#·· her own dagger / HEADCANON

[lumiereswig]

pls pls pls expand on the Agathe/Maurice dating idea

ok ok ok so.

in '91 it's obvious to me that maurice/mrs potts is the key ship (i mean come on look at them. white hair. serving looks @ the end ball. both vaguely....off....in a kooky way), but because Kevin Kline is so hot in the 2017 version (and because they gave Mrs Potts an unnecessary boring husband) he clearly deserves some new action. something new, something WEIRD. something like....the local beggar woman!!

adam would clearly hate this ship because his father in law is dating the woman who CURSED him. endless family dinner awkwardness. (+10 points)

agathe saves maurice when gaston leaves him for dead! why would she do that? i mean theres lots of reasons why she would do that but i can think of far worse meet-cutes (+10000 points)

they're both outsiders in the village and you know people would be SCANDALIZED (+300 points)

i love the idea of the man who is always mourning dating the woman who cannot be mourned. a man stuck in eternal human grief being loved by a creature (and agathe is a creature) who doesn't understand normal human ways but knows that love is the key. he is SO deeply human and she is SO deeply weird

he's also weird!! he wouldnt judge her for cavorting with wolves in the moonlight or forgetting to blink or turning into moonlight occasionally. (+29735872756 points)

he'd probably paint her! (and then the paintings would come to life! +50 points)

they're both hung up on ~moments~ (him and his lost life, her bestowing life back the second belle confesses love). they both go so deep, so hard, and they are both SO BROKEN

something gRIEF something MAGIC something ENDLESS something ONE MOMENT. oh my god my brain could just riff off this endlessly

yeah they def need to be a ship. give the weird little inventor man the golden-eyed goddess who treats the stars like trinkets. give the goddess a connection back to ordinary life, tidy as a music box set on a shelf. this ship this ship this SHIP

[a1sart]

i like to imagine that the only time Kristin came to see Wilbur in limbo, if she ever visited at all, was to see him off as he got on the train back to the living world

[vanbredevoort]

ABOUT APPEREANCES - ACCESORIES

I've always wanted but never got to write about the outside, so to speak-- how Lydia presents herself. What she wears, what she smells like. And in the book saga, it's very important because it's usually representative of the characters. Jewerly, for example! Most sorceresses in the saga have distinctive jewerly ( triss has lapislazuli, yenna has an obsidian star, phil agate and so ), and we know it's a big deal because it's used to amplify power. Their perfumes are, as well, a reflection of who they are. So have Lyd's bc I said so.

jewerly: MOONSTONE

Lydia wears a single thin silver chain (close to her neck almost like a choker necklace) with a moonstone shaped as a teardrop. It's small and delicate. While beautiful and representative of femininity and romance, compared to others moonstone is a very fragile stone that can easily be broken.

perfume: JASMINE

Lydia smells distinctively of jasmines. Jasmines mean beauty, purity, modesty and are a symbol of love and devotion. Lydia's love and devotion defines her, yet she picked that scent even before she met the sole recipient of those feelings.

clothing: DARK&MODEST

While it's not the colour scheme she actually likes, Lydia usually wears dark clothes. Either black or dark red, purple, brown, green and blue. It helps her not stand out and blend in, be nothing but a shadow, where she thrives. The dresses she wears usually conceal her from neck to toe, and more often than not she binds her chest. Her favourite fabric is silk. The dresses are tight and she does wear a lot of corsets, but it is very rare of her to show skin.

make up: LIGHT

She's an amazing painter, has a steady hand and a good eye for colours. Her make up reflects those skills and she does enjoy wearing it. It's always subtle-- she doesn't like to draw attention, so she usually goes for natural looks. She does love lipstick and owns an absurd variety of colours.

some extra bits about everything bc i felt like it

necklace:

(resurrection AU verse) we know Lydia's body was dragged by redanian soldiers when she died in Thanedd. Philippa recovered her corpse, but the necklace was gone. It's the only thing she misses from her years as a sorceress, not because of the meaning but because of something much more basic as thinking it was a pretty necklace.

perfume:

Lydia loves painting but between assisting and research, I don't think she had the time to ALWAYS have a painting in the doings. Besides I do think, in the later years, that she paints only when comissioned to do so. When she does, besides jasmine, Lydia has to carry the scent of turpentine or whatever lore-friendly-medieval-stuff used to thin oil painting/as a solvent.

wardrobe:

listen to me, Lydia means 'the beautiful one' and I'm sure it's a play on the fact that she's beyond disfigured, but--- she IS beautiful. The thing is, she does a marvelous job concealing it. Almost no one in the council, chapter, brotherhood knows the body Lydia hides under her dresses. They have also probably never seen her with her hair down.

About the colour scheme, as I said, she wears dark colours but does not like them. She actually favours pastels and white, she looooves wearing white.

make up:

When the elven-anathema.exe exploded, Lydia put on a masterful illusion that makes her face appear normal because trust me, it's a beyond hideous sight. It's not a pretty scar: we're talking about a face that's out of your most gruesome nightmare. You can see the teeth, muscle, tendons and her skull-- and mind you, it's not even a full skull, you can see the bones mended poorly and it's sunken. I mean it when I say the illusion is there so people don't faint at the sight.

Her huge lipstick collection becomes useless then, since she has no lips to paint. She does experiment with her illusion and when she wakes up, she will sit in front of a vanity and shift the colour of her made-up lips until she gets a shade she likes.

[valkyrjah]

hi, on this blog, it's canon on this blog that gwyn received the dagger that nesta made.

[twi-liight]

Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[schwarzkatje]

abby x chubby!reader - a very self indulgent scenario

warning: just so you know, this contains obviously mentions of descriptions regarding body parts so if this is a trigger i advise you don't read this.

i believe abby to be one of those butches who absolutely go feral for fuller, chubbier women.

this goes hand in hand with my previous headcanon/scenario in which i explored abby's breeding kink. because once you gain weight and your breasts gets bigger, your thighs become plushier and your stomach forms that slightly hanging portion of skin adorned in your frilly and feminine dresses, abby is ashamed to admit to even herself the undeniable effect she experiences.

she doubts if what she is doing is really offensive to you because she wonders whether this can fall into the category of objectification. therefore, abby has to mentally remind herself to not be a creep and to divert her gaze from you.

her thoughts are at constant fight as one part of herself blames a morbid perversion that has to be kept on check, but just as the other part sketches the idea of it being nothing but an harmless preference in her partners.

that being said, the semblance of self control that she had built with such an effort completely shatters when you two actually interact with each other. your inclination for shirts and dresses that showed your soft chest in just the perfect way to make abby's head spin is the cherry on top of this insane obsession she has to continuously push back.

it really doesn't take much for abby to have images flashing in her head displaying her taking one of your breasts in her hand and the other under the torturous treatment of her tongue and teeth, responsible for the purple love bites scattered all over your upper body.

following suit, the scenario alone of you on your back as abby spreads your legs and brings them to yourself, bending you in half and thus highlighting the delicious rolls of your stomach causes a wet patch to form in her underwear and an undetectable twitch of her legs, squeezing to maintain the facade of a normal person who doesn't get turned on as easily as an hormonal teenager would.

one day you two are sitting together and it pains abby to not be able to handle looking at you without the need to shy away and focus on anything that isn't you. and if she manages to avoid the sight of you, your laugh and the touches you give her are daggers piercing through her shield. she is aware of how awkward she actually acts and how impossible it would have been for you to not notice at some point.

when you place your smooth hand above her own – which abby had put on her knee – her breath halts and before she can apply some rationality she turns to you, finding you are closer than her senses had detected.

your eyes are so big and innocent and full of joy and... seducing, she observes.

