#who is this elf and why do you all love drawing him?

[drizzit]

The more I hear about this Jarlaxle fellow the more I'm convinced you FREAKS are fulfilling your y/n mafia boyfriend fantasies

[steal-nightmares-leave-dreams]

done with canon moving on to fanfic (i finished stellarlune)

[justauthoring]

the trees told me about you.

the trees whisper to you and gojo thinks that makes you special.

a/n: i just started watching frieren and i NEEDED something fantasy okay???? also, i love him <3

pairing: prince!gojo satoru x f!elf!reader

The trees whisper to you.

Whisper words that ghost past your ears and leave your eyes sparkling with warmth, staring at the twinkling green leafs that bristle in the wind. 

No one else can hear them, except for you. 

Some think you're mad, others just don’t like you cause you’re different – either way, you’ve long ago learned not to care.

Because the trees speak to you, tell you secrets of the world and bring you the love you’ve never felt elsewhere. They don’t judge you because you look different, and they make you feel included – loved.

So even though you’re glared at and cruel words are whispered behind your back;

She’s not right. Spending her days talking to trees…

They say her parents abandoned her when she was young… you don’t have to wonder why.

What a lonely life… but no one wants to talk to a girl who thinks trees speak.

You’ve learned that there’s no point worrying and no point in trying to change their minds. 

A life of solitude is one you’ve accepted for yourself. And besides, you don’t feel all that alone in the first, shrouded by trees, protected from the small, the feeling of the dirt and grass and earth beneath your fingers as you smile and laugh and talk.

Yeah, you don’t feel alone at all.

At least, until you meet him.

-

“You know they all think you’re insane, right?”

A moment ago, you’d been positive you’d been alone. You hadn’t heard him walk up, the crunch of his footsteps along the forest floor or even the rustling of his clothing; so when you hear his voice, so much louder, harsher, sharper than the voices that whisper in your ears, it makes you jump.

You’re startled, incredibly so. You lose your footing beneath you, your bum hitting the ground harshly as you turn your head to face the voice, worrying just who it was that had snuck up on you.

It’s a boy. Roughly your age, or at least you assume so. He’s tall. Even though you’re on the ground, you know he’d tower over you. He’s got bright white hair that shifts to a purple hue when the sun hits him just right. And his eyes are a striking blue that rivals even the sky and unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

You’d lived in your small village all your life and you’re positive you’ve never seen this boy before.

“Who… who are you?” Your words come out shakier than you want but then again, you’re not all that accustomed to speaking to others. Most of your time is spent listening… and even you know there’s a difference between listening to trees and real people. You’ve never had someone speak so directly to you before – most of the time, they opt for whispering behind your back even though both you and them are aware you can hear them.

Still, you force yourself to speak; “what are you doing here?”

He’s grinning. Ear to ear. And it’s wide and it’s bright and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that seems some sort of mischievous, yet, the smile feels real and genuine and almost… kind(?).

Then, he’s crouching, moving so he’s more level to you and his head tilts to the right. “Gojo Satoru,” he introduces, saying his name with pride. “And I am going for a light stroll in the woods.”

Gojo Satoru…

Gojo…

That’s… that’s last the name of the king—

Your eyes widen, instantly shifting to meet his gaze while he continues to just smile at you, bright and happy, hands clasped in front of him without a care in the world. You take in his clothes properly then, the detailing and the quality of the fabric, hemmed with laces – clothes you’ve never even had half enough coin to buy.

Clothes you’d never be able to buy.

You’d heard the King had a son but you’d never seen him or any drawings of him either.

A boy that looks like this though? Looks like he could be the King’s son.

“I ventured through the village beforehand,” he gestures over his shoulder. “You are not well-liked.” 

You blink out of your daze, frowning at his words.

Shifting, you move so you’re sitting straighter, straightening out your blouse as you glare at him. “That’s rather rude.”

He shrugs, still grinning. “You didn’t deny it though.”

And you frown because you know he’s right.

“Okay, so, what’s the King’s son doing taking a stroll in the woods well outside of the castle grounds?”  

He pauses, raising a brow; “so you did recognize me…” He hums lightly, pointing at you. 

You nod; “yes, I did.”

You’re well aware that your lack of respect for the King’s son could get you arrested, or worse. But, you don't care all that much. You figure that Gojo would’ve done something by now if he was really bothered by it, and… well, he’s the one who snuck up on you in the first place.

Laughing lightly, Gojo shrugs; “couldn’t stand being there anymore.”

You raise a brow; “the castle?”

He nods. “It’s so… stuffy! Gods, no one knows how to have any fun in there! And I'm constantly getting reprimanded for trying to liven the place up a little.” His words are dramatic, doubled by his actions as he wildly waves his hands around, rolling his eyes as he sulks. “You’d think royalty, with all the money we have, would know how to make things at least a little exciting… but no! They’re dreadfully boring.”

He finishes his rambling with a loud huff, and a second passes before you burst out in laughter.

Gojo blinks at you, once, twice, stunned before he’s grinning once more.

“That’s funny?” He asks, watching you amusedly.

Clutching at your stomach, you shake your head; “sorry,” you gasp. “I just never expected the King’s son to be so… un-princely?”

Chuckling, Gojo’s eyes trail your figure as you continue to laugh; “no?”

“No,” you snort, calming yourself down. Then, a second later, you glance at him; “so you ran away?”

“For now,” he agrees. “And you?”

You blink; “what about me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Your smile fades. “Well… you heard.”

“So, you really do talk to trees?”

You pause, bewildered. “You believe me?”

“Why would you lie?”

And it’s the first time you’ve heard someone say that to you… because, yes, why would you lie? Why would you make all this up?

And yet he’s the first one who believes you.

“I’ve never seen someone like you before you, you know,” he shuffles closer and your breath halts, eyeing him as he leans in. “I thought you all died out.”

Subconsciously, your fingers move to touch the tip of your pointy ears that’s hidden by your hair. “We did,” you whisper, “it’s just me.”

Resting his head on his crossed arms, Gojo fidgets in the spot. “That’s unfortunate.”

You hum, not sure how else to respond. It was unfortunate and sad, but no one else had ever seemed to think so. At least not anyone in your village. Scorned and judged because of your smaller stature and your pointy ears… you were a freak amongst humans in your village and they constantly liked to remind you of the fact.

“You think the trees talk to you because you’re different?”

Wide eyed, you turn to Gojo. “What?”

“I don’t hear them,” he frowns, and he strains his ear, cupping it for emphasis as if that’ll help. “And I’m royalty. They should talk to me… but they don’t. I bet it’s because you’re an elf. Makes you extra special then.”

Lips parting, you glance around, taking in the trees, hearing the whispers that have softened, before turning back to his blue eyes. “More special than the prince?”

He smirks; “I guess,” he obliges, chuckling. “Just this once.”

You smile. A real, genuine smile.

“You shouldn’t hide them, either.”

“Hm?”

“Your ears,” he explains, reaching forward. You barely have time to react before he’s brushing back your hair, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your ears as he tucks the hair behind, revealing your insecurity to his eyes. He doesn’t look away, and panicked, you watch him, overwhelmed by how close he suddenly is, breath stuck in the back of your throat.

But he doesn’t look disgusted or freaked out.

He looks… amazed.

“You shouldn’t hide them,” his gaze shifts back to yours, grinning again but this time it’s softer, more demure. “They’re what make you you.”

“They make me look strange. Different,” you mumble to yourself, lowering your gaze as you attempt to pull your hair back out from behind your ear.

Gojo grabs your wrist, small in his own grasp, halting your movements.

You turn to him with parted lips.

“No,” he whispers and it’s the softest he’s sounded, but yet, it’s still so confident. Like he doesn’t doubt a single word he says. “No, they make you special.”

You stare back at him, stunned. But you don’t pull away and you don’t move. You like it, having him this close. This boy who you've just met. This boy who is the King’s son. The prince. Next in line for the throne.

This boy who’s made you feel more normal than you ever have your entire life.

But then he’s pulling away, despite the disappointment that burns through you, standing up straight as you crane your head up to look at him. He’s grinning, ear to ear again, as he takes small steps back.

“I should go,” he explains, laughing. “My father is probably throwing a fit. But, come back tomorrow okay?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head in wonder.

He just laughs.

“I plan to run away again.” 

Is all he says and then he’s turning, offering you a short wave before disappearing through the thick of the trees, leaving you to yourself and the whispers.

You stare at the place he left, undeniably grinning from ear to ear yourself now.

“Yes,” you nod to the whispers. “I think I like him too.”

[vixstarria]

Communication

Surprise surprise, they're no good at it.

This is a continuation of my in-game bardlock series, seeing as I left a large gap in it between an intimate and emotional scene and a whole bunch of unhinged fucking. Sorry about that.

Takes place after Intimacy but can be read as a stand-alone!

Read on AO3

Astarion x f!Tav

Early Act 3. It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next.

Tav is a half-elf bardlock. I'm calling her Tav in this fic, but if you know you know.

Hurt/comfort, some fluff and a drop of humour (I am me after all) if you squint, love, angst

TW: some very casual violence and murder

Approximately 3.9k words. 

“Well?” A very giddy Astarion had appeared behind Tav. “Let’s go!” 

The party had finally reached the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate and were setting up camp near Rivington, after a brief excursion in the area. 

“Go where?” she asked.

“Anywhere! I haven’t seen these streets in sunlight in two centuries.” 

“Now..?”

The city was flooded with refugees. Some child whose mother was definitely not coming for her had seemingly declared herself adopted by the group. There was a towering pile of corpses just outside one of the nearby gates. A circus was in town.

It was nice to finally be back in civilisation.

“Yes, now! Forget the bloody tent, maybe we’ll find an inn to sleep in for a change.”

Nothing had been arranged, set up or planned yet. They had only the vaguest notion of where they were going.

“Sure, a walk sounds lovely right now,” shrugged Tav.

It very quickly became obvious that finding an inn would be nigh on impossible. The streets were crowded with refugees, frantic citizens and all those who would either try to keep them in order or prey upon them.

“Are we going anywhere in particular, or are we just... going?” Tav asked, trying to make her way through the throng. She had never seen Baldur’s Gate this busy before. 

“There is something I’d like to show you,” answered Astarion. “Some place, to be exact. It’s- hey!”

He realised that he was talking to no one, as they had been separated by a group of dwarves pushing their way through between them. Tav smiled at him over their heads, raising her arms in an open-palmed gesture of defeat and resignation.

“Can’t you keep up?” Astarion sighed, rolling his eyes, and reached for her, taking her hand and linking his fingers through hers.

This… This was new, particularly in public, and Tav bit her lip, fighting not to smile, as he guided her after him. 

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at her, to see her grinning. 

“Oh shut up,” he huffed, before spilling into a smile too, despite himself, and drawing her close to kiss her.

“Half-elven whore,” a nearby elven woman muttered to her companion in elvish, tsking in distaste at the sight. Either she did not expect to be heard or understood, or simply did not care.

Astarion turned towards the woman, with a glower, but before he could retaliate with his own snide remark, Tav told the elven woman to go fuck herself with a splintered broom, in perfect elvish, and pulled Astarion further down the street before the woman thought of anything else to say.

“Such... delightful use of the True Tongue, dear.” Astarion seemed in equal parts impressed and taken aback. “Don't tell me you’ve been holding out on me this whole time..?”

“Oh, no, I only know a little bit,” laughed Tav. 

“Do indulge me.” 

“No, it’s really hardly anything,” she shook her head. “I can count, exchange pleasantries and profanities, know a few songs I can’t translate, and a few odd phrases.” 

“Such as?” 

“I can scream for help in elvish, for one,” she offered. 

“Why would you need to scream for help in elvish..?” 

“Men are more likely to come running if they think it’s a little elven maiden they’re rescuing,” she explained with a sigh. 

Astarion mulled that over with a frown for a bit. 

“I’ll have to take your word for that... What else? And for hells’ sake, just say something, I enjoyed hearing it.” 

She said the first phrase that came to mind.  

Astarion stopped dead in his tracks, with what Tav knew to be the expression he held when he was doing his best to keep his face straight.  

“So let’s start with what you think you just said.” 

“...Shit. ...Uhh.” Tav gave Astarion a sheepish look. “‘My small children have had nothing to eat for days.’?” 

“Darling,” he said, cupping her cheeks, trying not to laugh. “My love. That’s not quite it... Now, how many people do you think you’ve told you’ve ‘eaten nothing but small children for days’..?” 

“Ah... That explains the reactions,” Tav said thoughtfully. 

“Horror?” Astarion finally snickered.

“Usually laughter... I just figured most elves were assholes.” 

Eventually Astarion brought them onto a rooftop that offered an impressive view of the city and surrounding regions.

“It’s so strange to be here in daylight,” he murmured. “This was one of my spots,” he said, turning to Tav. “I used to come here at the start of my evenings, alone, and just… enjoy the peace and quiet for a while.” Astarion took a pensive look around. “Admittedly, the tiles weren’t as hot at night, and all the bird shit wasn’t as prominent.” 

They found a place to sit down.

“I thought you would try to get your job done as quickly as possible,” said Tav.

“There had to be a certain balance to it.” Astarion shook his head. “Start prowling too early, and the potential targets wouldn’t be ripe for the picking yet. And even if I managed to get someone back to the manor early on in the evening, it would only mean I would have to ‘entertain’ them longer.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against a chimney. “It was better to take some precious solitary repose, when I could.”

“Do you think you might have taken me back to Cazador if you’d met me back then?” Tav asked quietly.

Astarion opened his eyes and frowned at the sudden question. 

