#for the love of silver elven hair

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Head over feet

ʚ  Pairing:  Thranduil x Fem. Reader

ʚ Word count: 2033 words 

ʚ Themes: Fluff | Soft

ʚ Summary : After catching the King’s interest, you have been invited to stay in his halls. What plan does he actually have for you? 

Author's notes: This was inspired by the Alanis Morissette song, which I absolutely adore.

The sun was streaming through the windows when you finally opened your eyes. A new day had dawned in Mirkwood, and you feel lazy despite the cheerful sunshine outside. Someone hummed behind a screen. It must have been Elirien, your lady-in-waiting, preparing your bath.  

"I still can’t believe I’m here." You toss your pelt aside and stare up at the gilded ceiling. "Me. Of all people."

Elirien smirked as she busied herself fixing your bath. "Shocked that you’re here, or shocked that the Elvenking invited you, out of all the others?"

"Both, truth be told," you sit and rub the sleep out of your eyes, taking a deep breath and sighing contentedly when wisps of orange fill your lungs. The incense he had sent over last night helped you immensely with sleep. "I mean, I was invited by him. Him." You whisper through your teeth as she comes over to you with your bathrobe. "Thranduil Oropherion! I want to pinch myself sometimes, to make sure that I’m not—owww!"

"Won’t leave a mark." Your handmaid inspected your arm. "And now you know you’re not dreaming."

Your eyes narrowed to little slits. "Oh, how I hate you." 

"You say that my lady, but deep down, you know you love me and would be a lost cause without me."

You rub your arm, trying hard not to grin, "But why me?"

Why you, indeed? Thranduil had met several eligible ladies at a feast a few weeks ago but had only sought you out. He’d send little notes to you, little tokens and gifts just because. He even invited you to stay in his halls with him. That was something that he hadn’t done for anyone besides a select few friends of his.

"Maybe he’s smitten," said Elirien as she carefully laid out your outfit for the day. "Now, hurry up before your bath grows cold."

"But how can he be smitten, Eli?" The sigh of contentment rose from your toes the moment you slipped into the warm, fragrant water. "It’s only been a few weeks."

"That’s enough for some people," she said. "And the king is two thousand years old. I’m sure an ellon his age knows exactly what he wants."

She had a point. "Hmph." You play with the water, watching little ripples form every time your fingers move across the surface. "I guess that’s true. What should I do though?"

"Let him win you over." The grin came easily enough. "It’s what you want, yes? And please don’t lie to me, my lady. I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one is looking."

Your lady and her sharp eyes. "You know me too well, I think," you retort. "Anyway, what makes you think he wants to win me over?" you say defensively. "For all we know, Thranduil is just being a generous host."

"That’s because I have seen the way he has been looking at you, my lady," she hummed. "And the way he looks at you… mmm-mmm. I would give anything to have someone look at me like that."

Your protest dies on your tongue. You too have occasionally caught the looks, the winks that made your stomach get all tied up in knots and your heart hammer away in your chest. It felt as if the King had eyes for no one else but you. "Urgh. When you’re right, you’re right. "

How Elirien smirked in triumph. "I’m right because I’m always right. Why have you not realized that?"

That cocky grin you knew so well brought a smile out of you. "My goodness, woman, your arrogance is astounding."

Her retort vanished when someone knocked on the door. It was one of the King’s aides.

"What is that?"

"A posy," she said as she brought a crystal vase filled with cheerful blooms. All your favorite flowers. "And a note."

While she arranged the vase, you read the note.

My dearest,

I hope your morning has been wonderful thus far.

I have some free time during the next few hours, and I would like to show you around the gardens. You have not seen it yet, have you? It’s quite beautiful this time of year, and there is a little maze that I’m sure you’d love to explore.

Afterward, I was hoping you’d join me for breakfast in the library. It’s quiet there, and we can talk peacefully, away from the chaos of the day.

I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance of the gardens. Alphanar, my aide, will show you where it is.

Until then,

Namárië

T

"He. Is. Smitten." Said Elirien. "From lady y/n to dear y/n to my dearest in such a short spell?" She tilts her head and goes over the letter. "I’d wager it won’t be long before he starts calling you meleth and proposes to you."

"It’s a long way from my dearest to meleth." You retort. "And a much longer way from will you walk with me to saying I do. Besides, Thranduil can still change his mind."

"I highly doubt he’ll change his mind." She tuts and lifts your chin. "Thranduil has been introduced to many eligible ladies, yet he has only ever sought your company. I'm--"

You interrupt her and mutter. "Still odd, if you ask me."

"I’m not finished." Elirien shot back gently. She waits until you finish your grumbling. "You are the one he invited to stay here, in his halls, with him. He goes out of his way to ensure your happiness and comfort. He stops whatever he’s doing just to listen to you. He has eyes for no one but you. If those are not signs of his attachment to you, then I don’t know what is."

Thranduil would indeed go out of his way for you, sometimes rearranging his own schedules so he could spend more time with you. There are times when you’re not even sure if he’s listening, but he always surprises you in the end. 

"Perhaps you’re right," you said, getting out of the tub. "Right. Let’s get me presentable for the king."

After getting dressed, you take a good, deep breath, to steady your nerves. When Alphanar stopped by, you follow him to the gardens.

                                                  🍂🍂🍂

Thranduil had been pacing near the entrance, just as nervous as you. Tauriel, his captain, watched him walk impatiently with barely disguised amusement. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Tauriel snickered and went back to an apple she was eating. "Very much, your grace. I mean, it’s not every day one gets to see the Elvenking all tied up in knots."

Tied up in knots. If only she knew. "Where do you think lady y/n is?" Thranduil asked with an impatient breath. "Do you think she changed her mind?"

She shook her head. "I doubt she has, your grace. Be patient."

He harrumphed and went back to pacing. Thranduil had been eager to show you the gardens. Because it meant spending time with you. Because he loved being around you. Because he...

Thranduil sighed and held onto the garden railing. "I'm done for, aren't I?" 

"It's been obvious to us all, your grace," Tauriel said evenly. "For more than a few days now. You love her. It's plain as day."

The words made a wave of deep yearning wash over him. "I'm not as subtle as I thought." 

"No, your grace, you're not." Tauriel looked up when she heard a door open. "And since your girl is here, you can stop your pacing. The grass will thank you for it." 

"Thank you." Thranduil squeaked and narrowed his eyes. "Now scatter."

His captain chuckled and walked off after greeting you. "Your Majesty," you say as you try not to stare. The king had been garbed in red velvet and gold and looked resplendent this morning. He smiled and helped you to your feet. "Thranduil, please."

"Thranduil." Wait. Did he blush when you said his name? 

Thranduil fought for composure. The sight of you was enough to make butterflies flutter in his stomach and his mind go blank for all else. He took several deep breaths to regain control of his already twisted tongue. You deserved a king, not a bumbling elfling. "Shall we?" He extended an arm, waiting for you to link yours through his before the both of you took off.

"How was your night, y/n?" He asked companionably enough. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well," you say with a smile. "The incense you sent was extremely helpful. Thank you."

"I'm glad." Beaming, the King led you along the paths that were so familiar to him. He hoped you too would grow to love the place he called home. "And how are your brothers? Did any of them succeed in that archery contest?"

You were stunned that he even remembered you prattling on about your brothers and their antics in your father's army. "Sadly, no. My best friend’s brother did. My own brothers wrote to complain about horrible bows and lousy arrows. The youngest kept complaining of the sun getting in his eyes." You stop and think. "Come to think about it, he always complains about the sun getting in his eyes." 

Thranduil's chest rumbled even as he laughed. "I must confess, I too sometimes blame the sun, but my warriors don't hold it against me."

"The great Elvenking blaming the sun?" You laid hands on your cheeks and feigned shock. "What must your warriors think of you, sir?"

His laughter sounded so sweet to your ears. "A question that will keep me awake many a night, I assure you." Thranduil grew serious as he led you to the maze. He wanted to gauge how you truly felt about life in Mirkwood, as your happiness here was of the utmost importance to him. "How do you find life here, y/n?" he asked finally. "Is it-- is it to your liking?"

"I do," you said, looking around. The gardens were breathtaking, and the flowers provided a riot of colour that appealed to your heart. You could see yourself living here for good with Thranduil, but Thranduil had to ask himself. "I love everything here."

"Love it enough to live here for good?" he asked hopefully. "What I mean is, would you--would you consider living here for good-- with me?" 

You look at him, discreetly pinching yourself to make sure you're not imagining things. The twinge in your arm convinced you that you were not imagining things and that the king wanted you to stay with him.

The king wanted you to stay with him. Did that mean he was going to ask what you think he was going to ask? "You want me to stay here with you?" 

Thranduil groaned inside, for this should have been so easy. He grew incredibly nervous, even gulping so loudly that you actually heard it. "Thranduil is eve..."

He stopped, straightened his spine, and took your hand in his. He was no blithering elfling, and he wasn't going to act like one in your presence. "I love you y/n. I'm in love with you."

"I-- I have searched for my other half for longer than I can remember," he continued, his voice trembling. "And that night, when we were introduced, my heart rejoiced, for my search was over. My other half is you. It has always been you. I love you, y/n. I will always love you. Meleth," You gasp as he took the final step needed when it came to his feelings for you. "Will you-- will you have me for your own?"

Blue eyes looked into yours with such hope. You seriously consider what you were going to say. Marriage was a big deal after all. 

And you’d be married to the Elvenking, it couldn’t get bigger than that. 

Fingers tracing lines along your knuckles reminded you that Thranduil was probably expecting an answer. And he was. More than anything. 

You look around you again. You'd be happy here. You could see yourself happy with him. You could definitely see yourself falling in love with him. Or perhaps, you already were?

"Yes." Overjoyed, Thranduil pulled you into a hug before giving you a kiss. "My answer is yes." 

[rosykims]

one thing about me is that i WILL be giving all of my ocs a half dozen names/nicknames/middle names/original names/epithets like they're daenerys stormborn of house targaryen , first of her name, the unburnt, queen of the andals, the rhoynar and the first men, queen of meereen, khaleesi of the great grass sea, protector of the realm, lady regant of the seven kingdoms, breaker of chains, the mother of dragons :)

[mithrun-house-of-kerensil]

I think about Lycion and his relationship with beauty soo much

Looking at him, we can see that he easily meets the elven beauty standards. He has long silver hair, clear skin, and androgynous form: he's the picture of a youthful, pretty man.

And yet.

He experiences such a visceral reaction to his own body. Despite looking like your stereotypical pretty boy, he doesn't fulfill the expectation of being vain in the slightest (at least not in this form).

In fact, we see in the extras just how badly his body dysmorphia got to him. This was not a passive discomfort or a shallow desire. Lycion was trying to destroy his body. He hated living in his skin so much he was actively self harming in multiple ways in an effort to punish himself.

It's not until he uses ancient magic to get his beast form that his perspective of himself changes. The magic required him to be heavily tattooed over his whole body and we can clearly we can see that he wears these marks with pride. But that's not where any of this ends for him because despite having the solution to his problem, Lycion can't be a wolf all the time.

This means that he has to learn to cope with existing as an elf still, and what stands out to me is how Lycion's hair is almost always in his face. Even now, in the body he likes more, he hides. Whether this is a lingering discomfort or just a habit, there's no saying, but it makes me sad.

Especially in this panel, where it's clear that a lot of his hair had been pulled forward to cover his face rather just the few strands. His expression looks so hollow. He looks tired and uncomfortable. This isn't the casual playfulness he usually has. I think this is a peek into the idea that it's very self soothing for him to use his hair as a shield when he's forced to stay in his human body for too long.

I think that his hair is so important to him because we can see that it's the only trait that carried over into his wolf form. This means that when he's forced to be human he can cling to the single part of him that's shared between his current body and his preferred one.

In summary: I love him so much

[littlejuicebox]

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

-----

If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay. 

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality. 

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully. 

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin. 

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face. 

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige. 

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance. 

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

-----

You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell. 

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf. 

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him. 

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring. 

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last. 

[galacticgraffiti]

❁ Sugar (I've developed a taste for you) ❁

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Summary: Astarion asks for a favour and ends up getting more than what he bargained for (or: I'm a lesbian but this fictional little vampire twink can get it)

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut) Wordcount: 2.4k Descriptors: I try to keep my reader-inserts fairly neutral, but let me know if anything slips through the cracks! Astarion is his usual self, pathetic and awful yet somehow also lovable as fuck. CW: bad flirting, friends with benefits (and the benefit is bloodsucking lol), blood, blood drinking, biting, hint of praise kink, eventual proper smut, nicknames, so much innuendo

✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3 ⋆✦

༻────• ༻❁༺ •────༺

Chapter 1: My my, those eyes like fire

He could be lovely if he wasn’t so self-involved.

That is the first thought you have when you meet Astarion. He is not downright mean, but something about him just bugs you. He flirts with every creature on two legs (sometimes even those with more), but that’s not it.

Something about all his honeyed words just feels so… insincere. 

You think Astarion has something to hide, and you desperately want to know what it is. So far, he has shown no signs of weakness, and he is as much as self-entitled twat as when you first met him. And this continues to be your opinion of him… up until today.

The day has been hard. Your feet hurt, your hands have blisters, and you are smeared with blood pretty much all over. Your shirt has been ripped and frankly, you don’t know when you might find the time to mend it. There is a giant bloodstain on the thigh of your trousers, and you are pretty sure your hair has become completely encrusted in blood quite some time ago.

But you have made it back to camp and that is all that counts.

As you shake out your bedroll and try to ignore the fact that this is the seventh night in a row that you’ll have had bland stew for dinner, you catch Astarion’s eyes across the fire.

His gaze is… odd.

You have seen him in the heat of battle, you’ve seen the glint in his eye when he comes up with another of his devious plans. You’ve even seen him amused, shaking with laughter when Gale recited an - admittedly very ambiguous - poem to you.

But you have never seen him like this. It’s not affection, nor is it desire that lights up his delicate features. He almost looks… desperate. Like he is starving for something, and you can’t place your finger on what it is.

As soon as Astarion notices that you have caught him, his eyes flick away. He saunters off, way too casual to not be obvious about it.

You stare after him, vaguely confused. But then, Karlach makes her way over to ask for more stew, and you forget all about it. For the moment.

Her smile makes your belly flutter, and you wish you knew more about her, and so you do your best to make conversation, joking and asking shallow questions.

Astarion’s eyes haunt you through dinner.

Even though the day was exhausting, the nights in your little camp are starting to grow on you. Gale is funny in his own, book-wormish way. You have learned that Karlach is downright hilarious in her joy about the world outside of Avernus, and Wyll is always scandalised by her, which is admittedly quite fun to watch. Lae’zel and Shadowheart keep to themselves a bit more, but even they share the meals with the rest of you.

You laugh when Karlach imitates Wyll’s horrified expression, but in spite of yourself. your eyes keep wandering to the silver hair of your elven companion who is sitting across from you.

Astarion is staring at you again, his eyes focused on some point below your jaw. He is watching you intently, seemingly unaware you have caught him. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away - he just stares at you as your spoon scrapes along the bottom of your bowl.

Only when you get up to wash off before you go to bed does he move again.

Sometimes, Astarion reminds you of a scared animal in the way he moves, his eyes flicking back and forth, his hands trembling slightly whenever he is not in battle. He hides right out in the open, behind his swagger and his dirty jokes and innuendos, behind his beautiful face and his beautiful body.

Tonight, though, even in all his desperation, Astarion is not prey. He is a predator. And like any talented predator, he has managed to get his prey away from the protection of the group.

You are kneeling in the small stream that runs by the camp, washing your bowl, your clothes, yourself - everything is dirty and soaked in mud, sweat and blood. You are barely wearing anything, but your companions have seen you in much more precarious situations at this point.

Astarion approaches quietly, sneaking up on you in that manner where you can never tell whether it is intentional or not. He is just… there, suddenly, shedding his clothes next to you, blood still smeared on his pale skin.

He stops short of the water, watching you from the riverbank. You try not to gawk as he undresses, but something about him seems unusually anxious. The way he pushes hit foot forward so slowly, testing the water, makes you wonder if he might not know how to swim.

Astarion smiles suddenly, taking a step into the stream and towards you, then another, his smile growing the deeper he wades into the water. Dark red streaks appear in the water where the blood is washed from his pale skin.

He clears his throat and raises a sharp brow.

“And how are you feeling tonight, sweet thing?” he inquires. His eyes flick over your body, focusing on a point below your ear for a moment before he rips his gaze away again.

“‘M alright,” you answer, brow furrowed as you scrub your shirt a little harder than you actually need to. Why he has to be so infuriating with his nicknames, you’ll never know. “Today was… a lot. I wanted to have a quiet moment.”

“Ah.”

He doesn’t seem to get the hint. He merely wades further into the stream, shimmering pearls of water running down his back. When you don’t say anything else, he turns to face you once again.

“Are you not going to ask me how I am, darling?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you mumble, throwing your shirt to the side, Clearly, you’re not getting anywhere with it tonight.

“Tsk, so rude. Somebody should really teach you some manners.” He clicks his tongue at you like you are an insubordinate child, shaking his head until droplets hit you.