"abby..." despite your firm gaze, her name comes out of your mouth as a whisper capable of making her hand on the knee grip it forcefully, not minding that this is definitely giving her off.

"i've been wanting to ask you this for quite some time," you unforgivably continue "but why do i feel like we're growing apart?" the content your inquiry is that of an unspeakable sorrow and fear of losing a dear person, but the tone in which it is asked exudes a neediness for something beyond simple reassurance. you bite your lips as abby is speechless before your question and your vicinity – what in the hell is happening? is she imagining things like she always does?

her attempt at assembling a sentence proves to be a failure when all you can hear is something along the lines of "no", "of course not", without any addition of the reason behind that.

"i wouldn't be here with you right now were it the case," is the best she manages to say as she tries to laugh it off with a shy grimace feigning a confidence that is long gone the moment you are in her presence.

"but then why are you always so stiff when i hug you? you don't even come up with ideas for what to do together like we used to," your heartbeat quickens, dwelling in an uncertain place between genuine hurt and sinful arousal for abby's shyness and difficulty in approaching you.

"i- i haven't really noticed anything different, maybe it's just that i've been busy but i'm not avoiding you, i mean–" she is cut short by your voice interrupting her and your face inching closer and closer to the point where she can see the shape of your lips with the corner of her eye.

"do i make you uneasy, abby?" and why do you have to lean forward and have your breasts already tightened by your corset invade her visual field. "and to think i've been wearing this for you," now your knee is touching hers, your dress leaving your thighs exposed the more you draw near, "hoping you would take it off," what on earth— "or, even better, you would have fucked me in it..."

what kind of absurd dream is she in?

[shadowdaddies]

Request ?! Bat boys sucking on readers nipples because they are sore during her cycle🥲😩😩🤌🤌

soo I'm not certain if you meant separate headcanons or all together so I went all the batboys at once😈 hope that's okay

Tender

Batboys x f!Reader

warnings: not explicit smut?, idk maybe. grey area..., okay ya it's smut but it cuts off before the sex

Squeezing your eyes shut, you curled inward on the mattress, tugging the sheets over you as the cramps washed over your body. Stomach churned, your cycle so painful it took the breath from your lungs as you laid in bed.

The door creaked open, Rhysand’s violet eyes studying you with a graceful caution as Azriel and Cassian forced their way around him. Cassian’s nose scrunched at your scent, Rhys cooing as the three Illyrians moved closer towards you.

“Your cycle?” Az questioned, a scarred hand brushing sweaty hair from your face as you looked up at him with a pitifully weak nod.

“Oh, what can we do sweetheart?” Cassian murmured, gruff voice low as he settled next to you on the bed. His weight dipped the mattress, a sharp pain shooting through your sore chest at the movement.

All eyes turned wide at your reaction, a cautious aura blanketing the room. “Did I hurt you?” Cassian eked out, his voice cracking with guilt while he studied you for injury.

“No, no,” you breathed. “I’m just... tender, is all,” you admitted, cheeks flushing a rosy red as your gaze dipped quickly to your breasts and back.

“Oh,” Rhys rumbled, his scent turning darker, muskier. Breathing grew heavier among the group, need rising painfully in your core at the sight of three powerful Illyrians, barely restrained from touching you.

“I- It helps, to massage them, usually,” you breathed, hardly above a whisper. You refused to look at any of them, sure of your own arousal wafting through the air. “If you all would go, I can take care of myself.”

Rhys and Cassian shuffled awkwardly toward the door, but Azriel’s voice cut through the air like a dagger. “Do you want to?”

You resisted the urge to moan at his husky tone, daring to meet the hazel eyes which bore into yours. “Want to what?”

A smirk turned up the corners of the shadowsinger’s lips, gaze turning predatory as he stalked toward you, Rhys and Cassian close behind. “Do you want us to touch you? To make you feel better?”

An involuntary gasp escaped you at the question, wide eyes searching each male in the room only to find desperate need and desire. “Yes, please,” you breathed, chest subconsciously arching toward them.

Azriel was first to reach you, gently grasping the straps of your nightgown as he tugged the silky fabric down to reveal your chest to all three males. They sucked in a collective breath, their scents thickening the air in a way that had your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Please, please touch me,” you pleaded with Azriel, gaze then flicking to Rhys and Cassian as you grew impossibly desperate. 

With a grunt, Cassian dove past Az, tongue flicking out against your left nipple as rough hands kneaded your breast. The pain and pleasure mingled with each other in a dance, gasps forced from your mouth, head tilted back in ecstasy at the sensations.

Yet, still you needed more, and begged for such from your High Lord. You swore you could feel approval ripple through the air, Rhys’s long nimble fingers toying with the bud of your right nipple, the feeling so different from Cassian your mind reeled to catch up.

Hips ground against the mattress, your arousal mixing with the blood from your cycle to create a pathetic wetness between your thighs. “Gods, I need more,” you half-moaned, half-cried as Rhys’s tongue flicked your nipple, Cassian’s canines brushing the other as he sucked the bud.

Dazed eyes found Azriel’s, the male standing proudly with arms crossed as you came undone in front of him. “You,” you growled, hand finding the strength to yank him toward you by the collar. “I need you.”

That cocky smirk only deepened, Azriel looking down at you with unconstrained pride as shadows wound up your limbs, sending goosebumps over your skin. “Oh believe me, love. We are nowhere near done with you.”

[sim0nril3y]

i love your works!!

now that soap knows sort of about civilian reader, how would they both react to meeting one another? Perhaps after a mission, Simon has to take him to their house since it’s close by and there they meet. I can imagine Johnny jokingly flirting with reader jus to rile Simon up

Note: Thank you so much for your request! I love, love, love it! Love these boys together and all the trouble they get into and love how Johnny just seems to be able to push his buttons. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, taunting and teasing, tiny illusion to smut, canon typical swearing.

It was probably a mixture of exhaustion and anxiousness to see you that had Simon not thinking straight when he climbed off the plane with Johnny. Circumstances had it that the barracks were completely full to the brim, the last train home for Johnny was an hour ago and a certain sense of guilt had Simon suggesting “We got a spare room…” The moment Simon said it, he regretted it.

It had been a gruelling four months away from you and all he had come to adore at the home you shared together, whilst he had wanted to spend time alone with you now he was basically bringing home a drooling labrador in the form of his Sergeant. Johnny’s eyes brightened up like it was Christmas and he mentioned. “That means I get t’meet your missus, LT.” Simon was completely stumped for any response, simply his shoulders sagged.

“You breathe a word about this or her to anyone else, I’ll make sure you don’t make it back from our next mission.” It was a threat, but an empty one and Johnny knew that for certain.

It was way past midnight by the time that Johnny and Simon arrived at his home. They quietly clambered from the car and up the path towards the house. Simon had warned you not to wait up for him, but from here he could see that the living room light was on which meant you hadn’t listened to him. Using the key to open the door before he even put his bags down on the floor, he heard your footsteps approach hastily, excited to see him, having practically no contact for almost four months was difficult.

“Si…” You rushed to wrap your arms around him, Simon wrapped his body tight around your own, burying his face into your throat and inhaling sharply, burying his nose into your scent to try and wash away all the horror that he’d witnessed whilst away. “Missed you so much.” You whimpered into his skin and then jumping. “Oh, uh…” It was clear you’d seen Johnny lingering over his shoulder then. “Hi.”

