pickel182

[pickel182]

2/3 of these people do not do cardio

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Astarion pouting in this always tickles me

🩷💛🩵 Pan Pride 🩷💛🩵

astarion is grumpy because he thought there would be more naked twinks and debauchery based on the complaints in the editorial section of the baldur’s mouth gazette

jaheira and minsc are on the side doing that tiktok “talk valentina!”/“ally!” bit

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“I’ve Been Dead In The Ground For Long Enough. It’s Time To Try Living Again.” I guess I have a thing for vampires, what can I say? 😏

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A flawless classic

I don't think they're gonna come to a consensus

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Ch 29 of This is a Gift, You Know:

Tav's farewell to her favorite boys, Scratch and Baby

“How long will you be gone?” Astarion asked.  Not, fine, or suit yourself, or some otherwise snappy remark. But how long will you be gone? That, Tav hadn’t prepared for.  “But you’ve only just gotten back,” said a meek voice from behind her. She turned to find Baby, with his little beak quivering as he looked at the ground. Scratch went to comfort him, nuzzling his cheek with a whine as the cub’s eyes watered. 

Tav felt her own tears start to gather and willed them away. “I won’t be gone long. Big brother Scratch will be here with you, and so will Auntie Shads, Lae, and Karlach, and Astarion.”  She crouched to pet both of her four-legged companions. “I need you boys to help take care of the camp. Can you do that for me?”  Scratch gave her an eager nod, ever grateful for a proper job to do. “No need to worry. We will be here when you return.” He nudged Baby’s cheek gently. “Chin up, little pup.” The owlbear cub straightened up and fluffed out his feathers, albeit with a sniffle. “I’ll be brave.”

This is a Gift, You Know - Chapter 29 - Pickel182 - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

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Shadowheart's hair emergency

Tav has left on a supply run with the nice guy squad. Now her bff has no choice but to seek out the owner of the (second) best hair in camp.

This and the mirror convo that follow in Ch 29 of my canon fic This is a Gift, You Know!

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Astarion Ancunín, little bug that you are.

this is how people on tumblr talk about men they like (x)

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Menny is such an amazing friend and natural story teller. If you haven’t read her bg3 isekai, definitely give it a gander!

🎉 Time for some Self-Positivity!🎉

🌟 What's a scene or line you wrote that still makes you smile when you reread it? ✍️ What's something you've improved on in your writing journey? 👀 Share a link to a fic of yours that you think deserves more love!

Answer these questions, and send this to 5 writers who inspire you ❤️

PICKEL PICKEL PICKEL i love u 5eva 🧡🧡

Seriously everyone should go check out pickel’s work because she is amazing and wonderful and i look up to her so much ((her writing is beautiful and i am in awe))

🌟 so I think my smile scene might be the clearing in chapter 27 because i love my babies and i swear I’ll get this flame burning one day ((eventually)) but the tension here makes me giddy

✍️ I think generally I’ve become a bit better at scene setting?? I think it’s still not a strong point but i promise I am trying!!

👀 i mean cursed is still the only thing i have written lmao so feel free to hit it up

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54160924

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I got this idea from this ban list from act two XD

The snide mouth..this could be our Pale Elf! 

*edit; I just learned that IT IS HIM! i normally didn't go through all the patch notes, and this is so fun to get to know ahhh!! Poor Astarion. He just can't stop gossipping 😂🥹🔥♥️

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Omg this is so pretty 😭💖

Posting old stuffs

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I love this. I love this. And I’ll be thinking about it all day as I trudge through work

FSBE 17 - Show You Mine

A nice, simple plan.

On AO3.

“You wanna see mine?” Astarion’s intrepid leader blurts out. And immediately jerks back and slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as if she were a tavern wench who just spilled hot soup over his lap.

In a way…

“What?” he says.

“Not like that! I mean, my scars. From what I told Shadowheart. You heard me talking to her, and you showed me yours, so uh. If you wanna. This sounds real stupid.”

It sounds exceedingly stupid. But he cannot say that.

