#the rose of baldurs gate i think she was called

[moss-flesh]

my new half elf bard babygirl………. women have consumed me again n again

[sunsetagain]

Baldur's Gate 3: My heart's An Empty Vase Looking For Roses

Ship: Karlach + non-ascendant Astarion

based on Descent into Avernus

free talk at the end

中文版

I wrote then canceled two comics after wrapping up Byzantine Generals. For a while I thought I lost my comic making ability forever, until BG3 stormed into my life.

Cover lyrics were written by Tender Henk from Singing Lute inn, on a sheet of paper on the desk in the room where Karlach's romance scene takes place. It suits her so well yet she calls him the worst guy she ever met LOL can't blame her bc what in the hells is Jableeda?

NGL I played Karlach in my first BG3 playthrough because her engine reminded me of the thirium pump of a DBH android. Romancing Astarion with her felt like Romancing Kamski with an android to me in the first place LMAO some pretty ancient headcanon like little boy Elijah being bullied in school built a buff RT600 Chloe to be his bodyguard blablabla

Then she and Astarion became my OTP and I played both of them to romance each other, tried every possibility i could think of.

So this comic is just a small talk about a big plan between Karlach and spawn Astarion after the ending of the game. Based on Descent into Avernus. I'm no DnD player so apologize in advance in case of any mistakes. OOC belongs to me.

[amandacanwrite]

The Violet Thread of Fate Part Three:

The Scribe's Guild and the Acolyte Errant

Read || Part One • Part Two

POV || Third Person, dual POV Gale Dekarios and Elinna Inklynn (Tav)

Pairing || Elinna Inklynn (Half-drow tav) and Gale Dekarios

Length || 5,400 Words

Scenario || In an alternative timeline for the events of BG3 Elinna Inklynn, an orphan from the Moonshae Islands seeks out the tutelage of accomplished wizard Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep. She has a knack with the Weave, but no money or connections to actually learn how to harness it. She has heard the wizard is a gentleman and a schollar, and hopes she can appeal to him to take her on as his apprentice in exchange for her help around his tower, with his research, and in running errands in Waterdeep. Unfortunately for her, Gale Dekarios does not take on apprentices.

Warnings || Age gap (Perhaps about 10ish years), depiction of depression and heart ache, description of very, very mild body horror. Description of scarring from corporal punishment. Slightly mature themes.

A/n || In the interest of full disclosure: I didn't edit this one. I was too eager to get it out, so please forgive any strange pacing or verbiage. I may edit it tomorrow or sometime soon, but I also primarily write this for fun so I may also not. I actually really enjoyed writing Gale softening up to Elinna a bit, and Elinna sort of losing some of her rose tinted vision for Gale. Perhaps soon they will meet somewhere in the middle. :))

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Tag list || @softvampirewhump @horizonstride @thoughts-of-bear @mymybirdie @tiedyedghoulette @drabblesandimagines @madwomansapologist @hijirikaww @tryingtowritestuff24 @laserlope @auroraesmeraldarose @puckprimrose @dont-try-pesticide @cherifrog @circusofthelastdays  @nourangul

The Scribe’s Guild

Elinna cupped her hands above her eyes, trying to reduce the urge to squint as she looked out over the edge of one of the craggy cliffside peaks. 

“Are you certain you’re alright up there?” Gale asked from the ground. “Not to be a pain, but you haven’t had the greatest track record with heights as of late.”

“I climbed up here–as long as I don’t try to magic my way down, I should be fine,” she called back. “I’m trying to figure out where we are.”

“Any luck?” he called back. 

“You’re distracting me!” she said. 

“Are you one of those people who can only do one mental process at a time?” he asked. “Do you go blind when your ears are in use?”

“I’m one of those people who needs to think to recall the details of all the maps I’ve cataloged at the Nest,” she griped looking down at him. “Now be quiet so I can think.”

She saw him lift a hand and rub the back of his neck before he turned around and sat down to have a pout. She rolled her eyes looking out over the coastline again, trying to cross reference what she could see from her view with the overhead details of maps she’d looked at before.

Gale Dekarios was certainly a…strange archmage. 

Reading transcripts of conversations, reading his treatises–she’d always pictured this stately, almost dry sort of fellow. Someone who would sniff before correcting her about something–or stand perpetually with his nose pointed at the ceiling so you always knew he was looking down at you past it. 

But he was just…well–a sort of awkward, somewhat humorous man. 

They’d been wandering for some time–Gale had a good sense for what was north, south, east and west, but there was only so much that one could do when unaware of where the starting point was.

The shame of things was that they were in some random locale with very few cities about. She’d learned much about Baldur’s Gate, Amn, Waterdeep–places she wished to visit. If there was Gale’s tower nearby–or perhaps Sorcerous Sundries–she could have been able to pluck it out of the landscape with ease. 

Instead, as she looked out off the cliff, she only saw shoreline give way to worn out cobbled roads. Some sort of village obscured the haze of distance and…well nothing familiar. She pursed her lips before chewing slightly on the bottom one; a nervous habit that often left her with metallic-tasting patches on the inside of her lip. 

“Well?” Gale said a bit impatiently. 

She was just about to give him the bad news–that she found nothing of note and had no idea which way to go–when a shadow darkened the ground from somewhere overhead. She looked up to find a black blot against the light blue of the sky–a dire raven with a wingspan of about 10 feet, armored in the colors of a the Scribe’s Guild; pale tan leathers, brass metal and mist green canvas. 

She found herself smiling despite the fact that she’d told herself she’d never look at a Scribe’s Guild after leaving The Nest. She watched for a while longer as the large avian swooped through the sky and then landed on the parapet of a distant stone structure. 

“We’re in luck!” she called down to Gale.

“Are we?” he asked. “You didn’t happen to have found a cleric of legendary skill up there did you?”

“Not that much luck,” she said as she started to climb down the rocky face of the cliff.

“Are you sure you ought to be doing that?” he asked. “It seems awfully dangerous.”

“As we just covered, I’ll be fine so long as I don’t use magic,” she responded. “I’m used to climbs.”

Looking down to find her perch, she carefully lighted her foot on the boulder where she started her climb, and turned to find Gale waiting for her, a single hand offered up to her to assist her down from the small height. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “It’s not that high up.”

“Best not to risk it,” he said. “The twist of an ankle could mean the difference between humanity and ceremorphosis, considering our plight.”

Elinna nibbled on her lower lip and nodded, placing her hand in his. His calloused fingers closed around her hand and he lifted his other hand to grasp her waist. She stepped off the stone and he supported her weight easily, lowering her to the ground smoothly. 

“So,” he said, not taking his hands away yet. “You’ve kept me in suspense, Elinna. Why are we in luck?”

“I just saw a Dire Raven,” she said. “One of the ones we use to transport records between different chapters of the Scribe’s Guild.”

“The what?” he asked. 

“The Scribe’s guild,” she said. “I told you, I was their ward in the Moonshae Islands.”

“Did you?” he asked. 

She sighed and gave him a disappointed look. “You really didn’t listen to me at all back in Waterdeep.”

His hand twitched on her waist as his brow furrowed. “Well that’s hardly fair,” he said. “You were a stranger standing right outside of my home. Why should I have?”

“Courtesy,” she said sourly as she turned away from him and started to walk down the pathway in the direction she watched the dire raven fly. 

She tried to ignore the tingling feeling in the tips of her fingers as her hand left his; the feeling of absence at her waist as she lost the weight of his hand. 

“Oh, come now–” he said, his face screwing with offense and hurrying after her. “Don’t imply that I was being discourteous when you were the one showing up at a strange man’s home unannounced!”

“It’s not as if I let myself in!” she said back. 

“Wait, you still haven’t told me what the Scribe’s Guild is,” he said, finally catching up to her.

“I assumed you would know what it is,” she said looking sidelong and up at him.

“I confess I’ve not heard of it,” he said. 

She sighed and looked ahead. Maybe she didn’t want to tell him if he didn’t already know, she thought. She wasn’t sure she was ready to reveal just how sheltered her life was before heading to Waterdeep. 

But they were now headed for the local archive and he was going to find out either way so…

“The scribe’s guild is a redundancy,” she said. “It’s one of the realm’s most extensive collections of information. If you’re looking for a book, a scroll, a record of some obscure property dispute… you can find it there. I was raised in one.”

“So, you’re a scribe?” he asked her. “You write books–collect this information and dole it out to those who need it?”

She pursed her lips. “I wasn’t a scribe myself,” she said. “I was a clerk.”

“So you were in training,” he said. “Assisting the scribes so that you could take on the task.”

She felt her skin pinken with warmth, afraid to disclose the truth–afraid of what it would look like. “Not quite,” she said. “The ArchLibrarian thought I wasn’t suited to the work.”

“Why not?” he asked. 

“Because I was too fun,” she said, her walls going up a little higher. “If you must know.”

“My,” he said. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“It seems like you’re looking for reasons to think poorly of me,” she said. 

“It seems like you’re hiding reasons to think poorly of you,” he said. “So, what was it? Sleeping on the job? Theft? Did you try to cast a cantrip and  Did you come looking for me because they turned you out and cut you off?”

“Gods,” she said looking up at him, a little line forming between her brows and her face getting even warmer with embarrassment. “You really do think I’m a wastrel, don’t you?”

“No I don’t!” he said. 

“What happened to you being worried about seeming an ill-mannered man?” she asked.

“Elinna–you’re young–youth is made for mistakes. You think I was always an upstanding young man while in attendance at Blackstaff?” he said. “I slept through most of my Calashite lessons.”

“Don’t lie to me to try and get dirt on me,” Elinna said as she walked faster.. “Don’t mock me like that.”

“Elinna–Elinna, would you slow down?” he said. 

“No. I want to get to the Scribe’s Guild.”

“We will get there with plenty enough time before sundown,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Elinna, stop.”

She stopped but didn’t look up at him, she couldn’t make herself do it. She didn’t know what was more embarrassing for her; the fact that she’d hardly seen any of the world, the fact that her guardians felt she was inept and flighty, or the fact that she was quite acting like a petulant child with Gale when she only wished to prove to him that she could be a good student. 

Maybe seeking him out had been a mistake from the start. She’d spent so long reading about Gale and his work–learning about his unique understanding of magic–reading his writings…in some ways she’d convinced herself that he was already a friend. 

She’d never thought about how trying to become his apprentice also meant sharing her qualifications and the more time she spent talking to him the more she realized she had none. 

She could feel him looking at her almost indulgently–like a man speaking to a child. 

She didn;t know why she hated that most of all. 

“Elinna, forgive me for prying,” he said. “I was just trying to get to know you a little better. From what I can tell there is a significant distance between here and Waterdeep and it will be a much more pleasant journey if we get to know one another a little bit as we travel, don’t you think?”

Elinna smoothed her amber hair away from her brow, cupping her hand on her forehead as if checking herself for fever. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, finally. . “I think I’m just tired.”

“I can only imagine…what with going from the islands, to Waterdeep so climbing up cliff sides and now we have to walk even further? We can swap notes later,” he said with a gentle smile. “Let’s focus on getting to this place–maybe they can put us up for an evening or at least point us in the direction of the nearest town.”

Elinna nodded before heaving a great sigh. 

“It shouldn’t be long,” she said. “Maybe just a few hours of walking from here.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Lead on.”

The Acolyte Errant

Elinna was a curious girl. 

She was somehow equal measures breezy and intense; lackadaisical and earnest. He didn’t know what to make of the dichotomy. He knew even less what to do with the strange secrecy she had about her former home. 

Perhaps it was a bit of paranoia–after all, he had his own secrets he was keeping. It was perhaps more than a little hypocritical of him to fault her for hers. 

“So, tell me more about The Scribe’s Nest,” he said, trying to change the subject to something more informative and a little less personal.

“Specifically The Nest? Or the guild in general?” she asked. 

“Mm…if it’s not too personal for you, The Nest. You said that’s where you grew up right?” he said. 

She nodded, wiping sweat off her brow. The day was beginning to get hot, so he had to think they were further down south than Waterdeep and the islands. It was much cooler this time of year–hence the layers both he and Elinna wore. 

“Uhm–The Nest in Moonshae is in an old abandoned temple to Ilmater,” she told him. “My mother left me there thinking that it was a safe place for me to grow up–thinking I’d be cared for by clerics. But The Nest was already there.”

“I see,” Gale said, feeling for the girl but trying not to let it come through in his tone. “I suppose they took you in anyway?”

She nodded again. “They did,” she said. “Still not sure why, if I’m honest–they have a few oaths they had to make in exchange for financial support. Even so, there were other temples in the area that probably could have taken me in. But uh–anyway. The way that the scribes work is they receive funds from the local government and they use those funds to pay a fleet of scouts to get word back to us about the goings on in the world. The scribes record it, make copies of each account and send them to the other branches.”

“Hells,” he said. “That sounds like quite the expensive endeavor.”

“It is–and the scribes outsource the work so that there’s no conflict of interest. No scribes out wandering the world trying to spin tales. They have a motto: ‘We Are The Accuracy In The Indulgent The Composed in the Chaotic.’” She said. “In other words, they try to record everything as plainly and as closely to the facts as possible. In addition to that, they try to have copies of every written work ever produced.”

“How can that even be quantified or verified for that matter?” Gale asked. 

“Like I said–they try,” she said. “It’s all very tedious if you ask me.”

“I’m shocked I haven’t heard of this place–it sounds like a veritable treasure trove of knowledge,” he said. 

“The scribes don’t open the vaults to many,” she said. “They consider their work one of posterity; a record of history, not a resource to be plumbed. They don’t even really indulge in reading the records themselves.”

“That sounds….extraordinarily wasteful,” He said. 

He saw Elinna finally crack a smile at that. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “Wasteful, boring, depressing.”

He was itching to ask her if that was why she’d left what she’d had as a home for…well however long she’d been alive. She looked remarkably young, but with half-elves that hardly meant much. For all he knew she was his age. 

“Elinna, do you mind if I ask how old you are?” he asked. 

She looked up at him, her brow quirking. “Uhm–I’ve had twenty-eight summers so far,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

Ah–around ten years younger than he was. No wonder she seemed so restless when she’d come to find him at his tower. Most Wizards were well into their studies at Blackstaff by now, or at least had some reasonable amount of aptitude with the weave. “Just curious,” he said shrugging. “You look young but you’re also not complaining, or panicking, or well–other things I would expect a young person to be doing in this situation.”

He wasn’t sure if he was reading it correctly, but he could have sworn that she pressed her lips a bit to avoid smiling. Was the poor girl such a stranger to praise that the simple pointing out of her maturity could make her have to stop a flustered smile from forming on her lips?”

“I guess I just feel like anything is preferable to being stuck in that dusty old tower,” she said. 

There was a sort of…sadness to her words. A quality he recognized first hand. 

Not sadness, he realized as he saw one of his own feelings mirrored back at him. Regret. 

But that was not a subject he wished to bring up–not when the questions could so easily be turned back onto him.

“Well, Elinna,” he said, changing the subject. “You have Gale of Waterdeep with you–I’m a captive audience as we walk to the guild hall. Anything I can impress you with?” 

It was an olive branch, of sorts. It, of course, wasn’t the first time he’d met some hopeful magician who wanted to pick his brain. Usually he politely shooed them away, but he figured that extending the offer might cheer her up.

“I’m quite well read on the subject,” she answered. 

Wait…had he missed the question while he was patting himself on the back for being open to bragging? “Sorry–which subject is that?” he asked.

Her face flushed and she gave him a furtive look with those pretty green eyes. She cleared her throat and pushed some hair behind her ear. 

“Uhm–you–” she said finally. “I’ve read everything the archive has that even has a tangential mention of your name in it.”

He blinked, feeling glad for the fact that she was looking most pointedly away from him. “Ah,” he said, trying to master his tone. “Well–should we crosscheck the scribe’s records? Tell me what you know and I can correct anything that’s wrong.”

“We’ll be here for hours if I do that…” she mumbled under her breath. 

Now it was his turn to flush–until he realized–

“Wait, I thought you said that the scribes don’t read the records–” he said. 

“I did,” she said, looking over at him with a sheepish little smile. “That’s why they said I’m not suited for the work. It’s why they keep me on shelving duty.”

Ah–that was what she meant when she said she was used to climbing.

Suddenly there was an uncomfortable pressure in his skull as he saw flashes of giant stacks of dusty tomes, heard the squeaking of a half-broken wheel on a cart, felt rawness on his fingertips from shelving books and records; the deep ache of tired muscles.

When he was able to focus again, Elinna was crouched a few feet ahead, her gloved hands pressing on the sides of her head. 

“W-was that a memory?” Gale asked. “Did you just send me a memory?”

“No,” she said weakly. “Gods…that was…I could feel you in my head–”

“I didn’t–it wasn’t something I did on purpose,” he said frantically. 

He felt as embarrassed as a young man might be during his first time with a lover. It’d been years since he’d accidentally used his magic. Not since he was an adolescent. 

“I think it’s the parasite,” she said. “Mindflayers are part of a hive mind–maybe it’s the start of that tether forming to it.”

“I’m loath to face that possibility, but you may be right,” Gale said grimly as he walked over to her and offered a hand. “You alright?”

“Just exhausted, I think,” she said as she took his hand. “It felt like the parasite was pulling at the seams of my mind, extracting those images like thread through the eye of a needle.”

“Aptly put,” he said, finally helping her up. 

“Let’s just hurry to the guild,” she said. 

It was a bit of a grueling trek after that. The pathway mostly uphill and on rocky, uneven pathways. Wherever this guild branch was, it was clear enough to him that the scribes had no interest in being bothered or visited. He wasn’t so worried about himself, though–if anything, he was worried about Elinna. 

Thinking about it–she’d originally mentioned that she was looking for a place to live when he met her and she’d asked him to take her on as a student. He wondered when the last time she’d slept was. It wasn’t uncommon for passengers unused to traveling by ship to sleep poorly on them. The voyage between the Moonshae Islands and Waterdeep was probably close to a tenday, give or take a day or two. 

He felt a little guilty, now, that he had let her climb up the cliffside to help them get their bearings; that he couldn’t be of more assistance with some kind of charm or boon. 

As predicted, it took them about another two hours to make it to the base of a decaying old castle. He didn’t recognize it, and from what he could tell there were no real markings on it to distinguish what lineage or people it could have belonged to at one point. 

He looked up as another dire raven–or perhaps the same one he hadn’t seen before–took flight from one of the crumbling parapets, then he looked over at Elinna. 