Tugging away from Simon, he took a step aside allowing you to see Johnny fully. “Hello ma’am.” He nodded his head at you then, Simon wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Johnny act so respectful before. Odd, he thought. “Jus’ got back from a mission. Y’fella ‘ere said I could borrow a room f’the night. Hope it won’t be too much trouble.”

A little of startled surprise crossed your face. “You work with Simon?” You asked then and Johnny nodded in confirmation. “You can stay as long as you want if you tell me everything about Si whilst he’s away from home.” You announced causing Simon to gift you a tested look but it only caused Johnny to chortle lowly and reply. “I tell y’everything I know ‘bout Si.” The use of his nickname that was reserved for you fell from Johnny’s lips and those narrowed daggers looked to him aggressively.

“Time for bed.” Simon commanded lowly then, hands placed on your shoulders to spin you in the direction of the stairs and ushering you up then, even as you argued that you needed to find some sheets for the spare room Simon still urged you up the stairs and as far away from Johnny as he could manage. This night couldn’t be over quick enough.

It was like some bad dream as Simon awoke that next morning to your side of the bed long cold beside him and the sound of your distant laughter floating through the house. Bloody hell. Originally, he had planned on waking up, rolling you gently onto your side and slipping into your wonting cunt, but instead you were entertaining another one downstairs, leaving him longing and lonely in the bed you shared.

Simon was dreading whatever stories that Johnny had decided to fill your pretty head with. There was reasons Simon kept you separate from you his work life, mostly for your safety but also because he was a different person there than he was in the comfort of your shared home. He felt safe and secure in these walls and around your presence, with work he built up walls which you had seemingly knocked down in mere weeks of knowing him.

Clambering from bed Simon tugged on some shorts and lumbered downstairs to join the chatter. It was much too lively for an early Saturday morning. “My, my… Lt never mentioned jus’ how talented you are, lass.” That thick Scottish accent announced making his eyes narrow, rounding the counter to see Johnny observing the artwork that adorned the kitchen walls. “Matter fact, don’t think he’s uttered a single word ‘bout you.”

“Likewise.” You responded with ease then before beaming a smile at the presence of Simon in the doorway. “Morning, Lt.” Johnny began. “Morning babe, want a cuppa?” Your voice was pleasant and sweet, even at this time. “Mm.” He moved then to take a seat at the table as you got to work making him a morning brew just the way he liked. “I hope MacTavish ain’t been giving you too much grief…” He commented, flicking a hard look in Johnny’s direction.

A delicate laugh came from you then. “Don’t be silly.” Approaching him with the tea and placing it on the kitchen table for him. “Not at all, Lt.” Johnny continued. “Y’lass and I’ve been gettin’ on like a house on fire.” Then grinning as he sat opposite him. “Bonnie was just tellin’ me ‘bout the train strikes…” Simon glared at him. “Kindly offered me the room until things clear up again.”

After taking a long sip of his tea Simon said coldly. “I’ll pay for a taxi, or a plane… whatever gets you out of my house faster.” Then earning a hard look from you across the room. “Don’t be rude.” You scolded him with a stern look, completely unphased by Simon’s attitude Johnny did grin at the way that you spoke to his Lieutenant, practically only Price could speak to Simon like that. “John, you are more than welcome to stay with us as long as you need to.” Then throwing a tested look in Simon’s direction. “Isn’t that right, babe.”

“Is it, Lt?” Johnny uttered feigning some innocence Simon knew was fake. Instead of biting back Simon simply nodded and mustered a small. “Mm.” In response, simply plotting his revenge sometime in the future. “Mighty kind of you.” The Scotsman grinned and looked towards you. “Oh and lass, call me Johnny, please.” Followed by a playful wink. This was going to be a rough few days.

Masterlist | Ask | 27-01-2024

[vikuo-kuma]

Jealous Rayne Headcanons

Requested by @seneon

HAI im from tiktok who asked about the headcanons thing, there's no "ask" option so I'll just send a message 😭 i had in mind about rayne having a gf that loves cats more than bunnies and she has her own cat (or cats). in your opinion, how would rayne react everytime reader shows affection to her cats more than him? does he try to make reader jealous by buying bunnies and giving them more affection than reader? SORRY IF ITS TOO LONG SJJSJS

—

- This man would definitely glare at both you and the cat. Like what did the cat do to you. He really dislikes the fact you would give a cat more attention, however he wouldn’t realize that he’s jealous- probably the first time he’s ever felt jealous.

- He probably won’t speak more than 3-4 words to you because he’s so grumpy about it.

- If he ever sees you with the cat, he would randomly take out a bunny somewhere and start showering it with attention. And if that doesn’t work, he would continue to glare at you and the cat until you realize he was staring daggers into the back of your head.

- When you do notice that something was wrong with Rayne, you look at him. But he turns away quickly from your eye contact. Definitely a quiet tsundere.

- He would NEVER admit to being jealous, and I mean NEVER. I mean who would admit to being jealous to an animal.

“Why are you giving that thing attention”

- This does have a happy ending, with you placing the cat down and cuddling with Rayne. He’s gonna hide his flustered face from you though, might even grin at the cat walking past, like he had won.

“Your attention is mine and mine only”

—

A/N: This my first time writing a headcanon, I hope you like it 😭

I love this man so much.

[qualityrain]

i think randomly dropping the fun cool implication that gusion and carmilla are homies in cecis side story when there is absolutely no mention of gusion in carmillas story and mastery code and voicelines is really funny but sometimes i do get emotional about their friendship lmao

[shoddynomenclature]

Heya 👋 I enjoy reading your headcanons, and I love your prompts… could you write the ladies for #5 Tav fainting from a hidden injury?

Tav Faints Due to Hidden Injury

Hey! I always enjoy reading yours as well! Feel free to use any of those prompts as I’d love to see your take on them.

I probably won’t do anything more injury prompts for a while; there’s only so many ways I can hurt poor Tav.

Here’s prompt #5 for Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, and Minthara.

On the way into Baldur’s Gate, while all of your companions watch the lands free themselves of the shadow curse, you manage to walk carelessly into a broken cart handle. You’re no healer, but you know Shadowheart is going to have a thing or two to say if you ask her to patch it up. You decide it doesn’t look that bad, and patch it up yourself. It’s an exciting day, finally arriving in the city. Why bring down the mood with a fresh gash in the side?

Shadowheart

The two of you are taking a short walk to familiarize yourselves with the new camp at Wrym’s Lookout.

You had been trying to keep your cool, but as you climbed up ladders and dodged rumble, you felt the ache in your side start to grow.

You stop and lean against a beam for support, clutching your side and breathing heavily.

“Are you alright, love?” Shadowheart asks tenderly, approaching you slowly before you quickly collapse on the ground.

She rushes over, trying and failing to catch you. She rolls you over on your back, lifting your shirt.

She sees the makeshift bandages you’ve wrapped yourself in and carefully slices away at them with her dagger.

She flinches, seeing the deep gash in your skin. Luckily, you just happen to be in love with one of the best clerics around. A cure wounds spell patches you right up.

You wake up almost immediately to a very unhappy looking Shadowheart.

“Care to explain the massive laceration I just found under your shirt?” She quips. “Or, are we just withholding such information with one another these days.”

“You’re one to talk about withholding information,” you attempt to joke.

She does not laugh. “So I suppose you’ve just forgotten how you acquired such a wound?”

You sighed. “It was on the bridge on the way over. I-I impaled myself with a piece of wood.”

She hits the back of your head with the back of her hand. “Ow!” You shout.

