#slightly undead scarring

[thenopequeen]

I'm mostly just wondering if I'm the only one getting this in-depth about it, so pass it on if you think anyone following you might have something to say about it

[janiehellion]

Close Quarters

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Trapped overnight by a horde of walkers during a supply run, you and Daryl Dixon find yourselves in close quarters with nothing but time on your hands. But can you keep your hands to yourself?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEMALE!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / ORAL SEX

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.664

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: This oneshot is inspired by a post from & dedicated to @ophelialaufey on Tumblr.

MASTERLIST

"Keep ya eyes open," Daryl grunted and kept walking. His crossbow hung over his shoulder as his eyes looked left and right in search of any danger. He wasn't much for words, more action than unnecessary chit-chat, but you didn't complain. 

Today's task had been simple: Scavenge for as many supplies as you could until night began to fall, and then get back to the safety of the group. And that's exactly what you did, with your supply run partner being once again: Daryl Dixon.

You only nodded, holding your own weapon tightly. For all his rough exterior, you trusted him with your life. Over the last months, you've seen Daryl in action a lot of times already; to your eyes, he seemed to be one of the best survivors among the group. But tonight felt a bit off. It didn't feel like any other supply run; you were uncomfortable, and you just couldn't shake the feeling that something was likely to go wrong.

As the last rays of daylight finally vanished, sudden growls came from out of nowhere. You and Daryl immediately stopped dead in your tracks, your hearts racing in your chest as you realized that a small horde of walkers approached. Still, there were too many to take on, and running was definitely out of line. You had to find shelter, and fast.

"This way," Daryl whispered, tugging at your arm to lead you toward a building. He pushed open the door, and both of you slipped inside, shutting it as quietly as you could behind you. The room was dark and full of dust and the familiar smell of decay.

"Looks like we're in here for the time," Daryl said, walking over to a window and looking out through a gap. "They ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

You sighed, trying to steady your breathing. The reality of the situation was hitting you. Being stuck in this tiny, dark room with Daryl Dixon—with a horde of the undead outside—was just what you needed. 

Daryl, meanwhile, turned away from the window and explored the room further, but then he suddenly stopped and faced you. "Gonna need to check for scratches," he said, leaving very little room in his tone for argument. "Help me with my shirt."

"Okay, I guess..." You stepped closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the hem of his shirt before you lifted it slowly to reveal his stomach. His skin was rough and scarred from the years of survival, but to you, it was mesmerizing.

"See anythin' on my back?" He asked, his eyes boring into yours.

You shook your head, trying to focus. "No, you're... definitely clear."

"Thanks," he said gruffly, pulling his shirt back down. His fingers brushed against your hand as he did, and for a brief moment, you both froze, but the sudden sound of a distant groan made Daryl’s eyes snap back to the window. "Damn it," he mumbled, annoyed. "We should make sure this place is safe."

You followed him as he began to inspect the room, moving from one corner to another. "You need any help?" You asked, trying to keep the stutter out of your voice.

He glanced over at you, his eyes not giving away anything. "Just stay outta the damn way."

You took a step back, feeling a bit disappointed. There was something almost painful about the way he kept you at arm’s length, like a barrier you could never cross. Yet, it only intensified your need to break through his walls.

He still hadn't found anything, so you turned your attention to an old armchair in the corner of the room. You walk over to it, brushing off some of the dust, thinking it might be a good place to take a seat and wait out the night. But in your approach, you had knocked over a few empty glass bottles, which shattered on the floor.

"Be careful, woman," he snapped at you. "Ya wanna attract more of 'em and get us killed?"

You immediately apologized and bent over to pick up the pieces, your face blushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Soon enough, he was done checking out the room, and he sat down in the armchair that you cleaned off. "Looks like we're stuck here for the night," he said, though not to you in particular.

Meanwhile, you sat down on the floor across from him, trying to get comfortable. Daryl's eyes looked at you, though he didn't really manage to hide behind his usual stoic expression. "Ya cold or somethin'?"

You shook your head. "No, I'm okay. Don't worry."

He nodded, and for a moment, you thought the conversation might end there. But then he shifted around in the chair, as if uncomfortable with the silence. "Ya’ve been quiet," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Usually ya've got somethin' to say."

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "Just… thinking, I guess."

"Thinkin' 'bout what?" He asked, still looking at you.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Everything. How things have changed since all of this started."

Daryl grunted, his eyes returning to the window. "Yeah, things've changed alright. Ain't much left in the world."

You didn't reply; instead, you watched him, noticing the way his muscles moved under his shirt and the way his eyes darted around, constantly on alert. It was almost hypnotic—this man who lived on the edge of survival, so strong yet so guarded.

As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but glance at Daryl’s stomach, where his shirt had risen slightly when he sat down. Your eyes were drawn to the trail of hair that led from his belly button downwards, something you couldn’t ignore, and the more you tried to focus on something else, the more your gaze kept drifting back to him.

Daryl shifted again, his eyes catching yours. "Got a problem or somethin'?"

You looked away quickly, feeling your heart race. "Nope."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, ya can't just sit there starin' at me like that."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He sighed, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright. What is it ya wanna say?"

You fidgeted around, trying to find the right words. "I just… I guess I'm curious about you. About who you are when you’re not out fighting walkers or scavenging for supplies."

Daryl stared at you, his eyes darkening slightly. "And maybe I don't see the point in talkin' 'bout that."

You shifted on the floor, your movements restless. "Maybe we could make this night less pointless."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. "What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I mean, we could talk about something else. Anything, really."

He studied you for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he broke the silence. "Alright, fine. What do ya wanna know?"

You nodded. "What about before all this? What did you do?"

He seemed to ponder the question before answering. "Didn’t do much beyond huntin'."

You smiled faintly, lost in thought. "Sounds like a simpler life."

"Simple don't mean easy," he answered back quickly, looking away again.

Without even thinking, you closed the distance between the two of you, your heart racing in your chest and your hands shaking just a little bit as you held them out to him. Why? You didn't really know it yourself. You just did.

"What're ya playin' at?" He growled and narrowed his eyes.

You didn't respond. You went down to your knees in front of him, your eyes locked on his and your fingers brushing against the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn't push you away. Instead, he watched you with curiosity.

"You like this?" You asked, your whisper barely audible over the far-off moans of the walkers outside.

Daryl's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. "What're ya tryin' to prove?"

You ignored his question, pressing your lips to his stomach in a matter of seconds. His skin was warm and slightly wet with salty sweat.

"Stop," he growled, but without conviction.

But you couldn't. You did not stop and continued to kiss and lick his stomach while your hands searched for every inch of his body. It was in the way his muscles twitched at your touch, the way his breath hitched—that really turned you on.

"You want this," you whispered, more a statement than a question.

Daryl's eyes blinked fast—part need, part hesitation. He was already at the edge, his breathing ragged, his eyes on you as if he willed himself to fight but failed.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice shaking. "Goddamn it… I want it."

That was all the motivation you needed. You reached out and placed your hand on Daryl's thigh, feeling him tense up slightly, but he still didn't pull away.

"I want to suck your cock," you whispered, your hand sliding up his thigh, closer to the bulge in his pants. As you reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle, he helped you with shaking hands.

You smiled up at him, your fingers soon enough wrapped around the base of his cock, and slowly you leaned forward and pressed your lips to slide over the tip.

You teased him with soft, slow kisses, using just the very tip of your tongue to outline his head. His moans were very low and almost barely audible, but they fueled your lust all the same when you licked off the pre-cum.

"Fuck!" Daryl gasped, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. "Just get on with it."

Your mouth opened wide, and you took him in almost immediately, starting with just the head and letting it slide slowly past your lips. It was almost too much, that feeling of his cock in your mouth, and so you pulled back a bit, swirling your tongue around the head before trying to take him in further.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl mumbled, his eyes closed, as he fought to hold on to some sort of control.

Your hand didn't stop stroking the part of his shaft that wasn't in your mouth, moving in rhythm with your lips and your tongue's movements.

Daryl's hips bucked involuntarily with short thrusts, and every time he pushed forward, you took him deeper, feeling your throat expand around him.

"Ya keep makin' me harder," he said, his voice breaking. 

"Good. I want you to be," you grinned around him, and without hesitation, you dove back down on him, taking him in as deep as you could.

"Fuck, keep goin'," he urged. "Ya gonna make me lose it."

You were more than happy to obey, and you quickened the pace of your movements, your mouth sliding up and down his cock. His hands were gripping your hair now, guiding you and pushing you to take him even deeper. His groans were getting louder, sounding more desperate, and you could tell he was close already.

"Jesus, I'm gonna cum," he moaned, his voice trembling. "Gonna blow my load."

You smirked around his cock, but you certainly didn't mean to let him come just yet. Drawing back a bit, you let your tongue slide along the underside of his cock before swirling around the sensitive skin just below its head.

Daryl groaned loudly, his body arching due to the ruined orgasm. "Fuck, don't stop," he pleaded, his hands gripping your hair tighter. "I'm so fuckin' close."

At those words, your lips parted slightly, teasingly, allowing a strand of spit to connect you to his cock before you leaned forward again, but not taking him fully into your mouth.

"Goddamn it," Daryl groaned, his hips bucking reflexively. "Don't play 'round."

But you continued teasing him, your tongue playing with the pre-cum, letting it gather in your mouth before you let it drip back onto his cock.

"Tease me like this," he gasped, "and I'm gonna go fuckin' crazy."

"You want more?" you asked. "You want me to make you come?"

Daryl nodded desperately, his eyes half-closed. "Yes, fuck yes."

Instead of giving him what he wanted, you pulled away once again and began to kiss and lick his cock from the base up, sliding your tongue around his shaft and softly nibbling on it as you moved slowly back up, paying careful attention to every inch of his throbbing cock.

"Shit," Daryl moaned, his hands gripping your hair harder. "Fuck, stop teasin' me."

His moans grew louder as you finally gave in to him, your tongue swirling around his cock like a snake, leaving nothing untouched. Daryl gripped your hair tighter, and his thrusts grew more insistent, pushing you further on his cock as you gagged on him, and you took him deeper still while you could feel his balls tightening and the base of his shaft tensing.

"I'm gonna come," he warns, but you don't stop. You want to taste him and feel him explode in your mouth. "Oh, fuck," he cried out again, his grip on your hair tightening as he cursed. "I'm gonna fuckin' come!"

You sucked hard and long, your tongue twisting around the ridge of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot beneath. With every suck, you could feel the pulsating veins in his shaft, and finally, Daryl came. His cock throbbed and pulsed in your mouth as he shot thick ropes of cum, filling your mouth with the salty, bitter taste of it.

You pulled off of him with a smirk, having swallowed the last of Daryl's cum, your lips glistening with the remaining drops before you wiped it off with the back of your hand.

"You okay?" You asked as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his stomach.

Daryl looked at you, a half-smile on his face as he met your gaze. "Yeah, I'm good."

You leaned in closer, letting your fingers explore the warm, sweaty skin of his belly. "So," you said, your voice playful, "since we're still trapped here, do you want to know what got us into this mess?"

Daryl's eyebrow arched upward in confusion. "What do ya mean?"

You pressed your lips lightly against his belly. "I was just thinking about how all this started. It was your belly that got me going in the first place."

Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, so that's why ya were starin', huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Your belly's kind of a big deal to me, but I can't really explain," you grinned up at him.

He smirked back in amusement. "Fine, if ya don't wanna."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No need to explain. Only appreciating the view."

"Well, don't get too distracted. We've still got loads of shit to do," he answered, getting up from the chair to prepare to take a quick look outside the window to see how many walkers are still outside and roaming around.

Brushing the dust off your clothes when you got up as well, you turned to Daryl with a little bit of a spark in your eyes. "By the way, Daryl, I hope this check-up was thorough enough for you."

He looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. "This check-up? What are ya talkin' about?" He asked, taking a step back from the window.

You smirked as you got closer again, both your hands running over his belly one more time. "Well, considering how things went down, I think we both should consider this our routine maintenance from now on, don't you think?"

Daryl's eyes widened for a second before he suddenly let out a small laugh. "A routine maintenance, huh? Alright. But next time, maybe we'll save the check-ups for a safer time. Now, get ya ass up and follow me."

"Deal. But I gotta say, I'm looking forward to the next routine check-up already," you laughed, following him to the door and closing it slowly behind you.

[leighsartworks216]

The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

[pacentia]

Title: Forest Lovers

Pairing: (established relationship) slightly dom non-ascended!Astarion x reader WITH VOYEUR GALE

Setting: act 3 beginning, right after shadow cursed lands

Word count: 2,218

Tags: voyeuristic Gale, bloodsucking, vaginal sex, forest sex, pussy eating, L-bombs, body worship, slightly sad Gale

Synopsis: Gale wonders where his Muse (reader) went off to. Stumbles upon her fucking Astarion in the woods 🫠

Author's note: some random ass ideas come into my head in the middle of the night. Couldn't let go of it so I had to write it down lmaoo - please enjoy

It was nice - being out in pure sunlight again after spending God knows how long in the Shadow Cursed Lands. Gale never thought about missing cobblestone streets beneath his feet, the vibrancy of Rivington made him feel alive again. It wasn't his tower in Waterdeep, nor his very own study - cuddling with Tara, but this would do. And, it would all be over soon, according to the pack leader, because she would take the fight to the Elder Brain. 

Gale admired her for quite some time, well - ever since he set eyes on her after stumbling out of that damned broken portal. He had dropped some hints here and there, but she never quite fully indulged him in his desires. She remained so incredibly kind and supportive though - for everyone - during their long journey. 

The vampire Astarion had her heart a thousand times. It's the way she looked at him, and the way the broken man softened in her company that Gale knew these two were soulmates, destined for each other. It felt bittersweet - watching them kiss in public. Hold hands. Embrace each other around the campfire. Of course, if she preferred somebody cold and undead - that was entirely her choice. 

The night before the party would venture forth to Baldur's Gate - Astarion and her were nowhere to be found. Not present in each of their tents, nor in the campsite. Gale felt a little concerned because of that, because tomorrow was a big day and everyone needed a well deserved rest. Who knows what overcame her - the woman he cared for so deeply. And so the wizard cast an invisibility spell and ventured deeper into the nearby forest.