She was still damp with sweat, but her exerted flush had given way to an almost sickly sort of pallor. He worried for a moment that she may already be starting the process of ceremorphosis–but if that was the case, why hadn’t the same happened to him? 

“Fucking stairs,” she groaned as she bent over and braced her hands on her knees. “I think I may need to sit for just a moment.”

Gale looked at the stairs and then back at her. He quirked his lips slightly, weighing the number of stairs against the health of his knees. 

“I know once you sit it will be all the more difficult for you to get up and get going,” he said. “Let me carry you the rest of the way.”

She balked at him, her verdant eyes wide and a bit of her flush returning to her freckled cheeks. He tried not to think about how charming the look of surprise was. “Y-you can’t,” she said. “I’m filthy–and drenched besides. And I’ll be too heavy.”

“Nonsense,” he insisted. “You hardly come up to my shoulder–and it’s not as if I’m a fine example of cleanliness at the moment. You can tell me proper decorum as we make our way up.”

“Gale–”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he said with a little teasing glimmer in his eyes. 

He kneeled in front of her, back toward her, and patted his shoulder. “Climb on,” he said. 

There was nothing for a moment and he almost looked back to see if she was going to stubbornly refuse. But just as he was going to, he felt tentative fingertips on his right shoulder; then his left. She smoothed her hand toward the front of him, drawing a tingling line along his collarbones. He tried not to flinch as her hands joined right over the spot the orb burned in his chest, but he couldn’t stop it. 

She froze and almost started withdrawing. He reached up and closed a single hand over both of hers. 

“Did I hurt you?” she asked him.

“Not at all,” he said. “Remember–I’ve been a recluse for some time. Just forgot what it felt like to be touched by someone who isn’t a tressym.”

There was one more moment of hesitation and then finally, Elinna put her weight onto him, hitching her legs above his hips. 

“Alright,” he said. “Going up.”

He scooped his hands under her knees and rose to his feet. 

Truth be told, she was a touch heavier than he’d expected. And he realized with a bit of rueful interest that her body was a little…softer…than he’d anticipated. Even through her layers of canvas and leather, he could feel the supple swell of her thighs, her hips, her breasts…

He shook his head and cleared his throat as he started to climb the stairs. 

“So, what’s our story?” he asked. 

“Mmn–story?” she breathed against his ear. 

Gods, she sounded like a freshly roused lover in the morning. 

“You’re not falling asleep back there, are you?” he asked. 

“Trying not to,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Keep talking to me,” he said. “It will help you stay awake.”

And give me something to stop my mind from drifting to what might be beneath your clothes. He thought with no shortage of disgust in himself. 

“Mmh–visitors are prohibited, usually,” she said, her sleepy slurring sending a chill up his spine. “Since you’re carrying me in…maybe tell them you found me unconscious on the ground. They can refuse scholars, but they have an oath to help the needy. Hence…me…”

“The lady deceives,” Gale teased. “I thought you were above such dishonesty.”

She gave a quiet chuckle. “If the guild needs a bit of encouragement to do what is right, who am I to deny it?” Then after a moment. “Thank you…for carrying me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no bother,” he said. 

And it really wasn’t, aside from his own traitorous thoughts about her. His knees weren’t even tired when he reached the top of the stairs. He looked back at her sidelong. “Hang onto me will you–afraid I’ll need one of these hands.”

He regretted asking her to do that immediately. Her thighs squeezed a little tighter around his middle and he suddenly wished for death. He opened the door as quickly as he could, and went back to holding her knee. 

Inside there was…no one to be found. At least not at first. 

Then came the sound of soft soles scuffing on stone stairs. He gazed to the right, seeing a shadow elongate as it grew further and further away from some torch or sconce further up on the stairs. 

A moment later, a wizened man peered at him through small spectacles on a crooked nose. 

He was dressed somewhat like Elinna, though the embroidery and fastenings on his clothes were finer. On his lapel, he wore a golden dire raven pin with a quill snatched in it’s beak.The pin was connected to a chain from which dangled a single golden key. 

“You’ve reached The Scribe’s Perch,” he said, his voice quiet and willowy, like it had frayed through years of neglect. “I fear we’re not taking visitors.”

In front of Gale’s chest, Elinna’s arms went slack and her body went a little heavier. Her head rested fully on his shoulder, her sleeping breaths gusting warmly on the back of his neck. He supposed it worked better for the tale he had to weave–though he did worry for the poor girl. 

“I’ve found one of your acolytes on the path some way away from here. She seems feverish–likely hungry and dehydrated. She’s gone in and out of consciousness but told me to find you here and ask for you help. Help for both of us.”

The old man merely tilted to get a look at Elinna with a somewhat disinterested expression. “Mnh…there are protocols in place for this, yes,” he said. “An inconvenience to say the least, though. We will have to make arrangements for your supper.”

Gale felt his ire flare and found himself understanding why Elinna seemed so sour about where she’d been reared. It was a wonder she made it out of childhood with her curiosity and her tenacity intact. 

“If it’s too much of a bother, I can see to producing a meal for us,” he said, trying his best to master his tone. 

“No, no,” the man said. “The smells–the oils–they could upset the balance and focus of the archives. Come–I will see you to a lodging for the night. I am afraid I must ask you to stay there and to not wander our halls freely. And you must leave come morning.”

“I thought you had an oath to help the needy,” Gale said. 

“The qualifying criteria which defines who or what is needy is not agreed upon,” he said. “The girl is unconscious, but you stand and walk freely. Surely she is hardly needy if she has you.”

“She’s one of your acolytes,” Gale said. “Surely you can’t be so callous.”

“She’s not an acolyte from The Perch. We do not allow women among our ranks–their scents and scintillations bring focus away from posterity. I allow you to stay only because she still wears our colors and because we’ve received no missive about a disgraced acolyte,” he said. “But there has been a great collision on the shoreline and we work tirelessly to record it.”

“Well you’re in luck–we’re survivors from that crash–we can help you–”

“No. We only accept the accounts of verified scouts,” he said. “Now come–I’ve wasted precious time already. My quill will have started to dry out.”

Gale bit his tongue and simply nodded–worried that if the man showed is rudeness and disinterest again he would snap at the Scribe and lose them a night of rest and the chance to bathe and change. 

Their ungracious host led them up the stairs, past a massive steel door singing with wards, and to a doorway about as tall as Elinna. The Scribe opened the lock with his tiny golden key–a skeleton key it seemed–and gestured him inside. 

Gale bent a bit at the knees, careful to mind Elinna’s head as he ducked into the room. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Supper is at seven bells. Porridge, roasted carrots and river fish–you will have to come retrieve it yourself–the kitchens are down the stairs we traveled up and through the small northern wooden door,” their host said. 

And with that, the man simply closed the door and left Gale alone with Elinna. 

Gale looked about the room. 

It was small, about the size of the larder in his tower, and barren. In one corner, a threadbare sheet hung to offer pock-marked privacy should one bathe in the water-swollen, wooden tub there. There was a single desk with a nearly-spent candle perched slantingly in a chamberstick made of brass. Against the far wall stood the bed–

The Bed. 

Singular. 

Only one bed. 

Oh hells, it would be a very long night indeed. 

He carried Elinna over to the bed and carefully cradled her against his back as he pulled back the mildew-smelling covers. Beneath was an old hay mattress. He felt loath to place her on it, but he hadn’t enough energy to conjure something more comfortable for her. 

He supposed it didn’t matter for tonight–the poor girl just needed some sleep. 

He carefully placed her in the bed and hesitated, pondering.

She’d spent so much time during their travels complaining of the feeling of viscera in her clothes; her shoes. He could only imagine how terrible it would feel for her to wake up, warm and damp from feverish sleep, only to still feel soggy boots and garments on your body. 

It wasn’t proper. He wasn’t even sure it would be welcome. But it was a gesture toward her comfort he could actually provide. 

He carefully slipped off her boots, setting them off to the side in a blood-soaked heap. Then he removed her leather gloves, and finally, the waistcoat she wore. 

Beneath her green canvas, she wore a simple muslin dress that fell just slightly off the shoulders. He noted with a bit of curious mirth, that she had a smattering of freckles across the bare skin of her decolletage and arms as well. He wondered how many times she’d had to sneak away from her duties to get those. 

Then he saw something else. 

On the inside of one delicate wrist, he spotted the hint of a violet patch of skin. In a brief panic he turned her arm over to get a better view of it, worried that her transformation may be starting, after all. 

Instead, what he found was scarring. Violet scars forming a ladder of tidy caning marks on the tender skin of the inside of her arm. 

“No wonder you wanted to get out,” he said under his breath as he brushed his thumb against the marks. They were only barely raised. They’d been there a long time then. For some reason it hurt his heart to think of a smaller, squeakier Elinna as her caretakers tried and clearly failed to tame the wonder out of her. 

Perhaps it was because he had also been punished severely for his ambition and thirst for knowledge, but he could no longer bear to see her in the greens, tans and creams of The Scribe’s Guild. Not when there was so much she’d had to fight to keep hold of. 

He thought he could maybe find a pocket somewhere. If he rested he ought to be able to, anyway. Or if not, he could try to look around the grounds and scrounge something up for each of them to change into. And maybe a few supplies for setting up camp, too, since they wouldn’t be granted time to catch their bearings at The Perch. 

He pulled the worn blanket up enough to cover her arms, but not so high that the smell of mildew could wake her. 

He walked over to the tiny door and looked back over his shoulder one more time to make sure she was still quite asleep. 

And then he slipped out of their sorry room to find a place to restore himself. 

[mooshywrites]

Is it possible to ask for a Shadowheart x fem durge tiefling please 🙏 I just want a fluffy little fic with gods favourite princess 😔

Dark Heart

Fem!Reader x Shadowheart

Masterlist

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─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A/N - gods favorite princess coming right up :,)

Word count - 1.4K

Warnings - Angstish, major spoilers for durge route, spoilers for Act three

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“You may not know who you are now, but I do. And the ‘you’ that I know is the you that I love.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The cool night wind did wonders for clearing your mind. It was late, late enough that most of your companions were asleep in their tents, closed off from the outside world.

But not you. No, sleep wouldn’t come for you even if you begged the heavens above. It was frustrating to say the least, needing sleep for the battle ahead but not being able to get it due to what exactly that battle meant. It had been only a couple of days since you had discovered your Bhaalspawn origin. Two days since it felt like your world came crashing down.

You couldn’t decide whether knowing or not knowing what you were was better. You knew there was something dark about your past. Something suffocatingly evil. But, you never would have guessed you were the whole reason behind The Absolute. The reason so many people had died and the reason your companions were now suffering for it.

You weren’t sure how to bring it up to your friends, worried that would be the last conversation you ever had.

Not to mention Shadowheart. Sweet Shadowheart.

Would she still look at you the way she did before? Small smiles and gentle kisses? Would she still stay up late into the night with you, drinking wine and sharing soft whispers? Would she still murmur those three words to you when no one was around to hear?

You weren’t sure. Even further, you weren’t sure you were ready to find out. The thought of giving up her presence was too much to bear. How would you continue on without her laughs, her embraces, her presence. Just without… her.

As if called by your own thoughts, you heard quiet footsteps approaching you. You didn’t have to turn to see who it was, Shadowheart being the only one who could walk so quietly and the only one who would be looking for you so late into the evening.

“Bad dreams?” A light voice prodded, the dark haired half-elf sitting on the ground next to you.

You couldn’t meet her eyes, your fatigue making it all the more difficult to hide your emotions. “You have to sleep to have bad dreams.” You joked, trying to crack a smile.

Leaves crunched beneath Shadowheart as she shifted, leaning against your shoulder slightly. She felt warm against you, comfort seeping through to your bones at even the slightest touch.

“Not sleeping isn’t ideal, we need you strong to take back Baldur’s Gate.” She teased back.

There was a moment of silence and you could feel her eyes on you. You didn’t have to look to know how much concern was probably in her gaze. “I’m worried about you.” She whispered.

You lifted your gaze to the woman, finally meeting her emerald green eyes. Your voice was shaky when you responded, holding much more truth than your words, “I’m fine, my love. Truly.”

Her eyes filled with pity, obviously not believing what you had said. She leaned in close, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. Your shoulders relaxed as you returned the kiss, inhaling her scent of roses and wine. When you pulled back, the loss tugged at your heart painfully.

“I do not wish for you to see me at my worst.” You offered, wishing to spare her from what you were. What you !really were.

Shadowheart only smiled that sly gentle smile you loved, reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her fingertips lingered for a moment before they trailed down to your chin, sending a shiver down your back.

“You’ve seen me at my worst.” She said, giving you a small laugh. “I think it’s high time you returned the favor.”

You bit your lip, weighing your options. Shadowheart would know if you were lying, ever perceptive of even your half truths. “What would you do if who I was before you met me, before I lost my memories… was bad?”

Shadowheart blinked for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “You’ve already told me about your more violent inclinations. But you’re fighting against them, yes? That’s all that matters to me. Why? Did you remember something about your past?”

You turned your head away, anxiety welling up in your chest. The words were right on the tip of your tongue, a flood of emotion just waiting for the one crack to split the dam. But you couldn’t. Your mouth felt dry, your hands clammy. As if an invisible force was keeping you from telling her the truth.

“You know you don’t have to be afraid to tell me.” Shadowheart assured, stroking your cheek with her thumb. “I don’t know much about my past either. Even after turning from Shar, I still worry there’s some part of me I’ll never get back.”

“But you know you were a good person at some point.” You responded. “Better than I ever could have been.” You leaned into her hand, hoping she would’ve press the subject further.

“How bad could you have possibly be-“ Shadowheart started, quickly cut off by your harsh tone.

“Bad, Shadowheart. Evil. Evil enough to be the reason all of this is happening.” You spit, leaning away from her hand and looking back at the ground. You hated to be so harsh, but part of you hoped that snapping at her would make the conversation go away. The desperate part of you hoped that her hurt feelings would be easier than her hatred if she knew. Knew what you really were.

Shadowheart brought back her hand to rest on her lap, her mouth pressing into a thin line. It was silent for a moment, the only sound being leaves rustled in the night breeze.

“What do you mean?” Shadowheart asked quietly.

You felt tears sting at the corner of your eyes, emotion and turmoil swirling in your chest like a monstrous storm. Some sick part of your mind chided you for being weak. Assured you that you should be !proud of who you once were. You stamped those thoughts down, trying your best to keep the tears from running down your cheeks.

“I’m a Bhaalspawn.” You choked out, “Orin didn’t come up with the plan for The Absolute with Gortash, I did. She just usurped me. I haven’t slept since I found out.” You paused, looking down in shame. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

You sat in silence waiting for Shadowheart to react, harsh words lashing out at you, pure silence as she stood up and left you forever, even a slap would be better than the absence of anything that she was giving you.

You flinched as you saw her hand out of the corner of your eye, sure she was going to take out her anger, but instead, a gentle touch tilted your head back to Shadowheart.

Her eyes had no anger in them, no downwards pity or distrust. They only held affection. Silent words passing between the two of you as she cupped your face. Tears fell freely now, running in streams down your cheeks. You stifled a sob, worried that once you started, you’d never stop.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.” You whispered, voice wet with emotion.

Shadow heart wiped a tear away with her thumb, reaching with her other hand to pull you into a tight embrace. She held you close, tucking your head against the crook of your neck and wrapping her arm around your waste. She stayed like for a moment, silent, petting your hair as your tears flowed.

Her voice was soft and warm when you spoke, whispering into your ear. “None of that matters to me. You may not know who you are now, but I do. And the ‘you’ that I know is the you that I love.”

Her words cracked the wall, bringing forth everything you had been feeling in the past days. Sobs wracked your body, exhaustion etching through your bones. Shadowheart clutched you tightly, humming a calming lullaby softly. Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the warmth and comfort of her arms.

You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up the next morning, the sunrise peaking above the skyline. You started to sit up before you realized you were still locked in Shadowheart embrace, the half elf fast asleep as she held you.

Her words from the night before played over in your head. They made you feel lighter, more free. Like you had a choice in what your destiny would be henceforth. Even if people considered you a monster, you would push through it, knowing you had Shadowheart’s undying trust.

You brushed Shadowheart’s fringe to the side, allowing yourself the small moment to appreciate her beauty as nature awoke around you. As you placed a gentle kiss against her forehead, you realized you were feeling something you’d never in your life experienced before.

True peace.

[donnabenevientosimp]

Karlach x Shadowheart x NB!Reader

Tags: contains spoilers abt Shadowheart's real name and her arc, reader is a tiefling and has two tails bc who wouldn't want two tails just to keep wrapped around your gfs, reader may or may not be the child of a devil, depends on what I wrote ofc. Giving Karlach a different ending bc she deserves it, slight major character death, fluff, tiny bit of angst sprinkled in bc I do love my angst/comfort

Requested: yes or no

This one is super long and I don't regret a thing, I love Karlach and Shadowheart

You had managed to get to Baldur's Gate, finally leaving the shadow-cursed lands and healing said shadow lands. You had been roaming around the large city with Karlach and Shadowheart, your girlfriends. You had managed to pick a fight with a mother superior of Shar, the same one who had supposedly 'saved' Shadowheart. After that battle, Shadowheart found her parents and learned her real name and decided to free them despite the curse staying. You had asked her if she wanted to be called Shadowheart still or if you could call her Jenevelle, her real name. She gave you and Karlach the freedom to call her either, saying she didn't mind the way her real name fell off your tongue, with a blush on her cheeks and tips of her ears. "Love, are you alright?" Shadowheart asked and you blinked and looked at her. "Sorry, just thinking about the past few days," you said with a sheepish smile. "What are you thinking about?" Karlach asked and you looked at her. "Helping you two, how I got so lucky to have both of you in my life. I've been thinking of something though, running it by Gale and even Elminster," you said and they looked at you curiously. "What is it?" Karlach asked. "Well, when you were yelling at me after Gortash died and asked if I had a Wish spell stored in my pack, it got me thinking. What if I didn't need so much as a Wish spell to give you heart, than some fine-tuned necromantic rituals? We faced Balthazar who was a necromancer and I kept his notes, we found a Chosen of Myrkul and I killed him, but also kept his notes. I could kill you, temporarily, remove your engine and put a heart into your chest and revive you either with a scroll of revivify or the spell or with the necromancy rituals," you said and looked away from the two of them, scared of what they might say. "You really wanna do those rituals that kill other people just for one person?" Karlach said. "I wouldn't be killing anyone Karlach," you said and she scoffed. "That's the whole point of these rituals. I can't believe you'd actually kill an innocent person and rip their heart out," Karlach said. "Karlach, let them finish," Shadowheart said gently. "No, I don't want some butchered innocent's heart inside me," Karlach said and you stood up and walked off, your tails dragging along the floor, indicating your feelings you didn't want to show. You walked over to Gale and Elminster and gave them a sad smile, walking through the portal to the tower Elminster let you so graciously use. You threw yourself into your research, why? Well Karlach's anger and emptiness after killing Gortash ruined you and you knew she deserved better.