“It would’ve taken me two seconds to heal that wound up fresh. Now you’ve probably got a variety of different diseases swimming around from how poorly you packed it.”

She reaches out a hand to help you to your feet. “Let’s go,” she says. “I’m going to teach you how to properly wrap a wound.”

Lae’zel

You and Lae’zel walk alongside the city walls, just outside the city. Looking for clear signs of damage from the Netherbrain.

She comments a few times on how you are moving slower than usual. “We cannot afford to be so sluggish in the days to come,” she tells you.

It isn’t until you fade paler than Vlaakith herself that she notices something is seriously wrong. You fall to the ground before she can think to catch you.

She notices blood beginning to speckle your undershirt. “Tsk’va!” She curses, cutting away the fabric entirely.

You’re too far from camp and losing too much blood for her to get you back in time. She’s going to have to deal with this herself.

But she couldn’t tell you the first thing about closing a wound.

Hair. She remembers a ghustil sewing her up with a strand of her own hair. She plucks a hair from your head and gets to work.

You wake up halfway through the delicate operation, half crying from the pain of the repeated rough stabbing of your already tender wound.

“Silence!” She shouts, lazer focused on the task at hand. It doesn’t take a psionic tadpole connection to tell that she is angry.

When she’s finally finished, the wound looks… unpleasant to put it mildly. But it should be enough to get you back to camp.

“I didn’t think I needed to explain to you the stupidity of hiding grave afflictions,” she spits.

You open your mouth to apologize, but she cuts you off. “I will not hear apologies, only promises that it will not happen again.”

Karlach

Growing up on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate, Karlach is all too excited to revisit some of her favorite places with you.

Her excitement makes for an easy distraction. She is so focused on her surroundings she doesn’t notice the way you grind your teeth together in pain.

“Hey Soldier, check this out,” she shouts excitedly, walking back towards you with some cool plants she found.

You try to smile, but whiteness clouds your vision as you fall to the ground. She drops the plant and runs to hold you up.

“Soldier? You know you’re not supposed to go and pass out on me. I don’t know how to…”

Panic starts to rise in her chest and she lays you gently on the ground. “Alright Karlach, you got this,” she assures herself.

She lifts the base of your shirt, starting to panic again when she sees the blood soaked bandages.

She gingerly removes them revealing the nasty gash underneath. “Oh boy, you really did a number on yourself,” she says.

She looks around, trying to find absolutely anything that could close the wound. She didn’t know any spells, nor did she know anything about sutures.

She sighed. She had an idea, but she didn’t like it. “Okay soldier, I’m just gonna need you to stay asleep for a little while longer. Can you do that for me?”

Dammon had fixed up her engine so she didn’t burn so hot anymore, but she was pretty sure she could just get hot enough….

She pinched the wound together, then, with clenched teeth, she placed her other hand on top of it. She channeled all of her anger until she smelt the burning of flesh.

You jolted awake with a scream and she pulled away. The wound was now replaced with a cauterized burn.

“It worked! You’re okay!” She exclaimed, rather impressed with herself. “You are never allowed to do that to me again.”

You groan, sitting up. Your head is still spinning from pain and blood loss. You sway ever so slightly.

“Woah, slow down there soldier,” Karlach says, gently pushing you back to lie down. “Again does include right now, you know. Come on. Let’s get you back to camp.”

Minthara

You and Minthara take a stroll around the outer city, allowing her to take in a surface city for the first time.

Not far into your walk though, you begin to feel lightheaded. “Minthara I think I need to sit-“ you are cut off abruptly by your own collapse.

You fall limp onto the cobblestone on the city streets.

She is quickly down beside, cooling your face with her cool hands. It’s only then she notices the bloody bandages under your shirt.

Confused, she cuts away with them away, revealing your injury.

Her face immediately pales. The wound is mild, nothing she is incapable of handling with a simple laying of hand. But you kept this from her.

She patches the wound with a gentle touch. But her mind continues to race. Why would you not tell her? Do you not trust her? Should she trust you?

You stir awake with a whine. The pain in your side is dulled, and you’re able to sit up with relative ease.

Minthara stares harshly back at you, silently awaiting an explanation. When you don’t offer one she asks, “why have you kept this from me?” She tries to hide her hurt behind anger.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “It’s just- I knew you were excited to see the city- and it was a stupid injury anyway I just- I didn’t want to be a bother.“

She looks dissatisfied with your answer. “We do not keep such grave secrets from one another. My trust is a fragile thing.”

You sigh, defeated. “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

[spacebarbarianweird]

Little Bundle of Darkness

Synopsis: Astarion becomes a father.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, pregnancy

Alethaine's age: newborn

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @lobster-risotto for beta-reading!

Astarion wants to leave the house, just to distract himself a bit. Just to take a break.

A cry of pain pierces the air. 

The vampire starts moving objects in the room mindlessly. He hates dissociating but at this moment he misses this feeling of not being present in the moment.

It's been years since he felt so useless, so doomed. And so scared.

Another cry, louder than the previous one, and Astarion clenches his fists as if being ready to attack an invisible enemy. 

He and Tiriel have been through a lot. He has seen her in blood and pain many times - his fierce warrior-wife who wields a two-handed axe with the same elegance he uses daggers is unstoppable and unbreakable.

But this… this is different. 

"I - I can't!", he hears Tiriel. "It hurts!"

Whatever she wants to say next, drowns in yet another cry.

Astarion casts a glance outside. The sun is still shining so he is locked inside the house. Helpless and useless while Tiriel is suffering in agonizing pain only with a midwife to be by her side.

...He had no idea it was possible. He is an undead. Undead men don't impregnate mortal women. Besides, it had been twenty years since they met. If it had been possible to conceive a child, it would have happened a long time ago.

But – 

One day her blood just tasted different. And Tiriel was so tired she couldn’t lift her weapon on their back home from the wilderness. She was claiming everything was all right and he had to drag her to the town’s healer.

She came back much sooner than he expected, and he immediately sensed something was utterly wrong. Tiriel sat in front of him in the chair, eyes firmly fixed on her hands.

"My sweet, what did he say?" Astarion asked. By this moment he started feeling a wave of his own panic. Tiriel is mortal. She is a warrior, yes, but she isn’t immune to curses and, after all, death. And besides he had never seen her like that.

"Astarion, tell me one thing. Have you heard about children born from vampires?"

"Yes, I have. Dhampirs. It’s like being a vampire without downsides,"he got so carried away that he basically gave a lecture to Tiriel, and then stumbled. "Why do you ask?"

And then she put her hand on her belly.

“He told me I am pregnant.”

… The next months were intense. Sometimes everything was good. They could even sit and talk about the future – sure, the child was going to be an elf with just a bit of human ancestry on Tiriel’s side. 

But more often than that they both were scared. Tiriel had insane mood swings and she would burst into tears after some innocent mockery from him. He had nightmares and panic attacks. Everything he thought had gone for good returned the instant he’d learned about pregnancy. 

And Tiriel… Well, the thing is women die at childbirth even if the child is mortal. Even if before the woman has challenged the gods.

Cries from upstairs are unbearable to hear. Astarion wants to be there with Tiriel and, at the same time, he wants to be miles away. And it’s all his fault. 

If she dies, it will be his fault.

Fuck it.

Astarion goes up and with a bit of hesitation pushes the door. The smell of familiar blood makes his head spin.

“Go away, idiot! I told you not to come here!” the midwife curses. “There is too much blood!”

“No, please!” Tiriel begs, reaching out for him, “Don’t go!”