You press your lips together. If he wasn’t so beautiful, he wouldn’t get away with half the things he does, and it frustrates you to no end. You catch yourself forgiving him on occasions where you don’t mean to, simply because his face is the prettiest things you have ever seen, and you hate it.

Astarion watches you carefully, gauging your mood. You stare back at him defiantly. What the hell could he want from you, anyway?

The hunger in his eyes is back, you notice - that desperation that you can’t quite place. There is a pained expression around his mouth, and despite all his cockiness, he is clearly not doing entirely well - his skin even paler than usual, his hands shaking a little when he crosses his arms.

Astarion yawns, his gaze raking over you in a way that makes you shiver. You tell yourself it’s just the cold of the water.

“Well, I was going to ask you for your help, but you are in a terrible mood.” He inspects his fingernails, and even though you know exactly that he is baiting you, you can’t help yourself.

“You? Need my help? Never thought the day would come.” Your voice is biting, but you can’t hide the note of curiosity that sneaks in.

“Don’t make me out to be such a horrible companion.” Astarion takes a step closer to you through the water. You take a step back. He laughs, but his eyes catch on your neck again. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

You shrug.

“Sometimes you are.”

“Hm.” He raises his brows, and takes another step towards you. This time, you don’t step back. “Well, I suppose that can’t be helped, my love. We all have good and bad days, don’t we?” He cocks his head. “And today has been quite hard for me.”

You make a non-committal noise, staring him down. What in the hells is he trying to do? Seduce you?

Your body likes that thought much more than your mind does.

Astarion is watching you intently. He stretches out his hand to take yours, and in your surprise, you don’t even pull back. His thumb rests right against the delicate inside of your wrist, and he closes his eyes.

You wait for him to drone on about how he carried your group on the battlefield, to gloat that you now owe him your life seven times over, but he doesn’t. Astarion stays eerily still, breathing deeply as his thumb strokes your wrist, pressing against your pulse point.

You can’t keep quiet any longer, not with the odd way he is behaving. Maybe he got hit by a spell, or…

“Any reason today was particularly hard for you?” You meant to sound sarcastic, but the question comes out sounding sincere. You scold yourself for caring so much.

Your skin burns like fire where he is touching you. Astarion’s eyes open, and he looks at you like he was a million miles away. He is so close now - much closer than you realised. You can see the fiery ring around his irises.

“I…” To your surprise, his voice is hesitant and quiet. “It’s easier to just… show you. You see, I need something from you, my darling.”

You frown.

“Why ask me? You could ask any of us, and most of them would be more inclined to help than I am. I’ve seen the way that Gale watches you at the fire-”

“Gale?” Astarion sounds genuinely amused. “Darling, do you think I’m asking you for sexual favours right now?”

“I- yes?” Your voice is full of uncertainty. “I mean… is that not what you were going to say?”

Astarion smiles, small and sharp.

“No.” He is even closer to you now, his thumb still caressing the skin of your wrist. “Even though I would not be disinclined if you offered… you are quite beautiful, you know?”

“Mh. Thank you?” You wish your heart would not beat faster at the way he looks at you. It’s a look that doesn’t fit the words that fall from his lips, a look that betrays the desperation with which he needs this favour. “What-”

“What I am asking for is simple.” He is so close now he could kiss you if you leaned in. “All I want is… a taste.”

“I- what?”

His lips are on your neck, his hand in your hair. You are not quite sure when that happened.

“Say yes, sweet thing,” he breathes. “Just a taste of your blood and-”

“My blood?” You sound more distraught than you actually feel. You are… oddly resigned. You should have seen this coming - you knew something was up with him, you knew he wasn’t telling you the whole truth.

And now, here you are. With a fucking vampire. His lips graze your pulse point, and your heart beats faster. You can feel the heat of his breath when he utters a single word.

“Please.”

It’s that one word that changes everything. Just like that, he has you. All the arrogance, all the superiority is gone from his voice, and what is left is just hunger and the fear that you might reject him. For a moment, you are sure you must have imagined it, but then, Astarion repeats himself.

“Please.” His hand tightens around your wrist, though he is trembling more than you are. “Just a taste, no more.”

Your lips are numb when you answer, your mind screaming at you not to let him- this is dangerous, this is stupid- you have already lost so much blood in the fight today and-

“Yes.” Your hands are on his shoulders, then in his silver hair. He smells so good; even after this horrid day. Your voice is softer than you intend for it to be, but his desperation makes you weak. “If you need it, it’s yours.”

Astarion makes a sound that shatters you, and before you can think too much about your own colossal stupidity, his fangs sink into your neck. 

It’s not painful.

It’s uncomfortable, but the fear that bites into your heart ebbs after mere seconds. Astarion’s hands are surprisingly warm against you, keeping you upright. Your head falls to the side, granting him easier access and - oh.

Why does it feel so good?

You become acutely aware of your blood flowing from the small puncture wounds in your neck, and for a moment, you panic, stiffening in Astarion’s arms.

“There, there, sweet thing.” His lips don’t raise an inch from your neck. “It’s alright, just trust me. Just a taste, all I want is a taste…”

Your head is swimming.

“You have tasted me,” you whisper, trying to pull away. When you look into Astarion’s eyes, there is a red glint in them - and a sadness that overwhelms you.

“No taste of you will ever be enough.” Astarion looks up at you from beneath long lashes. “You are divine, my love.”

The tip of his tongue wets his lips, licking up the small droplets of blood that linger.

You stare at him, trying with all your might to focus.

“You said… just a taste. No more than you need.”

His finger traces your jaw, down your neck, and your whole body is on fire.

“If it were up to me, I would need all of you,” Astarion sighs, his lips on your neck again, his tongue lapping at the blood that flows from the wound he has given you. “I would take and take, and give you so much in return. I would have you in ways you did not even know you wanted. Taste everything you have to offer.”

You shiver when he raises your wrist to his mouth, soft lips pressing to delicate skin.

“I would cherish you, keep you. My little pet, so perfect, so beautiful in every way. So eager to give what I need. Would you give me more if I asked?”

“Of course,” your lips say even though those were not the words you were planning to utter. But how could you ever say no to him? “If that’s what you need.”

Astarion’s sigh is one of rapture and delight.

“So obedient for me… You know, all these days I thought you hated me.” He chuckles to himself. “I suppose even I can be wrong sometimes.”

His teeth sink back into your neck, and the world goes dark.

༻────• ༻❁༺ •────༺

>> Next Chapter

HELLO MY DOVES i finally found time to format this for tumblr so here you go, for those who are not in love with the bear, you can get the twink, as a treat.

@deewithani @ficsbynight @kote-wan @ariadnes-red-thread @rescuethewretched @twistedstitcher27 @kakashibabe02 @writingbylee @purgetrooperfox @basilbumble @witchklng @lackofhonor @ashotofspotchka @sailor-blossom @misogirl828 @amyroswell @darkjedipoptarts @pinkiemme @sleepingsun501 @fett-djarin @samanthacookieone @tortor-mcgee @corrabell @queen--kenobi @elegantduckturtle @felinaone @palpipeen @wild-karrde @obeydontstray @nomercyforthewarrior @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @thefact0rygirl @everythingyouwanted @equalityforcats @cagrame @ladykatakuri @snakerune @shadesofshatteredblue @100lxtters @damerondala @tachyon-girl @rintheemolion @pickleprickle @mando-amando @certified-anakinfucker @baba-fett @ulchabhangorm

[rrat-king]

some Bad Girls accesory headcannons:

adaine

doesn't need glasses but wears blue light ones because the light gives her migraines. the glasses are round silver wire frames that she has broken and cast mending on too many times

she loses her glasses constantly so gorgug made her a glasses chain so they can just hang when she's not wearing them. it has little star charms and blue and silver beads

it's my hc that adaine didn't actually give kristen her pinky back, keeping the philange instead so she has the bone on a little necklace she wears. its morbid but sweet.

she has a leather book holster that ayda made her after she complimented her's so that they are matching. keeps her spellbook in it

has three bracelets from kristen: a red rubber 'vote for applebees' bracelet as well as two woven friendship bracelets, a purple and blue chevron as well as a orange white and blue striped

elf ears are... so stupidly sensitive so she has a hard time wearing earings but she does steal fig's ear cuffs a lot

kristen

wears dog tags with jawbone's number as her emergency contact in case anything happens. he doesn't legally have custody but its a safe way of making sure he gets called over her parents

got her septum peirced with fig in leviathan, was originally a silver barbell but had to take it out when she realized the silver meant that tracker wouldn't kiss her, so wears a little golden hoop instead

has six trillion bracelets. most of them are friendship bracelets she's made herself, but she also has a rubber sig figs bracelet, a pony bead bracelet that says 'little shrimp' as well as a 'WWCD?' she made with her campaign rubbers

bad at wearing rings but has a number of them that she keeps on a carabiner that tracker got her (most of them found in the river while throwing rocks with riz. don't ask her why there are so many lost rings in the river she doesn't question it)

she got rid of her cross necklace after meeting helio but still has the saint necklace she got at first cornmunion. it's saint iree, patron saint of the lost harvest

fig

has one of gorthalaxes guitar picks as a necklace along with a million others

wears rings around her horns, most of which she makes herself but fabian gifted her a few of his that he doesn't wear cuz 'they interfere with my fighting, thank you' that are nice elven gold

has a matching septum with kristen as well as a million other peircings

she. loves. mixing. metals. she wears a million pieces of jewelry and they are all mishmashed but because none of it matches it works

constantly stealing her mom's earings. it drives sandra lynn crazy

hardcore believer in scrunchys over hairties. always has one either in her hair on on her wrist even they somewhat clash with her aesthetic.

wears compression gloves under her fingerless gloves to help with her joints swelling

has a million pins including: some of her mom's old band pins that she let her have, band pins of her own, kristen's campaign buttons as well as kipperlillys but she doodles over those, pins she's made herself out of bottle caps, a little tin skateboard pin gorgug made her, and a red compass pin that ayda gave her that belonged to one of the previous ayda's

(will make one for the boys eventually when i have time to come to terms with riz's new found accessory addiction this season)

[cambion-companion]

Glimpses (Baldur's Gate 3 x reader)

A collection of x reader snapshots as follows: Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale and Raphael. Part II will have more!

"Careful darling, I bite."

"I don't think most people know what you fully mean by saying that, Astarion." You whispered to the Elven vampire spawn as you made your way to the tavern table, flickering firelight making the bustling atmosphere cozy and warm. "It's hardly an appropriate disclaimer."

Astarion's red eyes flicked over to you, a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. "You sound jealous, my love. Don't be, my fangs are all yours."

"I'm thrilled." You deadpanned, your gaze drifting back to the barmaid Astarion had definitely been flirting with. "Do you chat up everyone or were you just trying to get discounted ale?"

"You are jealous!" Astarion chuckled and you squeaked slightly as he pulled you by the waist to sit next to him. "Now, don't go off in a huff." He leaned in and you smelled his familiar scent of cloves and iron. "

"I'm not going anywhere." Your familiar words caused Astarion to still, his hands softening their teasing grip on your hips.

"Darling..." Astarion murmured. He hesitated and then you felt his soft lips touch your neck, no scrape of his fangs against your skin this time. He buried his nose in your hair, and you heard him inhale deeply.

"Like what you smell?" You teased gently.

"Mmm." Astarion murmured, kissing your neck once more before moved his face away again. "Like wine and death."

Moonlight filtered silver through the latticework windows, turning the stained glass to broken shards of ice against the starry sky. You heard footsteps approaching you, soft upon the deep carpet of the hallway. You turned, your breath catching in your throat as you saw Shadowheart walking to you dressed in a gown that seemed to be made of the shadows themselves, hugging her every curve.

"You look beautiful." You said, the words leaving your lips feeling like they did no justice to how your heart was skipping.

Shadowheart looked uncomfortable, pulling at the edges of the fabric that draped so elegantly over her hips. "I can't remember when I last wore something so impractical." Her green eyes met yours. "But thank you for your sweet candor."

You closed the distance between the two of you and touched her hands, coaxing them away from where she was tugging at the dark dress and pulling her into you. You pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed your nose against hers, feeling her body begin to relax at the familiar affection.

"We must make our required appearance at this gathering, and then we can slip away." You promised, your hand ghosting up the side of Shadowheart's neck until your fingers tangled in her long thick hair. "Get into something more comfortable."

"Can we indeed?" Her voice lilted, always an edge of playful teasing to her words. "I suppose it'll do."

You pulled her in by the nape of her neck and kissed her plush lips, dragging a small groan from the woman you'd grown to love deeper than the shades of Night Orchid blossoms.

"Now let's go show Faerun how lucky I am to have you at my side."

"She is the most darling little thing I have every laid eyes on." You spoke fervently, but kept your voice soft as you looked down at the winged cat sleeping in your lap.

Gale approached quietly, his smile fond as he looked at the two beings he treasured most in the world. "She's quite taken with you."

"And I with her." You looked up at him and smiled, it was always such a pleasure to hear his voice and share his company.

Gale crouched down beside where you sat with Tara, his hand reached forward and stroked the Tressym's feathers gently and scratched her sleeping head. Tara yawned widely, showing off her sharp white teeth before she tucked her head beneath a wing and went back to sleep.

You pouted a Gale as he continued showering affection his sleeping friend. Gale caught your eye and chuckled. "I'll pet you too, if you ask nicely."

You snorted but your expression softened when you felt Gale tuck his fingers beneath your chin and tilt your face back up to his. He leaned forward and placed a loving kiss on your cheek. He moved his lips to press against the top of your head and lingered there for a moment. "You'll never know how grateful I am for you." His voice was as gentle as Mystra's weave, it carried notes of magic and the promise of safety. "

"I love you too, Gale."

You grumbled in frustration as yet another wooden match broke in your fumbling fingers. "Gods above..." You muttered, yanking another from the box to try again.

"Not quite." A familiar voice said, and you turned to see a well-dressed noble with dark hair and eyes. He gave you a devious smile and clicked his fingers.

A spark of fire, the smell of sulphur, and your campfire burst into flames that quickly took purchase on the sodden logs and warmed your face pleasantly.

"Ah." You grimaced, fighting down the feeling of elation at seeing your favorite cambion. "Raphael...thanks for that."

"You're most welcome." Raphael said dryly as he approached you, glancing over your bedraggled figure. "Did my mouse get caught in the rain?"

You rolled your eyes, smirking at the familiar needling banter between the two of you began. "What does that make you? The cat, making sure its meal is warm and dry?" You grinned at him as he stepped even closer, pushing into your personal space. "A guardian devil as it were."

You felt his hands dig into your waist, the sharpness of his claws growing more apparent as Raphael slowly dropped his human guise. "You should know better by now." He rolled his shoulders, stretching his wings to their full extent, the flames of your campfire dancing wildly in the gust of wind the motion created. Your hand slid up between his shoulder blades, the heady scent of musk and cherries filled your nostrils as you felt his teeth on your neck. The devil's voice sent a vibration to your heart. "The fox, rather...luring you in inch by inch until you belong to me."

[tragedybunny]

Things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion sometimes has trouble sleeping now that he no longer can walk in the sun.

The sun is high overhead, the daylight shining at its brightest, playing off the water dancing in the fountain below the window of your rented room. The inn is nice, the owner a sweet older lady who doesn't ask questions about unusual sleeping habits of guests. Turning back from the window, you draw the drapes over it, shutting off the light from the room. "You need to get some sleep, love." 

Astarion looks up from where he was seated on the bed reading, a safe distance from errant sunbeams and sighs, reluctant even if he's clearly exhausted. "I know, you don't need to fuss over me all the time," he snaps the book shut to accent his peevish tone. You don't respond, giving his temper a moment to cool. Red eyes look down at the floor after a second, "I'm sorry darling, you know I hate it. And it feels worse today."

Ever since he had to go back to life out of the sun, sleeping has been fraught for him. Some days, like today, he's put it off for several days, and he's weary and irritable. "I know." Crossing the room, you take his hands. "It's alright,” your hands squeeze his, “but I really can’t have you on the road to Waterdeep this exhausted.” Despite the way he's changed, Astarion is Astarion, and you love all of him, even the parts that are still hurt and angry. 

“Why couldn’t Gale just teleport us or something? He’s a shit wizard.” You almost retort about him insulting his friends, but then his lips reverently kiss both your hands. "Lay down with me for a little while?" 

"Of course." Letting go of his hands, you wait until he's under the covers and then lay down next to him, arm wrapped protectively over him. 

This has become something of a ritual between the two of you whenever he’s afraid to sleep. Some days he’s afraid he’ll wake back up in Cazador’s manor, some days it’s fear that you’ll be gone when sunset comes, and on others, it’s the memory of faces, lured to their doom in the night. Only once did you make the mistake of walking away after an argument, and leaving him trapped alone in the day. You’d found him after, curled up under a blanket, terrified you’d never come back, knowing he couldn’t even try to find you until after dark. It had taken almost a week to get him to sleep again. Gently, you kiss the top of his head and run a hand through his silver curls. “Love you Sunlight,” his eyes have finally closed and you can feel him relaxing. 