"Tymora, Kelemvor, Jergal, please let this ritual work. I can't lose her," you sighed, wiping away a stray tear. "Hell, if you have an inspiration to give on how to fix it Gond, I'll take it," you muttered, speaking to the gods to see if they could even help a tiny bit. An idea then popped into your head and you went back through the portal. You walked over to Mizora who looked at you. "What can I do for you, Two-Tails?" Mizora asked with a smile. "Take me to Avernus," you said and she rose an eyebrow. "Why?" Mizora asked curiously. "I need to meet someone, you'll know when we get there but only you will know," you said and she smiled. "Very well," Mizora said and grabbed your hand, teleporting you both to Avernus. Your wings forced themselves out of hiding from inside your back and your tails became forked at the ends. "You...," Mizora was speechless. "The only thing I could conceal about my true heritage was my wings and the forked part of my tails. I couldn't figure out how to conceal one of them so I just said I was born with two tails and don't know why," you said and Mizora nodded. "Who is your devilish parent?" Mizora asked. "Glasya, the Archdevil of Malbolge and daughter of Asmodeus," you replied and her eyes widened. "My liege I did not-" "Don't bow Mizora. I, like my mother, have a thing for subtlety," you said and she nodded. "I wish to meet Zariel and see her infernal engine blueprint," you said and Mizora nodded, flapping her wings. "Let's go then," Mizora said and you both took flight. You reached the Bronze Citadel and walked to where Zariel was sitting on her throne. There she sat, the archangel turned archdevil. Her bald head with a halo of flame, black feathery wings with red ends, glowing orange eyes and a flail for an arm. "Archdevil Zariel, Lord of Avernus," you said and she looked at you. "If it isn't Glasya's spawn," Zariel smiled. "I'd like to see your infernal engine blueprints," you said and she nodded and snapped her fingers, the blueprints appearing in her hand. "Here you are," Zariel said and you walked up to her and took the blueprints. "Thank you Zariel. I guess this is payment for me giving you the soul of one of my friends," you said and she smiled. "He will make a fine killer of devils, demons and fiends," Zariel smiled. "I have to return topside, but do keep in touch," you said and gave her a two finger salute before Mizora teleported you both back to camp. "Thanks Mizora," you said and she smiled. "Of course, I live to serve, and well, you keep the surprises coming Pup, I do enjoy them," Mizora said with a grin. "You reek of Avernus, why did you go there?" Wyll asked. "I had some business there Wyll, don't worry, I only stole some things I forgot to steal in the House of Hope," you lied and he nodded.

You then made your way back to the tower and looked over the infernal engine blueprints. "These aren't even meant for people, what the hells Zariel? You put a smaller hellfire engine inside Karlach?" You spoke to yourself out loud. You then looked at the blueprints for an upgraded version of the smaller hellfire engine and noticed whoever made it, wrote it in Primordial. Zariel only spoke Infernal, Abyssal and Celestial, but you chose to learn as many languages as you could. You immediately grabbed all the infernal iron and enriched infernal iron and got to work making the new hellfire engine. After spending several hours on creating the engine you finished it. Turning it on and seeing how it works in the Material Plane. You put your hand on it, it felt warm but not as hot as the Hells, it could work here on the Material Plane and even in the Hells. You smiled widely, you'd done it. You found a cure for Karlach! You turned the engine off and grabbed it, walking to the portal and were back at camp. "I thought you'd be cooped up in that mage's tower for the entire day Pup. Did it work?" Mizora asked. "It did...wait where's Karlach?" You asked, now not seeing your girlfriend. "She said she needed to think things over and went somewhere, said she'd be back later," Mizora said and you nodded sadly. You walked over to the little dock in your camp and sat down with a sigh. You heard a portal open and felt a familiar presence. You turned your head and a smile broke out onto your face. You quickly got up, placing the hellfire engine on the ground. "Mom!" You smiled and hugged her. "Hello my dear," Glasya smiled as she hugged you back. "I heard you went to Avernus, what for?" Glasya asked. "You read my letters? How I found love in two people? One of them is Zariel's old agent, Karlach. I went to Avernus for the blueprints on her infernal engine. Turns out it's a smaller version of a hellfire engine. But whoever made the designs made an upgraded one that can operate on the Material Plane without overheating and wrote it in Primordial, I created it and it works," you said happily and Glasya smiled. "I knew you could do it, little liege," Glasya smiled, brushing her fingers through your hair. "Thanks Mom, I've missed you, so much," you said and she nodded. "I missed you too, have you told anyone of your heritage? Aside from Mizora," Glasya asked and you frowned and shook your head. "No, we've run into Raphael and everyone hated and didn't trust him. I killed him of course, but how could I tell them I'm a devil? Karlach's been used and abused by an archdevil, Wyll was forced to take a deal from a devil to save a city. I can't tell them, they'd hate me, I'd be alone again," you said with a sad sigh. "I see, but what if they don't?" Glasya said and you shrugged. "Well, I hope once you do tell them, let me meet your lovers," Glasya said and you nodded with a smile. "I will," you said and she smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead. "I have to return to Malbolge, but keep in touch okay?" Glasya said and you nodded. "I will Mom, I love you," you said and she smiled. "I love you too little liege, try not to cause too much chaos okay?" Glasya said and you nodded. She then teleported back to Malbolge and you sighed.

"Your mother is a devil?" You heard and turned to see Karlach. "She is," you said and looked down nervously. "Why didn't you tell me?" Karlach asked. "I didn't want you to hate me, or kill me. You went through enough pain with Zariel and Mizora, I didn't want to add on to that with you knowing I was a devil. So I hid my devilish heritage as best I could, except for my tails. I could only make them not forked," you said, playing with one of your tails out of anxiousness. "What's that?" Karlach asked, pointing to the hellfire engine. "Oh, I paid Zariel a visit, asked her for the infernal engine blueprints. She gave them to me freely, but whoever wrote em wrote the upgraded version in Primordial and I was able to make and test it. It works on the Material Plane without overheating," you said and held it. "I wanted to find a cure for you, at any cost because....because I love you so much it hurts me sometimes Karlach. I want to live with you and Jenevelle, wherever that may be and just..be happy with both of you," you said and Karlach smiled, tears streaming down her face. "It really works?" Karlach asked and you nodded. "We'd have to go back to Avernus to safely take out that old engine so it doesn't blow up upon removal," you said and Karlach frowned. "Or we could go to my mom's domain, to her fortress Osseia. I know it's the Sixth Layer of Baator but we'd be safe there," you said and she nodded. "Can Jenevelle come with us?" Karlach asked. "Of course she can, Jen, I know you're lurking around the corner. C'mon," you said and she walked over to you two. "I can never hide from you can I?" Shadowheart smiled. "Mizora, my favorite manipulative bitch, I need your assistance, darling," you said and Mizora walked over to you. "You called my liege?" Mizora said and I smiled. "We are going to Malbolge, to Osseia. I need your assistance in transporting this hellfire engine and my two loves along with me there," you said and she nodded. "Of course my liege," Mizora said with a smile. "Quit with the 'liege' shit I never liked it," you groaned and she giggled.

Mizora and you teleported Shadowheart, Karlach, the hellfire engine and yourselves to Osseia in Malbolge. "At kg qaddqx qaxfx! usw gio ryioftd gioy qibxyz (Oh my little liege! And you brought your lovers)!" Glasya said excitedly in Abyssal. "Kik, Xy sxxw di znadlt dni txqqpayx xsfasxz, nussu txqj (Mom, I need to switch two hellfire engines, wanna help)?" You asked in Abyssal and her smile widened. "Of course I wanna help! Come come," Glasya said excitedly and motioned you all to follow her. You arrived in your research room and you noticed everything was clean but still in the same spot. "I kept it the same when you left, I've been keeping it clean too," Glasya said and you smiled at her. "Thanks Kik (Mom)," you said and she nodded. "Karlach, lay down over here," Glasya said and Karlach looked at you then at Glasya. "How do you know who I am?" Karlach asked. "Y/N told me of course, and of you Shadowheart," Glasya smiled. "Karlach, sweetheart, we unfortunately have to temporarily have you dead while we take out your engine," Glasya said and Karlach nodded slowly. "Don't worry, you're in the best hands, four of them in fact. My little liege is well versed in all types of magic, the little bookworm that they are. They've even had a visit from a Chosen from one of the death gods, the god commended them for their work!" Glasya said with a proud smile. "Kik (Mom)," you groaned and she looked at you. "What? Am I not allowed to brag about my child to your lovers?" Glasya said and you sighed, a blush dusting your cheeks and ears. "Karlach, love, would you like a painless death?" You asked and looked at her. "Yes, you'll bring me back after it's installed right?" Karlach asked. "Of course I will," you said and walked over to her. You gently cupped her cheek and kissed her. "Ah, the literal and classic kiss of death," Glasya said as Karlach peacefully and quickly died. Your eyes and hands glowed green as you grabbed hold of Karlach's soul. "Kidtxy (Mother), can you hold her soul?" You asked and she nodded and grabbed hold of Karlach's soul. You precisely and quickly opened her chest up and commanded the engine to shut off and removed it. You then grabbed the upgraded engine and put it in her chest, commanding it to turn on. It glowed and started up, running smoothly and without any complications. You then magically closed Karlach's chest without leaving scars and nodded to your mother. Karlach's soul was put back in her body and she stirred awake. "Hello love," you smiled and she opened her eyes with a smile. "How do you feel?" You asked. "Better, not overwhelmingly hot," Karlach said as she sat up. "It worked....it worked! You did it!" Karlach said with a laugh. "The only time those flames of yours change colors is the same as it was with your old engine," you said with a smile. "O-Oh," Karlach said, a dark red blush on her cheeks as some flames exited out of the vent holes in her arms. "I do hope I'll be invited for a nxwwasf (wedding) soon," Glasya said, looking at you expectantly. Your ears and cheeks went red, your tails wagging slightly. "Kik (Mom)!" You said embarrassedly and she looked at you. "I'm serious, little liege. I expect a pxn fyusweawz (few grandkids) too," Glasya said and you nodded. "I know, but, we have a-" "Illithid issue I know. I meant after you take care of that blasted thing," Glasya said and you nodded. "I know. Uhm, Jen, Karla, can you go get Mizora?" You said and they nodded and left the room. Once they left you quickly pulled out two small boxes. "I planned on proposing to both of them sometime this week," you said and Glasya smiled. "Oh, they're beautiful! You made them of course, I know your metalwork and jewelry making anywhere," Glasya said and you nodded, quickly putting the boxes back into your pocket. "Marrying them in Baator will make their souls bound to you, they'll become ageless," Glasya said and you nodded. "I know, but that's their decision," you said and she nodded.

Once back at camp, you led the three of them to a nearby rooftop as the sun was rising. "I wanted to do this now, because I know we may not have much time left but I hope we have years to spend together. When I met you both, you both captivated me, I definitely fell in love with both of you at first sight. I want to make you both happy, to love you both, for as long as you'll let me. So, I ask the both of you this: will you marry me?" You said as you got down on one knee, taking out both boxes and opening the boxes to reveal the rings. "Yes!" Karlach said happily. "Are you joking? Of course I will!" Shadowheart smiled. You stood up, slipping the rings on their fingers and kissing both of them. "How long have you been planning this?" Shadowheart asked. "A couple weeks," you said with a smile. "I do want you both to know, if you get married to me in Baator, your souls will be bound to me as mine will be to yours and you will become ageless," you said and they nodded. "It's an option for our marriage but we can get married here, and in Baator or just here or just Baator," you said and they nodded. "I want to spend my life with you, if I can become ageless to spend an eternity with you, then I'll do it," Shadowheart said and you smiled. "You took the words out of my mouth Jen," Karlach said and you smiled. Your tails wrapped around Karlach's tail and Shadowheart's arm as you smiled at the two of them. "I love you both, no matter what may come. Be it Sharrans for your head as a sacrifice Jenevelle, or whatever people we piss off Karlach, I wouldn't change it for anything," you said and they smiled. "I love you too Y/N," they both said, kissing your cheeks.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Chokehold

Ascended Astarion x F! Tav

18+ angst, regret, longing, tenderness, comfort, complicated feelings, self doubt/hatred, dubcon, rawness, needy astarion, fingering (f!), dry humping, pants cumming (m!)

Escaping him again, Tav finds solace and safety in an old friend in Lower City. If only it was that easy to escape the Ascendant's desire...

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

-

"Oh Gods," She moaned.

Eyes opening, aching from the previous night.

She winced, the tight puncture marks on her neck pulling.

"Oh Gods..." She buried her face into the pillow and let out a frustrated scream.

It hadn't been a dream. She was back in it. The walls of the Elfsong a cruel reminder.

She gave herself a moment to indulge the tempest, beating her fist into the mattress.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Took a few shaky breaths.

But now she must think.

Too many lines of thought assaulted her.

Why did he drink from her with such need? He was free of the hunger. Why did it seem like he was starving?

Why did he leave her to stay here? He could have taken her away. Compelled her, even. Why had he agreed to go?

Why did he... transform like that? They had shared a bed many times since his Ascension and he had always remained the same. In control. What was that?

She shook her pounding head as the one question, the real question, rose to the top.

Why didn't he kill her?

She had betrayed him to the utmost degree. Depriving him of his consort. Of her.

Wondered if she had gone through with the change, would he have more control over her?

Surely.

Would he be less obsessive if she was his spawn? His vampiric bride?

Possibly.

Would he scoff at her escape and pull her back to him with ease?

Most definitely.

He always needed control now, and she had given him as little as she could get away with. She could see it gnaw away at him over time. At his cruelest, he would punish her for weeks on end, trying to break her. Submit. But she would never fold.

Her upbringing had warded her spirit to a great deal of pain. She could endure indefinitely, if needed.

She unconsciously traced the thin scars circling her wrist. On rainy days, she could still feel the bite of wire.

Pulling her lower lip in thought.

She could circle the drain of her endless dilemma later. She needed a plan.

Closing her eyes.

Okay.

She needed to get out of the Elfsong, preferably unseen. And she needed help.

Though she was loathe to pull another of her companions into this, her greatest strength would always be those bonds. His endless pursuit to isolate her had proven that tenfold.

Gods below, if everyone wasn't strewn across Faerun. She needed someone in Baldurs Gate.

If Wyll wasn't with Karlach in Avernus he would be the perfect option. The son of the Duke, in his own castle. His protection would be invaluable.

Think, Tav.

Her eyes opened.

Wait.

Rushing to the window. Yes, she could just make out the head of the statue.

Suddenly buzzing with adrenaline, she rang for the dumb waiter.

"Ugh, what?"

"It's Tav, tell Alan I'm calling in that favor he offered."

Gripping the cracks of brick in fingertips, threading between the vines holding, she cursed herself. Scaling up the side of the Elfsong in grunts of effort.

Stupid, stupid.

Her anger feeding her strength.

Thank the Gods she had been training herself with Shadowheart or she would be broken on the cobblestones.

She leapt up and got a hold on the lip of the roof. Legs dangling out then pulling in, arcing out and twisting up. Catching her heel on the gutter and rolling with gasping breaths on the morning warmed shingles.

Blinking away the endless sky.

What had Karlach said when she watched her scale an oak tree?

"Gods, soldier. If you were anymore of a daredevil I would've hunted you in Avernus."

Tav laughed quietly to herself, patting her bicep twice. Gotta make her girl proud.

She rose to knees, orienting herself. The high wind whipping her hair as she circled with her eyes.

Yes, she could just see the edge of the roof. It would have to do.

"Please let this work." She whispered to herself. Pulling the scroll of Dimension Door from her waistband.

Standing she felt a shingle wiggle under her foot then slip away. Catching herself she gave it a withering look.

Setting her sights, she took a deep breath.

Shouting the incantation, she felt a great pull from behind her spine, and the air broke around her with a crack.

Only doing this with Gale bracing her in the past, she buckled forward when her body crashed back into the world.

Landing with a loud scrambling thud on the roof of the Elerrathin Manor.

"Mom, there's someone on the house!"

Clean hair damp from her bath and swaddled in fresh clothes, Tav sat curled into a plush corner, taking in Jaheira's surprisingly cozy office. Her bloodstained nightgown being tended to, though she insisted there was no need.

The druid worked quietly at her desk. Tav had stepped in, and she had gestured to her kindly to make herself comfortable. "I'll be just a moment."

"No rush." Tav pulled her legs tucked under her. She felt safe here, no easy feat. Beyond the Selune outpost, she could think of very few places where that was possible.

"There. I'll send this with a raven to our Shadowheart." She folded the letter with sure fingers, handing it to a messenger rat that scampered away in determination.

Tav let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I've been worrying myself sick about leaving her in the dark."

Jaheira turned in her chair, giving Tav her full attention.

"Why are you back, cub?"

The underlying question hanging in the air.

Why did you willingly walk into the vipers den?

She bowed her head in shame. Picking at the edge of her leggings.

"Hubris? Hope?" Shook her head. "Definitely stupidity."

"A need for closure is not stupidity." Jaheira sighed knowingly. "The way you could go about it on the other hand..."

Tav laughed, tired and embarrassed, but safe.

"Gods, I don't know. I dont think people like us get closure. It was a terrible idea, Shadowheart said so herself. I just-" She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "I don't want to live in fear. I have lived so much of my life under a knife, I want some breathing room for once."

Jaheira nodded. "You deserve peace. And I will do everything in my power to assist in that. I have already sent word to The Guild, The Harper's, and pulled some strings with the Duke. You will be protected from all sides. You can walk through our city freely."

She organized some papers on her desk and stood, offering out a hand. "And, if you'll allow me, I can give you the best protection I can offer. I will ward you from his harm." Winked, hitching her head over to an open letter on the desk, spinning with blue magic. "A little gift from our friend Gale. I sent for him as soon as Rion pulled you off of our roof."