She did tell the half-elf that she’d had herself mutilated so she would never bear children. He remembers hiding with her from drow down in the depths, her pressed tightly against his back, her warm breath fanning the back of his neck. Her family, she’d explained, considered women as livestock to be bred.

His leader lowers her head with a grim smile. “Yeah, that was stupid. I…it never came up. Between us, I mean. I just didn’t think about since, um.”

Ah. Her being barren.

“It’s hardly as if that would be a concern just yet,” he says and wiggles his fingers at her. She looks like she swallowed a fattened corpse fly. He tries not to snort.

“Yeah. There’s that. It don’t bother you?”

Children are considered a blessing to the teu-tel-quessir. His kind generally don’t produce many. And he’s been dead far longer than he’s been alive. That thought has not occurred in his memory.

He’s tempted to take it out and examine it. Some new horror for him. But he’s still trying to tempt his leader into bed.

Though he’s utterly failing at it.

“It’s permanent,” she says. “They took out the tubes that connect the part completely. And I still got them scars, so I don’t think y’all’s magic potions changed that. I should probably check with Shadowheart or Halsin about it, though.”

His leader, so quiet, so still on the surface. She hides torrents beneath that surface, however. Deep and dark and raging.

“You want it to be permanent?” he says.

She looks at him. Rather like she did in the Underdark in that stream after he could see again, after he swooped in and plucked her from that drow camp. Broken open, tender flesh unused to the air.

“Yes,” she says. Does not hesitate.

“How does your world go about performing such a thing with no magic to soothe or heal?”

The gith had her savage ideas. But he’s gleaned a little from this strange woman. Enough to suspect no acts of such barbarity.

She fiddles with the clasp of her armor (the drow fashion really does suit her, and not just because she seems the type to take a shine to poison). Then begins to take it off. She wears no stays beneath it—they wouldn’t fit, and they’re not needed as her armor keeps all of her in place. In a moment, she stands in nothing but tunic and trousers. A step closer in his plan, yet he feels further from it than when they were out in the common room below. He can even see the barest hint of her nipples through the thin linen.

But that’s not his focus. She takes another breath, and then lifts her tunic and tugs down her trousers just enough to expose her belly.

She’s larger than his targets ever were. Not to that bastard’s taste. Astarion does not know his own tastes, besides being powerful, but there’s something about her. She’s wide and solid. And the few times he’s held her, pressed his hands against her, she was so very soft. There’s something appealing about her thick thighs and heavy breasts. And her dark, sharp eyes.

He looks. Sees nothing at first but her light brown skin. Lighter than her arms and face. Surely even in her world, such a procedure would…

Then she touches a tiny, pale mark. Two of them low, about where her womb would be, some two hands-width apart.

“They put a third in through my belly button,” she says.

They’re tiny. Hardly anything there. He wouldn’t have even noticed them if she hadn’t directed his gaze. Nothing at all like the gruesome lines carved into his back.

“They knock you out with drugs,” she says. “Cut these holes, and then fill you with air. Then they stick long, skinny instruments in and snip out the tubes connecting the uterus to the ovaries. I don’t know if that’s what you call them?”

Close enough. He’s not a physician or a scholar, but he’s seen enough insides to know general structure.

He must make some noise of assent. He’s not really sure. He feels disconnected from his own flesh.

She continues. “Whole thing takes thirty minutes. Maybe an hour, if they gotta do stuff or something goes weird. The worst part was getting all the air back out. Thought I was having a heart attack about two days after.”

Unconscious. And so quickly. Almost nothing for her to remove a part of her, to render herself unable to…

He feels…hot. He never feels hot.

It’s anger.

She went through nothing. Nothing. A nap and, what, indigestion? So little and yet such pity from the others, such a tragic tale, a secret worth keeping?

He knelt for an entire night. Screaming, writhing, trying desperately to do neither while that bastard carved and carved. And she thinks to share her insignificance? As if it is in any way comparable?

It’s a slap in his face. An utter insult. He’d slit her throat for this mere tendays ago.