“Love you too, Starry Sky.” Very softly, you start to sing a lullaby, one your favorite Nurse used to sing to you, an ancient tune, passed down for generations. Your noble parents didn’t necessarily make a loving childhood a priority, but you do have more warm memories than him, and this is one of the few ways you can share them. Fingers move from his hair to his back, tenderly stroking it while you sing. The way he responds to the old Elven song, you wonder if someone sang it to him over two hundred years ago, someone who loved him just as much as you do now. 

“Promise you’ll be here when I wake up,” he murmurs, half-asleep at last. 

“I promise Astarion, I’ll always be here.” 

[spacebarbarianweird]

Beloved Monsters

So, it happened! I've finally brought Alethaine, Astarion's dhampir daughter, to life!

Synopsis: Domestic fluff about a small family of monsters.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs

Alethaine's age: 7

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

“Mum! Mum!”

As you open your eyes, the coziness of your bed with a fur blanket and the softest pillow surrounds you. It feels so comfy, like a warm hug. 

“Mum!”

A pale-skinned Elven girl with hair the color of snow stares at you like a cat. She stands upside down on the ceiling as if her legs were glued to it.

“Hi, Alethaine. Is anything wrong?”, you yawn and look at the window. It’s late afternoon and it's snowing. Winters in that part of Faerun are cold and merciless but nights are long. Which is good.

Alethaine, your dhampir-daughter, jumps onto the bed and you notice she’s already put on her warm clothes. Unlike Astarion, she is not immune to cold.

“Can I go? Pleeease!”

You sit up and hear a loud laughter from the inner yard. The town kids. Mostly humans, but Alethaine’s best friend is a dwarf boy, an Innkeeper’s son. All younger than ten, careless and brave like all the kids of this age no matter the race and social status.

“Cover your ears”, you say, making yourself get out of bed. You hate being stuck at home for so long – your body craves fights – but having a little child puts certain limitations.

“Thanks!”, Alethaine bares her fangs.

For the last month, you’ve been alone with Alethaine. Astarion left in the late month of Uktar, complaining that he didn’t want to travel in that awful northern weather and that there is nothing more disgusting than autumn. 

“It’s cold and I will have to sleep in the dirt. Besides, hags are “known” for their hospitality!”

Simple as that. A daughter of one of the noble families fell in love with someone from the common folk. He rejected her, and she made a deal with a hag to get him. The hag turned the girl into something and locked away. So, her family searched for help and eventually got to Astarion – the only person who knew how to deal with both supernatural contracts and the monsters themselves.

“Well, I will either find a loophole to save this idiot of a girl. Or I will have to fight the hag. Not the first time. Gods, good thing Alethaine is going to be much smarter than that!”

You smile. Since Alethaine was born, Astarion has been very sensitive about cases when a young woman, someone’s daughter, is trapped by supernatural forces. Astarion can deny it but he imagines Alethaine trapped the same way.

“Alethaine! Where are you?”, the dwarf boy throws a snowball into the door with a loud thump.

“Coming!”

Astarion was supposed to come back a week ago. Before Alethaine was born you had dealt with such things together. Be it a monster hunting or helping with contracts. But life changed seven years ago. 

You two became parents.

A little girl, a silver-curled elf with long pointy ears, is so delicate as if made of crystals. She has long vampiric fangs and can walk on the ceilings. A tiny copy of her father — Astarion was in tears when he realized that. 

“Bye!”, Alethaine wears her warm winter coat and hat but her long ears stick out.

“Cover them!”

“It hurts when I do that!”

You sigh. Elven ears are so sensitive it hurts to tuck them under heavy winter hats. As a half-elf yourself you can relate though yours are much smaller.

You take a scarf and wrap your daughter’s head in it. By doing that you can’t resist touching her ears which twitch a bit. The girl giggles, baring her fangs. It’s a funny image – the dhampir fangs grew up many years ago and didn’t show any signs of being “baby fangs”. They were probably a single set for all her life which will last for many centuries, growing along with the rest of her body.

But her “baby” incisors have already fallen out.

“Alethaine! Come on!” the dwarf boy waves to her. Alethaine frees herself from your hands and rushes toward her friends.

The moment she is outside, she takes the scarf freeing her ears to the cold air. 

You let it go. 

Sticking at home on your own is boring so you take out a two-handed ax and go outside to take care of it. You never know when the weapon is needed. Here, far in the wilderness dangers lurk in the dark. Wild trolls, gnolls, werewolves, bandits, name it yourself. Townsfolk aren’t people of war and they rely on you, a retired adventurer, to protect them. 

So, you always have to be ready.

The process completely takes you over as the early night falls upon the world and prickly stars start shining in the skies.

And then suddenly…

You are lifted in the air by strong hands.

“Astarion!” you exclaim and wrap your hands around his neck.

He kisses you and then looks into your eyes with love and adoration. But you can’t help but notice he is exhausted, with bruises and dark circles under his crimson eyes.

“Did something go wrong?”

“Darling, there was an obnoxious princess who could not take “no” for an answer, her brother who doesn’t process the idea that he is not as smart as he thinks. And three hags. Three, not one! And each of them had a personal contract with the girl, each contradicting the other one. What could possibly go wrong?”

“So, did you save the girl?”

“Depends. She won’t have to spend another five centuries being locked in a mirror. But she will be the hags’ servant for eighteen years, six for each of them. They also wanted to transform her into something I would call a half-rotten gnoll, but I managed to talk them out of it.”

“Two decades is long for a human.”

“Well, she wanted to make that boy her mindless lover for the rest of his human life so I think it’s fair. Her family didn’t agree, though, so I had to return on my own.”

“Did they pay you?”

“No, I stole some valuable possession of theirs”, he puts you on the ground and slips a ring on your finger. “It’s not enchanted, I checked.”

The ring is beautiful. It looks as if the fire was trapped inside it.

You two kiss again and get inside. The moment Astarion steps into the bedroom he starts undressing – he probably has been dreaming of getting rid of the dirty clothes for weeks. 

You smile. You’ve seen him undressing and naked thousands of times but you never get tired of it.

“I’ve seen Alethaine. She made those human children carry her on the sled,” he says.

 “If they don’t treat her well, who would sneak to other people’s houses to steal sweets?”

It is a common complaint. Apparently, Alethaine learned that if her feet are bare she makes no sound walking on the ceilings.

“I am tearing apart against the necessity to punish her for that and admiring her skills”, Astarion adds.

“You were a magistrate; I think you can find words to persuade a seven-year-old.”

“It’s much easier to persuade a devil than Alethaine!”

“Who could she take it from?”

He laughs and you approach Astarion for another kiss. You missed him. Gods knows, you missed him. You caress his strong shoulders ready to start something more sensual.

“Love”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to.”

You pull away and touch his cheek. There aren’t enough words in your vocabulary to express how proud you are of him. It’s been twenty-seven years but he still has issues with saying “no” to you. And you often find yourself in an intimate situation when you suddenly realize he doesn’t want to take part in it. Maybe, not to upset you. Maybe, out of stubbornness.

“Sure. What do you want, then? Bath? Blood? Sleep?”

“Everything you mentioned in that exact order.”

“Wait, I will prepare the bath.”

… Soon enough, Astarion sinks himself into the bathtub and you start washing his curls out of dirt while he scrubs his skin. You notice some bruises and scratches. They still haven’t healed properly and you try not to think how they looked a week ago.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I was butchered”, he answers, noticing your concerns.

“I wish I could come with you.”

“Darling. Alethaine is growing faster than a kitten – soon she will be old enough to be on her own. We will be doing this together again.”

You smile. Yes, that’s true. As a half-elf, you have much more time than humans. You are sixty-three, your human siblings are either long dead or very old. But you still look like you did when you were twenty. You have more than a century of life ahead. Plenty of time. For adventures, for miracles, for everything. Maybe, even for another child. 

You spend what looks like a pleasant eternity like this. Talking, laughing, smiling. At least twice Astarion takes your hand graciously and drinks blood from your wrists. His bruises and scratches immediately heal. Whatever blood he managed to take in the winter woods wasn’t enough.

When the water gets cold, Astarion gets out and dresses in clean clothes, a white shirt with an embroidered dragon and black trousers. 

… Together you sit in front of the fireplace. Astarion hugs you and you silently look at the fire. 

A loud thump wakes you from bliss. 

“Dad!” Alethaine cries out and in a moment the girl is on her father's lap.

“Hello, princess,” he stands up, lifting the girl in the air. You notice her ears have a purple color. “I see your teeth keep falling out”

Altethaine grins. And Astarion plants a gentle fatherly kiss on her forehead.

“Wait a moment, I brought you something” He puts Alethaine back on her feet, and she yawns like a cat. 

Astarion pulls out two books out of his travel sack. Alethaineimmediately opens the first one. You can see pictures and intricate Elven letters – despite being a half-elf you never learned how to read it, meanwhile Alethaine had learned to read and write both Common and Elven before she turned five.

“Is it Elven?” she asks. “I can’t understand what is written!”

“It’s Old Elven. A little bit different from the one we speak.”

Alethaine opens the other book and sees an image of an Elven woman with long silver hair, and dark eyes.

“She looks like me,” Alethaine says,

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

You look at them unable to stop smiling. Monsters. A vampire and a dhampir. 

Your beloved monsters. The daughter and the husband. Sometimes you treat them like something given – besides, what is more “traditional” for a mortal woman than a child and a spouse? But Astarion never forgets, even for a moment, that these normal things are supposed to be impossible. He isn’t supposed to have a home, a wife, and a child. 

You remember him crying with the newborn in his arms. Mere seven years ago. You remember coming back from a “dragon slaying travel” in the middle of the night to see Astarion and Alethaine sliding down a hill together. You remember his stare – which he gives you every single morning. The look of adoration, love, and gratitude. 

The girl yawns once again, and you notice how sleepy she is. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” the girl pouts. “I wanna sleep.”

“Oh, all right then. But come downstairs if you feel hungry”, Astarion strokes her silver hair.

Alethaine approaches you and wraps her hands around your neck. You feel a soft prickle of her fangs on your shoulder. 

“Have a good sleep, kitten”, you say.

Alethaine snatches both of the books from the table and goes away. Unlike Elven children, Alethaine does sleep. Like a predator, deep in her dreams but waking up a moment something off happens. 

“So, I think we should follow her example”, Astarion lifts you up in the air bridal style. “It’s tediously boring to sleep alone, do you agree?”

You giggle. When Astarion leaves, Alethaine doesn’t let you sleep alone. She crawls into her parents' bed and hugs you from behind pressing her little nose into your back. Anyone would think the girl is afraid of darkness or monsters.

But it’s not that.

Alethaine, a half-monster herself, sincerely believes her mother needs to be protected. And if Astarion isn’t at home, it’s her duty to make sure nothing comes after you. Maybe you slay monsters with your two-handed ax but who knows what night can hide? 

You caress Astarion’s cheek.

“Yes, how could I even fall asleep without my beloved monsters?”

--

Tag list

@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

[thevalleyisjolly]

As an intrinsic part of their Mortal heritage, I like to think that all the Half-Elven in Middle-earth have at one point in their lives (but most especially their youths) had a fairly unflattering haircut that they genuinely believed was the hottest shit ever:

Dior had a long feathered mullet that was a pure flex to show off how naturally full and voluminous his hair was. He only cut it once the twins were born and it became too much work to maintain while looking after two babies.

Elúred and Elúrin got their hands on an unattended bottle of hair dye when they were five and gave themselves skunk hair bangs that took months to wash out.

Elwing once experimented with teasing her curls into a big 80's hairdo because people told her how her father used to have big hair.

Eärendil had to cut his hair after a lice scare onboard one of Círdan's ships and went for a bowl cut that he thought would be quick and easy to do. Unfortunately, the bowl he used was a little too small and the high fringe made it look like he was wearing a small hat made out of hair. Idril had conniptions. Tuor managed to hold in his laughter until he could reach the privacy of an inner room. Elwing demonstrated the incredible power of love by both saying yes to his proposal and offering to neaten his fringe so that it at least looked a little less choppy.

Elrond stubbornly sported a man bun undercut for two whole years after he lost a bet with one of Maedhros' Mortal retainers and Maglor made a sighing comment about how he shouldn't worry because his hair would soon grow back out "nice again."

Elros gave himself curtained hair in solidarity with Elrond so that Maglor would get off his back, and kept it until the first time he commanded a war party and got good-naturedly ribbed to hell about looking like a 14 year old kid.

Like father like son, Elladan wore a rat tail for a few years after one of the Dunédain wagered he couldn't pull it off. He really couldn't, although he thought it looked great and was forever trying to do fancy styles with it until Elrohir staged a sibling intervention.

Elrohir maintained a buzzcut for nearly fifty years after his parents a little too amusedly said that he could do whatever he liked with his appearance now that he was of age.

Arwen went through a phase in her 200s where she dyed her hair with whatever colours she could get her hands on. The silver was very nice (Celeborn was extremely proud) and the blue highlights were interesting but still managed to work. She even made a decent ginger. However, the attempt at Arafinwëan gold just ended up a washed-out bleach blonde that is to date the only thing that has ever stunned Galadriel into utter speechlessness.

+Although not born Mortal, Lúthien spent a full Valinorean year with feathers instead of hair while trying to shape-shift into a nightingale. It actually made for quite an aesthetic when she took the time to preen them properly, but as she was far too busy running around having adventures with Daeron, the effect was more often ruffled bird's nest than sleek wings.

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Lost in the Labyrinth of my Mind | Legolas Greenleaf

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Pining

▹ Words: ~4k

▹ Summary: The two times you realized you loved Legolas, and the one time you acted on it.

▹ Notes: I would like a reward, I've posted two times in a year 🙂🙃 But seriously, thank you for all the support and love in my last oneshot, you all had me giggling and twirling my hair with my feet kicked up.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Little has made sense lately.

Thrust into a world so unlike your own everything was disorienting. Now you were living in the world that closely mimicked the Middle Ages you’d only read about. The first year hidden in Imladris had felt like the morning after a jarringly realistic dream. Spots blurred your vision and you were half convinced nothing was even real. In fact, you still weren’t fully convinced this was anything more than a grand delusion. Your memory was spotty and the days passed in a haze, so maybe that's why you volunteered to join the Fellowship as a healer.

It was dangerous, you knew, but those fears were quelled with the notion that death would mean it all had been real afterall. Either you come home a hero or have a firm grasp on what’s reality, even if that’s in death. 

Dawn broke, the sun cresting high in the sky, but it was barely seen over the mountains. They seemed to close in, threatening to crush you and your companions, the falling snow ensuring your bodies would stay on the floor. There was a burn in your legs from the steep incline as the Fellowship hiked up the mountains. Even after a night of restless respite, your body still aches. You wouldn’t falter though, even as the tips of your fingers turned blue and your skin became as cold as ice. As the only woman in the company, you refused to be the one to stop first. Stubborn pride was all that kept you moving forward.

Somewhere in between the hobbits was where you found your spot in the marching order. You were content enough to slide in and out of their conversations, at least, the parts of the conversation that could be heard over the deafening wind. But even their chirper disposition seemed to wilt under the harsh weather that seemed to get worse the higher up the Fellowship got. 

Your eyes slid towards Legolas, a shining gold beacon amongst the frost. His hair was like the last rays of sunlight, the smile on his face as warming as a roaring fire. Seamlessly he weaved between the members of the Fellowship, seemingly unbothered by the snow. His footsteps were so light, he didn’t even leave a footprint in his wake. Unlike your travel companions, he seemed mostly unbothered by the pelting snow and frigid air. The cloak he wore, lighter than yours, seemed to be for show rather than practical use. 

It was obnoxious how distracting he could be. If you weren’t careful, you would stare at him for hours on end, mouth hung open like an idiot. It was humiliating, the amount of times you’d made a fool of yourself while in his presence. The teasing from Elladan and Elrohir had been endless. 

Yet as much as you’d hate to admit it, the flutter of your heart or the giddiness that puts a skip in your step were all sensations you reveled in. Always a hopeless romantic, even as previous partners tarnished your silver-plated optimism, you loved being in love. Except, you weren’t in love, you couldn’t be. And in the depths of night, while the stars hung high and all was quiet you told yourself a million things to convince yourself the crush on Legolas was surface level. You told yourself things like: 

“It was his elven heritage; you just weren’t used to seeing elves.”

“The infatuation and curiosity would dim with time.”

“Most of your life elves were fictional, and now there was one, right before you.”

Those were a few of the lines you told yourself to placate yourself when your mind wandered too close to Legolas, though it never felt very convincing. 

Legolas turned, his bright blue eyes meeting yours. They were so wide and full of wonder, it was hard to believe he was hundreds - if not a couple thousand - years old. He was so youthful and bright, not weighed down from living a million lifetimes. Nothing like his father nor the whispers that followed the King’s name in the corridors of Imladris. Legolas was soft and gentle, careful and perfectly polite to a fault. His father’s disposition may have been winter but Legolas remained the sun that melted the frigid snow. 

A smile blossomed on Legolas’ face, not a single crease appearing on his pale skin. The simple gesture made your heart rate increase to an alarming rate, knots twisting and turning in your stomach. Heat and embarrassment made your cheeks turn flush and you hoped he simply thought it was from the cold.

