#tiavyn

[asharaks]

instinct, imperative

600 words wyll/dark urge companion piece to my body, a mistranslation :)

It's a little like fighting.

(At least, the way they dance, all sharp edges and blood in the mouth.)

It's a little like fucking.

(At least, the way he dances, all slow hips and intent dark eyes.)

They

(all concentration, all control)

move, and Wyll

(all confidence, all—)

moves with them, sliding back a step to leave them in the warmth of his shadow. It's instinct that has them reaching for him, mirroring him as he raises his hands;

it's instinct that has them catching him as he spins into their arms, swandive, swallowtail;

instinct, that has them draw him close, his head tipping back against their shoulder as he laughs, leans into them.

“See?” he says, voice light, breathless, reverberating through them, and they tighten their hands until his body is flush against theirs, until his cheeks flush and his chest hitches. “You are good at this.”

“I'm not sure.” He moves away, and they release him unspoken, let his hands raise theirs as he spins beneath their arm, curve of his horn grazing their wrist. “You seem to be doing most of the work.”

“It's about having a good partner,” comes the easy reply, the easy motion as he pulls them forwards, one-step-two, ungainly and awkward but he smiles at them all the same, runs his hands up their arms all the same, links their fingers all the same. “I wouldn't do this with just anyone, you know.”

Backstep, sidestep, just-barely-miss his feet as he moves in their space—

(feel his laugh brush their throat)

—hands on their waist to turn them, confident and encouraging, nevermind their inertia, the weight of them sin-skin-bone against his hands as he pushes and they spin away, miss the warmth (miss the moment) and—

—instinct, always.

Instinct, a killer.

Wyll moves, quicksilver quickstep, weight shifting down the length of their arm and momentum carries him past them, spins them, carries them tangled with him, counterweight-wide their hand on his waist:

instinct, in the end.

They reach him as he falls, arches back, spine a graceful curve, the swell of his horns brushing the ground. He's a lodestone in their arms, everything in them pointing Wyllwards: their heart pendulums, swinging on its leash, and for a moment they're falling and he's falling beneath them, bearing him down with all their weight into the black earth as gravity swallows them both.

And then:

muscle, marrow, brandhot against their palms, they catch him.

the fall ends, and he's safe in their hands. Laughing, breathless, warm weight on their shoulders as they pull him upright, inelegant and abrupt. He drapes himself across them, fingers linked behind their neck, turns their too-sharp too-fast movements into something less frenetic, smoother, more intentional. Beauty to their beast, sunlight on the shadow of them.

“Don't do that,” they say, once he's settled firmly in their grasp, once they can feel his laughter echo in their ribs. Wyll tips his head, horns clacking softly off theirs as his hands drift, as he meets their eyes blackred, blackblue.

“You weren't going to let me fall,” he says, smug. Certain. Placing all too much faith in them, as always, a Blade to their heart. He grins up at them, hands at their neck, chest against theirs. Too intimate for any courtly dance as he scrapes his nails over their throat, draws his hands down their arms, sways into them slow-slow-slow.

It's a little like fighting, and a little like fucking, and as in both, they follow their instincts.

His lips are soft, and he smiles into their mouth, and they, the only rhythm in their heart a wardrum, find themself smiling back all the same.

[asharaks]

see me with the wolf

2.1k words wyll/dark urge cw gore

wyll & tiavyn meet at last.

The world bends. In an instant, he falls: smells sulfur and metal, infernal-abysmal, dark rushing in to choke him; he sees Karlach, burning in the night, Mizora behind her, and then—

—he's somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark and empty, somewhere not-entirely deserted. There's a sense of the Labyrinth: winding pathways bored through flesh, though greypink matter, and something in it hunting, haunting— something in it hungry.

[asharaks]

these torn constellations

820 words tw: self-harm, torture, sex wyll/the dark urge, kressa bonedaughter

A woman leans over you and tells you she loves you.

One day, you took a knife to your face and carved yourself open, lips to throat. You laughed as you did it, your Father's light filling the wounds, your Father's blood filling your mouth.

