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sil-writes-fiction-too · 3 days

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Forearms

Pairing: Gale x Tav (Dani) Summary: Set immediately after this fic about Dani settling into a new life with her companions on the road, Dani offers to mend Gale's robe. Which involves him having to take it off, naturally. (no smut, just Dani being ridiculous about Gale's forearms) A/N: This is 100% the moment where Dani is like "oh no he's hot." She thinks everyone is hot, but this is the moment where Gale starts to rise above everyone for her. It's silly, it's stupid, and I wrote it like months ago, but y'all asked for it lmao also yes this does adhere to the Gale Wrap Shirt Theory (I just borrowed Astarion's shirt because I don't have mods)

Dani stretched out her back and got to her feet, leaving behind her now-sorted camp supplies to make her way over to Gale and his cooking fire. She peered down into the pot before looking at Gale. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Stew,” Gale said, smiling apologetically. “I hesitate to give it any more of a descriptor than that. Oh, and a few leftover loaves of bread, too. Might as well use them up before they go bad. I think one of them was starting to mold…”

He said this last line to himself, turning to rifle through the box that contained most of their food. He pulled out a small, torn half-loaf of bread and examined it, turning it this way and that before tearing it and peering inside. Dani reached over and plucked the smaller half from his fingers, claiming it for herself. She tore off a bit and popped it into her mouth.

“Seems decent to me,” she said.

Gale looked briefly alarmed before shaking his head, amused. “You’d probably eat it even if it had mold on it.”

“Not true. I’d scrape the mold off first and eat around it. Wouldn’t be the first time.” She raised her eyebrows at him as she pulled off another bite of bread to eat, silently challenging him to judge her.

Gale made a face but didn’t respond, turning back to his stew and flicking his wrist. The spectral mage hand that was stirring the pot lifted the ladle for him to inspect. He picked up a small spoon from his utensil set (of course he had a utensil set wrapped in leather, a hodgepodge set he’d collected over the last couple of days, but that he kept packed away like it was some sort of adventurer’s kit) and used the spoon to taste the broth in the ladle.

“Hmm…nearly there, I think,” he said. He let the mage hand go back to stirring while he wiped his spoon on a bit of cloth he had tucked into his belt. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give for my spice shelf. Or just some extra salt.”

“Just add it to the list of things we’ll buy as soon as we see any,” Dani said, still eating her bit of bread piece by little torn piece. “I know I have a running list of my own.”

“Far be it from me to add to your growing shopping list of potentially expensive and ever practical items,” Gale said dryly, “but if you do happen to find a small case of salt, or any spice really, I think we’d all be a little better for it. It shouldn’t detract too much from your funds. I know you’re careful with your money.”

She arched an eyebrow. As the team’s craftiest barterer, she was in possession of most of the money, and her companions had already watched her haggle and cajole until a price was a bit closer to where she’d prefer it to be. Sometimes it took a minute.

She thought about pointing out that she was “careful” with her gold for a variety of reasons, including stocking up an emergency fund for magical items should his arcane hunger trigger and she find herself without something to give him. But she stayed silent, watching him pull a few herbs from their food box and set them on a flat rock he’d taken to using as a cutting board. He sat with the rock in his lap, cutting the herbs up with a dagger that he kept on hand for food preparation. As he turned to hold the rock over the cookpot and brush the chopped herbs into the stew, she noticed a bit of white peeking through his purple robe sleeve, right at the shoulder seam. A tear in the fabric.

“Take off your robe,” she said.

He jolted, nearly dropping the rock and dagger directly into the stew. “I beg your pardon?” Maybe it was the firelight and the darkening shadows of dusk, but Dani could have sworn his face was suddenly pinker than before.

“Your robe,” Dani said, tossing the last bit of bread into her mouth and holding out her hand. “Take it off. You’ve got a tear.”

“Wha—a tear?” Gale looked all down his arms and the front of his robe before twisting his neck to spot the rip in his shoulder. “Argh, damn. This was one of my better robes, too…”

Dani snickered and gestured for him to get on with it. “Come on, hand it over. I’ll fix it for you.”

“What—now?”

“Why not? You’re busy. Everyone else is busy—well, except Astarion. And I can mend it for you.”

Gale looked a little surprised. “I didn’t know you could mend.”

She shrugged. “My mother is a seamstress and I used to help her out every now and again. Plus, when you’re on the road, you have to keep up with a few skills. You’re just lucky we have a bit of needle and thread on hand. So.” She gestured again with her hand.

Gale squirmed as if uncomfortable. “I’m sure it can wait. The stew is nearly ready and we’re all about to dress down for the night. I can give it to you then.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Gale. If it was armor Lae’zel would be hounding you until you gave it up for her to fix. If it was your spellbook you’d want to mend it as soon as possible. Just take it off and let me do it.”

“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands, his face still a little flushed, but he acquiesced. He undid the belt around his middle and tugged off his leather bracers before finally untying the robe and shrugging it off. He still looked a little sheepish, but he willingly handed the robe over to her.

The moment the robe was off, something shifted in Dani’s mind. She realized only then that she’d only ever seen him either fully dressed in his robes or in his velvety lounge clothes, but never in just his white wrap shirt and high-waisted pants. She paused a moment, her eyes roving over his form. In just his shirt, pants, and boots, he cut a trim figure, looking a bit like one of the handsome men drawn on the covers of tawdry romance novels she used to read back in Baldur’s Gate. Especially when he set one hand on his hip and frowned faintly at her, his earring glinting in the firelight.

“I hope it won’t take too long,” he said.

She blinked. Oh right, the robe. “It’s a simple tear, super easy to fix,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She turned and hurried away, her own face feeling a little warm. Was she honestly thinking…no. Well—maybe. Gale was handsome. No point in ignoring otherwise. But Gale in just a shirt and trousers? Or, perhaps, Gale in just his trousers…or, going further, Gale in nothing but—

Gods, Dani! She mentally shook herself and sat back down at her bedroll, digging her sewing kit from her bag. Now was not the time. She said she’d mend his robe and she would, so she had better get started.

But mending was mindless work for her, leaving her alone to her thoughts, so of course her mind drifted back to the subject of Gale as she dragged needle and thread through the purple fabric of his robe. Why was she only now struck by how handsome he looked? Sure, she’d flirted with him before, but she flirted harmlessly with everyone in camp. It wasn’t her fault she was surrounded by attractive companions. But Gale…

She glanced surreptitiously at him as he worked by the cooking fire, his focus on the food. He’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows to keep his cuffs away from the food, which was honestly worse for Dani. Rolled up sleeves and forearms? She could just swoon. She watched as he packed away unused food items and utensils, muscles in his forearms flexing, the dark hair on his arms made darker by the dusk and firelight. He stood back and rested both hands on his hips as he watched the stew, his white shirt stretching a little more tightly across his chest.

She bit her lip and focused back on the robe. Just get it done, girl, and then give it back so you can go back to thinking he’s just a fun, quirky wizard nerd and not the hottest guy in camp.

Oh gods, if only.

...was he the hottest guy in camp?

She glanced around quickly at Astarion, still lounging with his book. His lips made a pretty pout as he read and his hair was damn near perfect, but he didn’t make Dani’s heart flutter in quite the same way the sight of Gale in his wrap shirt and rolled up sleeves did. She searched for Wyll, walking around in his ragged black tank and black trousers, his biceps glistening with a fine sheen of sweat as he carried the last of the firewood over to Gale. Even with his devil horns, he was an attractive man. Dani was tempted to think he was even hotter than Gale—until Wyll set the fire down near Gale and Dani was forced to compare the two of them again.

…damn. What was it about Gale?

Gale glanced her way, raising his eyebrows at her questioningly when he caught her staring. She felt her heart go ba-dump like some cliche heroine in a romance novel and she quickly lowered her gaze back to her work.

Damn it. It was his eyes wasn’t it? His big, stupid, wet brown eyes, made darker and richer in the evening light. That and those stupid forearms she’d never seen before.

She almost wished she could go back to fifteen minutes ago, when she thought Gale was “handsome enough” but not exactly tempting. Not with Astarion smirking at her from across the campfire and Wyll flirting with all of them, not to mention all the flirting she’d done with Karlach and Shadowheart and Lae’zel too. She forced her attention back on the final stitches, determined to get this robe fixed as soon as possible.

She finished the last stitch and knotted the thread, giving the fabric a little tug on either side of the mended seam to test the strength of her work. Not bad, she had to admit. It almost looked as good as new.

She looked back at Gale and then down at the robe. She should give it back. Right now. Immediately. But…then again…if she kept it longer, he’d have to walk around without it longer. Which meant more eye candy for her, in theory. She pursed her lips, glancing back at Gale again.

No! She had to give it back. Now or never, Dani!

She got to her feet and walked back over to the fire, his purple robe tossed over her arm. He looked up from the cookpot again as she stopped near him.

“All finished?” he asked. “You do quick work.”

“Thanks,” she said, holding out the robe to him. Be casual, Dani girl, don’t be odd. “I’m famished. How much longer until dinnertime?” Success!

“Any moment now, I suspect.”

He took the robe and examined the seams, running his thumb over the stitches. She was caught up watching his hands, admiring the perfect shape of his nails and how long and slender his fingers were. A pianist’s hands, she thought idly. An artist's hands. The kind of hands she'd want drawing patterns on her skin, fingers curling into her softer parts, sliding up her thighs to—snap out of it!

She sucked a short breath through her nose, trying to distract herself. Her gaze traveled up to his wrists, and then his bared forearms. There was a faint hint of ash lingering in his arm hairs from standing so close to the fire. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed it away. He looked up, surprised and she snatched her hand back, hiding it behind her back like she’d done something wrong.

“Sorry,” she said. “Just some—some ash. You should probably put that robe back on. As soon as possible, probably.”

Oh gods, she could just die.

Gale stared at her a moment before glancing at his arms again and then the robe. She saw something shift in his expression as his eyes came back up to meet hers, but she dared not interpret it. That, she thought, would be a dangerous mind game and her imagination was already working overtime.

“Well,” she said, and hated how weirdly breathless the word came out of her mouth. She cleared her throat. “I’ll go fetch the others, then, shall I?”

Without waiting for him to respond, she turned on her heel and hurried away, intending to go after whoever was the furthest away from the cook fire. Surely she’d cool off in the time it took to gather everyone. Fantasies were for bedtime, not right before dinner when the object of her fancy was right there.

But when she finally returned after all that, he was still standing in his wrap shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He hadn’t even put the robe back on. He laid it off to the side. She glanced at the robe and then up to Gale, who was ladling stew into bowls and passing them around. He caught her eyes and gave her a faint, intentional smirk meant just for her before turning his attention back to the stew.

That’s when Dani knew, with a rush of realization that struck her a bit like lightning and left her sitting, silent and dazed and a little offended and a little impressed.

She’d been as obvious as day, and now he was teasing her about it. And that smirk? He was being a bit of an arrogant bastard…but gods, he was suddenly all the sexier for it.

She was doomed.

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 7 days

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Venerate- Lucio Morgasson x Reader

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Fandom: The Arcana

Relationship: Lucio Morgasson x Reader (Background Julian x Lucio x Reader)

Summary: Lucio wants to make sure you understand how beautiful you are and how much your body deserves to be celebrated. He also decides to help you out with a bit of a quandary you've found yourself in.

Tags: Female Apprentice, Smut, Fluff, PIV, Lactation K*nk, Breastfeeding, Comfort S*x, Praise K*nk, Body Worship

Read here in this post or over on my AO3

You groan, sitting on the edge of your bed as you carefully peel your blouse away from your chest. Each brush of your arm against your bosom sends waves of dull pain through you. You sharply suck in a breath as your wrist grazes your tender nipple, cursing quietly as you finally slip out of your clothing. Joyously, you had volunteered to be a surrogate for Asra and Muriel when they announced they had wanted to start a family together. You knew what you were getting into and had read up on all the pain and uncomfortable side-effects of pregnancy, so you had been well-prepared for that. Plus, you and Asra had had some magic tricks up your sleeves to help alleviate some of the discomfort. When it was finally time to give birth, again you’d been as prepared as you could be (though no one is ever really ready for that). But what you hadn’t been anticipating was the pain of trying to wean a baby off of nursing. It's only day one and you are positively miserable.

You’d parted from Muriel and Asra’s a little while ago, leaving them to be with their little bundle of joy. All you longed for on your return home to the palace was the warmth of a bubble bath and a good night’s sleep. But with every step you took, every gentle bounce of your breasts, followed radiating pain. You need to pump or do something before you can even think about letting them touch the water of a bath. Even just sitting there on the edge of the bed you can feel how horrendously sore they are.

Before you can think about what you're going to do next, your bedroom door bursts open and in waltzes Lucio, looking rather proud of himself.

“Good evening, my dove,” he exclaims, exuberant as always, not noticing at first that you're half-clothed and morose. He kicks off his boots, slamming the door shut behind him, and tossing his furs across the back of one of the chaise lounges.

“I have the most salacious story to tell you,” he begins, striding across the room to pour himself a drink from the crystal carafe you and Julian had bought him for your last anniversary, “I was enjoying my nightly constitutional around the grounds when suddenly, I heard a rustling sound in the bushes. I, being the courageous warrior that I am, immediately went to investigate, thinking that perhaps we had some intruders. I rounded the corner, ready to pounce, when I was greeted with an unfortunate eyeful-” As he whirls around from the mini-bar, he finally catches a glimpse of the discomfort on your face, your half-naked body greeting him.

“My precious gem, whatever is the matter?” he coos, uncharacteristically interrupting his gossip to fawn over your defeated self.

“I’m quite miserable this evening, my darling,” you sigh, pouting as he sets his drink off to the side and draws you in close. As soon as his chest connects with yours, you hiss in pain, causing him to withdraw quickly.

“What’s wrong?” he panics, pale eyes darting between his chest and yours, “Did I poke you with one of my medals? I’m so sorry! I’ll get rid of them.” He struggles to pull his sash over his head, but manages to finagle it off and chuck it aside, where it lands on top of his furs with the metallic tinkle of his medallions clacking together.

“I don’t think it was your medals, Lucio,” you giggle, his typical overreaction rather endearing, “I’m just a bit- sore.” A blush paints your cheeks, your eyes sheepishly glancing down. Suddenly, you feel embarrassed by your predicament, not wanting to bother Lucio with something you're sure he’ll find uninteresting, or strange even. Though, perhaps that isn’t a fair assumption. He’s changed a lot over the years.

Ever since you’d gotten pregnant, and even continuing on after the birth, Lucio has been extra protective of you. You're grateful for everyone’s help, certainly, but have been rather stupefied by Lucio’s reaction to the whole thing. It's been especially beneficial to have a doctor for a partner, but you hadn’t realized what a boon having a (former) count for a partner would be. Julian had obviously been at your beck and call throughout the process, making sure you and the baby are healthy and happy, ever eager to please. To your surprise, Lucio has also been rather ecstatic to help out, mainly in the way of spoiling you and making sure you have everything you need (and everything you don’t need, but perhaps want). It's been nice to see a softer, more caring side to him.