 You returned a smile, overtly aware of your own appearance and insecurities. You wanted him to think you were as pretty as the elves you’d lived among, but beauty was hard while caught in a snowstorm. Your eyes moved from Legolas, opting to stare at the back of Aragorn’s head, at least until the queasy feeling in your stomach went away. He was so beautiful, and kind, and wonderful, and--

‘Stop. Don’t do that.’ you scold yourself. It wasn’t worth the potential heartbreak to even consider Legolas like that. You were mortal and he was very much not, he would more than likely see you as a lost puppy than a romantic prospect. But despite yourself, you snuck one last glance at Legolas, foolishly hopeful his eyes were still locked on you. They weren’t; he was now in the front with Gandalf, idle and unaware of the turmoil a simple smile from him caused. 

A particularly strong gust of wind hit you, knocking you straight to the ground. The winds were getting fiercer and the snow heavier, how long would this continue before Galdalf admitted defeat and you turned around? 

Wet, cold snow seeped through your clothes. You tried to stand, but found it difficult in the thick layer of snow. Like a clumsy child you kicked and squirmed in an attempt to regain your dignity, but it was all for not. Then a hand appeared in your line of sight, offering your aid. You looked up, Legolas now standing before you with an outstretched hand. Without hesitation you took it, Legolas hauling you back to your feet with little to no effort. 

Even as your body was upright and stable, Legolas’ hand didn’t leave yours. His hands were rough from decades of archery training, but they seemed gentle in yours. His thumb lightly traced shapes over your skin. The action seemed subconscious as Legolas continued to look at you with that bright expression he always wore. 

“Careful my lady, we wouldn’t want you to blow away.” Despite how quiet they were, his words cut through the wind. There was a teasing glimmer in his eyes that seemed to translate to his words. 

You breathed out a laugh, careful to not stare into his eyes too long. Your cheeks became warm again, the red flush of embarrassment making its mark on you. Legolas’ head tilted to the side; concern masked the light mischief lighting up his face. 

“My lady, you must be freezing, especially after a fall into the snow. Here--” 

He didn’t give you time to respond, not that you even could. You were in a trance, enraptured the smell of cedar and bergamot as well as the heat that radiated from his body that was so close to yours. Legolas reached up to the clasp of his cloak and undid it. In a smooth motion, he took the cloak off and draped it over your body. 

“That should help keep you warm in the snow.”

 He smiled at you, sweet and gentle. His disposition was addictive, making a small grin curl on your lips. All too soon, he stepped away from you, sparring you one last glance before approaching Aragorn. Your cheeks remained warm and bright red, the rate of your heart not settling anytime soon. 

You continued to watch him animatley chat with Aragorn, unbothered by the cold even without a cloak. Subconsciously, you pulled the cloak tighter to your body, deeply inhaling his scent that lingered on the fabric. 

Practically floating, you were unaware of the knowing glances the rest of the Fellowship cast your way. All the while, you were lost in thought, trying to intellectualize each butterfly Legolas’ touch created. It was all overwhelming and you almost wanted to throw up. You were shaking and nervous; bright red from head to toe. This felt different than idle crushes and romanticization of complete strangers.

Maybe you were falling in love. 

---

The river languidly flowed, beams of soft light reflecting off the water and creating a thousand little rainbows. The river’s stream was gentle and almost lethargic, it seemed even the Earth was affected by the elves' lack of urgency in life. Lady Galadriel’s power had seeped into the very dirt and from it sprout and ethereal visages in the forest. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this at peace. It must’ve been before your old life had been ripped from you. 

You were alone, fingertips digging into the mud as you stared at the stream. Gandalf was dead. It was a strange thing to constantly remember. At times you would forget, searching for him in the Fellowship only to remember he’d fallen in Moria. There was a pit in your stomach you weren’t familiar with. Greif didn’t feel the way you’d thought it would’ve, not at all the way it was often dramatized in the media. Instead of bright and all encompassing, it was a subtle, slow burn that would eventually swallow you whole if left untempered. 

But you didn’t know how to temper it. 

So it left a dull ache within you, painless enough you’d forget it was there until it suddenly pricked you like a sewing needle. 

But at least you could mourn without the threat of orcs looming over your head. 

“I had hoped to find you.” His voice was carried by the gentle breeze that suddenly came through the clearing. You turned your head, only slightly, just enough to see Legolas’ lithe form standing a little ways away. 

“It’s quiet,” you replied, returning your attention to the water, feeling a need to explain yourself to Legolas, even though his observation wasn’t accusatory. The ground muffled the sound of Legolas’ footsteps, only a soft thump heard with each step. He then took a seat beside you, so quiet it felt like he’d always been there. His eyes were on you, you could feel it, the way his blue eyes bore past your body and into your soul. Elves were far more perceptive than humans, and you could feel the truth to that statement in his gaze. 

“I had thought so as well. I came here our first night in Lothlorien. It made me think of you, I am pleased to see I was correct in that.” He spoke the words so effortlessly, as if he hadn’t just admitted to thinking of you. Or perhaps it was nothing to him, a passing thought in his mind of one of his friends. You didn’t want to just be a friend, but perhaps that was the category you’ll remain.

You turn your head, eye to eye with Legolas. A warm flush appeared on your cheeks, something that seemed permanent when he looked at you with those eyes. The type of wonder and softness that almost made you believe he returned your affections. Yet you didn’t linger on those fantasies for too long, not wanting to potentially be let down. You’d never been very strong in your convictions, something born during childhood that you never managed to shake.

Flighty and fearful as long as danger was near and it was always near; haunting the edges of your vision, a jumpscare waiting around every corner. The worst case scenario had always been accepted as the only plausible scenario; fiction became fact and you wouldn’t accept any other truth. Perhaps Legolas was waiting for a cue from you to make a move, but you were too much of a coward to ever do it. 

So in limbo you would stay, content enough with your friendship while secretly yearning for more. 

“And what about a calm river could make you think of me?” 

You were irrational and emotional, quick to anger and hard to forgive. If anything you were a calamitous tsunami; rough and heavy, dragging everyone in its tide. Nothing like the level headed and logical elves you’d lived around. 

“You’re both a source of peace and beauty,” he responded, a small child-like grin curling on his lips. Your mouth grew dry, brows furrowed in slight disbelief. 

‘He thought I was beautiful?’ 

The thoughts in your mind flew at a thousand miles per hour. There wasn’t one singular train of thought you could latch onto, the ability to speak taken from you. No witty comment fell from your mouth, only a wide eyed stare that suspiciously resembled a doe. 

It seemed to make Legolas falter, a light dusting of pink appearing on his cheeks. He looked away, eyes locked on the river. “I apologize, that came out wrong. I simply meant that while you are attractive, you are also a great friend and I value speaking with you.” He stuttered and stumbled over his words, trailing off at the end. And his voice… it was so prim and proper, it made a few of the butterflies in your stomach turn to dust. “The same way I value the quiet of sitting in this…spot.”

His eyes darted away from your sharpened gaze, scanning the nearby treeline. His nerves seemed suffocating, he’d suddenly become so flighty. Had you made him uncomfortable? Did he see the hearts in your eyes when you looked at him? Had it made him uncomfortable?

The thoughts made you shrink within yourself. The barest hint of hope within you smothered in insecurities and doubt as dark as midnight. Perhaps he hadn’t meant the compliment in the way you wanted. They were only kind words to ease a friend's grief, yet you managed to only hear what you wanted. 

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

You fought against the disappointment, not allowing it to carve its place onto your face. The smile on your face was bright, but it didn't quite meet your eyes. “I’m glad we are friends.” You place your hand on his shoulder, your touch so light he nearly didn’t feel it. 

You half expected him to jump away from your touch as if it burned, but he didn’t. Instead, he met your gaze once more, and the worry muddying his eyes melted away.He gave a slight nod of the head, yet didn’t speak. 

Silence filled the clearing, and you were terrified he might hear your heart pounding against your chest. It became harder to breathe the longer the two of you stayed locked in the impromptu staring contest. The distance between you two was small, and you’d never been so close to him before. Oh god, was he getting closer? Was he leaning towards you? 

There was a slight quiver in your lips, heart slowing to a point you were afraid it wasn’t beating anymore. Palms sweaty, they clung to the blades of grass held captive in your hands. Time stopped, nothing else mattered as you prepared for his lips to touch yours.

Except…

They never did. Legolas pulled back, eyes wide in alarm. He stood, nearly stumbling backwards in his desperation to get away from you. He got to his feet and took two steps away. On the ground you remained, ripping out grass to keep from crying as you saw what you swore was regret crossing his face. 

“I should return to the Fellowship, Aragorn may require me. Until we meet again.” Legolas did an awkward half bow, scurrying away before you could so much as reply. 

Left alone, you let out a heavy breath, that was shuddered with choked sobs. Were you truly that bad he had to flee from you? The wind blew stronger this time, and you rolled your eyes. A few stray tears fell and you let them, there was no one to see you cry like a baby over a man you knew you could never have. 

You couldn’t deny it anymore, try as you might. 

Oh no, you were falling in love.

---

The panic that tore through Helm’s Deep was contagious. 

Ten thousand Uruk-hai would be marching towards you, an army that tripled what little forces the keep could muster. We needed outside help, but there wasn’t time to call for reinforcements. We’d all already be dead by the time they came. 

You tried to not let the fear show, desperate to keep your body steady despite the shaking it was plagued with. Deep breaths were forced as you attempted to keep your breath shallow and uneven. But you couldn’t deny it, even as you did anything and everything to keep your mind. 

You weren’t ready to die. 

Not today, not like this. 

It wouldn’t be swift and painless, it would be drawn out and agonizing; orcs weren’t famous for their mercy. Suffocated by a blanket of despair, you briefly considered offing yourself. There were so many twisting tunnels and a million ways for you to do it. But in the end, as you stared into the desolate eyes of the Rohirrim, you decided against it. If they could face impending doom with grace, then so could you. Yet that didn’t keep the terror from threatening to swallow you whole.

You were numb. 

Stood outside, elves and men began to line up along the wall. There were screams and shouts all around, but it was nothing but white noise in your ears. Across the crowd, your eyes met Legolas’. His lips were downturned and his eyes were tired; Legolas was just as terrified as you. 

You weren’t sure who moved first, but within a blink the two of you began to move towards one another. The crowd was thick but you shoved through them with the strength of someone twice your size. As you escaped the crowd and your hands found Leglolas’, you could finally breathe. It was a breath of fresh air after being forced underwater. 

His eyes bore into yours, his grip tight as if to assure himself you wouldn’t leave. Battle was coming, he knew that, you knew that, but the sentiment was nice. It made your heart flutter, the numbness freezing your body lifting the longer you stayed there. 

You wanted to speak, to tell him all the love confessions and speeches you’d been mentally writing and rewriting. But the ability to talk had been lost. Your mouth was dry and your throat had closed up. Instead you squeezed his hands tighter, hoping to convey everything your words couldn’t. 

His lips, pressed into a thin line, relaxed into a slight frown. His eyes were searching your face, looking for the answers to his never ending questions. You weren’t sure if he found what he was looking for, too afraid to ask in case it soiled the moment. 

It was in that moment, with your eyes connected and his hands tangled with yours, everything clicked into place. Every nagging insecurity and silly fear felt so miniscule and pointless. How much time had been wasted living in fear? 

Moments before doom and your hit with an epiphany. Your feelings weren’t as unrequited as once believed. Reflected in Legolas' shining eyes you could see the same unsurety that came with loving someone new. The constant doubts that you were wrong, not trusting your own eyes and instincts. It was never one sided, you just wish one of you had the courage to say something before this moment. 

A part of you waited for Legolas to speak, to declare everything you’d already figured out, but he never did. Rendered mute just as you were, he was silent in the midst of chaos. 

So you opted to not speak either and instead pressed your lips against his. Your lips were dry and cracked, raw from biting on them constantly. Legolas’ were much the same, yet neither of you hardly cared. His grip on you tightened as he pulled your body closer. He never wanted to let you lose and you didn’t want him to. 

The kiss was hardly romantic or anything like the sappy romance books that became your bible. His lips were rough and his grip was nearly bruising, but it made your heart burst all the same. There was no time for gentle kisses and longing eye contact under flutter lashes, the world was coming to an end. And you’d be damned if it ended without you telling Legolas you’d loved him. 

You pulled back, wide eyes staring into his eyes. A warm rush through your body, heart beat racing against your chest. Faintly, you heard Aragorn calling for the two of you; the current scenario came rushing back as time began to move normally. Majority of the army has lined up, anxiously awaiting the official start of a long dreaded war. You looked at Legolas once more, and his eyes met yours.

“I love you.” The words fell from your lips, jumbled together as you spoke to the tempo of your heartbeat. He understood them all the same, his lips curling into a melancholic sort of grin. 

“I love you.”

The moment was over, the bubble previously surrounding just the two of you bursting. The end was near.

Following the crowd, you and Legolas took your places at the wall, watching ten thousand Uruk-Hai march towards you. Yet you weren’t filled with the same icy fear and delolation. You’d been revived; dropped into icy water after a year long drought. 

Under the wall and hidden by darkness, your hand found Legolas’. He squeezed it, a reassurance and a promise. 

You would both make it out. 

And everything would be right. 

Deeply, you inhaled slowly exhaling. A single arrow bit through the darkness and landed in the chest of an Uruk-Hai. The enemy army shouted and began to charge. You lifted your blade, untangling your hands from Legolas’ as you knocked his arrow. 

The two of you would be fine. 

If only so you could hear him say the words you’ve dreamed about since your first meeting.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ 

Tags: @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @mouseships | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @fried-potato-balloon | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @im-a-muggleborn | @ollyoxenfrees | @delyeceamaitare |

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A Tale of Legolas Greenleaf - Part 7 : Magic of the full moon

ʚ Characters : Legolas x Fem. Reader

ʚ Word Count : 3034 words

ʚ Summary: The night Legolas spoke of has finally arrived. What will happen? more importantly, what will your answer be? 

ʚ Author’s notes: Happy Sunday folks! Finally! the smutty stuff is here! Yay!

There will be a master-list of all chapters on the pinned post of my blog, under “A tale of Legolas Greenleaf.”

Preceding chapters :

1. Raiding the kitchens

2. Mince Pies

3. Asar –o Galadi

4. Fireworks

5. Confessions by the campfire

6.  A matter of great import

ʚ Warnings: (During the last portion of the story)  Sexual content | Kissing | Foreplay| Penetrative sex | Rough sex | Minors DNI

ʚ Themes : Slow burn | Soft | Fluff | Smut 

ʚ Translations: 

Naneth: Mother

Man naneth: Good Mother (formal) Also used as a term for stepmother, sometimes shortened to the more informal and affectionate ma-neth.

Link for translations: https://funtranslations.com/elvish

ʚ  Other:  Eluthiel - A name I came up with for Thranduil’s first wife. 

Legolas returned with the rest, but he kept away for a few days.

"Is he preparing the cottage?"

Anwen was with you in your bedroom, going over some embroidery. "Yes. That's what he said in his note."

She knew what it meant. "Thranduil thinks he wants tonight to be perfect for both of you."

You grow curious as you go back to your sewing. "Did Thranduil tell you anything else?"

"I'm afraid he didn’t," Anwen was not about to let her stepson’s plan out of the bag. "All he did say was that Legolas would wait every day for your letters. That he would talk about you all the time." She set her sewing down and looked at you. "I think he’s in love with you."

"Fiber!”  Your needle stopped mid-air. “He’s not in love with me. He would have said something in a letter and…"

"Calm down, cousin," Anwen said, shaking her head and smirking. "I'm not lying. I truly believe Legolas is in love with you. It is just that… such declarations need more than just a letter, I find. He’s more than likely waiting to tell you in person. Some people are like that."

"Did Thranduil tell you in person?"

"He did, after some struggle," Anwen said and went back to her sewing. "Thranduil had certain… fears, and these held him back. But, he overcame them, and neither of us has looked back since then."

There was more to this than you thought, but you held your tongue. Anwen would not betray her husband’s secret, and you wouldn't ask her to. "Do you love him?"

"I do," Anwen said with certainty. "More than anything. He showed me that it was possible to hope and love again."

She takes your hands into hers. "And I hope the two of you get to have what Thranduil and I have. Love and trust are the two most precious things there is."

Trust was not an issue, for you and Legolas have reached a point where you could talk about each other's joys and fears without shame. Love had been growing for you, but did Legolas feel the same way?

You hoped that he did. "I hope for those as well."

"Good. Now," Anwen had had her fill with sewing and wanted something different. "Tell me about the clothes you will be wearing. Have you settled on anything yet?” 

                                                         🍂🍂🍂

Legolas had been with his father, fussing over his proposal. "Stop worrying so much," Thranduil said, looking on in amusement. "Just ask her when the time is right."

"But why does it feel so complicated, Adar?" Legolas was pacing up and down, little black box in hand. He wanted to propose, but why was he so nervous?

"Because this is marriage, ni-réd," Thranduil said as he approached him and grabbed his shoulders to stop him pacing. "Not just fighting off some orcs. Of course, it will feel complicated."

Legolas takes a deep breath to compose himself.