“Not if I’d ever seen you perform, no,” he deliberated. “I never went for the bards. They were almost my co-conspirators, though they didn’t know it. I couldn’t waste them.” He paused before continuing. “But otherwise, if I’d just bumped into you at a tavern… Probably, yes. A pretty, reckless stray… You would have been perfect. …Would you have followed?” He asked, glancing at her.

“Probably,” she replied, staring off into the distance.

They sat in silence until Astarion broke it with a question.

“Will you stay with me when all this is over?” 

Just the sheer amount of effort he put into trying to make that question sound casual spoke volumes. 

It caught her off guard. They’d spent many evenings in his tent lazily basking in vague fantasies about an ‘after’, usually concentrating on the idea of being able to stay in bed all day, or the concept of their hair and fingernails being free of dried blood and entrails for a change. They’d never actually discussed any realistic nuance of this ‘after’. Or what it might look like, other than what it wouldn’t look like. 

“Are you certain you want to take Cazador’s place in the ritual..?” she asked, carefully. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Astarion immediately sounded defensive. 

“You don’t even know what it entails or means, not really...” 

“It means having everything I’ve been missing the past two centuries, what else is there to know?” He scoffed. “...You haven’t answered my question,” he said after a pause. 

She said nothing for a while, looking down at her fingernails. 

“Stay and do what..?” 

“Anything!” he exclaimed. “Anything you want. We could do anything. Do you have any idea what I will be capable of? Of the power I will hold. The influence.”

“Yes, yes, legions of wolves, turning into mist,” she recited. “What else… Commanding ghouls, I think?” She threw her head back, looking at the sky. “I’m not sure why you would need to do any of that, though.”

“Unimaginable power, and you mock it…” Astarion said indignantly. “I suppose you would rather go frolic in the woods with Halsin..? …Oh don’t look so shocked, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Sleeping in the dirt, living off the land. Is that what would make you happy?” 

“He looks at you the same way! And must you jump to extremes?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Even if I were interested in Halsin, there is ample space between sleeping in the dirt and sleeping in that gothic monstrosity, in which I might find myself happy.” 

They sat in silence for a while. 

“I don’t think you should go through with it,” she said, finally. “Something about it just doesn’t sit right.” 

Astarion looked at her with an unreadable expression and didn’t say anything. She continued. 

“I know enough stories - and before you roll your eyes at me, there is usually a grain of truth to them – and I’ve read between the lines of enough history texts, to know there is no such thing as a jolly vampire lord that just has a grand ol’ time carousing in their castle. It’s always centred on cruelty, misery and violence.” 

“I suppose you know plenty of stories of jolly vampire spawn,” he spat. 

“Some, as a matter of fact. They usually revolve around romance and redemption.” She sighed and continued, as he let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve never heard of any demonic deals that ended in anything that wasn’t disastrous, either. The point is, nothing that involves blood or soul sacrifice has ever made anyone happy.” She looked in the direction of Cazador’s palace. “We should kill Cazador, burn it all to the ground and dance on the ashes. I will be by your side. And yes, I want to stay with you. Of course I do.” 

“For how long?” Astarion asked quietly, after a pause. 

“...What?” 

“How long will you stay by my side? You have another... 100 years, 150 at best? I can’t offer any solutions to that as a spawn.” 

She blinked, realisation dawning in her eyes.

“...Astarion Ancunin, did you just say you want to spend the rest of eternity with me?” 

“Oh don’t you bloody dare turn this into a joke,” he bristled. “Just for once.”

“Not a joke, but…” She paused and gave her head a brisk shake, as if to snap herself out of a daze. “Just so we’re absolutely clear, what are you saying?”

“Isn’t it obvious..?” The grin that had crept habitually onto Astarion’s face felt like a suffocating mask. She only stared back into his eyes, unblinking, waiting for him to continue. “I could turn you. Grant you an eternity.” ‘With me’, he wanted to add, but the look in her eyes made the words die on his tongue.

None of this was going the way Astarion had expected. Not that he had planned any of this… Still, he’d made certain assumptions. He’d anticipated the conversation and day would flow somewhere along the following lines: re-affirm his plans for Cazador. Exchange words of undying love and devotion. Maybe, maybe make love to her again, later, in celebration. Instead everything was slipping like fine sand through his fingers. Words simply wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Everything he thought he might say suddenly felt pathetic.

“Turn me? To become one of your spawn?” Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him. “Two centuries as something you say is less than a slave, a puppet, and you would so easily offer the same fate to me..?”

“First of all,” he sputtered, “I don’t know why you immediately assumed there would be others. Secondly,” he continued, slowing down, “there is another way, or so I’ve read. You wouldn’t be a mere spawn, but a-” Astarion winced, cutting himself off. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. This was rapidly spinning further and further out of his control. “I thought you trusted me?” he asked instead.

“It’s not about trust,” she said. “If you had the choice between a hundred years of absolute freedom or being enthralled to someone for eternity - doesn’t matter who - me, Gale, your long-lost grandmother, anyone! What would you choose?”

“I would never compel you,” said Astarion, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading.

“That’s not the point,” she said, looking away, running her hand through and tugging at her hair. “Let’s just head back. We still need to set up before it gets dark, and I promised Karlach we would visit that bloody circus…”

Something inside Astarion shattered and spilled, ice-cold, over his heart as she got up and walked away. 

Not even an hour had passed since some of the happiest moments he’s had in centuries.

They walked back in silence. 

Eventually they came upon an outpost of Flaming Fists and steel watchers, who had appeared on the road they had taken into the city. They were apprehending everyone trying to pass through, whether they were leaving or entering. 

“Let’s try a side street,” offered Astarion. 

They found and made their way through a narrow alleyway. It was empty. Suspiciously empty, in fact - no children running through, no one out for a quick smoke, no drunks pissing on the walls.

Sure enough, once they were halfway through, three goons intercepted their way, stepping out of a doorway. Two humans and an enormous half-orc wide enough to block out most of the passage. 

“Alley toll.” One of the thugs flashed a malicious grin, eyeing Tav up and down. “Better pay up, doll.” Three more jeering hoodlums appeared behind them as he spoke, armed with crude but lethal weapons. 

“Attempting to detain a Council battlemage on duty? Bold but stupid,” she said gravely. “Hand over your profits and Lord Gortash won’t learn of your little enterprise. This is your only warning.” 

Trying to bluff and deceive her way through, per usual. Was there even a Council anymore? Did it employ mages? No matter. Whether due to the fact that she and Astarion had decided to wander the streets of the city in civilian clothes, without armour, or simply because the lust for money and violence had gotten the better of the would-be muggers, they paid her attempt no heed. 

The leader laughed.

“Or, how about we have some fun with you, and your Lord Gortash can come and collect your body from the river once we’re done with it?”

Astarion’s blood boiled.

He reached for his daggers, thoughts racing. Why in the hells had they come here barely armed..? They were surrounded, but perhaps if she blasted the three in front of them they might run through..? But they were probably too close for that… Could she misty step behind them and get away? His undead body would most likely survive whatever came, even with the tadpole. 

“Take the ones behind,” Tav snapped, and Astarion followed her lead, as he had grown used to, silently praying to no particular deity that she knew what she was doing. 

He ducked as one of the goons bellowed and swung a sword at him, dodging the blow to come up next to his attacker, burying a dagger between his ribs and another in his guts, for good measure. At least the alley was too narrow for all of the bandits to come in on them at once. Behind him, Tav spat some incantation that he wasn’t familiar with.

The next lout came at him, only to stop short, as Astarion scrounged up his meagre magical abilities to hurl a firebolt at his face, making the man yelp and grind to a halt in shock and pain. Astarion’s dagger followed through his eye socket shortly thereafter. 

The entire altercation with the two thugs took mere seconds. Another controlled shout from Tav followed behind him.

The last of the muggers on Astarion’s side backed away, looking at the scene unfolding behind Astarion with a horrified expression, before breaking into a run and disappearing. 

Astarion turned back to witness Tav standing with her arms crossed, looking unaffected, just as the half-orc who had been behind the group’s leader pulled his sword back out from the leader’s stomach, having impaled him from behind.

Tav barked another command as the leader collapsed, and the half-orc slammed the head of his other cohort, who hadn’t understood what was happening yet, against a wall, with a resounding crunch. 

A domination spell. 

Astarion felt nauseous. If his body had been capable of producing bile, it would have crept up at the back of his throat. For once, the smell of freshly spilled blood all around them was repulsive to him.

 “Kneel,” Tav commanded, calmly. The half-orc’s body immediately dropped to its knees, with a thud that spoke of damaged kneecaps.

“I’m running out of time. Do you need him?” She stepped over the body of the group’s dying ex-leader and walked around the half-orc, to stand behind him. 

Disgust and revulsion continued to claw at Astarion’s insides. 

“…What?”

The half-orc’s eyes were void of any emotion. A small mercy.

“Blood. Do you want his blood, before I spill it?” she said nonchalantly.

“…No,” he swallowed. Not like this…

He watched as she slit his throat, carefully standing behind him to avoid blood spraying over herself. Comprehension returned to the man’s eyes just as he made his last gurgling sounds, before stilling forever. 

“That was despicable,” Astarion hissed, finally breaking his gaze away from the body. “Compulsion? Really?!”

She gave him an incredulous look, momentarily speechless.

“This is what I do!” she exclaimed. “This is how I protect myself. You know this! What the fuck did you expect - that I would set off a fireball in an alley?! Or make one of them have a fit of giggles?!”

“You didn’t need to do anything, I could have handled all of them,” he countered.

“Oh, stand behind you like a meek little lamb?” She scoffed. “While neither of us are even wearing armour, and they’re on both sides? Don’t be ridiculous.” She crouched to wipe her dagger on the dead man’s clothes. “What does it matter, anyway,” she said, offhanded. “Dead is dead - who cares how they got there?” 

“It was just like Cazador all over again,” Astarion said, bitterly. “Watching my siblings torture each other, for his amusement, waiting for it to be my turn to be compelled.”

She stilled as she crouched, not looking up at him. 

“You fucking hypocrite,” she said, finally, rising. 

“What in the hells are you talking about?” he grimaced.

“Comparing me to Cazador, when you’re planning to take his very place.”

“How dare you?” Astarion felt the last of his composure leaving him. “I am nothing like Cazador, and I never will be,” he growled.

“No?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re already thinking of your own spawn. Maybe you would keep your word and not compel me, but you would be curious. All that power that you’ve been wishing was yours for 200 years...” She gesticulated, tilting her head. “First just one teensy little slave - someone who’s wronged you, maybe, someone who deserves to bear your ire. Then, perhaps someone convenient, in a place of power. Someone like what you would have been, had Cazador not botched your death so bad that it became public. Then another. And another. And what will you do with them once you have them? Take them for midnight picnics and host slumber parties?” 

She spat on the ground. 

“I’m going back to camp.”

She stormed off, fuming, exiting the alleyway and mixing into the crowd. Astarion followed at a distance, discreetly wiping the blood that had landed on his hands on the shirt of a random passerby that stumbled out in front of him. He gritted his teeth, watching her.

It had taken every last bit of his self-control to not snap back at her during her little tirade. 

He wanted to stalk off in the opposite direction, but frankly all his things were at the campsite, and he still needed the group’s help, both with Cazador and the tadpole. And he couldn’t discount something else happening to her on the way back. 

No, none of this was what he thought would end up happening today. Was this the end..?

It didn’t matter, he thought. Let her be stubborn. Let her accuse him of gods know what. He would do what he had set out to do. Hells, even if she changed her mind later - it would be too late. Let her live out her “hundred years of freedom” in regret.

And how fucking dare she?! Insinuating that he was or could ever be anything like Cazador. After all he had given her. His trust. His love. He didn’t have anything else. Not as a spawn, anyway.

But perhaps she would change her mind, after she gave his proposal more thought..? He could talk her into it, couldn’t he? He’s talked so many people into doing exactly what he wanted them to do…

There was no point in anything otherwise. It was all for her. All he wanted for himself was revenge. Freedom. Safety. But all the power in the world was meaningless if he couldn’t share it with her.

Astarion winced at the thought, hating that it even crossed his mind. If only he could claw it out of his brain and smash it against the cobbles beneath his feet. How much simpler life would be.

He would not grovel. He would not apologise. He would not change his mind. And he would rather die, again, than be caught running after her like a dog. 

Astarion cursed, slipped into the shadows and turned invisible, breaking into a sprint. He wouldn’t be able to replicate the trick for a while now, if the need arose, but he couldn’t care less. 

He raced up sets of stairs, speeding through a terrace, dodging the patrons of whatever establishment it was he was going through, and leaped, unseen, onto the next building’s, until he was ahead of her, descending back onto the ground and losing his invisibility around the corner from the main street, stepping out just in front of her. 

He caught a glimpse of her scowling and furiously blinking away tears just before she crashed into his chest with a light gasp, as he wrapped his arms around her. She was stiff and rigid, but at least she didn’t try to push him away. Still, a part of him was screaming that it was already too late.

“I don’t want you to have to commit those atrocities when you’re with me,” Astarion murmured into her hair, holding her close.

“You’d rather commit them yourself?” she retorted, her voice weak.

“I don’t want to,” he said quietly, as she seemed to become more malleable, and sank into his embrace, slowly wrapping her own arms around his back. “But I will if I have to. For you.”

“That makes two of us, I guess,” she managed, sounding choked up. 

Astarion took a deep breath, relieved. Mine… Still mine… He thought to himself, touching his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek. Someone in the street heckled them, yelling something about getting a room.

“I already don’t have much to offer, beyond all my burdens,” he whispered. She looked up at him, eyes glistening. She tried to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “I want to do what I can, for you. For us. What good am I if I can’t even keep you safe?”

He pressed his lips against her forehead as she hugged him tighter. He had no idea whether he had convinced her of anything, or if she simply didn’t have the will to argue anymore, but for now it didn’t matter.