“Remarkable,” he says instead of pinning her to the wall and baring his fangs in her face.

She lets the tunic drop. Traces a pattern on her thumbnail as she does when she’s nervous.

Does she expect pity? His tears for her? Perhaps for him to fall to his knees and gently kiss the specks on her skin and wail over the injustice of it.

“Sorry,” she says.

His teeth ache from clenching.

“I know. I know it ain’t the same.”

It is not.

“I just. That was my job. Having kids. And when I got out, I thought. Even if they find me again, even if I ever went back, I could take that from them. Keep it from them. They couldn’t. Couldn’t use me.”

Breed her like a sow.

Use her body over and over.

The hot anger collapses in on itself. Melts into a rancid puddle sloshing about within him.

He would have done the same. If he were able, he would have done the same damned thing.

Human women have many children. Their cultures value that, he thinks. Take pride in it. She will never have that. She had her people cut her open, even just a little, and take that from her so no one could ever put a child in her and keep her captive in her own body. That plucks at something deep, deep inside him.

“All from those tiny things,” he says. Pieces of her body removed forever.

Her face does something complicated. Then she nods.

He’s not going to seduce her tonight. The mood has been thoroughly ruined, and he stands naked save for a blanket around his hips (that smells of her). His bones ache. No sunlight and constant walking; even with remnants of her delicious blood in his veins, this place is taking a toll on him.

“So, uh, how d’we get a bath?” she says.

It takes an hour, and in the end, the tub is in the other room. Which means they can all save time and effort and let Karlach help herself first and leave the water near to boiling.

Astarion sinks in slowly, hissing as the sharp heat soaks through his flesh. He can’t remember his last hot bath. That bastard let the spawn keep a tub in the dormitory, the water clouded and cold, most of the time.

The privacy screens are a novelty, as well. No one harasses him or shouts to hurry. He’s left to sit there and curl up, sinking to his chin with the tops of his knees sticking out like islands at sea. The soap is nothing luxurious, but carries a faint sandalwood scent. Better than the nearly pure lye provided at home (home; disgusting).

Astarion sinks further. Shimmies down as the water creeps up the sides of his ears, shivers as it enters the ear canals and they pop. It crawls through his hair until his upper half is fully submerged. He keeps his eyes closed. The water comes partway up his nose but goes no further. He can hold the air in his lungs indefinitely, though even now it feels strange. Breathing is such a habit—one can neither talk nor scream without it, after all.

Still, no one rushes him, though he hears the others moving about and talking quietly.

Answers from the devil. Payment unspecified. He’s taken a bargain once before and now he has fangs and no pulse and no will of his own without an illithid parasite chewing about in his head.

It couldn’t truly be worse. Whatever Raphael wants, Astarion thinks he can rope the others into, ugh, helping him. Paying part of the toll on his behalf. And the devil strikes him as one who keeps his word, as far as devils go.

And anyway, all of that is in the future, and he’s never controlled that, but he is beginning to prune and that’s just unsightly.

He dresses in a spare outfit (apparently the wizard and the warlock have taken the group laundry, which is baffling, but if he doesn’t have to do it…) (they’d best not mutilate his gear with their clumsy human hands).

Then he goes back to the room he’s to share with his leader and eyes the bed.

He’s made himself sit (bathed and warm and dressed) by the time his intrepid weirdo comes in, her own hair damp.

She glances to him, but says nothing. Puts her few things away, and fishes out one of her potion of tongue bottles for the morning. And finally, she looks to him.

“Did you still want to read?” she says.

Read? When…ah. On the road. When she said he had a nice voice (his screams sound the sweetest). But she meant for reading. Not moaning or crying. Just…reading. Because she asked him for that, instead of sex like a normal person. And like an idiot, he agreed (why had he done that).

They go through his meager collection—essays, a few religious texts he’ll try to sell off, one man’s published manifesto ranting against Baldur’s Gate, and then…

“The what?” she says.

“The Screaming Fever,” he says. Watches her nearly vibrate in her own skin. Of course. He holds it up and stands.