Gentle moonlight cast over the forest and the stars shone bright that night. It was quiet and calm, the two nowhere to be seen nor heard until -

Two completely bared souls entwined in one another, passionately kissed in the middle of the forest, no place left untouched on their bodies. The silver haired vampire and his muse. Gale's muse. 

His jaw went slack from surprise and he suddenly felt greatly inappropriate for stumbling onto this incredibly private moment but… 

Gale just couldn't look away, respectfully, of course. Her body had the likes of a true Goddess - his imagination before had done him so wrong. She was even more beautiful than in his wildest dreams. Astarion was… surprisingly gentle with her. His hold on her was protective and firm but the kisses that he planted on her lips, cheeks and breasts were so soft.

Gale, you damned pervert. He complained to himself, pinching his brow. He could leave now, and forever hold his tongue or he could just… Watch just a few more seconds.

Her fingers wrapped around Astarion's aching hard cock - Hells, the man was big - and started teasing him playfully. The vampire reciprocated - wetted his long, pale digits on his tongue and pleasured her beautiful pussy. Gale swallowed, unaware that he was pitching a huge tent in his purple robes.

"Oh sweet darling…" The vampire moaned in absolute pleasure, burying his head full of untamed silver curls in her neck. She just pulled him into the most amorous embrace as she closed her eyes, lips slightly parted as she felt her vampire's fangs graze her neck. This made her moan in delight - of course - as she was bloodless every damned day.  Her hand gently caressed Cazador's scars on his sculpted back while her other hand worked  his erection. 

"I need you, Astarion." She voiced needily, her feminine hips bucking into the vampire's cold touch. "Need you inside me… Please…" 

Gale swallowed - feeling too hot in his robes right there. He just fantasized he was in Astarion's place, feeling her magic hands work his own cock - making him twitch in the process. Astarion was going to take her right there, on the soft bed of overgrown grass, next to their pile of clothes.

It's as if he had chosen the perfect spot. Astarion had guided her down gently, her legs spread out incredibly wide before her lover. Gale could see the glistening of her folds - how completely drenched she was for her vampire. Delicious, it looked. 

Astarion's hands caressed her perfect body. Breasts, hips. Kissed inside of her thighs - working his way up to her toned calves until her feet. He worshipped her like a real Goddess. As he should. A sweet smile spread across her face as she watched Astarion show how much he desired her. 

"I love you." She confessed sweetly, completely spread in front of him. It's the way her eyes shone with adoration that you could tell she really meaned it. She's completely in love with her vampire. Goodness, Gale never anticipated being hurt by seeing the scenario unfold before his voyeuristic eyes, a sharp tightening in his chest overtaking him. Neverminding his obvious pain, Gale continued watching.

The vampire then lowered his head to her sex, and pressed a soft kiss on her clitoris. Dripping wet, needy for him. "My sweetheart, I love you more than anything." The vampire whispered, kissing her folds again with such careful love. Her hands sunk into his silver curls, letting her head fall back in the grass. Astarion utterly devoured her, nuzzling into her sex, licked her until she was a squirming mess. He suckled on her sensitive bud, gently sinking two of his cold fingers deep inside her. 

Gale just needed to watch this a little closer. So he could really admire her angelic pussy. Study how she liked to be pleasured - learn from… Astarion's seduction. He inched further, so that he watch in detail how Astarion licked and fingered her. 

Astarion's fingers gently dipped in and out of her drenched folds, his tongue swiping back and forth over her clitoris. His sharp fangs were bared, reminding her what he truly was - her vampire. Everyone knew at camp that this excited her incredibly, eager to feel his fangs dig into her neck every night. God's, she was so sinful.

"Star… I'm… close..!" She warned him, one hand tangled in his silver curls, the other one gripping onto the grass soil beside her. Her legs were shaking, hips bucking while Astarion expertly pleasured her. "Then cum, my love. On my lips." The vampire ordered.

What a sight it was to behold, her body coming down from such an incredible high. His name was on her lips like a melody as she shivered in her lover's hold. Gale knew he should leave right now - but then Astarion just climbed over her body, and guided his dripping hard cock inside her drenched pussy. Fuck. He could just. Not. Look. Away. 

"Did you enjoy that, sweet love?" Astarion whispered, sinking as deep as possible into her. He didn't even falter in his speech - Gale would've surely have. 

"Y-yes, my love… God's - forgot how… big you were…" Immediately she enclasped her legs around his waist, the aftershocks of her orgasm begging the vampire to get deeper inside her. Her arms clung around his back, holding his scars ever so gently. Astarion chuckled at her response, "How dare you, darling?" The man smirked. "But you do remember how - good - it felt?" Emphasizing the words with the rhythm of his vigorous hips, the vampire pumped into her unrelentingly, chasing after his own orgasm. 

"Y-yes Astarion - fuck… Your cock feels incredible…You're so big, so powerful, so beautiful…" She gasped, her pretty moans bellowed deep into the forest. Astarion seemed to enjoy her praise, rewarding her with kisses, licks and nuzzles. 

Gale's trousers were completely soaked in his own pleasure - how could he not - watching such a beautiful woman reach her high out in the open. He figured he was too far gone already and sneaked his fingers under his robe - cupping himself - until he decided to take out his own length and stroke himself. He still had to concentrate on casting his invisibility, if he'd fail - he figured he'd just explode his Netherese orb.

"Will you get on your pretty hands and knees for me, sweet darling? I want to feel you as deep as possible, please…" Astarion sighed in pleasure, ragged breath overtaking him when he stopped thrusting. She nodded heavily, just carrying out whatever her vampire needed. God's how devoted she was to him, completely wrapped around his finger. She shifted her body exactly as Astarion asked - and the hungry man immediately mounted her like a horny stallion. 

Certainly, he had read this in one of his lewd novels in his library, but he'd never seen such lust up close, nor experienced it for himself . Mystra never let him.

Astarion growled like a beast, thrusting every inch of him inside her wet cunt. Eventually he pulled her into his lap, pumping up inside of her. She was completely on display for Gale, breasts swinging, Astarion's hands roamed her delicate body, until he swept her hair from beautiful neck, and wrapped his hand around her throat. 

"Darling, your blood smells so delicious tonight…" He moaned, inhaling the scent of her neck, grazing his fangs over previous puncture wounds from his own teeth. 

Gale swallowed, pleasuring his cock faster, harder. He was about to witness him setting his fangs into her - God's, wouldn't that hurt her? She seemed even more eager than before, rubbing herself, arching her neck more - she wanted it desperately. Longing for him to mark her as his.

"Ask me, sweet darling. What do you need?" Astarion teased, his hands digging into her breasts, using them as leverage for his thrusts. "Tell me what you so desperately crave." 

She giggled at his statement, teasing him right back, "Love, aren't you the one who's starved? You crave my blood." 

Astarion's wits seemed to fail him, and buried his face in her neck. "Darling, do not play with me like that… I'm incredibly hungry - Starved, if you will." He continued kissing her neck, dragging his tongue over the pulsing arteries and veins. "You know I'm a very dangerous vampire, and your jugular is right next to me." He teased playfully.

She giggled at his lighthearted intimidation, turned her face to stare into his deep red eyes. "Then bite, Astarion. My blood is yours." 

Nothing the vampire liked hearing more as he continued to pound into her, only now - he latched onto her neck, and buried his fangs deeply. She visibly winced in his hold, obviously in pain as Astarion sucked her blood out. So this is what she's been going through almost every evening since meeting the vampire near the Grove. Gale's cock twitched at the sight before him, close to own climax. All of this was so private, intimate. She willingly surrendered her neck to the vampire with such love.

"God's, s-so… delicious…" Astarion whined in bliss, his hips starting to give out - thrusts becoming erratic. Her body initially freezed against him - until a few gulps of blood later, she started feeling dizzy, two taps onto his thigh stopped his bloodthirsty urges.

Astarion released with a growl, bloody fangs bared, his chin and lips tainted with her hot, red blood. Drunk on her, he lapped up the remnants on her neck, kissing her, holding onto her for dear life. "So f-fucking delicious, darling. I -I'm close." Astarion panted as he grit his teeth like a beast, blood dripping from his chin, his tongue licking the remnants of his chin. 

Nothing had prepared Gale for her desperate pleading. 

"Please, Astarion… Fill my cunt, need your cum deep inside - please, cum!" 

Gale wrapped one hand around his mouth, shutting himself up as he spilled all over the woodland ground, silencing his heavy breath watching their lovemaking end.

Astarion erupted deep inside of her perfect cunt - God's how Gale wished he was the one absolutely filling her to the brim. The vampire growled, pumping her full of his essence, tongue licking the remnants of blood off of her neck. Astarion was a filthy, filthy man - Gale remarked. Well, he had already anticipated that from all of his quirky mannerisms and slick talk.

The couple lay spent on the grass, cuddling in the afterglow of their pleasures, looking up to the stars.

"Need this everyday, Astarion. It's been too long." She whispered, and he rolled over on his side, gently caressing her stomach. 

"Well, we can do it everyday now, darling." The vampire smirked, pressing a small kiss against her cheek. In turn, she wiped a streak of blood off of his chin, and made him suck her finger clean. Astarion indulged her with the greatest pleasure - as long as blood was involved. Gale didn't know why that made his cock stir.

The two cleaned themselves up, and he made notice on how she wiped her cunt with a particular cloth, throwing it away in the bushes - well - wouldn't it be a shame to… let it go uninspected later? They got dressed again in their camp clothes, joked some more and left.

The couple walked hand in hand right past Gale, still invisible of course - until Astarion stopped his footsteps to take in the air.

"What is it lover, did you hear a squirrel you could feed on?" She grinned, to which the vampire playfully poked her.

"Worse, darling. It smells like… Gale here. Well, nevermind." 

Gale had never gone red so badly in his entire life.

[rexecutioner]

Vylad design and Shadow Knight Headcannons!!

Work in progress Vylad design!! I based him loosely off of an enderman (referencing that one awesome post)

i’m still working of fleshing out my art style so its really inconsistent at the moment lol

I also included a fun hc i have and that is that Shadow Knights when they turn into their SK form, the scar from what killed them pulsates and glows, and looks very angry and red and unnatural (Sasha is a fun case, her whole body sort of glows and her hands and arms are completely covered in burn scars, Laurance’s look like metal burns from chains scattered all across his body, but his don’t glow as much because he “died” in the nether, not naturally outside of it, ect)

Also, Shadow Knights have a naturally high body temperature, which Garroth, Dante and Aphmau definitely took advantage of on their “trip”.

Shadow Knights cannot digest food normally, as it just burns up in their body. They do not really have many working organs anyways,(they just kinda sit there) as they are undead. You can still kill premature Shadow Knights, as they do still have blood and wacky ass hearts, but Shadow Knights that have killed their target are un-killable to our knowledge.

A Shadow Knight’s armor is part of them, like a shell of sorts. It is removable, but it's really painful for both the Knight and the person removing it due to how hot it is. No two Shadow Knights have the same armor pattern, it’s alway different in some way, and the patterns can change over time and accomplishments.

More black on a Shadow Knight’s armor usually means they are more level headed, calm, or non violent, though this isn’t always the case. Premature Shadow Knights armor is also usually more black than red, signifying that they haven’t killed many people, if any at all. More red usually means they are more threatening, more experienced, and more dangerous. The armor always has to have at least a little of both. Zenix’s armor is mostly bright red with black undertones, while Laurance’s is mostly black with darker red streaks here and there. Gene and Sasha’s armor are similar, with about an even amount of both, with Gene’s having many jagged blood red strips everywhere, meanwhile Sasha’s fades into a gradient of slightly darker red. Vylad’s armor is also about the same, with a black base and red undertones, but the red on his armor is more desaturated and dull in patterns of light swirls. The red on a Shadow Knight’s armor shines more clearly in the Nether, almost glowing. (Zenix is an eyesore to everyone but Laurance, and only because his eyesight fucking sucks now)

You may be asking, “but Rex, why isn’t Gene’s armor fully red? He’s an actual monster!” To which I say Shadow Knights alway start out with a base color of armor, which is usually black. Zenix is an exception, his base color was red. It’s purely based on chance. The armor usually stays around the same color unless the individual ranks up (kills a lot of people). Gene gained many darker red shades over time, making them harder to see thanks to them blending into his black base, and almost his entire armor is actually a really dark red dappled with blood red streaks.

Will be continuing later!!! I have so many headcanons lol i might draw the armors

[jellieland]

Bdubs is more than familiar with the sound of a ticking clock. Oh BOY does he know the sound of a ticking clock. He has experience, you know.

It's a little different, though, when it's His Clock.

It looks just like the other clocks he has. Just like the first clock he had.

But the face, instead of showing when night turns to day, shows a number that is slowly getting smaller.

And it ticks very loudly.

No one else seems to hear it, though.

They have just started to get set up on the rocky mountain that they haven't come up with a proper name for yet when he asks Scar and Cleo about theirs.

"No no no, clocks are your thing Bdubs." Scar says airily. "I do other things. Like have monopolies and enchanting tables and things like that."

Cleo sighs. "Scar, have you really not looked at your clock yet?" At his confused face, they give him a long-suffering look. "It should be in your pocket."

Scar puts a hand in his pocket and pulls something out, looking delighted. "Wait, I get one too?" He holds it up and peers at it. "Oh, and I don't even have to read any numbers on it! Wow, this'll probably be useful at some point." He looks thoughtful. "I wonder if I could try to sell it to someone?"

"Well??" Asks Bdubs impatiently. "Are you gonna show us or not?"

"Oh yes, of course!" Scar holds it up.

It's different.

It's a very ornate hourglass, with some pieces set into it that look to Bdubs like gold. There is no number to read. No ticking to be heard. The sand drains steadily from top to bottom, falling resolutely one way even as Scar tilts it until it's horizontal, which he looks a bit disappointed about.

"That looks real fancy." Scar gets a thoughtful expression on his face. "I wonder if I could get the sand out if we need some to make something?"