Astarion kneels beside her and squeezes her hand. “I am not going anywhere, my sweet.”

What if something is wrong? What if the child is some monster, not even resembling a sentient being? What if…

And suddenly Tiriel goes silent.

A squeal, full of fury and distress, pierces the room.

“Well, this one looks like a healthy girl”, the midwife places the baby in Tiriel's arms. 

The tiny Elven baby with long pointy ears stops crying, feeling her mother’s skin against hers.

Astarion stares at the child in shock.

“Didn’t really take after me, did you?” Tiriel adjusts herself a bit in the bed. “My lovely beautiful girl”, she presses a kiss against the baby’s forehead, “Look at her ears, they are like yours!”

Astarion can’t take his eye off them. His child. His and Tiriel’s. His daughter. Not a monster – just a baby. 

The long pointy ears twitch, and Tiriel starts caressing them.

“Tiriel… My love…”, he finally manages to speak again, “Her ears are very sensitive, don’t touch them too much”.

“Oh, I am sorry”, Tiriel stops. “But they are so cute!”

“They are.”

Astarion can’t decipher what exactly he feels. All these months the child was just an idea, something he couldn’t feel attachment to. But now that the baby is born, the realization that nothing will be the same hits him. That his life has just changed forever.

And this is good. The worst thing that was happening to him all the centuries of enslavement was the understanding that nothing would ever change. Nothing would get better or worse because everything would stay the same. And now, it’s something new. Something natural. Something he thought was available only for normal people, not someone so twisted and ruined like him.

Tiriel touches his arm softly.

“Hold her.”

“What?! No! I am not…”

“It’s your child, Astarion”

Astarion stands up and recoils. “Tiriel, I will hurt her! Look at her, she is small! I will… I will do something to her!”

It seems like his voice scares the newborn and she starts crying again. 

“Sit with me”, Tiriel asks. “Please”

Astarion hesitates but obliges. Before he says anything, the little bundle is already placed in his pale arms.

He freezes. The girl cries even louder demanding to be returned to her mother. Astarion touches her forehead with his fingers – the skin feels delicate like silk”

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia”, he whispers in Elven.

And the girl stops crying. She looks at him with her dark eyes and suddenly smiles. The newborn stretches her tiny arms as if trying to reach out for his face. 

And Astarion bursts into tears. Sobbing, he cradles the baby in his arms, hearing the fast heartbeat within her delicate rib cage. 

It’s his daughter. His treasure. The reward for everything he’s been through. The sign that he has been doing the right things all these years.

Tiriel puts her chin on his shoulder and wraps her hands around his waist.

“Thank you, my love”, Astarion says to her. “This is a gift.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Tiriel breaks the silence.

“She needs a name.”

Astarion studies the girl’s face as if looking for a hint. Then, the name comes to his mind, though he doesn't know where he could have heard it.

“Alethaine. My love, can we call her Alethaine?”

Tiriel nods. “It’s not like I have any other suggestions. I was scared to death the whole time. It’s beautiful. Let’s call her that”.

It’s already night when the midwife leaves the house. Astarion helps Tiriel to get to the bed with clean sheets and then brings her sleeping Alethaine.

Astarion watches how Tiriel pulls the collar of her shirt freeing swollen breasts and then places the girl that way so her mouth in front of the nipple. The girl makes sucking movements and her ears twitch simultaneously.

Tiriel starts humming – and Astarion recognizes a human lullaby he’s heard from Tiriel maybe only once or twice. 

He carefully puts his head on Tiriel’s lap so he can see both his wife and daughter.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asks.

“Tired. Happy. And you?”

Astarion chuckles. “You pushed a whole Elven baby out of your body and wonder how I am feeling?”

“Actually, yes”

“I feel … alive.”

Tiriel reaches to his silver curls and strokes the hair with her free hand.

“Thank you for giving her to me”, she whispers.

Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia (Elven) - you hold my heart forever, my child

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[pigcowboys]

About the confession fic.

PLEASE IM STARVING FOR IT.

Thank you.

Ps.( I need more percy headcanons from you they're so good LORD YOURE AMAZING).

pairing: percy jackson x gn! reader

summary: part 2 to this fic part 3

warning(s): blood, injuries, rough housing, cursing, SLIGHT jealousy, unresolved feelings whoops.. & mutual pining (they're just a little slow..)

a/n: HAHAH TYSMMM <33!! i wanna write more so badly but so much is going on with school i just haven't found the time.. :( (i have something in the works actually!!)

"are you okay?"

you jumped at the sound of grover's voice, waving his concerns off with a dismissive 'just fine'. and you were, for the most part at least. or as fine as you could be with the camp currently split in two on account of the disappearance of the young nico di angelo.

you weren't especially close with him - well, not as close as he would've been with his late sister. though, you had your fair share of moments with him.

while percy was away from camp on his quest with everyone else, you became to unofficial babysitter for the boy. taking on the role you assumed his sister had to play for him during the time they were together. and it was fun. you didn't have any siblings of your own so the thought of having your very own younger one just dropped at your feet was awesome to you.

well, it was till percy and the others came back and nico's seemingly never ending cheerfulness faded with the information of his sister's untimely death. it's things like that which reminded you of why being a half-blood was so dangerous.

she didn’t deserved to die that young - shit, nobody deserved to die that young..and in that way?

it's so..fucked.

"do you know when they said they'd be back?" you asked grover, turning to look at him since the first time you began to speak. he gave you an unsure shrug. "mm..soon? i'm not too sure," he turned to look past the camp entrance. " i wouldn't worry about it though, they'll be fine."

"you'd be surprised the amount of shit percy can get himself into.." you said to nobody at all. grover seemed put of by your uncharacteristic brooding. he spared you a glance before parting ways with you to do whatever it is he had to. you didn't want to do anything right now but sleep.

for whatever reason you'd taken it upon yourself to try your best to help out with every single thing you could around the camp, touring new comers, cleaning the pegasus stables - you even assisted the stoll brothers in cleaning the hermes cabin after someone (travis) had let a couple of gerbils loose in there as a prank.

it wasn't funny. you glared daggers at travis for weeks.

maybe you were trying to preoccupy yourself or maybe you genuinely felt like helping - you weren't sure. or maybe you just missed..something.. or maybe someone? you looked towards the front entrance.

yeah..you did.

you hadn't gotten any time to think about the weird interaction the two of you shared a few weeks ago yet, it was always fresh in your mind somehow. percy was so weird. it felt like since that day you'd started to see him less and less than before. could you believe it? this guy, someone you considered to be your best friend had been blowing you off!

what a dick.

worst part was the fact that whenever you did see him, he was almost always with annabeth. annabeth, annabeth, annabeth. i mean, they couldn't of even asked you if you wanted to hang out? why were they always together? always whispering to each other and avoiding eye contact when you'd meet their prodding gaze. it was so weird..

the last straw had to be when you'd overheard them talking one time. you didn't mean to eavesdrop, you just heard your name in passing and it instantly grabbed your attention.

"so..you're going to do it?" annabeth asked

"i guess."

"come on! don't be like that - you're going to scare her off if you're not passionate. about it"

"do girls..like passion?"

"obviously! you have to make her feel important." annabeth tutted. "you guys never get these kinds of things."

"you sound like one of the hunters.."

"hm?"