Tav blinked, tears forming. "This is... so much more than I could ever hope for." A hitching sob caught in her throat. "Thank you."

She held her hand out and pressed her palm into hers.

Jaheira spoke, eyes alight, the air swirling with great pulsing light.

Tav could feel the magic infuse into her, unmistakably Gale's. A warm caress washing over, the smell of old books. A brief phantom hand stroking her cheek.

She smiled, the ends of her hair lifting. The last of the magic pulling in circles into her.

Hello, dear. Welcome back.

"Children, there will be more than enough time to bother her in the morning. Let our guest get some rest."

Little legs running circles around her, Tav smiled warmly. "Ah, I don't mind."

"Don't encourage them." Jaheira laughed, looking fondly but sternly at Fig. "Bed now, little guard."

"Aw, alright. But I'm sleeping outside the door!"

"You most certainly are not."

Tav laughed. "I don't know, I'd be a fool to turn down more protection."

Jaheira pressed her palm on Fig's head, leading her away. "And yet, little guardians are in need of their rest. Off with you now. You too, Jhessem."

The small girl that had been peeking behind the corner squeaked and retreated into her bedroom.

"You certainly have your hands full." Tav mused as the hallway emptied. "Are you sure I'm not going to be a burden?"

"Never." Jaheira reached out and squeezed her hand. Hers warm and calloused. "Now you get some rest too." Spoken in that same stern tone she had used with her children, a sparkle of playfulness in her eyes.

"Ah, okay. You've twisted my arm." Tav mock sighed. Giving her hand one grateful weighted squeeze before releasing.

"Enjoy some safety, you've earned it." Jaheira hushed as she turned away.

Tav closed the door to the spare bedroom behind her. Barely contained tears rolling to the surface.

She curled into a ball on the floor. Letting it wash over her. Hitching sobs wrenching her throat. The tidal wave finally having its way.

Gods, she was so filled with hope it stung her heart. The feelings of grief, exhaustion, wonder, protection, all threading together. A rope that had been tied to her throat now wound tight around her fist.

Even after all of this time, they rallied around her. Her heart bursting with their strength. She was indebted to them all.

-

He crouched on the lip of her new hideaway. There you are, my treasure.

The sweet heady call of her blood, still pulsing through him, leading him here.

One of his many new gifts, he could sense her as long as she coursed through him. Her blood had always bewitched him. Even if hadn't been searching for her, he mused that the river of her would have sung him back regardless.

Eyes scanning the outside of the ledge for traps he was shocked to find the window unlatched.

Tav was not stupid, if anything she was infuriatingly clever. Outfoxing him twice now the proof of that. He was loathe to admit that the only reason he had found her so quickly was the bloodcall.

He slipped inside, quiet as death. Moved on silence to her bedside.

She was curled on her side, breathing softly. Her sweet face relaxed, pouted lips slightly open. Those doe eyes moving back and forth under her lids. Dreaming.

A shot of possession cracked through him. He needed her back.

He reached forward and tried to scoop under her legs and back but felt a bite of magic, pain arcing across his skull. His hands compelled to release.

A familiar voice: You may not have her.

Fucking Gale.

He snarled in frustration. Why do they all insist on interfering in his affairs. This was his consort, his should-be bride. His.

She settled back down into the sheets but leaned into him as he pulled away. Sighing in her sleep.

"Astarion,"

He almost answered, kneeling down. His face inches from hers. Fingers caressing her cheek, her neck. Watching her face, rapturous.

Her eyebrows pulled together in pleasure, lips parting. A sweet little breath leaving her.

He hummed low in his throat, a fierce elation rocking through him.

It had been years since she had reacted to his touch like this. All soft pleading, calling him to her. He could not deny her.

He climbed carefully onto the bed, distributing his weight evenly. Straddled over her, hand still raking feather light desire across her skin.

"Astarion," She moaned quietly. Arching up to meet his touch.

"Yes, my darling," He cooed to her sleeping words. Pulling the blanket away slowly, leaning down and kissing her collarbone. Hand cupping her breast with a low moan. Slotting between her legs.

She sighed, words hushed and barely formed, but he could make it out. "I missed you."

A lightning strike of need and grief struck him.

She had too much power over him, that was the problem. He had every intention of making her happy in the beginning. Loathefully desperate for her to stay, he had offered her everything. Finery, food, any lavish thing she set her sights on. And his linchpin, immortality. To make her his vampiric bride.

But she only smiled at him. Her bewitched fingers running along his arm. "I don't know if I'm ready for that. I just got my life back, Starlight. Let me have a little living before I decide."

Oh, how he had pushed, prodded, enticed. Eventually demanded, berated, bled. He tried to break her, but she had never given in. The panicked screaming at the lack of control in his head aside, he respected her for it. He would have ruined her.

Well, ruined her more.

He softly circled his thumb over her wrist. The scars he had left there sneering at him.

Look what you did. You deserve this.

His old voice in his head again.

You aren't worthy of her.

He clenched down his jaw.

You're disgusting. Treating her like that.

He shook his head. He did what he felt he needed to do. Right?

Her hand reaching for his face broke his hateful trance.

He leaned down into her searching fingers. His eyes closing in quiet bliss when he met her touch.

Her soft fingers stroking his face was a spellbinding balm. He pushed his face further into her, sighing.

Going without tenderness from her for so long, he felt drunk. His whole body swirling with heady pleasure.

He leaned down, eyes lidded heavy with lust. Gently pulling her nightgown down along the collar. Leaving heated kisses along her clavicle.

She moaned, a high intoxicating call.

Oh Gods, he needed her.

He snaked his hand under the covers, her blanket warmed thighs a sacred domain. Still unbearably soft, lamb's ear made flesh.

His eyes hitched back as he met her center. Fingers trailing over her curls to slide back into his home. A velvet wetness meeting him, coating his fingertips.

He leaned his head down into her chest, already overcome. Rutting his hard cock into her hip in slow rapturous thrusts.

He slowly pushed his two fingers in, her body arching up. Her small whimper wrapping around his head in dizzy circles.

Her sleeping form capable of no scrutiny he felt no need to perform. His walls falling.

"Tav," He moaned, pumping his fingers into her endless warmth. Thumb pushing devotion in circles against her clit.

Gods she was too beautiful, it made his chest ache to look at her when she was like this.

Softly mewling, her labored breath a heady miasma pulling him down.

He leaned down to her neck, fangs grazing along her pulse point. Felt a warning crackle of magic.

Gods damn it.

If he didn't have her blood in him, he felt empty. He needed that connection to her.

He relented, leaving a needful kiss along the two pinprick scars he had pushed into her long ago. Feeling a snarl of pride for those, at least. Anyone can look upon her and see this mark of him imprinted in her body.

His fingers curled up in that way he remembered she liked, got the immediate reward of her hips squirming. A short gasp that moved into a pleading moan.

His eyes glazed over, mouth hanging open against her chest. Precum leaking into his trousers. His head nothing but circling waves of desire.

Gods he felt like an animal on all fours, controlled by its heat.

Only she could make him come undone like this.

Only she could pull this from him.

Please stay asleep a little longer. He thought to her, though he knew they no longer shared a tadpole.

I need you. I need you to want me again.

His desire too great for anymore subtle movements, he arced his hips down and ground his erection into the mattress. Whimpering in the back of his throat.

He pulsed his fingers in as controlled a ministration as he could manage, feeling his end approaching hot on his heels.

He leaned up into her ear, watching the rhythmic arches of her body in rapturous greed.

"Come for me, darling." He breathed into her, nipping at her lobe.

She shuddered under him, head falling back. Her neck opening up to him, a flower unfurling in the sun. Her cunt gripped his fingers in vicious pulses, pulling him further into her. That hauntingly beautiful face straining in release.

He gasped in quick choppy breaths, biting back a moan as his pelvis contracted, a deep shudder pulling through him, spurting long pulses inside his finery. Eyes rolling into the back of his skull, gripping into the sheets next to her head. His newly beating heart thumping against the back of his chest.

She murmured something softly and turned on her side, cradling his head into her chest. Hooking her legs around his in an intimate tangle.

Part of his head screamed at him to pull away, but he was helplessly pulled down. Eyes closing with shameful tears threatening.

How long had it been since she had held him?

He buried his face in her. Breathing her in like the last gulp of air before a tide pull.

He knew he couldn't stay, if she awoke the spell would be broken. She would turn him away, that spear of contempt in her eyes. Or worse, the flat deadness that overtook her when he pushed too far, an opaque distant glaze over her doe eyes.

You've really broken her, haven't you? Just like Cazador broke us.

"Shut up." He hissed under his breath.

He carefully maneuvered out of her embrace with an annoyed huff. He was being ridiculous. There was a way to break this spell and he would find it.

Then she would be his again. Finally. Take her back to the place where she belonged.

He allowed himself one last look at her, bristling at himself at the brief spike of longing he felt, before he pulled up into the night air. Twisting into the moonlight, back to the Crimson Castle.

He had research to do.

~

Part 6

[wetcatspellcaster]

7 and 8 for the Tav asks. :D and congrats on the thesis!

Thank you for the questions! Sorry for the long answer!

7. Describe their arc. How would a player help resolve it? What choices can be made? Can your Tav be turned down a dark path, or pulled to a lighter one?

So I thought about this a lot, the Good Ending for Rosalie is she's Just A Person, the Bad Ending is that she volunteers to become the mindflayer at the Orpheus decision for ENTIRELY THE WRONG REASONS (feeling like a liability, believing it's the only way to cure her mental illness, seeing herself as the weak link in the group, being depressed, etc. - this ending bought to you by me staring at that decision screen for an hour KNOWING she'd turn herself into a mindflayer in a heartbeat but feeling physically ill over her logic behind that decision). This is the 'exalted mind' ending.

So there is a bad path for her, but it's one bought about by being self-sacrificing to the point of absolute idiocy and self destruction. I think that Tav literally swerves her away from it by teaching her to be a little selfish and to value herself lmao. Literally the opposite of most of the other companions, and kind of what I wish you could teach Wyll in his storyline tbh!

Her arc would be her just generally being over-emotional and reckless, with lots of camp chats about morality in Act 1 (I would probably double down on the tropes that fandoms hate in female characters a la Katara in Avatar the Last Airbender just for the lols). I want her ending Act 1 feeling like a trite 'heart of the group', ridiculous Mary Sue, she talks to you a lot about how you're feeling, are you ok? Borderline annoying tbh, but with the EA Halsin Effect of "oh, you're the companion who's nicest to me!!". Then in Act 1/2 depending on approval she does something utterly stupid, like run into a fight alone unprompted (death to a wizard), or possibly have Ethel specific dialogue that pisses Ethel off if she's in your party, and the player starts thinking "god this girl is a bit weird and reckless and stupid at times actually", and calling her out on it gets the illithid tadpole as anxiety med drop.

Act 3, you start meeting people from her past (bonus comedy route for if you just enabled all her behaviour at this point to be nice to her and get her approval bc then the illithid tadpole drop happens here). Larroakan is like "aren't you that mousy little scribe who completed those commissions for me?", you can find Threnn, possibly did an infernal translation for Gortash (not canon just for story tie-in)???? and they're all like "who the fuck are you? why are you so different now". There would be a confrontation about lying about who she is, a camp conversation about the pressure they face as the 'heroes of Baldur's Gate" and how she feels inadequate. And then in the conversation with Threnn, and the final Orpheus conversation, Tav can encourage Rose to have an actually healthy relationship with her emotions and not see her every choice as a failing actually. Then you unlock real Rose personality and a final decision where she doesn't try and throw herself on her sword.

8. After Act 3, what does their life look like? What are they talking about at the reunion party?

Good ending Rosalie has rebuilt her relationships with her family, she's back at the Watchful Order but getting all their backlog of heroic deeds retroactively converted into a wizard qualification, and unromanced she'll mention that she's either considering going on secondment to Avernus or helping Halsin in the Shadowlands/feywild as her practical project for the final part of her grade. She will have visited every single companion in the six months (Wyll/Karlach as a projection). She will mention going to tea weekly with Gale given that she's fast-tracking wizardry/he needs a friend group and practice at being a normie and they live in the same city. She will name drop being friends with Tara very smugly.

Bad ending Rosalie is a mindflayer and will talk about the magic she's capable of and the power she's unlocking, now she's no longer letting emotion cloud her judgement. You can ask her about her parents and if she's gotten back in touch and she says, "oh, right. I used to have those."

tav ask game! :)

[darkwolf76]

The Fiend

Though a day late, a story for Wyll's Week, because that character needs more love in the bg3 fandom.

Wyll sat on the river bank, staring at his reflection in the water. It appeared swathed in shadow, fitting he thought bitterly, only illuminated by the dull silver moonlight and the flickering firelight coming from camp. His true eye flickered with hell fire, surrounded by darkness. The black horns protruding from his head ached, and the new ridges and scars that marred his body burned just enough to remind him of the flames of Avernus that had licked at his skin. Even his scent had changed, the faintest whiff of the ooze rot of Dis lingering in his nose.

The sounds of the party that the tieflings refugees and druids were throwing for their intrepid crew echoed at his back, seeming far away from his solitary patch of darkness. He glanced over his shoulder and saw figures, horned tieflings and Druids alike dancing around the firelight. He smiled slightly at the laughter he heard as they drank together, happy to live another day after his party had saved them from the goblin threat, the previous tension between the two groups forgotten.

As he turned and gazed at the creature he didn’t recognize in the water again, he sighed. He didn’t belong to either group, and equally unsettled both in his new fiendish form. Years had passed since he had called Baldur’s Gate home, yet if he ever returned to its streets, he’d not be a welcome sight there either. Not to even think what his father, his grandparents, old friends would think of him if they saw him now. He shuttered and took another swig from the wine bottle he’d pilfered, hoping the warmth of the alcohol would stave off the loneliness.

“Wyll?” Her voice sounded sweet as a songbird. Her reflection took shape from the darkness next to his in the river. She sat down next to him, her red hair almost a purplish hue in the low light.

“Agh, hells! I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone,” Wyll sighed.

Seraphina frowned at him, her green eyes serious. “Of course I noticed. It’s no party without you there.”

“Really?” Wyll’s brows rose in disbelief. He tried not to focus on the half smile that formed on Seraphina’s berry stained lips. “I’m honored.” He glanced away, hoping the shadows would hide the heat rising in his cheeks. He shrugged as he looked back at the half elf druid, her eyes searching and concerned. “In truth, I didn’t feel in a festive mood, and I didn’t want cast a grey cloud over the night.”

“What troubles you? We saved Sylvanus’ Grove and have cleared a safe path for the tieflings. That’s something worth celebrating, despite our dire circumstances.”

“I’m a devil,” Wyll practically spat, glaring at his reflection in the smooth shallows of the Chionthar. “I love the people of the Grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.” He shook his head as hurt and disgust shot through him. He unsettled himself whenever he looked at his reflection. Why would others accept him? “You don’t want a devil at your party.” Wyll’s voice shook slightly as his self contempt grew. He picked up a pebble from the river bank as he mocked the creature staring at him from the moonlit waters. “Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweetcakes don’t taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted fork tongue!” He threw the pebble in frustration into the water, breaking up his fiendish reflection, if just for a moment.

He felt her hand grip his arm, ever gentle, and the soft brush of her hair. As the water settled again, he saw in the reflection, Seraphina sitting right up against him, touching his arm as her head leaned on his shoulder. “You don’t unsettle me, you know that.” Her voice held such sincerity, he wanted to believe her.

Wyll reached his other hand to trace over her fingers, and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of her close to his side. “If only half the world had half the heart you do.” His voice shook slightly.

“Kyrais would have liked your horns.” Wyll felt his stomach tighten at the name. Flashes of his old tiefling friend came to his mind, same red skin, black hair and horns, and golden eyes as Karlach, though far shorter and scrawnier than she. “He would have said they were an improvement.” Seraphina laughed a bit. “He was so proud of his own. For someone that prided himself on his stealth, he couldn’t ever resist bangles for his horns, no matter how shiny or noisy they might be.”

Wyll smiled a bit at the memory of their shared childhood friend, before the pain came back. Kyrais should have heed here now. Could Wyll had saved him, had he done more? What would Kyrais think of Wyll, demeaning his appearance, when he had horns of his own and had since birth?

“They were a part of him, who he was. He should have been proud. Just like Karlach, like the tieflings we helped.” Wyll glanced back towards the party. “But I wasn’t born in this form. I gained it through choices I made. The deals I made. That is all people will see.”

“The choice you made to spare an innocent woman.” Seraphina squeezed his arm. “And our friend’s sister at that. That’s not something to be ashamed of Wyll.”

“It’s not my actions that bother me, it is what she made me that does. What others…” Wyll shook his head again, at his selfishness and vanity. He pulled out of Seraphina’s grip and stood, facing her with a forced smile on his lips. “But off with you. This is your day! Have a dance, enjoy the music.”

Seraphina frowned as she stood up as well. Her brows furrowed. “I wanted to dance with you.” Her words felt heavy with meaning. “As we once did. Though perhaps in more desirable circumstances this time.” She stubbornly reached for Wyll’s hand, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Wyll let out a laugh at her pout as the memories of their shared youth came back to him, however short they’d been. “In truth, I always did enjoy the pomp, a bit.” He admitted fondly.

Seraphina gasped in amusement and fake censure. “What?! You always told me how you abhorred those stuffy ballrooms of your peers!”

“We did well enough!” Wyll chuckled. “Did I not break the city record the most sarabandes danced in one evening?”

“Only thanks to the exhaustion of all the good ladies and gentlemen of the Gate!” Seraphina shot back, failing to contain her own laughter. “Mine in particular.”

Wyll squeezed her hand. “Despite all the lessons, it was all about my partner.” He smiled. “You cut quite a fine figure, letting me lead you around with that entire ballroom watching.”

He thought back to that night. His seventeenth birthday, his grandmother had spared no expense and had invited all the young ladies and gentlemen of the city’s elite families for him to mingle with. Yet it had been the daughter of his common bard dance master that he’d spent the most time twirling about, who’d endured stepped on toes in lessons leading up to the party, that he’d absconded with to the gardens after… How he had wished in the years since to do that again.

But he caught a glimpse of himself in the river. The mirth on his lips died. He let go of Seraphina’s hand and turned away. “But who am I fooling? I can’t go back to that life.”