"Do you love her?"

Legolas was sure of his feelings towards you. "I do, Adar, more than anything." His eyes went back to the box. "I think of no one else." Legolas grew confident with each passing moment. "To be honest, I have now come to a point where I feel my life is only worth living if she was in it."

Thranduil beamed. "And do you think it’s still complicated to ask?"

His son shook his head. "Adar… can I ask… was it like this with Naneth?"

"To tell you the truth," said Thranduil as he poured wine for them both. "I was just as much of a mess as you. I was this wet behind the ears pup who thought he knew better than anyone else when I wanted to propose. However, when I had to ask the question, I was a blubbering pile of goo. The fact that your mother even said yes was nothing short of a miracle."

Legolas grinned. "And Ma-neth?"

"I was a much bigger mess than even the first time, for now I had fear to contend with, not just nerves."

This was a surprise for Legolas. His father never talked about his fears before. "Why were you afraid?"

"I lost your mother, twice.” Thranduil alluded to Eluthiel’s passing, and her releasing him from his ties to her. “Thanks to my short-sightedness, I very nearly lost you. Losing Anwen would have finished me."

He had never heard his father confess to such things. "Adar," Legolas had a question that had been on his mind for a long time. "Do you still love naneth?"

Thranduil had been expecting this and took no offense, for the memories brought forth no more pain, only a distant and pleasant sweetness. "I do, but that love is different now. I see the beautiful times she and I shared, our bond through you, the life we once lived together, our happy memories."

"But nothing more than that," Legolas finished for his father. "For the love you bear Ma-neth is the one that matters."

"You’re not angry?"

How could he be angry? Legolas had prayed for his father to find happiness after his mother released her husband from his vows, and now he has found it again. "I'm not, Adar. Ma-neth is a good woman. She loves you, even a blind man can see it. I hope that I get to experience the same happiness as you both."

A beaming Thranduil patted him on the shoulder. "Then you mustn’t keep your lady waiting. Go on. There's a full moon tonight, perfect for a proposal, and for other things as well." 

Despite his blush, Legolas didn’t wish to tarry any longer. "Wish me luck then."

“Good lu--” Thranduil shook his head, both amused and shocked at his son’s impatience. Clearly, rushing out of rooms and leaving doors shaking violently on their hinges had grown into a habit.                                                     

                                                            🍂🍂🍂

It was near dusk when Legolas came looking for you. “Are you ready?”

You smooth the skirt of your dress and stand up, a ball of nerves already. The outfit looked plain to your eyes, but the soft green wool clung to your body, revealing just as much as it concealed. Legolas stood by the doorway, content to just look. “Don’t you look a pretty picture,” he murmured appreciatively.

Heat pooled in your belly from the way he looked at you. “Thank you.” 

He grinned and took your pack, linking his arm through yours. “Shall we?”

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you nod and walk out with him. 

                                                               🍂🍂🍂

The evening had grown pleasantly cool, the sky tinged with the last rays of the setting sun. It was perfect, really, with night blooming flowers already opening up for the evening. 

You were content where you were, seated behind Legolas as he rode on, listening to tales of his travels.

"Gimli is still going on about his win?"

"He is," said Legolas, as he kept a watchful eye on the path ahead of him. "I don’t mind though."

"Why did you throw it away?" Legolas turned to one side, a brow raised quizzically. "I saw you. You could have easily won. So why did you throw it away?"

Legolas chuckled as his thoughts went back to the feast. "I was of a mind to finish, but," he said. "Seeing Gimli’s kin there, all hoping that he would win, and Gimli himself hoping that he would win, made me realise I couldn’t do it. I wanted him to have the win instead. Was that wrong of me?"

He did throw it away. Still, his motives for doing it were just. “No.” you said. “It just means you’re very sweet and value your friendship more than winning.” 

“You’re not disappointed about losing your bet?”

“A little,” you said, amused more than anything else. “And I’m hoping you’d make it up to me.”

“Oh, I plan on doing so,” Legolas said when the cottage came into view. 

“You better,” you insist playfully. 

He got down, his eyes barely readable to you. “Well, in that case then...”

You were off the saddle and on a shoulder in a heartbeat. “Legolas,” you squeal and giggle. “What are you doing?”

“Making it up to you,” he said and put you down on the stone floor.

The cottage looked so different now. Before, there had been bare stone walls and cobwebs. Now, there were cushions and candles, stones polished to a sheen, sheer curtains, and faint wisps of lavender hung in the air. “Legolas,” you murmur and look around. “Did you do this?”

“I did,” he said, locking the door and pulling the drapes apart in the hope of catching moonbeams. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” you said, your eyes going to a thick pelt and pillows that had been arranged near the fireplace.

“Is it?” He was behind you, his fingers trailing through your hair. “I’m glad.”

Something in his voice made your skin tingle. Two months. You hadn’t heard the sound of his voice for two months, and now, it sounded like the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. Two months he had been away, and now he was here, right next to you. You find your sense of control hanging by a thread. Should you turn and kiss him for a change? show him you were ready? Or should you wait, and let him set the course?

Before you could do anything Legolas pre-empted you, pushing you back until you were flush against the pelt, with him heavy on top of you. Legolas had his hands at your neck, kissing you frantically, his own mind blank to everything else.

Two months. He had dreamed of this moment for two months. Feeling you trembling beneath him, feeling you sigh into his kisses as he plundered your mouth was worth the wait in the end. It felt good. Everything felt good. The softness of your lips to the sweet scent of your skin, the sounds you made with every kiss, felt heavenly to him. He wanted to take, to take until you had nothing left to give. Was this what it felt like, he thought, to have such a fiery need for someone else, to have them feel the same for him?

Hands sneaking under his tunic pulled out a moan from him as fingers splayed over his skin. How warm he felt under your palms, how he seemed to melt into your touch as your hands glided over his rib-cage, his chest. So strong, yet so tender at the same time. And he was yours. Completely yours. “Clothes,” he mumbled between kisses. “Can we get rid of them?”

He barely heard an audible yes before he got rid of his and worked on yours, nearly ripping up your shift in the process. The sight of him completely naked brought goose-bumps to your arms. Cool air dancing over your exposed skin made you shiver. Legolas leaned in again, his lips brushing over yours as if to soothe your nerves. “Yes?” 

His lips hovered over yours as if waiting for an answer. Feeling your fears melting away, you rear up and drag him for a kiss, breathing in his soft sight as you did so. “Yes,” you mumble. “My answer is yes.”

The sight of your eyes now darkened with lust hammered at what little restraint he had. He had to have you beneath him, writhing and crying out for him. His kisses were hungry this time, his touch rough and demanding. “I missed you,” he whispered as he nibbled an earlobe, pulling at the soft flesh every time you whimpered. “I missed you so much.”

“Legolas.” your body jerked and your fingers raked at his back when that sinful mouth of his went lower, to your breasts, biting down not too gently. “I missed you too.”

When his belly pressed down on yours you pull him back up again, your mouth hungry for his kisses. He pulled away at the last moment, his mouth just above yours. “Don’t tease me.”

“So you want me to put you out of your misery?” Legolas grinned wolfishly. “Is that it?”

Oh, so he wanted to make you work for it. Your narrowed eyes and feigned anger only made him laugh. “You’re going to have to ask for it, meleth.”

Your eyes snapped open so fast. Meleth. That wasn’t a word Elves used lightly. “Meleth? Why would you call me that?” 

“Because,” he lowered his lips, leaving barely there pecks that left you hungry for more. “Because I love you, meleth.”

The world felt like it had stopped spinning and time slowed to a crawl. Kisses skimmed over your brow, your eyelids. Legolas could taste the beads of sweat that had formed over your skin. “I love you, meleth. I love you, no one else.”

Before you could answer he latched onto your mouth again, this time biting your lower lip before sucking on it. Fingers laced through yours, pinning your hands over your head. “Now,” he whispered, his tongue tracing a line over your ear. “Someone had to ask me for something.”

He really wanted to make you work for it. “Make me,” you challenge him.

“Make you?” he chuckled breathily, freeing a hand while the other kept your own firmly pinned to the pelt. “You mean like this, meleth?” You arch your back with a cry when he touched your clit. 

How lush and hot you felt against his touch. Running his fingers against your slick heat, Legolas leaned down to kiss you again, listening to your breath grow ragged as he did so. You tried to speak but no words came to you, just the golden light that flickered behind your eyes. When a finger pushed past your entrance it felt like something in you snapped. “Please,” you pleaded.

Sky blue eyes that had grown dark bore into yours, his finger driving mercilessly into you, battering at your senses. “Please what, meleth?” 

Helpless now, you surrender to the jolts that washed over you. “Please take me.” you mewl. “Make me yours. Please.”

His body pressing down on yours made your bones turn to water. The sight of him licking traces of you off his fingers made your breath hitch. Legolas cupped your cheek and brought his lips to yours, moaning in triumph when your legs slid open and hooked around his waist. “Hold on to me, meleth,” he mumbled huskily and propped himself on an elbow, so you could grab onto him. “Just hold on to me.”

Your fingers dig into his back as he sank his cock into you. Legolas kept an eye on you the entire time, in case you showed any sign of discomfort. “Am I hurting you, meleth?” He asked anyway. “Do you want me to stop?”

The pain you felt was nothing compared to the fire that had taken root between your thighs. “I don’t want you to stop,” you cooed. “So don’t you dare stop.”

A breathy chuckle and a kiss later, you could feel him pushing up even deeper, this time not stopping until you had enveloped him completely. Legolas wanted to sob, you felt that good around him. He kept still, letting you to get used to him until an involuntary movement of his made your body jolt and loosen your tongue, making you give word to your feelings. “I love you Legolas.”

It was barely over a whisper, but he heard it all the same. “Say it again meleth.”

Your hands pulled at his hair when he moved rhythmically, fucking you slowly. The pain you felt slowly faded into mild discomfort by now. His kisses, soft and deep, almost made you purr. “I love you, Legolas,” you say again, this time with more conviction. 

Your words were like music to his ears. Groaning, Legolas went in a little harder this time, his mouth latching greedily onto your breast, his teeth grazing mercilessly over your skin. “Again,” he growled over your cries for him. “Say it again, meleth. I want to hear you say it again.”

“I love you.” Your eyes lock with his. There was no doubt, no fear. Only certainty for what you felt for him. “I love you, meleth.”

Your words and the sight of you moving beneath him inflamed him.  Legolas grabbed onto your hips and slammed into you frantically, his moans as loud and erratic as yours. Your fingers dig into the pelt now, clutching desperately as a coil splintered within and your orgasm washed over you. The world almost went dark when you heard him call out your name and climax with a deep grunt, his weight coming to bear down on you once more.

You vaguely feel his chest rise and fall as he rested on top of you. “Meleth.” The words cut through the fog, making you open your eyes to his. “Meleth,” you whispered, tracing a finger over his cheek. 

Legolas would have been content to stay where he was, but then he remembered the reason for the night’s outing. When he finally pulled himself up you felt your body go limp, and oddly empty. “Where are you going?” 

Legolas made his way to a small bag, fishing out a black box from within. “I came to get this, meleth.”

He helped you sit before kneeling in front of you. “Meleth?” you asked, confused by now. What was he doing?

Legolas opened the box to reveal the ring. “Legolas,” you ask, stunned. It looked similar to your cousin’s ring, but not completely. Was this Eluthiel’s ring?

“This was my mother’s ring,” He said nervously. Even though you said you loved him, you could still say no to what he was about to ask. “Adar gave it to her when he proposed, and... and I want to give it to you.”

“Legolas...”

“You have come to mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine a life without you.” He gulped, but he went on. “Y/n, meleth, would you do me the honour of excepting this ring and becoming my bride?”

Tears came to your eyes. “Yes,” you sniff after he kissed you and slipped the ring on your finger. “A thousand times yes.”

                                             ******  the end   ******

[writingoddess1125]

hiya!

Could you do Prince Nuada from Hellboy 2 and reader?

This one has taken me a while- Also thank you for reigniting the LOVE I had for Prince Nuada! Ugh! So sexy!!

I do hope this is to your liking since it did take some warping.

1. I gotta keep Nuada and Nuala alive so the ending didn't happen

2. Introduce elements from the comics aka Hellboy had adopted siblings.

OKAY ENJOY! I TRIED HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Half Breed

Prince Nuada x FemReader

Support me on Ko-Fi I'm poor!

After the fortunately failed suicide attempt from Nuala which had horribly injured both twins- Nuafa had been captured and the two rushed back to the Bureau for emergency treatment, Which fortunately allowed the Elves to survive the whole ordeal.

Nuada had been placed in custody of B.P.R.D first as a high level prisoner for many months after his attempt to wipe out humanity.

After being in solitary confinement for far too long a deal was struck with him to work for the organization due to his knowlege of the world and to get out of solitary help all that had been damaged.

He had agreed- begrudgingly and because Nuala insisted.. it had been nearly a year of this all- When something interesting took place.

Nuala and Abe walked down the corridors together, talking about recent books they had shared before Abe paused.

"Oh?-" He looked around calmly before seeing the warning lights come down shining blue instead of the normal red for emergencies.

"Is there an emergancy?" Nuala questioned, a bit nervous of what it could mean, But Abe gently touched her shoulder with his gloved hand.

"No no- Just a old friend. Everytime she visits her and Red play a.. Game of sorts like tag" Abe explained, Nuala smiling at hearing this. Nuada who had just returned from a mission turned the corner seeing his sister and the fish man, frowning but looking to the lights.

"Whats this?" He asked shortly, Abe repeating his answer from before.

"Warning lights for a Game?" He questioned, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Well they are only allowed to have this game once a year and for 5 minutes- mainly due to the property damage that always happens" Abe said truthfully as the elven twins looked surprised by this. A childish game causing property damage?

As if right on cue there was a loud crash the trio turning to see Hellboy running full force in their direction like a train.

"MOVE MOVE!" He yelled loudly, as he ran past them. This was the fastest any of them had seen him run even in a life or death situation, right as he was about to turn the corner a black boot came barrowing down on the side of his cheek, knocking him to the ground hard before the smaller figure ran down the hall Red had just gone through.

"You're it!" She yelled and the trio watched- There running past was a women. Dressed in all black leather tactical gear with her silver hair in a long braid, the ends a sunset gold- (Y/S/C) skin with unique etchings found in only elvish culture paired with amber eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure see what she was-

"Timer Abe!" She yelled, Abe looking to the small watch he carried.

"4 minutes and 26 seconds left- Also happy youve returned safely" He called out to (Y/N) who dashed down the hallway.

Nuada eyes widened as he couldnt help but follower her with his gaze, something about her drew him in. The trio sticking to the walls as they tried to follow the action- it was like a massive battle taking black between a giant and a tiny titan. While Red was slamming into walls cracking cement with his weight and arm- (Y/N) was doing flips and hung to the light fixtures above to keep an advantage.

"Happy to see you too!!!"

He could only describe himself as being mesmerized by her.. Every turn, giggle and jump just seemed to bewitch him and it terrified him.. It wasn't till a loud alarm snapped him his gaze making him jump a bit in surprise- the game was over it seemed and Hellboy returned with his sister, the demon clearly glum from losing.

Nuala eyes widened as she watched (Y/N) jump around Hellboy with a happy smile at winning the game. Figuring what she was but disbelieving of course even after this entire endeavor. A leath-fola. A Half-Blood Actually existed in this world? The embodiment of a union between a human and one of his own kind-

"I win Red! So that's 28 for me and 25 for you. Best luck next you!" She said cheerfully as Hellboy grumbled and pushed her head away with his small hand.

"Yada Yada short stack-"

She noticed the looks of the two meeting their gazes and Nuada immediately felt his heart beat pick up- Confused by the sensation he glanced to Nuala assuming it must be her however she seemed calm and relaxed.

"New Agents?" She questioned looking at the twins, Abe nodding with a 'smile'

"Prince Nuada of the Bethmora clan.. This here is my sister Princess Nuala" He introduced both formally, watching how her smile seemed to radiate as he spoke. It made him feel like he had had stepped into the sun for the first time in years..

"It's lovely to meet you both! It's so lovely to have new faces here in the facility" She said cheerfully, reaching out in a friendly matter and patting both twins on the shoulders.

It felt like Nuada had been shocked by the most pleasant bit of electricity that left him flustered and confused. His sister finally glancing at him as she felt his emotions and gaze a smile, a twinkle of what could only be described as mischief in her golden gaze.

"Yes.. new faces... now if you'll excuse me" Nuada said quickly before dismissing himself- trying to control the panic that was eating him on the inside and the warmth that bloomed in his body. He practically ran back to the space he was forced to call a room and lock himself inside. Nuada stood in his room pacing back and forth. His mind racing and heart uneasy- unknowingly for hours as he tried to calm himself from the sudden feelings that seemed to slam into him.

A knock on the door bringing him from his thoughts as he quickly opened the door, surprised to see his sister standing there in a evening gown.

"Sister, what are you doing up? You should be resting.." He said softly, allowing Nuala into the room.

"I can not rest with you so worked up brother" Nuala said softly. The prince sighing as he realized he had kept her up and took a seat on the corner of the bed, Nuala sitting next to him as well.