“Sore? Sore, how? Can I get you anything?” he speaks, kneeling in front of you, beginning to rapidly fire off questions. He offers to draw a bath, send for Julian (who's busy at his clinic that evening), massage you wherever it hurt (this he adds with a suggestive wink). He can procure delicious treats for you, and if you tell him the name of whoever it was that hurt you, he would most certainly take care of it, himself.

“No, no!” you cut that train of thought off before it goes too far, “No one hurt me. I’m just- well-” Heat radiates from your cheeks as you stare bashfully at him underneath hooded lashes. He takes your hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly.

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” he beams. Is this the same Lucio you met all those years ago? It seems impossible. But the loving look in his eyes assuages your fears and you find yourself explaining to him exactly what's wrong. He listens, oddly patient, until you’re finished. He's silent for a beat longer, before he looks up at you from where he kneels, an unreadable glint in his eyes.

“So, you’re telling me you need to just- release all that pressure?” he tries thoughtfully, trying to understand. You nod quietly, anxiety suddenly welling up inside you. You're worried he thinks that maybe this is strange, or unsightly. He's always so prim and proper when it comes to his appearance (though not in regards to anything else). A neat-freak, honestly. Your predicament feels messy and so not something Lucio would understand.

“I was just going to figure it out myself,” you quickly add, shifting to get up and head towards the bathroom; but Lucio grips your hand tighter, a wordless plea for you to stay seated. His silence is driving you nuts. Lucio is never quiet, so it can only mean something bad. And then the corner of his thin lips curls up into a mischievous grin.

“Well, you know, we could wait for Jules to return from the clinic,” he speaks slowly, one of his sharp eyebrows quirking up, “He’d certainly know what to do. Or-” another devilish glint in his eyes, before he leans in close, lips centimeters from yours, his breath fanning across them, “I could help you out.” You feel your heart hammering behind your ribs, breath becoming shallow as Lucio captures your lips in his. His tongue hungrily slips past your parted lips, exploratory and warm. Is he suggesting what you think he's suggesting?

Gently, Lucio lays you back on the bed, silk sheets cool against your overheated skin. He makes quick work of removing the last of your clothing and abandoning his own. Propped up against the pillows, you watch as Lucio sidles up to you, stroking your flushed cheek with his thumb and taking one of your hands in his metal one. Already, he's erect, the tip of his member swollen and pink.

“Is that what you want, my pet?” he practically purrs, gently kissing the back of your hand, throwing a kittenish side-eye your way, “For me to help you relieve that pressure?” You feel your folds growing wet, slick with arousal at Lucio’s sultry tones. Is this really something he want to do? Something you desperately want him to do? You hadn’t expected this predicament to spark some hidden desire in either of you, but here you are. There's no backing out now.

“Yes,” you at long last breath, your voice catching in your throat.

“Yes, what?” Lucio shoots back, assuming a commandeering pose where he sits beside you, puffing out his chest and straightening up. You like it when he takes control, since usually you're the one to wield it in the bedroom. Both he and Julian typically enjoy more submissive roles. It's nice to be the one in that position, every once in a while.

“Yes, please, sir,” you correct, shivering as he ghosts his metal fingertips along your stomach.

“Good girl,” he returns, highly pleased with himself, shifting so that he's now laying against the pillows and you're propped up against him. He draws you in closer, his erection pressing against the small of your back, a husky grunt reverberating through his chest as you teasingly roll your hips against it. With one hand tangled in your hair, Lucio yanks your head back, tilting your face up towards him to allow better access to your lips.

“Patience, my dove,” he commands, donning a roguish smile, “I’d like to take my time tonight. I’d like to make sure your body gets the worship you so deserve.” Before you can say anything more, Lucio takes your mouth in his again, roughly this time, kisses sloppy and hard. You can feel your lips swelling with the ferocity of his passion. You're hardly able to get a breath in. Suddenly, pain shoots from your nipple, where Lucio has taken one of them between two of his metal fingers and tweaked it. You cry out from the sensation,

“Aww, was that mean of me?” he mocks, a filthy smirk spreading across his angular face. You’d make him regret that if you weren’t at his mercy already. Besides, you like it when he teases you. You merely huff in mock disappointment, breath strained and chest heaving. Lucio leaves your mouth, peppering kisses along your jawline, craning your neck to one side so he can leave his love bites along it.

“I shouldn’t tease so much. You’ve been working so very hard, all these months,” he croons between nips, “You deserve some pampering. Your body- it deserves celebrating.” A pitiful whine escapes your lips, one hand reaching up to grasp at the short hairs on the back of Lucio’s neck. He certainly knows how to spoil you. How to celebrate you. As selfish as he can be at times, he's always ecstatic to be able to flex his ability to indulge your needs, just as much as he likes indulging his own.

“Tonight,” he breathes against your skin, pressing you even closer to him, “Your pleasure is my command. This body that has worked so tirelessly, carrying and providing for a young one, deserves veneration. Tonight, it’s my duty as your partner to make sure you are thoroughly ravished.”

“Lucio,” you try, voice hitching in your throat, garnering a chuckle from him.

“Well, I might make you beg for it a little,” he adds, nudging your cheek with the tip of his nose, “Since I know that’s what you like.”

With a breathy laugh, you lean your head against his shoulder, allowing Lucio to free his hand from your hair and trail it down to attend to your sore breasts. He takes them in his hands and massages them gently, trickles of white escaping from them as he kneads.

“So heavy, my darling,” he growls, eliciting another pathetic whimper from you, which he seems to take great delight in, “So full. Let’s fix that.”

With this, Lucio frees himself from where he's seated, gently scooting out from behind you and leaning you back against the pillows again. Laying himself across your lap, he dives down to ensnare the hardened bud of one of your nipples in his mouth. But Lucio isn’t about to give you any relief just yet. Toyingly, his tongue circles the sensitive nub, flicking it painfully. He luxuriates in your soft mewls and half-hearted begs for him to stop teasing, merely glancing up at you impishly, silver eyes glimmering wickedly. His hands grip your waist, metal talons digging into your soft skin as he holds you in place.

“Lucio, please,” you beseech, throwing your head back against the pillows, desperate for some kind of release, whether through the pressure in your breasts being relieved or through orgasm, you don’t care. You just want something to make you feel better.

“Patience, my angel,” he coos, withdrawing briefly from his ministrations, “I’ll attend to you when I’m ready.” In that moment, you simultaneously hate and adore him, his purposeful disregard of your needs both exciting and cruel. But you know he's just building up your desire so you'll only end up enjoying it even more when he ultimately does take you. You can feel your folds growing slicker with each flick of his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands rove your body, massaging your hips and squeezing your ass. Every once in a while, his mouth leaves your breast to whisper sweet nothings in your ear: reminders of how strong you are, how hard-working, how beautiful, how loving. This is a whole new side of Lucio you're seeing. You quite like it.

“These voluptuous hips,” he speaks, as he grips either side of you, fingers kneading your supple waist, “These hips have worked so tirelessly.” He plants a tender kiss on each side of your hip bones, before moving to your stomach. His breath ghosts along your skin, sending delightful shivers through you.

“This lovely belly,” he goes on, peppering your abdomen with kisses, “has worked miracles. Indefatigable and magnificent.” He ardently kisses the stretch marks on your stomach and your hips. He seems to have picked up some vocabulary from Julian over the years.

“This beautiful skin,” he breathes, moving up to meet your mouth, pale eyes gazing lovingly into yours, “bears the exquisite marks of your vigor.” Adoringly, he presses his lips to yours, gentle and slow. When he withdraws from your mouth, he goes back down to focus on your chest.

“And these sumptuous breasts,” he concludes, softly kissing each of your nipples, “Continue to work so very hard.”

You can hardly believe your ears. Suddenly, you're feeling rather emotional at your partner's kind words. He's making you feel so entirely loved. So beautiful. Over the last year or so, you’ve fluctuated between feeling utterly in love with your body and all the amazing things it can do, and feeling completely miserable. Some days, you see yourself in a passing reflection and want to jump for joy, feeling so proud of yourself. Others, you look in the mirror and want to weep. But throughout everything, both Lucio and Julian have been so supportive, so sweet to you. You want to say something in return to Lucio’s words, but speech dies in your throat when he finally (and without much warning), purses his lips around your nipple and begins to suckle.

A moan falls from your lips as Lucio drinks from you, humming pleasantly against your plump breast, eyes falling shut. Your hand, slicked with a bit of saliva, moves to give Lucio’s cock some much needed attention. You stroke him languidly, feeling him tremble under your touch, muffled grunts rumbling through his chest. He rolls his hips in time with your pumps. With his golden hand still firmly gripping your waist, he snakes his other one down to your heat, where he begins circling your clit with his thumb. Sparks of pleasure, like an electric shock, run through you as he takes two of his fingers and slips them between your folds, pumping rhythmically into you.

You can feel the coil within you tightening as your beloved drinks heartily from you, releasing your nipple with a wet pop every once in a while to catch his breath, a white-hot fire burning in your core. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d see Count Lucio quiet and content as he suckles your swollen tits. Honestly, it's the quiet and content part that shocks you the most. But then again, he's a man of many surprises, as you are learning that very night.

His member twitches in your grasp and you feel your own release imminent as his fingers pick up the pace. You speed your own hand up, causing Lucio to gasp and grip your waist even tighter, garnering a breathy laugh from you.

“Lucio, my darling, I’m close,” you sigh, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes. He meets your gaze, eyes dark with lust, and swiftly releases your nipple. He pins you down on the bed, lifting your hands above your head and locking them in his grasp. Lucio’s cock slips through your slick entrance as he bends to savagely smash his lips into yours. His mouth is warm, slightly sour with the taste of your own product. He pounds mercilessly into you, the lewd slap of skin-on-skin mixing with your strained keens and his gravelly grunts. Sweat beads on his forehead as he relentlessly takes you, his hips snapping brutally into yours. The coil in you is so tight now, seconds away from breaking free.

With a cry of his name, you feel your walls shudder and release, just as Lucio comes undone above you, his hot seed spilling inside you. You feel it fill you, warm and welcome, as he rocks his hips erratically before coming to a halt altogether. Still buried deep within you, he releases your hands, catching his breath while you attempt to steady yours. Stars dot your vision and your head spins with pleasure. After a moment, Lucio withdraws from you and flops down beside you on the mattress. He draws you close, smoothing out some errant strands of hair on your head and tending to each of the little wounds his love bites have left on your skin. Throughout Lucio’s gentle caretaking, the two of you exchange whispered, “I love you’s” and desperate kisses.

“Feeling better now?” he purrs after you each settle down a bit. He's back to his jaunty, frisky self, waggling his brows at you and looking entirely too proud of himself.

“Yes,” you return, tucking a golden lock behind his ear, “At least in the one breast.”

“Perhaps we ought to leave the other one for our dear doctor. I’m sure he’ll be positively parched upon his return,” Lucio suggests with a lecherous grin, before adding in a more serious tone, “You know, I rather enjoyed this. Perhaps we should think about putting another little one in you. That way I can look forward to this again in another nine months.”

“Well, we’ll have to talk to Julian about that,” you playfully return, planting a peck on the tip of his nose, “That’s a big discussion. But it’s a discussion I’d like to have.” He chuckles, sweeping you closer to him and burying his face in your chest.

“Thank you for your kindness,” you whisper, feeling tears sting your eyes.

“Don’t you dare thank me, my cherished dove,” Lucio commands, squeezing you tight, “I meant every word of it. Don't thank me for telling the truth.” You smile against his chest.

“I was worried you might think it was, I don’t know, strange,” you admit after a moment, blushing sheepishly. Lucio snaps his head up, giving you a look as if you’d said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Strange? Hah!” he exclaims, tenderly caressing your cheek, “It’s a natural part of pregnancy and child-rearing. And, as I said, you’ve been working very hard. You deserve some pampering.”

“Besides, it may look like I don’t know a damn thing, but I actually do occasionally listen to our dear doctor. I knew this would be coming at some point or another,” Lucio goes on, looking pleased with himself.

“You did?” you return incredulously, raising a skeptical eyebrow up at him.

“Well,” he shrugs, looking demurely away for a moment, “Maybe I didn’t quite know the weaning process would be so miserable. Jules may have mentioned something about it. But I knew you’d need help with something. And why not have a little fun with it, while we’re at it?”

You meet his devilish grin with a beam and an eye roll before snuggling closer to him. It's then that you're suddenly reminded he’d been trying to tell you about some no-doubt ridiculous story when he’d entered earlier.

“What ‘salacious’ gossip were you trying to regale me with before all of our own excitement went down?” you venture.

“Hmm? Oh!” he starts, nuzzling you and listlessly adding with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Nadia and Portia enjoying a secret rendezvous in the gardens. Blah, blah, blah.” You simply nod in understanding, before blushing a deep shade of crimson when Lucio impishly adds, “Not nearly as salacious and interesting as our own activities, this sensuous night.”

A/N: This fic is almost two years old, goodness gracious. Apparently I never put it up on this tumblr? So here it is! Thanks for reading! I did not necessarily intend for this to be medically accurate (or technologically accurate) in any way (is surrogacy possible in Vesuvia? Who knows and I'm not going to think too hard about it). I really just wanted this to be a body positive, body worship fic. I know Lucio can be sort of a selfish character, but I think he is also capable of so much love and appreciation. I think he would be really invested in making sure you know you are beautiful and loved <3 Also, this had some background Julian/Lucio/Apprentice. I do plan on making this sort of a series. Next one I write will definitely be spice with all three. Much love to you all <3 Remember, to be kind to yourself and others.

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 7 days

Note

@fox-daddies here 🦊🦊

Could I get Hc for the M6 walking into their room to find Mc laying completely naked in bed because their way too hot to do anything.

For a moment I thought by hot you meant "Too sexy to do anything", but I realized you meant it's a hot day, or at least I hope so? ANYWAY

Vesuvia's summers can be hard to tolerate by the ones who aren't used to it. Today the wind seems too tired to blow, and the sun is so bright that the sea is as blinding as the sun. You took a refreshing bath, but couldn't force yourself into your clothes again, so you just threw youself on your bed, directly under the open window, hoping for the faintest breeze to slip into your room when...

[Spicy♧•••♧ahead!]

... Muriel enters the hut. He's drenched in sweat too, and first thing first, he gets out of his clothes and tosses them aside before slumping on the bed next to you, eyes closed. You hear his heart pounding in his chest, tired by the heatwave just like him, as his hands reaches yours, brushing it with the tip of his fingers. You stay like this for hours, until the merciless sun finally gives in to the sunset.

Then his hand reaches for your waist, pulling you on top of him.

... the door slightly opens, and Portia's witty face peaks trough the crack. Her smile widens as she sees you, and after a quick glance behind her she slips inside closing the door behind her back. "I guess milady's flowers can wait..." she whispers as her lips brushes your hand. "Or maybe she'll come looking for me. But would you be sorry if she were to find us like this?", she winks.