Seraphina pursed her lips. “Why not? You don’t know what the future holds Wyll,” She argued, reaching for her friend once more.

“Look at me!” He snapped, everything spilling out. “I’m not the same as I was, Sera! And I never will be again! I’m the very thing I vowed to hunt! I—” His voice died in his throat as the binds of his infernal pact prevented the words he wanted to say from escaping his lips, as they had so many times before.

“You look similar enough to me.” Seraphina tilted her head. “And while I-I don’t presume to know what happened after I left the city, with her…I don’t think it changed you as much as you think it did.”

“I will never regret the decisions I’ve made.” Wyll shook his head. “But it has cost me…” the words died on his lips again, too close to the forbidden topics of his pact. Everything. He clenched his fists in frustration. He felt selfish for even having to remind himself not to regret his choices. Yet he was only man…

Seraphina stepped closer to him. “Then let’s pretend.” Wyll turned to look at her. She stared pleadingly at him. “Just tonight. That the plans we made with Kyrais had worked out. That we’d all went adventuring together, like we talked about doing. That we’re visiting my mother’s druid circle in the High Forest like you promised you’d do. And instead of your family’s ballroom and dances, we’re dancing around my family’s fire. The way I showed you.” She offered a hand to him.

Wyll wanted to grab her hand, by the Triad he did, and go partake in the more wild druid dances that were happening around the fire, just like she’d shown him all those years ago. The boy that had those plans with that girl, that had promised those things, wasn’t him anymore, and in truth, neither was Seraphina that girl anymore. And while a very similar tiefling friend journeyed with them now, down to the same family, it wasn’t the same one. It just didn’t feel… “Sera, I…”

Wyll hated the disappointment that crossed Seraphina’s face. She closed her hand and stared sadly at him. Instead of turning and leaving as he thought she would, though, a stubborn glint of hope entered her eye.

“If not a dance, then perhaps…” she stepped closer to him, asking, searching silently. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move away. He didn’t want to. Seraphina reached up slowly, pausing a moment to study his facial expression, and when she saw no rejection, she traced one of his horns, from tip to base at his forehead. He closed his eyes at the sensation, not realizing he was leaning his head into her hand. Her fingers traced from his forehead to his cheek, a comforting gesture he savored. Then her lips brushed against his, the lightest touch for the briefest instant, before she backed away.

He blinked his eyes open, and then for a moment, both he and the druid just stated at each other, the only sounds, their breathing and the Chionthar babbling next to them. Feeling lighter, Wyll smiled slightly. “I…” his voice faltered, for reasons other than an infernal pact. He cleared his throat. “You drive a hard bargain. But, you have a party to get back to. Tonight is about you after all, the druidess that saved her Tree Father’s sacred grove.”

“It’s about us. We saved the Grove. I could not have done it without the Blade of Frontiers. Should he not have his triumph celebrated too?” Seraphina begged.

“Perhaps.” Wyll conceded, a warmth in his chest at her insistence. His smiled faltered. It did not change the fact that the his fiendish form unsettled even the tieflings, whom had been used to the Blade of Frontiers in his heroic, human form, a form that didn’t imply he’d made deals and been consorting with the very creatures that had sentenced them to the unfair ridicule they’d received, that caused them torment when their city had been pulled to the Hells, and caused the prejudice that had made others turn on them and banish them from their own city after. He knew the pain of being cast from one’s home and didn’t want his face to make the tieflings relive it. And nothing changed the unease he still had with his new form.

“There will be another time for us,” he promised Seraphina. “I want this night to be their night. And your night. I just…I need some time.”

Seraphina studied him a moment longer, and seeing the truth in his eyes, nodded. “Alright,” She sighed. She stepped away from him, turned to walk back to the party, but then stopped. She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes boring into him. “I am here for you Wyll, always.”

Wyll swallowed as he nodded back. “I know.”

Happy with his response, she left him to his solitude. Wyll turned back and faced down his fiendish reflection in the water once more. He still felt odd, like he was not looking at his true self, but not quite as harsh nor angry at the man staring back at him, as he was before. Perhaps the horned fiend in his reflection still had the same heart as the Blade of Frontiers, and the same heroism. Perhaps, with the right company by his side, he could still do good yet, and be the hero the people of the Sword Coast and the Gate deserved.

[rurpleplayssims]

❗❗❗SPOILERS for Baldur's Gate 3 - Act 2 + Act 3 transition. ❗❗❗ I wrote another little scene between these two 🥰

"You are...exquisite."

The Emperor sounded breathless. If it had been anybody else, Rhaenyra would've interpreted his shaky tone as being turned on, but she highly doubted he'd be looking at her with such longing. She wasn't sure that mind flayers found humans attractive in the same way.

But the way he was now gazing at her, clearly stunned that she'd actually accepted the astral tadpole, made part of her react in kind, heat flashing through her.

Her companions had been vocal in their unease at partaking, but Rhaenyra didn't fear it as much as they must. Whilst she must've been vain enough to not become a full illithid, she was content to take on a partial transformation, especially if it tricked her original tadpole into not transforming properly.

Have I ever told you how breathtaking you are each time you surprise me?

She blinked once in her own surprise as she realised the Emperor was addressing her telepathically again. To add to her confusion, she felt her cheeks darken at his praise.

No, she replied tentatively. You haven't.

Rhaenyra could feel him in her head, delicately placing an image there and she saw her transformation from his own eyes, accompanied by all his feelings of surprise, pride...and arousal.

That was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed.

Her blush darkened and she saw how much it pleased him to see the effect of his flattery.

You don't want to admit how much you like it when I call you a tease, huh?

The phantom chuckle vibrated through their mental connection. I do not...dislike it, no.

Tease, she repeated and winked at him. Be honest though, how scary do I look?

He frowned. You do not frighten me...or rather, you don't frighten me right now.

The memory of him hunched on the ground before her, awaiting her judgement after the big reveal flashed across his mind. She tried to send a wave of comfort towards him, reminding him that she forgave the deception and understood why it was necessary.

Thank you, he said, and a wave of affection and relief permeated her mind. You...you are...I did not expect you to be so open minded.

I've seen and experienced too much in the past few weeks to be otherwise, she admitted. But no, I meant, will I alarm others? Is it obvious that I'm part-illithid?

He saw where her train of thought was going. Hmm, maybe...this might help.

The Emperor raised a large clawed hand and gestured towards her. Almost at once she felt a warmth spread through her.

"Well, would you look at that" Gale commented lightly. "He's reversed your condition!"

Rhaenyra rose an eyebrow and the Emperor scoffed lightly in her mind. The fool. I have merely placed a glamour on you. You look like your previous self, without the darkened veins and black eye.

Oh yeah, she remembered with a smirk. I only have one real eye now.

How did that come about? he asked. I distinctly remember that you had two functioning eyes and now that I inspect it closer, it's a slightly different shade to your other one.

She flushed as he leant forwards, tilting his head as he stared into her eye. Volo, he tried to remove the parasite...with an icepick.

The Emperor flinched as she recalled the sensation of her eye's hasty exit from its socket. Why did you let him do that?

I was desperate, she reminded him. I think that was before our first meeting, in the dreams. Luckily, I gained a perk with the eye he gifted me in apology, and I knew not to take the same chance with Ethel the hag.

At the words of their first meeting, she saw his memory of said meeting occur in his mind. This time, she saw it from his perspective and the thoughts around each action, word spoken. She saw how careful he’d been with each phrase, trying to read her expression and to see if she bought what he was telling her. He recalled how pleasant her voice had been and he’d been taken aback when, after taking his hand, he’d felt an electric shock go through him and how…beautiful he’d found her mind to be.

And then she saw what he'd thought of her when she disappeared, having awoken back in the real world outside of the prism. The fleeting sense of loss had touched him, and he realised, as he'd morphed back to his true form, how much meeting her had made him...happy. He remembered how he'd been surprised by the thought that he wanted to see her again, speak to her and to see the kindness shining back from her eyes. It was quickly dismissed by the reminder that he knew she'd be angry when she knew that her guardian was a mind flayer. Self-loathing filled him as he floated away, trying to forget the way she'd made him feel when she'd smiled at him.

My apologies, I... I didn't intend for you to see that. He sounded...embarrassed.

Her heart warmed at his shyness, the open vulnerability. None of it was faked and only reinforced her faith in him. Don't apologise. I had no idea I made such an impression on you.

You did, he said, a quiet fondness radiating through the bond. You still do.

She smiled, a bright wide smile at him, eyes lighting up. You are too kind to me.

No, it is you who is too kind to me. I'm...I'm not sure I deserve all of this...but I am pleased that you are who you are. I couldn't have done any of this without you. Whilst I've had partnerships in the past...none of them have been like this.

I hope that what we have is a good thing in your eyes...?

His gaze flashed to hers. You are the best ally I've ever had and...it has made me question some of my methods...I am unfamiliar with the feeling...

"Hey, you two done gazing at each other?"

Karlach's tone was amused and loud. The pair of them jumped, having forgotten their company.

This conversation is not over, she told him gently before. I'll wait until the next time we can speak freely in private.

Of course.

As he withdrew, Rhaenyra felt the echo of a hand brushing across her cheek, which tingled as if he'd touched her skin. Composing her expression as she turned to face her companions, she didn't miss the wink that the mind flayer sent her.

MASTERLIST OF BG3 PICS is here.

[mslanna]

Almost Doesn't Count

Chapter 23 of Be My Guest now on AO3

In which Raphael inopportunely fails to use his single brain cell, Tav gets s big dose of Should Have Seen That Coming and MsLanna fucks lore five ways from Friday before running for the hills.

To Tav's surprise, answers to their letters arrive. Gale sends a whole sheaf detailing everything that happens in Waterdeep. Untouched by the destruction that ravaged Baldur's Gate, life there is easy. His tower stands, Tara forgave his long absence. He fills pages with anecdotes about his students. The gifted ones he functions as a warning to. And the less talented ones he guides onwards with unwavering support and patience.

He ends with a flamboyant and heartfelt invitation, promising to host Tav whenever and for however long they want.

Of course Tav accepts. They will visit, as soon as they can, as long as they want and see his new life, watch him teach and wield magic. All places are equally far from home if you can use a portal to get there.

Astarion wrote less excessive about what went on in Baldur's Gate. He still looks for a way to walk under the sun again and Tav’s heart hurts for him. They cannot wait to follow the slimmest of leads with him. Soon. Once their little problem is taken care off, his is next.

It’s a comforting thought and as solid a plan for the future as Tav can currently conceive of. They will do absolutely everything. At once. It is easier to think about what they will do once Mephistopheles is dead than worrying constantly about the battles and possibility of losing.

Lae'zel's letters read like update reports on her campaign against Vlaakith. Tav takes to drawing little maps and diagrams to keep things partly straight. It occupies time and lets their answers appear not utterly incoherent.

Wyll confirms Tav’s intel that the devils of Avernus leave him and Karlach alone, which doesn't keep Karlach from not leaving them alone. She has a shit list a mile long and with nobody stopping her, she goes hog wild. The main repercussion seen to be offers to fix her infernal engine to get her out of Avernus again. So far, no luck.

There are even a few lines from Karlach who doesn't want to say much because she's sure Raphael reads every word.

It's something Tav hasn't even considered. They discard the thought quickly again as well. On the one hand, they wouldn't mind. On the other hand, they don't believe he'd do it. The stuttering exchange of words with the outside world fills some of the hole Haarlep left behind.

And Tav can't keep away completely. But the visits are short. They brim with unease and the incubus has more fun things to do than endure the awkwardness between them.

Haarlep themselves shrugged the incident off completely. Nothing in their behaviour indicates they cashed in on their friend, if Tav ever was one, for their own advancement. Only natural, they call it and ask Tav to return the favour any time. But for the human it is a breach that runs deep and keeps them teetering.

And then, just like that, the time has come. Tension that rose over days peaks and submerges the House of Hope. Anticipation and exhilaration run rampant. Everybody balances on the knife's edge – dominance or defeat, the decision looms.

"It is not the end, my love," Raphael keeps assuring Tav that clings to him, "but the beginning. Everything will change but for the better. Have a little confidence in the future – or at least in me. Would I attempt this if I could not prevail?"

Tav shakes their head, rubbing it against the fabric of his doublet. The colours are subtly changed – darker, less blue, more red. Change is heralded in their devil's looks as much as everything else.

"Then let us prepare for the final victory over my father." Raphael drops a kiss onto Tav's head and pushes them away a little. In the gained space, hellfire embraces his change into fiend form.

Tav sighs and can't help but smile. He is resplendent. They run loving fingers over the blackened bones encasing golden hellfire. Raphael is a glorious beast in this form and they regret they didn't get to see him fight like this except as opponent.

The three-skulled head lowers to them, it's mane of fire wafting behind. So close to him the air smells of hot iron and dead ashes. Tav inhales deeply as they place a hand against the white bone.

The final "adieu" is already reverberating in Tav's bones but they don't want to spill it. So they climb onto the bed instead to stand next to the crown of Karsus. Their fingers follow the familiar black lines of Raphael's chest unwilling to let go. Such a foolish longing and yet overpowering.

"Can I come with you?" they ask, longing dilating their eyes and words.

"Of course, you can," Raphael replies gently. "Will you die if you do?"

Tav averts their eyes and wipes at them angrily. "Yes," they breathe. Yes, I will."

"Stay then." Black claws pinch Tav's jaw and gently turn it to face the devil. "Be safe as you always were and I will be back."

Tav bites their lips and shores up their tears for later. There is a battle that has to be fought. They pick up the crown that never felt this heavy in their hands before. But this was the last time for a while. If all went well. Which it would. It had to. There would be a break, time to breathe after this.

"Adieu mein Herz, ich kann dich nicht begleiten." Tav's voice breaks and they cannot continue. "Promise me you come back,” they breathe instead.

"I promise." The long tongue lolls out of the snout, licking over Tav's face. "For you."

Tav presses a last kiss on their devil before he turns and leaves.

The air leaves with him and Tav crumbles on the vast bed. Maybe they should have asked for a spot of stasis just to be numb while time passes anyway. Instead it is up to them once more. They scald their skin in the bath, feeling the full expanse of their body, crab red and hurting in an explicable pain that can be controlled.

The soft sheets are scarping on the sensitive skin after wards, another physical experience to overpower the brain. And the pillows and sheets still smell of Raphael and that must be comfort enough.

They wake and wander the House of Hope. The archivist is rearranging the items on display.

"Raphael will bring more treasured items with him from Mephistar," he says. "He will find the archive well prepared."

Tav stares at the empty pedestal where the Orphic Hammer once lay. It makes sense. Raphael has to know the vaults of his father, at least to an extent. There must be things in there he lusted after for centuries.

They watch the bustle for a while before they meander on. But the House of Hope is only so big. Inevitably, Tav ends up in the boudoir. The world calms for the duration it takes them to reach the bed from the entrance. A familiar calm not yet disturbed by a familiar face.

"Will you not stay?" Haarlep asks and pats the sheets beside them. "One last time."

Tav feels the irresistible pull of the incubus. They yield and climb onto the huge bed, sitting at the headboard next to the incubus. Haarlep wraps a protective wing around them and silence falls.

"I will remember you," Haarlep finally says. "When this is all over and long gone; when humans are distant memories and Faerûn a mythical country that exists only in legends told by molluscs. That's more than most humans get. Just so you know."

Tav leans against them with a sigh. It means nothing. Maybe it means something in the grand game that is life. But they recognise an outstretched hand when they see one. "I hope the molluscs are smarter than me and see through your machinations then."

"Oh, they wont." The incubus laughs. "But, as you were, they will be happy for the duration of the game. Me, a generous dispenser of happiness. Isn't that something?"

"Your happiness doesn't come without a cost," Tav murmurs. "It comes with strings attached."

"Oh, sweet little mouse, every happiness does." Haarlep wraps an arm around Tav's shoulder. "There is only one story and that story is that somebody has to leave first. You have to die one death in the end. And so many smaller ones in advance. Take your pleasure where you can."

"The way you do?"

"I decided when to leave first." Their tone is light. "It makes everything so much more convenient."

"But then it turns into a race. A race to leave first." Tav shakes their head. It's no way they want to live. "That race knows only losers."

Unthinking they peck Haarlep on the cheek before extracting themself from their wing and climbing off the bed.

Tav wanders into the library. Infernal will stay in integral part of their life and there is always more to learn. Those devils turned their language into a weapon and Tav doesn't plan to cut themself publicly.

It's unclear how many devils know or suspect Tav understands. They keep their head down and their mouth shut as yet. But one day all the hells will know. By then, Tav intends to have mastered at least sentences of medium length that are acceptably complicated in grammar.

It doesn't matter that Tav can't really concentrate. They repeat every paragraph as often as necessary. When their head hurts and the eyes start to droop, Tav folds their arms over the book, places their head on them, and closes their eyes. It's uncomfortable. But the alternative it to start studying again.

The door doesn't bang open. The fiend entering, closes it as deliberately again and strides towards Tav with confident, measured steps. The human raises their head, sleepy befuddlement replaced slowly with recognition. They beam and climb onto their desk to rise closer to their devil's height.

"Raphael."

The whisper is a prayer and an affirmation. The skulls grin back and for a moment the tongue lolls out of the central one. Long claws mesh into soft fingers as he leans down to touch his forehead against Tav's. It lasts only a moment before the human wraps their arms around the incandescent body.

Then the devil straightens, lifting Tav off the desk and they wrap their legs around his waist. "You're back," Tav murmurs against the hot bone. "It is over."

"Es ist Vollbracht." The words rumble through Tav's body in an avalanche of safety. Burning wings close around them and the towering figure makes its way through the House of Hope, cradling its prize close. Victory is to be celebrated. The library won't do.

Tav snuggles against him like a cool centre to his world. Finally all his. Finally safe. Nothing but a lavish feast will do to herald this state of perfection. When he unwraps the wing-made cocoon a little, Tav looks up and meets his muzzle with soft lips. He has hells to bring to heel and order, but this takes precedence.

# # #

Avernus is lacking in sunrises. Tav wakes anyway. The room is also lacking in Raphael but they will cut him some slack. He won a decisive battle and made time to spend with them afterwards instead of politicking. They stretch feeling the welcome soreness throughout their body.

For a golden intermezzo, they stay under the blanket, engulfed in the warmth and lingering smell of Raphael. Then they jump up. The rest of their life awaits. And it looks utterly glorious.