“I will love you no matter what,” she breathed.

Another jeer followed from the crowd, and someone cursed at them to get out of the way.

“A legion of wolves sounds tempting right about now,” she added, as he smiled.

“Do you still want to get Karlach and go to that circus?” he asked.

“Fuck the circus,” she mumbled into his shirt. “But I guess we should.”

They made their way back to the camp, fingers interlocked again. The silence that stretched once more almost felt comfortable this time.

~~~~~

Thanks for reading!

This is the last in-game part of the series for now (aside from some smut - see below). If you want to continue reading about my Tav and Astarion, go ahead and check out Bloodbang Chronicles which takes place 5 years after the end of the game.

Series master list

Next in in-game series - A night at the inn (branches off into smut)

AO3

~~~~~

Tag list:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny

@spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin

@asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox

@icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna @mj-bites @bardic-inspo

[gloomwitchwrites]

We Won't Be Missed

Legolas x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: mild sexual content, fade to black, kissing, sneaking away, flirting, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

During a celebration in the Woodland Realm, Legolas suggests that the two of you sneak away for some alone time.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Above you, the stars glimmer.

You don’t know how Legolas managed it, but the night sky is there, twinkling through pockets of canopy. Perhaps he sang to the trees, promised them sweet water or fair winds for their leaves to dance in. Whatever he did, they have opened up, revealing the dark sky and silvery bursts of light that break the inky expanse.

Smiling up at the dazzling lights, you twirl gently in a tight circle, the sheer fabric of your dress spinning with you. All around you, your fellow Elves dance by themselves or with a partner. Music plays, and there is gentle, contented laughter everywhere. It is a moment of celebration and of peace.

Warm hands grab hold of your waist but you’re not startled. Instead, you step into it, inhaling. A familiar woodsy scent fills your nostrils and then your lungs. Twisting in said grip, you find a face that you’d know anywhere.

His name hardly leaves your lips before he pulls you close.

“Legolas,” you breathe, voice nearly a sigh.

“My star,” he replies softly.

Heat creeps up your neck to inflame your cheeks. When it comes to public affection, Legolas is not one for boldness. He is typically subdued and reserved, and this singular moment is enough to surprise you.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you compliment, gesturing outward to indicate the room.

Legolas blushes slightly under the praise.

It is true, and he should take pride in what he has accomplished. The large hall is beautifully decorated, hinting toward the oncoming summer that will draw forth warmer weather and the migrations of different creatures. The forest will shift, and new life will emerge. Everything is in bloom. Everything is earthy and rich.

“Your approval is a comfort,” he responds in that soft tone.

You turn to face Legolas completely. “But is my approval the only one you seek?”

The answer is already known to you, but you want to remind him why he’s done all this in the first place. Birthdays are not often celebrated by the Elves because time moves differently. For those who have dwelled for hundreds if not thousands of years, birthdays become insignificant. They are small memories, sometimes completely forgotten.

Yet Legolas decided to celebrate anyway. For his father.

Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, hasn’t celebrated anything since the death of his wife. Since that time, he has been stoic and cold. There has been celebrations and other such occasions, but Thranduil has either been absent or only made a brief appearance.

This party is a surprise. A way for a son to show his father that he cares.

Legolas turns in the direction of the throne, and you follow his gaze.

Thranduil is surrounded by his people. He is talking. Animated. A gentle smile on his face. The raven-haired woman sitting beside him says something, and Thranduil laughs, his smile widening.

You haven’t seen him this expressive in years.

“Do you think I’ve made him happy?”

You turn back to Legolas who gazes upon his father. The middle of his brow is tightly pinched.

“Your father?”

Legolas hesitates and then nods, like he isn’t entirely sure his father is appreciative of his efforts. When you don’t answer, Legolas tears his gaze away from his father and gives it to you. Before you is the man you love seeking validation.

“What do you think?” you ask softly, nodding toward the throne.

Legolas sighs and then glances back at his father. As Legolas watches, his features melt from hardness to peaceful contentment.

“You’ve done well,” you say. “He is happy.”

“He is,” sighs Legolas, a dreamy look on his face.

Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder. Legolas wraps an arm around your waist and starts to sway to the music. Time passes, the two of you simply moving together, breathing in the essence of the other.

Legolas turns his head slightly, placing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Would you like to slip away?”

You pull back enough to glance up at him. Legolas’ smile is a bit sultry and it immediately warms you everywhere.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask curiously.

“We won’t be missed. We should take advantage of the opportunity.”

Private moments between the two of you have been scarce. Legolas may be your betrothed, but you hardly see him. Duty comes first, and sometimes that doesn’t always include you. A few hours alone would be nice. Perfect.

“I agree,” you answer, and Legolas beams. “Lead the way, my love.”

Legolas’ smile turns into a delighted grin. Sliding your hand into his, he guides you away from the dancing bodies and past the large casks of wine. No one turns to look or to question where the two of you might be off to. There is only your hand in his, and the teasing way he stops to push you into dark corners for chaste kisses before taking off again.

This boldness is new, and you find that you like it. He leads you to his private quarters, the place that will soon by your home. When the door completely shuts, Legolas pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your body like vines.

This time, his kisses are not chaste.

They are liquid heat and from it comes a burst of fire in your chest.

“Legolas,” you murmur, a hint of need in your tone. “My love.”

He only draws back enough to look into your eyes. His eyelids are heavy like he wants to devour you. A stuttering exhale leaves him, and then Legolas is grasping the side of your face, pulling you back to him.

Your bodies are pressed close. Hands roaming.

Elves mate only once. Legolas is it for you. There is to be a ceremony, but that is just a formality. To be skin to skin, to accept him into your body, is your acceptance of him.

Legolas’ hand slips between the delicate folds of fabric to graze over your bare thigh. You inhale sharply and Legolas steals the exhalation, his tongue delving for a taste. Your dress is nothing in his hands, the sheer material bunching as he touches.

“Is this too much?” he asks, voice raspy with need.

You shake your head, fingers digging into his shoulders. “No. I want more.”

Legolas hungrily draws you back to his mouth and your heart hammers in your chest. It is so loud it is all you hear.

To seal the bond, the two of you must become one. To be bare. Open.

The ceremony is only for the people.

“I love you,” murmurs Legolas against your lips. “With all my heart and all the stars in the sky.”

You grin. “And I love you. I never wish to be apart.”

Legolas makes a little purr in his throat. It sounds like contentment. “That will no longer trouble us come the end of summer.”

“Must we wait?” you ask softly. You slide your hands off his shoulders, bringing them to the twisted straps of your dress. You pull on them, drawing them over and down your shoulders. “I do not wish to.”

Legolas’ pale skin flushes before his mind catches up. “I cannot resist when you ask this sweetly.”

“That is why I asked,” you reply, matching his tone.

The dress falls from your body landing in a pool at your feet. His sultry gaze morphs into appreciation. His fingertips lightly trace over your flesh, leaving a trailing heat behind.

“Are you certain?”

“You are my betrothed. It is not wrong to want this.”

Legolas runs the back of his knuckles down your throat and over one breast. He leans forward, and sucks the nipple into his mouth. You moan, arching into him, one hand sliding to the back of his head. His other hand delves between your thighs, and that too twists your stomach into knots.

He brings that nipple to a stiff peak, and then moves to the other, his other hand still moving between your legs. That too springs to life, and then Legolas’ mouth trails further south over your stomach. Lower still to kiss between your thighs.

You gasp. Groan. Shudder as he learns your taste and brings you to an endless sea of stars.

“You are perfect,” he nearly growls, his words drifting upward to caress.

“I am yours,” you gasp out, fingers tangling in his silky hair.

He continues to explore with his tongue, and then he’s standing before you, removing his formal tunic, shedding all this clothes to match your own bareness.

“Let us go to bed,” you murmur, palms pressing against his bare chest.

Legolas’ hands slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts and you’re locking your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. You cling to him, tasting yourself on him.

The bedsheets are cool against your back.

Legolas nuzzles the side of your face, his lips pressed against your ear as he speaks. “I shall give you no rest.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast

@protosslady @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath

@berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics

@beebeechaos

[f4nd0m-fun]

So in a lot of these monster hunting fantasy webcomics, you have these things called monster cores. Imagine, if you will, an AU where the Justice League has always been in a world like this. Maybe an alternate earth, maybe the aliens are from different planes instead of planets, maybe you've got magic as the primary force and yet there's some who still manage to stick almost entirely to tech/magitech (like Bruce). These cores are essentially batteries, and the more powerful the monster the more energy you can draw. Also, I love the idea that, if you put it together right, you can technically recharge it.

Enter, the Phamily. Either they are from this world and the Fentons are monster hunters trying to find the origin place of the monsters, or this isn't their original world and they're trying to open a portal home.

Danny, Ellie, Dan, and Vlad if he's there, have cores. These can be considered batteries just looking at the way ectoplasm is used (imagine how much more potent the cores would be than the globs). Jazz, the parents, and Danny's friends if they're there too are liminal. This could mean that magic considers them part monster despite no cores, or maybe they're considered akin to warlocks or sorcerers, looked down upon but not actively hunted or something. Although the presence of the half monster kids and what seems to be a half monster dad... (yes this is probably a family breakfast ship, sue me if you dare) well, Vlad is gonna be determined to fight off the rumors with whatever he's got, there's no need for his darling Maddie to get worked up about idiots, aside from him and Jack of course. (I also love Vlad x Connie so this could either be Vlad is just an uncle or we get Connie in and call it Family Party or something - Party cause alcohol?)

Also not entirely sure on how I'm writing Bruce and Dick here, I want them to be able to access magic in some way, but sensing magic might be more of an Oracle/Barbara thing, I'm not sure, but also they can't do anything big or flashy with it, it's more tiny stuff which is why they rely on magitech. Also the idea that even if people can sense magic, usually they ignore changes aside from moving away from it if necessary cause usually it means a bunch of monsters are coming through a breach. Honestly, not sure how to run this but, eh.

The below segment is written with Native!JL and Isekai!DP in mind.

=====||=====||=====||======||=====||=====||=====

Bruce had been tinkering with his latest animaga, a monster core whose energy had been threaded through one if his favorite inventions, intended to allow him and his ward flight with the use of monster wings.

"B!"

He tensed but refuses to startle as his ward all but jumped on top of him. "Yes Dick?"

"The magic feels weird!"

Bruce paused, setting his tools down. He knew as a half elf, Richard was sensitive to magic, but wasn't nearly as strong with it as most full elves.

Of course, Bruce had always been considered... disabled in that regard, a full elf who could only feel the energy close to him, though it wasn't public knowledge that he knew of. "That's good to know, Chum, why don't you meditate on it and I'll investigate tonight?"

His ward seemed to understand the intent to leave him behind and started to protest.

"Chum, I was going out alone before you showed up, if the magic really has changed, it'll be safer for me to go out and use the radar."

Dick whined but didn't protest again.

Bruce hoped he wouldn't sneak out this time.

As night began to fall, a family of 9 was gutting a strange metallic ship. Well, the three elder ones were, while the younger ones worked together to scout out the area.

Bruce had just arrived to the location, but chose not to interfere just yet. Batman was the embodiment of night to many, a fearsome predator to others, and some even thought he was a monster himself. Reconnaissance was his strength, as was stealth.

"I don't know, Jazz, the energy here is weird. Muggy almost." His form gave off a soft glow, not unlike that of the whisps, though much larger in body.

The girl with red hair, Jazz he presumed, did not appear impressed. "Like you're the expert on energy. Maybe you should ask Sam when we get back to Mom and dad."

"And Vlad."

"Don't remind me."

The glowing one shuddered. "I know him and our parents have been buddy buddy again but why did he take you find along?"

"Because you're still in training, Daniel."

Both children shrieked.

"I see your core has accepted me into your Fraid."

Bruce froze a bit. Core? Thier energy was certainly strange but not entirely monstrous, hence his inactivity, but the presence of a core presented issues.

"Whatever, Fruitloop. Go back to camp."

"I don't think I will, you're being watched and I can't have my son or daughter being in harm's way."

"Give it a rest, Frootloop, we're not your kids." Despite their attitude, something about their reaction and stance suggested they were worried about being watched as well.

Bruce wondered how they knew about him, perhaps he should have asked Lucius for help with a dampening field to hide the energy of the animaga?

"Don't bother flying away, you'll be surrounded before you can think." Vlad placed a hand on Danny's shoulder.

Before Bruce could react, there was a flash of light that all but burned onto his retinas, but the light was all wrong, a deep black instead of a glowing hue. By the time he was back to his senses, Vlad was gone, and in his place was another strange Whisp. Batman didn't have to turn around to find there were identical ones behind him. Clearly, this was an opponent not to be underestimated.

[fumifooms]

i know you aren't really into marcille/laios any longer, but since you went looking online for dungeon meshi doujins, did you happen to find any other marcille/laios ones? (funnily enough at the convention i was at a couple weeks back they had like five, but they were extremely over-exaggerated and personally i prefer my fan content relatively in character...)