... Lucio enters the room, looks at you from behind his sweat drenched hair covering his forhead, and announces: "great idea". In a matter of seconds he joins you, his cold metal hand sending the best kind of chills up your spine. He looks at the sky-colored canopy over the bed, looks at you with that familiar child-like light in his eyes and whispers "Make it cloudy". Points up. "The canopy. Make it cloudy! Make it rain! Can you???".

You wonder how this man can be so silly and so genius. With a snap of your fingers, a single drop falls on the bed. Then another, and another, and another one. Lucio starts giggling, then laughing, taking you into his arms and kissing you through his laugh. "Oooh, you're the best!"

... Julian comes back home. "What a day!" he huffs, before starting to ramble about what happened at the clinic. You smile silently. Keeping the bed on the right of the door has its perks with Julian. "... and then a kid reached for the leeches -why do they do that, do leeches looks like candies?- and almost knoched it over when..." he abruptly stops.

"Oh dear" -his tone changes- "it looks like you got hit by a heatstroke... yes, the temperature of your skin shows it, and your lips too". You feel his dramatic sigh on your neck. "I must proceed with a deeper check..."

... Asra climbs the stairs of the bedroom. He smiles. "Here you are! What a weather today, uh? I really can't think of a way to refresh myself". You don't think he's messing with you: Asra and you are so used to such level of intimacy. He sits on the bed. A mischievous smile crosses his lips. "Unless..."

You let out a scream in surprise as you feel the bed dissolving into cool water under your back, before the water covers your mouth. You hear Asra laughing from the other side of the surface, right before diving in next to you.

... Nadia enters your bedchamber. She is followed by a couple of servants and has a big list of things to do into her hands, and she's instructing her helpers about the heatstrokes prevention program. They stop in front of the bed. "O... Oh. I, hem, I thought you were at the shop...", she mutters, before realizing there are people there with her. She turns towards them, and manages to put together a crumble of dignity. "You're dismissed. I'll send for you when I'll be done with some... ehm... urgent matters".

The servants bow and run out, embarassed. Nadia turns "Oh I'm sorry, so sorry my dear, I didn't mean to embarass you...". Her flushed face is so funny that washes away any embarrassment from you. "I will make up for it", she continues, "Just ask, may I go to get you something to... I don't know, to eat? Another bath, or maybe you want to go on vacation somewhere? A poem! I can apologize with that, for sure, or sing...?" She stops when she notice the look into your eyes. There's no need for clarvoyance to understand what kind of apology you'd like right now!

#oh my god Lucio's part made my heart squeeze😭#the arcana #the arcana muriel #asra the arcana #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #lucio morgasson #count lucio #portia devorak

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 7 days

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Lucio's NSFW alphbet!

Note-I had in mind a f!MC, but I realized it works with gn!MC for most entries as well

●Explicit●18+●I TW'd it letter by letter :)●

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Lucio doesn't really indulge in aftercare. He hates being soaking in sweat and god-knows-what-else after the deed is done, so he leaves the bed for a bath after barely kissing you (on a good day). You're VERY welcome to follow him, though. After he got in the steaming hot (or cool, depending on the season) water, he becomes way better, and is down to spoil you by ordering a snack and a bottle of wine for you to share. You can understand how good you've been from its quality. It's also his favorite occasion to give gifts to you, a gesture he always pairs with nonchalant glance - badly hiding how much he's eager to know if you like his gift or not.

There have been times where a joke, a back rub and a stolen cuddle brought the two of you back to bed... and then in the bath, and then in the bed, again and again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Lucio is Lucio, and he loves Lucio. All of it, expecially when he's gilded (or made of) gold. You can either join him in worshipping his body, or sleep in your quarters, tonight. In his eyes, you're (almost) as beautiful as he is, but he literally adores your neck and collarbones. He likes to pour wine in the shallow basins they form and drink from them. He has also sent for the fines goldsmiths of the continents, but judged none of their work worthy of laying at the centre of the masterpiece your collarbones are.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He wants you to beg for it. He won't finish until you will, and you've tried. He's spoiled and looks weakened by a life of luxury and care, but he can summon a massive willpower in a flinch. The first time you resisted the urge to beg for him to grant you his precious essence, he left the bed, outraged, and spent the next month making sure you were aching with desidre while he didn't deign to touch you once. The second time you tried, he made you come -again and again and again, until you couldn't do it anymore, yet he kept pounding, and rubbing and tormenting your steaming, tender spots until you cried for him to give his cum to you, filling you to the brim. This had you learn your lesson. Now, you make sure to beg it and treat it with the respect it deserves - that is, never wasting a single drop of it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret) [TW: gauntlet]

What he did with demons and fiends isn't by far his deepest secret. You caught up only because once his golden arm accidentally unfastened from his shoulder. He put it right back on it, his face pale with horror, but he couldn't go on. Without a pinch of magic, you wouldn't have been able to convince him to let you comfort him. Now you know: he hates his stump. Hates the scar, hates the shape, hates the itching feel of having something so unperfect on his body. Maybe he'll never get over it, but anyway you now make sure his beloved golden arm comes never off his shoulder.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Boy, if he knows what he's doing. Clearly, the fact that he and Nadia never grew close didn't kept him from having plenty of fun with the many people he happened to lay his eyes on. After all, not many would deny the count their time, if not else, considering how overwhelming he can be with his courting. Many fell as you did, but you've been told from Portia that none of them - hookups, concubines, friends or whatever - sparked interest and desire in him for more than a couple of nights. He quickly got bored, or they couldn't keep up with his pace and disagreeable temper in the bedroom. He might pretend to be careless, but you're clearly a keeper in his eyes. And, given what he's able to do with just his body and words, you can't wrap your head around the fact that some people could NOT want him!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) [tw:chocking]

Lucio gets bored easily, so he doesn't really have one favorite position. In general, he likes anything that keeps your body well spread for his eyes and hands to devour shamelessly. The position he chooses to finish is often on top of you, with your legs tied on the headboard, your breasts squeezed between your knees and his shining golden hand around your throat. You can't help to love the feeling of him unloading into you as the sight of his grin fades because of the choking.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

A relaxed Lucio is actually a funnier person than you thought. He's really focused during sex, but afterwards he likes to joke about it light-heartedly in a manner that makes you surprisingly comfortable.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He likes it well-groomed. Himself, and you. If you're more on the wild side he may gets past it, but he wouldn't dare to go for it wen HE is not well-tamed. You do this kinda weird but funny thing where you get cared for together by his army of beauticians: the first time he scheduled the both of you was unexpected, but turned into a very wholesome bonding moment. Despite the obvious pain and the heat of the wax, you really like your regular appointment.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

At the beginning, you thought Lucio just wasn't romantic during the act. After some time though, you understood that the fact that it doesn't looks romantic or affectionate doesn't mean it's not. The way you melt into his hands and how you let him bend your will is everything to him, because you're the only one that doesn't subdue because of his titles, but because of who he IS. His intimacy is just different from how others experience it. Probably what he has experienced lead him to disconnect from his deeper feelings, but it's possible to spot them from time to time. He's getting better, though, and eventually he'll be able to make love softly and sweetly like a normal person, from time to time - not that the way he likes it right now upsets you in any way...

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The count doesn't jack off. Why would he, when there's always a pair of sweet, warm lips ready to take care of it? When he wants it, he sends for you, and then a nod in the direction is enough for you to understand his needs. He doesn't even gets it out by himself: just crosses his arms behind his head, closes his eyes and enjoys your lovely care of him. And you'd better make sure to not let out a single drop on his pants.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) [tw:public exposure]

Lucio has an hard time to imagining himself not dominating. He doesn't need violence or threats: you will bend and bow before him just because he says so - and for everyone to see. He's a huge exhibitionist, and his favourite thing to exhibit is you. He had you dressed only with a golden mask on your face and a leash, sitting on his laps during political meetings, dinners and parties. Once he went to visit a nearby ruler, and got to the point to touch you beneath your legs as he was discussing serious matters at the table. When you came, clinging to his shoulders and hiding your face on his neck, he distractedly scolded you, your moans were interrupting the discussion. During the last Masquerade, he had you, dressed in gold chains and rubies, as a centerpiece of his main table. Because you see, dear, you're art, and you're power - and everyone must know I have them both.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He's up for doing it everywhere, given that you won't mess up the outfits. This means going for some more subtle play when you're around. Fireworks and shenanigans are a Palace thing, where he can always have a change of clothes, a bath and his personal hairdresser. One thing that can't miss, though, is a very large and well polished mirror.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

More than luxury, innuendos, winks and dancing hips, Lucio loves when you have his back in public situations. Then he feels genuinely secure and proud about himself, and there's no better aphrodisiac for him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) [tw: humiliation]

Lucio doesn't like being humiliated, and this extends to you. He never insults you, you're his precious thing and everything about you is worthy of him, aka perfect.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Given that he doesn't jack off, he recieves a lot, but he's not selfish about it: recently, you discovered a little handerchief he keeps in his pocket, that he ties once for every time he gets his needs cared by you. When you two are in you bedroom, he makes sure to give you an orgasm for each tie on his handerkief.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Lucio likes it fast and rough, not because of the roughness itself, he's more a hyperactive type, always looking for the next climax. He really likes when he shakes you so much that you have trouble breathing.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

In his words, "Quikies are for miserable people that doesn't have time for proper sex" -that his, servants and workers. He's above all that.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If there's a way to win Lucio's loyalty is to provide him with something new each night. He loves creativity, and when he finds something new he really gets obsessed by it and wants to try again and again and again.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Since you started your affair with him, you went through countless lube bottles. He is insatiable, and likes to keep going for HOURS, until you're sore and steaming.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

More than actual toys, Lucio own a nuber of various body chains and jewels, lingerie and costumes, perfumes and magical jewels - all meant to enhance his experience. He actually designed some of them himself, and you must admit he really is a natural!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Lucio loves to tease, but he's more into teasing with you. There's this game he does where you pick together a victim and spend the whole meeting driving them mad with delicate innuendos - and then playing So Offended if they react to it in any way: How could they think that you would mean something SeXuAl?!? Once you got almost naked and performed a very intricate, twerking-on-their-face dance while Lucio went a long way explaining the guest that it was a dance from your Very Exotic Culture, meant to show great deference towards a powerful leader.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He won't stop talking unless phisically restrained. He loves making so much obvious noise that half the palace knows what he's doing.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I so agree with THIS [tw: public]

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Lucio is actually average, despite he wields it with the confidence of a man with much bigger dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Lucio's sexy drive is wildly high. More than being actually horny, though, he really enjoys spending time in any sexual activity. Some days he spends the whole days talking with sexual innuendos only, or having you all naked and ready in his wing for hours, enjoying the sole idea that you're there waiting for him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) [tw: drug use]

Not many people know this, but Lucio has troubles sleeping. Eventually, the weight of his deeds fell upon him, robbing him of his sleep. At the beginning he started using narcotics to fall asleep, but Julian caught him immediately and made sure to put a hasty end on the dangerous habit.

Now Lucio slips into your bedroom with some dumb excuse ("thought you wanted some water" "hey, I had this WILD dream" "I'm horny") just to lay with you as you fall asleep. Watching your serene face as you sleep helps him to soothe his sleepless nights and find some kind of peace.

Disclaimer: please remember that this is a fictional and very exaggerated depiction of sex. Most of what's written here would be problematic at best irl, and way unnecessary. Pls love yourself and be safe no matter what ♡

Index Here

#see sometimes I think I am over Lucio-#but then I am not-#good lord-#the arcana #the arcana smut #count lucio #lucio the arcana #lucio x mc #lucio morgasson #lucio smut #lucio montag smut #lucio x apprentice #lucio x reader smut #lucio x mc smut #count lucio smut

