broken. That’s not a feeling I take lightly.”

[marlfox1017]

KALKITE!

KALKITE!!! SYNTHETIC KALKITE!!!! KALKITE ALTERNATIVES!!! KALKITE SUBSTITUTES!!!!

[marlfox1017]

WIP Wednesday

It's still Wednesday as I create this post!

I was tagged by @robinyourcreator, thank you!

Writing has been a little slow lately, but I am working to finish the story that follows my Baldur's Gate 3 play through with my OTP - Delaclya and Shadowheart. I FINALLY FINISHED A PLAY THROUGH!!

Anyway, I'll share something from a modern AU with Del and Shads. Here Del is a veterinarian and Shadowheart is a retired pilot. It may sound weird, but I love it!

They walked along the border of the pond, the sounds of the party growing faint. It was a typical early summer night. A full moon shone brightly. A blanket of stars covered the sky while the drone of cicadas filled the field. Across the pond, fireflies blinked in the woods.

Del remembered another night like this, a long time ago. The farm’s pond had been their favorite spot growing up. That’s why she chose it when she needed to confess her feelings for Jen. It was a hopelessly romantic notion, and it had backfired.

But Jen didn’t remember any of it. Here and now, they were just two people becoming friends again. It was too much for Del, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered in time with the rapid beat of her heart.

“Why are we out here, Jen?”

“I thought we should talk. This is a nice quiet place to talk.” Jen stopped and held out her hand. Del took it and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. The pond’s smooth surface reflected the moon and stars. Jen’s thumb brushed gentle circles over Del’s knuckles.

“You wrote me a letter, but I didn’t read it until I saw you a few weeks ago.”

Del tried to pull her hand away, but Jen held fast. “Wait, please let me finish? I don’t know why I didn’t read it twenty years ago. Maybe I was upset about what happened between us? Maybe it got lost? With the accident, I just don’t remember.”

Silence stretched on for several minutes before Del spoke, “It happened here, on a night like this.”

“Hmmm, I wondered. It feels like a place I’d escape to and think. I’ve done that a lot since I came home. It must have been special for both of us.”

“Yeah, it was.” Del asked softly, “Is that why you brought me here?”

“I have a recurring dream. I’m here with someone. They have a beautiful smile and bright blue eyes. I always feel safe and happy. I feel loved.” Jen turned and looked at Del. “It’s not just a dream. I think it’s a memory. A memory of you.”

“What? Of me?”

Jen stepped in closer. “Del, I wish I could remember our first kiss.” Her fingers brushed Del’s jaw.

Del whispered. “I do, too.” She stared into those green eyes, so easily lost in their depths.

“But I promise to remember our next one.” Jen’s hands were in Del’s hair, pulling her into a kiss.

[marlfox1017]

Kalkite!

✨👌KALKITE!! 👌✨🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😘😘

[marlfox1017]