Ok first of all: Yeah listen laimar doesn’t have a grip on me anymore but I still quite enjoy it! Just more passively… Altho I do have an analysis that focuses a lot on the importance they hold to each other in my early stage wips drafts, and listen in canon I do think they’re queerplatonic flavored, call me an ot3 qpr truther because Laios Marcille and Falin have a something going on and it transcends being put into a box. But hey hey I reblog laimar artworks I bought that recent doujin I put laimar fics in my -checks- 106 pages long to-read list… Also I have like 5 pages of fanfic prompts for them I may or may not get to writing. Though yeah I do feel bad whenever I notice people following after liking all my laimar posts haha

Sadly to get to the meat of the topic, not really… I don’t go to cons for lack of opportunity so whatever I find is through online. The one I got is The Fourth Basement Floor, it has an english ver and seems so so very in character I can’t wait to get it! Otherwise I’ve looked on Otakurepublic & Doujinrepublic since I use their services for merch from Japan, warning if you click on the link, there are 18+ ones and covers can be pretty explicit. I don’t remember any other laimar one except the one nsfw one I think, but on the plus side there are a lot of gen no ships doujins. I’m bothered because looking back I feel like the catalogue of doujins was wider when I looked all those months ago and it feels like I’m forgetting something hmm… I wish I could help more, but yeah 😔 Pixiv has many laimar comics up (in japanese) if that sates the hunger any

As consolation since I’m already here, why not show some of my laimar things laying around gathering dust I’m fond of. Don’t look if you don’t want to be spoiled for fics I may or may not write I guess? All down below is just laimar prompts

I spoke about some various ones and esp my timeline where she gets him into Daltian Clan here. "Laios… I was wondering, because you enjoy fantasy stories right? I was wondering if you’d like to give my favorite book series a go… It has monsters!" I love love love post-canon laimar where he gets the habit of chewing on her hair because he’s stimming and hungry. Like a goat.

Laios goes to Marcille for love advice.  "You like someone?! Do I know them?" She eagerly asked. "Erm… Yes…?" // Post-canon. He’s so nervous and puts his foot in his mouth n lets things slip out that he thought would give him away. (Comic) "You like someone??! What are they like? Who are they?" And he’s like "Well… She’s a half-elf." He’s like shit she’ll probably know right away. And she goes still. "I’ve never met another half-elf!! We’re so rare! You’re saying you met one and didn’t tell me???!" She’s shaking him. And then she goes still again, contempt drawing on her face. "Wait… Are you asking me for advice because I’m a half-elf?" Laios runs with it "Yes!! And because you’re so savvy with romance and what people like…? If, uh, if you were a half-elf, what would you like to get as a gift? What sort of confession would you want?" "… You saved it there. Okay so since I’m so knowledgeable on romance, tell me what is she like?" "-describes Marcille-" She nods, smug yet oblivious. "Aah I can already tell we’d be great friends. Good taste." (then Thinking bubble with him giving her flowers at a restaurant "Did you know roses are edible and used in recipes", candlelit dinner, or wait maybe the most romantic is cooking together alone at home, chocolate! It’s expensive though… Wait I’m king now!)

Lil comic, Laios wakes up snuggled against Marcille’s back then promptly falls off the bed. The noise makes Marcille wake up and she’s like omg are u ok?? Laios is so sweaty and panicked and in denial about her being special to him.  She explains, disgruntled at the memory "Izutsumi is bunking in with Chilchuck again, they’re taking the whole bedrolls." Pause. "Sorry, I should have told you, but you like sleeping with Izutsumi too so I figured…" She looked sheepish. "Between you and Senshi, I much prefer sleeping with you. It feels sort of nostalgic, like a sleepover, no?" He relaxes and gets in the bed again, smiling. "But… We’ve never had a sleepover?" She chuckles "I guess not. I must be getting that impression because of Falin…" And the air between them is warm yet bittersweet now, as she smiles like that and his eyes and smile cloud over. The earlier instinctive reluctance to touch is gone now. She snuggles into his arms and is like "Hug me?" "Okay." And he does, wraps his arms around her and tucks his chin over her head.

Post canon, marcille takes him to a squid restaurant. Cute lighthearted hehe. He sulks "If there are any parasites in this I will ban squid from this kingdom or so help me…"

Short post canon fluff marcille pov about laios gaining weight n becoming chubby. She used to dream of chiseled abs and angular elves, laios in every way, shape and form is so far from the beauty standards she idealized so. And yet… She loves how soft sleeping against him is, how much there’s more of him for her to hug and nuzzle her face in. She loves seeing him and seeing someone strong, who isn’t malnourished or underweight, someone healthy with color in their skin. An healthy appetite. He used to look more like a rectangle, severe and strict, but now he looked rounder, and seeing him smile at her always made her feel like that roundness suited him. She smiled back, and melted thinking about how her boyfriend was the sweetest in the world. ^I still wanna do this one really bad. Sometimes a fic premise comes from nowhere and puts you in a chokehold and you must finish it to obtain catharsis

Short oneshot about laios musing about Marcille’s smile, how important it is to him in subtle ways etc: Ends with Laios being like wait there’s something off (succubus). Then he grabbed her throat. Or smth

Laios seeing her dungeon like "this is so wrong Marcille you can’t run a dungeon for shit" and also "WHAT ARE THESE HORRORS OF MONSTERS NOO THEY CAN’T BE EFFECTIVE LIKE THAT"

Dinner for two: Very warm. Marcille and Laios are meeting up and cooking a dinner just for them both, no one else is there. They’re being so domestic and it’s light. Laios pauses at some point, doing the dishes, saying… I’ve always worried, thinking doing things like these would remind me of my parents.

Laios doesn’t know what to do when he realizes he actually *likes* likes Marcille, so he avoids her. Everyone notices and is disapproving of him.

Her mana acts up and she shares her dream with someone, kinda like with Izutsumi. Listen the premise could be smutty but I think it’d be more fun if they just hanged out n were silly, like the nightmares chapter without the nightmare

Laimar pining but from the view of Chilchuck, his love hatred sensing a storm brewing. The giggling, the looks. Ugh! It reminded him of himself and his wife when they were young and newly dating.

I love Laios and Izu being worsties so. Laios sees izutsumi rubbing her scent on marcille’s clothes and gets possessive. Maybe Golden Kingdom maybe something else I have no clue but Laios being ridiculous and cheek rubbing or something <3

I might want to do an AU where Laios gets into werebeast ring fighting, before canon and the split happens after he deserts the military. So he’s alone, has nothing going for him and stumbles into that sphere and gets werebeast tattoos done. It doesn’t make him happier at all and fighting sucks actually, but it brings money and he likes being a beast and being cheered by a crowd aka illusion of being liked, and money brings food and eating is the privilege of the living etc etc. So then when he goes to check on Falin at the academy it’s a big AU where he has a whole other reputation and look to him, and when he meets izutsumi their relationship is different and aaaaaa… He’s freeer in this au, lets himself be animalistic and weird, even though ofc the arc is him letting himself be more human as well and connecting with humans, through talking and infodumping n shit. Oh I went off but the laimar is because it’s inspired by cool laimar art here (warning tho it’s an art dump with toudencest also 😔) but werewolf Laios laimar AUs… A lotta fun stuff there idk idk

[lyrablack1883]

Ignorance is Bliss

——

When the first letter arrived, Sirius didn’t even bother to read it, he recognized his mother’s cursive writing and cast incendio calmly. James watched as it happened. “Are you sure you don’t need to read it?” He asked. “No, must be the same old pure blood shit” Sirius answered.

However, the letter keep coming. It arrived daily for a whole month. And for every letter, Sirius burned it. And then one morning, it just stopped completely out of blue and he found his mother waiting outside his flat not long after. He didn’t open the door for her, instead it was James, who calmly said “Sirius’s not here”.

Her mother expression didn’t change. “I see, please tell him, I need to talk to him. It’s important. Please.. give this letter to him, make sure he read it” her mother then left as quietly as she came. He never heard his mother beg a favor to someone before. When she’s gone out of sight. James asked him “do you want to read it?”. “No” he answered confidently.

The letters finally stopped and Sirius continued his life. He was happy. Being free gives him happiness.

But then the war happened, and he lost.

He trusted the wrong the person and now he carried James’s blood on his hands. And thus the madness claimed him as it did to his predecessor.

12 years he spent grieving his friends’s death and when he’s free once again. He vowed to make things right. He then met Harry and reunited with an old friend. And we all know how the story went.

He then went back home.

His first thought was, would his mother welcomed him?

When he set foot to his ancestral home. It was eerie silence that welcomed him instead. And then kreacher appeared and said “kreacher, welcome the heir of the noble and most ancient house of black home”

and Sirius laughed, he laughed so loud, the echo spread to the whole house. And the house cried for him.

When his laughter died, he eyed the portrait that’s now staring at him. that’s when he realized his mother had passed away. “Mo..” he hesitated. “hello walburga” he then said.

The portrait now looked enraged “who do you think you are to call me by my name, you blood traitor!”. Sirius smiled at the answer and noting to himself that his mother never changed after all.

Being trapped once again in that house reminded him so much of his childhood, his mother’s voice and the poison that was laced to it.

He asked kreacher when his mother died?. Kreacher merely guided him to the drawing room. There, he saw his name now scorched in black. He traced his finger to follow the branch and find his mother easily. “1985” he muttered to himself. He waited for that wave of grief to hit him but it didn’t happened.

He then realized there’s an end to regulus’s date. “1979” why? He thought to himself

The elf beside him cried loudly “poor mistress, poor master regulus, kreacher had failed them, kreacher had failed them”. He banged his head over and over again to the floor.

Sirius tried to remember the last time he saw regulus. He tried to distinguish his face, the prideful tone of his speech, the silver of his eyes they both share from his memory. He remembered It was winter after he graduated, the last time he saw him alive.

He saw them from afar. Mother and his perfect son, hand in hand smiling in diagon alley picking presents for Christmas. The linked hands, the doting in her mother voice when she speaks to her son. The smile he longed to be directed to him.And Sirius remembered the taste of blood that filled his mouth, the painful bite he took to stop himself from crying. The jealousy, bitterness and heartbreak that followed it. How he flee from that scene, refuse to let it burn into his memories.

He remembered the way he cried into James’s arm muttering to himself “why couldn’t she love me?” He said between tears. And James would gently stroke his back and calmed him. “I love you” James would whispered to his ear again and again.

But then James died because of him and he lost his home. Now he’s back again, trapped in this wretched house.

“Foolish brother” he couldn’t help himself from saying that, and kreacher jumped on him. “don’t insult master regulus! Take it back! Take it back! Master regulus is not foolish! He’s kind to kreacher! Master regulus is kreacher’s master!” He screamed. “Master regulus is not a blood a traitor like you!” and Sirius saw red. He pushed away the damned elf not caring it hurt the elf. And went to his room.

He couldn’t cry, there was no tears left he can spare. All of them had been absorbed by the cold stones of Azkaban.

After that incident, Kreacher didn’t stop. Unlike the letters he could burn easily, he had to endured himself hearing Kreacher comparing him with his mother and regulus. “Mistress wouldn’t- master regulus wouldn’t-“ and Sirius would screamed “I’m not them!”

When exhaustion claimed him. he ordered kreacher to never speak of their name ever again. And the whole house went into silence.

For months he tried to fix himself. He didn’t know how.

So he distract himself with the Order, with Harry. Focusing on how he could make things better for him. things he didn’t managed to get from his mother, the hole it created, he filled it by giving it to Harry. He had time. He just had to be patient and then he would be free. He will have a home again.

and he made a plan

When the war is over, he would take Harry to see the world.

When the war is over , he would show him how to ride his motorcycle, like he showed James.

When the war is over, he would tell him the many ‘conquests’ he shared with James.

When the war is over, he would tell him, how loved he is everyday

But when the war finally ended, he didn’t even get to see it.

Sirius died knowing he did the right thing, he died with James’s face smiling at him. He died a painless death, and he smiled through it, knowing he protected the most precious thing he ever had in his life.

He died, however without knowing some things.

He died, without knowing that the letters he burned in 1979, was an invitation to his brother’s funeral. of how regulus had died and how his body was never found. Of how walburga delayed the funeral for a whole month awaiting Sirius’s response beside empty casket.

He died, without noticing, the day his mother visited. It was right after the funeral. She was wearing black and her face stained with tears. The last letter she delivered in person was Regulus’s will, where he explained and left everything to him, of his request to protect kreacher and their family.

He died, without knowing that his mother never disinherited him. They never named regulus their heir, and that was one of the reason regulus took the dark mark despite their family wariness. To prove to their parents he was more than worthy at 16 to took his brother’s place as heir, the age Sirius ran away.

He died, without noticing that his bedroom stayed the same, with no single thing misplaced even after 17 years he left and without finding his mother’s countless letter addressed to him but never sent. Where it could easily be found under her pillow case but now covered in dust and of the portrait that cried his name in silence.

He died, without knowing that if he had asked “how” instead of “when”, kreacher would had no choice but to explained to him, that his mother died of heartbreak and that his brother died defecting the dark lord. And Of how regulus died a noble death the same way as Sirius did.

He died, without knowing kreacher is the main reason, regulus defected. that he failed regulus’s last request by hurting kreacher. Ironically, kreacher then became the reason Sirius himself died.

He died in ignorance and bliss.

[lil--nuggett]

Hey guys, so if you know Baldur's Gate 3 this is an AU for that with Hardenshipping but it's really fucked up. I will explain why it's fucked up below the cut.

Maxie is a High Half-Elf Warlock (his patron is Groudon), and Archie's a Human Fighter <3

Also I just realized this is the first time you have seen me draw Archie seriously lmao my bad guys I'll try to draw him again soon

I took a ton of inspiration for various things for these designs, including Guile for Archie's armor bc I love Guile sm!!

(More info and our dumb AU lore under here - No BG3 Spoilers I promise <3)

I'm going to tell you this now... this gets really fucking crazy and honest to god I know I'm going to have a hard time explaining this. It WILL be quite long and I WILL be yapping.

This AU is really just something we did on impulse and it's really fun to mess around with, so I'm hoping you all will enjoy the concept as well :)

I'll try to explain it simply as I can. I thank you in advance to all who sit here and read this ily sm if you read it all <3333

Anyways, okay so imagine how one could do a bg3 AU for these two fuckers...

And throw it right out the window because you'll never guess how me and my friend have done it.