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 7 days

Text

HC time! And this time is

☆Smut☆

What "innocent" detail of the M6 will make your blood boil?

~~~~♧~~~~

Nadia

As you approach her, she offer you her hand to kiss. She expects you to do so.

Every time you speak in public, she glares at you with pride in her eyes.

From time to time, she forgets her shawl where you can notice it. As you pick it up, her fragrance fills you. As you return it to her, your hands shake.

Asra

He often jokes about them teaching you someting else... and then he states it's something silly, like bargaining with the salamander. Of course it was something like that. What were you thinking about?

When he's focused, he fidgets with his pendant, lifting it and then letting it fall onto his chest. Thump-thump-thump. The stone catches the light each time. You can't help looking at it.

The shop is small, and you have to sleep in the same bed. Each morning, you're awaken by his moans as he stretches next to you, the chest exposed to the first sunbeams of the day.

Muriel

When he carves his little figurines, he caresses the wood with his fingers to feel the shape hidden in it. You alway notice how gentle his touch is, despite his hands being so big.

Sometimes, when he's calm and the rain gently hits the roof, he humms a song. Its words are long forgotten, but Muriel's deep voice reaches your chest, making it vibrate with its sounds.

Every time the fire light hits his bare skin, you see countless marks of his violent past reflecting a pale light. You'll never tell him, but being alone with him with such a reminder of his strength sends odd shivers down your spine.

Julian

When Julian reads, his auburn curls fall on his fohead. From time to time he passes his fingers within them to push them back. You always daydream about your hand being the one doing that.

As he's getting to work on a patient he rolls up his sleeves, revealing his beautiful forearms. His insecurities melts away in a matter of seconds, and his touch becomes firm and gentle.

His laughs echoes in every room. It's so warm and contagious. When he stops and looks back at you though, there's always that residue smile on his lips and a glint of something savage into his eyes. Hunger? Challlenge? Desire? You can't tell, and you can't look away either.

Lucio

He's a selfish, entitled prick, but there's so much love painted on his face every time he looks at his dogs that your heart melts.

Whenever you see him sparring or fighting, you're hypnotised by his movements. He looks like a ribbon cutting the air around him, fast and elegant.

There's something dark and magnetic in the way he's not at all concerned by blood on himself -being his or not. You look at him cleaning his hands with a handkerchief, staining it in red. You always say that Lucio's ease with violence is concerning to you... but maybe it's something more.

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 7 days

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Do we think Gale Dekarios is into dirty talk.

Like be absolutely FILTHY about it. MDNI 18+

Like. Feral??? Cursing?? Talking about how good his cock feels inside your cunt. Your pussy. Inside you???

Or does he do it but in his Gale, flowery words that make not only your body ache for him but your heart??

Comparing the magic wrapped around his cock to the magic of the Weave, feeling it crackling every where, surrounding him like an embrace he never knew he needed until he met you.

Or does he become a ravaging animal with you, because you make him so. You make this charming, collected man grow hot to the point where he can’t even form words as he’s fucking you. And he is fucking you with every inch of him because you just feel that good.

All with groans, whimpers and growls.

You’ve turned the wizard man into a beast and it’s just how the two of you like him to be.

#...HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO ME I GUESS #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale dekarios smut #gale dekarios x reader #gale x tav

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 9 days

Text

As Gortash's head hits the stone floor of his office he knows he is not getting up again. His head rings from the impact, but even with the noise filling up his head he can still hear his opponents voices.

A foot comes down on his chest. He doesn't see it clearly with how his vision is swimming, but he knows it. It has been there before, both similarly to how it is now and welcome.

"Kill him!" he hears. Karlach. The anger in her voice fills the room.

"Not yet," that all-to-familliar voice speaks. "I need to ask him one thing first."

Gortash blinks, his blurred vision focusing on the one over him. The one he had missed. His favourite assassin.

"Tell me, Gortash," they say, and it feels like all those years ago long before all of this started with how they spit rather than purr his name. "When I dissappeared, did you search for me? Or was I another thing you could cast aside, like Karlach was?"

He looks at them, up their leg, up their form, to their eyes burning into him. A memory of being in the same position, but then they smiled at him with both confidence and lust.

"No," he says, and he hates how his voice comes out. Weak. Powerless. "Karlach I gave, but you?"

He lifts his hand, slowly, as he had done all those years before. His fingers reach their leg, his fingers gently grazing the back of it before cupping the muscle of their calve.

Last time he had kissed them. He wonders if they will remember that in his last moments.

"You, I lost."

An eternity. A moment. His vision still dances, and the boot leaves his chest.

He watches as they walk away, the last thing he sees before Karlach's weapon comes down.

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 9 days

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So... last night my very first run of BG3 finally came to an end, and... I gotta say I am pretty emotional.

Summer (my Tav) has been with me for six years. I first created her for my first ever D&D campaign back when I was still in high school and I still had the possibility to play. Hers was the only campaign I got to see from start to finish, so she is very dear to my heart.

Many things happened in these six years. I graduated from high school, I played other campaigns that never got to have an ending (don't date your DMs, kids-), I got broken up with my boyfriend, I got into uni, I lost family members, I've had some of my highest highs and lowest lows, I got my first degree in Psychology... And all throughout these years I kept creating characters, I kept addind and removing and modifying and writing and drawing and it was all so much fun!

But I kept missing Summer. I can't quite explain what attracts me so much to her character. If it's the fact I was in a happy place when I first created her and so my emotions and feelings from that time still connect me to her, or if it's specifically because I got to play a whole campaign with her or even because not only I could play with her but my best friend was also along with me for the ride and we had a blast together. Whatever it is, I could never quite be done with her, you know?

One thing was for certain though. After the first two or three years her ending didn't satisfy me anymore. She was still so young, she still had so many questions left unanswered and so much potential. We were thinking of a possible sequel campaign for her and Arwen (my best friend's character and now Tav) but that's when our DM dropped us both. We were left wondering what we could do for them, what we could write and how. We weren't entirely sure which direction to take our characters in.

Then BG3 came out. I remember my timeline being flooded with Astarion edits (that damn song lives rent free in my head at this point), being so utterly confused at what the hell was going on and then slowly becoming intrigued. I remember sitting down with my best friend to watch a mega compilation of all the characters' romance scenes, finding the visuals so damn beautiful, being convinced I would be my usual freak self and go for The Emperor but falling hard for Gale instead. We so desperately wanted to play but neither of us had a PC that was compatible with the game.

Then my long distance friend reached out and told me he wanted to play long distance with me on Discord. It was all incredibly clunky and finicky but Gods I was so happy. He'd be playing from the other side of the country and streaming it for me, and I would pick all the dialogue choices in character. That's when my bestie and I had a eureka moment and thought "what if... what if Summer and Arwen's story wasn't over yet? What if they left Aegis to find new adventures and ended up in Faerun??". I was so fucking excited it is almost unbelievable.

We spent six whole months on this one game file and I enjoyed every. single. second of it. Six whole months of pure excitement and delight. The more I played, the more I tweaked Summer's character and backstory to fit the narration, the more I got inspired to write up the new chapters of her adventure with my best friend and the more I fell in love with her. I laughed, I cried, I launched myself into deep discussions over her character and why she would do or say certain things in each situation. I saw her easily slip back into her avdenturing habits, adoring each moment she got to spend under the stars. I saw her face her demons once again and with even more purpose this time. I saw her make new friends that she would want to spend the rest of her life with, I saw her fall in love with a man that truly deserved to be by her side... My little tiefling sorceress that plays like a barbarian, my pride and joy.

And it all came to and end last night. Her and her allies won the last battle, they saved Baldur's Gate, Gale proposed to her and she moved with him to Waterdeep to spend the rest of their life together. She got her happy ending.

Six whole years with Summer and I can finally consider her story complete. Perhaps she is so important to me because out of all the characters I created, she is the only one that finally got her whole character arc. A beginning and an end. And after all the harsh challenges she faced, after all the dangers and the pain and suffering... she finally got her happy ending. She got what she deserved.

Now, does that mean I am done with Summer? Absolutely not. There is still much to do, much to write and much to draw. I'm gonna have tons of fun thinking up extra little scenarios for her and her friends and what her life in Waterdeep is gonna look like as she finally gets to build a family of her own. But as far as I am concerned... her main story's complete.

And as I listen to Endless Spring and get emotional all over again, I want to thank @wolfhunter89 and @sheeplyquillwrites for coming along with me on this wonderful journey. Summer's story just wouldn't have been the same without you. I love you guys so damn much, even if I never say it. I can't wait to see what's in store for Arwen next. To many more stories and games shared together!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #Sil writes #and don't you worry guys- I still have A TON of stuff to write on this blog as well for Summer and our favourite Wizard #June is gonna be one hell of a month lemme tell ya-

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 21 days

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Coronations and Revelations

Summary: Post-Gortash coronation the crew deals with the new information about their leader, the Dark Urge/Solikha. Gale and Karlach take it especially hard. All the angst, so much angst. Spoilers for early Act 3.

“I think you’ve said and done enough” Gale stared at her or he did stare through her? He finally turned away without as much as a touch to her hand. They had barely left the audience hall after Gortash’s sham of a coronation but Wyrm's Rock was thick with tension as everyone skirted around the enormous elephant in the room. The elephant in question was Solikha and the tension that grew was in reaction to Gortash explaining this whole Absolute cult, the brain, and the crown, was their idea…her idea.

“Well I for one am glad you’re a devious evil bastard.” Astarion said, finally breaking the heavy silence. “If it weren't for you I’d still be under Cazador’s control.” This seemed to calm Karlach just enough for her to not burst into flames at that moment. Solikha wasn’t sure if their relationship would ever be repaired. If what was said, and all that was unsaid, was true it means she was allies and possibly lovers with the person who sold Karlach to Zariel. But without Solikha and Gortahs’s plan, Karlach would still be in Avernus. The smallest silver lining in a mountain of shit.

“Well soldier, this is…a lot to take in. Not only are you a Bhaalspawn, and we all weren’t that surprised about it cause of all the murder talk and well murder, but you conceived the Absolute? And you were fucking Gortash? GORTASH?!” Karlach was burning so hot now that Wyll had to step away to grab Shadowheart just in case she needed to dose her in water. She couldn’t even look at Solikha and she didn’t blame her. “Did you know what he did to me?! Were you there when he decided to sell my heart and soul?!”

“To be fair Karlach, we don’t know if and when they were fucking each other.” Astarion joked with a poor attempt to ease the tension. “I will say darling, Gale is definitely a step up, good for you.”

Her stomach couldn’t stop turning and it was worse than she had even thought. Being a Bhaalspawn was one thing, at least there was a comfort in knowing where her Urge comes from, but to be the reason for their current plight? The reason for the suffering of the people she loved the most. Solikha glanced at Gale who was now discussing camp protection with Laezel, as to keep out Orin. He flinched as he overheard them talking of Gortash and Solikha, a look in his eyes flashed of pain and confusion. A lump formed in her throat and she felt as if she would spill her guts all over the floor of this damned fortress.

“Either way Fangs, I think I need some time.” Karlach sighed and turned away. “I think we all do.”

All Solikha could do was nod and with that everyone left towards camp. She slowly followed and watched them all surround Wyll comforting him after his talk with Mizora. Astarion grabbed Wyll’s hand and kissed it softly. Jaheria came up and touched her shoulder as Solikha entered camp. “Give them time, cub.” Jaheria said softly. “They’ll come around…eventually.”

Solikha just wanted to hide away in the makeshift home for their four legged friends and give her companions time to figure out their next course of action. She’d caused them all enough pain and she wasn’t sure exactly how to deal with that. How could she ever make up for what she’s done? She didn’t deserve their love or this accidental chance at redemption. Even if she could destroy Orin and somehow pull her Father’s essence from her veins, the ocean of blood that was of her creation could never be drained.

Gale didn’t speak to Solikha all night, and thankfully Jaheria and Astarion were up for the challenge of keeping an eye on her. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say, which was a newer experience for him. The person he’d been sharing a bedroll with since Moonrise was not only a Bhaalspawn but the creator of the Absolute. She was the reason for their unwelcome ocular insertion and all their suffering so far. He should have seen it coming, especially when around every corner at Moonrise someone knew who she was. The way Ketheric spoke to her and looked at her, the Warden’s disdain for her, and Kressa that freak Myrkulite who tore her body asunder. There was Solikha’s strange behavior there too. He saw her falter and give in to the Urge multiple times and speak as if she was a different person. Someone to be feared, someone to be respected. Gale was a fool blinded by love who couldn’t see the blazing fire in front of him.

Soon a different feeling crept up though and couldn’t help but be mystified and elated that she, and Gortash, were the ones who brought the crown into the material plane and within his reach. The crown that would ascend him to godhood, free him from the orb and give him the power to cure them all. Could he even rip her from Bhaal’s grip? Take her to the heavens with him and start anew, a life they both deserved. A life without the demands of Gods. Maybe this was the invisible string that has been pulling together all along. Gale didn’t really believe in destiny, but of course he’d be attracted to someone with so much ambition, previously evil or not.

Then there was the Gortash of it all…he all but said they were together before but to what extent? Gale wasn’t above being jealous, and the thought of them together made his blood boil. What did her possible attraction to Gortash say about Gale himself? Were there similarities there that he was not able to see, or willing to see? He attempted to shake the thoughts and visions coming to his mind as he heard footsteps outside his tent.

“Gale, do you have a moment?” The voice did not belong to Solikha, as he deep down hoped, but to Shadowheart. She entered his tent and sat down without waiting for a reply.

“Well I guess I do, please sit. What can I help you with?” Gale responded a bit annoyed but also slightly relieved. Maybe talking this through with someone would be helpful and Shadowheart tended to be the most practical minded of the bunch, now that she’s turned from Shar anyways.

“You haven’t spoken to Solikha since the coronation let alone looked her in the eye.” her own eyes probing Gale’s for a reaction. “Maybe you wish to speak about all that’s been uncovered?”

“Well, Shadowheart I am not exactly sure where to start or what to even say.” Gale fiddled with the ring on his finger, the one that matched Solikha’s own ring they found near Moonrise. “It’s almost as if I don’t know her at all now.”

“Gale, we both know that’s not true. We both know Solikha, the one here with us now.” Shadowheart sighed. “The same woman who conjured the idea of the Absolute would not have helped any of us. She wouldn’t have helped save the Grove and the tieflings. She wouldn’t have helped me turn from Shar, helped you not allow Mystra decide your fate.”

Gale looked up from the ring. He knew what she said was true. The Solikha they knew was all too willing to put herself in harm's way to help anyone, like that goblin in the grove. It's a surprise Astarion liked her so much honestly. “I suppose you’re right.” Gale said and looked over to the entrance to his tent willing her to come to him now.

“Gale, as someone who once followed an unforgiving god and most likely committed unspeakable horrors to people in the name of said god,” Shadowheart paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It’s hard to forgive yourself or even feel worthy of forgiveness. Not to say she or I deserve such a thing but…” she trailed off. Gale realized that much like Solikha, Shadowheart could also not remember most of the atrocities she might have committed during her time with Shar. Was it worth knowing, he wondered, to remember those transgressions? Or was their memory loss a fated shield from their sins, paving a new path for them both to redemption.