"Well- It sounds like she is your fated partner" She pointed out and Nuada immediately felt anger in his blood.

"You're thinking about the leath-fola (Y/N)? Right?" Nuala said softly as she rubbed her brothers shoulder to comfort him. He frowned at being so obvious and also for the form of comfort.

"Yes- She... makes me uneasy" He says, lying a bit to avoid the words he wanted to use. Nuala smiling at this.

"Do not speak such foolish things-" He hissed, Nuala flinching at his harsh words.

"I am not fated to a mortal of all beings" He started but Nuala held up a hand.

"She is not a mortal however brother.. You saw" Nuada was ready to argue but couldnt- his face twisting up.. The damn half-breed was not his fated partner NOR was it going to be the siblings of the demon.

He would prove it...

For the first few weeks that (Y/N) was there, Nuada had been rude and snide. Hissing insults about her mixed blood, shoving past her or even straight up ignoring her. He expected she would take the abuse since she didnt say anything about it but he had been wrong- so terribly wrong.

It took only one time calling her "Dirty" in terms of her blood to get the hardest punch he had ever taken to the nose- It made his eyes water and fall to a knee infront of her..

She grabbed his silver hair and pulled him close so they were eye to eye-

"Listen here- Keep insulting me like this and I'm going to tear your ass a new one. I don't give a Flying fuck if your a price or whatever- I will fuck you up" She hissed at him-

Nuada felt more confused then he ever had before- The pain seemingly going with the fluttering warmth he felt in his face and blatant arousal that was Damm near impossible to miss- (Y/N) seeing his widened eyes and the flush of color on his pale face, like he was frozen and her own golden eyes traveled down at noticing some new movement.

"O-Oh-" Was all she said- Clearly just as surprised as Nuada was at this point. Her fingers carefully releasing his silver hair as warmth went to her own cheeks.

Nuada wanted a blade to the heart at this point...

[thedevilssinner]

Sanguine Hearts

Pairing: Astarion x gn elf Tav (it was first written with a female tav in mind, so let me know if I accidentally forgot to rewrite it somewhere)

Warning: angst - but with somewhat happy ending?

Story is based on mix of THIS and THIS headcanon, set mainly before the BG3 plot and Tav and Astariona are thiramin - elven word for soulmates. It's from Tav's POV and mostly about how they try to deal with the loss of Astarion and their reaction when they meet someone who 'looks like him' after the Nautiloid.

I also gave Tav a last name but it's only used once and only for the purpose of the story. The last name is Ignotus = latin for unknown.

Hope you enjoy 🩷 and big thanks to @yeoldtrashcollector for helping me with this. I really apreciace it 🩷🙏

The Upper City's bustling streets overflowed with people. Some hurried to their workplaces, others diligently carried out their job duties, and a few of them were enjoying the splendor of a beautiful sunny day. Among these fortunate souls were two elven lovers who found a serene spot by a fountain. The man sat there, his eyes closed, face upturned to bask in the sun's warmth. His companion nestled beside him, leaning slightly against his shoulder. They watched with amusement as a cat, not far off, playfully attempted to catch a fluttering butterfly.

After a while, their gaze shifted to their partner, a mischievous grin crept across their face as they watched him bask in the sun. Their fingers dipped into the fountain's cool water, and with a playful flick, they sent a shimmering spray in the direction of the elf beside them. Startled, he jolted, the styled curls bouncing around his face as he turned his head towards the other person, an unamused expression on his face. 

Then he suddenly attacks, as a cat, reaching out to catch his companion, his intention evident. Yet, the other elf evaded his grasp, leaping away from the fountain, their laughter carrying through the place.

The silver-haired elf shook his head in disbelief but promptly gave chase, the sound of their shared mirth echoing through the city streets. He finally closed the gap between them and encircled their waist with his arms. Turning them to face him, he whispered with a triumphant smile, "I've got you."

Their laughter persisted, though they attempted to free themselves from his embrace, their efforts proving futile. "You do," they gave up at the end, sighing.

A mock sternness colored his features as he mused, "I should have you arrested for disrespecting the Magistrate."

The elven lover responded swiftly, their confidence unwavering. "You wouldn't do that."

Arching an eyebrow, he inquired, "And why do you think I wouldn't do that?"

“Because you love me too much for that." They replied immediately.

The white-haired elf sighed, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Even though I don't understand why, with how much you tease me all the time… yes, I do love you."

"I love you too, my lovely magistrate." they murmured softly, wrapping their arms around his neck.

Astarion couldn't help but reciprocate their affectionate gesture, pulling them closer. The world around them faded into a distant hum as they exchanged a tender gaze. The streets of the Upper City, the bustling crowd, and even the relentless sun all seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a world of their own.

His lips curved into a gentle smile, as he whispered, "My darling Tav, you’re making me love you more and more every day."

Tav's eyes sparkled with an undeniable love as they leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Their embrace spoke of shared laughter, stolen moments, and the profound bond that had brought them together in this vibrant city.

Moments later, they pulled away from the kiss, their foreheads touching, their breaths in harmony. Astarion spoke softly, "We should probably end this soon. The council meeting is approaching, and the magistrate should not be late."

Tav nodded, their expression a mix of reluctance and understanding. "You're right," they conceded. "But let's savor this moment a little longer."

They remained locked in their embrace, cherishing the warm, sunny day, the love that bound them, and the enchanting beauty of the Upper City. Their laughter and love echoed through the city, a reminder that even the Magistrates could find solace in the arms of love.

A few months had passed since that idyllic moment by the fountain when Tav was awakened by an insistent knock on their door. They groggily crawled out of bed, hastily donning a soft robe, and shuffled toward the door. Upon opening it, they were met with the sight of a city guard who visibly stiffened upon seeing them.

"Are you Tav? Tav Ignotus?" he inquired, and Tav, still half-asleep, confirmed their identity.

"Yes, that's me. Is something wrong?" they asked, their sleep-induced haziness giving way to a sense of unease.

The guard pressed on with a heavy expression, "Are you in a relationship with Magistrate Ancunin?"

Their uneasiness rose. "Yes, I am. Please, what's going on?"

With a somber expression, the guard delivered the devastating news. "I'm very sorry, but Magistrate Ancunin is dead. You were listed in his records as someone to be informed if something happened to him."

Tav's world seemed to crumble at those words. The silence was heavy, broken only by the frantic pounding of their heart. Stumbling backward, Tav leaned against the doorframe to steady themselves, disbelief washing over them. The guard extended a hand to support them, but they could hardly process it. "No, this... This can't be true," the elf muttered, shaking their head in denial.

"I know it must be difficult to accept, but unfortunately, it's true. Our patrol found him this morning. I'm really sorry," the guard offered sympathetically.

Tav clung to him, desperation in their eyes. "What... What happened?" they managed to utter through a constricted throat.

The guard hesitated but then responded, "He... He was beaten to death."

"What? But... by whom? Who would do something like that?" they asked, though they already had a painful inkling. Astarion had his share of enemies – those who disagreed with his judgments and the families of those he had sentenced.

"We don't know, though we're trying to find out, I promise. I'm really sorry about what happened," the guard repeated, offering his condolences.

Tav's world was shrouded in silence once more as they tried to process the horrific news. They gazed at the guard with a desperate determination. "Can I see him? Can... Can I say goodbye?" they implored, voice trembling, the glimmer of hope that this was all a mistake still lingering deep within them.

The guard hesitated, reluctant to grant their request. "I'm not sure if it's the best idea. Magistrate Ancunin... he... It's not a pretty sight," he warned.

But Tav's grip on his arm tightened. "Even so... I... I need to see him. I need to know if it's really him. Please," the elf begged, a note of desperation in their voice.

Eventually the guard agreed, leading them to the place where Astarion's body was being held until the funeral arrangements were made. He unveiled only his face, the rest concealed beneath a sheet. Tav saw the battered features, the bloody lips and nose, dark bruises all over, and they couldn't bear to imagine the rest of his body.

Seeing Astarion's face shattered their last glimmer of hope. They recognized the pallor, the snow-white hair, and the familiar features, despite the injuries. It was him.

At that moment, Tav broke down completely, tears streaming down their cheeks, uncontrollable sobs wracking their body. The guard had to lead them away, offering words of consolation that they couldn't even hear. Tav felt apathetic, angry, and desolate, a whirlwind of emotions tearing them apart. They didn't want to bury Astarion; it was unthinkable. Their lovely little star… gone.

Back in their apartment, Tav's eyes landed on a painting of the two of them, created by a street artist. Their heart ached at the memory of their happier times. What were they supposed to do now? How could they possibly cope with this unbearable loss?

In search of some comfort, Tav discovered one of Astarion's discarded shirts he left in their home and crawled into bed, burying their face into it, to inhale his scent. It wasn't the same as having him beside them, but it offered a small measure of comfort in the midst of their overwhelming grief.

And then Tav cried again.

Tav existed in a state of numbness, unable to face the world outside. They hadn't mustered the strength to attend Astarion's funeral that was happening on the same day they discovered his death. They heard that an anonymous benefactor had taken care of the arrangements but despite that, they couldn't go. The thought of watching their beloved being lowered into the cold unforgiving ground was simply too much to bear.

Their days blended into nights, a mess of irregular sleep, missed meals, and a profound sense of loss. Astarion's shirt, which they clung to desperately, no longer carried his scent, but it was their last tangible connection to him.

Concerned friends, aware of their suffering, took turns visiting them. They offered condolences and support, attempting to coax the devastated elf into eating and taking care of themselves. 

Tav barely noticed their presence. The weight of their grief keeping them locked in their own world.

When one well-meaning friend tried to gently pry Astarion’s shirt from their clenched hands, it led to a visceral reaction – screams and tears – as Tav withdrew further into their emotional cocoon. They were a mere echo of the vibrant person they once were, their soul yearning for Astarion's return.

It was getting out of hand, so Tav’s friends decided to contact their parents and it made their hearts ache to hear about their child's heartbreak. When they arrived at their home, the sight of Tav in their grief-stricken state shattered them. Tav’s father held them in a tight, protective embrace, cradling them like the little child they still were in his eyes. Their mother sat beside them, her gentle hand tracing comforting circles on Tav's trembling back. 

And Tav cried once more, the tears flowing as they clung to their father, calling out for Astarion and pouring out their agony.

The parents recognized that their child could not remain in the city or in their current state of self-neglect. They faced the difficult decision of taking them back to their village, their childhood home. It was their hope that the familiarity and solace of their roots would help Tav find some semblance of peace. With heavy hearts, they began the process of gently coaxing them away from the city and toward the heaven of their village, a place where perhaps, in time, their shattered soul might start to mend.

The journey to their childhood village was long and somber one, with Tav still clinging to their parents, episodes of tears coming and going like unpredictable storms. The forested surroundings of the village welcomed them, the familiar sights and sounds enveloping their senses. The soothing embrace of nature that once surrounded them, combined with the echoes of their past, offered a glimmer of hope for solace. Their parents hoped that the serene village would help mend their child's shattered spirit.

But Tav felt disoriented. 

They were now far removed from the bustling city and from the places that reminded them of Astarion. His loss continued to haunt them, an ever present pain that seemed impossible to bear. They left the village a long time ago to explore life beyond its borders, an adventure that had brought them into Astarion's life and led to their love. 

Now, they were back, but he was gone, leaving them feeling utterly lost.

Grief is a peculiar thing for anyone and could change a person in many ways. Tav's mourning lasted over fifty years, not that long of a span for their kind who could live for centuries, although their prolonged sorrow still raised eyebrows. 

But most also understood that their love for Astarion had been genuine and profound. Shared souls that were ripped apart by death. 

In the beginning, their parents played an active role in ensuring Tav ate and took care of themselves until they regained some semblance of independence. They coaxed Tav to join them on walks through the woods and gently encouraged them to engage in household chores.

Slowly, Tav began to reintegrate into the life in the village. They offered their assistance to the village in any way they could, participating in tasks when they felt up to it. Yet, the sight of happy couples still caused a painful constriction in their heart. In time, however, they grew accustomed to it, and the raw grief evolved into a dull, enduring ache. They could now think of Astarion with a mix of fondness and sadness. Bittersweet mix that stays probably forever inside of them.

Tav believed that nothing could ever be similarly devastating as the loss of their beloved. But some 200 years passed and during an unexpected and fateful encounter, their existence took a perplexing turn.

Snatched from their life by a Mind Flayer's ship and a tadpole implanted into their brain wasn't something they expected. Their journey on the ship was fraught with danger and confusion. It was there that they met the fierce Githyanki warrior Lae'zel and then freed another named Shadowheart. 

Together, they somehow managed to crash the ship, surviving who knows how.

Now, Tav stood on the shore, with Shadowheart by their side and the Githyanki nowhere in sight, the blazing sun bearing down on them and the burning wreckage of the Nautiloid smoldering in the background as they began to explore. It was then that a man's voice called out for help, drawing Tav's attention. Eager to assist other survivors, they approached, but what they encountered was beyond their wildest imagination.

There, before them, stood Astarion. Or at least, someone who appeared to be him. His eyes were crimson, and his complexion even paler than Tav remembered. Their emotions swirled into a turbulent mix of sadness and anger. How dare anyone impersonate Astarion after their beloved had been dead for two centuries? And do such a bad job!

Without hesitation, Tav lunged at the imitation, a fierce cry escaping their lips as they tackled him to the ground. They straddled his body, a dagger pressed to his throat. “How dare you?! How dare you take his form?! Show me who you really are... now!” Their command was laced with fury, even surprising themselves with their own actions. But Tav couldn't stop when someone was using Astarion's face for an unknown purpose. Shadowheart behind Tav was looking surprised and confused, trying to call for Tav to ask what the hell is happening but with no avail.

The shapeshifter under their form seemed taken aback but replied, “Darling, there seems to have been a little misunderstanding. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d appreciate it if you’d remove the dagger from my neck.” His voice is smooth and flirtatious and so unmistakably Astarion’s that it hurts, and Tav presses the dagger a little harder against his neck.

“Shut up, shapeshifter!” Tav snapped at him, their eyes locked on the face that was so familiar yet different. “Where did you even get his face? His voice?” Their grip on the dagger shook. “You have no right to pretend you're Astarion when he's... when he's gone. And to do it so poorly!” Beneath their anger, a deep-seated sadness could be heard.

The imposter's eyes widened, revealing fangs that sent a shiver down Tav's spine. The terrifying thought that he might not be a shapeshifter but something far worse began to take hold.

“Tav?” The fake Astarion finally spoke, voice filled with longing, as though he had just remembered something long-buried in his mind. His flirtatious tone had vanished, replaced by confusion. “You are them, aren't you? Gods, how could I forget... so beautiful.” His red eyes traced their face, and he lifted his arm tentatively toward them, fingers twitching with the yearning for touch but withholding.

Tav's resolve wavered as they listened to the shapeshifter. The voice, the face, everything about him screamed Astarion, and their heart ached. But they knew, or at least they thought they knew, that it couldn't be him. “No, stop! Stop it! You can't be him. You can't... he's dead, and your eyes are wrong. You're wrong!” Tav cried, their entire body trembling, dagger still dangerously close to his neck.

The shapeshifter easily took hold of Tav's wrist and moved their hand away from his neck. He wrenched the dagger from their fingers and discarded it, his lips forming a sad smile. “That's what vampirism does to you, my love,” he admitted softly, his voice heavy with pain and sadness. 

And just as if the universe wanted to show them the truth, their tadpole stirred, connecting them to Astarion's. They could feel pain and see through his eyes a bloody hand, his hand, reaching up towards a dark figure, red glowing eyes looking down at them. 

The figure kneeled down, revealing a man with dark hair and a cruel smile, fangs bared. Before they could comprehend what was happening, the man sank his teeth into their throat, and everything plunged into darkness.

“No... no…” Tav's voice quivered, tears welling in their eyes as the connection ended, throat tight with emotions. Their beloved was still somehow alive, transformed into a creature of the night. “Astarion…” They whispered his name with a shaky breath, their hands clutching his shirt as tears streamed down their cheeks. Their Astarion, their little star, was alive.

Astarion, too, seemed disoriented by the shared connection. “What in the hells was that?” he asked, confusion etched across his features. His hand reached up, finally touching them and wiping off the tears from their cheek, his touch cold, so devastatingly cold.

Tav struggled to compose themselves, wiping away the rest of the tears. “It's the Mind Flayer’s worm - it connects us which means that you… you were on the ship too.” they came to a revelation.

Astarion nodded, confirming their words. “That worm, of course. That explains things. Somewhat.” he said, sounding defeated. 

Silence falling over them for a few seconds, until Shadowheart’s voice reached them. “Can someone finally explain to me what just happened?” 

And that was the end of their meeting, at least for now. There were so many questions forming in both of their heads but no time to ask them. Not when there was still burning Nautiloid behind them and possible death creeping in their heads, so any conversation they wanted to have, they kept to themselves for now.

Meanwhile, Tav tried to explain everything to the best of their ability and comfort, to Shadowheart. Leaving huge chunks unsaid, because they'd only known each other for a few hours and the dark haired half-elf didn't seem like a very sharing person herself.