The Backstory:

This all started when my friend decided to play BG3 for the first time, and he jokingly said to me "Should I make Maxie our main character??" and I replied "I you want, but I won't force you" and thus BG3 Maxie was created, and his misadventures began.

Now your probably wondering (if you've played the game) what about the guardian?? Who did we make the guardian?? Well, we made Archie the guardian. However, I did not know just how wild this idea would get within the next few days.

So, eventually we realized how crazy the BG3 lore actually is (it's a like fucking DnD campaign idk how we didn't realize this beforehand), and so, we jokingly started our own "AU Lore" that ties in with the BG3 Lore.

If you really want to know, I have an entire note in my notes app dedicated to keeping track of what happens. It is very long.

The Parasite:

Now, if you've played the game or know anything about it, you know about the Mindflayer parasites. Well, one fateful day, me and my friend joked that the Parasite in Maxie's head was this little freak who looks like Archie.

The two have no correlation other than looks, its completely coincidence and it's not a mimic situation. The Parasite "Archie" does nothing but talk nonsense to Maxie all the time, and initially the bit was that he only talked about Fortnite. All because I made the joke that the dream realm in game looked like a fortnite update. By now, that bit has fallen off (thank god), replaced by just general nonsense and lies.

Also he fucking looks like this:

Weird little freak. This is just one of his talk sprites I have, this is just his neutral expression.

So basically it's:

- Maxie was supposed to be on a Geology research trip, but instead he got dragged into the Parasite issue with the rest of the companions. He really just wants to get home to Archie.

I am the one who handles everything for Maxie in this AU, I do his voice, I handle his lore, etc.

- Parasite Archie is this 1 foot tall, neco arc-esque version of Archie that sits on Maxie's shoulder and tells him nonsensical things. He also says Maxie's name wrong, he says Maxie's full first name and pronounces it as "Maximilliam" instead of the "N" at the end. For Maxie it's like handling a toddler but the toddler fights back, doesn't shut up, and threatens your life. He also has a ton of his own lore that my friend continously adds on to, so I can make another post with just the parasite's part of things.

My friend handles everything with the Parasite himself, comes up with the lore, does the voice, etc. I simply keep track of it.

- The "dream visitor" version of Archie is not real either. It's linked to the Parasite in ways that if I get into it, I will spoil a good chunk of the game. Sorry. Just know you can consider this and Parasite Archie kind of as one in the same almost.

- The REAL Archie is still at home, completely unaware of what's happening, while Maxie is fighting for his life. He does miss him, though, and hopes he gets home soon. He and Maxie are only boyfriends, they haven't gotten married yet. (They also haven't been through their rivalry yet, as this all takes place before that happens.)

Sorry for the convoluted yap sesh, I just have more art planned for this stupid AU and- God I cannot possibly just post this shit with no context. Like, I'd have to explain it eventually so I might as well do it now beforehand yk 😭😭

I might do separate posts with our HCs and some silly conversations that have happened between Parasite Archie and Maxie if you guys would want that :)

Also, I do have all of the sessions from where my friend plays the game recorded and I'll be sure to post some clips of what Parasite Archie sounds like eventually, possibly with snippets of my shitty Maxie voice in there as well. You'll get to see the talk sprites in action with that, too.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Little Love

Love Bites, Chapter 3 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Appearances can be deceiving, but they can also tell you everything you need to know. A second look at the elf you once called a friend is all you need to fill in the two-hundred year gap.

Word Count: 4,631 words

Warnings: flashback within a flashback (your perspective), alcohol, Astarion's parents (I gave them my own names), grave desecration, grief

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion never went back to the same tavern twice. Not for many years, at least. But, against his better judgment, he went back to yours, three nights later.

He wasn’t sure what was drawing him back, not really. It wasn’t as if this particular tavern seemed very promising. Its patrons were, well, regular people. Nothing about them seemed particularly special. In fact, it was probably more dangerous to be going back so soon—for all Astarion knew, Rahul’s friends were still loitering there and would kill him the moment they saw the man Rahul had left the tavern with. The last man who ever saw Rahul alive. 

His other victims from the past two nights were inconsequential. They hadn’t insisted on telling him their names, the male druid and female elf who had each been a little more than an hour’s worth of his time combined. They had been easy targets, lonely people who were all too easy to seduce. He almost felt bad for them. But not as bad as he felt about Rahul. Both nights, Astarion had jolted out of his trances with a shout upon hearing Rahul’s screams in his dreams again. Both times, he’d been rewarded by Godey with a whipping. 

Even as he walked into the tavern, Astarion wasn’t sure what he was doing. It was only after the door had swung shut behind him, hitting a little bell as it did, and you looked over from the bar and raised a hand in greeting did he realize why he’d come back.

He locked eyes with you as he made his way toward a small table in the corner. He paused, watching you. There was something in your eyes that made the tension in his shoulders disappear. 

You’d done your hair differently today. It was braided back, a couple strands of it loose around your face, clearly having escaped during your work. Your beautiful face had morphed into an expression of surprise, like you were shocked to see him here again.

But there was something else in it—the slightest bit of repressed hope, an expression Astarion had seen all too often on the faces of his victims just before they died, when they still thought he might save them from his master. 

On your face, though, hope was comforting. You looked almost…relieved to see him. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Astarion turned toward the bar and sat directly in front of you. He heard your breath catch in your throat and your pulse speed up and for a moment he felt a twinge of regret. You, too, would make an easy target. 

You recovered quickly, however. You finished wiping down the bartop and dropped the rag into the sink. You leaned on the bartop. “What can I get you tonight, sir?”

“A glass of your finest red wine,” he says after a moment of thought. 

Something minute in your face changed. You blinked too fast and hid the look in your eyes, but for a moment the façade of a bartender serving a patron disappeared. It was only a second, but was enough for the gears in Astarion’s head to start turning.

You laughed with a smile on your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, hun. The ‘finest red wine’ changes from person to person. What kind of flavor are you going for?”

Hun. The moniker stood out in Astarion’s mind, dominating every other word you’d said. Hun, short for honey, and for some reason, he could hear the complete word in your voice: softer, gentler, loving. Not at all the way a bartender speaks to her patrons. 

Only after you raised your brow did Astarion remember you’d asked him a question. He shook himself out of his head. “Oh, something full-bodied,” he said. 

“Now that I can work with,” you said. You turned to search your shelves and Astarion watched you release a long breath very slowly. You wiped your palms on your pants before reaching up and sliding a bottle from its place. You presented the bottle to him. “How about this?”

Astarion studied the label and vintage. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of it,” he said, shrugging idly. “But if you think I’ll like it, I’m inclined to trust you.”

He watched you cut off the wax seal and uncork the bottle. You poured enough for a tasting into the glass and slid it across the bartop to him. 

“How does that taste?”

Astarion sniffed the wine before swallowing it down. Pleasantly, it didn’t taste like vinegar, like most wines he’d had the bad luck to drink in tavern after tavern. He could taste the alcohol and the grapes and the blackberry undertones easily, all melding together wonderfully.

“This,” he said, passing back the glass, “is absolutely what I am looking for.”

You grinned and filled up the glass. “I thought it might be.”

Astarion swirled his glass while you re-corked the bottle and set it in ice. He watched as you helped another patron sitting at the bar, a middle-aged woman complaining about her husband being out of work and asking if there was perhaps a job for him at the tavern.

You calmed her as you made her cocktail, talking soothingly and nodding in sympathy as she complained about trying to feed their infant. It was your sympathy that made Astarion feel pity for the woman. 

Something about you was achingly familiar. There were times when you spoke, certain words that you said, that struck a chord in him, simply because they sounded familiar. The way you moved behind the bar, so graceful in a space that was unbearably small, seemed comfortable to Astarion, as if he would be able to anticipate your movements and react accordingly if he were to join you behind the bar. 

It was almost painful, this feeling of familiarity and alienation combining in one person. It was like the nights when Astarion first realized he was forgetting his life before being a vampire where he would sit in the dark and grasp at straws for pieces of his life, only for his mother’s face to fade into nothingness and his father’s voice to be lost in the shadows forever and—

A twinge of pain split through Astarion. It was nothing compared to the pain Cazador or Godey regularly inflicted on him, but it was enough to make him flinch anyway. He rubbed his temple as if he could will the building migraine away.

Your eyes flicked over to him, watching the motion with concern, but it just confused Astarion further. You reacted to him so readily, so easily. If it hadn’t been for how innately close and familiar you felt, Astarion would simply have chalked it up to your attraction for him. It wasn’t unlike his prey to keep a close eye on him. But he hadn’t even picked you as his victim for the night, he hadn’t even attempted to seduce you yet. This was entirely of your own accord. 

You gave the woman her drink and pulled your braid over your shoulder as you helped the female tiefling Astarion had seen and considered taking back to Cazador the other day. Suddenly he was very glad he hadn’t; the disappearance of a regular might have been enough to force him out of this part of town for several months at least. 

Astarion glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the tavern. He didn’t see the group Rahul had been with anywhere; perhaps they had already moved on, without a care in the world for their lost friend or comrade or what have you.

Perhaps they thought Rahul had settled into a happy life with a nice young man and would be staying here to live out his days, enjoying nights of passion and drinks at a nice tavern and playing the protector of the pretty boy elf he’d left with. 

Astarion wasn’t sure if it was for his own sake or Rahul’s that he wished that such a fantasy was what they believed. 

As you gave the tiefling a glass of champagne, your eyes strayed back to Astarion. He caught your glance and grinned.

“Surprised to see me still sitting here?” he teased.

You shrugged. “You were here three days ago and vanished without a trace. Forgive me if I feel like you might blow away in the wind.”

“Sometimes it feels like I might.” The words slipped out without any thought behind them. For a moment, Astarion wondered what the hell was wrong with him to dare say such a thing, but your sympathetic smile soothed him.

The talent of a well-practiced bartender, he thought. Get your patrons to loosen up, ply them for more liquor, take home more money—all by smiling and charming and flirting. From one actor to another, I must hand it to her. She’s quite good at this kind of thing.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, propping your head up on your hand. The movement exposed more of your cleavage, but judging from the look in your eyes, Astarion guessed that wasn’t your purpose in the movement. You genuinely wanted him to open up.

Your gaze stopped him from speaking. Your eyes were clear and focused entirely on him. You weren’t like the other bartenders he’d chatted up in the past, with their shifting eyes betraying how they were never really focused on him but instead on their tavern and the other patrons they could squeeze more coin out of. 

And, what’s more, your lips formed a soft smile. Joy and love and the sun itself seemed to radiate from you and your expressive face. You looked at him the way a young woman ought to look at her betrothed, with the purity of young love, much more genuine than the pseudo-love and lust he so often saw in his victims. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Astarion whispered, unable to stop himself from asking. 

You realized yourself quite suddenly. Your face dropped and Astarion wanted to beg you to look at him like that again, to apologize and say he never wanted you to stop looking at him like that—he just wanted to know why? Why had you chosen him to be the object of your affections?

Your eyes dipped to the bartop, where his fingers still held the stem of his glass. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “You— You remind me of someone I know. Someone I miss.”

“A lover?” Astarion guessed, attempting to make it into a tease.

“More than that,” you said, your voice impossibly soft and serious. You fiddled with the strings on your corset. “He was my best friend.”

Astarion’s heart sank in his chest. “Was?”

You nodded slowly. “He died. A long, long time ago.” You shake yourself out of the sorrow that settled on you like a blanket. “You just so happen to look a lot like him. Hells, you even sound like him, just a little bit. I’m sorry if that made…this…strange. You just…sort of brought him back to me, for a moment.”

“Not at all,” Astarion said quietly. “I’m…happy to have brought you that.”

You nodded, lost in your thoughts, your eyes fixated on his. Your lower lip trembled. You sought words, but came up empty handed. All you said was, again, “You remind me of him.”

~❊~

It’s him. By the gods, it’s really him.

You kept busy for the rest of the night, watching Astarion out of the corner of your eye. For he was Astarion, you were certain of that now. Hearing his voice, smooth and suave and the same as you remembered had confirmed it for you. The moment he’d requested your finest red wine, you could hear him calling you darling, could hear your name rolling off his tongue. 

He didn’t remember you, that much was obvious. Some part of you was glad he didn’t, because you weren’t sure what you would have done if he had remembered who you were. You had to focus on that gladness, or else you were going to focus on the disappointment, which made you want to sit on the floor and cry like you had when you’d first received word that he was dead—the kind of crying that left you shaking and never seemed to stop and sounded more like screams than anything else. 

You were also quite certain he would not be flirting with the young elf sitting next to him if he remembered you, his best friend since birth and lover of nearly two decades. 

Perhaps even more obvious than his lack of memory was how he was alive—or rather, undead, for it was quite clear he was a vampire. He was careful to hide his fangs, but the red eyes were enough for you to know, combined with the paleness of his skin and the color of the skin around his eyes. It might have been two hundred years, but you knew your lover well-enough to know he had not been quite so pale in his life. 

The realization of what he was answered a question that had lingered in your mind for years, ever since you’d paid a visit to his desecrated grave. The city had explained the dug-up earth to be the vandalism of the gang that had first attacked and killed him and had assured you and the Ancunins that Astarion’s coffin had not been touched; his body remained inside.

Clearly, they had been wrong. 

You glanced at Astarion. The smug, seductive, confident look on his face was that of a practiced lover, nothing like the goofy and slightly shy boy you had made love to. You wondered what happened, but knew a lot could happen in the two hundred years between now and that terrible night. 

~❊~

The Ancunins walked hand-in-hand. You were just ahead of them, leading the way to their son’s grave, a plot you had chosen to keep their beautiful boy in the sun at high noon. It was far from high noon now; they had chosen to visit the grave in the night, certain they would be attacked by the Gur who had killed their boy if they were seen mourning. 