“All I’m trying to say is, while I’m also angry and confused, I can empathize with her.” Shadowheart went to stand up. “She doesn’t remember any of this Gale, not really anyway. She is likely as horrified as we all are. And when you’re ready I think you should hear her out and be there for her.”

Gale thanked her for her council as they left his tent. He walked past Wyll preparing dinner, probably as a distraction from thinking about his father and his patron. Mizora was due to come see him soon and as much as they had rejoiced in him negotiating out of his pact, Gale had a sneaking suspicion Mizora just got the upper hand yet again.

He scanned the camp for Solikha as he approached the fire and finally spotted her sitting with Scratch, the owlbear and Astarion. Of course the vampire was there with her. While Jaheria had dealt with a similar Bhaalspawn in the past, she wasn’t exactly the best with comforting words. Astarion on the other hand was surprisingly delicate in these situations, especially with Solikha. Their connection used to irk Gale but he’d come to accept that their friendship was just that, an intimate and deeply personal platonic friendship. There will always be parts of Solikha that Astarion could understand on a different level, and that's alright. Good even.

“Darling, there is no use beating yourself up.” Astarion said to Solikha whose head rested on his shoulder. “Like you told me before, there is no going back to the past. We can only look forward and be less of a bastard now.” He hugged her tight and placed a light kiss on the top of her head.

“But I hear the creaky knees of your dear wizard behind us so I suppose it’s time for me to help my sweet with dinner.” Astarion hopped up, turned to leave, looked at Gale and whispered to him, “Remember what you promised me at Last Light. My eyes are on you until this is sorted out.” His hand gripping Gale’s a bit harder than necessary, but his point was made, and Gale nodded in response.

Gale sat down on the straw in the animal enclosure next to Solikha and looked her over. She was paler, eyes red and puffy and overall looked like death. The last few days have been tough on her and Gale didn’t really see it until now. With all his thoughts on the crown and her past actions Gale, unlike Shadowheart, failed to notice how painful this all must be for her. She had seemed almost relieved about the revelation of her heritage but looking at her now he realized he may have misunderstood. Looking at her now she looked so fragile and broken.

“My love, I have been a terrible fool.” Gale pulled her to his chest. “If you can find it in yourself to forgive my extreme ungentlemanly behavior earlier this morning…” he paused trying to find what to say next.

“It’s…it’s okay.” Solikha sniffed and leaned closer into him. “It’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot for you and for me.” Her voice cracked slightly.

“I’m ready to discuss or ignore whatever you wish, love.” Gale looked out to the sky as the clouds glowed with the last of the sun's rays. “In your own time and whatever you need of me, I’m here.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Scratch and the Owlbear cub came up and settled at their feet. The chatter around the fire grew as dinner approached being ready.

“Let’s just stay here, for a moment please.” Solikha asked, still staring out at the sky. “I just don’t think I can face them right now. Especially Karlach.” Gale gripped her shoulder tighter and kissed the top of her head.

“Of course my love, whatever you need.” Gale said. His thoughts moved to the crown again, as the stars started to twinkle into the sky. Hope rippled in his heart thinking of what the crown could mean for him, for her, for all of them.

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 21 days

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Coronations and Revelations

“Either way Fangs, I think I need some time.” Karlach sighed and turned away. “I think we all do.”

“Gale, do you have a moment?” The voice did not belong to Solikha, as he deep down hoped, but to Shadowheart. She entered his tent and sat down without waiting for a reply.

“It’s…it’s okay.” Solikha sniffed and leaned closer into him. “It’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot for you and for me.” Her voice cracked slightly.

They sat in silence for a moment. Scratch and the Owlbear cub came up and settled at their feet. The chatter around the fire grew as dinner approached being ready.

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 21 days

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The Damned Crown of Karsus

Summary: Gale and Solikha find a way into the vaults of Sorcerous Sundries. Gale looks through the Annals of Karsus and Solikha has a panic attack basically. Spoilers for Act 3 Gale/Durge storylines.

I can't stop writing stuff that is so angsty, help (or don't it's fine)!

It was an off day where their companions and them had some down time. Jaheria, Karlach and Minsc managed to catch Rion up with what was needed in Rivington to protect the refugees. Shadowheart, Asartion, Wyll and Laezel had decided to touch base with Guild about any other goings on they’ve heard of, especially in regards to the search for Bhaal’s temple, which they had deduced was in the sewers.

Solikha and Gale had been visiting Rolan, Cal and Lia to go over the tower artillery and sort through Lorroakan’s stash of scrolls and items when Rolan mentioned he discovered a way into the vaults below.

“I know you had mentioned wanting access to the vaults below the tower” Rolan said as Gale looked as if he was going to pass out and fall over the balcony they stood on. “Just a floor below, it’s a pedestal that will take you to the archives. I didn’t venture far but feel free to take a look and gather anything you need.”

“You didn’t venture far Rolan cause you set off a trap” Cal laughed out loud as Lia snorted. “He came back all singed and I thought maybe he blew himself up with a fireball.”

Rolan blushed and the trio started going at it while Solikha giggled before she turned to Gale. His eyes were alight with determination and she could tell it was taking every bit of strength to keep himself from bolting back into the tower and throwing himself to the floor below.

Her stomach churned and heart sank. Ever since learning more about the crown, how her and Gortash stole it from Mephistopheles, and reconfiguring it to take control over the Elder Brain; she had been very wary of discussing it with Gale. She knew of his ambitions and through their whole journey she’s tried to make it known she loves him for him and not any power he wields or could potentially possess. All she wanted and needed was Gale Dekarios, the human wizard. But how could she tell him ‘No, I won’t help you become a god’ when she herself had already essentially tread that path with Gortash.

Before she could say anything Gale had already grabbed her hand and cast featherfall on them. She leaped to the floor below without even thinking. Thanks to Volo’s eye, Solikha was able to suss out which pedestal was the correct one. At least this thing came in handy, she had to give Volo that.

“Gale, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Solikha was nervous now, a feeling of dread sinking into her soul. She went to reach for his hand but he was nervously pacing.

“Nonsense, you are more than capable of handling the traps down there!” Gale said, obviously not quite understanding what Solikha meant. “If there was a time to doubt yourself it is not this moment. We are so close, I can feel it.”

She wasn’t sure if Gale was talking to her or to himself and in that moment she figured there was no stopping him now. She sighed and grabbed his hand and touched the pedestal. If anything, this vault would likely have an excellent selection of loot for them to acquire and they could discuss the book later.

A similar tug at the gut and the appeared in an atrium with clearly visible burn marks across the marble from Rolan’s mishap days prior. It didn’t take long for Solikha to disarm the traps Rolan didn’t set off while Gale cast Knock on a couple of the chests and door into the next room.

“Silverhand, Elminster…and Karsus.” Gale’s eyes are ablaze with wonder and Solikha grabbed him before he stepped on the trapped floor plate. “Ah yes thank you my love.”

“Just steer clear until I’ve done a quick trap check, okay?” She looked over the door and surrounding area carefully. Dismantled two traps that definitely would have sent a disintegrate spell towards them and allowed Gale to step forward. “Should be good now, though I’m unsure if I can unlock this door.”

“No worries dear, I have a couple more spells in me today.” Gale winked and cast knock on Karsus’s door. It rippled with blue light and a magical click echoed in the room. Solikha felt as if she was going to empty out her guts right on the floor.

Gale opened the door slowly and there it was, right in front of them, just sitting on a half empty shelf. She heard him breath in shallowly and walk over to pick it up. Solikha busied herself disarming, unlocking and scrounging for scrolls and other items trying hard to think of how to tell Gale this was a bad idea.

“This really is it…not only that but it contains diagrams of how to to put it together. The original designs! I could reforge it, I could..” he looked up at Solikha, her eyes full of emotion he couldn’t read. “What is it, love? This is so exciting, it could answer all our problems. I could rip you from Bhaal! Cure myself of the orb...”

“Gale I…I’m not sure I want you delving into this.” Solikha interrupted him quietly, looking him in the eyes. “The crown is dangerous, I can’t lose you to it. I can't lose you to your ambitions.”

“Oh pish posh, don’t be such a hindrance after being such a help.” He sounded annoyed as if he thought she was trying to ruin this moment. “You’ve done this once before right? I’m sure deep down the muscle memory will kick in and with your help there is no way I wouldn’t succeed.”

She felt dizzy and unsure on her feet. Memories swimming of the cold of Cania, a hand in hers and his smile. Promises of godhood and power on the way to Moonrise. The crown being placed on the brain. Her memories cease to flood her mind and she comes back to the room. How does she tell him to learn from her mistakes? How does she say there is nothing good to come from this damned fucking crown. It will ruin him. It will kill her.

“Solikha, are you alright?” Whatever annoyance Gale felt was was cut short as she went pale as a sheet and looked as if she was going to pass out.

“You can’t do this, I can’t be a part of this. Not again.” Her voice cracked and tears formed in her eyes blurring her vision. “Gale please, please understand nothing good can come from this.”

“You helped him. At least you know I would do good. Solikha, you know me. I’d use this power to help the world, not destroy it or turn a blind eye.” Heavy silence fell as Gortash was finally brought up and Gale knew he fucked up. He started to apologize but his words fell apart as they reached her ears and her body froze. He didn’t just use that against her, did he? How dare he, how could he? Shouldn’t she be angry? She knew she should but she felt nothing but despair as her mind sunk into blackness. Tears streamed down her face hot and salty.

“How could…did you just?” Her mouth felt like mush and her words choked out between gasps. Panic arose and the room spun around her. “Gale I can’t believe you just said that. How could you say that?”

She couldn’t look up at him but she felt his arms fold around her. He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “Love, that was wholly out of line. I’m so sorry, I never should have used that against you. I’m sorry.” Gale whispered softly over and over again. Solikha wanted to believe him even though every atom in her body was telling her not to; telling her to use the disintegrate scroll she just found on the book and let him leave her. At least that way he’d be safe.

“If you want to use the past against me Gale, then heed my warning.” She spoke into his chest, still not able to look at him. “There is nothing good that can come from reforging the crown. You once spoke of Gale’s Folly when you told me of the orb. That damned stupid crown on that monstrosity of a fucking brain is my folly. We need to learn from our past actions. Please.”

She felt a slight change in Gale’s body while they were still entwined. His body stiffened for a second then relaxed. Did her words find him finally? I

“Just hear me out, love. Come to our bed tonight after your bath and I’ll bring you somewhere magical. If you still wish to speak with me, that is.” He said cautiously, knowing he was still on thin ice.

She sighed into his chest and his index finger hooked under her chin, bringing her face to his. He kissed her so gently as if she was delicate enough to break in pieces. He wasn’t wrong either, anxiety had filled every nerve in her body as an impending doom set in. She wanted to trust him, to not let this feeling overtake her. To trust he would hear her out and she could walk him away from this. They broke their kiss, leaning together forehead to forehead and she replied finally, “Until tonight then.”

#YES. SOMEBODY ELSE ADDRESSING THIS SCENE!!#ugh!! I loved this!!#Gale turns into a bit of a douche when he gets his hands on that damn book-#bad wizard!#istg the developers should add the option to tell him off lmao #like- sir- don't speak to your future wife like that-#bg3 durge #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x durge #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 gale #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #gale x tav #crown of karsus #gortash ruins everything

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 22 days

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Your best friend has left their last message for you, lamenting that they are no longer in this world should you receive that last message. It would have been emotional and tragic, had said friend not standing next to you, alive and in good health.

#AAAAAAH MY HEART WHAT THE HELL #bloodweave #bg3 bloodweave #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x gale #galestarion #gale fanfic #astarion fanfic #bloodweave fanfic

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 22 days

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Deadly Envy

Word Count: 1.8k Description: Perhaps directing insults directly to the Avatar of Envy's face is a mistake -- or, Leviathan reminds some demons of their place. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Finally got back to continuing this, so here's Leviathan! Apologies for the delay, hope this is okay;; Note: Vepar is a demon associated with the sea and is one of the 72 demons that Solomon has a pact with, mentioned in the Ars Goetia. They were often depicted as a merman. Lassal is a minor demon named in the Liber de Angelis and is associated with the moon. Can also be found on AO3 here. content warning: blood, brute force violence, mild gore, use of hallucinogens

The Avatar of Envy was not one to find comfort in being alone with his thoughts, but there were times where he would wander to a certain cove by the oceanside, a place just for him where he found a sense of peace, a sense of belonging. The taste of salt in the air, the gentle spray of ocean mist, the sound of the waves crashing into the surrounding rocks -- yes, this was another home for him, one he dearly missed.

Leviathan closed his eyes, basking in the light of the Devildom moon as he debated going into the water tonight. It would be nice to go for a swim, but he was also itching to get back home and watch the latest episode of the anime he had recently gotten into.

“Well, well, who do we have here?”

Leviathan’s eyes snapped open, his body tense as he recognized the voice of the demon who unceremoniously interrupted him.

“Vepar,” the name left the sea serpent’s lips in a near hiss. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, enjoying the view this fine evening. I assume you’re doing the same? What a surprise, to see you actually outside! I thought you loved the computer screen more these days.” They laughed, a ripple of malice present in what should have been a joyous sound.

Of all demons, why did it have to be Vepar that had found his sanctuary? Every time Leviathan looked at them, or thought about them, envy bubbled in his chest and filled every fiber of his being.

Vepar had been one of the angels who fell alongside the brothers in the Great Celestial War - one of the few survivors outside of his family - and had been a rather high-ranking officer in the army at the time. After becoming a demon, they managed to become a Captain in Hell’s Royal Navy, following Leviathan as his subordinate. Or, that’s how it would have appeared, if it wasn’t for the fact that Vepar had seemingly lost all respect for their superior.

Their relationship was practically non-existent these days, as the Royal Navy hadn’t been active in centuries. They were never terribly close to begin with, but a great chasm seemed to have opened up between them as the years passed and Leviathan watched Vepar be so … successful.

How was it that this demon who ranked beneath him had managed to climb up so much higher in the social sphere? In true normie fashion, they had no issue conversing with strangers and seemed to make friends wherever they went. They were smooth with their words, charming with their smile, and always knew the right thing to say.

Except when it came to Leviathan.

“What’s with that look? I was just speaking the truth, wasn’t I?” Vepar grins, their mockery obvious. They brush a long lock of hair from their face before looking over their shoulder. “Oh, Lassal, look who I found!” They call out behind them, and soon another demon appears from the dark, his wispy white hair reflecting the moonlight. He was one of the lesser demons who seemed to cling to Vepar whenever they were together.

“Ah, Lord Leviathan..!” Lassal starts a bit nervously, unsure how to act in this situation. After all, he often joined in on the endless ribbing of the Avatar of Envy. The Greater Demon was never around to hear it, so what was the harm? “It’s, uh, nice to see you.”

“I was just telling him how strange it was to see him here. After all, I don’t think there’s a video game store anywhere near this area.” Vepar continues, the deriding smile still on his face. “Such a rare sighting of the ever-elusive demon. And all alone, too … but, I suppose it’s true that you don’t have any friends.”

Leviathan glares at the long-haired demon, his hands now curled into fists as they continue their jabs. Has he really become such a joke? Of course, a worthless otaku like me doesn’t deserve any respect, he thinks, They only care about my position when they have to…