The bed. The both of them.

He’s had his tongue in her mouth, his fingers curled inside her. Felt her writhe and grind and moan and gasp. Yet he climbs in (clothed and fully dressed) and she hesitates before following. She does not reach for him. No hands slipping into his trousers. No clumsy fingers groping along his ass, grabbing his front. No wet mouth stinking of ale or smoke or worse on his neck or, gods forbid, on his ears.

No, she follows but settles against the headboard with a tidy foot of separation between them,

They’re lovers. That isn’t what lovers do.

He doesn’t know what lovers do. Not when they’re clothed and fully dressed. He ought to be showing her his cock isn’t just for ruining his own trousers. It can serve her. He can serve her.

Instead, he opens a book. A book, as they both sit there like awkward adolescents working up the nerve to touch each other through their clothes.

He has no idea what the next steps ought to be. He can only sit in the bed and drown, Eleanor both his lifeline and the weight pulling him under.

He hates her. Hates that she can do this to him. It’s pitiful. Pathetic.

“You can come closer, you know,” he says. Words he’s said thousands of times. And like all the times before, she moves in.

But not to straddle him. Not to shove her tongue into his mouth. Not to paw clumsily at his chest once she shoves her hands up his tunic.

She settles near. Stiff. Tense. But close enough the outsides of their thighs brush. Her fingers twist themselves into knots and he knows she won’t come any closer. But she’s near enough that her warmth seeps into his side. Her fresh, clean scent—the road stink washed away—and the traces of sandalwood fill his nose. She’s there. She’s right there.

He begins to read. Not erotic verse, not cheap fare from smut peddlers. No words of endearment or honeyed enticements. Just clothed and fully dressed, sitting side by side as he says, “It is believed the first symptom appeared on the eighth day of Tarsakh, in the Dog Quarter of Luskan. It begins with a raised pustule, often overlooked…”

She listens raptly. More so than when he speaks filth to her as she rides his hand. She’s almost reverent. He wants to smile. Bedroom nonsense is one thing, but to truly capture this odd creature, one need only find something horrible to read about.

And slowly, so slowly, she relaxes against him as he continues.

It…it sends a thrill up his spine when she shifts. When her arm brushes his. Not out of eroticism, but because she doesn’t do that with anyone else. Would never get this close to any of the others without someone (likely her, as they’ve established by now) bleeding profusely.

But she does with him. Sitting in a comfortable bed that doesn’t rock back and forth, as he reads aloud, instead of moaning. She hums occasionally instead of grunting or spewing filth.

It’s strange.

Horrible.

Unsettling. As if any moment, some beast will smash through the door and—

He. He likes it.

And that hurts.

[pickel182]

🎉 Time for some Self-Positivity! 🎉

🌟 What's a scene or line you wrote that still makes you smile when you reread it? ✍️ What's something you've improved on in your writing journey? 👀 Share a link to a fic of yours that you think deserves more love!

Answer these questions, and send this to 5 writers who inspire you ❤️

This is such a fun snd kind ask! 😭 I also got this from @obsessedwhyyes thank you so much!

🌟A scene that still gives me a giggle is Astarion trying to get rid of Scratch, who has come to camp for the first time on bite nite.

Thou shalt not partake of the blood of thinking creatures. It is forbidden. That was one of Cazador’s key tenants, compelled into each of his spawn.

He was still hungry. And she smelt... delectable. Scratch must have thought so too, because the mutt seemed determined to wake her by nosing at her shoulder. “Stop that!” He whispered, gesticulating wildy, as to scare the dog away. “Shoo!”

With a wag of his tail, the horrid beast grabbed his discarded rabbit and trotted off toward Astarion’s tent. He watched in horror, powerless to yell or flail lest he risk waking Tav as the dog disappeared into the flap.

✍️ I think if I had to pick one way I have improved, it would be in how to “show” and not “tell.” Having characters demonstrate their feelings with behaviors and actions is something I’m not sure if I understood as well in the beginning.