"You are not using the sand of your life in a crafting recipe." Cleo says, which is a shame because Bdubs really wanted to see him try it.

Cleo squints at the hourglass, and points to the gold inlay. "Scar," They say, in a tone that suggests they know the answer to the question they're about to ask, "Is that pyrite?"

Scar and Bdubs exchange glances, and shrug.

"Pyrite?" At the blank looks, she continues. "You know. Fools gold?"

"Cleo!" Scar gasps, apparently deeply offended. "How could you say such a thing!"

"Ah yes!" Says Bdubs. "Fools gold. I knew it was that as soon as I laid eyes on it, of course. Only a fool would think otherwise!"

"Scar, I'm not saying that-" She pauses, and seems to consider. "No, you know what, nevermind." She turns to look at Bdubs, and raises an eyebrow. "And you did, did you?"

"Um. Anyway!" He says hurriedly. "What about your clock, Cleo?"

She looks at him for a moment longer, laughs slightly, and shrugs. "Yeah alright." She pulls out something that looks sort of like a stopwatch.

They present it to Scar and Bdubs.

The number ticks down.

"Nothing too fancy." They say. "Although apparently whoever's in charge of these likes to think they're funny." They flip it over. There's an inscription on the back.

"Memento Mori." He reads.

She smirks. "Remember you must die."

Maybe it's his imagination, but Bdubs could swear that he hears his clock tick a little louder.

Scar frowns. "Why is that-" He appears to abruptly remember Cleo's undead nature. "-ohhhhh. Riiiiight."

---

When he is chosen, it is really quite familiar.

The ticking is so loud that he can barely hear anyone else at all, until he sinks his axe into someone's back.

That's familiar too.

[viennacherries]

QUOTH THE RAVEN - CHAPTER 3

Rolan/Tav | NSFW | 5,210 words

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

after more than a month and probably 6 rewrites it's finally here! sorry for the wait but i hope it was worth it <3

~

As you drift into consciousness, you slowly become aware that you and Rolan have moved in the night. You fell asleep side by side, with a polite distance between the two of you. Now? Now, you’re pressed so close together that a sheet of parchment wouldn't slide between you, his chest pressed up against your back in a way that has your body rocking with every breath he takes as the air rushes past your ear. One of his arms is crossed over your waist, the comforting weight of it radiating warmth. The other is tucked beneath your neck, with his wrist bent at an angle in front of your face to hook his fingertips and yours together in a loose hold. His tail is wound around your ankle, and you feel the pointed tip of it brushing against your other leg as it moves with his breathing.

Your face flushes as the full force of your situation hits you. These tender moments cause you to unravel an embarrassing amount, especially considering you nearly rode him in the middle of the cursed wilderness just about a day ago. It just feels different when you’re not fuelled by mortal peril and trying not to freeze to death, you suppose.

You shift slightly, and he lets out a sigh in his sleep and tightens his hold on you. The heat in your cheeks is searing and all you can do is bury your face into Rolan’s arm beneath you and try to stifle your laughter.

How the hells did your life become this? Traipsing through cursed lands, fighting cults and various undead creatures, with a tadpole in your brain and a tiefling as a personal heater?

You have to give Rolan some credit, though. You’ve never felt more rested. The aches and pains in your body have dulled almost completely, and you’re reasonably sure if you check all that will be left of the wound on your side is a scar. It’s impressive work for a low-level healing spell, and you’re reasonably sure that's the best sleep you’ve had in months. You’re not sure how much of that is the healing, and how much is Rolan’s presence, but regardless you owe him thanks.

“What are you chuckling about?”

His voice is husky and rough with sleep, and the timbre of it causes a fuzzy feeling to race through your stomach.

“Nothing, really.”

He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you feel his nose tracing the shell of your ear.

“Very convincing, however for some reason I don’t seem to believe you.” His words come out lower and richer than usual, and you shiver involuntarily.

“I was just thinking about how insane my life has become these last few months.” You pause. “And about how warm you are.”

He laughs at that, a soft rasped snicker that has his breath tickling the hairline above your ear. “I told you before, tieflings run hot. It's a blessing and a curse at times, though admittedly more of a blessing when one finds themselves in a region shrouded in a supernatural chill.”

You nod gently, humming in agreement thoughtfully, and a silence stretches between you both for a while before he speaks again.

“Are you… Is this… Okay?”

You snort at that, “is it okay that I’m wrapped up warm in the arms of a dashing gentleman? I suppose I can deal with it.”

He chuckles again, and tucks his face down into your neck. You can hear the embarrassment lacing his words as he speaks them into your skin, “Gods, is this what I get for trying to be polite?”

You laugh and lift your hand that's resting underneath you against the mattress, interlocking your fingers with his where they rest against your hip. “I’m comfortable as long as you are.”

“I suppose I’m amenable to the situation.” His tone gives the impression he’s a man suffering, but you can feel his soft smile against your neck. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Thank you.”

You feel his brow furrow in confusion where it’s pressed against you.

“For what?”

“For yesterday. Looking after me.”

“Oh right. Well,” you feel him shrug, “it’s about time I did something for you, isn’t it? Other than giving you a migraine, that is.”

You bark out a laugh at that, “either way, thank you. I feel amazing. You’ve healed things I didn't even know were hurting.”

“What can I say?” He smirks against your neck. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”

You’re sure he knows exactly what he’s doing, but it sends a bolt of heat through you regardless.

“Do you mind if I turn over?”

He answers by loosening his hold on you, pulling back enough that you can roll onto your other side and face him.

Gods. He really is beautiful. You wonder idly if he actually realises it. The strong, sharp line of his jaw, the freckles mottling his red complexion, and the vibrant yellow of his eyes that reminds you of sunflowers and honey. His gaze darts across your face, and you’re desperate to know what he sees when he looks at you. Desperate to know if his heart rate picks up the way yours does when the pair of you are this close.

It's him that breaks the silence. “You’re feeling better, then?”

You nod, “much, thank you. I appreciate it.”

He rolls his eyes, “I meant it, Tav, it was the least I could do. I’ve been rotten to you, and you saved us.”

“You don't owe me anything, you know.”

He shakes his head resolutely, “on the contrary, I owe you absolutely everything.” He brings his hand up to your face and runs his thumb gently along the apple of your cheek. His eyes are locked with yours, and when he speaks there's a slight shake to his voice. “You saved me, then my family. Gods, you-” he cuts himself off with a scoff, “I owe you more than I could ever possibly repay you in one lifetime.”

“You don’t have to repay me. I like helping the people I care about.”

An emotion you can't place flashes in his eyes, and they flick between both of yours as he analyses you.

“You care about me?”

You feel yourself flush. “Obviously.”

A disbelieving smile spreads across his face, his eyes lighting up with joy. “Well, now I owe you even more than before, because I’m quite sure I’m the happiest man this side of the Realms.”

You can't help but laugh, “well, if you’re dead set on showing me your gratitude, I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he smirks.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

He laughs, and then he’s leaning in and you’re kissing. It's the same slow dance as before, a gentle caress of lips and tongues that has heat pooling in your gut. When you bring your hands up to rest against his chest you can feel his heartbeat hammering through it, and it fills you with need. Knowing you have that effect on him, that you make him as nervous and excited as he makes you? It’s almost too much to bear.

You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and the noise that he makes is an obscene moan from low in his stomach. His hand drops from your face to your hip, pulling you against him, and you feel the weight of his hard length push up against your thigh. It has you clenching your legs together with need and kissing him deeper, trying to pry more noises from him. When you roll your hips forward you're rewarded for your efforts with a whine from his throat, his grip on your hip tightening.

Untying the laces at the top of his shirt is simple, loosening them enough to expose some of his chest to you, and you pull back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted slightly as he tries to catch his breath, and his eyes are dark now. They're nearly all black with how dilated his pupils are, eclipsing the yellow of his iris.The exposed skin of his chest is dusted with freckles just like his cheeks, and you trail your eyes along the sternal ridges beneath them. He smiles sheepishly.

“Another joy of my infernal heritage.” The words come out dry, slightly bitter, and you can practically see the self-deprecating thoughts swimming behind his eyes.

“You’re beautiful, Rolan.”

He laughs humourlessly, rolling his eyes and leaning back in to kiss you, but you put a finger to his lips and push him away gently. His brow furrows in confusion.

“I mean it. You’re beautiful.”

He looks up at you, his gaze analytical and calculating as ever, eyes wide as he stares at you in barely contained disbelief. You shake your head and laugh incredulously.

It’s easy enough, with his attention focused on deciphering your words, to push him into his back and straddle his hips. The sudden movement punches a gasp from him, and his hands grab onto your hips as if searching for purchase. You lean forward and press your lips to his forehead. When you speak, you do so right there against his skull, as if it’ll help his brain absorb your words and commit them to memory.

“You’re beautiful. You were beautiful when I met you in the Grove-”, you move to kiss his temple, “-you were beautiful when I found you in those shadows-”, your lips hover over his, your hair creating a curtain around the pair of you, shielding you from the rest of the world. “-and you’re especially beautiful now.”

When you meet his lips in a heated, full kiss, the noise that leaves him is closer to a sob than anything else. His grip on your hips tightens as he fumbles to pull you closer, and you feel your own heartbeat pound in your chest. When you separate for air, words spill from him in desperate waves, like a river breaching it’s bank after a flood.

“Gods, Tav, you- you’re so- how do you always- Hells.” He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, before burying his face in your neck and kissing gently along the length of it between words. “I haven't- I don’t deserve it. I don't deserve to have you like this. I want you so desperately it hurts but- Gods you’re so- you’re perfect and I’m just-”

You grind your hips down on his, his erection pushing deliciously against you between the layers of clothes, silencing his rambling as he tosses his head back with a groan and screws his eyes shut.

“Well I’m here. And I want you.” You grind your hips down on his again, a long drag that has his breath stuttering. “So what are you going to do about it?”

His eyes snap open to meet yours, and you watch in real time as his gaze hardens. He grips your hips tightly and in one twisting movement he’s switched your positions, your head against the pillow as he towers over you. The gasp that leaves you has a smug grin tugging its way onto his lips, and he leans down slowly to whisper against your mouth.

“I’m going to make sure you never want anyone else again.”

His tone is lower than usual, and it shudders through you as he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that has you gasping and writhing beneath him. When he grinds his hips down you arch your back, desperate for whatever friction you can gain. It has him smirking and sighing into the kiss. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking gently on it, the points of his canines pinching the skin, and a whine wrenches its way up from the pit of your stomach. He breathes it in, swallows it, sucks harder as if your noises are the oxygen he needs to breathe.

His fingertips trace along the hem of your shirt, his knuckles just barely grazing your stomach, and even that light contact of his skin against yours has your pulse racing. He breaks the kiss and his eyes meet yours. There’s a silent question in them, which you’re sure he already knows the answer to, but he asks anyway.

“May I?”

You don’t trust your voice, so instead you just nod, and he slowly starts to peel the fabric upwards. His pace is torturously unhurried, to the point that by the time your naked torso is exposed to him you’re practically vibrating with anticipation. He notices, because of course he does, and the self-satisfied smirk that crawls onto his face shows you just how much he’s enjoying it.

He raises one hand to cup your breast and palms it gently. The air in the room is cold, but his touch is warm as always, and the contrast has you sucking in a breath.

“Look at you.” His tone is reverent. “You’re divine, Tav, you know that? All power and glory and incredible beauty, and yet you’re here in bed with me. I should think I’m dreaming.”

His words have your heart squeezing. Of course he’s a romantic.

“I won't be in bed with you much longer if you don’t start touching me properly.”

He barks out a laugh. “Oh yes, I forgot to mention impatient, didn’t I?” He leans forward, ghosting his lips against yours. “So eager. So greedy.”

He punctuates his sentence with a brisk tweak of your nipple, and a moan punches its way out of you as your spine arches into his touch. It spins him into action, and suddenly his fingers are incessant in their movements, caressing and rubbing and twisting the sensitive buds on your chest with both of his hands until the skin is puckered and tense beneath his touch. His lips find their way to your neck, sucking and teasing with light scrapes of his canines.

Every touch shoots through you, and if it wasn't for the fact that his mouth and hands are incredibly occupied, you’d think he’s casting a spell on you. It’s a different kind of magic; a different energy enveloping you than that of the cloak of the weave. It’s warm and fuzzy and it smells like sandalwood, it creeps into your pores with every caress of his skin against yours, and not for the first time around him you feel yourself slipping over a line you know you won't be able to cross back over. His lips slide down the column of your throat, inching towards your collarbone, and it feels like he’s working his way directly to your heart. Like he’s going to stroke and kiss and caress his way right into the deepest part of your aorta and make a home in the middle of it.

You know it that moment that you’ll let him.

When his tongue laps over your nipple you keen and buck your hips, but he anticipates the movement and pins your hip down with a hand before you can get any kind of friction against him. It wrenches another noise from you and he makes an approving sound around his mouthful of your sensitive skin, grinding himself down against your thigh in a way that's maddening. He replaces his mouth with his hand and lifts himself up, staring down at you with so much emotion in his eyes it almost hurts to meet his gaze.

“Hells, Tav…” His voice is strained, breathless, and the sound of it sends more heat flooding through you. “Gods above, you’re perfect. Writhing and shaking for me already. I’ll make you feel so good, darling. Let me, please? Please?”

You can’t help a breathless laugh, which turns into a stuttered moan as he scratches his nails gently over your nipple. “You already are.”

He shakes his head, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. “I want to do more. I need to. I need to make you cum around my hands and against my mouth and-” He cuts himself with a stumbling breath, brushing the side of his nose up against your own. “Can I have you, Tav? Please? Can I have all of you?”

You bring your hands up to his cheeks, pull him back just enough so you can look in his eyes. His gaze is hungry and desperate, a silent plea to match his verbal one. The words slip from you easily.

“You have me, Rolan. I’m yours.”

His breath hitches, his eyes darting between yours.

“Say it again.”

Your heart hammers against your chest.

“I’m yours, Rolan.”