It was a beautiful night, the kind of night you and Astarion would have loved. He would have held your hand and helped you to climb up to the roof, and you would have sat there for hours, cuddling and talking and admiring the stars he’d been named after. He would have told you about his day at work and played with your bracelets and rings when talking about the difficult rulings he’d made that day made him anxious all over again. He would have wrapped his cloak around your shoulders when you got cold. He would have kissed your nose when you asked to go back to the safety of the bed you shared. He would have helped you climb down and would have put you to bed, only to go stand on the balcony to stare up at the sky for a few moments more. 

He loved the night, and this was the kind of night he would have wanted to have lasted forever: not so cold that you shivered instantly, but cold enough to have a chill bite in the air. Bats danced in the air and wisps of clouds moved across the moon and stars. Pale light illuminated the world in a hauntingly beautiful way. It seemed particularly cruel. 

His mother trembled terribly. Already, silver tear tracks stained her cheeks. You had never seen Selwynn so frail, so scared. Even when she’d found out her son had been murdered, she hadn’t been the skeleton she was now. No, then she had been a fire, screaming and raging and demanding answers until the tears started coming. Now she was a ghost, silent and pale, her veins stark against her skin. All the life and color had drained from her in the past few days. 

His father fared better, but not by much. Thesan’s eyes were sunken, his hair matted and limp, the whites of his eyes bloodshot, though he had not cried at all since he heard the news, unlike his wife. He hadn’t been resting, but then again, none of you had. More than once, your mother had stumbled across you in the night to find you in the kitchen, staring sightlessly into the dark, a glass of water held limply in your hand.

You were glad you hadn’t let them see the body. Looking at them now, you were certain it would have broken them to see their golden boy without life. It had been enough to break you; let them, at least, live out their long lives with their last memories of their son being of him alive and smiling and kissing them goodbye as he left for work. 

Somewhere in the graveyard, an owl called. Another answered. Mice squeaked and scattered nearby, scurrying for shelter amongst the fallen leaves and in the shadows of tall graves. 

“Where is he?” Astarion’s mother asked. Her voice was little more than a faint whisper, lost easily in the slightest breeze. Gone was the strong, operatic voice that had once sung her son to sleep when he was little. “Where’s my son?”

“Patience, darling,” Thesan said, sounding just as—if not more—tired as she. 

“He’s just ahead,” you promised. You looked forward to where you knew his grave to be. Through the grey dark, you read his name on the stone and it felt wrong, like it went against the grain of your life to see him like this—a stone instead of a young man. 

The three of you came to a rest before the headstone. You took a step back and let them crouch before their son. Silence fell heavily over them and the cemetery. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes; you looked down so they couldn’t see you cry. They’d seen enough of your tears. 

“Astarion,” Selwynn whispered, her voice wavering. She reached out to touch the stone, tracing her son’s name carved into it with care. For a moment, she seemed to be at peace, looking at his name. It didn’t last. In moments, she crumbled with a cry that was a cross between a sob and a scream. 

She keeled forward, grabbing the stone and pressing her forehead to it. She inhaled sharply and coughed on her own tears. When she finally cleared her throat, helped by her husband rubbing her back, her cries became wails that shook her entire body. The freshly turned dirt beneath her began to stain her pale grey dress. 

Thesan puts an arm around his wife’s back, comforting her the only way he could, and he put his palm on the top of the stone. He began murmuring in Elvish, too low for you to hear clearly, but you caught a few words and understood he was whispering for his son to find safety in the afterlife, until he was reborn. After a moment, his broad shoulders began to shake and your heart cracked in half as you realized he was crying for the first time. His tears interrupted his speech every so often.

You wiped your tears from your eyelashes and sat on the ground. You hugged your legs to your chest, biting your lip so hard you drew blood to keep yourself from crying again. 

His father looked up at the starry sky, a fist raised in anger. “He’s still a child!” he shouted. “A child! And he’s in the godsdamned ground!”

A sharp cry came from Astarion’s mother and she got to her feet so quickly she knocked her husband to the ground. She looked at you and you rose from where you sat.

“I can’t stay here,” she gasped through tears. “He’s beneath me. I can’t— He— He shouldn’t be… He should be in my arms! In your arms! But he’s beneath me!” 

She looked at the ground like she might start digging it up to see her little boy again. You took her hands in hers, holding her tightly. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to stay. You can go. It’s okay. He’ll understand. He knows, I promise you he knows,” you whispered. A tear rolled down your cheek. 

Selwynn squeezed her eyes shut. “I just want him to be okay…”

“He is okay,” you promised. “He is with the gods. They’ll send him back to us, one day, in a new body.”

Her lower lip trembled. “But he won’t be my son anymore.”

“There can always be more children,” Thesan started, speaking hesitantly.

“No!” she snapped, almost screamed, at him. She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. Calmer, she repeated, “No.”

He nodded. “I thought not.” He wrapped her in his arms and she cried into his chest. He opened his arm to you and you joined them in their hug. “You are still our daughter, even if you are not marrying our son. You are…the only family we have left.”

A small sob escaped you. Your body trembled as you looked up at him; you had always thought Astarion resembled his mother more, but now all you could see was the man Astarion would never get to be in his father’s face. “Thank you.”

He kissed his wife’s hair. “Come, darling. We should get home. You need to rest.”

You led them out of the cemetery. It was only after you were closing the gate leading into it that Selwynn stopped short, gasping loudly.

“Flowers! I— I forgot to put flowers on his grave,” she moaned, folding her hands above her heart. She glanced at the flowers outside the gate door. “I have to go back—”

“I’ll do it,” you said. “Get some rest. You need it. You deserve it, after all of this.”

“He deserves flowers from his mother,” she said weakly.

“In the morning,” Thesan said. “When all of this has died down, we can come back and pay him our respects.”

You shared a look of understanding with him; even if it took weeks, months, years for Baldur’s Gate to stop reeling from this crime and for the Gur to calm down from the ruling—which was being reversed later in the week, much to the relief of everyone else who the Gur had believed complicit in Astarion’s actions and who had feared for their own lives—the Ancunins would visit their son again to say farewell when they could finally do so in peace.

You watched them go. Several long, silent minutes passed, but you waited until they were out of your sight and you were alone before you bent to pick flowers for your lover. You chose them carefully, plucking only the most vibrant and tallest and fullest for him. Once you had a sizable bouquet of wildflowers in your hand, you headed back through the cemetery and search out Astarion’s headstone again. You found it easily, but your heart stopped beating when you saw it.

Something was wrong. You knew it instantly. The already chill air seemed to turn frigid as you looked at the plot. It was too dark, too big, spilling into the spaces next to it. It looked nothing like it did only minutes ago. 

An iron tang filled your nose, distinct and wrong and laced with something you could only describe as evil. 

You ran, dodging around headstones to get to the grave—to get to Astarion—as fast as possible.

I couldn’t protect him that night. I have to protect him now!

Mud squelched beneath your feet, smelling strongly of blood and death. You looked at it in horror; it was a mix of dirt and gravel and clay from deep in the earth, all of it soaked in blood. All of it in piles, coming from the center of Astarion’s grave. 

The smell was worse than the sight: chemicals of entombment, the body’s natural gasses, blood, vomit, sweat, urine. Something about it seemed alcoholic and heady, making you sway on your feet, though you knew that could easily just be from your disgust. 

But worst of all, his stone was splattered with the terrible mixture. 

Your stomach dropped to your feet and then rose to your throat. You cupped a hand over your mouth to keep back your bile. Tears streamed down your face.

A moment. You had been gone only a moment. And in that time, someone—or multiple someones—had come and desecrated your lover’s grave, as if killing him had been enough. 

You fell to your knees with a gut-wrenching scream. You bent in half, clutching the flowers to your chest, clenching your teeth tightly. You bit down on your hand to keep from screaming again.

Muffled sobs ripped themselves from your chest. “Astarion,” you gasped. “Astarion, I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry! I— I— I’ll fix this! I promise! I’ll…I’ll speak to the town’s jury, I’ll get them to punish whoever did it— Gods, your grave. Your beautiful stone…”

Mindlessly, you put the flowers aside. You stepped around the muddy mess of chopped up dirt and pulled out your handkerchief. You cleaned the stone with it as best as you could, using your fingers and spit when the cloth was too dirty to do anything else but push the gunk around. 

“There,” you said when it was as clean as you could get it. “Clean. Clean like you.”

You looked at the turned grave dirt. “I have to fix this, too. Your parents—I can’t let them see you like this, can I? They’ll be devastated.” 

You got back on your knees and began shoving the dirt back over the grave, patting it back down and drenching your hands and arms with bloody dirt. As you worked, you spoke to him: “I’ll get this all sorted out in the morning, love, I promise. I’ll get you justice. I won’t stand for this, Astarion. I’ll talk to someone first thing tomorrow morning. They’ve already killed you, can’t they just leave you be? Is dying not enough for—for a simple ruling? Yes, I admit, it wasn’t the best decision you could have made, but there had to be a better solution than…than mugging you in a godsdamned alleyway and then desecrating your grave! At the very least, if they can’t respect you, can’t they have some respect for your parents? For me? Your mother doesn’t deserve this endless pain!” You sighed, leaning back and wiping your forehead. Some part of you, the rational part, was aware that you had streaked blood and dirt all over yourself, but the part of you working didn’t care very much. “Of course, I can’t make you too pretty yet, Astarion. I’m sorry, but no one will believe me if I fix you up perfectly. But I can at least make it look like you haven’t been graverobbed.”

You worked for several more minutes. At last, you staggered to your feet, a wave of exhaustion passing through you. 

“You know what?” you said to the headstone. “I’m not waiting until morning. I’m going to go talk to someone right now. I can’t let you stay like this all night. Not when your stars are shining down on you.” Dimly, you were aware that you looked like a graverobber and that you looked insane—but that would probably help your case. “I’ll be back soon, Astarion. I promise I won’t leave you alone like this.”

You began to walk away from his stone. Only a few paces away, you paused and turned around. You stared up at the sky and pointed up at it as if you could command it to watch over your dead lover while you were gone. 

Once more, you knelt to kiss his name. 

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[meircury]

Hello everyone! I hope everyone have a nice today! I very much rarely engage in fandom directly but there's has been something nagging me for a while, and this has something to do with SOME of Grey and Gauche shippers, alongside SOME of Gauche 'fans', treated him. I'm mostly talking about English speaking side of the fandom. I feel like the need of talk about this because I really hate the way they treated canon Gauche:

(Fair warning: LONG)

I absolutely hate seeing fans turning Grey into another Marie for Gauche or a replacement of his sister and makes him simp for her just like how he acts around Marie. In the story Gauche‘s simping for Marie is called “complex” because he simps out of unhealthy familial love and attachment because of what happened to them in the past and as a result of Gauche’s trust issues. His simping is NOT normal. It’s an ISSUE. FLAW. That needs to be FIXED. Not deflected to someone else. I see a lot of shippers make Gauche shoves his problems into Grey and repeats all his complex action with her. Example, a lot of memes show Gauche being weird about Grey’s photo. Whyy? One of the charms this ship has is how it brings out a unique caring side of Gauche we rarely see, like when he told Grey to work on her magic in the seabed temple, or when she saved him with the bulls after the elf fight. Yeah. That… that side of Gauche acting tsun and shy because he’s not used to be nice or open to others. Yet a lot of fans choose to use his unhealthy simping and shove it to Grey rather than builds upon his established development.

Nosebleeding over Grey. I saw this troupe is used TONS of time by the shippers artists, specifically English/West ones, and it's bothering me A LOT. Like. This troupe is used a lot in western Grey and Gauche shippers community and it's so fucking weird because aren't the same community despise the way anime over exaggerating this troupe at the point it's destroyed gauche's characterization? (For the record, after his arc Gauche only nosebleed for 5 times in manga, while in anime? Idk 50 or smth 😂😂😂) Then why they act the same way with anime with over-using this troupe when he found Grey's cute or adorable or anything sexual? Like, I'm so sorry but this such a huge hypocrisy. Hate the way anime treated him but do the same. Do you know what's ironic? I've seen less of this troupe used in the Japanese bc ship community, where most of them didn't mind the troupe. There's more irony. Most of the nice fanarts and actually depicted their relationship right it's also from JP artists who's not even have Grey and Gauche as their main ship. They're drawing them once in awhile and that's it. It's sad because why ppl who doesn't have them as their main ship understand the ship's dynamic better more than the actual shippers?

Grey Fix Gauche. Grey will Fix Gauche. Oh my God. This is the most cringiest shit ive ever heard when it came to a ship. This is also the biggest reason why I lost all of my love I had for this ship and ended up disliking it. Like. No. Grey ain't fixing Gauche. Gauche is the one who's fixing his own problem. And if you really want to insist of using 'fixing' troupe, then Asta fixing Gauche is way more valid than her. Because, he's the one who changed Gauche's mind. If Asta didn't do this then Gauche will still not giving any shit about Grey. But yeah, I hate the fixing troupe as I'm firm believer one can and SHOULD fix their problem by their own self, not by others. This troupe is problematic and I'll stand by it. That aside, saying her fixing Gauche is literally disrespecting Gauche's own development and the others characters that help him grow up (henry, gordon, Theresa, YAMI). Like, stop. Stop thinking Grey took all of those efforts that's she's not even done. Stop being delusional. Please. Why y'all not trusting him to became a better version of himself by his own efforts? Damn.