Still, both Tav and Astarion knew they would have to talk as soon as they had the chance. For 200 years they thought Astarion was dead, and Astarion had completely forgotten their existence... that definitely leaves plenty of topics to talk about, especially when you add in their new situation and the fact that Astarion is now a vampire.

So far, they had only exchanged a few glances from time to time as they continued to wander along unfamiliar paths, waiting, yearning and hoping. Hoping that this meeting would bring them at least something resembling the happiness they had felt all those centuries ago.

[littlejuicebox]

Dadstarion prompt - Astarion responsible for watching Gale and something happens that makes Tav mad! Nothing serious but you know how kids draw on the walls and stuff? Something silly and cute like that!

Stuck

This prompt is very cute! Thanks for all the submissions, I will be working through several of them when I have time. You guys all had great ideas!

Summary: The twins are here, and Papastarion is primarily on Gale duty. He's trying his best, but balancing a family and work is proving to be very difficult, indeed. Can be read as a OneShot but it’s also part of my Dadstarion series.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, dadstarion, parenting, children, very mild angst with comfort, lmk if you see anything else

Word count: 1.9K

-----

Astarion is exhausted. 

In comparison to the twins, the first month with newborn Gale had been a breeze. But two wailing infants had both the silver-haired elf and his little love on edge constantly. The pair of babes seemed to egg one another on, greeting one shrill cry with another; an hour of silence was an absolute luxury nowadays. 

The family were in the midst of one precious modicum of silence now, and his drained wife had quickly snatched the opportunity to rest in their bedchambers. The poor woman always had a newborn attached to her breast or a toddler wrapped around her leg, it seemed. Astarion stepped in where he could, but unfortunately he did not have the anatomy necessary to help with certain parts of parenting. So daddy was primarily on Gale duty nowadays.

Gale had also been struggling, in his own way. The change in his parents' attention had caused the previous ball of sunlight to turn surly. This had been anticipated, of course, and his parents knew this adjustment would take time. But catering to three needy children and a wife still recovering from childbirth had Astarion at his wits end. Trancing is certainly an efficient form of regaining energy, but even he could only go so long on a deficit.

The father hears a knock at the front door, just as he’s placing a plate of breakfast in front of his eldest. The silver-haired boy is eyeing the food, his nose wrinkled in displeasure, always the spitting image of his father in his mannerisms.

“Daddy, what’s that green stuff on my eggs?” He asks, his tone tipping up into a whine. 

“Chives, Gale,” Astarion responds, perhaps a smidge too harshly, wiping his hands on a towel as he exits the kitchen and crosses the foyer to the front door, “You like chives, little prince, you always eat your eggs like this when mommy makes them.”

The three year old eyes the eggs suspiciously and then quickly swipes them under the table as his father walks away. Their mutt, Apple, eagerly snatches up the offering with her sticky pink tongue. 

Astarion swings the front door open and dramatically sighs with relief, “The reinforcements are finally here. Thank the gods. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see you two.” 

Shadowheart and Lae’zel stand in the entryway, unloading their bags. 

“Good to see you, too, Astarion. Our travels were fine, thanks for asking,” The cleric responds, rolling her eyes at the retired rogue. Gale comes running out of the kitchen to greet the two women, instantly wrapping himself around Shadowheart’s limbs with a babbled, excited greeting. Apart from Uncle Gale, Auntie Shadowheart was easily his favorite of his parents’ friends. 

“I would like to be clear that I am only here because Shadowheart has forced me along,” Lae’zel states, assessing the elven man coolly, “You look terrible. I’ve never seen your hair like this before.” 

Astarion is about to retort when a sharp wail echoes throughout the foyer, followed by a nearly identical one from the second twin. 

“Let’s go see if we can help Tav,” Shadowheart beckons Lae’zel, already heading toward the master bedchambers,  “Gale, we have a gift for you from your Uncle Gale. It’s in the front pocket of my bag, Astarion.” 

The older elf bends down and retrieves a small package addressed to the three year old in the wizard’s tidy script. The little boy grins as he opens the gift from his namesake, revealing a pot full of some sticky, stretchy, slimy substance. Gale tries and fails to open it, so his father bends down to assist, examining the gift with distaste. 

Leave it to the Wizard of Waterdeep to send such a messy, disgusting gift.

Gale pulls the gelatinous thing out of the small jar and giggles at the sensation of the viscous putty. As the little boy smashes the substance through his hands, it changes color in front of his eyes and he oohs in surprise. 

Well, at least this will keep him occupied, Astarion thinks. He needs to get some work done. Pascal, his steward, had been on him about the revisions for that contract and the purchase order for the winery since last week. 

The older man scoops his son up and makes his way toward his office, hoping that with Shadowheart and Lae’zel here to assist with the twins, he will be able to complete the bare minimum of his task list today. Though, admittedly, he cannot wait to see how his little viper of a friend handles the babes; he’s sure there will be a story or two from Tav later on.

*

Astarion is re-reading the contract in front of him for a third time. He’s so tired that it’s difficult to focus. He messily scratches out another line of text and writes an edit above it, speaking to himself under his breath, trying to keep the words coming out in the correct order as he scrawls across the page. 

Is this exhaustion truly how humans feel all the time? It’s absolutely horrid. How do they get anything done? 

Gale emits a shocked cry from the sofa, ripping the older elf’s attention from his work to find the source of his son’s distress.

No. Oh no, no, no.

Gale’s head is completely covered in the sticky slime. The substance is wrapped around his curls, pulling his hair up in chunks. 

The contract is abandoned as Astarion rushes to his son and examines the damage. The little boy is pulling anxiously at the putty as he begins to wail in distress, which is only causing the slime to further spread across his hair.

“Papa, it’s stuck!” He shrieks, his hands flailing and fumbling around, trying to rip the toy from his head. Tears are streaking his face as he continues to fight against the toy.

“Stop, Gale!” The older elf exclaims, barely holding on to the final shreds of his patience as he grabs his son's two tiny hands between one of his own, “Hold on, let me see.” 

Shit. This definitely isn’t good. 

Astarion groans when he realizes he has to tell his wife what happened. Facing her wrath was almost as terrifying as facing the Netherbrain, and his gut sank with dread as he scooped the child up, hair still caked in slime, and walked in the direction of the bedchamber. 

*

“I still cannot believe this, Astarion,” You hiss at your husband under your breath as Shadowheart trims the ends of Gale’s silver curls in your kitchen and Lae’zel entertains him with stories of their travels. Most of the putty came out with generous applications of oil, followed by a bath for the three year old, but the final bits ultimately had to be cut.

You are holding one twin in your arms, Astarion is holding the other. The two of you are an endless bobbing and swaying duo, trying desperately to keep the infants from breaking into another fit. 

“Can we please give it a rest, darling? Blame our wizard friend for sending that ridiculous toy to our three year old!” Astarion responds through a belabored, weary sigh as he gently pats the back of the infant in his arms, “I’ve already apologized; I should have been watching Gale but twins or not, business continues on. We can’t stop working entirely, we do need money, you know. And we need to start interviewing for nannies while Shadowheart and Lae’zel are here.” 

You sigh. You’re both exhausted and doing the best you can. You know this. But this is not how you’d envisioned Gale’s first haircut. Watching the fine silver curls of your eldest fall to the floor, caked with slime, causes you to tear up and you quickly blink the wetness away.

You know it’s mostly the hormones. But it’s also the inexplicable guilt of your first baby no longer being your only baby, despite the happiness you feel about the twins arrival and Gale’s general exuberance at being an older brother. 

“All done!” Shadowheart exclaims as she ruffles the child’s hair, and the little boy grins and turns to look at the both of you with those adorable green eyes, searching for your approval.

“Very handsome, Gale,” Astarion compliments, “I think we might look even more alike now, if that’s even possible.”

Papa is good. He knows the quickest way to soothe any worries is to make sure Gale feels like he and his father are just alike. He absolutely adores his father and constantly mirrors everything about him.

“I agree,” You continue, moving forward to press a kiss onto the crown of the three-year-old’s head, “You look just like daddy now, my little love. What do you say to your Aunties?”

“Thank you Auntie ‘Heart and Auntie Lazy!” Gale exclaims, hopping off the stool he was perched upon and running to pet Apple, where she’s resting under the kitchen table, gnawing on a ball. You, Astarion, and Shadowheart all stifle giggles as Lae’zel’s mouth drops open in offense at being called lazy.

*

Later that night, you two are in bed, basking in another rare moment of silence. You’d read Gale his bedtime story while Astarion sat between the two rocking bassinets and kept the twins in constant sway, lulling them to sleep after they ate. 

“I knew this was going to be hard,” You sigh as you settle yourself in the crook of your husband’s arm, “But gods, Astarion, it really feels impossible.” 

Astarion presses a kiss onto your forehead, “Yes, darling. It does. But what have you always told me about doing impossible things?”

“That we’ve done the impossible things before, and this shouldn’t be any different.” You respond with another sigh as your husband brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

He nods and yawns, “And for some of those impossible things, we required help, little love. Just like now.” 

You understand his meaning. You were struggling with the concept of hiring someone else to help you with the children; it somehow felt a slight to your pride and simultaneously made you nervous to have a complete stranger responsible for your offspring. Who could love and protect them more than you and Astarion? No one. 

But Shadowheart and Lae’zel being here undoubtedly made the day easier. Having them for a few weeks was going to be a blessing, indeed. You could already see it. 

Astarion was right. You two had the means to hire help, and your entire family was suffering without it. You’re about to tell him you know he’s right, but the poor father of three has already drifted into a trance, snoring loudly in his exhaustion.

You chuckle and place a small kiss to his cheek before settling beside him.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel take the first shift, allowing you several straight hours of sleep for the first time in over a month.

It truly does take a village to raise a child. It seems it takes a small army to raise three, at least for now. But your merry band of misfits has never shied away from a challenge. This isn’t any different.

And how lucky you are to have them all in your life, so willing to lend a hand whenever and wherever they are needed. Family is not always blood. Sometimes it is just the dangerous vampire, strange alien and secretive half-elf you meet after a terrible crash, instead.

Fate spins along as it should, though you aren’t always privy to the destination.

And isn’t that exciting? 

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Elven Culture #1

(An incomplete compilation.) Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess and it's borderline impossible to cover everything. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Elves Physiology | Culture | Surface Elves | Religion | History | Homelands | Half-elves --- WIP

--- How to flip somebody off in elven culture. Random elven pan-cultural highlights ranging from marital traditions to poker.

Key elven philosophical concepts that inform their entire cultures. Farming, architecture, opinions on undeath, stages of life (Astarion's 200 years too old to be acting like an ardavanshee, but there we go)

Default elven society, including the family units (Clans and Houses), nobility, and the absolute monarchies with the divine right of kings that're tasked with herding cats.

Forewarning, this is a long post! And I still cut stuff... I was going to include the specifics of the seven individual surface elven cultures, but it was getting too damn long.

---

Random little things before we get into the wordy stuff:

The equivalent to giving somebody the finger amongst elves is to crook the middle finger inwards towards oneself and then bring it upwards in a diagonal movement across the body. For the greatest show of insolence, the elf in question may then hold eye contact and slowly lick the tip of that finger. I have no context for how this come to be, or why it's insulting, but I'm sure it's quite the story.

Elves rarely make their piercings out of metal, instead preferring to craft them from the bone of their ancestors and departed loved ones.

The elven term for their own people is Tel'Quessir ("of the people," or simply "the people). The name refers to the fact that all elves are inherently spiritually linked to each other, the Seldarine and the Weave. They are capable of a form of low-level telepathy where they can share emotions, surface level thoughts and reverie with each other. As a result, non-elves who are not part of this interconnected whole are N'Tel'Quessir or N'Quess - "not of the people."

The elven spirit, or soul, is referred to as ues. The ability for elves to link their minds and share feelings and thoughts is a state referred to as "communion."

The elven term for "stick-in-the-mud" is irrquarlan - which I'd imagine is often used by moon and copper elves to refer to sun elves.

When an issue is considered to be "black and white" - as in a choice lacking any moral ambiguity, where one is wrong and the other right - elves would say it is "sun and moon," as in anybody with working eyes can tell the difference between sunlight and moonlight.

The elven equivalent of "no shit sherlock" is “Trees grow, no?”

Elves have a gambling game called kholiast, involving a deck of over 1,000 cards. The hands are determined randomly by dice roll, and the point system would apparently "drive even the most dedicated Candlekeep scholar completely mad." Needless to say, moon elves love it and probably invented it.

Haven't found much on elven coinage, but the one familiar in human lands is the "blueshine" coins; silver coins with a blue-green lustre bearing the image of a crescent moon (the holy symbol of Corellon Larethian). Presumably equivalent to a silver coin in any currency.

While they can be made of the materials used in reality, elven bowstrings may be crafted from spider silk (especially if of dark elven make), elven hair, and sometimes magically-treated spun silver.

Elven fashion varies by specific culture, location and individual tastes. The trend is for loose and flowing garments with no footwear (except for the sun elves, who refuse to go out in public without some kind of shoes). An alternative to shoes is to use some kind of minor magical accessory that allows one to hover just above the ground, able to glide around without getting one's feet dirty or damaged. They tend to have few or no taboos about nudity, so garments may be quite revealing. Elves believe that their dress should be a reflection of their home nation, and the peace and prosperity that it cultivates.

-

The generic term of reference for ones committed romantic partners is one's "mate." Elves practice marriage, and the terms "husband" and "wife" have been seen, although it seems "consort" is just as - if not more - popular.

Elven marriages may be sealed through the use of one or two lower level High Magic rituals;

Quamaniith, "the vow made tangible," causes a vow made to be woven into physical form. In the case of a wedding, it's about the size of a fist. It usually takes the form of a stone, carved with inscriptions relating to the vow, though artistic mages may craft a figurine. When used for marriage vows, the created object is called an Aestar'Khol, a "marriage stone." Should the two divorce, or betray their vows, the stone will shatter. There is no other way to damage it, it will always remain perfectly unblemished.

U'Aestar'Kess, "One Heart, One Mind, One Breath" - this ritual creates a permanent passive mental bond between an elf and another living being (who may also be an elf), and it sees use most often as part of marriage rites. It allows the linked beings to know instinctively when their partner is in danger, detect and sometimes share their mood, and if they concentrate they can communicate telepathically.

-

Due to the fact that elves don't sleep, instead spending four hours in reverie, an elven home will not include a bedroom. Personal rooms resemble something closer to studies and sitting rooms; furnished with comfortable chairs, lounges and divans, furnished with personal affects and whatever projects the owner might be working on.

The other side effect of the reverie is that since elves have a full 20 hours of activity, can see just fine at night, and don't necessarily have fixed sleeping hours, elven communities don't fluctuate in activity levels. Villages, towns and cities will be as busy in the dead of the night as they are at every hour, and elves have more free time than others.

-

Elves have perfected birth control. While technically the magic rituals involved in this came about for practical reasons - including ensuring a child would not be conceived in harsh conditions like famines, plagues and wars, where its birth would cause suffering for both it and its family - elves now just use it as an everyday thing when they don't want to get pregnant. No elf will be having children if they don't want them, those who do want them will only be conceiving them when they intend to, and attempting to change their mind will be considered an infringement of their personal freedoms and bodily autonomy, and be met with hostility.

-

Linguistics: The elven language is called Lalur, "the Singing." All elven languages are written in the Espruar script, which has two forms. One features more loops and curls, and the other features a series of curved lines, dots and dashes, which has come into fashion more recently. Another elven language is Seldruin, which is almost extinct. It's the language used in the casting of elven High Magic, and is written in a unique script called Hamarfae.

Similarly, elven accents are usually described as "musical" - they tend to pronounce "s" softly, drawing it out and their voices shift up and down the vocal register more than is usual. Elven vocal chords are odd, allowing them to reach over an octave-and-a-half, which they can sustain for longer than a human could. Elven vocal chords are capable of producing two completely different notes at the same time. The overall effect of the elven voice and accent is likened to chiming, or little bells.

Elven songs are usually either wordless vocalisation, or feature multiple overlapping voices singing different lyrics. The typical "mood" of the music varies by culture: for example, sun elves prefer solemn songs with gravitas; wood elves enjoy a good rhythm; moon elves prefer something fun, whimsical, and sometimes bawdy. Some elves have a rare genetic quirk that allows them to use their vocal chords to speak two different things at the same time; the "secondary" voice is much fainter, and limited, but in music is allows the singer to produce a layered, echoing quality.

Elven musical performances feature galadrae - three dimensional illusions depicting scenes to go along with the song, not dissimilar to what one might see at a modern concert.

Musical instruments most often seen are woodwinds and strings, especially harps (which are strongly associated with elves). Elves are the only people thus far who have worked out how to build their instruments to be capable of sustain. Elven music has been compared (out of universe) to Enya, Loreena McKennit, Genesis and ELO.

Music and song is an important part of romance in elven culture... alongside erotic dances, apparently. But anyway, courting is accomplished by writing each other love songs and singing them to each other, or by composing poems for similar effect.

Non-elven languages are rather charmingly referred to as Glahkery, which translates into something like "strifeful sounds."