The force of his kiss knocks the breath out of you, and it’s all tongue and passion as he pulls gasping breaths from you, sliding his hands down over your sides. His lips slip away, nipping and kissing their way over your jaw, your neck, your chest, your stomach. With every breath he makes more promises into your skin, promises to make you feel good, thanks you for the privilege, and you feel drunk on it. As he descends down your body, he strips you of your bottoms, and they disappear somewhere over his shoulder that neither of you particularly care to pay attention to.

He spreads your legs gently, peeling them apart with a reverence you’re sure he usually reserves for his most precious tomes. He spreads you wide, open before him, and his eyes trace you like words on a page he’s trying to memorise. Bared wide to his gaze, you feel suddenly nervous, but then he’s trailing a finger along your slit so softly it’s barely there and you stop thinking.

“I’d like to taste you, if that's okay?”

You nod eagerly, and a mischievous look flickers across his face.

“Strange, I’m certain I remember you speaking the common tongue before. I’m quite sure I can’t touch you further without your verbal assent-”

“Gods, please.”

As much as he seems to enjoy teasing you, he evidently isn't interested in wasting any more time. He lowers his mouth down to your core and, with a tentative touch, presses his mouth against your clit.

Rolan gives head like he practices his spellcraft. He’s methodical and purposeful in every movement, learning how to wrench unintelligible streams of babbled praise and gasping breaths from you. When he flattens his tongue and drags it hard against your clit your whole body spasms with the lightning hot pleasure, and he grips onto your hips and does it again and again until all coherent thoughts have melted out of your ears and into the puddle he’s making of you on the mattress. You gasp and choke on your own tongue as he uses his to take you apart.

Your climax crashes through you before you can warn him, but he doesn't falter. He laps at you hungrily, stroking you through every shudder of your orgasm as if he’s spent months in the desert and you’re the only spring for miles. All the air has left your chest and you gasp greedily as his movements bring you to the edge of overstimulation.

When he lifts his head, his lips and chin glisten with your slick. His eyes are blown wide in arousal, his hair tousled and messy, his shirt unlaced to the centre of his sternum and pulled in awkward angles to expose flashes of his skin. He brings a hand up and wipes the back of it across his chin, looks down at the mess it leaves with an expression somewhere between pride and fervour, like he craves more even as your legs quake with the force of the orgasm he pulled from you.

“Rolan.” Your voice is breathless and desperate even to your own ears, but you muster as much strength into it as you can. “Fuck me.”

A shiver runs its way down his spine, and he pulls his shirt up and off of his torso in one fluid movement before moving straight to the laces at his breeches.

“It would be my pleasure.”

He covers your body with his carefully, skin pressing against skin as you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. His breath is staccatoed, betraying his anticipation, and when you hook a leg up and around his hip he gasps.

His eyes look into yours, so soft and tender that your heart flutters. He brings a hand up to your cheek, traces the skin below your eye reverently, follows it around and trails his fingers into your hair. His nails scrape against your scalp, gentle and loving as he holds you as if you’re precious.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

He swallows hard. “That I’m important to you. That you're mine. Did you mean that?”

His eyes are so hopeful, but you can see the uncertainty there; like he’s expecting you to take it back. You bring a hand up to his face and he leans into the touch greedily.

Another night, you’ll show him just how much he means to you. Another night, you’ll take him apart until he forgets he ever had to ask. For now, you pray your word is enough.

“I meant it. Every word.”

His breath stutters again, and he leans down to press his forehead against yours.

“Then I’m yours. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

The head of his cock catches on your entrance and you both gasp in tandem. When he presses into your heat he does it so slowly, so gently, and every inch of his length is lined with ridges that drag along your walls maddeningly. The stretch of him burns in a way that’s almost too painful, and yet you still need more. He makes shallow, testing thrusts to help ease the rest of his shaft into you, and the friction as his ridges catch against you steals your breath as your skull swims with pleasure.

When he’s fully seated inside you, the heavy weight of his balls pressing against your ass and his tail wrapped tight around your calf, he pauses his movements. The sound of both of your panting breaths fills the otherwise silent, still air of the room. His hand in your hair is still gentle, but his other hand has an iron grip on your hip, his nails pinching the flesh there.

He buries his face in your neck and takes deep, steadying breaths. You feel your forehead crease with concern.

“Rolan? Are you okay?”

His words come through gritted teeth. “Yes. It’s just- I’m just-” He takes a deep breath. “You’re so tight. I just need a second.”

You smirk, though he can't see it.

“Does it feel good?”

He scoffs breathlessly, lifting his head to look at you with a withering look. “You’re joking, right? Yes, Tav, you feel fucking incredib-”

You cut him off with a tight clench of your walls around him and his words dissolve into a gasping and choked moan. His hips slam into you of their own violation and you gasp as you feel the head of his cock hit your cervix.

When he meets your eyes again, the tenderness is gone from his gaze.

“You.” His hands find your hips, clenching tight, and he rocks all the way out of you before slamming his hips back into you. The pleasure shoots through you and you grasp onto him anywhere you can for stability; his hip, his shoulder, his forearm. “You are a fucking minx.”

He repeats the movement, pulling out and slamming into you, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t even begin to try and reply to him as more words spill from his lips.

“Fuck - you drive me absolutely insane, you know that? Ever since I- ever since- since you stuck your nose in at the Grove. Hells. You occupy all of my fucking thoughts, Tav. You terrify me and you put me in my place and I love it- fuck, you feel so good.”

His words flow through you, sinking into your muscles and swimming through your blood vessels like they’re cells that keep you going, and you know in this moment there’s no going back to a life before this. Before loving him.

“Please don’t stop, Rolan, holy hells please don’t- fuck!”

He slides his arms underneath you, hooking his hands over your shoulders and pulling you down onto his cock even harder. You’re so full of him and every ridge on his body is rubbing against yours, and he’s pressing his face into your neck and placing open mouthed kisses there as he fights for breath against his own thrusts. He’s whispering into your throat but you can’t make out the words over the sound of rushing blood in your ears, the wet slapping of his skin against yours, the harmony of both of your breathless moans. His skin is hot under your hands, his muscles tensing and rippling below them as he uses his whole body to pull you together as deep as he can. He nips at your lobe, and you gasp and tense up, and you feel his dick twitch inside of you as he groans against the shell of your ear.

“Tav, I’m close, I don't-” there’s an edge of panic to his voice.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I want it. Please don’t stop.”

He bites into the meat of your shoulder to stifle the noise he makes at your words, a loud whimper that has goosebumps rising along your skin, and untangles one of his arms from you, snakes it between your bodies and presses it hard against your clit. With a choked gasp, your second orgasm of the evening wrenches through your whole body, sending spasms and shivers throughout your core as you tense around his shaft.

Rolan splutters a gasping moan at the feeling of you clenching around his length, and his hips falter in their rhythm. His movement is frantic, snapping and twitching and desperate as he chases his own release. With an abrupt shout, and another bite down onto your shoulder, you feel him spill himself inside of you, his cock twitching with every rope of spend as it paints your walls.

You don’t know how long you both lay there, his dick slowly softening inside you as you gasp for air, but eventually he lets out an uncomfortable groan and rolls to the side. The mixture of his seed and your own slick spills out of you as he does, and the puddle that it creates below you pulls you back to reality.

“Rolan, can you…?”

You glance sidelong at him where he lays on his back beside you, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. He opens just the eye closest to you, looks sideways at you through it, and with a wave of his hand and a muttered incantation you feel the sticky warmth evaporate, leaving only the tingling feeling of the weave in its wake. He casts another spell, and the ache in your hips from the angle he held you at dissipates. You sigh in relief.

A silence falls over the two of you. It’s such a stark contrast to moments that came before that you can't help feeling slightly awkward, exposed in a way that makes you shift uncomfortably.

“Rolan, I-”

“That was-”

You turn your head to look at him, and he does the same. Your eyes meet, and there’s a long pause before you both burst into laughter.

It breaks whatever discomfort had been lingering. Rolan turns to face you, an elbow propping up his head so he can look at you properly.

It’s him that speaks again first.

“That was incredible. You-” he shakes his head, chuckles to himself. “You’re incredible.”

He brings a hand out to rest on your stomach, and you interlock your fingers with his.

“So are you. I can’t believe you hide all of this beneath those robes.” You cast an approving gaze across his body to illustrate your point. He laughs, a full, proper laugh where he tips his head back. You continue, between your own chuckles, “and you- you did- how did you do that? Any of that! Who taught you that?! I need to write them a letter. Maybe send them a bouquet.”

His laugh morphs into a guffaw and he drops back onto the pillow, his hand leaving yours to cover the rising blush on his face. “No one taught me anything, Tav. I was quite worried I’d be awful, if you must know.”

Your laugh dies in your throat. You blink at him, mouth agape. When you still haven't replied some moments later, he spreads his fingers and peeks at you through them.

“What?”

“You’re a virgin?”

He snorts, “was a virgin, I believe. Unless my performance was so poor that it doesn't count.”

At your lack of response, he snorts again, nudging a finger beneath your chin to shut your jaw.

“Careful, dear, you’ll catch flies.”

You shake your head, incredulous, “you’re lying. That wasn’t your first time. I don't believe you. No one knows how to do that the first time.”

He flushes, averts his gaze. “... I’m an academic. I studied the matter.”

A snort wrenches out of you, “you ‘studied the matter’? That’s an incredibly polite way of saying you read porn.”

He goes redder if that’s possible, but he shrugs as though unaffected.

You laugh and plonk your head down on his chest, and he brings his arm up and around to hold you against him. It feels safe. You stay like that for what feels like forever until he speaks again.

“... You truly meant it? Everything you said?”

His voice is quiet, as though he’s scared to ask.

You sit up, staring him straight in the eyes, and he continues.

“I have to check, before-” he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. “I have to know because I won't survive this if you don’t. I have to know.”

He looks so vulnerable like this, chest exposed, hair loose and spread on the pillows beneath him. There's a tenderness in his eyes that tells you everything he doesn't say. You think your own are probably saying it back. You almost say it aloud, but you stop yourself.

Not yet.

You glance down at his chest, tracing the ridges along his ribs, and say everything else instead. “I meant it. I’m yours, if you want me. I can’t promise for how long, everything we’re doing is so-” you cut yourself off. It doesn’t need to be said. He knows how dangerous things are for you. He knows, and he’s here anyway. “But I’m yours. If you want me to be.”

His eyes look slightly damp when you finally find the courage to meet them, soft and open and full of that thing that neither of you will say.

“I want nothing more.”

[whereserpentswalk]

There's a fallen angel in one of your college classes she's extremely obvious about it even though she claims to be a human. You can tell from the way she's always trying to hide the scars where her wings used to be, the slender yet muscular body type she has tears clearly angelic, and the fact that her body is entirely sexless despite her desire to he seen as female, the slightly sad image of a dress wrapped around her flat chest being the first thing people see of her.

Most people are afraid of her. They've heard of the horrors that fallen angels who've gone to the underworld have committed, the things that they've turned into. They assume the worst, treat her like a dog off it's leash. Nobody actually says anything, but they avoid her, get afraid if she seems to angry, or even just too excited. The professors are strict with her, and the students stay away from her. You hear people saying they're worried she's going to hurt or seduce them when she seems to just be doing normal, if a bit awkward things, like they assume she's the demon they fear she is. Even the undead, the werewolves and the wizards who go to your school are a bit afraid of her.

Eventually she asks you for help with homework. She's so afraid when she asks, she says you seem like the nicest person in the class. But still she's afraid you'll hurt her, or mabye she's afraid she'll hurt you. You have to reassure her a bit, but you help her, step by step. She's so afraid whenever she fails something that she's as worthless as she was told the fallen were, or that someone's going to punish her the same way the other angels would have for a mistake. But she's smart, even if she hasn't had the background to know a lot of things her human classmates know.

You decide to bring her when you hang out with some other freinds. You're just walking through the city streets that are near your campus, it's not that big a deal for most of you, but it is to her. She's never really explored a human city before, and getting to do normal things like this is kind of new to her. Everyone knows what she is, but after a few minutes of just existing with her it stops being the focus. And she seems to happy to just be treated as a normal girl.

There's so much she hasn't experienced before. When you walk by a toystore she's weirdly interested in it, and ends up buying a plush there while almost everyone but you and her and too embarrassed to go inside. She was never a child, so it seems like it's comforting to her to get to enjoy something like this when she didn't get a chance to normally.

But mostly she just seems to enjoy being talked to and looked at like a normal person, without being the focus. Her face lights up when someone compliments her hair, angels are called beautiful a lot but they're never called pretty, they're never someone someone wants to be like. She's so excited to swipe her card just to take the subway with you, and she seems so comforted when being hugged goodbye by you, you think this might be the first time she's been hugged in the thousands of years she's existed.

When you're texting with her later you end up venting about your landlord, he really suck, not allowing overnight guests or pets and the like, and having raised your rent by a lot this year. She becomes really upset learning landlords exist at all, and asks you for his name before saying goodbye.

When you next hear from your landlord he's afraid of something, and agrees to remove all the rules your complained to your fallen angel freind about, and lower your rent. You have a feeling your freind did something.

When you talk to your fallen angel freind to compliment her she seems upset with herself. She was always told she'd hurt a mortal and now she has. You explain to her that that's not always a bad thing, that she saved you, as much as she would have saved you if she caught you falling off a building. You explain to her that just because she's powerful, and nobody controls her, doesn't mean that that power is evil. Even when she makes people afraid, she's still a being of good, it's why she fell in the first place.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Aeterna Amantes

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 3 - 1.7K WC

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3 (you are here!)

chapter 4 NSFW 18+

chapter 5

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of sex, blood drinking, Astarion being smitten but in denial, Karlach being lovely

--------------------------

Astarion watched you sleep for ages, your chest rose and fell with the soft golden glow of your heart rising and falling with it. You were an anomaly to him. Quite the opposite - innocent, sweet. He felt so conflicted thinking of you. He wanted you in the purest way; to nurture you and care for you. But his primal brian told him to manipulate you, use you as an advantage for himself. Every time he looked at you he couldn’t decide. You had been nothing but kind to him, it was all you knew. 