Today, she opens you throat to groin, starting at the very tip of your scars. You laugh (you think you laugh) as she does it, your Father's light gone from you, spilled red on the glistening floor, holy communion gone to waste.

One day, you'll lie in a warm bed with a man who loves you. The sunlight will fall on his skin and you will fall on your knees for him, time and time again, a worship untainted by blood.

Today, you lie on a cold table, and a woman leans over you and tells you she loves you. Her hands reek of death, and the darkness around you is no match for the darkness within, writhing-wriggling-squirming, clawing and crawling, and she takes the hand you raise for violence and she laces her fingers with yours

(and if you had the strength you'd break those fragile bones to splinters)

and she kisses you on the forehead, carrion-breath rancidsweet on your skin,

(rip out her tongue at the root and watch her choke on blood)

and she murmurs, “Hush, sweet one-”

(something so satisfying about killing necromancers: they always die screaming)

and when you look down you can see the carvings on your ribs (the Given), discordant with the ones on your face (the Chosen), the flutter of your lungs and you find yourself

searching

staring

looking for the red for the itch for the hole the place where He lives in you (and your blood spills over, wet and rich and dark in her hands) and

One day, you killed a man three times. Opened him up so pretty, teeth in his throat claws in his gut watched him bleed out squirmingscreamingsobbing: felt your Father's love, an offering received with grace. You took that love and you took his body and you filled him with it, brought him back through the dark to your waiting hands (jugular knitted back abdomen closed smooth) and you

Today, she tuts over your writhing carcass and smoothes your hair back from your sweating brow and she stitches you up with a surgeon's care (hands on your stomach on your thighs on parts more intimate more inside) and when she's done (when you're closed) she leans in and kisses your cheek and she says: “I'll see you tomorrow, special one.”

One day, he'll kneel before you and tell you he can see into eternity. You'll feel the carvings on your ribs, and the violence in your hands, and you'll (wish you'd died before you ever met him) (wish you'd died on the crashing nautiloid) (wish the tadpole swallowed you whole left nothing but meat and tentacles no soul no heart no mind) tell him there's a god in my blood and He won't let me

Today, you die. On her table, your heart stops beating. On her table, your body turns to (stillblessed still Chosen) meat, your Father's favour soaking into the spongy ground. Your Father's blood stops flowing (stops whispering), your Father's love dries up (a murderer murdered, a saint martyred)—

—and in His place, she calls her own god, and he drags you back through the dark to her waiting hands.

One day, you'll kiss him. When the fathergod is bled from you, when your hands and teeth are yours once more, you'll be able to kiss him. It won't change the way you want him

(violently, breathlessly, completely)

but you'll be able to touch him without fear, kiss him without blood. You'll learn:

he likes to talk while he fucks. Gasping, airless, punchedout pleas, his voice an anchor in the split of your skull. You'll learn:

he worries about you. About the things you make yourself do for him. The chore of his body, a fist clenched tight around you; the burden of his desire, your own body wrought for a bloodier purpose. He says, you don't have anything to prove to me, and you, so much to prove you'll never manage it, say:

(I want you so bad my teeth ache with it)

kiss him hard, kiss him until he moans, because the hunger isn't gone

(radiating out from the marrow to the muscle)

isn't changed, just blooded, now, teeth filed down until you can bury them in his neck and he (doesn't bleed) just bruises, pretty and willing, arches his spine and

(let me in let me in let me in)

opens for you, and the only thing in your blood is fire and

(I want I want I want)

love, splitting you open, splitting you in two, a scalpelblade down the core of you until the only anchor is your hand, laced in his.

(One day, you knew.)

(One day, you'll die.)

(Today, you die.)

[asharaks]

tagged by @bladesmitten mwahhh tagging umm. the wwt gang @ikarons @baronmpontmercy @hungerofhadarr kissy kissy!! anyone else who wants to do it also :3

these are all tia lines....and they all sound better in context<3

he's never going to be human- let him go.

I love you and I can’t be yours

"I just want to rest."

“That's all I ever seem to do.”

“You can't let me be selfish for five minutes?”