👀 I don’t know if I would say anything I’ve written deserves more love, but that is probably my inner saboteur 😅 but I will say I’m proud of my Bg3 Winter Big Bang fic, Cookies. It’s something I worked on for a really long time and sought to make my writing more than one-note fluff or smut, and I’ll probably be yelling about it for a while ❄️❄️

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my favourite view

one day after defeating cazador morwyn would take astarion on a proper date somewhere in the upper city to enjoy the views and the sun as much as he could before he loses it

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Imagine that is the one time Astarion has the ability to talk to animals 😂

Every time I talk to Commander Lightfeather I remember he's voiced by the same guy that did Cazador and I find that very funny

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Find the word tag 📝

Rules: I'II give you five words. Find the word (or closest approximation you can in your works and post an excerpt. Tag others to play and give them new words too!

Ty for the tag @tragedybunny! I was given: Bite, Forever, Time, Stars, and Ice

Bite: Bite Nite flashback here

If he were to make the smallest puncture, run his fangs along her flesh just enough to break the skin, he could taste her and be sure that he was truly free of his master’s compulsion. Every fiber of his being was telling him to tear into her, to bite down and take. Leveraging all the willpower he could muster, he leaned down and lightly pressed his lips to that throbbing pulse.

Forever: From this chapter of my longfic at the Arcane tower

And just like that, the dam broke. The weight of the day came crashing down all at once. Wishing she had her father to comfort her, mourning for Lenore’s lover, forever in wait, and for the rest of her friends- none of them had asked for any of this either. It had been a long time since she’d felt so lost. So Tav just did as she was asked. She let go and sobbed into Bernard’s bronze shoulder.

Time: from my upcoming my longfic chapter!

She’d pulled away so quickly earlier, there’d been no time to win her back before the others pushed her out of his reach, and into the role of leader. Maybe this is how it would always be. Picking up the mantle meant she would often have her hands full, even if it meant pulling back one he was holding.

Stars: From rescuing Arabella after Gale praises Astarion

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now just tell me I’m beautiful and we’ll call it a day,” he said as he waved him off.

“You’re beautiful,” said Arabella, stars in her eyes a blush on her cheeks.

Everyone laughed heartily, and Tav even snorted as Astarion looked positively mortified.

Ice: from my Winter Big Bang fic, Cookies

The night started with swift retribution for insulting the evening’s patron during a ritual. After weapons of all kinds were cast down and covered with flowers, he mumbled that it made more sense to hold a rite requiring florals sometime that wasn’t “colder than an Ice mephit’s tit.” The chaotic deity immediately changed Astarion's goblet of Thayan red into something much less pleasant.

This was a long one but I’d love to read more of everyone’s writing and I think this is such a cool idea!

Words are: Lie, Soft, Doubt, Heal, Tempt

@acciokaidanalenko @ficbrish @obsessedwhyyes @inkymoonbunny @mj-bites @frostmantle @shockdowndefiance @sanguinepearls @astarioffsimpmain @mercymaker @kittenintheden

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MJ is my cinnamon apple and the way she brought my sweet girl to life made my little gay heart so happy. When you have a fat OC, art collabs can be a unique struggle but there was none of that with MJ. I am forever grateful and I love this so much!!

I did a thing for @bg3-winter-big-bang

I worked with my lovely friend @pickel182 to illustrate a scene in her fic, which you can find here !

It's been a joy and mildly terrifying but I had so much fun and I'm so pleased with the result 😁

(the uncensored version can be found on my arty Bluesky account here 🫣)

Content warning for suggestive pose and mild choking. Art below cut, enjoy!

[pickel182]

❄️BG3 Winter Exchange❄️

A cozy night at home in their lower city home post-Absolute. Whatever will Astarion and Titania do to pass the time? Three guesses 😂

18+ explicit

He shifted downward so he could reach her mouth with his. She tasted of him, and a little of the cookies they’d had for dessert. He hummed with surprise and pleasure into her kiss.

Art by @mj-bites below the cut censored for sexy things and mild choking ✨

Find the uncensored version here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63320188/chapters/162213937