“I would offer you to join us, but… hmm, you’d honestly just kill the mood.” Vepar shrugs, turning to Lassal, and attempts to get him to join in. “Isn’t that right? I mean, we all know how pathetic he is!”

The jealous thoughts continue to invade his mind. They only care because of my brothers. I’m obviously the weakest link, huh? Even Solomon liked Vepar enough to make a pact with them … they might be even better friends than we are …

“R-right!” Lassal easily bends to the other demon’s will. “Sorry, Leviathan, but you’re not really fun to have around.”

And then they feel comfortable enough to talk like this to me, to my face?! They have all the qualities I lack, everything is so much easier for them, and I’m just a laughing stock who only deserves mockery, huh? Is that it..?

“Oh, so polite. Come now, weren’t we talking earlier of how sad of a demon he is?”

“Yeah,” All nervousness is gone from Lassal, a rather smug expression taking over his features instead. “It’s hard to believe that he’s one of the demons ruling over us...it’s funny because even he knows how depressing he is, isn’t that right?”

They really think they’re so much better than me?!

“And to think, he’s Grand Admiral -- ”

“SHUT UP!” Leviathan finally speaks, his envy burning hot and turning into rage as he lunges at Vepar, his claws digging into their throat. “You actually think you can just talk to me like that?” His eyes shift, turning more snake-like while ink spreads through his sclera. His horns grow larger, his tail longer, and his teeth look a bit too sharp when he growls at them. “May I remind you that YOU serve under ME?”

A gargled choke manages to leave the caught demon’s mouth, their eyes wide in surprise. Lassal, who let out a squeak of terror when the third-born attacked, was trying to scurry away from the scene -- only to be caught by Leviathan’s tail in a tight grip.

“And where do you think you’re going?” The sea serpent shot a deadly glare at the lower-level demon, hoisting him up into the air to dangle upside-down. Leviathan turns his attention back to the other demon, trying to stop himself from ripping their head off right then and there.

“I might not be the most sociable guy, or the most popular, or the coolest, or … whatever! But if you really think you can just talk shit to my face and get away with it, you’ve got another thing coming.” His forked tongue slips through his lips with a menacing hiss. “It seems you both need a reminder that I’m the Third Demon Lord, your superior, your Greater, your ruler.”

“I-I’m sorry…” Vepar manages to get out, their previous haughty air vanishing as dread sunk in, a heaviness sinking into their bones. “I--”

“Oh, save your fucking apologies, Vepar!” Leviathan spits at their face. “If it wasn’t for your little pact with Solomon, I would kill you this instant.” He momentarily digs his claws further into their skin. “Your little friend, on the other hand…”

Lassal whimpers, trying to shake his head furiously. “P-please Lord Leviathan! I-I only said such things b-because Vepar made me! They -- “ His words are cut off with a choke as the Avatar’s tail tightens around their neck as Leviathan brings him close to his own face.

“Wow, throwing them under the bus? I guess I can’t expect anything more from the likes of you.” Leviathan sneers, the claws of his free hand going to drag down along Lassal’s face, venom leaving their tips and entering his bloodstream. With a flick of his tail he slams Lassal into the ground head-first, the jagged rock they were upon cracking slightly from the force. “If you thought I was going to go cry in my room because of your taunting, you were sadly mistaken.”

Lassal’s skull was fractured, blood dripping from the head wound caused by impact. If he was trying to say anything more, it came out in incoherent words and sounds, which soon turned into struggling screams. The venom that now coursed through his veins had a hallucinogenic quality that made the victim feel as if they were drowning, and it seemed to be working rather well. Leviathan thrashed him about again, making sure to smash his skull against the rock over and over and over and over and --

“Leviathan, stop! He’s dead!” Vepar screams, managing to get some more words out as the grip on their throat had slightly loosened while the Avatar was preoccupied with the other demon. Leviathan makes sure to deliver one more whack for good measure before dropping Lassal to the ground, his head smashed to bits and nothing more than a messy pile of bone, blood, and flesh.

“So he is.” His voice is cold, distant. His orange-purple eyes are glowing as he turns his attention back to the still living demon. “Now, as for you, Vepar… what was it that you wanted to say earlier? Something about how you couldn’t believe I could still be called the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy?”

“I-I didn’t say that, I just … look, I’m sorry, okay? You just a-appeared to have become so weak, you -- “

“...became an easy target?” Leviathan finishes their thought. “Well, let this be a lesson, Vepar. Think you’re better than me all you want, think you have so much more than I do, but at the end of the day…” He drags his claws down Vepar’s chest, sharp points sinking into their flesh and creating several large gashes that spurt dark ichor. They bite their lip in an attempt to hold back their cries of pain, tears streaming down their cheeks. “...I am at the top. I have more power than you do, and I will make sure that your existence will be a miserable one if you dare challenge me again.”

Mumbled words left Vepar’s lips, soon followed by a sharp cry when Leviathan sank his claws into their torso once more.

“What was that?”

“Y-yes Grand Admiral, sir. N-never again, sir!” The words tumbled out without a second thought, the demon trying not to let his body tremble too much from the mix of fear and pain.

“Good.” Leviathan retracts his claws and lets Vepar slump to the ground to their knees, his cold gaze lingering on them for a moment before looking over to the mangled corpse of Lassal. Turning away from the scene, Leviathan begins to walk away, raising a hand in the air.

“Clean that mess up.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder to fix the fellow sea demon a menacing glare. “And that’s an order.”

#I mean...#meow-#leviathan obey me

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 22 days

Text

When you tell Astarion that your favorite feature of his are his wrinkles---the smile lines in particular---he nearly faints on the spot, jaw-dropping in utter disbelief as he stares at you in horror.

"I do not have wrinkles."

"You also can't see yourself."

"I know enough to know I'm a vampire! An immortal being! Aging, is below me, and I'll remain forever youthful while everyone else develops those wretched creases."

Despite his words, his finger reaches to rub at his skin inquisitively, as if he's feeling for any imperfections. It's cute, you think. He doesn't seem to agree.

Snorting, you roll your eyes playfully. "You asked me what physical aspect I liked about you most. You have your answer."

"Yes, something beautiful."

"It is beautiful."

"Darling," he says, squinting. "Nobody thinks of wrinkles when asked what they seek in a partner. Haven't you seen Jaheira put all those herbs on her face while our younger companions sleep blissfully beside her? The price of time, they call it."

"You're not young either."

He gasps, feigning offense. "I am--physically, that is."

You sigh, shrugging as you reach for your brush on the bedside drawer, ignoring his helpless tugs to bring you back to bed. "Fine then. I like your eyes."

"Well now it doesn't feel as sincere."

You deadpan, whipping your head around to shoot him a tired glare, but he's already broken out into a grin. Wordlessly, he sits up, plucking the brush out of your hands and shifting so you're situated practically on his lap. Slowly, he begins to brush the knots out of your bedridden hair, and you stare out the window, basking in his presence. His hands feel soft as they brush against your shoulder.

It's nice to indulge in moments like this from time to time.

The peaceful silence is broken as he sets down the brush.

"What about it do you find so alluring?" he asks, pooling your hair into one of his palms. He reaches for the string loosely hanging around his wrist with the other. "Other than the fact that I wear it flawlessly."

"They're easier to see when you're smiling," you mumble. "Your smile's always been a charm of yours, as fake as it was when we first met."

He pauses momentarily, only resuming to tie your hair a split second later. "And now?"

"It's a real smile," you reply. "So I like it."

He blinks.

Then, Astarion pushes your hair to one shoulder, leaning to rest his chin on the crook of your shoulder. "...I didn't realize there was such a sentiment in your answer."

"Will you stop complaining about looking old now?"

"I can't guarantee that, even if all the gods above were to will it," he grins, and it earns a stifled laugh on your part. "But...I suppose I don't despise the answer as much..."

You turn your head a tad, luring his face closer to yours with a finger on his chin. "I wouldn't be so sure. I'm very convincing, I hear."

"Are you now?"

You nod, holding either side of his face in your palms now. "If I must convince you of the beauty I see in you, then I will."

He kisses the inside of your hand. "I'm sure you will, darling."

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 22 days

Text

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

or read Chapter Four below the cut

He spied the bride to be and her groom, and wondered if he could get away with neglecting to pay his respects to the host. Surely, the only people who would really mark his entrance were those who wanted to fuck him, or make a deal with him, or do him harm. As far as he knew, the Eltans didn’t number among any of them.

Some of their guests, however... He saw Baron De Cloyo—who had been all three at one point or another. The last time they spoke was when the Baron interrupted his solitude in the middle of the night to complain about Astarion not having murdered Isolde. As though he’d disobeyed a direct order.

Astarion had actually been fascinated by how his investment in the relationship utterly vanished in that moment.

“You know what they say about thine enemy’s enemy,” someone murmured to him, Astarion resisted the urge to tilt his head around and see who it was, waiting instead for the speaker to step around, bow, introduce himself like a civilized person. “Well met,” Baron Horrold eventually fell in line with public decorum and Astarion inclined his head in return.

“You’ll have to remind me,” Astarion knew it would be rude to immediately excuse himself, but Astarion and Horrold had never been officially introduced, so it would also be the kind of thing that could ensure they never did have any productive interaction.

“My take away was always that they present a fine opportunity—something I believe you know how to recognize?”

“Oh, I’ve some experience on the matter, but I do rather enjoy when it’s explained to me,” Astarion lied, but did so smoothly, inviting. Let Horrold show his hand first. There was nothing in particular that Astarion wanted from him, but like any powerful elite in the city, there were always things he could get from him, if he could make the relationship work.

Perhaps Horrold realized his approach had been too eager already, because his cheeks went a little pink. “I just wonder what you did to De Cloyo; seems he dislikes you even more than he dislikes me. Impressive.”

“Oh, I hurt him,” confessed Astarion. “Inadvertently, but there it is,” He caught a waiter and snatched up a glass, draining it more to have something to do than to quench an imaginary thirst. “It wasn’t even about him—but then again, would that make you feel better?”

“No,” Horrold raised an eyebrow at Astarion, expression pensive for a moment, “I’ve never known it to not be about me.”

He sounded so sincere that Astarion had to refrain from releasing a bark of genuine laughter.

Obviously, he wasn’t depressed. If he was, he couldn’t possibly take so much amusement in the Baron’s complete lack of self-awareness.

“Is it still Baron then, or are we back to calling everyone by their family names only and referring to them as patriars? I rather fell asleep during the missive,” Astarion confessed.

“I like Baron,” Horrold smirked, “even if the Duke did want us to go back to the old ways, I think it would stick as a nickname, if nothing else.”

“Yes, true enough. Policies like that can lead some prick to calling himself ‘The Emperor’ and everyone following suit.”

“I suppose,” Horrold seemed rightly baffled by the comment, but recovered quickly by getting back to his own point, “And nothing can displace my family from the pedestal I’ve carved for them in the city elite. Baldur’s Gate needs us.”

“I’m sure,” Astarion was not sure.

“Your place is curious to me. I’d like to know more. I’d like to be involved.” Horrold kept his voice low, which in their present setting actually made him seem more conspicuous.

But Astarion wasn’t entirely put off. He could be a valuable ally. But he needed to be trained. Better to begin things in a more controlled setting. “Why don’t we arrange something later in the week? I don’t believe I’ve had you in my home before, seems a dreadful social oversight on my part.”

“You’re forgiven, and your invitation accepted,” the Baron gave a curt nod. “I’ll see what my man has on the schedule and arrange something with yours.”

“Excellent.” A bit of an exaggeration, but at least the evening was shaping up to be a productive one. Astarion released the Baron back to the party and forced himself to seek out a few others. Menotuous, tedious conversation followed in much the same vein as what had proceeded, and by the time midnight rolled around, he was drained by it all.

This kind of thing used to be relaxing for him. Social gatherings of the more banal type didn’t give him energy the way a more raucous event might, but it hadn’t felt like work since…

Since it hadn’t been his choice.

Was that the problem? Was that what had robbed him of his passion, his appetites?

He could do whatever he wanted now, so why did it feel like he was following directions from some unseen master? Someone very boring who he none-the-less had to take direction from?

The simplest answer was that it was because he was doing quite a lot, and none of it felt like his idea anymore. Maybe it never had been.

At one time, the prospect of finally having the freedom to find out what he wanted had kept him from total, intentional self-destruction. But, at some point, he’d taken it for granted. No one was telling him what to do any longer. He could do whatever he wanted.

And he still didn’t know what that was.

He was just doing what… he used to do, minus a few atrocities and diabolical schemes.

Old habits had him slipping into the seams of the party, finding the quiet, intimate places purposefully structured into the Eltan house to allow for tucking away with someone. Not even to make love just out of sight in a public place—though that had its appeal—but just to have them all to himself for a moment, to hold them and watch them watch him and savor every little interaction. All his.

Even when it was meaningless. Just a bit of fun, or even something more tragic. It was the part when he felt the pain and the pleasure heightened.

Assuming he felt anything.

The Eltans had opened their home to the great and the good of Baldur’s Gate, but that was apparently a broad category of persons because the manor house was overburdened with bodies. It took a hike into the next wing to find any isolation. Someone had clearly planned for and enabled the possibility that some of the guests might wander to find some privacy, because the candelabra were still lit, all the way into the more deserted halls.

The library seemed like a quiet place to find a comfortable lounge. He needed a moment to clear his head before he went back to that place that didn’t feel like home, though he’d lived there for centuries.

What did he want?

When was the last time he was sure he’d done something he really wanted to do? It could be something small, he just needed to think.

Astarion wasn’t the only person who had been looking for a little privacy in the crowded party, however. He entered the softly lit library, only to find it occupied. The couple didn’t notice him come in, right away.

They were propped up on a writing desk that was a little too dainty for their purposes. The woman had her legs dangling on either side of her partner as he seemed to struggle with her bodice between them. They clearly hadn’t quite gotten to the act yet, but at this rate Astarion doubted that they would, and couldn’t help but evaluate the whole scene and find it wanting on a few levels.

Gods, the man was doing it all wrong and the woman did nothing to help. Absolutely no support to any part of her body, she was just sitting there, trapped against the wall behind the desk, pinned in such a way so she couldn’t even use her hands. Then he saw the woman’s eyes over the man’s shoulders.

It was Isolde.

And, she wasn’t exactly fighting her partner off, but it was obvious in the stiff way she held her limbs that she didn’t want to be there.

He waited until she saw him, her gaze widened but she didn’t say anything, just stayed frozen and trapped where she was.

Astarion spared the immediate area a glance and noticed a crystal glass vase on display on its own shelf on the wall. Something to divide the otherwise relentless rows of dusty books. With an undisguised shove, he toppled it to the ground, expecting it to shatter on the polished wood floors.

To his disappointment, the vase bounced, ringing loudly from the impact, but it was fully intact still.

The man pawing at Isolde broke away from her with a yelp and whirled around.

“Gods, how embarrassing,” Astarion swanned along the nearest bookshelf, “had no idea anyone was in here.”

The man was quite good at buttoning up his own trousers quickly, even if his other movements could use some polish. He righted his waistcoat with a tug, but didn’t spare Isolde a look. His face was quite red, but aside from that, didn’t betray the slightest reaction. He eyed Astarion, but whatever judgment he passed on him didn’t reach his lips, instead he simply said, “No one is,” and quit the room.

Melodramatic, even for a patriar.

Astarion watched the man’s back as he slunk into the hallway, then turned to face Isolde, unsure if he’d be met with gratitude or wrath or relief or—

She looked distraught. So much so that it actually stopped him mid stride as he approached her. Isolde righted her skirts, and put her feet back on the ground, but was facing her shoes even as his shade fell on her. He was just about to ask her whatever was the matter, when she recovered.

He blinked and the shame on her face was replaced entirely.

In its place she wore a placid mask. “You’ve saved me again, My Lord.”

“You didn’t appear to be enjoying yourself,” he remarked with what he hoped was a particularly casual version of his most elegant shrug. “I do hope the manner in which I interfered was the right choice for the situation. I suppose I could have offered to educate the poor fool on his technique.”