"nothing."

why were they talking about girls? did percy have his eye on someone? is that why he was avoiding you? he..liked someone and didn't want to tell you. but, he told annabeth about it.. and not you? you were offended - very offended. how dare he not share his feelings with you! the nerve of some people. it wasn't the fact he didn't tell you that hurt the most, it was the fact he'd told someone else before you. why was this the way you had to find that out? who else did percy tell..?

the idea of it all flooded your thoughts and refused to leave it for days after days. it might've been the real reason you were brooding so much. you stopped dead in your tracks as you looked over yonder. ares campers, and they seemed like they were preparing for something. your breath caught in your throat as they noticed you, a sneer forming onto their faces as they made a beheading motion, dragging their thumb across their neck in a threatening manner.

oh wow, capture the flag. your favorite.

"is too late to run back to my cabin?" you asked nervously, lacing your boots before standing up groggily. percy turned to look at you with a frown. "you gonna be okay?" you didn't spare him a glance, opting to fix your breastplate properly as you stared ahead.

"yeah, i guess." the corners of your lips curled as you made eye contact with another ares camper nearby who seemed to stare you down like a fresh piece of meat. your stomach turned as you clutched your shield tighter, exhaling shakily.

percy stared at you silently, looking forward at the line of campers then back to you. you turned to face him when you felt his hand brush against your own. he didn't react to your head turning, only leaning forward to grab your hand and hold it tightly.

you looked down at where your hands were clasped together then back to percy. he looked back you, a shaky smile making it's way onto his lips as he squeezed your hand tighter.

"for reassurance," he explained, lips tugging into a small smile. you nodded like you understood what he was doing, turning back to face in front as you tried your best to stay focused on not dying.

as so as the match started you were almost hit with an arrow, courtesy of the apollo campers, you concluded. your shoes scrapped the ground as you ran for cover, mud caking onto your shoes as your legs went as fast a they could.

you could hear yells and chants behind you as you dodged the botany of the forest, ducking down to hide behind a larger looking log as you waited for the opposing team to run past. your lungs hurt and you were pretty sure that arrow had just barely missed your face because there seemed to be a small slash on the side of your right cheek. as the sound of the footsteps grew farther and farther you moved out again, running past the log as you made your way to the East Woods.

A hushed whisper of your name caught your attention as you took notice of Annabeth who seemed to be trying to blend in with the surrounding woods.

"jeez, are you trying to get killed?" her eyebrows furrowed. "those ares campers are betting on this match." she rolled her eyes. "those brutes, you'd think they'd try to have some kind of sympathy for the people they hurt." she seemed to ramble on about something under her breath to which you did not hear nor care to even hear.

"where's percy?"

annabeth gave you a look. "i don't know," she looked to her right wearily. "i thought he was with you."

something in your stomach stirred. you'd just seen percy at the start of the match..what happened..? you frowned, moving from annabeth's hiding spot as you planted yourself onto the ground once more, equipping yourself with your weapon once more as you held it close to your chest.

"what do you think you're doing?" annabeth exclaimed. "you can't be out in the open like this, there's barely any cover. you'll be attacked."

"everywhere in this forest is the open."

"you know what i mean." annabeth sighed. "look, i've got a plan but, for to work we've gotta wait a little, okay?"

"what plan?"

"i can't tell you all of it right now." she frowned. "just follow my lead.."

you weren't too trusting of annabeth's plan yet you complied, following after her as she moved from her hiding spot, meticulously through the forest. she was quick on her feet and you tried your best to follow her example but it was harder to recreate with your mud ridden sneakers.

it happened quick, you barely registered the sound of a flurry of arrows being set off at you and annabeth, the two of you ducking out of the way as you took to your feet sloppily, running for your lives. your heart pounded as the sound of 4 different pairs of feet chased after you. annabeth panted harshly as she looked around in a flurry, grabbing your wrist as she made a sharp turn right into the weapon of an ares camper.

they raised their sword and swung down viciously without restraint. your shield was barely able to block the attack, swinging back as you put distance between the camper and annabeth. she seemed shaken up but still readied her weapon, steadying her helmet on her head.

you stared at the ares camper with furrowed eyebrows. "is it true you guys are betting on us..?"

he didn't reply, rushing forward to swing. your shield cushioned the blow yet the rather old material seemed to shatter slightly under the weight of the swing. what the hell did these campers eat?

you threw your shield to the side, backing away steadily as you steadied yourself. annabeth stepped forward as well, swinging at the camper with precision, trying her best to block the harsh slashes. you tried to catch your breath, bringing your hand to your chest as you raised up your head shakily.

you merely stepped forward for a minute when another camper rushed towards you, knocking into your body with full force as you flew to the side, slamming against the tree face first. your nerves could barely register the pain as your collapsed onto your side, falling right onto your right arm.

you cried out in pain, reach forward to clutch your arm as blood smeared against the sleeves of your clothes. you curled into yourself as your body grew heavier and heavier. you could remember the faint sound of yelling before you finally blacked out, losing consciousness.

you woke up gods knows how much later in the infirmary. your ears were ringing and your chest hurt. how long had you been in here? a few hours? a few days even? you looked around the room wearily, nobody else had been inside - it was practically empty. you tried to stand up but took notice of the fact your arm was bandaged.

what exactly happened..?

the door to the infirmary swung open, gaining your attention as your head snapped towards the figure that opened it. your eye widened slightly when you locked eyes with percy. he seemed surprised you were awake, his eyes glinting with a spark of concern.

"hey.."

"hey." you two said in unison. silence fell over the two of you as percy idled in front of your bed for a moment before pulling up a chair and placing it near your bed, sitting down on it as he gazed at you with worry.

"did you just wake up?" percy asked, trying to seem normal.

"sadly," you exhaled. "i would've liked to sleep a little longer."

"well, you were out for a while." percy said absentmindedly. "i - uh, we were kind of worried about you."

"thanks." you smiled slightly, raising your head to peer at what it was he was holding in your hands. "what's that?"

"ambrosia," percy replied, fishing out a small cube from the pouch. he held it towards your mouth, waving it around slightly as he waited for you to lean forward and bite it.

"you know i can feed myself, right?"

percy frowned. "why can't you just let me be nice?"

you didn't reply, shuffling forward as you opened your mouth, allowing percy to slip the treat into your mouth. your mouth swirled with the best flavor imaginable as you sunk into your bed with a sigh, turning your head to the side to gaze at percy who looked at you wearily.

"how long was out for?"

"pretty long, you broke your arm and a few other things when you fell," he tucked the pouch into his hoodie pocket. "those ares campers are so.."

"insane. can't believe they were betting on people's lives." your eyebrows furrowed. "isn't that fucked?"

percy hummed in response and the two of you grew quiet again. you stole a glance at percy taking notice of the slight eyebags on his face and the redness of his nose.

"annabeth told me everything," he paused. "i'm sorry i wasn't there."

you shrugged. "it was no big deal, i mean, i'm still alive, right?"

percy leaned forward in his chair, bringing his elbow to rest on the cover of your bed, bracing his head in his palm. "yeah but," he paused. "i don't know what i would've done if you didn't manage to bounce back." you stared at him quietly as he seemed to zone out.

"i don't know what i'd do with myself if you ever got hurt."

your eyes widened as you registered his words, your lips curling upwards. so, maybe he didn't hate you.. you sat up in your bed slowly, bracing against the pillow you were resting on as you turned your body towards percy.

"that's not gonna happen," you paused. "..again." percy smiled yet still looked slightly distressed about the whole situation. you reached out to cup his cheek, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you stretched them outward as far as you could.