Gauche has sister complex and I hope people especially his fans will accept that as one of his character flaws instead of being denial x') he's not some poor guy who show his love differently. I know the anime explained it like that but in my honest opinion he reads to me as a man in need of therapy help because his traumatic past of having his family killed is left untreated and resulting in him developing attachment issues to his sister, the only family he has left. (Manga - Context) Did Gauche get better at not being a full siscon? Yes. Did he enterly get over it? No. Because he will always show sister complex gags and it's the same with any other bulls with their gags (ex. Noelle's royalty tsun, Luck's fight obsessed, Vanessa's alcoholic). These are flaws that make them more humans and will need more time to smooth over. As his fan, I want Gauche to fully love Marie in the healthy way of course, and I'm happy he's not as bad as before. Some bulls already helped him with that by showing him there's others he can protect beside his sister. I'm sure Grey is also gonna help him because she's his love interest but fixing him? Nah. He’s already getting better by his and the bulls’ efforts not just Grey.

(I'm saying this again just to make sure: NOT ALL Grey and Gauche shippers act like this, there's only SOME of them (the rest are good) but the way they treated Gauche is just too much I need to make a post about it lol)

Alright that's it. I had more complains like how people keep drawing gauche with muscles (he's a twink omg y'all following anime way of drawing him 😭/hj), ignoring Gauche's canonly beautiful blue greenish eye, etc but that's my personal preferences and I believe everyone deserved to draw him in their own way x) with this vent is clear enough that I do not like and vibes with Grey and Gauche as the ship because of the shippers (also the way tabata treated them but that's a different topic lol) I know this two will eventually be canon but I don't care and I still want to give more loves for him and drawing him with others characters because he deserved to have more fanarts thats not tied to his canon ship x')

Lastly. I just wish the Grey and Gauche shippers can see more from Gauche's point of view instead of being huge biased towards Grey. Because at this point I'm convinced that the shippers is Grey fans who only cares about Gauche because he's her love interest. Please respect and adore Gauche's character as y'all do with Grey 😞

Thankyou and have a nice weekend everyone!

[the-classy-villainess]

Deceiver

Dark!Halbrand (Sauron) x Elf!reader

Summary: The daughter of Gil-galad is seduced.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Dub-con/coercion + non-con. Toxic relationship. Possessiveness. Allusions to abduction. Mind & dream manipulation/control. Smut – unprotected p in v. Loss of virginity for both parties (trying to stay true to elf!reader, so sex = marriage). Minors DNI! 18+

Requested by Anon: “reader is the daughter of Gil Galad and Sauron seduces her with his beautiful words, but then Galadriel discovers Halbrand’s true identity and he becomes all dark, claiming reader and taking her with him to Mordor. Smut.”

I feel like I need to stress this because I’ve never posted smut before (especially for such a dark character). Please mind the warnings. If any of the things listed trigger you, don’t read any further. Halbrand is manipulative in this fic, to the point where the ‘reader’ cannot wholly differentiate their own thoughts from his. The sex is not consensual.

When he’d come to your chambers that afternoon you’d felt something had changed. There was a strange urgency in him, an urgency that saw him mutter only a quick greeting before his lips were on yours.

You welcomed his kisses, melted into them even, but his hands had never wandered so freely, and you couldn’t help but wonder just what had gotten into him when his fingers slowly rucked up your skirts and stroked the bare skin of your thigh.

“Halbrand? We can’t,” you gasped between kisses. “Not without my father’s blessing.”

He groaned into your mouth and clutched you that much tighter.

Even if you weren’t the High King’s only heir, it was unlikely that your father would bless the union of a man and elleth; not when such a union would bring only death and despair. Halbrand knew this as well as you did – it had frustrated him like nothing else.

“I care little for his blessing,” he panted, drawing away at long last to press his forehead against yours. “Ours is a fate that cannot be denied by any man, elf, or dwarf. Why else would we have been brought together if not for the work of some higher power – if not for the will of Ilúvatar himself?”

It was a lovely notion, a romantic one, that you had been brought together for a purpose – some greater fate like Beren and Lúthien or Idril and Tuor. You doubted either of you would have so great a part to play in the history of Middle Earth as they had, but your love could be just as special, just as boundless, if you allowed it to be.

“Let me have you,” he continued. “All of you, and no one will ever be able to refute our love – not even your father.”

“You do not know what you are asking of me,” you insisted, drawing back to meet his eye. “There are traditions – the feast, the rings, the blessings…”

“All of which can be forgone—”

“Only in times of war.”

He took your hands into his own and gazed at you imploringly. “Do you love me?”

You sighed. It was a question he asked more frequently now, as if he didn’t truly believe it when you told him as much, and it made your heart ache to think he doubted your devotion. You would do anything to prove it to him.

“I do. Of course I do. How could I not?”

He smiled, trailing his knuckles gently down your cheek.

“Then you know as well as I do, that you will never love another. Nor will I, for that matter.”

You will never love another. Only him. This crafty mortal man who had swept into Eregion with naught but the bloodied rags on his back and a charming smile on his face. He’d looked more a vagrant than a King the first time you’d seen him, but his quick tongue and quicker mind hinted at a greater knowledge gathered through life and lore, and you’d been helpless to resist him.

His arms had been safe, his lips had been soft, and his words had given you hope, the likes of which you hadn’t felt for centuries.

Those very same arms encircled your waist and drew you back into his embrace. Your head lolled forward onto his shoulder, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple.

“I would give you the world if you asked it of me. I’d gather you the greatest of armies, build you the tallest of towers. I’d fashion you the finest of rings, one fit for a Queen…” he trailed off softly, teasingly, and it brought a small smile to your face. “If only you would have me.”

You looked up into his eyes and splayed your hands over his chest, desperate to feel the steady thump of the heart beneath. One day it would beat no more, and neither would your own, for you would not remain in Middle Earth without him. You didn’t want towers, or armies, or rings. You wanted him, for however long you could have him, be it days or decades. He was right.

I will never love another, you agreed. What did old traditions matter?

“All right.”

He exhaled a slow, shaky breath that you felt reverberate in your palms, and his eyes, those lovely, mischievous eyes sparkled beneath his raised brow.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you laughed.

The word had barely left you lips before he caught you in a kiss, fiery and consuming and desperate in a way his kisses had never before been. You’d always known him to be strong, but his hold on you – the arm wound around your waist and the palm cupping the back of your neck – felt unbreakable in that moment. As if he’d never let you go.

“You’ve no idea what this means to me,” he murmured against your lips. “What this will mean for us – together, you and I, King and Queen, we will rule Lindon and the Southlands. We will unite all of Middle Earth under one banner.”

Your brow furrowed at his words, at how out of place they sounded, as if they were part of another conversation altogether. Something is wrong, you thought.

Tell him you love him, more than anything.

“I love you, Halbrand. More than anything.”  

He shot you a slow smile, and his hold on you tightened. “I know you do, dove. I know you do.”

----------

No, you thought dazedly, it had not happened that way.

You loved him, you wanted him; you still do, you always will, a voice whispered back. There was something alluring in that voice, something persuasive, that made you think that perhaps it was right.

Then your surroundings shifted; day faded to night, and your back pressed firmly into the mattress of your old bed as he hovered over you, bare from the waist up.

His lips were on your neck, his hand buried inside your underthings – buried inside you. A sudden pleasure flooded your mind, an unnatural desire that barely felt like your own. You begged him to touch you, remember? You begged. You trembled with each pump of his fingers until your back arched, your walls fluttered, and you fell apart in his hold.

He withdrew wordlessly, and through the haze of pleasure you heard the rattle of his belt buckle and the rustle of fabric. Would you accept this man into your body? He seemed to think so, but you couldn’t remember for the life of you how this played out, not when such heavy desire clouded your mind.

“Halbrand…” Wait, you wanted to tell him, but your lips were strangely unresponsive.

And then he was on you again; peeling your ruined underclothes down your legs. His hands, warm and gentle, rubbed soothing circles into your knees, and you held your breath as he pried them apart and settled on the mattress between them. Your thighs twitched, as if you’d wanted to close them – had I? – but he held them firmly, with only a quick squeeze of warning to dissuade you.

His thumbs caught the hem of your shift and dragged it up past your hips. He stared at your bared flesh with a look that promised ruin, a look that made you feel young and naïve for the first time in centuries. Heat rushed to your cheeks as he met your gaze and pressed a gentle kiss to your folds. Then his hands drifted higher, gliding along your waist and rucking your shift up beneath your breasts.  

“Exquisite,” he murmured against your skin, trailing kisses along your navel, over your ribs, between your breasts.

He settled atop you, his length, hot and hard and leaking, bobbed against your navel as he hiked your thigh over his hip. It was the blunt press of him against your folds that cleared the haze from your mind, and uncertainty bloomed full force in its stead. Calm yourself. You want this. You’ve always wanted this.

Yes, you thought. All your life you’d waited for one to call your own. That you had gone so long without finding your match had raised concerns – often such things were a bad omen for one’s future prospects. And here you were, body bare and open to a man you father hadn’t even met yet.

You want this.

I want this.

You love him.

I love him, you agreed.

He caught your lips in an all-consuming kiss, a distracting kiss, and swiped his length along your folds, once, twice, before finally easing it inside you. Your body was tense, walls tight against his intrusion, and you whimpered into his mouth, palms pressing against his abdomen instinctively. The illusion of calm shattered.

“Shhh…” he soothed, prying your hands away and interlacing your fingers. “I have you.”

For reasons you couldn’t explain, his words didn’t bring the comfort they usually would, and you felt a tear spill over your cheek as he pinned your hands above your head and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“And now I’ll always have you,” he panted, breath hot and moist on your skin, as he worked you open with slow thrusts. The initial sting quickly faded and, as if sensing this, his thrusts grew faster, harder, hungrier.

You didn’t know how long you’d lain there, eyes screwed shut, as he sucked bruises into your skin and ravaged your insides, but you felt a strange sense of relief when at last he shuddered and collapsed against you.

The ache between your legs made your stomach churn. If it were the will of Ilúvatar then why did it feel so wrong?

----------

You woke with a start. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the candlelight, and when they did, dread pooled in your stomach. It had been difficult to count the days – here in this sunless land, where the air smelled of ash and sounds were limited to those of labour and the snarling, spitting language uttered by those creatures.

You’d only seen the beasts once before, when he’d draped you in black and paraded you through camp with an arm curled possessively around your waist – a silent warning. The rest of your time had been spent inside the large grey tent that was erected in the middle of camp while works continued on a more permanent lodging…something tall and black that loomed in the distance.

How long had he kept you here? How long had you endured these invasive attacks on your mind? How long until you could no longer tell fact from falsehood while he moulded your memories into something more palatable?

“Pleasant dreams?”

Halbrand lay in bed beside you, his lean body as bare as your own, and you hated that you still thought him beautiful. The thin sheen of sweat on his skin glistened in the candlelight, a sign of his exertion, and a reminder that even in sleep you would not be free of him.

Not Halbrand, you told yourself, but a different beast altogether.

He turned onto his side, head propped on his palm – suffocatingly close – and planted a soft kiss on your lips. His free hand traced lazy circles into the skin of your navel, the gold of his wedding band glittering mockingly as you felt the first stirrings of desire. Your modesty had been long forgotten in this place; all that remained was shame.

“You are not wrong for finding pleasure in this,” he murmured, as if knowing the direction your thoughts had taken. “How could you not, when we fit so perfectly together?”

“Why?” you rasped, throat tight, and eyes glassy. “Why do you still do this?”

His jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. You asked him this every time, and every time he rebuffed you. Not this time it seemed.

“Long have I walked these shores and never have I seen so fair a sight as your body laid bare before me.” He gave your hip an appreciative squeeze. “I wanted you in ways I’d wanted no other; I still do, I always will,” he added as an afterthought, and it echoed in your ears.

You loved him, you wanted him; you still do, you always will. Another falsehood, then.

“You blame yourself – don’t,” he urged with a consoling kiss to your temple. “You can kick and claw and scream yourself hoarse, and I will continue to have you. Such is the strength of my will...such is my right as your husband.”

He took a strange kind of pleasure in reminding you of his place in your life – reminding you that you would never be free of him. He would never let you go. 

“Why me?”

He grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned your head to face him. His eyes, the very same you’d lost yourself in countless times, were fervid and near unrecognisable as he gazed down at you.

“Because I am shadow,” he whispered. “And you are light, and when I’m inside you I feel a power unlike any other.”

“Oh, come now, none of that,” he chided lightly, swiping your tears away with his thumb. “Doesn’t it please you to know I’d never known such rapture before you? It would’ve been easy enough – those mortal whores throw themselves at anything with enough coin,” he scoffed.

“But you, an elleth…a beloved Firstborn, daughter of Gil-galad, Princess of the Noldor,” he rattled off with satisfaction and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “Your kind have only ever scorned me, hunted me. I knew you’d do the same if you ever glimpsed my true visage.”

“So I thought to come to you as Annatar. A form befitting your beauty and station,” he huffed a breathy laugh. “But you surprised me. You were so eager for this mortal man, you let him leave his marks on your skin, his seed in your womb.” You shuddered as he pressed a hand to your abdomen. He trailed his palm lower and dipped his fingers between your folds, admiring the mess he’d left there.

“And you’d let me do it all over again, wouldn’t you?” he mused, eyes darkening.

“No…” you gasped, squirming as he slipped a finger inside you.

“You would, wouldn’t you? Because you know as well as I do that despite it all, you will always love me. You will always love your husband – say it.”

It was a confronting thought, a painful thought, that in the eyes of the Eldar you were wed to this beast, bound to him for eternity. Your souls were one. Worse still was that he wasn’t entirely wrong. You wanted to hate him, wished it with your whole being, but you didn’t know how to.

“Halbrand, please!”

“Say it,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, with just enough sway to bend your will – to tear the words from you whether you wished it or not.

“I–I will always love you.”

To your relief, he withdrew, but your relief was short-lived. His lips curled smugly as he crawled over your body and nudged your thighs apart.