“You think a lot.” you whispered up to him.

He hadn’t noticed you wake, “Oh? What makes you say that?” he smirked down at you. Your head still rested on his chest, making his undead heart swell. 

“Your face is scrunched up.” you said, poking his forehead.

Astarion chuckled, sitting up slightly. You followed his actions. He pointed to the corner, “There are plenty of books for you to read through today, Gale even threw some in there for you.”

You ogled the stack of books, there were easily ten there. “Where will you go?” you asked as you picked the first book up, letting your fingers trail over the dusty cover. 

“Moonrise Towers, if we’re fortunate.” he said as he started to put his armor on. 

You gazed at him, never having seen another person’s body before. It was different from yours.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

You tilted your head at his remark. You did like what you saw, you just didn’t quite understand why. 

He saw the curiosity swimming in your eyes, squinting his own before the realization hit him. “Have you never seen another body before?” he asked.

You shook your head, your cheeks heating up slightly. Your general lack of knowledge around everything embarrassed you, especially things everyone else seemed to know so blatantly. You walked closer to him, gazing over the vast expanse of his strong pale chest. You raised your hand, going to touch him before stopping yourself. You remembered how he reacted the first time you touched him without asking, “May I?” you asked in a hushed whisper. 

His eyes watched you cautiously but he gave you a small nod. You felt over his chest, tracing his sharp collarbones, feeling his ribs and the muscles that lay overtop of them. You felt him shiver when your fingers hit the ridges of his scars that barely wrapped around the side of his waist. You felt his stomach and noticed the silent breath he took in when your fingers trailed over tuft of white hair leading from his belly button into his pants. 

You looked at him, “Bad?” you asked, your hand still lingering on the hem of his pants. 

“No…” he whispered, his eyes hazy while watching your every move. He never wanted you to stop touching him, even if these were just innocent little touches. All that mattered was that they came from you.

“Are you different from me?” you asked, looking between his body and yours.

“In some ways.” he mumbled, trying to relish in your gentle ambiance. 

He watched as you put his hand to your chest and yours to his. “Same. We are the same here.” you said. He felt the warmth radiating from your glowing heart.

“Astarion, come one we gotta - oh… sorry…” said Karlach as she barged into his tent breaking the tension between the two of you. Astarion pulled away quickly, slipping on the rest of his armor while you stood still, unsure if you had done something to be embarrassed of. 

Astarion followed Karlach’s lead out of his tent, “Stay safe in here and read. I’ll be back later, you can tell me everything new you’ve learned.” he smiled at you quickly before disappearing into the Underdark. 

You sighed before picking up one of the many books and started reading. 

-----------------------------------

“Soooooo…..” Karlach said with a teasing tone as she and Astarion walked behind the others.

“So what?” he grumbled, not even sparing her a glance.

“Come on, you know what.” she said, sounding giddy.

“Haven’t the faintest.” he said monotonically. 

“Oh I think you do… fangs likes the drow.” she chidded. 

He rolled his eyes at her, not bothering with a retort. 

“And you don’t even deny it!” she cackled.

“Please, I’m a glorified babysitter. That’s all.” he waved her off dismissively.

“Really? That’s not what it looked like this morning.” she grinned at him. 

“Neither of us have heartbeats, that's all they discovered this morning,” he said.

“I bet. And I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if Gale or Wyll were to take an interest in them?” she asked.

A faint trace of jealousy crossed over his face as he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. 

Karlach chuckled at the very obvious fondness Astarion had for you. He was stubborn and knew he wouldn’t admit it but she saw it as early as the basement. You were drawn to each other. Fate was funny like that, always unexpected but always falling in line. 

Astarion walked ahead, aching to get away from Karlach’s prying questions and accusations. Primarily because they were true and he hated having anyone other than himself be right. Especially about this. 

--------------------------------------

You fell asleep after the fifth book. It gave you much to think on, primarily because it was an anatomy book. Humans and elves are different but not very much. So now you knew what rested beneath Astarion’s pants. You also knew how reproduction worked. The whole explanation of the process seemed rather odd to you. Very… clinical. You couldn’t help but feel like the process of creating life was supposed to be more… emotional. It all overwhelmed you after reading the previous books on The Hells, Baldur’s Gate history, The Many Gods, and The Practice of Arcane Magic. The more you read the more your brain felt like it was devouring intellect and by the gods was it an insatiable beast. 

Astarion entered the tent to find you asleep, surrounded by different books. He laughed at the sight. You reminded him a lot of himself. He changed, cleaning himself only slightly as today had thankfully not been a very battle heavy one. He brought a plate of dinner to the tent for you, some sort of beef stew from what he could tell. 

You rose at the noise of him returning, “Hello.” you smiled at him.

“Hello beastie. Learn lots today?” he asked motioning to the scattered books before handing you the stew. He settled next to you, imbibing in his typical bottle of wine. 

You happily took the bowl from him, forgetting to eat throughout the day. Something you’ll have to make a mental note of - eat, regularly. “Yes! All of it was interesting… some of it was perplexing. I don’t quite understand the feelings one book described.” 

“What feelings?” he asked.

“What does sex feel like?” you asked, trying to understand the book that wouldn’t seem to leave your mind.

Astarion choked on his wine, he coughed a few times trying to regulate himself, “Where did you read about sex?” he asked.

You handed him the book. Of course it was one of Gale’s, he thought with a roll of his eyes. 

“Didn’t the book explain what it felt like?” he asked, trying to avoid the topic.

“It did but…” you sighed before you continued, “I don’t think it was right. I feel like the combining of two people in body would feel… emotional. Not just physical.” 

Astarion’s eyes widened at your explanation, perceptive little thing you were. “It… can be.” he confessed.

“What does it feel like then?” you asked while you continued to eat. 

“With the right person it can be… euphoric.” he said, trying to find the right word. He wasn’t exactly the one to answer questions on how good, healthy sex was supposed to feel. All the sex he could remember was harsh, loathsome. 

You smiled softly, “That sounds lovely.” you said, understanding the science of it all but also the beauty of the emotional aspect. “How do you know if they’re the right person?”

“You just do.” he said as he laid down.

You hummed at his answer. “When do you eat?” you asked.

“Truth be told, I haven’t eaten in a few days. The Underdark is lacking in options.” he sighed. Even the thought of blood was enough to send him reeling. 

“Do you want to eat? I don’t mind.” you smiled at him as you finished the last of your stew before leaning your neck towards him. 

He sat up, “Are you sure?” he said cautiously. 

You nodded eagerly at him, wanting to help. You laid back on the bedroll, beckoning him closer. Astarion kneeled next to you before leaning down. You could feel his cold breaths on your neck, giving you a slight shiver. 

“This might hurt…” he said before kissing your neck and sinking his fangs in. You winced a bit but it wasn’t awful. He had never tasted something so rich. Decadent and sweet. Your crimson poured into his mouth, it rolled over his tongue in waves and he cherished each little molecule of it. His hand held your waist while the other cradled your head. He straddled you to get a better angle at your neck. Your whole body felt warm, particularly between your legs. When Astarion ripped himself away from you he lapped up the rest of the blood that dropped from the puncture holes he left behind. The feeling of his tongue on you was strange but you craved it the longer it went on. He kissed over your neck a few times as an apology for the pain he caused you. It wasn’t pain you felt however, it was something else. Something carnal. You let out an involuntary but needy whine as he kissed over your neck. You both pulled away looking at each other. 

“Sleep?” you asked quietly. You felt embarrassed. Was that the feeling he was describing earlier? Did you want him in the way the book described?

“Yes, of course.” Astarion said with a breathy laugh. He settled next to you, holding you close like the night before. 

Little did you know, as you drifted off to sleep, the fantasies he was playing in his mind of the two of you were positively sinful.

---------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello! This has taken me literally all night to write but I am so sleep deprived I'm not shocked. I got called in for another overnight despite having worked 3 in a row with very little sleep - I hate being on call. But I do like this! Your guys' comments/reblogs/likes keep me super motivated so I hope I hear from you all soon! XOXOXOXOXOXO

[hopepetal]

Masterlist

Read on AO3!

Part Six!

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

Breakfast the next day was a muted affair at first, the mood dampened from the events of last night and Pearl’s injury. Only after reassuring everyone that she was alright and cracking a few jokes did the mood lighten and conversations begin as normal. Impulse still seemed to be a little down, but he still smiled and talked with the rest of them. Even Grian was awake in time for breakfast, having woken up from Pearl moving around.

But still, something felt… off.

Like clouds gathering on the horizon during a sunny day, or knowing something is missing and just not knowing what. Like old signs saying “KEEP OUT” in big, bold letters, worn down to the point of being illegible. It was a timer, ticking down, grains of sand falling through an hourglass.  Something was about to happen, and if they weren’t careful, the knights would be caught in the middle of it. 

What a shame, then, that they didn’t see the storm clouds.

After breakfast, the knights cleaned up and began to go about their day. Pearl looked through their food storage and began to make a list of all the things they’d need to restock next time one of the knights went to the village. Mumbo was working on… something redstone related, perhaps that automatic vegetable cutter he had mentioned the other day. Scar and Grian were tending to the animals, and Impulse was busy chopping wood.

It seemed as though hardly any time had passed at all before it was time for lunch, and the knights gathered around the table once more. Plans were discussed for the next few days– there was shopping to be done, there had been a report of some undead roaming an area nearby the village, and the lodge had to be built, of course. 

Impulse finished up his lunch and stood up. “Pearl, could I… talk to you?” he asked hesitantly, almost reluctantly. “After you’re done, of course. Uh, alone. If you don’t mind.”

Pearl frowned slightly, looking up at Impulse with concern. “Of course. I’m done right now anyway, so…” She stood as well, and walked away from the table with Impulse, toward the forest.

Grian let them go, watching as the two crossed the camp and disappeared into the forest. He looked back at Scar and Mumbo, a sense of dread rising up in him. “We’re following them, right?” he asked, “I’m not the only one who doesn’t like this one bit?”

Scar gave him a smile, though something about it seemed strained. “Yeah. Something’s been off about Impulse for a while. I kinda thought it was over and done with, but last night…” He trailed off, raising his gaze to where Pearl and Impulse had entered the forest. 

“I mean, Pearl probably can handle herself,” Mumbo pointed out, “but I do think… I mean, it does feel a little weird, is all, things are probably going to be fine, but…” He looked between Scar and Grian, trying to think of the right words. “Well, better safe than sorry?” he finished, shrugging awkwardly. 

Grian nodded. “Yeah. If anything, we could just say we were going to prank them. Or something. But I just… I have a bad feeling about this.”

“That’s how most of our pranks start as well,” Scar quipped, laughing when Grian gently smacked him with his wing. “I’m not wrong! I’m not!” he defended himself, quickly standing up from the table and nearly falling over. 

Grian stood, helping Scar steady himself. Mumbo got up as well, and together the three began the trek toward the forest.

–

Pearl and Impulse were walking through the forest in relative silence, and Pearl could tell that he was trying to work up the courage to say something– though what, she had no clue. It was a nice day out to be walking through the forest at least, and Pearl found herself just enjoying the little adventure they were having. The ambient sounds of the forest echoed around her, and dappled sunlight shone golden through the leaves that made up the canopy. 

Pearl sighed, looking over at Impulse. He still hadn’t said anything about what he wanted to talk to her about, and she was getting a little worried. “Ya doin’ alright there, mate?” she asked, giving him a soft smile when he looked up at her.

Impulse nodded, but judging by his expression, that didn’t seem to be the case. “Yeah, I just… well, you see… this is really hard to talk about,” he tried to explain, “and I just… I didn’t want to freak anybody out, or make this a big deal, or…” He stopped talking, looking away. The two continued their walk for a moment in silence, before Impulse spoke up again. “I don’t know, Pearl…”

Pearl brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “You can tell me anything you’d like, Impulse,” she said earnestly. “I know some things are really hard to get out, but I promise you, things will get better if you share your problems with people.”

Impulse let out a quiet frustrated sound. “I know. Everyone keeps saying that, and I know that everyone is willing to talk, and I know how much we rely on communication. And I just– it’s not that I don’t want to talk, it’s just that…” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s so hard to put things into words. And it all just gets to be so overwhelming, and it just builds up and…”

Pearl nodded. “I know how you feel. It’s really hard, Impulse. Take all the time you need. I’m cool with just walking with you for a bit, if that’s what ends up happening.” She shrugged. “It’s a nice day out for it anyway, so I really don’t mind.”

Impulse smiled, seeming to relax a little. “Thanks, Pearl.” He still seemed a little more tense than usual, but definitely more at ease than he had been just a few moments ago. “I know I need to tell you this today, though. It’s not really something that can wait, I think.”

Pearl stepped over an exposed tree root. “That’s fine, too.” Though the fact that Impulse had brought her out here to talk to her about something he considered urgent worried her, she did her best to keep her cool. Whatever it was, it had probably been bothering him for a long time, and he was only able to get it out now.

The trees in front of them were beginning to thin, and Pearl could hear the faint sound of water in the distance. They were near the ravine, she figured, assuming that what she was hearing was the waterfall. It hardly felt like they had been walking for that long at all, but it was easy to lose track of time in the forest, especially because she had been deep in her own thoughts for most of the trip. 

Stepping out from under the cover of the canopy, Pearl followed Impulse and sat next to him in a soft patch of grass that overlooked the ravine from a safe distance, and gazed out across the gap. She had flown over this same ravine many times before, but would normally use the sturdy bridge further down the way when traveling with the knights. The ravine was a good place to go into for ores and such in some places, but the river this far up the ravine was too fast for that. 

Pearl remembered how, when she had first been exploring the area with Grian and found the ravine, they had flown down close to the river and dared each other to touch the water while still in the air. She smiled slightly as she remembered Grian’s terrified squawk when he tried to touch water so fast it was almost purely white, before he had ascended and claimed that he just “didn’t want to get his clothes wet” and that “he was joking when he suggested doing it in the first place”. 

Ah, good times.