The door to his study stands open when Tav emerges from their suite. They peer inside and Raphael cuts the conversation with the attending three devils short. He smiles and Tav wonders how long it was since last they saw him him this relaxed. Secure in himself and his life. To think that their safety meant so much to him, made Tav's heart skip. They allow their body to follow suit and bounce into the study.

Their devil rises to meet them halfway around the desk. "Recovered?" he asks and his index finger gently pries Tav's collar from their throat to reveal a crescent of angry red teeth marks framing their shoulder. "You should have said something.

Tav smiles. The bite hums in a circle around their shoulder, saturated with luxurious memories. "I did." They capture the devils hand and press a kiss on his knuckles. "Not sure about the precise wording, but I am certain 'please' was involved."

"It was indeed." Raphael reluctantly retracts his hand. "What do you need?"

"To know what happen." Tav steps into his personal space. "To know how he died."

"It will be my pleasure." With a swift motion, he sits them on the desk, fingers tracing their face. "Where to begin. We fought a long and hard battle before we reached his palace. My father holed up in the end, maybe hoping for a siege.

"But his home was my home as well. And children will build their own secrets, unsupervised, neglected, ignored. Underestimated." He says the last word with a deep satisfaction. And Tav smiles up at him, enchanted, happy, at home. He traces their lip with his thumb. As it should be.

"Mephistopheles had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run that I could not access. His last, most loyal guards, I slayed before his eyes all but one who I turned, right under my father's nose, took trusted loyalty and made it mine." The memory is sweet on his lips, a moment to savour for eternity.

"He was at my mercy. Bargaining as all devils will. You should have seen it. The great Mephistopheles, brought low by a cambion." The surge of power he felt then echoes through Raphael. "He offered me anything, everything I wanted in exchange for his life."

"My contract?" Raphael looks down at the human’s hopeful eyes.

"Of course." The curve of Tav's face is soft in his palm. Of course his father offered the contract. One of his last trumps. One that didn't save him in the end. "He offered me everything I had already taken by force. Offered me fealty even, to reverse our roles. And I will not lie, I did consider it. To have him at my disposal, at my mercy for however long it takes for me to tire of it."

He smiles and kisses Tav's forehead. "Then I thought of you and he received and undeservedly quick and painless end.”

"Thank you." The tremor in Tav's voice burrows deep into his chest. "So it is finally over."

"It is." Raphael wraps an arm around them. "You are safe now. I won't let anybody hurt you."

"And I promise not to sell my soul again." Tav snorts slightly and looks up at him with a lopsided grin.

"Don't worry, that can't happen."

"Can't?" Tav leans back further for a better view.

Raphael slips his index finger under their chin. "You already sold your soul, remember?"

"Yes, but Mephistopheles I dead. The contract is void."

"Unless," Raphael smiles, “the devil is killed by another devil. And that devil decides to uphold the former commitment. Your soul is in safe hands."

Tav's face freezes, then a furrow creeps over their brow. "You took my contract?"

"Of course."

Tav doesn't reply. For a long while they just stare at him. Of course. There is nothing of course about this. They were meant to be free. Mephistopheles' death was meant to free them. Not bind them to somebody else. Not even Raphael.

"Why?" they finally ask.

It is Raphael's turn to be dumbstruck. He looks down at the little mouse, finally well and truly caught. Finally all his. What answer do they expect when this has been their truth from the day they stayed with him in his House of Hope? "To keep it safe, of course. To keep you safe."

"I am safe." Tav shakes their head. "Here with you and in Faerûn."

"So you plan to go back."

"Of course. I want to visit all my friends and help them if I can. I left a life behind and I want it back." Tav blinks and breathes deeply. "The House of Hope is my home, I think of this," they gesture around, "as my home. I will always come back."

The news doesn't go down well and Gale's words echo in Tav's mind. They reach up to cup the devil's face with one hand. "Just as you always come back. I love you and I am yours – body, heart and mind."

"But not soul."

Silence falls and Tav tries to wrangle their uproar of emotions. This is not how it is to go. This is all wrong. They need to get through to Raphael, but their words are slipping through their mind like snakes through sand.

"You want to be here," Raphael finally says. It is only half a question.

"Yes."

"With me."

"Yes!"

"As it was before. Willingly. Body, heart, and mind."

"Yes." Tav murmurs. Hope flares up that they are finally getting somewhere. "But I never wanted to be bound to you by a contract!"

"What difference does it make?"

Tav stares at him, looks at the devil they know as if they see him for the first time. He sees no difference. To love is to possess and if that is impossible to obsess. "If you don't know, I don't think I can explain it to you."

The wobble of their lip is quelled by Tav biting down on it hard. They taste blood but it is a welcome counterpoint to the tears rising in their eyes.

"You are mine," the words fall from his lips hard and final. "You want to be mine."

Tav shakes their head. "Not like that, not like a – a thing. I wanted to be yours but like a commitment, not like a possession." They draw themself up with a long sigh. "If I have to spend eternity here after my death, I better go and see something else until then."

Their shoulders hunch up yet Tav turns away anyway. "Goodbye, Raphael."

The words are soft lest their voice break and Tav walks out of the study with measure steps. They don't turn around or stop until they reach the foyer, calling up the portal to Baldur's Gate. Casting a last, blurred glance around their home, Tav steps into the darkness.

[polls-showdowns]

Sorry it took so long I’ve been busy but I finally got the list together

Best Goth Submissions List

If there are any characters you think do not qualify let me know so we can do a vote on it to avoid people complaining during the competition

Also tell me if any names are misspelled or characters are on there twice

And finally I think some of you should learn the difference between goth, emo, and vampire (the vampire part is not a call out on all vampire submissions especially since I don’t know most of them so don’t yell at me for saying that)

Anyway here’s the list:

Morticia Addams (The Addams Family)

Wednesday Addams (The Addams Family or Wednesday depending on the preliminary)

Kirara Hazama (Assassination Classroom)

Mikasa Ackerman (Attack on Titan)

Karlach (Baldur's Gate 3)

Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3)

Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate 3)

Lydia Deetz (Beetlejuice)

Sebastian Michaelis (Black Butler)

Drusilla (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Thatch (Casper's Scare School)

Slither (Casper's Scare School)

Adrian ‘Alucard’ Tepes (Castlevania)

Carmilla (Castlevania)

Dracula (Castlevania)

Prudence Blackwood (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)

Sabrina Spellman (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)

Ashton Greymoore (Critical Role)

Caduceus Clay (Critical Role)

Jamie Wrenly (Critical role)

Delilah Briarwood (Critical Role)

Essek Thelyss (Critical Role)

Kingsley Tealeaf (Critical Role)

Laudna (Critical Role)

Percival de Rolo (Critical Role)

Vax'ildan (Critical Role)

Yasha Nydoorin (Critical Role)

Sam Manson (Danny Phanthom)

Ember McLain (Danny phantom)

Misa Amane (Death Note)

Morrigan (Dragon Age)

Lily (Duolingo)

Elvira (Elvira's Movie Macabre)

Crowley (Good omens)

Alucard (Hellsing Unlimited)

Mavis Dracula (Hotel Transylvania)

Chrollo Lucilfer (Hunter x Hunter)

Gazlene 'Gaz' Membrane (Invader Zim)

Ashe Winters (Just Roll With It: Prime Defenders)

William Wisp (Just Roll With It: Prime Defenders)

Queen (Just Roll With It)

Shego (Kim Possible)

Rowan Fielding (Mayfair Witches)

Juleka Couffaine(Miraculous)

Luka Couffaine (Miraculous)

Claire (Monster High)

Elissabat (Monster High)

Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way (My Immortal)

Inky Rose (My Little Pony)

Goth Boy (MySims)

Osaki Nana (Nana)

Uchiha Itachi (Naruto)

Abby Sciuto (NCIS)

Jack Skellington (Nightmare Before Christmas)

Nosferatu (Nosferatu the Vampyre (1922))

Dracule Mihawk (One Piece)

Perona (One Piece)

Roronoa Zoro (One piece)

Trafalgar Law (One Piece)

Blackbeard (Our Flag Means Death)

Ruby Gloom (Ruby Gloom)

Nico Minoru (Runaways)

Dusk (Scooby-Doo)

Luna (Scooby-Doo)

Thorn (Scooby-Doo)

Sibella Dracula (Scooby-Doo)

Kirishiki Sunako (Shiki)

Shimizu Megumi (Shiki)

Goth kids (South park)

Darth Maul (Star Wars)

Trilla Sudari (Star Wars)

Abigail (Stardew Valley)

Sebastian (Stardew Valley)

Raven (Teen Titans)

Count Von Krolock (The Fearless Vampire Killers)

Herbert Von Krolock (The Fearless Vampire Killers)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

Gerard ‘Gerry’ Keay (The Magnus Archives)

Death (The Sandman)

Crimson (Total drama$

Ennui (Total drama)

Gwen (Total Drama)

Akasha (Vampire Chronicles)

Claudia (Vampire Chronicles)

Gabrielle de Lioncourt (Vampire Chronicles)

Lestat de Lioncourt (Vampire Chronicles)

Louis de Pointe du Lac (Vampire Chronicles)

Nicolas de Lenfent (Vampire Chronicles)

The Vampire Armand (Vampire Chronicles)

Black Hat (Villainous)

Keith (Voltron)

Leslie ‘Laszlo’ Cravensworth (What We Do in the Shadows)

Nadja of Antipaxos (What We Do in the Shadows)

Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows)

Darcy (Winx club)

Icy (Winx club)

Stormy (Winx club)

Anna ‘Rogue’ Marie (X-Men)

Terry ‘Scary’ Marlowe (Dungeons and Daddies)

Lilith Clawthorne (The Owl House)

Maddie Flour (Amphibia)

Mermista (She Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Mai (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Zuko (Avatar the Last Airbender)

[hungerofhadarr]

After being tagged by both my friends @house-ofhope and @sixteenstrikes I decided that I Should fill out this little character question sheet …. cannot think of anyone to tag at the moment but if you see this and want to participate Please do ! I would like to see

Doing this for the Beastie himself …

Name: Giilvas Quickfoot

Nickname: Ohhh okay . Karlach calls him ‘ Strings ‘ or ‘ Strums ‘ or whatever matching nickname to ‘ Mama K ‘ she comes up with midfight . Halsin ends up calling him ‘ Brown Bear ‘ . Lae’zel ends up calling him ‘ Quick ‘ on occasion . Wyll gets to call him plenty of things but ‘ Rose ‘ , ‘ Knight ‘ , and ‘ Big Heart ‘ are the most common ones . His stage name is a joke name . Lonch Mune , pronounced Lunch Money , the joke answer to why he does the whole Bard Thing

Height: Large . Over 6” . 6’5 ? 6’6 ? How tall can I make him before it’ s too tall . 6’7 . I’ ll keep adding inches just say when

Gender & Orientation: 2spirit queer gay transmasc they/he reporting for duty

Nationality/Ethnicity: he doesn’ t claim a nationality , if asked he just says ‘ Baldurian ‘ and that’ s that . Even if he’ s never been to Baldur’ s Gate . His ethnicity traces back to mainly wood elves in the dales , a few half - elf distant family members that he thinks are in Waterdeep maybe ? He’ s also sure that he has Gur relatives .

Favourite Fruit: oranges . Oranges . Blackberries too . Also anything he can pick while they travel .

Favourite Season: That in between summer and fall . Whatever you can call that he likes that the most

Favourite Flower: he always SAYS it’ s roses to keep up with his ‘ golden rose ‘ image and everything . Truth be told , it’ s lilacs . And water lilies . And lilies of the valley .

Favourite Scent: Rain , wood smoke and anything that even in passing reminds him of Wyll . Certain smells just connect back to him regardless if Giilvas can name the smell or not

Coffee, Tea or Hot Chocolate: Going for coffee most days . Tea just doesn’ t taste good to him even if he can sit around smelling the tea for ages . He doesn’ t mind trying to sweeten his coffee , but if he’ s just looking for sweet then he’ ll go for hot chocolate

Average Hours of Sleep: Varies . Either he can be in his elf-sleep for half a day or he can’ t bring himself to rest for more than like 45 minutes . No healthy 8 hours either all or none

Dogs or Cats? Woof

Dream Trip? No one place really . He wants to go where the excitement is

Number of Blankets? One super thick, heavy one or like . 4 regular ones . Bundle him Now

Random Fact: the one main reason he kept the ability to wild shape to a Tibetan Mastiff was to enter cities and towns he thought he might have issue in bc a) who is gonna stop a big dog ? And b) people don’ t care if a dog hears their conversations . He still does it in camp sometimes bc a) why not b) easier to lay on Wyll and not smush him and c) sometimes he can get better rest while wildshaped

[serpentoflolth]

You can chose whichever OC you want to write about for these! 9. What’s the significance behind your Tav’s name? 17. Do they have any enemies outside of the main plot? Any friends? 24. What does your Tav consider to be their own biggest character flaw? 5. Describe their idle animations!

30 questions for your tav!

What’s the significance behind your Tav’s name?

My husband chose the name for my szarkai and, knowing that I adore medieval poems, he took the name from Dante's Divine Comedy. It should have been Francesca, but he preferred to replace the C with a K to give the impression that it was an almost "drow" name. Or at least that's what he thought. Since I love the story of Paolo and Francesca, their passionate love and the way they were killed, I thought, based on the bio I created for her, that the name was perfect: a woman who can't stay together the love of her life, i.e. Elamszar, in addition to the fact that her entire house was exterminated by the Baenre House. The name of a tragic character for another equally tragic character.

Do they have any enemies outside of the main plot?

If we take Franceska out of the context of BG3, her enemies would be the Baenre, although I can see her falling in love with Gromph at the end of the day (her old teacher but this is another story). However, living in Baldur's Gate and being a very famous bard, she has made plenty of enemies in the world of entertainment, especially for those who dream of having her success. However, she sacrifices her enemies to Lolth, bringing them home, slaughtering them on the Goddess' altar which she keeps hidden in a secret room of her abode, then orders her servants to dispose of the bodies.

She would like to be like Drizzt, but unfortunately, her true nature manifests itself in these ways.

However, despite her enemies in the entertainment world, because they believe she is an elf (albino drow look like normal elves), she has managed to forge numerous friendships, hiding her true nature. No one suspects that she is a Lolth-Sworn drow, no one knows what her tragic story is and what led her to abandon Menzoberranzan. Her best friend is a gnome named Rosaspina, she is a druid who often helps her take care of the garden, as well as keep her white roses alive (she loves white roses because Elamszar has always called her Pale Rose).

What does your Tav consider to be their own biggest character flaw?

Franceska is very proud, so much so that this personality trait has always put her in bad situations. One of these was when she challenged her mother, who buried the szarkai's face in a brazier, marring her beauty. Yet, despite her pain, the young girl burst out laughing, making fun of her parent, looking at her with eyes enveloped by a burning madness. In fact, she often acts without thinking, driven by her pride, even facing people who are better left alone. She does not fear Mez'Barris nor her mother, much less Quenthel Baenre.

Describe their idle animations!

Franceska would have a black and red tent, and she would be playing her flute most of the time, also cheering up her companions. Other times we see her with a book in one hand and a feather in the other, writing the notes and words for a new song. We also see her praying to Lolth, kneeling, lighting incense while she whispers prayers in the drow language, often sacrificing a small animal to honor the Spider Queen. Other times, she would be sitting, staring at her firmament, sipping a good red wine.

[mightymizora]

I'm gonna be greedy: can we get #14 for glim x gale, manva x gortash, and karlach x wyll? (or just pick your fav if three's too much!)

Ohhhh we're doing this (you know my tastes so well, this is my shit)

Taking prompts from this great list

How I wish you could see yourself as I see you

The Great Glimmergris

Compared to a Goddess, she says to him. Compared to a Goddess. As if there is any comparison. He regrets his flippant remark that she was a Goddess in her own right; she had rolled her eyes and thrown the comparison over her shoulder. It is inaccurate, that is not how he sees her. It is not comparison, it is not one or the other. Mystra's touch is not a separate thing to be compared or contrasted. Mystra is woven in to their story, woven into everything as she ever was to him. When he calls The Great Glimmergris to his mind's eye he sees her bathed in blue and purple light. He sees her smiling up at him, grey skin sparked in magic to be iridescent. He sees the light in her blue eye, and that is the greatest beauty of her; the capacity for that cleverness, that flexibility, the sweep of music through her body that pulls the Weave to and through her in an effortless melody, all the beauty she brings to the world every day through her choices, her brilliance, her love for it. Her love for him.

He wishes she could see how beautiful she is when she does not think of anything but the joy of the moment, the next notes of a melody, the next sweep of a spell. And, more than ever, he wishes that he could be so free as to be in that moment with her entirely.

2. The Weapon

"I need to leave."

"Then leave. You are not being held here."

It is the third night she has come in a row. The first, she allowed him the privilege of her hands around his neck as she forced him to the ground. The second, he had wiped the blood from her face and she had stilled her hand. And now.

Now she is just here, in his rooms. She has found her way to him through his guards, and by the looks of her there would be a pile of bodies awaiting him on the morrow. Her eyes are on the floor. There is a twitch in her right thumb.

"Then leave. Manva."

The intimacy of her name is still quite novel to him. It had been formal titles for so long between them, The Bhaalspawn and the Lord. Then butcher, my blooded friend, my gory delight, and, finally, as they held the crown between them, the confession of the name she grew with. How many people in all the world knew her name? Knew her as anything but the brutal bringer of a final breath?

He feels bold enough tonight, even with the pulse of energy in her, to reach across to touch her face, trace the pattern she has marked it with. She swats him away before he even reaches her, and her eyes finally meet his, rose-brown and full of fire.

She knocks him to the ground with ease and straddles him, and he lets her. There is that look in her eyes again like she may explode, but she is bound now by their pact. She can hurt him, if she wants. If he wants.

Yet tonight, her great hands shake as she traces his face and tears fall down onto him.

3. The Blade of Frontiers

His shoulders slump when he thinks nobody is looking, and all she wants is to be able to fucking shake him, pull him up, take his head in her hands and scream in his face.

"Fuck, Wyll. Do you have any idea?"

As it is though, she's on fire, and that would be a really stupid thing to do, so instead she gets in his line of sight and does anything she can to make him laugh.