"hey man, don't worry - i'm going to be fine, stop brooding now."

percy grunted rebuttals in response, exhaling when you finally released his face with a tired giggle, readjusting yourself to lay down on your bed as you settled in with a hum. percy rubbed his cheek soothingly, leaning forward to admire you.

you didn't register he was staring at you till you turned to your side and locked eyes with him, heart beating in your chest as the two of you stared at each other in silence. percy broke the eye contact, placing his hand on yours that laid still on the bed as he interlocked them.

you gave him a quizzical look as you squeezed his hand.

"it's for me." percy smiled sheepishly. "i wanna know that you're okay."

you didn't say anything only smiling to yourself as you closed your eyes, slowly fading out of consciousness as you dozed off clutching percy's hand.

[vanbredevoort]

12, 19 for the character building questions!

character build time! / accepting!

12 · What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

It depends a lot on the verse--- on main, she's not one to laugh very often. Lydia is a 'duty above all else' gal. She's too busy researching, assisting, helping, painting. She smiles often (when she has a FACE to do so, and if not then with her eyes) but it's all politeness. You see, she's always carrying a mask. The illusion is just ironically another layer of that. She's always playing pretend-- Pretending to play her part for the Northern Realms, pretending to be nice and polite, pretending to not love her master.

A commoners silly tale would make her laugh. A farmer explaining with a tankard of beer how he chased his precious sheep singing filthy songs he knows the sheep loves would make her laugh. Love stories, IF her defenses are low, will make her giggle as someone much younger than she is.

(If she's drunk basically everything makes her laugh. Back in Aretuza she had a drunk laughing fit while staring at a fence. Just a fence with nothing out of the ordinary. She thought it was hilarious.)

19 · What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Being repetitive is my jam, so I'm going to say it again: she a 'duty above all else' kind of person. If she can't stand someone but HAS to, because it is needed for Vilgefortz's sake and his cause, she will endure an eternity of it.

The list of people she wants to avoid exists, tho, and I will explain. First of all, and most importantly, she doesn't want to be in the same room as Vilgefortz's lovers. She will find a perfect excuse and leave as long as the person is staying with him. She has been exercising self control enough to keep herself from expressing her discomfort, break things or plainly cry out of jealousy, but she does not like to drag that out and put it to the test for days. Any display of affection would make her react, and if she doesn't, well, she has very expressive eyes. And Vil knows how to read them. In that case, funny, it's Vil himself she wants to avoid (it's not her intention and never would be to get in the way of Vil and his partners, if they make him happy-- she'd never meddle). Not for long tho, she can't stand being apart for too long. She'd rather take the pain and choked jealousy than leave for more than a few weeks.

Philippa is another person she likes avoiding in basically every scenario, every verse. On main, because she gives her the creeps: too powerful, too manipulative, too good at hiding her intentions, too many layers of deception. On the resurrected verse, well, Phil kinda owns Lydia's soul. It's a constant reminder that her happiness can be crushed in a second by a simple whim.

Alejandro, a sorcerer from Cidaris, is a BIG nono for Lydia. Remember everything I said about 'duty above all'? Well throw that off the window and set it on fire because if Alejandro is there, she's gon be running in the opposite direction. The other end of the continent if possible. Alejandro is very straight-forward about his attraction towards Lydia, and stubborn about it. Lydia is kind of oblivious when it comes to someone deisiring her, but Alejandro is beyond honest with his intentions and Lydia WILL escape him every chance she gets.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Drunk Deuce Headcanons

Reader is intended to be female

Masterlist

So whilst I don’t think he’s a light weight, Deuce can get pretty tipsy really easily.

Deuce is a hundred percent an affectionate clingy drunk

He’s definitely a lot more handsy than he would be whilst sober. Deuce is a touchy boyfriend in general, and always has his hands on you even in public whether he’s holding your hand as you walk, wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulders or even indulging in the occasional full blown hug where he gives into the constant urge to just engulf your frame with his. He would love to do PDA, and you’ve certainly made it clear that you’re absolutely fine with it as well, but his general shyness, gentlemanly instincts, and drive to be a well behaved honour student that abides by the rules make it a bit hard for him to just kiss you in public no matter how much he wants to. So he just settles for hand touching and the occasional pecks on the cheek and forehead.

Having you close just feeds his protective instincts and the side of him that’s just so giddy and amazed to hold you. Like, wow, I’m dating this amazing girl and I want to touch her and she wants me to touch her. Is this heaven? Plus, being affectionate in a place where other people can see does appease a smug part of him that he’s not too ashamed of hiding. He’s not possessive by any means, but the butterflies in his stomach start flapping like crazy whenever he thinks about how everyone else knows that the both of you are each others - like, he’s known that he belongs to you ever since that incident long ago where you learned about his past yet looked at him with that caring supportive gaze but now you also belong to him. 

In private his urge to touch you is just amped up, seeing how he’s now able to do as he pleases without anyone but the two of you to bear witness.

He just wants you so much. Every second of every hour of every day, his head is filled with your laughter, your smile, your sparkling eyes, the melody of your voice, the tingling of your touch. You drive him madder than the residents of Wonderland.

Anyway, back to him being inebriated 

He’ll whine, clinging onto you like a koala, not caring about others watching as his face makes a home for itself in the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your skin. Strong, athletic arms will hold you close against him, whether he’s dragged you onto his lap or he’s seated beside you but has you in a vice grip with his arms draped over your shoulders like you’re wearing a Deuce sized jumper.

If you do manage to escape his hold (though, why would you??) he’ll follow you around like a newly imprinted baby duckling, trailing after you with wide pleading eyes and a dopey lovestruck smile and awestruck eyes. Having to close the bathroom door on his sad puppy eyes feels worse than a hundred daggers to your chest but you were honestly desperate to go at that point.

(Yes, he pouted outside until you were done and then immediately latched onto you the second the door opened again. He’s one of Professor Crewel’s favourite students for a reason)

Normally when Deuce is needy, he’s a lot more - well, I wouldn’t say ‘aggressive’ per say - but he’s more physically demanding of your affection, pressing hard and fast kisses against your lips, cheeks, neck in quick succession as his hands hold you flush against him but then again, needy Deuce only comes out in private. When he’s got liquid courage coursing through his veins, however, everything’s slow, savouring, all relaxed veneration and gentle adoration - letting him drown in his all-consuming devotion, even when he knows that time will stop before he’s even begun to be sated.

And he’s a lot more shameless about it, indulging himself all out in the open. The Queen of Hearts herself could be before him and he wouldn’t care, not when he’s got his own goddess to revere.

Sliding, his lips down the slope of your neck, pressing slow, drowsy kiss after slow, drowsy kiss only forcing himself to pull away from your skin when you call his name, so sweet and tantalizing, to look up at you with dark, besotted eyes and flushed cheeks before continuing where he left off. In his opinion, if your words stutter and fumble as you converse with your friends - who pray to The Seven that their next shot is much much stronger - then he’s on the right path

He’s a cuddly, clingy puppy but he’s your cuddly clingy puppy and you won’t have him any other way

Meanwhile everyone else is completely done with the pair of you and Ace is certain that the nausea he feels has absolutely nothing to do with the empty glass of alcohol in his hand.

[twi-liight]

Petty Jealousy ❣

Tav's companions cannot fathom them potentially having other friends. ❥ Astarion/reader, Astarion/Tav, but also Companions/reader. I'm a Tavrem supremacist. ❥ Contains my own personal headcanon for why the companions call them "Tav" instead of their first name, which is justification for me loopholing the eternal problem of xreader writers having to wince when they use "F/N" or "Y/N". ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav/reader!

“Look,” Astarion hisses, “look at that!” 