“There— there's nothing there,"

—I loved Him—and I can't hear Him—and it hurts—

“Then you have my word. My oath as a paladin. I won't harm you.”

“Just prayers. Nothing worth finishing.”

"Sorry. I'm not... I don't think I make a good partner."

“remember what happens to tyrants, little would-be.”

“you may not be a forgiving man, enver... but you aren't a loved one either, are you?”

[asharaks]

smth smth gay paladins..........

[asharaks]

tagged by @hungerofhadarr kisskiss!! gonna tag @ikarons @baronmpontmercy @babeoffrontiers @covenscribe and anyone else who feels like :3 doing this for my tia bc. of course i am.

5 songs associated with your oc:

shake off your flesh - the huntress and the holder of hands

it will come back - hozier

ancient names - lord huron

providence - poor man's poison

wolf - phildel

3 outfits:

bhaalist tia - i picture lots of rich fabrics, quite intense colours. vibe is slutty open robe except instead of seeing their tits you're seeing the full plate armour they're wearing underneath

camp clothes. soft, warm, dark. nothing too fancy, but they keep their weapons nearby and like to be covered up

modern au. blankey:) i think they dress very comfy and quite lowkey, but maybe some more unusual/unique cuts and fabrics etc. also modern au tia is covered in tattoos and would not be able to tell you where or when they got them<3

[asharaks]

tagged by @korcariiwitch and @babeoffrontiers ilyyy<33

name: tiavyn

nickname(s): none in universe, but i call them tia :3

pronouns: they/them

star sign: 🤷‍♀️

height: 6'1 (+ horns)

orientation: gay

race: zariel tiefling (bhaalspawn)

romancing: wyllyam🥰

fave fruit: blackberry

fave season: spring!

fave flower: jasmine

fave scent: metal, ozone, petrichor. if they lived in modern times they would be a gasoline smell enjoyer

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: herbal tea (they should under no circumstances be caffeinated)

average sleep hours: 2-4 (send help)

dogs or cats: dogs (<- guy who is projecting wildly)

dream trip: UM. they'd like to see the ocean I think. properly, not like the harbour from the Gate. and maybe after avernus they'd like to visit somewhere Cold....neverwinter and the area around there, maybe. mountains + forests. but tbh as long as wyll is there they will go anywhere and do anything.

amount of blankets: 0-1. they run pretty hot.

random fact(s):

they gave themself their scars :-)

they are a good artist! they discover this entirely by mistake

iiii think if wyll ever managed to persuade them to learn, they'd be a good dancer (<- most whipped guy on earth)

taggin g @ikarons @baronmpontmercy @yrlietlanaevyss @bardtiefling @covenscribe @hungerofhadarr aaaand if anyone else wants 2 do it you can say i tagged you too :3

[asharaks]

🥩 🍓 for kasi & tia:333

🥩 - Does your oc have any coping mechanisms? Healthy or unhealthy?

kasimir is biig on discipline: his coping mechanism is, primarily, ruthless efficiency. anything that stresses him out gets stamped out as fast as possible, and the things that can't be stamped out get compartmentalised and picked apart until he can handle it. he's very big on prayer, which serves a similar function for him to meditation - it's soothing, calming, helps keep him centred and balanced and focused. he's also big on physical exertion, when you can't make your mind shut up: weapons training, exercise, sex, anything like that. he's not a big drinker or anything, no physical vices like that (too much loss of control) and he isn't prone to self destruction (too proud) so it comes down to managing himself and his feelings.

tiavyn also prays a fair bit, but for them it doesn't Help their mood. fighting is something that really focuses them, but it's a fine line; the bloodlust getting the better of them doesn't do anything for their mental health in the long run, and their guilt and horror is bad enough already. they don't really have coping mechanisms for it, beyond repressing everything and just continuing to move forwards; later in the relationship, they'll seek out wyll and look for active time with him, giving themself something to focus on and think about other than their own troubles, but...yea. no coping mechanisms that Work<3

🍓 - Does your oc believe in anything? Are they superstitious? Religious? Atheistic? Has anything in their past made them this way?

both of them lmfao...tia lives in a world where gods concretely do exist and they were created by one, for a purpose they no longer serve; they were previously an extremely devout worshipper of bhaal, to the extent of hatching the whole absolute plan. After waking up on the nautiloid, they spend a lot of time praying to anyone who might be listening, and getting no answer; after finding out about their heritage, they largely swear off gods, and the whole business. who needs them anyway</3

kasimir is very very religious! he sincerely believes for a long time that he's chosen by andraste, and even after adamant, and haven, where his self belief takes a real beating, he retains that faith - it takes on a new shape, for sure, and it definitely becomes....colder, and more cynical, but he does hold onto it.