Impulse sighed and crossed his legs, leaning forward. “Alright. I…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I know this might come as a shock,” he started carefully, “but I promise, this isn’t because of what happened last night, and it’s nothing against you or Grian or Scar or Mumbo, any of them. But I… I’ve decided it’s best if I…” For a moment, he was silent. “...if I’m not a knight anymore.”

That… certainly wasn’t what Pearl was expecting. Keeping herself composed, she looked over at Impulse. “Impulse… why?” she asked. “I’m not going to keep you if that’s what you really want, but just… is there a reason for this?”

Impulse pressed his lips together, keeping his gaze strictly on the grass. “I… I don’t think it’s safe,” he admitted, “for you to be around me. For any of you. I’m– Pearl, something’s been happening to me, and I just…” He looked up at her, desperation shining in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t control myself. I’m going to end up hurting someone, and I don’t even know why I asked you to come here alone with me, this was a horrible idea–” He stood up, taking a few steps back. “I don’t think–”

Pearl stood as well, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. “Impulse, calm down. It’s okay, we can talk this through. Just–”

Impulse shook his head. “No, Pearl, we can’t. You don’t understand, I’m out of control! I don’t even know what thoughts are mine anymore! I– why did I do this, I could hurt you!” His panic just continued to grow, and he took a few more steps away.

Getting closer to the edge of the ravine.

Pearl’s eyes darted from the steep drop-off back to Impulse, and she reached out. “Impulse, please stop. Just… come here, we can talk about this, we can get you help…” When Impulse paused, she took a few steps forward. “It’s going to be okay.” She took another few steps, ignoring the instinct to look down at the ravine she was far too close to.

Impulse took another step back, and Pearl felt panic shoot through her veins like ice. “Impulse, please. The ravine,” she reminded him, trying to stop the fear from showing in her voice. “You’re too close. Take my hand, okay? Please.” She felt tears welling up as her breath hitched. “Please.” 

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. It was just Impulse and Pearl, and only Death’s black wings could catch Impulse if he fell.

Pearl held her breath.

“Please.” 

Impulse took her hand.

–

“They really just decided to take the worst path through the woods,” Grian muttered as he tried to smack branches and vines out of the way with his wings. “I mean, come on. Who even does that? This isn’t even a path!”

Mumbo ducked under a branch, shielding his face just in case he got smacked. “Well, I’ve heard that going off-trail is quite nice to the more adventurous types,” he offered, and Grian only rolled his eyes.

“Aren’t we supposed to be adventurous types?” Scar asked, “because last time I checked, we were knights, and knights are… pretty much the adventurous type, aside from like, mercineraries.” He frowned. “That’s not it. Mercin– marcen– hold on, I almost… merchindins–”

“Mercenaries?” Grian asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I guess.” “Yes!” Scar exclaimed, “there we go! That’s it!” He smiled brightly, pleased. 

“This feels more like a summer camp,” Mumbo said, “the ones for those little children, you know. The ones that sell cookies.”

Grian huffed softly. “We are not a summer camp. We are not mercenaries either, we are knights and we rarely go off the trail.”

“I want to go to summer camp!” Scar protested, “it sounds like so much fun! We could go hiking, go on adventures, sit around a campfire and tell spooky stories, and have a cool team name!”

“Honestly, that sounds pretty much like what we do now,” Mumbo pointed out, “just without the cool team name. Sorry Grian,” he added on, “I just don’t really think ‘the knights’ is an actual team name.”

“Then what would you like to be called?” Grian shot back, attempting to be serious though he could hardly hold back a smile.

“I think,” Scar chimed in, “that we should call ourselves the buttercups!”

“Absolutely not,” Grian shot down, “aren’t team names supposed to be fearsome or something? Isn’t the whole point to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies?”

“I think it’s a nice name,” Mumbo interjected, Scar backing him up with an indignant “yeah!” 

Grian pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Oh, I’m not winning this one, am I,” he muttered. “Pearl’s going to kill me when she learns we’re called the buttercups.” 

“Speaking of, where is Pearl?” Scar asked. “How do you even know we’re going the right way?”

“Birds-eye view,” Grian responded, absolutely deadpan. 

Mumbo let out a confused noise. “But you’re on the ground.”

“Mhm.”

“With us.”

“Seems like it.”

“So it’s not really–”

“I just know,” Grian said, “trust me.”

“The last time you said that, things caught fire,” Mumbo muttered, but said nothing else. 

Grian picked up the pace, the uneasy feeling growing the longer they walked. He prayed that it was just him overreacting, that nothing bad was going to happen, that they would find Pearl and Impulse and everything would be alright. 

Something told him his prayers wouldn’t be answered.

–

When Impulse took her hand, Pearl let out an audible gasp of relief and pulled him carefully away from the edge, toward her. “Impulse,” she breathed, “never do that again.” She hugged him tightly, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She felt his arms carefully wrap around her shoulders, reciprocating the hug. “I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry, Pearl.”

For a moment, Pearl was relieved. For a moment, she believed that things were going to be okay, that they were both safe. For a moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity, she forgot that Impulse never really liked hugs.

By the time the alarm sounded in her brain, it was far too late. 

Impulse grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved as hard as he could.

By some miracle, Pearl managed to dig her fingers into the edge of the cliff, her wings– injured, useless– trying desperately to push her back up onto solid ground. Pain shot through her wings as she strained a little too hard, her stitches separating from the frantic movements. 

“Impulse!” she got out, the tears from earlier beginning to slip down her face, “Impulse, I can’t–!” She tried to find an area to dig her feet into, but found no purchase on the stone. “Impulse, help me!”

Impulse smiled. “I really am sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. He didn’t sound like Impulse. 

Had his eyes always been red?

Realization hit her just as Impulse stomped down hard on her hand.

Pearl fell.

–

A strangled scream tore its way from Grian's throat, and he took off before Scar could even move. “Pearl!” He threw himself over the cliff edge, diving after his sister. 

Grian was fast, but Scar was no slowpoke himself. His eyes burned a brilliant, vibrant blue as the colour faded from his hair. He slammed into Impulse, knocking the other knight to the ground with a grunt and pinning him just inches away from the edge. Mumbo stopped a few feet away, eyes wide as Scar placed his claws against Impulse's throat. 

“Woah there.” Impulse, red-eyed and wrong, smiled as he held up his hands in surrender. “No need to be like that.”

“You,” Scar hissed out, “you’re what’s been causing this, you hellspawn!” He pressed his claws harder against Impulse’s throat, the sharp points pricking the skin and drawing small beads of blood. “Get out of him. Get out of my friend!” 

Impulse just laughed. “Nice try, vex.” In one swift movement, he threw Scar off of him, rolling back onto his feet. “But I've always been stronger.” Before Scar could react, he took off into the forest, leaving the cliff behind. 

Scar didn’t go after him. Despite how much he wanted to, the demon possessing their friend was right. It was stronger than him, and even if he were able to defeat it, he would be bringing significant harm to Impulse. 

The flapping of wings interrupted the silence Mumbo and Scar had been left in, and Grian appeared over the cliff, holding Pearl close. He landed carefully, chest heaving as he gently let Pearl down. She leaned against her brother heavily, noticeably trembling. Scar didn't blame her– falling and being unable to catch yourself was one of the scariest things. 

Mumbo coughed awkwardly, breaking the silence. “I hate to be the one to say it, but I don't think that's Impulse.”

Despite everything, Scar had to laugh. “Yeahhh... you think?”

–

The trip back to camp was a somber one. Pearl recovered from the shock fairly quickly, but her stitches had ripped and she was still in quite a bit of pain. The moment they arrived back at camp, Grian brought her back to her tent to go fix her wing. 

Mumbo and Scar sat in silence, Scar’s hair still streaked with white. He was both frustrated and absolutely furious. He wanted– he wanted that demon dead. He wanted to rip it into shreds for daring to hurt his friends. But he was also worried. Impulse had run off, and Scar doubted that the demon cared very much for his health and safety. 

Grian returned with Pearl after a little while, and the remaining knights sat down to decide on a course of action. 

“I think we should go to Cub,” Scar suggested, “he seemed to have an idea of what could be happening. Maybe, knowing what we know now, he could narrow it down. Or something.”

Grian nodded grimly. “That sounds like a fairly good start. We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

It was as if a dark cloud had descended on the camp as the knights got ready, the usual idle chatter silenced by fear and anger and worry. The knights mounted up and began the trip to Cub’s house, a sense of urgency in their movements.

They’d save Impulse. 

They had to.

–

Impulse woke up on the ground, laying against a tree. He blinked, looking around in confusion. “Where…?”

Suddenly, he remembered.

Impulse shot up, his breaths becoming short and rapid as a panic attack set in. He had to brace himself against the tree, nausea rising as he gasped for air.

He killed Pearl. He– he killed Pearl. Pearl couldn’t fly. He pushed her. She was dead. 

As much as I would love that, she is not. 

Impulse jumped, startled by the demon’s voice in his mind. “You– what do you mean?!” he cried, anger and horror and fear all mixing into one awful emotion. “We pushed her off– she couldn’t survive that!”

If she had died, I would’ve been free. 

“Oh, Void.” Impulse practically collapsed against the tree, slowly sliding down until he was on the ground again. “Thank the stars. Thank the stars.” Relief had tears welling up in his eyes, streaking down his face and leaving hot trails.

I wouldn’t be so relieved just yet. 

“Why not?” Impulse snapped, “what more could you possibly do?”

He was given no answer.

Impulse was now, truly, alone.

[fox-guardian]

may i ask who ur personal favorite oliver ship is 👁️ (and may i also suggest, unrelated, for ur consideration: gerryoliver, simply to rotate)

gerryoliver is EXCELLENT we love goth4goth.

as for my crackship, as i said it is very predictable for me BUT I HAVE MY REASONS SO HEAR ME OUT

[ID: Two colored digital doodles of Oliver Banks and Tim Stoker smiling and holding hands. Oliver is a thin black man with dark brown skin and his locs half pulled into a bun. He has various piercings and oval glasses. Tim is a shorter, mid-sized Latino man with light brown skin, a cut in his brow, plug gauges, rectangular glasses, a small goatee and body hair. They are posed the same in both images, and the background is a warm pink, with bulleted lists next to each of them.

The first image shows Oliver pre-avatar and Tim during season one, and they are labelled as such. Oliver's hair and eyes are completely dark and he is wearing a dark grey button-down, light grey cuffed jeans, dark grey socks, and grey dress shoes. Tim's hair is a lilac mullet with the sides shaved and his eyes are dark dots. He is wearing a lilac and purple striped shirt, a purple cardigan with aqua cuffs, and dark trousers, shoes and a watch. The bulleted list next to Oliver reads "gay that can do math, goth, sleepytired, kiki". The bulleted list next to Tim reads "bi w/ reading comprehension, Mr. Frizzle-core, more energy, bouba".