She tells him about the time in Avernus where she went to strike her axe at the same time as another warrior and accidentally split the haft, sending the axehead spinning into (and through) three imps. She talks about the docks back in Baldur's gate and argues with him about who sells the best fish (it is, or at least was, Rourke, and his suggestion that is was Tully is objectively stupid and wrong because everybody knew he refried yesterday's catch.) She recites riddles, sings songs she knows he can't resist singing along to. And it works.

Except when it doesn't.

There's music and song and dance and she wants to just enjoy it with the other Tiefs, but instead she finds herself sat on the sandbank offering a bottle and wishing above anything else that she could offer him more. Hells, she wants to give him everything. Everything, everything.

"Everything I have here now, everything, I owe to you, Wyll," she says. "What an amazing, beautiful thing."

It makes him smile. It's all she ever wants.

[larvasmoon]

Portrait of the pale elf (5)- He, who is the dagger

Chapter summary : Selene visits Astarion in his manor, finally starting his portrait, but things quickly go downhill as the night unfolds.

Word count : 6,5 k

Trigger Warnings : Blood. Biting (of course). Dry Humping. Inappropriate use of an armour. Mentions of death.

Author's note : This chapter has taken a little bit more time and effort to write than usual. I wanted it to be as perfect as possible because it's a turning point in the relationship between Selene and Astarion. I've written this installment while listening to Sky Ferreira's haunting and gothic song "Downhill Lullaby". I think it perfectly encapsulates the mood I've been trying to set in this chapter.

Thank you so much if you follow this story. It always touches me so deeply when I realize that what I've written has actually reached someone !

As always, here's my AO3 darling

The full moon, wrapped in a coat of misty clouds, shone bright over Selene’s head. It was close to midnight, and she shivered under the hood of her mantle. Her fingers tingled with the cold, numb around the heavy wooden box in which she carried a blank canvas and her folded easel. Slung across her chest was a bundle of brown linen, full with her paintbrushes, paint paddle and charcoal sticks. 

She had never ventured in this part of the higher city, a section of Baldur’s Gate where the imposing manors could as well have been called castles. Wherever her eyes landed, the scenery was eerily beautiful, full of dark charms that she naively attributed to the witching hour. 

One particular mansion caught her eyes and she stopped in her tracks, thinking to herself that it would make a fine painting decor.

Its high tower seemed to climb high into the celestial sky, the silver glow of the moon pooling on the black tiles of the roof like a soft caress. The rest of the facade was made of a surprisingly dark stone, adorned with the cruel faces of many gargoyles, lurking under the roof’s shadow, or stretching out their clawed hands from the balcony railings. Their toothy grins and penetrating eyes, permanently carved into the onyx like stone, made her so uneasy that she instinctively took a few steps back. Through the sumptuous oriel windows, she could see the flickering of a lit chandelier, illuminating the mouldings of a scarlet ceiling, bleeding red into the night. 

She was about to set off once again when she noticed the small metal plate next to the manor’s gates. Selene had to squint her eyes to make out the name of the house, written in Thorass : “ The gothic serenade”. 

“ It’s the last mansion of the avenue”, Astarion had said with a wry smile, “ you can’t miss it”.  

She chuckled when she noticed that after this one manor, the street took a turn, and a fleet of stairs led back to the wide commercial avenues in which Carmine Red was. 

A bit cliché for a vampire’s manor , she mused, I didn’t take Astarion for the predictable type, he’s usually so full of surprises.  

The gate was already unlocked. When she softly gave it a push, it silently opened to reveal a small garden full of enchanted red roses, in full bloom even in the cold of winter. As she walked up the winding path, the cold branches of a tall weeping willow grazed her cheek, like a lover’s hand.

The door flew open before she had even reached its steps, and the bright lights inside the house illuminated Astarion’s elegant silhouette. 

“There you are. I was expecting you, darling.” 

He was wearing a simple white shirt and black breeches, gracefully leaning on the threshold of his humble abode. 

It felt strange to hear his voice in the wide open air, outside of the loud spaces of taverns, or the hushed and intimate boutique that was Carmine Red. There, in the obscurity, it sounded electrifying. Its deeper tones made her senses more alert, as if some repressed part of her subconscious was in fact well aware of his true nature.  

“I apologise, I’m running late, I got lost in the streets” she sheepishly answered, climbing up the few steps with slightly flushed cheeks. 

The vampire helped her inside, taking the heavy box from her hands like it weighed no more than a bag of feathers. 

“Oh no need to apologise, dear. I should be thanking you for coming at such a late hour. I hope you’re not too exhausted.” 

The inside of his home was decorated in a similar fashion to Carmine Red : the walls and ceilings were painted in a deep burgundy red, the floor was covered in red persian rugs,  black lacquered furniture was scattered about the room, and here and there she spotted a few vases filled with dry everlasting flowers. 

However, the artist in her couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a single painting on the high walls of his place. 

Not even a boring still-life painting or outfashioned scenery. Nothing.

And while his tailor shop had felt comforting and warm to her, the manor was a paler and colder reflection of it. As if Astarion was barely a passing shadow in those wide spaces. Not even staying long enough for his scent to linger in the air, the way it had last time she’d visited him. 

“It’s no problem, I usually don’t sleep a lot anyway” she confessed, gasping when he leaned closer to unclasp her cloak around her neck and slide it off her shoulders. 

“Can I offer you something to drink ? A little something to keep you awake through the night ?” he proposed, already treading away into a corner of the living room and rummaging through a cabinet, “I must warn you though, the tea I make is absolutely awful!”

“What would you suggest ?” 

Her feet carried her towards a black chest of drawers. On top of it was a set of daggers, displayed on a luxurious ivory stand. The handles were mesmerising, covered in a multitude of expensive stones : rubies, amethysts, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds. They glittered and shimmered in the candlelights, and she wondered how such a magnificent thing could have been made to kill. 

So much refinement and beauty, poured into a weapon destined to extinguish life... She couldn’t tell whether it’d be cruel or sweet, to be on the receiving end of its sharpness, and have the glint of gemstones be your last vision before death’s embrace.

“Wine. Red preferably. I have quite the collection.” 

Her fingers moved on their own, and she carefully dragged them along the blunt edge of the beautifully curved blades. They were soft and cool to the touch, like their owner’s skin. 

In a flash, he’d crossed the room, and was standing right beside her. His slender hands grabbed her own, and strayed her away from the daggers. 

“Careful darling, don’t cut yourself”, he spoke through gritting teeth, with a faltering voice she struggled to recognize.

A crack in his sophisticated mask, she thought. She’d grown used to the low purr of his voice, to the dandyish inflection of it, and to the confidence with which he always spoke. This quiet trepidation felt so strange, so out of character, that she was a little bit taken aback. 

What if this warning was destined to him, just as much as it was to her ? Did he not trust himself enough to resist the sight of her blood ? A chill ran down her spine at the thought of such implications. 

For a few seconds, she pondered whether this was all in fact a very bad idea, being alone in a blood thirsty vampire’s manor, so far into the night that the streets of the higher city were empty. She thought about taking back her things, and her mind raced with all sorts of pitiful excuses she could invent to run back to her apartment, like the coward she’d spent most of her life being.

And yet, she remained silent and still, looking at the beauty of his milky and delicate hands around her stained and unkept painter’s fingers. 

She could never be enough of a fool to turn down the unhoped-for opportunity to paint him, no matter how undeserving she felt of it. 

Her, the insignificant painter with no name to herself, tainted with things that no amount of water could ever clean. And him, the beautiful beyond reason creature, with skin of alabaster and eyes of molten fire. 

 “Oh but I didn’t, see ?” she reassured Astarion, turning her hand in his grasp to show the tips of her blackened fingers, permanently sullied by the use of charcoal sticks, “I shouldn’t have touched them without asking though, I’m sorry.”

She tore her eyes away from their intertwined hands, and stared at him for the first time of the evening. His claret eyes were at least two shades darker than usual, even under the bright glow of the lit chandeliers. There was no light in the gaze that he kept eerily fixed on her fingers, and she wondered what kind of thoughts were going through this pretty and dangerous head of his. 

She found that she didn’t mind if they were of the bloody kind, if it meant that she could capture his essence and trap it into paint.

“They’re breathtaking. Do they have a story ? I feel like they would, with such an intricate design” she gently inquired again, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he moved away and cleared his throat.

The vampire slowly sauntered back towards the cabinet, filling two goblets with a wine so red it almost looked black when it poured out of the bottle. 

“It’s a souvenir from my old glorious days” he sniffed, not without a hint of bitterness, “those blades have seen just as much blood as my hands have, but I’d rather not see them tainted with yours.” 

As he talked, Selene found herself dreaming of that version of him she had never seen.

Astarion in armour, fighting an army of relentless enemies. 

She imagined that back then, in combat as in the voluptuous atmosphere of a boudoir, each and every one of his movements must’ve been painfully sultry. 

An apex predator, moving with the grace of a feline when closing in on an unwitting prey. He’d carve into their flesh with a fervour of a lover, rhythmically and precisely, until they’d come undone. The droplets of blood, spurting all around him, would be like the many rose petals thrown on a stage by the cheering crowd, after the final of his dance macabre.  

The thought of him covered in blood did something to her lower belly that she chose to ignore. 

No , it’d make a fine painting, nothing more. 

When he handed her her glass, she admired his form one last time, and decided it was time for her to do what she’d initially come for. 

“So, how would you like for me to paint you, Astarion ?” she abruptly asked, crouching down  to unpack her blank canvas. 

Astarion’s scarlet eyes settled on her once again, clear and taunting like a cat’s. “Well, in the nude, of course, darling.”

Selene’s hands stilled around the last latch of the box, her mind conjuring obscene and sensual images of him posing on a bed of red silk. He’d have the body of a marble statue, sculptural yet strong. She could almost see the outlines of his muscles under his thin white shirt. 

The tip of her pointy ears burnt from how much she was blushing.

She’d done a few nude paintings back when she was still a student. They’d always been done with female models, because Damian foolishly didn’t see fit for a young girl to practise in any other way. As an adolescent, she’d seen countless beautiful women au naturel, tieflings, elves, humans with all shades of hair and skin. She’d spent countless hours painting the round lines of their breasts, the curves of their closed thighs, or the hollow of their barely concealed groins.

She’d drawn a naked man for the first time, much later. Her own lover, the first and only she’d ever had. He was named Lucius, a wood elf that hadn’t stayed in the city long enough to be with her more than a few weeks. Selene had made the best out of it though, now and then sketching his naked body in the crumpled sheets of the bed he’d just made love to her into. 

None of this had ever made her blush, but the thought of a very naked Astarion had. 

The vampire wheezed beside her, bending down from how much he was laughing. 

“I’m teasing you, love. You should’ve seen your face, it was hilarious” he crackled, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes. 

Selene sighed, running her hands through her long hair, and did her best to think about anything but his unclothed body. “No, I mean- is there any particular way you’d like for me to represent you ?”

“You’re the painter, I’ll leave it up to you”, he shrugged, eagerly drinking from his glass, “In whatever room of this house, and in whatever attire, I’m all yours.”

She looked over at the daggers once again, and thought that the only right way to paint him would be with them in hand.

“Do you still have any armour ?” she absent mindedly asked, already rummaging through her supplies, “I’d like to paint you in one of them, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’m sorry but did I offend you with my joke, darling ? Because you’re certainly going for the complete opposite” he huffed, almost offended. 

He pointed at his body with wide and agitated movements. “None of this will be visible, and I’m curious to see what it looks like, mind you !”

“It doesn’t have to be anything bulky, or heavy… maybe just something made out of leather ?” 

“And here I thought you’d want to paint me in see-through silk, arched or bent in suggestive positions” he mocked, looking at her as though she’d just said the most asinine thing he’d ever heard. 

She contemplated explaining to him in great detail the symbolism of him dressed in armour, or the way she thought that, from time to time, he used his beauty as a weapon or a protection of sorts. But, it seemed a bit insensitive to tell this to someone who had felt like they needed to shield themselves from the world in the first place. 

So she settled for the more obvious reasons.

“I have something in mind” she softly said, getting up to be at eye level with him once again, “Trust me, you’ll be able to see each and every detail of your appearance.”

Her dark eyes roamed his face and body, picking it apart as if she was already at work.

“Each of your eyelashes, and beauty marks. Each of your silver curls. And each of the elegantly concealed shapes of your body.” 

He looked back at her with the same intensity, his burning eyes lowering to stare at her lips each time she uttered a new word.

“But I’m not only painting what I see. A teacher of mine once said that painting a portrait is capturing the essence of one’s soul. And I don’t need you to be naked, or posing in a provocative way for that.”

A strange and pained expression flickered across his face, disappearing as quick as it had appeared.

Selene walked back to the displayed daggers, talking with her back to him. “A dark and foreboding armour on a soft and ethereal body, sharp and dangerous daggers in dainty fingers. I think it is fitting when portraying a being of contradiction like yourself. ”

She heard him follow her, each of his lithe steps on the floorboard, until he was standing right behind her.

“ A being of contradiction ? How so ?” he breathed on her neck, and she shivered. 

“ Someone who is beautiful, but equally lethal.” 

There was a beat of silence in the room, as she continued to admire the magnificent hilts of the daggers.

“Follow me darling, there’s something I’d like to show you” he finally said, turning away to disappear at the corner of a long and dark corridor. 

**

Much later into the night, Selene finally set her easel into place. It was such a strange feeling to prepare herself to paint at a time she would have usually been curled up in her bed, dreaming strange dreams.

The fear she had grown accustomed to, every time she was about to draw, was nowhere to be seen. She felt unusually calm and content, eager to start painting.

Earlier, Astarion had led her into a small room, filled with tokens of his heroic past : rapiers of every size, pretty vials of poison, heavy crossbows, and mannequins dressed in various combat apparels. She had immediately decided that it was the perfect atmosphere and decor for what she had in mind. There were no chandeliers in there, just one lit candelabra and the glow of the full moon. Its rays entered the room through the open window and illuminated the red armchair in which Astarion would later sit. The small space felt gloomy and intimate, like she’d pictured it should be.

As soon as she had entered the room, she’d spotted a sumptuous armour of leather plates. It was blacker than black, strapped and buckled in different places, adorned with many silver details that glowed in the obscurity. 

Astarion had unwillingly accepted to wear it, after a little bit of convincing on Selene’s part. As per her request, he had also replaced the original leather cape of the armour with a scrap piece of red silk he’d kept from a dress he had finished a while ago. He’d carefully attached it to the silver chain that was slung across the mannequin’s chest, before silently slipping away to put the armour on. 

When he entered the room once again, Selene was just finishing setting her canvas on the easel. All clad in black as he was, from head to toes, the sight of him nearly took her breath away. The atmosphere in the room shifted as he drew closer, as if darkness itself was shrinking away and retreating in front of night incarnate.

Each piece of leather seemed to have been stitched and riveted directly around his body, enveloping his limbs so perfectly it left close to nothing to the imagination. His hair looked even lighter, against all that black, seemingly made of rays of moonlight, or other godly materials. The long piece of scarlet silk, delicately draped over his shoulder, cascaded down the length of his back and legs, until it pooled at his feet like a puddle of blood. 

Astarion took a few lithe steps towards the chair and sat in front of her, as she arranged her supplies on a little table he’d placed near her canvas. He looked glorious in every possible way, and Selene had trouble concentrating on her tasks. 

The vampire kept his eyes trained on each of her movements, a strange intensity in his gaze that she didn’t know how to interpret. 

Once she was done, her feet carried her to him, hesitantly looking at his posture. 

“May I touch you ? I’d like to adjust everything before we start.”

His red eyes widened a little bit at her question, before he regained his composure and crossed his legs.

“Oh please do, darling” he purred, a dangerous smile playing on his lips, as if he were begging for something different, in a very different context.

Selene’s hands reached for the vampire, touching him in ways she never would’ve never dared to otherwise. 

She brushed a silver curl away from his forehead, with a softness that almost would have looked tender to any onlooker. The tips of her fingers came to rest under his chin, gently tilting his head to the side. Delicately holding his forearms and angling them on the armrest, she then took his hands in her own and placed them on his lap. One of them was made to hold the dagger he’d brought from downstairs, the blade tentatively resting against his thigh. 

Finally, Selene kneeled at his feet, fixing the silk until she was satisfied with the way it rested on the floor.

While she was busy arranging his cape, she felt his own fingers reaching out for her hair, softly pushing her heavy curly hair away from her neck and letting them fall down her back. They lingered for a few seconds on her nape, lusciously feeling her bones and the start of her spine. 

“You should tie them up, so they’re out of the way” his silky voice said from above her, and she heard the rushed and loud beating of her own heart in her ears. 

When she got up, red as a peony, he had a particularly vampish smile playing on his lips. 

“Are you comfortable ? Do you feel like you could stay like this for a while ?” 

“It shouldn’t be an issue, darling” he stared up at her through his lashes, a dangerous flame dancing in his eyes, “I am well versed in the art of maintaining a variety of positions , all night long if need be. ” 

Astarion’s blatant flirting wasn’t lost on Selene, it had never been, but she did not really know how to respond to it. She usually settled for pathetic smiles and flushed cheeks, like an inexperienced maiden. 

She had quickly gathered that part of being a good painter was spending a lot of time observing people, and dissecting them, so that part of their temperament would transpire on their features. And yet, on most occasions, talking to the vampire felt to her like fumbling in the dark, unsure of where to go or of what to say. No matter how hard she tried, Selene couldn’t tell where his mask of flamboyance began, and where it ended. She just knew it existed, and maybe it was already enough in itself.

Sometimes his pretty words sounded like the practised lines of a skillful actor on the stage of the city’s luxurious theatre, at others they rang true in ways she had not expected. Those rare moments were like ripples at the surface of water, and she longed to dive in the murky waters of his mind to see what kind of secrets rested at the bottom of it. 

“We shall begin then” she uttered, more to herself than to Astarion, and she came back to stand behind her canvas. 

Selene grabbed one of her brushes, inelegantly sticking it into the messy bun she’d curled her hair into. Faintly, she heard Astarion sigh, in what mistakenly sounded like impatience. 

With a deft hand, she started tracing stark and dark lines. In the silence of the room echoed the familiar melody of the charcoal stick grazing the canvas, with each quick flick of her wrist. Every time she looked back at him, his ruby eyes hadn’t left her, unwavering.

When he talked once again, his voice sounded somehow mellower. “Come to think of it, I have never asked you your full name.”

Her movements halted, her hand suspended above the piercing eyes she’d just finished sketching. 