[asharaks]

speaking of gay paladins. I think it physically hurts tia to use lay on hands. I think it is a fucked up gory process and they have to fight for every moment of healing and grace they grant a person who could be dying who could be murdered who pcould be a Sacrifice. your Father loves you and your hands were made for killing, not healing, and every second is dragged from you bloody and raw

[asharaks]

praise my body holy (rot me like the walls)

3.2k words wyll's proposal scene light gore, slight unreality

—Tiavyn watches him watch her, and their ribcage is a butcher's block, all raw meat and blades sharpened, turned outwards. Mayrina turns to her husband (Wyll turns to Tiavyn) and she says,

I'll find a way to bring you back

and Wyll mouths,

okay?

and they can still taste the bile on their tongue, the acrid reek of Ethel smeared on their skin, the sweet-sick joy of her flesh giving way under their blade.

[asharaks]

i. my body, a mistranslation

he bows, holds out a hand to them, and tiavyn's heart and jaw both clench. their hand twitches - they take a step forward, involuntary, a fisherman's reel tugging beneath their sternum, and wyll's soft smile grows light in anticipation.

he bows, holds out a hand to them, and tiavyn's heart and jaw both clench. their hand twitches - they take a step forward, involuntary, a fisherman's reel tugging beneath their sternum, and wyll's soft smile grows light in anticipation.

tiavyn isn't a dancer. they can't remember ever being asked; what they do remember of themself is so far from dancing it feels heretical to recall, here and now, in this moment with this man.

they swallow, and wyll's eyes dip briefly to their throat.

his hands are warm. too warm, warmer than human flesh should be (though they've devoured colder) and calloused, rough against their own. they rub their fingers over a scar on his palm, exploring the silky texture of it without thinking, and he shivers, fingers curling around theirs as his eyes darken. tiavyn tries to swallow once more, finds their mouth dry as his breath hitches.

he smiles, and they-

-rooted to the ground, barely breathing, featherlight touch on their hand-

-their own heart between their teeth when it should be his, blood sweet as that smile and hotter than they can stand-

-exhale, let him twine his fingers with theirs. he tries to spin them, the gesture made awkward by their hesitance, a movement sharply aborted as they freeze, stumble, his hand lifting theirs before they get the picture, let him gently turn them as heat rushes to their face. their horn scrapes his wrist, and they sheepishly duck their head, pull their hand free so he can step away.

he doesn't.

"Sorry," they say quietly. "I'm not... I don't think I make a good partner."

they can hear leaves rustle underfoot as he steps closer. feel the heat coming off him - infernal, maybe, but it sears through them softer than any divinity.

his hand touches theirs.

"Let me be the judge of that," he says, laughter in his voice.

tiavyn's hand shakes. their jaw is locked, their teeth too large in their mouth. their heart thuds painfully, clawing to free itself from the tenderised meat of their body.

his hand is so gentle on theirs. he doesn't protest as they close their fingers over it, turn it palm-up. trace their claws over the delicate veins, dark skin that would split so easy-

-taste so good-

-necrosis rises in their blood, rot beneath their tongue from a god they can't name, and they bite down hard until their mouth is flooded, their throat red and wet.

wyll is frowning. they're still holding his wrist, staring at it; his hand lands over theirs, still so gentle.

"Tiavyn?"

"I-"

their voice is a croak. they press their lips together, swallow - mouth no longer dry - and make themself meet his gaze. see themself reflected, eye to eye, stone to stone, and maybe they're both damned but-

-but their fingers fit so neatly into the ridged scars on his neck, and his eyes half-close at their touch.

his lips are sweeter than his blood.

they have to believe that.