“It didn’t break,” Isolde indicated the vase, still on the ground where Astarion left it.

“Ah, so it would seem,” Astarion returned to the discarded vase and picked it up, “no harm done, but then again—” he dropped it a second time, this time putting a little force into it. The Vase shattered in a satisfying rain of sparkling crystals that sprinkled across his fine boots. “There. A little wedding present for the Eltans. Nothing better than curiosity, is there? I wonder who they’ll blame?”

Isolde regarded him with eyebrows slightly raised. He thought it looked a little like she was resisting the urge to laugh. Why resist? He found he rather liked making her laugh. “Wicked of you,” she indulged in only a smirk, her attention briefly flitting back to the front of her bodice. She appeared to be wearing the same gray silk gown that she’d had on when he saw her at Wyrm’s rock. It was one of those items designed to be appropriate for day or night, and probably the nicest thing she owned, but all the same, suggested a certain level of neglect that her Lady let Isolde be seen in it twice in such quick succession.

“You seem a touch dour, or is it just the disappointment left by an inadequate lover?”

“I’m elated, honestly,” she said in a voice so unconvincing he half expected her to burst into tears the moment after she said it. “My Lady will be the one disappointed. But I think I can endure it better than I could endure him.”

“Your Lady? What’s it to do with her?”

“She was quite set on rewarding his aid to the family with whatever he wanted, and he wanted me,” she revealed simply.

Astarion felt an old pain, deep in his empty gut.

Her expression changed when she looked at him, like she’d seen something unexpected. She checked her hair with her fingers, trying to tame where he’d kneaded at her carefully coiffed hair, bringing it down in messy curls where it was meant to be pinned back.

“Allow me?” Astarion motioned to her hair, waiting for her to allow him to touch her.

For a moment Isolde looked like she didn’t understand, but then she lowered her hands and nodded, straightening out her neck and leaning in so he could work with what she had left.

Isolde wore a thin band just above her hairline and tucked under the nap of her neck, mostly hidden as she’d braided and pinned the curls into it to create an elegant, gradually elongating fall of dark hair that flowed down the back of her neck. It was loose, which didn’t seem to be the original intent in the work. Astarion tried to find where it was fixed to her scalp, perhaps it simply needed to be tightened.

Being this close to her again caused him to reflect on the night they met, and how she’d clung to him. Her pulse was speeding up again, and he hoped she wasn’t thinking about that. Reflecting on the night one almost died couldn't be much better than reflecting on the night one did die. She didn’t seem upset though, and the way her heart raced didn’t suggest that she was thinking about running for her life, it was the familiar, nearly dancing rhythm of increasing body heat and arousal.

Her face was serene, her breathing even. He liked being close to her, liked feeling how she liked it too, but he didn’t want to find himself mistaken. He shouldn’t assume. Even if she did want him, which he was fairly certain she did, he was too well versed in these matters to dismiss the reality that surely, some part of her was waiting to be rescued from him.

“Hywel won’t bother me again,” she exhaled slowly, but still he didn’t think her nerves were those of someone who wanted him to get as far away from her as possible. “You probably didn’t get a good look at his face when he realized we weren’t alone. He was furious. Like he suddenly remembered how worthless I am and—he’ll deny he ever wanted me. As I said. I’m saved.”

“Worthless?” That gave him a little pause and Astarion sighed. “Oh dear. This probably isn’t the kind of thing I can offer much of a counterpoint for, sweet one.” The band pulling her hair together wasn’t just loose, it was broken. The brute must have snapped it. Astarion realized if he tried to return even one more lock of hair back to its place, the whole thing would probably fall out, so he took a moment to assess the task.

“I’d ask for none,” but she said it with such a heavy sigh that it was clear she had been hoping for some soothing word.

From Astarion, of all possible monsters.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t have the highest regard for the sanctity of any life, nor for the individual.”

“I suppose you couldn’t,” Isolde observed, “that would interfere with…”

“Sustaining my existence by consuming others? Somewhat, yes,” Astarion straightened up and walked around the side of the writing desk, trying to get a better look at the back of her head. “We may need to rethink strategy on this, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh no, is it hopeless?” Isolde started to reach for her hair again, but the smart girl stopped before she made it worse, looking at Astarion out of the corner of her eye. “Help. Please.”

“All is not lost. Give me a moment.” Astarion rested his chin on his hand, taking in the whole image of her. The goal needed to be to find a way to style her hair that looked effortlessly elegant and not like she had just haphazardly attempted to restyle it without a mirror after being amorously groped in a dark library. “Permission to start anew?”

“I knew it. I’m hideous. Do what you must.”

“Oh, yes. Repulsive,” Astarion gave her a lecherous glance that he was quite pleased to see caused her face, neck and chest to all turn bright red. He slipped the tie from her hair and let the last of the curls fall. “Turn your neck. Good girl.”

Half-up would suit her, he just needed to decide on the height and the type of braid and how to plait it.

Surely, Isolde didn’t really hold herself in such poor regard. She was just hoping to inspire some sympathy in him so he would pay her compliments. But then he thought back to that night again, and how she hadn’t fought for herself.

It would have been so easy to despise her for such despair and cowardice. Maybe he ought to.

Giving all the way up on herself like that, what could one expect? If she didn’t care about herself, why should anyone else?

“Worth is often measured in comparisons,” he mused, loosening the braid with deft fingers as he decided it was too tight, better to look soft with the rest of her curly mane. “But. I have seen gods, celestials, inscrutable fey, and devils fall as ignominiously as any poor mortal wretch. In the end, we’re all equally worthwhile, and all equally worthless.”

Isolde already looked better. He was quite good at this.

“Take that for what comfort you can. You have just as much a right to live, and be a nuisance, and take others for your prey as anyone.”

She snorted, and he couldn’t tell for a moment if she was once again denying him the pleasure of hearing her laugh, or trying to hold something else back.

“Apologies,” he smoothed out the fall of her hair, tucked the frame back behind her cute stubby human ears and admired the results. “Not for the hair, that looks incredible. I’m very good. But, I do apologize that nothing I have to say can be of particular comfort. Especially given the fact that I’m a reminder of the worst night of your life.”

She did laugh, finally. A sharp, nearly bitter sound. “My Lord, I testify, that night was not even the tenth worst of my life.” All humor gone, but she did look lovely.

“I’m genuinely distressed to hear it. But you're in good company, at least.”

“For the moment,” he wasn’t sure what sparked the feeling, it might have been the soft smile and evasive blush when she faced him and the way her entire body seemed to relax when their eyes met again. For the first time in a long while, he felt the stirring of hunger. It wasn’t so strong as to compel him to lean in and bite down, but warmth spread up from the pit of him into his jaws and he felt his mouth salivate. It was a pleasant feeling, actually. He used to agonize over the constant hum of hunger. He used to personify it as a second tormentor, but removed from his old fears and weaknesses, it transformed into something different, though no less dangerous.

He didn’t need to feed. His elevated state kept him strong even after long fasts, and spare feasts, but the sweet savor of strong blood was an intoxicating memory that he’d managed to connect with after a few dull years of dissatisfaction. He knew in that moment that if he did bite her, he would finally feel that rush that had eluded him. But, if he went too far, he’d regret it.

For a moment, Isolde regarded him with bemusement, but he saw understanding starting to light her face, and tension returned to her neck and shoulders. “You’re… thinking about killing me again, aren’t you?”

“No,” he insisted, partly honest—he’d only thought about it long enough to confirm that he wouldn’t. “No,” he put a hand on her forearm, letting his thumb caress the inside of her wrist. “No, but I was thinking of asking something rather impertinent.”

“Oh, I adore impertinence.” Isolde pressed into his touch, fingertips finding purchase on one of the fine silver buttons on the front of his waistcoat. Her knees began to part, shuffling the fabric of her dress and making space for him to wade into her touch.

She would have made such a fun spawn. Perhaps she still could.

He grabbed her jaw, more firmly than intended, but she didn’t flinch and he lightened his touch to ghost his fingers down her throat. That throbbing quickened, and he felt it glide to keep pace with his own rhythm. “You entice me. May I?” It wasn’t fair, probably, to wait until his lips were brushing the soft skin just beneath her eyes to ask.

What chance did she have? Indeed, he felt her breath already coming in ragged.

“Just a taste,” he punctuated with a light kiss over her racing artery. “And you can say no. Forget pertinence. the titles, the traditions of the Gate, the fine rooms in old houses. Some day, our Duke, your masters, will be dead as any rat that drowns in the Chionthar and all with burn, and maybe while wandering the fugue plane they’ll realize they made it all up and it was pointless. What matters right now, is what you want, and what I want. So, tell me yes, or tell me no. Do you want to be tasted?”

“Astarion,” she said in a soft gasp, “please.”

“Say that again,” he purred into her throat, letting his teeth brush her flesh.

“Yes. Astarion, please.” Isolde pulled at him, encouraging him to press in more firmly against her, though it already felt like he was falling on top of her.

Astarion pinched the soft skin of her neck between his teeth, but didn’t break through just yet, he could smell the blood, but wouldn't drink yet. He enjoyed the sensation of her shivering anticipation under his breath. He cupped her head, to keep her from collapsing away from him, his other hand finding purchase at the very center of her neckline, gently brushing her flushed and heaving chest.

“Oh, God,” she whispered when he finally bit down. Her grip on him tightened, and he could feel blood and breath coursing through her, into him. The warmth of her spilled into his mouth. She tasted better than he’d imagined, but the yearning lust for her couldn’t be satisfied with a mouthful. He wanted more of her. Her blood, her body, and more of that voice crying his name.

If you take more, you could lose her. Just like you lost everything else. Astarion stopped, but kept his mouth pressed against the seeping marks as she rocked her hips against his, her legs straining to embrace him. The rush of warm blood seemed to flow straight to his cock. A sharper, more desperate gasp ripped from her throat. “Astarion, I—” she covered her mouth, falling to pieces in his arms as thousands had before. He held her close, hands pressing into her back and sliding downwards to her hips, encouraging her to grind into him, a titillating whine escaped her lips.

He forced himself to release her and leaned back. All things considered, the bite was clean and she barely seemed woozy. Instead, Isolde’s eyes were wide, sparkling, she shook her head in disbelief, “I can’t believe—tell me that’s normal, please?” The heat in her face had caused her to break out in glistening sweat in her hairline. “I’m mortified,” she confessed.

“Can’t say I’ve ever made anyone come just from biting them before,” Astarion wiped his mouth, with the blade of his thumb, not wanting to waste a drop. “At least not so enthusiastically. You’re delicious, my dear.”

Mortified accurately described how she looked. He tried not to betray a level of amusement that would embarrass her further, but Gods, it was funny. If she wouldn’t laugh, then he could make her cry out again. The moment of ebb had actually made him harder, and he started to gather her skirt up in his fists, but the look on her face gave him pause.

“Isolde. What’s the matter?” He heard the way concern sounded so sharp in his voice, and took a small breath, trying to tame it, trying to soften the words. “You’re all right.” He let go of her dress, letting it fall, and laid his hands over hers, cautious, and she managed a steady exhale that seemed to calm her. Though she still looked a little lost through her pretty face.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. There’s no need to feel…” what Astarion wanted to say twisted in his throat. He realized he didn’t actually know how she felt. He knew how he used to feel. He knew why he used to feel that way. It was tempting to project onto her, but then he’d probably just end up being wrong. He hated being wrong. “Are you still afraid of me?”

Was that all? Some conflict in her soul? Some distant voice of self preservation telling her to run from the predator?

Gradually she nodded, but then said, “It’s not what you think.”

“Tell me what I think,” he challenged.

“I don’t believe you’ll hurt me,” Isolde started, and the tender way her sparkling black eyes rested on him tugged at some buried moment. “Or, I don’t believe you want to hurt me. Rather… this is all just fun for you, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean anything.”

Well. Fuck. This again. He’d hoped she wasn’t so tender-hearted. It was easy enough to fane a little sincerity to preserve her feelings. He’d done it hundreds of times and had perfected the smile, the gentle delivery of exactly what she wanted to hear; “of course it means something. Of course I care for you. In my way.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, to wear the mask again, even if it was in an attempt to make her feel better.

“No, Isolde. It doesn’t mean anything.” Astarion didn’t know if he was being cruel or kind. He’d always struggled to evaluate such things in the first place. He’d simply landed on the understanding that he didn’t have to lie to her, and he didn’t want to. “At least, it doesn’t mean what you want it to.”

She was looking down at their hands, folded over one another in her lap. Was she more disappointed in him or in herself?

“Precious few people have ever let me feed off them. Most of the time, my diet of strong blood comes from the very unwilling. When I do get the rare chance to share in a moment like that one… I realize it’s a gift, and I am grateful. But. I cannot give you what you want in return. No matter how much I might want to. I’m not sure I’m capable.”

“I know that,” Isolde sounded steady enough but still wouldn’t break her intense study of her own lap and their hands clasped together there. “I do. And, I didn’t expect otherwise. It’s not really a gift otherwise,” she shrugged. “I just… I also didn’t expect to like it so much,” her voice sharpened to a whisper, “and I think for a moment I got a little carried away. Forgive me.”

“You got rather carried away is what happened,” Astarion corrected her with one raised eyebrow, “And I too, liked it much more than I expected.” He didn’t want to let go of her hands just yet, but he did want her to look up at him. He leaned it to tease a kiss, letting the tip of his nose touch her cheek. It worked, and her head shot up, mouth listing for his own, eyes fluttering.

He pulled back, “As I said, you did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to forgive.” In this one way, he didn’t have to be measured, didn’t have to hold onto some part of himself for control. He captured her mouth with his own. His coaxing was effective, in that she seemed to forget her sadness, or maybe she was using it. She reciprocated, eager, sloppy even, she slipped her hands free from his, and her fingers found their way to the back of his neck, working into the hair at the nap of his neck.

She delved deeper with her tongue, her legs tightening around him again. If he let her take control, what would she do? Although there was something decidedly inexperienced about some of her smaller, flailing little movements, he was tempted for a moment to let her guide him, and see where she took them. She broke away with a gasp, short of breath already.

Breath was something he didn’t actually need, which made certain acts so much easier for him. Her eyes were glassy, but alight, the rush of red through her face and chest intensified as she looked at him, seemingly unable to articulate her desire, or her question, or maybe any words at all as she swallowed and took another steadying breath.

He’d have to spare her again, it seemed. She was simply in no condition to be coherent.

Astarion slid to his knees between her spread legs, gathering the silk skirts up to her hips again with her latent, but eventually frantic help. In the low light, he couldn’t see much, but he slid one hand up the inside of her thigh, just ghosting the trembling flesh until his fingers pressed into her. Her underwear was soaked, her cunt throbbing just on the other side. He hooked his fingers through the fabric. She let out a small gasp, her legs instinctively coming together a moment as he pressed into her wet, sensitive clit before beginning to pull the underwear off.

She gasped again, but this one was different—Isolde shot up from the table, pushing her skirts back down, and Astarion released his grip on the underwear he’d managed to work down to the middle of her fat thighs. She was looking past him, eyes wide at the doorway.

This library must be cursed.

Astarion swiveled his head around, and wasn’t terribly surprised to see a pair of young ladies—he didn’t recognize them, but they were dressed fashionably enough that they could easily be the daughters of some patriar families. They looked surprised to see him in a way that suggested, that they did, in fact, know him.

He stole a sideways glance at Isolde, still as red in the face as ever, though the context was suddenly sheepish. Mortified. He remembered her saying just minutes ago.

Their encounter wouldn’t recover from this. He could probably carry on, but Isolde? She’d been caught in a compromising position for the second time in a single night. Maybe she’d had too much to drink. Maybe she was the source of the curse. Maybe, now was a good moment to rethink everything.