The second image shows Oliver post-avatar and Tim post-s3 as an End avatar, and are labelled as such. Both of them have slightly greyer skin and white pupils. Oliver's hair is longer and white, getting darker towards the roots, he is wearing a dark cardigan and darker turtleneck underneath, dark grey cuffed jeans, black socks, and black dress shoes. Tim's hair is shorter and brown with grey streaks, and he is slightly thinner with burn scars on the side of his face and one of his arms. He also has pale hole scars on all visible skin. His entire outfit is just a darker version of the one from the previous image, only his shirt is now dark purple with a skull pattern on it. The bulleted list next to Oliver reads "nihilistic for over a decade now, super undead, gets more goth, still sleepy". The bulleted list next to Tim reads "growing nihilistic for years now, super undead, spooky Mr. Frizzle, GREAT pillow". end ID]

~~~~

the thing is, is that i enjoy both of these flavors of timoliver for different reasons.

the first one is cute and sweet, very much a sort of "oliver isolated himself due to his Dream Torment and tim is trying to break him out of his shell and also kiss him so much" and their contrasting vibes are so Fun while the other one is basically "Oliver Visited Tim In The Hospital Too After S3 And Now Tim Is An End Avatar And They're Goth And Dramatic Together"

and yes i am an end!tim truther and no i do not have a more clever shipname for them. help me <3

[dysthanasia-series]

Finally got around to making one of these.

You can start reading here, or on AO3 btw.

Dysthanasia Taglist: @thecyrulik @thatndginger @sunset-a-story @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba @extrabitterbrain

[Begin Image ID]: A Comic Sans presentation about characters from a paranormal fantasy story called Apophenia. Each slide has at least two images of characters, from Picrew or art commissions.

Slide One shows the title, how to pronounce it, and has line drawings of a desert landscape with cacti and rock formations along the bottom half. There is a full moon and tiny images of stars filling the sky.

Slide Two is about the protagonist, Isaac Soto Márquez. He's a Mexican-American man in his late twenties with dark brown skin, brown eyes, curly black hair, and scars from claw marks on his back.

Slide Three is on the deuteragonist, Renato Faria Dimas. He's a Brazilian-Portuguese trans man who appears to be in his early to mid twenties. He has light tan skin, green-blue eyes, wavy black hair that's shorn close on the sides but longer on top, and a confident smile.

Slide Four is about Isaac's friend, Delfina Bosques-Rodriguez, nicknamed Elfy. She's a bubbly Puerto Rican woman in her late twenties with medium brown skin, brown eyes, and curly reddish-brown hair piled on top of her head in one Picrew, but worn down around the level of her jaw in another. She has multiple piercings in her eyebrows and ears, plus one in her septum. Her lipstick is a bright purple.

Slide Five is on Kinslayer. They're an androgynous person who could be anywhere from late twenties to late thirties, possibly of South Asian descent or a mixture that includes it. Their skin is a deep brown, eyes black, and they have a side shave with their black hair falling to one side. In one Picrew they're holding a lit cigarette; in the other they're licking their lips in a suggestive way.

Slide Six is Renato's coworker/ex, Oleander Blume. She's a goth or metalhead trans woman from Texas who appears to be in her mid to late twenties. She has light pink/white skin, blue eyes, and slightly messy blonde hair. She wears black lipstick in one Picrew. In a commissioned art piece, her mouth and hands are smeared with blood.

Slide Seven shows an antagonist, Motley. It's an undead necromancer of indeterminate age and origin. Its skin is grayish, showing stitching around patches it's added to itself. It has red eyes, sharp teeth in a sinister smile, and wears a hooded cloak.

Slide Eight is a round up of six characters who live in or are spotted around the town of Eureka, Nevada. They are as follows:

Anaru is a broad, friendly-looking Pacific Islander man in his early or mid twenties. He has medium brown skin, short wavy black hair, and a broad frame. The thresher shark silhouette by his Picrew means he's one of the local weresharks.

Tecla is a fat, butch Mexican-American woman in her late twenties to thirties. She has medium brown skin, short black hair, and a horizontal scar on her forehead above her left eyebrow. The great white shark silhouette by her Picrew means she's one of the local weresharks.

Gilda is a fat, Black Brazilian trans woman in her late twenties to thirties. Her skin is a deep, warm brown, and her short hair has been dyed purple. She has a gold nose ring that matches the small gold hoop earrings on her ears. The pick and shovel symbol by her Picrew means she's an archeologist.

Haru is a goth Japanese-American man who appears to be in his mid to late twenties. His skin is pale, and his black hair almost reaches his shoulders. He's sucking on a lollipop. The broken mirror symbol by his Picrew means he's a psychic vampire.

Breezy is a witchy/hippy Midwestern American woman in her fifties or sixties. Her light pink/tan skin has fine lines around her dark eyes and smiling mouth. Her long white hair is loosely tied back with strands escaping around her face. She's wearing a gardening glove. The witch hat near her Picrew means she's a magical practitioner.

Larry is a Black American man from Nevada in his fifties wearing a tank top with a game fish on it. His dark brown skin has lines across his forehead and around his eyes. His short black hair has thinned on top, with some still on the sides. A short, thin beard covers his jaw. The bull shark silhouette by his Picrew means he's one of the local weresharks.

That's all for Slide Eight.

Slide Nine thanks everyone for reading and lists the various Picrews used.

[/end image id]

[just-eyris-things]

Eyris's outfits masterpost

So at the beginning of May I started drawing Eyris in various outfits that she wore throughout her life. Adding a Read More because this will be a long post.

NOT SPOILER FREE

We start with casual clothes she wears for the first year before she grows her first plant set.

STARTER OUTFIT / CASUAL OUTFIT 1

I added the Hero word card, which I later on regretted - I should have added it on the second outfit (plant armor), but I will elaborate on that later. She can be seen wearing a similar outfit in her early teens in my comic.

In the first year of her life, she studies under Caithe, learns how to wield daggers and a bow and also acquires a fern hound, which she later on names Airost. The two are inseparable. They are almost like one being in two bodies.

FIRST PLANT ARMOR 1: HERO/NOBLE

Eyris wears this plant armor when she's still the Valiant. As mentioned earlier, she studies under Caithe and is preparing for her task of slaying Zhaitan next to the two Firstborn. Eyris completes the White Stag story line alongside Tiachren storyline. Her eye scar comes from Gavin. Thanks Gavin :) I still love you, even if you are the reason Eyris is scared to trust people and that's why she chooses to go with Tiachren instead of saving the village - she doesn't want to lose a friend to Nightmare again (babygirl Gavin was NOT your fault...)

She then attempts to help the Order of Whispers to retrieve Caladbolg, but she fails. Eyris slowly loses faith in herself after that failure. She uses it as an excuse to escape and become a Soundless - if she cannot retrieve a sword, then how can she possibly battle a dragon? Furthermore, that failure only quantifies her fear of death (reminder: she's seen in her Dream that a dragon consumes her and as a result she wakes up prematurely from shock and fear). So, she thinks that as a Soundless she will be safe.

She stays with the Soundless for a while until their village is raided by the Nightmare Court. Eyris is one of the very few that manages not to get caught. She does not wait for her fellow villagers to escape - she packs her bag and leaves to travel the road.

SHIVERPEAKS!

During her travels Eyris eventually reaches Shiverpeaks. She is not as "green" (pun not intended) as she used to be when she first began her journey, but she's still quite young, naive and inexperienced. She meets Ragnar Bjornskin, who adopts her and teaches her not only important survival skills, but also a bit about the world, especially about norn culture. Eyris sees Ragnar more as a parent figure than she sees the Pale Tree.

Unfortunately, Eyris and Ragnar get ambushed by the Sons of Svanir. Eyris gets her nose broken and Ragnar... Ragnar dies, which devastates her and eventually... leads her down the path of crime.

CASUAL OUTFIT 2

Eyris still travels, but her most common "hunting" ground for goods and money is Lion's Arch. She becomes quite infamous there at some point, but more as "the unknown person that we KNOW is responsible for all of THOSE crimes". Eyris, girlie, you're using the skills that Ragnar's taught you the wrong way... he would NOT be proud.

But it would make someone else proud, and by someone else I mean...

THE ORDER OF WHISPERS

Eyris is recruited by the Order of Whispers. She uses them as a kind of "reputation reset" card. She is good at her job, and after she gains trust of her coworkers, she begins plotting. She betrays the Order many times by selling classified information or using the Order's resources for side hustles, or other stuff. When she's caught, she knows she has to disappear - The Order chases after her in every possible way.

Around that time Eyris meets Freya - a vigil soldier with whom she has Beef TM. The Beef TM doesn't last long though.

Eyris then switches between Casual Outift 1 and 2 most of the time, when she's forced to join the Zhaitan war she wears a slightly more fortified Casual Outfit 2 (to protect herself from the undead bites and scratches, as well as to protect herself from weird Orrian weather). And then... we're back to plant fits.

PLANT ARMOR 2: IN THE JUNGLE

Eyris doesn't really show up during LWs1 and we see her come back in LWs2 right before the Summit. She is accused of bringing the Mordrem in, despite her actually coming to warn the attendees.

After that Commander Airell has to do a lot of work to get her in their ranks - they believe they could use her skills but they also want to minimise the risk of in-fighting within the Pact ranks.

Eyris also wears this outfit during HoT - Eyris plays a minor role in the expansion, in LWs2 she mostly chases after Caithe and the egg, and after she gets the egg in the expac she just stays in Tarir until LWs3. She doesn't participate in it much, she heads to Divinity's Reach for Head of the Snake, where she is supposed to attend a wedding as Freya's plus one in this lovely dress:

After the wedding, Eyris travels to Elona with Canach and we get...

THE DESERT OUTFIT 1

Eyris heads to Elona to find Vlast, she considers that task an extension of her Wyld Hunt that she clearly can't escape. She reunites with Kasmeer, Rytlock, Canach and the new commander, Nia Furaha at the time of Vlast's death. Eyris does not tag along with the group, but they meet again in Kesho. After that, Eyris and Nia face Balthazar. Nia escapes, Eyris...gets burnt to a crisp, which brings us to...

NECROMANCING EYRIS BACK TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING, COURTESY OF AIRELL!!!

When Airell rejoins the group in the desert and learns of Eyris's death, they go to the place of her demise to pay respects. Since Airell is now, unknowingly, the new Jungle Dragon, and they also absorbed Zhaitan magic....yeah, they accidentally bring her back by accidentally sprouting a blighting tree. Well, the tree doesn't get enough nutriens from the rock so when Eyris falls out of the pod...she's a bit unstable, and her body is covered in necrotic energy that keeps the body safe from harm and lets it finish regrowing. Since, yknow....there was nothing left.

Death still leaves a mark on Eyris - she now has a big scar around her waist, at the place where Balthazar has cut her in half. In the Necrotic Form, the wound glows ominously. The extra eyes were added as a simply stylistic choice to point at her connection to Airell (the connection replaced the Dream), just like this flame that's in the middle of her stomach. Hands are in a different colour just because I wanted to draw them like that, so probably not canon.

Anyway, eventually Eyris is done regrowing her body, especially her face, which leads us to

THE FALLEN HERO ARMOR

Eyris wears this post resurrection and during Joko arc. This is a simplified version of the haunted armor outfit, I was at Tyrian Pride so I'll admit that I got lazy with drawing the outfit perfectly and just simplified it.

The hole in the armor glows with Airell's magic (I might get rid of this part). For majority of time, Eyris wears a skull mask to hide her face which is..well, gone for majority of the story. She has a Grand Face Reveal during the final Joko Face-off. Yes, the differences between the eyes on the face close-up were drawn on purpose. Also new hairstyle, more accommodating the desert heat.

I'll update the post with the last 7 outfits when I'm done drawing them :) For now - enjoy some Eyris content.

[cultofdixon]

Sweet Child of Mine

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • She/Her pronouns • Once a lost child in the woods, now the daughter of the archer. But here’s the beginning of the new chapter to Daryl’s new role • ANGST/SFW • TW: Past Abuse / Injuries / Scars / Anxiety / Bullying

Requested by: Anon

When the archer went on his usual runs to check snares and go hunting by himself at an hour knowing plenty are asleep still…he expected sickos to be his main problem. Then he found himself dealing with the undead that were focused on the crying child up in the tree.

Granted. Watching a stranger take out the undead as brutal as Daryl did. The fear would still be brewing inside the small child’s chest.

“Cmon down. It’s safe” Daryl frowns watching her tighten her grasp on the trunk of the tree. “Ugh. Cmon kid…” he whispers to himself slightly annoyed before looking at his person and seeing all the blood. That’s not a sight for a child.

The small child only flinched when hearing the tussling from below, not looking for herself what could be happening. But Daryl was moving the bodies away and out of her line of sight if when she does look down while also using his rag to take care of most the walker blood on him.

“Okay…they’re gone. I don’t look like one. Yea trust me?”

Her eyes met with his as she still held on and didn’t say a word but her body relaxed enough that she wasn’t entirely anxious.

“I can help yea if yer stuck” Daryl frowns taking a step back when he watched the small child start to make her way down. But when she slipped, he quickly caught her. “I’ve gotcha. I’ve gotcha”

She latched onto him as he held her protectively.

“You gotta name?” Daryl asks as he started to walk back with this child in his arms.

“Y/N…”

“Well Y/N, I’m Daryl and you’re safe now”

~

“Who is that?” Glenn questions the small child’s presence as Y/N was being checked out by Maggie with Hershel’s instruction.

“Y/N” Daryl answers for her given she was becoming stressed by all the people surrounding her. “She’ll stay in our cell block. Got no parents. Nobody. She needs somebody”

“Yeah, she needs yea” Rick pats Daryl’s shoulder with a smile. “I’ll go clean up the empty cell for her” he states heading on his way out with his son following shortly behind.

“She’s good. No bites or scratches…a few bruises but she’ll be okay” Maggie smiles gently brushing away the tears that left the little one’s eyes. “Let’s get you settled okay?”

The night settles in and Carol gave Daryl everything he’d need to get Y/N comfortable. Blankets. A few changes of clothes. He made the bed for her while Maggie took care of getting her cleaned up.

“You’ve got this from here Daryl?” Maggie smiles making her presence known to the archer once he finished getting the bed set up for Y/N.

“Yeah, yeah…thanks Mags” Daryl gave her a smile before turning his attention back to the quiet child. Maggie smiles at Y/N before letting her enter the cell and leaving the two.

Y/N quietly entered bringing herself to the bed and climbing onto it before turning to Daryl with an anxious look that hasn’t left her.

“Well…you’ll be here. I’m a few cells down if yea need me. But Maggie is also around if yea need her. Uh. I’ll introduce yea properly to Carol. She’s hella nice..” Daryl was about to continue on to try and calm her nerves in any way. He brought himself to crouch before her noticing the tears that started to spill. “Hey…you’re safe here. I won’t let anythin’ happen to yea” he gently wipes away the tears that fell.

Right as all the lights in the cellblock start to turn off indicating people were going to sleep. Y/N was told she can keep her lantern on for as long as she wanted or even the whole night. Daryl will set it out in the morning to recharge from the sun, since it was a solar powered one. She quietly pulled herself out of bed tugging the blanket off and pulling it over her head onto her shoulders.

When Daryl woke in the morning to take care of the morning watch, he spotted Y/N curled up on the floor with her blanket wrapped around her body fast asleep. He quietly got up from his bed and gently picks up the child before placing her in his bed then heading out for the shift.

“She was asleep on your cell floor? That’s a little sweet. She feels safe with you”

“Gotta get her to stay in her own bed” Daryl scoffs glancing once more to Y/N as she sat with Maggie and Glenn while the archer grabbed her breakfast.

“Y/N is just a kid. That you found alone out there.” Carol frowns handing him the second made plate. “It is her first official day here, but even then, she wants to be around someone she feels safe with. And that’s you”

“I feel like a mother duck with a duckling already”

“Mm. More like German shepherd that a duckling has mistaken for her mother” Carol smiles with a small giggle escaping her when her best friend groan to her words. “Just. You knew what it was like to feel alone in a big world. Give her what you’ve always wanted, pookie”