[asharaks]

gods specialest baby

[asharaks]

tagged by @bladesmitten MWAH<3

gonna tag @ikarons @fllagellant @vampireposter @baronmpontmercy :3 doing this for tia obviously obviously<3

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following:

An event that defines your character's past: Shake Off Your Flesh - The Huntress & The Holder of Hands. As leader of the cult of Bhaal, they had a very real sense of themself as a non-physical being; they really did conceptualise themself as something more, as the literal Child of God, their physical form both a blessing and a tether.

How your character sees themselves: Cassandra - Florence & the Machine. They are the prophet of a god they hate, clawing for faith and belief in a world that doesn't trust them. and who would i be without a florence song on a playlist.

How others view them: The Wolf - PHILDEL. Scary, vengeful, doomed - Tiavyn gets a lot of mixed reactions so picking a single song for this is tough:( but this one Fucks and i think the quietly angry vibe fits well.

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic): It Will Come Back - Hozier. Thee quintessential tiawyll song - their desperation for love, their view of themself as a monster, begging for scraps, their fear of hurting him and him extending them kindness all the same...yeah

A major fight scene: Bare Grace Misery - Nightwish. I just love the Doomed energy of this song, the like....resignation in the lyrics with the manic energy.

End credits song: A Life All Mine - The Gathering. I just love this song: Tia's worked so hard to become what they are, and it's involved a lot of hurt. They've fought for their life, as it is, and they're not giving it up easily.

The Huntress & the Holder of Hands - Shake Off Your Flesh

But the sky is falling down With death and fire and rage Lord, let this fear subside That I might hear your name That the skin won't burn And the world won't drive Me from all I hold Floating safe inside

Florence & the Machine - Cassandra

Oh, drunken gods of slaughter You know I've always been your favourite daughter

Phildel - The Wolf

You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back The wishes I've made are too vicious to tell Everyone knows I am going to hell…

Hozier - It Will Come Back

I know who I am when I'm alone I'm something else when I see you You don't understand, you should never know How easy you are to need

Nightwish - Bare Grace Misery

There's no such priest That can pray me to heaven When done with me Forget if you think I feel ashamed A wild thing Never felt sorry for anything

The Gathering - A Life All Mine

We might be dogs astray No running line will hold us So rather kick and kill me I'll be butchered all the same

[asharaks]

big part of tia and wylls relationship is both of them are convinced for a good while that wyll just Is going to have to put tia down like a dog at some point and I think wyll holds off really committing to them for a long time bc of this. because it would break his heart to kill his Partner but if they're just a Could've Been he convinces himself it'll be easier. because he loves repression and denial.

[asharaks]

i try not to pronoun bhaaltia in my writing much at all but when i do its like. when orin uses pronouns for them it relates to what they are to her (brother in arms, sister in prayer, siblings right down to the marrow) and when gortash does its an attempt to box them in and turn them into something controllable. and when they refer to themself as a Gender its a bit its a joke its a dare for you to do the same. and then when wyll first sees them he's like well that's not my fucking business. and waits for them to panic and introduce themself. and that's the thing that makes them start to think past their amnesia and the Urge and the everything to actually start building an identity for themself:)

[asharaks]

23 for fathom anddd 29 for tia & lysander? <3

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

well he is the worst man alive. is what you have to understand. Fathom gets petty. he's not a wildly jealous person but he hates feeling like he's being beaten at anything. the man needs to win and he will go as low as he needs to in order to do so.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

tiavyn: they are never going to live up to the standards they hold themself to. this is by design (mental illness). if they were able to step outside themself and judge objectively, they'd be a lot more forgiving and probably on the whole say yes, they do, but alas....it also depends on whether we're looking at act 1 tia or act 3 tia or bhaalist tia (who has very different principles)

lysander: I think so! she is very very firm and unyielding about her principles, sometimes to the point of zealotry, but she's also a big picture girlie - she's willing to overlook some things in the name of larger goals, making her come across as somewhat hypocritical sometimes<3