He sighed internally and then released it, and approached the women at an angle, blocking his would-be partner from sight, to give Isolde another moment to pull herself together. “My apologies,” he gave a small bow. “Alas, you have indeed thwarted a terrible rake. The poor woman’s virtue remains intact, thanks to your timing.”

He thought he heard something like a laugh coming from Isolde, but he could have been imagining it.

“How scandalous,” one of the girls giggled behind her hand.

“Oh, quite,” Astarion agreed with another drawn out sigh. “But, they’ll be other days and other unoccupied libraries. This one is all yours,” and he gathered up every inch of both of them in a searching look, “For. Whatever it is you need it for. The two of you.”

The two young women gawked up at him, mouths open. “Oh—ah, no,” one of them finally protested, “I was just going to show her a book—”

“Yes. Charming books in here! I assume,” Astarion let out a chuckle. Isolde appeared by his shoulder. Her hair still looked excellent, and she’d gotten cinched up tight rather quickly. He wondered if she’d abandoned her underwear, somehow situated it back into position that quickly—or if the garment was still constricting her thighs right where he’d left it, just a few soft inches below that delicious little wet cunt.

“Excuse us,” he shooed the ladies aside and ushered Isolde through the doorway without a backward glance, though he heard a scoff from one of them. He didn’t bother to wait until they were out of earshot before he said to Isolde, “well, if they weren’t going to fuck before, they should now.”

“You think so?” Isolde cleared her throat. She was still flushed, still obviously quite overwarm and underworked, but he knew better than to think they would get another chance now.

“In my experience, most people just need an opportunity and a suggestion.”

“Oh,” was all Isolde had to say to that.

He checked his buttons with the tips of his fingers but everything was still perfectly in place; Figaro had such an admirable understanding of the need for a waistcoat that hid one’s erection.

It had felt like such a long, wandering path through the Eltan estate’s dark hallways to get here, but as the two of them marched back, it seemed like they were woefully close to the rest of the merriment and the crowd after all. He stopped her, taking her by the arm and bringing them both to a halt before they could come back into the glow of the party, just at the mouth of the last deserted turn of the hall.

Isolde melted into the pressure of his touch, turning back to face him, eyes trailing along his lips back up to his eyes. He wondered if some part of her hoped to be stolen away into another deserted room to finish what they started—or perhaps she’d even submit to him right here.

“I want to take you home, and tie you to the bed, and keep you there to do with as I like,” he traced the backs of his fingers down the side of her face, watching his words shiver through her. “I am not certain Horrold would approve. But there’s easy ways around that. I can be patient. If I send for you, will you come to me?”

“I want to,” Isolde swallowed, something bubbling up in her breathless words. A similar reluctance to what he’d seen in her before. Was she sure she wanted this? Was she frightened? Yes. That was probably it.

“What are you afraid of?” It was something besides what she’d said before, he could tell. The fact that he was just looking for a good time and she was in danger of getting hurt was a risk she was clearly willing to assume, when it came down to it.

“I do not want to be a spawn,” Isolde said firmly.

Astarion let out a single note of a laugh; dismissive and cruel his voice sounded, he felt a slight twisting in his gut. “I know. I remember. You’d rather die. No worries, my dear. I have no intention of trying to change your mind.” A lie. Perhaps, the kind that was so obvious it would barely be called a lie, but still. “And how could I? I saw for myself that your desire to be free outweighed even your desire to live.” Her full, swollen mouth was so close and still so warm and soft from their encounter. He stole one more kiss, brief and teasing under the conditions. “What other desire could possibly be stronger than that?”

Isolde responded with a sharpening stare, and finally a shrug.

Astarion could have laughed at her again, but resisted the urge. “I’ll see you later darling, I’m sure.”

#word??#this is so good??#ayo-#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 24 days

Text

REVIVIFY - CHAPTER 1

Gale/Tav - 2577 words

AO3 LINK

Summary:

“He was right in front of you!” Gale’s breathing is heavy. “You could have killed him easily, and yet you...” He grips your arms and stares you down. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to witness that?” You thought you could hear a slight crack in his voice. “You were reckless and foolish and not the level-headed leader I expected you to be.

You lurch upwards and gasp, choking on the air rushing into your lungs. There is an instant of crushing panic, and then just as quickly, peace. Normality. As your breathing steadies, you look around. Your companions are gathered around where you are now sitting up, but the face you're searching for is not among them. You see a flash of a purple robe disappearing behind a tent flap.

“Erm, he’ll be back, I'm sure!” Karlach is looking at you with relief, though there is still a slight worry in her eyes. “I know Withers is some ancient, crazy deity or something, but I still doubted he would be able to do it!” She looks at him a little sheepishly. “Good job, mate! She still looks a bit pale, though. Did you do it right?”

Withers responds with a stern look and then takes his leave.

“Charming,” she turns her golden eyes back to you. “Are you feeling okay?”

You are still trying to process, to remember what happened. Your head aches, and your lungs are sore from the sudden fullness of air. You settle your hand on your chest as things begin to clear up.

“Battle axe to the chest, darling. Unpleasant way to go.” Astarian is sitting on a tree trunk not far away, looking over a recently looted dagger and not seeming concerned in the slightest. “Such a waste of perfectly good blood. It was quite a spectacle, though. And despite your best intentions of getting us all killed, it didn’t take long after you snuffed it for us to finish the job.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, Astarion, what a hero you are. Nothing to do with Gale going full wizard barbarian.”

Memories are starting to pool back into your recently revived mind. You were at the Goblin Camp. You had one more leader to take out, Dror Ragzlin. Weak and spent from your fight with Minthara, you remember having enough energy to conjure one more spell. The hulking Goblin was in front of you; one blast of flame hands and he would be down. But something caught your eye. Gale. He was battling two goblins, firing off magic missiles but not seeing the one rushing behind him. It wasn’t even a decision really; you don’t remember even thinking. You sacrificed the killing blow and fired protective energy at Gale. It was enough; he shimmered gold and had enough protection to withstand the approaching Goblin. You remember a brief hum of relief and then excruciating pain. Then nothing.

“It was quite hot, actually,” Astarion hops down off the tree stump. “I didn’t think our wizard had it in him, but seeing him lose his temper makes me reconsider my thoughts of him being a big old bore.” He looks pensive for a moment. “Do you think he’d let me bite him?”

“Astarion!” Shadowheart chides. “Now is not the time. I think Gale would probably have a stake at the ready if you went anywhere near him right now.” She draws her focus back to you. “After you fell, Gale pretty much finished off the Goblins single-handedly. He sent a bolt of lightning straight through Ragzlin’s skull.”

You feel shame redden your face. Planning this attack had been your responsibility. You should have insisted everyone took time to rest properly before the final battle. You were impatient and reckless and wanted it over. The ghost of the axe wound rips at your chest. You know it isn’t real, but the pain has split you apart. It aches.

“Where is Lae’zel?” You look around for your Githyanki comrade, surprised she hasn’t chided you yet for your failure in battle.

“Hunting, I think. She helped us carry you back. Be warned, she’s said she’s going to go through intensive battle training with you to ‘improve your incompetence,’ her words not mine.” Shadowheart holds her hands up defensively.

Karlach shifts a little uncomfortably. “And, erm, Gale is just in his tent. Resting probably. I’d go check in on him if I were you.”

You stand shakily and look at your friends with gratitude. “I’m sorry. We’ll plan things out better next time.”

“Well, I'd hope so, darling.” Astarion chides. “All this heroic nonsense is bad enough as it is, without the shame of getting our arses kicked by a bunch of goblins.” He puts his hand on your shoulder as he walks past, and the others look at you sheepishly as they go back about their business. They busy themselves sorting out loot from the Goblin Camp and preparing things for dinner.

“Gale?” Your voice sounds small as you stand outside his tent. You hear the sound of a book being closed, but he does not respond. “Please, can I talk with you? I owe you an apology and some thanks.”

The flap opens, and he stands in front of you, grabbing your arm roughly and pulling you into his tent. The air is heated with fury. “I don’t want thanks or an apology.” His usual soft brown eyes appear darker than usual. “What I would like is a companion who isn’t going to get themselves cleaved in half with a battle axe due to pure stupidity.”

You never cope very well with being told off, and the shame and smallness you feel start to subside in reaction to being reprimanded by this arrogant wizard. “He was right in front of you!” Gale’s breathing is heavy. “You could have killed him easily, and yet you...” He grips your arms and stares you down. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to witness that?” You thought you could hear a slight crack in his voice. “You were reckless and foolish and not the level-headed leader I expected you to be”

You pull out of his grasp and glare at him. “I didn’t ask for leadership. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for the responsibility and exhaustion and burden.” You feel yourself blazing to match his heat. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to what was around you, I wouldn’t have had to spend the last of my energy protecting you.”

“Why were you protecting me?” His voice is raised now, and surely the whole camp can hear their arguing. “You were right next to him! Why were you focused on what I was doing? I thought after everything that’s happened so far, you’d have a little more faith in my preternatural abilities. You behaved like a reckless martyr.”

“And you’re behaving like an ARSE,” you snap before turning on your heels and storming out of the tent. It’s frustrating that you don’t have Gale’s cutting use of vocabulary, but you feel as though you made your point.

You stride straight past your campmates, all who look a bit awkward, apart from Astarion who seems positively gleeful. “What a lovely bit of drama we’re all witnessing. It really does get the blood racing, so to speak.”

You hear a thud and an “Ow!” as you leave them behind, and imagine Karlach has probably given him a well-deserved thump. Good.

You approach the edge of the water and sit down. Thoughts are racing and blood is pumping. How dare he! Talking to you like a child. As though you had wanted to get your chest split open. The memory makes you shudder again, and the imaginary wound burns, taking your breath away. You need to calm and ground yourself. You are back, you are alive, you are fine.

You draw a circle in the earth and rough sketches of sacred runes around the outside. You take off your armour and kneel in the centre of the circle in your undershirt, head bowed and palms placed upon the earth.

When Gale had taught you magic and pulled upon the weave, he had conjured it out of the air, as though some celestial force was moving around you and drawing you together. The magic was ethereal, divine. Your druidic magic was different. You drew the feeling of peace and harmony from the earth, grounding yourself and connecting with the cool soil beneath you. If you focused hard enough, you could hear the world breathe around you, as though it was a living soul with a heartbeat beneath your fingertips. You were connected to all living things. Your breaths flow with the wind sweeping across your face, and as you focus on your peace, small white flowers begin to bloom around the edge of your circle. You feel them caress your fingertips as you meditate.

You’re unsure of how long you stay there, drawing upon the earth for comfort and guidance, but when you open your eyes, dusk has set in and the air has grown cool around you, causing your skin to tingle. You give your thanks and pick up your armour, admiring the flowers which have bloomed around you. You decide to walk barefoot back to your tent in your shirt; druids do not care so much about ‘appropriate dress.’ You just want to enjoy the feeling of the soil beneath your feet as you make your journey to bed. Feeling much more relaxed and grounded than earlier. You have been brought back to the earth, and you will be much more careful in the future not to be pulled from it again.

As you slip into your tent, you think of Gale. His tent is not far from yours, which you are now beginning to regret. You remember the evening you spent with him as he summoned the weave and shared a moment of magic with you, how the thought of kissing him caused him to blush and stumble over his words. The contrast between his softness then, and his harshness earlier is dizzying. Your heart sinks at the thought of your connection fading. Slipping away into the night. It had been a shared moment of rapture, and the ghost wound in your chest blazes at the thought it may have been the only one you would ever share.

As you sleep, darkness creeps into your cluttered mind. The void you had been pulled into by the goblin leader swirls its way into your thoughts, inciting nightmarish visions while you sleep. The axe. The pain. The nothingness. The cold steel wrenched you apart, splitting your ribs and cascading your blood on the ground. Gale had watched it happen. Gale. You remember the relief and warmth as you saw him protected, and your dreams start to taunt you. What if you hadn’t seen him? What if your positions had been reversed? Next time you could be the one watching him, his body breaking in front of you, life slipping from his eyes. “No,” you plead to the darkness in your head. “No, I won’t let that happen. Not to Gale.” There is a mocking laugh, and an inevitability pressing against you. He’ll get hurt one day. From a spell, or an axe, or the devastating orb that resides within him. You feel sick, and then you’re awake.

“Tav” Once again, you are pulled out of darkness. This time from the horrors in your subconscious, and not the peaceful calm of death. You’re sweaty and breathless, and you can’t tell if the moisture on your face is from sweat or tears. You have an awful feeling it’s both. You feel a cooling touch on your forehead. Gale. He’s hovering over you, concern etched across his gentle face. You feel fresh tears spill. “It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here.” He pulls you against him, wrapping his arms around you. You stay like this for a little while until your breathing slows to mimic his, his hand gently stroking your head. You feel him press a light kiss against your hair, and you pull back to look at him.

“I had a nightmare,” you say, as though it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know,” he sits back, taking you in. “You were so distressed.” You can hear the worry in his voice, the sentiment is echoed in the warm softness of his eyes.

“I’m okay now,” you say, not sure which one of you you’re trying to convince. Your hand goes to your chest, pressing the area where the axe struck you. Gale watches intently.

“I’m so sorry, Tav. I was angry. I watched you… I saw…” His breath hitches as he tries to speak. It’s not like him to struggle to string a sentence together.

You take one of his hands and place it on your chest, over your heartbeat. “I’m here. I’m okay. I’m alive and safe. I’m here with you.”

“You said my name, in your sleep. You were crying and you said my name. Was it because of the way I spoke to you, because of what I said?” His hand moved from your chest to cup your face. His thumb stroked your cheek, and you felt your heart race.

“No. I just...” You struggle with what to say next. How do you say it? How do you tell him that the thought of losing him is more terrifying than being struck down with an axe? “I was reliving what happened. You were there. I was scared, that’s all.” You don’t look him in the eyes as you keep the truth close to your chest. “I don’t think I have anything to worry about really; from the sounds of it, you can take on hordes of enemies by yourself from now on.” You flick your eyes up to meet his, and he blushes a little.

“Ah, yes, well, I must admit I did let my emotions get the better of me.” He moves his hand from your face and back into his lap, folding himself so he’s now sat cross-legged in front of you. “I don’t need to tell you how powerful and uncontrollable magic can be, and if I'm out of harmony with the weave, it can lead to disastrous torrents of magic. We were lucky, I think, that it was channelled into the destruction of those foul creatures. But care must be taken, even in the most… emotional… of circumstances. I could have put our little team in terrible danger.” His hand subconsciously moved to his own chest, touching the swirling orb branded into his beautiful skin.

“Well, on the plus side, I think it turned Astarion on,” you laugh lightly at the thought. “You may have found yourself a new admirer. Be careful though; he bites.”

Gale laughs, and the sound soothes you like a balm. “Not really my type, but I'll be aware of any effect I may have on him from now on.” He smirks at you, and you feel relief wash over you. Gale was easy, comforting company. You’re glad he came to help. The thought of him leaving you to the darkness again makes you uneasy.

“Gale,” you shift a little awkwardly, and he takes you in, tilting his head slightly. “Would you mind bunking with me tonight? I think I could use a bit of company.” You feel embarrassed at the request, but he grins at you.

“Of course, anything I can do for you, consider it most enthusiastically done. Let me just go and get my bedroll.”

You sleep soundly for the rest of the night; any worry of losing your connection with Gale drifts into the ether. Your hands are entwined together across the floor, and your dreams are much, much sweeter.

#THIS IS SO HEART-WRENCHING AND SWEET #THANK YOU OP #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #baldurs gate gale

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