-

Key Philosophies: An important part of elven cultures is the concept of laraelever - technically referring to undamaged forest, "as it should be." This does not mean nature should be "pristine" or untouched by humanoid life. It means that the way the world is found in its untouched state, unmodified by another's desire, is how it is meant to be. The lives of others should not impose on the world more than they need to. The natural world is to be without blight, unburnt and unharmed by careless logging, overhunting or depletion of resources.

It also applies to the elven approach to life and the passage of time: things will generally occur when they're ready and grow/proceed at the speed they're intended to. One should never rush. Non-elves and younger elves tend to find this attitude incredibly frustrating, while "adult" elves find them dangerously impatient.

This may also be a part of why elven cultures tend to value independence and individual freedom - that one must "accept life as it is", implies you can't force things to be anything else.

The "way life is supposed to be" does not include dark magics that tamper with natural cycles, and the elven word for undeath is mormhaor - "corrupted death." Undeath is a blasphemous attempt to impose one's will on the world and force it into a shape in the most horrific way possible, and is heavily tied to the loss and violation of free will, and its believed that undeath destroys the soul (whether this is correct or not in D&D varies by source). The state is generally considered worse than death - the elf is cut off from their people, their gods and their path, and denied their chance for spiritual enlightenment and the afterlife. The sole acceptable form of undeath exists in the baelnorn; a form of elven lich that was created willingly and is sustained by positive energy instead of negative, in the name of continuing some duty or other for the sake of their people. They are sponsored by the Seldarine, and tolerated by the elven deity of death. Elves respect their sacrifice, but are usually still uneasy around them.

This philosophy appears in the rest of their societies in the way that they build their homes and furniture; a chair may be "constructed" of wood that was carefully grown into shape and harvested with careful consideration to the timing, rather than by unnecessarily cutting down an entire living tree and taking more wood than is technically needed and whittling it down to shape.

Elven architecture is built to complement its natural surroundings, blending in with it. The design concept is that a building should seen as much a part of the landscape as the trees or mountains and enhance their beauty. To help these buildings blend in, elven doors are designed to disappear into their surroundings, and they can be incredibly annoying for outsiders to spot (elven children grow up learning to see them, and so elves don't have this problem).

Buildings are preferably constructed by growing trees into shape rather than by constructing from timber or stone. If they are made of stone, they're still usually "grown" by shaping them with magic, creating a seamless mineral structures.

From non-elven perspectives, an elven city resembles a garden or park more than a settlement. They favour building in the trees themselves more than anything else (for example, the city of Suldanessellar in Baldur's Gate 2 is built on platforms built around the trees, high in the canopy). The higher constructions are linked by bridges and swinging ropes.

Ground dwellings are typically built for children, the elderly, and the disabled, and others who might be unsafe with heights and getting up and down them. It's also where elven realms that have contact with outsiders build their inns, taverns, warehouses and businesses. Elves don't clear the area a great deal when building their ground dwellings, their roads and streets are built around pre-existing natural structures and can meander a lot.

The ground level and higher parts of the city may be linked by teleport magics and enchanted platforms that function as lifts/elevators.

This preference to leave things untouched doesn't mean that elves never alter the world for their own desires - especially since obsessive, eccentric artists are a staple of the elven population. Wealthy Houses are known to make roofing materials out of precious stones. Some cities, such as Leuthilspar, get artistic with their roads. The main road there is magically constructed from some kind of glassy, clear crystal and is nicknamed the Diamond Road.

Each building typically belongs to a single Clan or House (often the building is an entire living, ancient tree), and if they belong to a culture that builds tombs, they will also have a family tomb. The rest of the city, outside of residential buildings, is not considered owned by the elves but simply under their care and stewardship. It belongs to the other lives as much as them. Elven communities often have neighbours from other fey races; dryads, faerie dragons, treants, fauns, nymphs, pixies, etc. Elves and fey tend to be relatively close, and the elven and seelie fey pantheons are often worshipped by all of them.

Elves do not farm in pastures and fields - it's more that they cultivate the world around them without disturbing it too much (I don't remember the technical agricultural jargon here.) They'll try not to disturb the rest of the ecosystem too much, but elven farmers will nurture the plants they desire while removing harmful plants and pests. They don't introduce plants or disturb the soil, merely encourage what's already there for healthier and higher yields of whatever grows. A lot of outsiders can easily stroll through a farm without realising it. Farmers are the only elves who count the passing of years, due to the need to keep track of crop yields and the ages of plants and animals. The equivalent of a year to elves is a grouping of four years known as an aeloulaev, or more commonly as a pyesigen - "four snows" (plural pyesigeni).

While Houses might have their lorekeepers, who preserve and record history, the typical elven opinion on time tends to be that "history is the weave of things outside of life, not for those still within its loom." They see history in their reverie, they don't need to worry about it in their waking hours.

-

Yet another elven philosophy is of the Road of Life: a multi-staged, twisting spiritual path every elf walks, and one with many potential branching paths to explore.

It is, in part, a shared path because all elves are part of the greater whole that is the Tel'Quessir - but at the same time, no elf can walk the path for another. All should care for the community and support fellow elves in being able to walk their path, so that the community can support them as they walk theirs; “We are on this shared path together, but at the same time all of us are finding our own way.”

Elves under 100 years old are walking the first section of the road. Their life experience and perspective is the equivalent of a human of the same age. They don't yet perceive time and think in terms of the passage of decades and centuries as a "mature" elf does, and from their elder's perspective are incredibly (annoyingly) impatient. Due to this gap in understanding, young elves often find themselves more comfortable in the company of humans, who share their feelings and perceptions.

It's the elves in their first stage of the road who are usually found adventuring and living in human cities, they're "whimsical dabblers, ‘flighty’ and inclined to plunge into something new or [grow] tired of something and move on without feeling the need to shoulder responsibilities, or [care] overmuch about consequences," "...almost like the humans in their passions of youth, and they adapt to their more transient surroundings. They eat over-spiced animal flesh and other abominable foods; they wield simpler, cruder, combat-oriented human magics; and they even mate with non-elves."

These younger elves, in the throes of rebellious youth and lack of patience, may be prone to selfishness, ruthless ambition and disrespecting their elders as they turn their nose up at elven values. This particular phase is referred to as Ardavanshee - "the restless young ones."

Older elves mostly leave the youth alone to make their own mistakes, assuming they'll grow out of their crueller and selfish behaviours with time and experience.

An elf under 90 years old is not considered experienced enough to be allowed to hold leadership positions.

All elves will begin their journey on the road with a basic magical education during childhood: Magic is an everyday part of elven cultures at every level of society, and every elf grows up surrounded by it. Even the copper elves, who have little interest in arcane magic, surround themselves with druidry.

Basic martial training in traditional elven martial arts is also part of the standard for all elven cultures, involving the bow, sword and rapier - elven blades tend towards being long, very thin and flexible. Elves have a long and bloody history of conflict, and every one of them is be expected to be able to defend themselves and their home, should the need arise.

Whatever other education their family sets for them, elves have childhoods much like any other race's children. They learn their history through creative retellings form their elders and are let loose to run around and engage in physical activities - climbing trees and swimming. They're taken to play in the outdoors and encouraged to take interest in the natural world, learning of the animals and plants they share the world with.

Reaching the elven age of majority, and the second stage of the path, occurs some time in their second century of life (120 years old, on average). As they mature and outlive the human lifespan they tend to settle into the elven ways, and focus on their spiritual ties to their communities and faith.

Mature elves typically take things very slowly. They spend a lot of time in contemplation, consider all facets and nuances in a problem, and try to predict all potential consequences that could be born of a choice (even those domino effects that may occur decades after the fact). They prefer to implement these choices very slowly, watching what ripples are caused through the course of years and responding accordingly - they may continue, stop, or make revisions as they go.

Occasionally an "adult" finds themselves drawn back to adventuring and a faster paced life outside of the elven homelands. This is accepted as simply a natural part of that elf's particular path.

The other branch on the road is one where an elf finds a passion and devotes themselves to it; fine art, playwriting, magic, architecture, the martial arts, literature, faith, music, whatever. They become hyperfixated on whatever has caught their eye; they keep the company of others who share their interest and talk about it to the exclusion of almost everything else (others are warned to beware engaging an elf in conversation about a topic dear to them, because they will tell you every single detail there is to know and will not stop).

Elves will dedicate months and years preparing for their projects; spending time in reverie and contemplation as they meditate on ideas, praying to the gods for guidance, and traveling leagues to gather materials and discuss with experts or observe others' works for inspiration.

The last stages of the road are stages of seeking spiritual enlightenment; they reflect on their long lives and many, many experiences with the world and contemplate the bigger picture and the nature of the universe and the People. They will begin to feel the Seldarine calling to them in their reverie, summoning them to the afterlife in Arvandor (Sehanine Moonbow's call, in particular).

The mythical final stage, occurring past 700 years of age, is one where an elf's contemplation successfully leads them to enlightenment. They become at peace, and their understanding puts them in perfect unity with the universe. These elves are faced with the choice of returning to Arvandor to join the gods, or to remain in the mortal world and use their wisdom to guide their people. Thus far the only elf said to have achieved this state was the elven queen Amlaruil, who chose to stay behind.

---

All this philosophy aside, elves still run businesses, have class and wealth divides and squabble amongst each other for power and prestige like anybody else does. The common elf is a priest, a guard, a farmer, a hunter, a cook, a maid, a tavernmaster... In daily life, most of the daily function of the realm involves cultivating the plants that grow in it (farming, construction, maintenance) and security (scouting, guarding, patrolling).

Although, elven society is steeped in magic all over the place, so in regards to things like maids and household chores, elves are more likely to simply use magic to clean the house and lessen the amount of physical labour involved.

---

Society (Houses and Clans, and the Government):

The concept of the Merchant Clans and Noble Houses aren't unique to drow; these family dynasties are part of larger elven culture, be they categorised as high, wood or dark. All elves are part of a larger extended family, known either as a House or a Clan, from which they take their surname.

Elves will generally be loyal to their Clan and House before their nation, and they have their own laws that members must follow, generally set by the matriarch or patriarch (the later only existing in non-drow cultures). Some have multiple leaders, ranging from a duo (House Nightstar is governed by twin sisters) to a council of elders. Each clan/house has different methods for choosing their leader/s, some are hereditary and others are elected. For larger Houses that span multiple regions, there will be a hierarchy with local leaders who answer to a family head that oversees the entire bloodline.

Elven nobility belong to Houses, which are generally known for each having certain political ideologies, and they often specialise in training their members in specific skills.

The elven concept of "aristocracy" is granted by a ruler, who makes that elf and their clan a Noble House as a reward for some exceptional service to elvenkind (this is very hard to achieve). The status cannot be revoked by a ruler, nobles can only be exiled and stripped of their House name by their own family.

Some families restrict their membership, and will not acknowledge the spouses or children of their relatives who are of certain elven cultures, non-elven races or half-elves. As a rule of thumb, moon elven culture would frown upon excluding anybody of elven blood from the family. Everybody tends to make an exception for drow - you are not bringing a dark elf into this family tree. Houses may adopt others into their family, and it's also possible for a House to adopt N'Quess into their ranks, usually as servants (so one could find a human cook who happens to be a member of an elven House).

Houses are generally associated with a specific elven culture, although the family usually contains a mixture of backgrounds. House Le'Quella, for example, has prominent mixed moon elven and green elven ancestry. The copper elves have mostly abandoned the concept of Houses, though some prestigious and historically important ones remain. Green elven cultures have long forsaken the concept, along with most of the trappings of the elven society that caused them thousands of years of suffering. Sun elves pay greater attention to their elders and important ancestors, and consider their Houses more "legitimate" than moon elven or wood elven Houses, and take House politics and affiliation far more seriously. Due to this, their Houses usually hold greater status than those of other elves'. Within the vast majority of dark elven societies, House affiliation and prestige is a matter of life and death, and being without a House to protect you leaves you open to enslavement and death.

Each House has two colours associated with it (sometimes they have more, less strongly associated colours), as well as an insignia (for example House Aelorothi's colours are pale blue and green, with a red swan for a crest. House Starym's colours are silver and maroon, with two falling silver dragons on the crest.) It seems like Clans may also have colours and insignias, but that may only be for the most prestigious of them. Even within the larger Houses, there will be members of the House who are nobility, and those who are common servants and footmen.

Clans and Houses are not tied to specific realms, and members and family units may be encountered anywhere in the world. "It's a mistake to think of elven Houses as equivalent to human [noble] Houses [...] in some respects you can almost think of an elven House as a small, extremely long-lived organisation with blood-ties."

Some Houses have existed for over 10,000 years, and these houses usually boast the highest status.

Status is a fluctuating thing; it depends on many factors such as wealth and prestige, the actions and reputation of its members, its relationship with other houses (feuds and alliances), how many powerful and talented mages - especially High Mages - it hold in its ranks...

Elven Houses may have smaller, related Houses attached to them called Septs, much like human dynasties have cadet branches. Septs are formed when a noble marries a commoner and takes their clan name, rather than having their lover marry into their House. A Greater House has many Septs, and a Lesser House fewer or none.

Arranged marriages do - or did - exist. They're primarily practiced as part of House politics, mainly by sun elves, and this historically caused some irritation in the time of Myth Drannor, when the Houses started using arranged marriages to call dibs on promising mages to bolster their own family's retinues and reputations. When elves marry, the elf of the less prestigious Clan/House will be considered as marrying into their spouse's more prominent Clan/House.

Surface elven Houses are as prone to intrigue and politicking as their Underdark equivalents, but they are significantly less likely to murder over it.

-

Most surface elven realms are city states, ruled by a Coronal, who is "speaker among the trees with Corellon's voice and bidding."

While this means that Coronal has absolute authority, the assumed role of the ruler is to keep the peace and maintain harmony between the various elven peoples and Houses within their realm. On an individual level, elves won't necessarily respond well to attempts to meddle in their personal lives, and sometimes trying to organise the masses is like herding cats.

The Coronal's word is law, but the entire realm may discuss and debate it before that word becomes law, and the Coronal cannot pass a law before at least a month has passed since its proposal.

While elves must accept the law of the land once made, mass migrations of entire clans and houses are known to occur in response to an unpopular proclamation as the elves leave for somewhere they don't have to listen (assuming the response isn't something more along the lines of an assassination...). While they might move to another elven settlement entirely, these elves won't necessarily leave the geographic area, they may simply settle on a patch just outside of the Coronal's jurisdiction and govern themselves. Sometimes elves just build an entire demiplane (small alternate universe) and move there instead.

In larger realms, such as the former empire of Cormanthyr, the Coronal oversees the realm and the individual cities within are been governed by a local council made up of the heads of the most influential Houses, who govern the minutia of daily life in their own city and have no influence outside of it.

Coronal is not usually an inherited position (especially in the modern day). How one achieves the position varies by place. In Cormanthyr, this was determined by blade-rite. The applicant draws an enchanted, sentient blade from its sheath, and the sword judges their intentions for the power they seek. If it decides they don't have the Tel'Quessir's wellbeing at heart and will abuse their power, then it kills them on the spot.

Rulers are advised by a council of elders, who as always are usually the family heads of the local Houses.

Larger surface elven society saw a slight shift towards matriarchy in the reign of Queen Amlaruil Moonflower on Evermeet, and women usually wield the most influence in elven politics.

The entirety of elvendom was technically ruled by a (popular) royal family at one point, situated in Evermeet. However the queen has vanished in the last century, and it seems the monarchy no longer applies. Even when she was alive, some of the elves were merely humouring the notion and didn't pay it much mind. Loyalty came mostly because she was likable and her people felt she cared for them and served them well.

Nobility is defined as the Houses in "good standing." Those who possess more "wealth" - although elves don't value things like gold the way others do, so they don't put the same weight on it - and those who have a fancier family history, which gives the family more weight when councils convene to make realm-wide decisions about enterprises and social policies being made for the good of all.

Some particularly arrogant Houses feel they have "claim" to a particular patch of forest, in the same way a human noble might claim estates, but nobody else would agree with them, and collective elven society considers the world outside of their front doors to be public property that happens to be under the People's care.

While no house is beholden to the realm it resides in, and owes no duties, society expects the elven aristocracy to provide warriors, funds and resources to the wellbeing of the realm as a matter of honour. In peacetime this means providing the guard patrols and hunting parties, and providing for the sick and elderly of their communities who require aid.

---

While the dwarves and some human cultures can give them a run for their money, elves are quite possibly the proudest people on Toril. Theirs was the first and longest humanoid empire, theirs is the greatest grasp of magic, theirs is the longest lived of the common races of Toril, theirs is the blood that runs in the veins of a god... Suffice to say, the People tend towards being arrogant and stubborn. It never occurs to a number of elves that their ways might not be the way, and between that and their resistance to being governed when the rulers want to change things, the dwarves have invented a saying regarding attempting to change their minds on something: "If you want to tell an elf what to do, be sure to bring your axe."

Where the halflings and gnomes blend in, elves (and dwarves) are the most likely to stand out as distinct, separate cultures within human cities. On average they're proud of their history and their ways of life, and won't be trading them for others. How aloof they are exactly will depend on factors like personality, and how fairly treated they feel they are being by their neighbours.