5 pairs of eyes land on the offender of the night (which, to their surprise, isn’t Astarion) who conversed pleasantly with the leader of their party. A half-elf with a sharp jaw, proud brow, and mirthful eyes looks extraordinarily ordinary compared to their merry band of freaks. 

“Who is that, again?” Shadowheart asks absently. “Tav suggested I rest for today instead of mapping out the Underdark with the party, and the next thing I know, they’ve brought back another little companion.” 

Astarion’s jaw twitches. He snaps out, “Companion or complication?”

Gale crosses his arms, shrugging, used to Astarion’s temper running hot then cold. “His name is Nilmorn - a luthier. Tav took an interest in his wares. He makes a living selling stringed instruments in the Underdark. Strange place to sell such things.” 

Ugh. Astarion sighs, shaking his head. Leave it to Gale to traipse over the obvious. A sharpened mind like his would surely know that this Nilmorn has no place here, if not to be a bloodbag for him to slurp on. Beyond that, what use does this pretty boy have? Nilmorn sells wares that are utterly useless to them. He’s quite boring and one-dimensional, too, a character that strays too much into the side of “moral good” for Astarion to tolerate. 

 “Yes, yes, Gale, but have you considered how strange it is that he has invited himself to our camp?” Astarion flares out his hand towards the wizard, as if handing him common sense on his palm. 

“I,” Gale begins, blinking his wet, beautiful brown eyes at Astarion, “invited myself to this journey, Astarion. I am quite hurt you forgot. I thought what we had was special!” 

“Yes, but you’re weird!” Astarion exclaims. “You’re a freak with a bomb in your body because of your situationship with Mystra! That,” Astarion points an accusatory finger in the direction of Nilmorn, in which 5 pairs of eyes look at him again, “is someone so unbelievably normal he doesn’t even have any, any…” He gestures, articulates with his hands to placate his words. 

“No dubious motives?” Shadowheart offers, a smirk coyly playing on her lips. 

“No complicated backstory?” Wyll pipes in. Astarion’s eyes flicker to him, and irritation seeps into his skin when he finds Wyll smiling wryly, as if the warlock is in on some joke he is not picking up on. “No, I don’t know, god that has let him down in some way, shape, or form?” 

“Certainly no skills for fighting.” Lae’zel, thank the gods for Lae’zel. Her smooth voice hides none of her displeasure, and those sharp, slitted eyes stare across the fire to dig daggers into Nilmorn’s back. “Useless. We have no need for string-ed instruments. Let Tav pick one, and send this half-elf on his way.” 

Yes. Yes. Astarion nods eagerly.

“Hmmm. I almost envy his mundaneity,” Karlach adds,  “but I mean, he’s not that bad, Astari. Man’s just trying to make the world a better place, one string at a time.” 

Astarion almost throws up. He looks to the other companions helplessly. “Darlings. Please tell me you are not going to let Karlach get away with saying something so putridly motivational.” 

Karlach tosses her head back and cackles, much to Astarion's chagrin.

“Something is obviously bothering you,” Shadowheart states bluntly. Her green eyes watch his expression carefully in the firelight; she finds something there, but does not say it outright. With an exhale through her nose, as if it is painful for her to attempt a conversation with him, Shadowheart decides to throw him a bone: “Are you jealous?” 

He does not catch the bone. The bone slams right into his head as he stares at Shadowheart, slack-jawed and scandalized. Him? Jealous? “You must be joking.”

“Aw,” Shadowheart croons, another one of her insufferable smirks toying on her lips, “you are.” 

If he had mindflayer powers beyond reading her reprehensible surface-level thoughts, he would make Shadowheart’s head explode. Or something. 

He must establish his dignity in the group once more. He cannot handle more of this, especially not with Wyll grinning so wide, not self-aware enough that if he did not have a sexy demon controlling his life because he didn’t read the terms of conditions of a motherfucking contract, Astarion would bully him more.

“That is not the point here. Look,” he says. “I am just saying that our Tav is desirable in every way. Physically, we can all agree that Tav is attractive. Yes?” 

Yes. They all nod their heads. 

“Tav is a little strange, but they are our leader, and they got us this far somehow. Who knew caring about other people could go a long way.” 

Yes. They all nod their heads, except Wyll and Karlach, who look amongst the group with sheer disappointment on their faces. “Gods,” Karlach groans into her hand, “we– we need to unpack that later, gang. That’s just really sad.” 

“Lastly, Tav is strong. Strong enough to split apart the mountains and the sky, I imagine.” Strong enough to bury Cazador into the ground, hopefully. “Strong enough to face a god unwaveringly. Strong enough to persevere. Strong enough to be kind, despite everything. Despite what they think, they are charismatic, and they are the entire package. The only person who does not know of their value is Tav themselves.” 

They watch Tav’s lips quirk into a smile as Nilmorn holds a lyre out for them upon his smooth hands. Smooth, no sign of scars, no sign of complications. Just so unbearably mundane. Unbearably good. Unbearably kind. 

Unbearably unaware of their true nature.

Nilmorn does not know why they nicknamed them Tav, despite their name being [F/N]. Their unstoppable quench to loot everything and anything set back their timeline by weeks, no doubt. Reaching into barrels, reaching into the pockets of bandits, reaching into damn silk cocoons, reaching into whatever their curious little hands can salvage. It annoyed Astarion at first, but then Tav would find all of these weapons and armors and foods and coins and books. Normalcies and luxuries that made camp life feel less of a drab and more exciting. 

The gleaming, golden dagger at his side? They found it. The boots, the armor, the enchanted rings and necklaces they either found, bartered, or killed for their companions. Thus - Tav, short for tavara, the word meaning wares and merchandise; a clever little nickname Gale came up for their leader who is too good for all of them combined. 

“Any other party could whisk them away, you know,” Astarion says. “Tav could find a party of good, decent people, unlike any of us, without the mess and complication and hurt we cause them, and leave. Remember, my dears. It is not us who is irreplaceable. It is Tav.” 

How long would Tav tolerate him? Not long, he thinks. Long enough until he has expended his use for them, surely, but not forever. That's why anyone who wants Tav beyond sex or strength is a threat. If he hadn’t seduced his way into their heart, he wouldn’t be here where he stands, with a group of people who make him feel a little less alone. 

No doubt he would be in a cage on the back of a covered wagon that belongs to that disgusting gyr, Gandrel, his chain to Cazador growing shorter and shorter.

Silence. Tense and still. They watch as Tav laughs lightly, eyes alighting with amusement as Nilmorn cracks another joke. 

"You should meet my other companions," they hear Nilmorn offer, "I just know they would love to have you."

Revelation slams into each and every one of them like a magic missile.

“He’s not that funny,” Shadowheart mutters. She bends down, hands gripping tightly around the handle of her mace. “I don’t know why they are laughing that hard.”

“He can try to leave with his head on his shoulders,” snarls Lae’zel, “just say the word, Astarion.” 

Excellent. 

“What-” Wyll turns to Gale and Karlach. “We should stop them, shouldn’t we? There are no implications of this man trying to steal Tav away, he's just being nice, you worthless cunts! This is not fair to him!” 

“We’re in the Underdark, aren’t we? Super deep. Doubt anyone who cares for him will come looking for him.” 

“Karlach!” 

“Astute observation! To make this all a little easier on us, I can most certainly put this man to sleep.” 

“Gale?!” 

“Go on, Lae’zel,” Astarion grins wickedly, “attack!”

“Oh, hells,” Wyll stumbles back, then turns quickly to the other direction towards Halsin. “Halsin! Halsin - they’re trying to murder someone again!” 

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3