Carol’s words stuck with him of course when Daryl joined the three giving Y/N her breakfast and making sure she ate everything. None of the adults at that moment dared talking about how she ended up alone in the woods and did their best to keep conversation light.

“Are you going on the run tomorrow Daryl? Supposed to be a few days” Glenn asks the archer who seemed fixated on the child beside him when she refused to eat the tomatoes they grew. “Uhm. Daryl?”

“Nah, I told Rick I’m stayin’ in a few days. Doing mainly morning watch” Daryl replies as he gave Y/N his cucumber slices while he took the tomatoes.

“And making sure she settles in. Smart” Maggie smiles as she took note of the small interaction, Y/N was already cracking open his hard exterior. “Since you said you’ll be doing morning watch a lot. You should show Y/N places she can hang out in case she can’t find you. Also introduce her to some of the kids”

“Yes think you can introduce her? We’ve got a council meeting later”

“Sure!” Maggie smiles watching Y/N finally eat what was given.

Daryl did more than show Y/N around the prison before the stupid meeting he has to be apart of. Ever since Rick took a step back, he stepped up. He took the kid to the main spots people were in. The library, the mess halls which were just communal rooms, the conference rooms that they held meetings in and for whoever wanted to make clubs or something…but he also showed spots where Y/N could hide in. In case of attacks.

He knows it’s a bit much. But he wanted to make sure she’ll be somewhere he can find her if anything were to happen.

“Alright kid. I’ll be in there, but Maggie is gonna introduce yea to the kids who should be in the library or somethin’” Daryl was about to enter the room when Y/N grabbed his pants leg.

“why can’t I stay with you…”

Daryl felt an old weight return to his chest when he looked at her and the sadness that riddled her face.

________

“Please don’t go”

The small child held onto the older one’s leg hoping that would get him to stop from leaving. But the annoyance, the anger, the sadness that glued on the older one’s face wasn’t subsiding.

“I can’t baby bro. I can’t fucking stay here and this is my out”

And then the older brother left. Shutting the door harshly on the youngest one.

________

“I didn’t get the memo that we were getting a new council member” Carol smiles sitting beside Daryl who currently held Y/N in his embrace as she messes with the zipper on her jacket. “Yknow one of the moms are reading stories to the kids right now. She could’ve—-“

“She’s fine. She uh. Didn’t want to leave my side.” Daryl tells the truth, even if part of him didn’t want to leave her. “Still getting used to being in a new environment”

“Okay, maybe bring a book next time. This isn’t going to be an interesting meeting” Carol laughs slightly as she goes into her bag in hopes she has something interesting to occupy the young one’s attention.

During the meeting, Y/N kept her attention on the intense tic tac toe game she was playing with Carol while Daryl spectates. Carol had a notepad in her bag with a pen and at first Y/N was doodling, now they are playing the small game. The two gave their input every now and then to Hershel or Sasha or literally anyone else on the council, they were clearly focused on something else.

Finally Daryl instead of Maggie, brought Y/N to meet the other kids. He let go of her hand to let her approach the also curious kids as they started introducing themselves to Y/N. Lizzie and Mika were more friendly than the others so Daryl took a mental note of such.

The archer was only planning on staying in a few days within the walls until Y/N settled. But he found himself staying longer. Finding excuses not to go on runs because his kid needed him. Y/N has definitely wiggled her way into his heart that he would do anything for her.

Like the times she would sneak into his cell at night and sleep on the floor. He felt bad when at first she slept on the hard concrete with her blanket, then it became her sleeping on his poncho with her blanket. This happened a few nights already that he asked Glenn to help him get her bed in there. He even let her keep the lantern on most nights when she needed it.

Daryl even made sure Y/N ate every meal provided. Though she always skips out on the tomatoes even if he tried to have Carol hide them when she made stew. It worked a few times even if Y/N gave him a bit of a disappointed look on her face when she’d find a chunk of tomato. He did his best to make sure she would eat everything, even if Y/N knew that he would give her some of his portion. She simply wouldn’t eat it if she knew.

The group started to like her. Especially if she’s going to be glued to Daryl every once in a while. She started to play with the other kids even if Daryl would sometimes check on her and find her in the corner by herself with a book. The sad look on her face is what makes him think that the others don’t want to play with her.

Once he came to check on her after working on the fence with Rick and spotted her holding a stuffed animal—then immediately having it taken from her. Daryl was about to do something when Carl suddenly appeared. After his dad became a farmer, he found himself reading his comics in the library…ignoring the kids mostly but he wasn’t going to tolerate them being mean to one another.

“She can have a turn with it” Carl states taking the stuffed animal back and handing it back to Y/N who looked more anxious than anything.

But she didn’t hold it for long when she spotted Daryl. Y/N’s smile returning to her face when she spotted him and went to hug him.

After that small interaction, Daryl knew on the next run he was going on that he would like to find some things for Y/N and only her. Like a stuffed animal of her own so she wouldn’t have to share it and she’d get to snuggle it at night.

As the gates open a week later for him and the group he went out with to return with their findings. Including a stuffed bunny Daryl thought Y/N would love. He noticed immediately when getting off his bike that Y/N was sitting alone at the tables watching the few kids play in the fields.

“Go check on your daughter, man” Zach, one of the Woodbury infusions, told Daryl immediately once he saw what the archer was looking at. He also didn’t know that she’s not his daughter. But after it was said out loud, Daryl knew she became his daughter.

“Yeah, I’m gonna. Go get the shit to the pantry” Daryl tells Zach as he started to make his way over to the tables.

Y/N continued to frown watching the kids continue to play without her as she quickly looks up when Daryl joined her at the tables.

“You came back” She says softly as he nods.

“I promise you every time I leave that I would come back, yea think Imma break that promise?” Daryl questions only for a moment before addressing the obvious. “What are yea doing out here alone pumpkin? The other kids are playing”

“…they don’t want me to play with them” She pouts looking away from the small group of kids that gathered by the fence within the fence. “say I’m too little to play”

Bastards Daryl got up from his seat and gestures with his eyes toward the group. “Come on. Let me talk to’em” he watches her swing her legs over and hopping off her seat before taking his hand and leading him toward the group.

The kids didn’t hear either of them approach given they were in their own little world. But one of the boys froze when he spotted Daryl appearing which lead to the others following in suit.

“Which one of yea told my daughter she couldn’t play with yea?”

Mika being more of a follower than a leader at the time, immediately pointed to the boy named Luke who wanted to snap at her but given Daryl’s scary aura in the moment. They were all speechless.

“I’m sorry”

“Sorry for what?”

“Excluding Y/N. I just thought she was too small to play with us”

“Height and size don’t matter unless you’re rough housing. Then we’d definitely have a problem if you hurt my kid.” Daryl glares for a moment before relaxing and resting his hand on Y/N’s head once he felt her latch onto his leg. “Excluding her hurt her feelings. You best apologize before I find your mom”

Now that was a card he never thought he had to play. But it got this Luke kid to apologize to Y/N.

“Now y’all get inside. It’s getting dark” He states watching the kids run toward the prison as he looks down at his own kid. “You okay now pumpkin?”

“Mhm…” Y/N still held onto him for the most part as she let him pick her up, keeping her close to him.

“Anymore trouble, you come get me okay? And if I’m on a run, you get Carol or Maggie”

“Can you just stay home more?” Y/N pouts once more resting her head against his shoulder feeling Daryl rest his on top of hers.

“I’ll try for you, pumpkin”

[rinse-and-repeat2]

Thinking about Seth again Hours (when is it not) Anyway. Do you think Seth wonders how human he is anymore? If he's human?

He has seen the path to becoming undead and once understood it, even though he's been healed since. He's been dipped in the source water, now (presumably) unblemished and "beautiful" (slightly off from human) as the fair folk were. Without marks to show what he's been through, phantom aches come from scars and past injuries that never healed right still There despite their inability to be seen. He has platinum wings that act as a part of his own body and powers that have never really been seen let alone understood before.

Is he human? Would he still classify himself as human, feel comfortable with them? Or would he feel distanced, distracted, and utterly Different from the people he once was a part of?

[coffeeanddonutscafe]

Cold Comfort

Astarion has a nightmare and fluff unfolds.

Summary:

The camp lay in nocturnal stillness. Astarion stood before his tent, the weight of his own existence pressing heavily upon him. And then, he saw her—a half-asleep Tav, her chestnut hair in disarray as she groggily stirred. Unable to resist, he approached her, a half-whispered endearment on his lips, crouching beside her. "What is it, my sweet treat?"

Notes:

I plan to make this a fluff fic, with a mix of introspections, pondering and some deep self-reflection from Astarion's point of view. I do want to envelop him into the gentle world of fluff, like a warm hug he deserves so much.

Chapter 1: Nightmares of the Past

Astarion had a nightmare again. It was as though the cruel hands of the past had woven together the threads of his torment into a ghastly tapestry. As he awoke, his chest was gripped by an icy fear... The spectre of his most malevolent tormentor, Cazador Szarr, haunted him once more, like a relentless ghost in the recesses of his mind. The horrors of those centuries clung to him still. His chest was bound tight with the remnants of panic that had gripped him in his meditative slumber.

In the stillness of the night, Astarion's undead heart seemed almost eager to escape its cursed confines, to flee the unending torment of its existence. It was almost aching to free itself from the relentless grasp of its vampiric origin.

His once-sharp memory, a wellspring of snarky retorts and witty observations, had now become a Rolodex of agonizing recollections. Each year spent serving his monstrous master etched into his consciousness like a scar that refused to fade.

"More like - slaved my ass out," Astarion murmured, the words like a breath of frost. He hesitated for a moment, his mind still reeling from the horrors of his nightmare, before finally summoning the resolve to open his tent flap and peer out into the night. With a heavy sigh, the vampire spawn emerged from his tent.

The camp lay in nocturnal stillness, the silence punctuated only by the soft crackle of the fire, a lone sentinel against the encroaching dark. The night's tendrils clung to the trees, weaving shadowy tapestries upon the forest floor. It was a scene both haunting and beautiful, a fragile barrier between the world of the living and the realm of the supernatural. Astarion stood before his tent, the weight of his own existence pressing heavily upon him. He felt a maelstrom of emotions churning within him. Disgust gnawed at him for the unspeakable acts he had been compelled to commit, anger simmered for the powerlessness that bound him to this cursed fate, fear coursed through his veins at the mere thought of Cazador Szarr, and shame weighed heavy for the ceaseless humiliations he had endured.

It was in this state of inner turmoil that Astarion's gaze fell upon the tent before him. HER tent. His mind raced to quell the rising suspicion that he had strategically chosen this spot, that he yearned to keep watch over the inhabitant within. Of course, he couldn't admit to himself that he found comfort in her presence, a small ember of relief amidst the encroaching darkness.

Suddenly, movement caught his eye, a subtle shift in the fabric of the aforementioned tent. And then, he saw her—a half-asleep Tav, her chestnut hair in disarray as she groggily stirred. The sight of her face peeking out agitated something in him. Astarion couldn't help but think that she looked utterly adorable in her sleep-induced dishevelment. A smile, unbidden, crept onto his lips.

Unable to resist, he approached her, a half-whispered endearment on his lips, crouching beside her. "What is it, my sweet treat?" Tav, still lost in the haze of sleep, squirmed slightly and blinked her bleary eyes at him. It took her a moment to register his presence. "I'm thirsty," she mumbled, her voice heavy with drowsiness. "Mmm...water."

Tav's response, half-mumbled and sleepy, pulled Astarion from the clutches of his own nightmarish reverie. She was the anchor he hadn't known he needed, a soothing balm for his troubled soul.

He smiled and gently touched her shoulder. "Well, darling, why don't you stay here in your bedroll, and I'll bring you some water," he suggested in a tender tone reserved solely for her. She yawned, giving a lopsided blink, before nodding in agreement and crawling back into her tent. Astarion's eyes lingered on her retreating form, admiring the delicate curves of her figure and the grace she brought to even the simplest movements.

As Tav disappeared from his view, the enchantment of her presence seemed to dissipate, leaving Astarion once again ensnared by the spectre of his night terror. He huffed in frustration as the pain in his chest tightened a visceral reminder of the torment that continued to haunt him. With a sigh, he rose to fetch water from the camp's supply.

As Astarion approached the camp's water source, he undid the cap of the tank, only to find it empty. His irritation flared, and his anticipation for a quick and easy retrieval of water was swiftly quashed. Fetching water for Tav in the nearest spring water source, was an inconvenience he'd hoped to avoid, as it meant she would have to wait a little longer, and that unsettled him.

He couldn't bear the thought of her trudging to the nearby stream, especially in the middle of the night. She needed her rest, and she needed someone to look out for her, she deserved someone who cared for her needs. The same way she cared for everyone, Astarion included.

Tav had taken it upon herself to be the camp's beacon of hope and light. A task made all the more challenging by the peculiarities of their situation. Her efforts were tireless, a testament to her kind heart and unyielding spirit. Astarion observed her interactions with the others, noting the care with which she tended to their individual needs.

Wyll, burdened by his own demons (quite literally), found solace in her gentle words and comforting pats on the back. Shadowheart, often stoic and reserved, seemed to find a confidante in Tav, sharing her thoughts and concerns, well whenever she felt like it. With Halsin and Lae'zel, Tav posed questions to draw them out of their moments when their moods turned sombre. And Gale, ever in need of encouragement, was the recipient of Tav's unwavering support.

Tav's efforts were nothing short of remarkable. Her resourcefulness in their daily travels and on the battlefield drew Astarion's admiration. He recalled with a hint of amusement the impromptu dance-off she had orchestrated with Karlach recently, a move that had brought mirth and merriment to their camp. The laughter that had ensued had been a rare and precious gift in their grim circumstances.

With a resigned sigh, Astarion retraced his steps, returning to Tav's tent. He gingerly opened the flap and peered inside, revealing Tav in a state of half-sleep, waiting expectantly. Crawling into her tent, he whispered to her as he crouched by her side, "Darling, the water tank is empty. I'll have to make a trip to the nearest spring. Tav let out a cute huff of frustration but managed a sleepy smile, whispering her understanding, "Okay."

Astarion's hand found its way to her cheek, a touch both tender and reassuring before he scanned her surroundings and procured Tav's leather water flask, making his exit. The night enveloped him as he ventured out. The sky was adorned with stars, and the crescent moon cast a gentle glow upon the camp's periphery. Although his vampiric night vision rendered the need for artificial light obsolete, the ambience of the night still held a certain charm.

It was a calm walk to the water spring. Astarion admitted to himself that it was very pleasant. Pleasantries like these were a rarity in his undead existence. Each step he took through this benevolent realm with Tav and the group, felt both uncomfortable and disconcertingly new. The effort it took to acclimate to such kindness, to a world that offered gentleness instead of brutality, was not lost on him. The scars of his past still pulsed within him, a constant reminder of the wounds he carried.

The path to the spring was a brief one, a mere five-minute stroll. It was a relief, for he didn't wish to keep Tav waiting for long. Her eagerness to cater to his needs, to sate his hunger as soon as she sensed it, struck a chord within him. He wanted to do the same. The desire to bring her comfort became a yearning he couldn’t deny.

As he pondered the depth of his desire to please her, he couldn't help but marvel at the power she held over him, a force that transcended the boundaries of their tangled fates.

______________________________________

CHAPTER 2: Sleepy Solace

My other Astarion-related fanfictions. Introspection