“It’s just Selene” she answered, failing to completely conceal the emotion in her voice, “I’m an orphan”. 

The tip of her finger lightly rubbed the canvas, blurring a shadow under his eyebrow. She was as delicate with the drawing as she was with him, as if it was Astarion himself that she was touching with the staining edge of her stick.

“Why did you never commission one of our city’s greater painters to draw your portrait ? Before I offered to draw your portrait I mean -” she asked in turn, clearly eager to talk about something else.

“I don’t particularly relish being in the company of artists, you are an exception” he snickered, and the way he tapped his foot while he talked, made her think of the way cats tap their tail when they are bothered by something. 

His backhanded compliment still somehow found its way to her heart, and she smiled while focusing on the lines of his sophisticated curls. 

Selene’s only gateway into the very private and elitist circle of baldurian artists had only been Damian, and she’d lived in his shadow for years. He had given her little to no  opportunity to converse with the famous painters she sometimes saw at parties or gatherings. She’d guessed it was because he was too afraid that she’d talk too much and reveal things that should be kept secret. 

If her master was anything like the rest of them, she could only agree with Astarion though.  

“You’ll probably think that I am a terrible bore, but I don’t mingle that much with fellow painters, so I can’t really agree or disagree” she explained, ticking when she realised her rendition of his perfect jaw was, in fact, far from being perfect. 

“Is it because of Fallheel ? Does he forbid you to talk to others like he forbid you to talk to me ? ” he harshly inquired, and the tone of his voice made her lift her eyes from her sketch once again. 

Yes of course, she thought, but she found herself instinctively shaking her head when she answered. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.” 

A low sarcastic chuckle. “Oh on the contrary, you know exactly what I’m implying, darling”, the vampire grew agitated on his chair, forgetting to stay still and playing with the blade of the dagger that was in his lap, “the man is pathetic, so unsure of himself, that he’s scared you’d run off or choose a new master if you socialised more.” 

“Can you stay just like that ? Playing with the dagger” she excitedly asked, “ yes, yes, that’s even better than before !” 

He rolled his eyes but obliged her nonetheless, the ghost of a smile on his delicious lips. 

  **

Hours went on like this, with a few words exchanged between them, and Selene feverishly drawing to finish her sketch before the sun was up in the city's sky. 

And surely enough, it did rise, slowly at first, barely illuminating the stratosphere and filling it with indigo blue clouds. 

It reminded her of a story they used to tell to children at the orphanage, the tragic tale of the sun and the moon. She remembered how Amalia, the elderly headmistress, told them about that ballad that she had written in her youth, when she was still a bard. She’d called it “the greatest and saddest love. It began with her tremulous voice whispering : “ the moon and the sun are lovers, but to love from afar is to love bitterly”. At the end of every night, the moon quickly would sadly retreat to the horizon, still there when the first rays shone at the other side of the world, as if to cast one last desperate look behind her. At the beginning of every day, the sun would hurry at the doors of the sky, to steal one look at the beauty of the lady of the night. For a few glorious seconds, the two planets would be face to face, like forbidden lovers destined to always distantly cross paths and condemned to long for things they could never have. 

It reminded her of him , as she drew the last detailed bit of the decor behind his silhouette.

Outside, she could hear carriages passing through the avenue and the hooves of the horses stomping on the pavement. A few voices echoed in the streets, as baldurians either began a long day, or came home after an even longer night. 

“The sun is almost up, darling, you should probably go home,” Astarion wearily said, hauling himself to his feet, “before someone sees you scandalously coming out of my house at the cracks of dawn.”

He elegantly stood up and strode to close the window. Gripping the thick curtains, he lingered there for a little more, eyes lost in the sky with the most hearwenching expression she’d ever seen him make. The blue light that highlighted the contour of his profile gave her a glimpse of what he’d look like in the sun, and something in her chest did a strange summersault.  

“I’ve finished the sketching part” she softly declared, letting her charcoal stick fall into its metallic box, and wiping her hands, “ Do you wish to see it now, or when it’ll be painted ?” 

This seemed to pick his interest and in one swift motion, he drew the curtains and engulfed them in the dark once again. 

“I’ve never been one for suspense. Show me, love” he  growled, eyes wide and sparkly in the dim lights.

Selene stepped aside, suddenly shy and doubtful. At times, when drawing him, she’d felt as though he was so painfully beautiful that any attempt at recreating his features would be fruitless at best, and ridiculous at worst. 

Astarion’s eyes roamed the canvas, slowly, silently, his lips trembling as if he were trying to articulate words. He exhaled once, one shallow breath that fanned across her hair. She felt his body shake right beside her, the leather of his armour crackling with each of his imperceptible movements. 

After a few agonising seconds, he smiled wide and bright, and Selene’s kness almost buckled from how relieved she was.

“Do you like it ?” she timidly asked, her dirty fingers fidgeting with the cloth she was still holding.

The vampire turned to stare at her, “If I like it ?” he chortled, drawing near and taking her face in his hands, “I adore it, you absurdly talented woman.”

Her flushed cheeks burnt against the cold of his palm, and when she looked into his scarlet eyes, she realised they were wet with tears. 

“Everything about this is exquisite. I understand why Fallheel wants to keep you all to himself” he breathed, his lips almost brushing against her own when he talked.

“I’m gla-” Selene started, but suddenly she felt something roll under the sole of her shoe, sending her flying backward. 

A piece of charcoal, most likely. 

The world titled and turned, as she pathetically failed to find anything to cling to. 

In an instant, one of Astarion’s powerful arms closed around her waist, pressing her flush against the hard plane of his chest. The cold clasps of his armour deliciously digging into the skin of her breasts, naked under her flowy shirt. 

She had stupidly decided not to wear a bodice the night prior, as it would constrict and dig into her ribcage when she spent hours hunched over a painting. 

They tumbled to the ground, a muffled groan coming out of her mouth when her back gently hit the carpeted floor.

Astarion had fallen on top of her, kneeling between her legs and holding himself up on one arm. His other hand firmly held her hip, his thumb resting on the naked skin of her lower belly, right above the laces of her breeches.

“Ah well, look how good your charcoal drawing is, darling,” he said with a low chuckle, “you’ve managed to bring me down to my knees.”

She giggled beneath the vampire, so filled with the joy of having done something for him, that she forgot to be embarrassed about the way their bodies were pressed together. 

He gingerly caressed her cheek, the pad of his fingers following the lines of her dimples. “You should laugh more, it suits you, you know.”

She watched his gaze trail from her face to her neck, leaving goosebumps on her skin in its wake. His expression slowly morphed into another. The muscles of his jaw growing tight, his irises draining from all their light, and turning into a deep burgundy red, so dark it looked almost black. 

An alarm rang somewhere in the back of her mind, like it had so many times since she’d entered his manor the night before. Like some old and primal instinct, plaguing her with the certainty that she was stalked by a deadly creature, flooding her mind with the gripping urge to flee before being stuck under the attack of its teeth and claws.

But once again, she turned a deaf ear to it, too enthralled by the way his pale eyelashes moved with each of his slow blinks, or the sensation of his fingers tracing her collarbones with feather light caresses. 

The will to live might have been strong in most living things, but she was sure it was nothing that the softness of his touch could not silence. If Death had had the face of Astarion, odious crowds of wretched and suffering mortal souls would’ve crawled at his feet, ashen and emaciated by the pain of living. Their bony and crooked fingers gripping and tugging at him, as they sang their woes.

Take us, embrace us, for nothing in this life is more glorious than you, who is the end of all. 

She talked before she was aware of the words forming on her tongue. “Are you hungry, Astarion ?”

He looked up at her, pupils blown, like two dark orbs in which heard the call of the void. 

“Don’t tempt a beast, darling, for it might truly bare its teeth” he snarled, his fangs looking much sharper than usual under the shadow of his lip.

“Show me then“ she breathed, raising her hand to lay it flat on his plated chest, where his heart should’ve been beating, “The beast inside.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying”, he shook his head, pressing his eyes closed, as if he were battling something inside his mind, “It’s all ugly, and it’s ill favoured.” 

“Nothing about you could ever be hideous, Astarion” she uttered, truly meaning each and every word, “Not to me.” 

She’d always thought so, even when she’d gotten a glimpse of the more sinister parts of him.

Selene’s fingers reached for his forehead, intimately wiping off the sheen of sweat on his skin, and Astarion all but melted into her arms. Yielding to her gentleness. 

He pressed his nose against the curve of her neck, breathing along her nape, brushing his soft lips against her skin, until his face was buried in the dark curls of her hair.

“You smell so …” he whispered in her ears, taking another lungful of her scent, “sumptuous.” 

His hips fell between her open legs, fitting perfectly, as though he were some missing piece in the puzzle of her body she didn’t even know she’d lost. 

His tongue licked a hot and wet stripe on her pulse, and something like a moan of pain wormed its way out of his chest. “I can almost taste your blood like this, as it rushes and pools under your flushed skin.”

She didn’t know it was possible, but her heart started to beat even faster, something taking flight in her chest and rising to higher spheres. 

“Please” she pleaded, her words barely a breath, without really knowing what it was she was begging for exactly.

Astarion lifted his face away from her nape once again, resting his forehead on hers, and staring deep into her eyes. She could see the thin ring of his burning irises around all that darkness.

“Since the day I’ve seen you in that pitiful tavern, I’ve dreamt of it. I’ve had visions of you, and visions of me having you the way I please.” 

His hand tightened around the hollow of her waist as he talked, bringing her impossibly closer, even though they were already tightly embracing each other.

“But it’s nothing tender, you see. I’m no longer capable of such things. They are full of blood and death, the kind of kisses I give” he breathed against her lips, almost taking her mouth then and there, and she drunkenly inhaled the air that came out of his lungs. 

“I’ve always loved a kiss with teeth”, her hand stroked his silver hair, admiring the softness of his curl, “ So kiss me, Astarion.” 

His eyes widened, irises ablaze with scorching flames, and he placed a river of small kisses from the corner of her mouth to her nape. 

She laid there, staring at the red ceiling of the room. Desire and fear coiled in her belly, as she waited for a sting that she knew was coming. 

And all at once, it was there. 

A sharp pain that tore a sob out of her. Her back arched off the floor, and Astarion’s hips buckled into her when he swallowed her blood for the first time. It tingled where his teeth were, each wave of pain turning into a pulsating sensation that had wetness pooling between her legs. 

Her neck had always been a weak spot of hers, a part of her body where her nerves seemed to acutely pick up on each friction and stroke. She knew she would have come just from a few of his kisses and love bites but … this was different. The addictive blend of pain and pleasure that he was inflicting on her, had her toes curling and her vision blurring with ecstasy. 

The vampire growled, deep and vicious, his pointy ear twitching against her cheek with each gulp of blood. His soft hair tickled her chin, like silk upon her skin, and it deliciously contrasted with the brutality of his teeth in her flesh.

Distantly, she heard his hand violently slam on the floor next to her head, nails scraping the surface and clawing at the wood, instead of tearing her skin apart. He pressed further into her, suddenly crushing her hips with lascivious thrusts that had her chasing a release she didn’t even know was already building deep in her core. 

She gripped the straps on his shoulders, stars dancing in the corners of her vision.  

“Ah-Astarion, I’m-” she whined, as he started licking and sucking at her wound with open-mouthed kisses. 

His cold hand travelled up her torso, like water sipping through the fabric of her cotton shirt, until it reached her breasts. It stopped at first, trembling as if he were realising that she wasn’t wearing any corset under her button down, before he kneaded and pinched her hard nipples with a renewed vigour. 

Each time his hips picked up speed, her clothed slit tantalizingly glided along the buckle of his belt, sending bolts of electricity at the base of her spine. Astarion was making love to her with and through his armour, each of his movements under the constricting leather of his attire sending her down a spiral of suffocating pleasure.

Thighs twitching uncontrollably, something recoiling in her belly with the promise of a shattering return, Selene let out a string of chocked moans. 

He groaned once, his hips slowing at the same time as her body convulsed and exploded around him. His thighs flexed under her own, and the thought of his coming in his leather pants had her spasming for a little bit longer under him.

Astarion slowly unlatched from her neck, mouth and cheeks smeared with gore. His hands cupped her face, coaxing her eyes open with caresses and kisses on her flushed cheeks.

“Are you still with me, darling ?” he sweetly asked, a tinge of worry in his voice. 

Selene didn’t know whether she’d come or died, or both. She uttered an intelligible answer, nodding through the afterglow of her orgasm. She felt weak and dazed, convinced that she’d float out of her body if Astarion wasn’t holding her onto the ground. 

“You, my sweet, are the most divine thing I have tasted”, he murmured, lapping at a drop of blood that dripped across her neck when she’d turned her head, “you’ve given me so much tonight that I don’t know how to thank you.” 

“I could say the same thing” she whispered, wiping a bit of the blood that was dripping from his lips. 

He sighed before bringing her hands to his lips, languorously licking the red smears that she had collected on her thumb. His eyes looked like rubies once again, shimmering in the dark, maybe even brighter than before. 

“Come on, let’s clean you up.” 

The last thing she felt before the world went black, was the strong set of Astarion’s arms closing under back and legs, and lifting her off the ground. Her head fell on his shoulder, the sweet and vibrant scent of him lulling her to sleep. 

In the swirling darkness of her closed eyes, she dreamt that she was splattering buckets of crimson paint on the walls of a blank and empty room. Hands and brushes drenched with it, singing and dancing in the red, she felt happy. 

Free . 

[mrfancyfoot]

Plots & Prosody is now live on AO3! :D

Prosody is my Patchwork Plots spin-off/alternate timeline drabble/snapshot series that features Raphael x Evie (f!human OC).

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Rating: Explicit Summary:

All’s fair in love and war. Plots & Prosody is the equally indulgent Patchwork Plots spin-off (mis)adventures of Evie, set during the main events of BG3 and after, as she makes a new life for herself in Baldur’s Gate. And the devil attempting to court her while he takes over the Hells. . . Things are bustling in Baldur’s Gate as the city rebuilds. Life is looking up for Evie who has ambitions set on her (re-)inventions and business ventures as she juggles a certain vampire’s budding political career, the unwitting godhood bestowed upon her by a clan of fanatical fish people, and the increasing attentions of a devil who she believes woefully has no other friends.

Prologue: Fire and Brimstone

Summary: A snapshot of domesticity as it will manifest in the future. Warning: Suggestive language

“I read this all used to be green?”  Sitting in the nook of the window with her tea in hand, Evie looked out upon the crimson lands, much torched and barren from the constant onslaught of war.  The skies were occasionally punctuated by bright balls of fire crashing to the land.  A land she may never have the ability to set foot on despite now calling it home half of the time.

Raphael leaned on the wall behind her and followed her gaze.  “Mm, as it was first created by Asmodeus, before the Blood War.”

She tipped her head back to look up at him.  “And how do you see Avernus?”

“However we like, sweetling.”  His hand rose to run his knuckles over her cheek.  “Once the Blood War is curbed here, it may return.  Is that how you desire to see Avernus reborn?”

She leaned into the warmth of his touch.  “I think it’s more poetic for the Hells to greet with temptation.  Potentially more effective if you can smack them with the disparity of beauty and brimstone.”  Evie knew his priorities weren’t in how the Hells looked - yet - his focus on reining in the other layers under his - their - rule.

His eyes narrowed on her as he leant forward but there was a spark of humor in them.  “Are you certain it isn’t simply for a better view?”

“That, too,” she giggled.  “Speaking of beauty, I have to go visit the Underdark to see how my fishies are doing.  Depending on that, I’ll probably spend the rest of the day working out of the warehouse.  Or…hm.”  Evie touched a hand to her chin as she rethought that.  “No, I’ll stop by to pick stuff up and then go home.  I feel like I’ll need the sun and fresh air.  And a shower.  I need to have that seasonal room built.”  The research on the Underdark waters was well under way.  The first step towards identifying the sources of rot and pollution.  Her Kuo-toa could live in it but they were far from thriving - she wasn’t entirely convinced the rotting foods weren’t making them ill, but determining that was its own project as they insisted otherwise.  She couldn’t command them to not eat rotting foods until they had stable sources of fresh foods.

Where did she put her menthol rub?

“Be back for dinner,” Raphael commanded.  She knew better than to think it was a request.

Her brows rose in interest.  Dinner together was proving to be a very occasional luxury with how busy they both were.  Many contracts were struck over the evening hours - mortals wooed with the ol’ ‘wine n’ dine’ - keeping him out until the wee hours on the clock.  The rest of the night was typically paperwork and strategizing for a devil that needed far less sleep than she did.  Breakfast was their time together before meetings upon meetings ruled their days.

“Any occasion or simply dinner?”  Necessary to ask in case they were hosting someone she hadn’t been aware of.  He’d thankfully adopted her vastly more organised agenda system, so it was rare that such things surprised her.  Either way, by telling her, he was also saying that he was expecting her to be presentable, so she’d need to cook in time to get back and prepped.  She just needed to know what kind of presentable.

He took her hand in his own.  “Simply dinner with my Archduchess.”  Lips pressed to her palm with a look that promised more than ‘simply.’

She hid her mirth in her mug.  “Don’t you have a meeting?”

Raphael's smile turned dark and he hissed, “He can sweat.”

Uh-oh.  Someone was getting fired.  Quite literally by the look on his face.  She’d check the name again later to make sure it didn’t affect her own affairs.  Hers weren’t terribly entwined with his yet, so it was doubtful outside of a handful of people.  Raphael held very little patience for failure among his rank and file but there was always someone else itching and clawing to take a vacancy.

Evie turned and slid from the settee, then downed the last of her tea.  Time to get the ball rolling on the day.  From the perpetually bright fire and brimstone of Avernus to the cool darkness of the mushroom forested Underdark.  She had come to find a comfort in the latter as she tended to her piscine worshipers - perhaps one day she’d find the same here.

Reaching up to snag his collar before he turned away, she pulled him back down to press a peck to his cheek.  “See ya later!” she bid with a wave as she made to leave the bedroom, not missing the way his fist clenched against his urge to pull her back.  If he did, they wouldn’t be leaving the room for some time.

Now she just had to make sure time didn’t get away from her again.  The bruises on her ass had only just disappeared from the last time she hadn’t been paying attention and came home late without checking in.  ‘To serve as a reminder each time you sit,’ he’d said.  They’d probably last twice as long if she was late again…  Assuming he didn’t get creative with his discipline.  It was best to try not to find out.