“I’m half tempted to discard this form, just to see if you’d love my others as freely as you love little Halbrand. But I think,” he hiked your thighs over his hips. “He’s not quite done breaking you in yet. Let’s try again, shall we?”

And once more, he dug his fingers into your body and his claws into your mind.

----------

AN: my main account wasn’t letting me post, so I posted this request here instead. The rest (which are much more tame and, in a way, more in character) will be posted on my main when I figure out what’s going on! :)

[scarlet-ancunin]

hello again, I wanted to thank you again for your Patience with me and explaining everything I really appreciate it.^-^ I Send you the Infos for my tav and was wondering If I could get Like Astarions pov :) be fluffy, be angsty, Go wild, im honestly Just Happy about this opportunity. Thank you so so much again ^-^

A/n: hehe I love this and you are welcome i'm glad you asked me to do this for you. I hope this is to your liking~ this fic is based off of your unique Tav ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧

My Dear Idiot~

It was another lovely morning in the camp. Gale was making breakfast for everyone in their Group while the others were either packing up or freshening up. For Astarion it was the latter. he may not be able to see his reflection but he knows how to draw attention to himself. it can be good or bad. good for his look but bad for his snarky remarks or attitude. Soon Astarion's eyes land on Egon, his half-elf companion. when he first met him he wanted to see the man dead assuming he was working with those mindflayers having a knife to the poor man's throat. Turns out he didn't have to spill their innards. Astarion saw that Egon was somewhat like him with trust issues. But they slowly both grew on each other. But damn was this man greedy at times. Astarion scoffed at the memory. they found a hidden cave behind some carefully crafted rubble to look normal, but Egon wanted to go in, and he hated it because he used to enter without knowing if they were walking into a trap or if everyone was downright tired. "Why in the hells are we doing this now we can rest here and then check it out in the morning Egon" Astarion would complain standing by the entrance with his arms crossed. Egon was annoyed but he smiled because he wanted to get his hands on any rare trinkets or gold he could get his hands on. "well I'm not tired Astarion i want to get everything now so that way we can have something to sell or keep for ourselves to use. AND, what if someone else gets it before us?" Egon stated Astarion growls "You are so bloody stubborn what about Me- I mean, everyone else ever considered they are tired" Gale tried not to laugh. "well how about we go in halfway and make camp that way if someone tries to enter we can stop him. Halsin nodded smiling. "seems good," Egon said sighing in defeat. Astarion did admire his determination though like when he mentioned to him about Cazador he made it his business to promise to protect him from his master. "sweet love but he isn't a simple vampire you can kill he can come at any time whenever the mood strikes him." "well I can strike him too and he won't see it coming" Egon counters pouting slightly. Astarion rolled his eyes "your such an idiot." Egon snickers "but I'm your idiot" Astarion hums low looking at Egon "well you have a point." Astarion would chuckle at the memory he was indeed a stubborn idiot but he did care about him and how strong and determined he was to anything he set his mind to. and because of this Astarion wanted to make sure he does small things to let Egon know he was grateful for him. Astarion recalled last night's events and smiled fondly because he found out his lover enjoys being read to. However, he would enjoy it when He reads specifically. he would fall asleep with everyone else but he and Egon make sure he was cuddled next to Astarion listening to him read. and when he was tired he would tell him to stop so he wouldn't miss the next part which makes him laugh but soon join him in slumber or rather he sleeps while he meditates. Astarion snaps out of his daydreaming to look at Egon once more who just so happens to be reading a map to locate a treasure that was in Baldur's Gate. Astarion did love this man during all this and now he was certain that maybe there could be a future for them. minus the possible stupid and rash decisions but where is the fun in simplicity? Shaking his head he would walk toward him and shake his head. he leans against him and looks over the map as well. "hm something to get love" Egon grins and nods sharing the map there is a way into this spot through the graveyard" Astarion snorts "ah my darling idiot always doing instead of thinking."

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

A/n: I hope you enjoyed this, my friend. as always requests are open and you're welcome to send me your unique Tav if that is what you want.

[hirazuki]

Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep And carry you down into sleep, Child, the darkness will rise from the deep And carry you down into sleep. (Loyalty loyalty loyalty loyalty Loyalty loyalty loyalty only to me.) -- Mordred's Lullaby

Personal preferred interpretation of *gestures to everything* under the cut! Warning for blatant and shameless conflation of multiple versions of the text with pure, self-indulgent headcanons.

I've gone back and forth on this a lot, but I think I've finally settled on preferring Eol to be both a Dark Elf (i.e. never went to Aman) and a "darkened elf" (i.e. former thrall of Angband/corrupted by Melkor). I know Tolkien changed his mind on both of these later, but I don't find it repetitive at all to have Maeglin also suffer the same fate; I think the cycle is meaningful and adds another layer of complexity to these characters. Also, it would give Eol's "ill at ease" within Melian's girdle and seeking to stay away additional meaning, making it a physical consequence of his circumstances and not only a predilection of his personality. Idk, the more layers and reasons something has behind it, the more enjoyment I draw from it :)

I do like Eol being Sindar and Thingol's kin, but also more alike in spirit and behavior to the Avari than anything else. Witch of the Wilds aesthetic, and more in tune with nature and the land than the Sindar in Doriath. He and Maeglin have always given me a Morgana and Mordred vibe. (fun fact: the mirror is supposed to be obsidian, which is used for scrying.)

He truly loved his son, and his relationship with Maeglin was no more and no less positive/negative than your average father-son relationship -- some minor disagreements as any parent and child are bound to have -- until Maeglin started expressing a desire to see the Noldor; and it was all downhill from there. He still loved his son, however, despite everything, and his attempt to choose death over Gondolin for him was done out of love as well. Perhaps not a healthy love, but a genuine one all the same.

Eol being a darkened elf + Maeglin being born in Beleriand + the "Melkor ingredient" present in all matter outside of the Blessed Realm = a compounded (x3) tendency towards Melkor within Maeglin's spirit that was there since he was conceived. If everyone who has a body that is nourished by Arda (outside of Aman) has an inclination towards Melkor that they can't be free of in their incarnate forms, how much stronger might that be if one of your parents is a former thrall who -- going off of his behavior and tendencies -- still bears the marks of that bond? I like to think that the way Melkor affects his thralls can carry down genetically, even for elves that remain elves and weren't turned into orcs.

I personally prefer Maeglin to not be under an enchantment as a way to explain why he betrayed Gondolin -- I like him being responsible for his own actions! Even if he also never had a chance and was doomed from before he was born. I like the interplay of those two concepts and generally don't find them mutually exclusive -- but I do love the idea of compulsion. Of his pre-existing link to Melkor through Eol and through Arda being used (I prefer this to be Mairon's work, but it certainly can be done by Melkor instead) to sway him. Like, not Mairon actually spelling him and making him not be in control of his body or not being able to warn people in Gondolin because his speech is bound, etc., but like. Mairon slipping certain elements into the fabric of his voice -- he is Ainur; underscoring his speech with Music is no big deal -- to manipulate that Melkor ingredient within Maeglin and make him be more receptive. Compliant. Add to that some carefully crafted understanding as one talented smith who knows what it is like to feel ill-suited to his surroundings to another, a little bribery, and, of course, the ever-present and very real threat of torture -- in delicately balanced respective quantities -- and done.

This is totally entirely self-indulgent headcanon territory here, especially since Mairon is never actually present for Maeglin's imprisonment in any version of the text (to my knowledge) BUT: I like to think that, just as with Maedhros in my headcanons, Mairon formed a kind of reluctant attachment to Maeglin. But whereas with Maedhros it was more of an equal footing type of thing, a grudging acknowledgement of a worthy opponent being cut from the same cloth, with Maeglin it's more of a foster situation. Like: "Here is this very valuable prisoner who we can work with, who -- with a only a small amount of effort -- is amenable to working together and he's the son of a former thrall so there's already a connection there and, oh, he's also a smith? Oh, he's actually pretty good. Wait, he's only 189 years old, idk because I've never cared much for elves but isn't that ridiculously young wtf, he's clearly ambitious and reeling for approval and acknowledgement and will easily take to a guiding hand. Well, there's no one else around but me, I guess I'll take one for the team and the war effort and all that" *accidentally transfers all the instructing instincts he possesses that had previously gone to his wolves now all long dead, he doesn't keep wolves anymore since losing Tol-in-Guarhoth, it's too painful to this strange elf* Again, not healthy, but complicated and messy and invested.

... I did not mean to make it all about Mairon again lmao I am so sorry XD

I'm sure I'll have additional thoughts as I keep re-reading the Silmarillion, or my opinions/preferences may somewhat alter (I still have to sit down and read HoME and Nature of Middle Earth properly, I've only read snippets), but. an overwhelming number of you voted that you enjoyed reading stuff like this so. There you go. This is where I'm currently at lol.

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 2

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Part 1 | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

Chapter word count: 1,900

Chapter summary: A flashback to how it all began, featuring cosmetics as a charisma modifier, because why the hell not?

Five years ago

The vampire had invited himself into Asmodea’s tent and now lounged, catlike, on a rug nabbed from the druid grove, lazily observing her as she applied her makeup. 

The neckline of the ruffled shirt he wore allowed a peek at the ridges of his chest muscles - the overall image was reminiscent of a drawing one might find on the cover of a sappy romance novel. Or would be, had he been less gaunt. The shirt itself was also quite worn, Asmodea noted, and not just from their last few days of travel. Repaired in places, with thread that didn’t even match its colour.

Magistrate my ass, she thought. A common thief masquerading as a noble, maybe.

She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, though she did find his company amusing. 

He certainly had a big mouth on him. …Figuratively speaking. When it came to the literal meaning it was, for all intents and purposes, rather perfectly shaped and sized, she caught herself thinking.

“Now who might you be prettying yourself up for, I wonder,” he purred. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by goblins and gnolls.”

“It adds to my charm even with goblins, I find,” she retorted. “And I don’t see you giving Lae’zel shit for applying her warpaint.”

“Lae’zel was openly glaring at me and trimming a branch into a stake just earlier this morning,” Astarion responded. “She could wear clown paint and a pink tutu, and I wouldn’t question her. No offence, darling, but your lute doesn’t inspire the same level of caution,” he said. “…And I’ve seen how well you aim your spells,” he murmured as an afterthought. 

“Is there no one else for you to bother?” she asked halfheartedly, sighing. “Perhaps you could try cozying up to Lae’zel so she doesn’t stake you? She might be interested - I doubt she’s had elf before.” 

“‘Had elf’?! You say that like I’m a cut of meat,” Astarion said with mock indignation.  

“You present yourself like you’re a cut of meat,” Asmodea shrugged. “With the subtlety of a mallet to the head, I might add.” 

“I suppose I haven’t had githyanki either...” mused Astarion. “But no matter, Lae’zel and everyone else are such bores. But you... I sense a kinship in you, my dear. I think we are kindred spirits.” 

“Kindred spirits?” she laughed. “A bard and a rogue, the biggest cliche in all of Faerun? You can do better than that!”  

“Cliches exist for a reason,” he mused. “Who knows, perhaps destiny has brought us together.” 

“Ah yes... I can see it now...” She snickered. “We will adventure together, gambling, thieving and whoring our way through each pub, tavern and inn on the Sword Coast, only to realise that true love had been before us all along.” 

“Why of course,” he agreed. “All because at the last inn there will be-” 

“Only one bed,” they said in unison.  

Asmodea laughed in delight as Astarion smiled.  

“Oh you are decidedly adorable!” She teased. “Shall we start a book club? I overheard Wyll and Shadowheart discussing some godawful mermaid erotica earlier, perhaps they’d like to join too.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with that one as well,” Astarion wrinkled his nose. “Too flowery for my taste. Anyway, don’t undersell yourself as merely a bard - you are really a warlock, darling.” 

“Only when it pleases me to set someone on fire,” she said, nonchalantly. 

“Well... You have been stirring a fire in me since the moment we met,” he said emphatically, leaning forward. 

“Ahhh!!! That is absolutely awful!” She guffawed. “I will need to remember to write that down somewhere so I don’t forget. Are you sure you don’t want to give barding a go? You’d be fantastic at it, going by the amount of bullshit that comes out of your mouth.”

“I think this world is a dire enough place without me torturing a fiddle or singing,” Astarion said humourlessly. “But coming back to your ah… skillset and its nature. Should we be expecting any further demonic visits in the night? Might you be in breach of your contract, with everything that’s been going on? Not that little horns and a tail wouldn’t suit you.” 

“Why the sudden interrogation?” Asmodea glanced at him with a frown.

“I thought it prudent to ask in advance in case I should expect to be delivered as a blood sacrifice to some demon,” Astarion shrugged. 

“My patron is fey. No sacrifices required.” Asmodea went back to her preparations. “The contract is simple: live under the name they’ve given me, provide them with entertainment, receive powers in exchange.” 

“...That’s it? ‘Be entertaining’?” his eyes narrowed. “That is the term of your contract?”

“That’s it,” she answered. “They have a particular liking for the absurd, vulgar and violent. Renditions of classical works or poetry recitals – not so much.” 

“…No time limits? Penalties? Guarantees? No other conditions?” 

“Look, I know it’s a shitty contract, but I was in a bit of a bind when I entered it. Quite literally,” she said defensively. 

“It’s awful, darling,” Astarion tutted. “I’ve seen more complicated deals being scribbled down on napkins in taverns.” 

“Do I look like a lawyer to you?” Asmodea glared at him.

“No, you look like a foxy raccoon that’s about to devour my soul,” Astarion tried to placate her. “...But quite frankly, you should renegotiate. Let me know if you ever want my help with it, I wasn’t lying about being a magistrate you know.” 

Asmodea only scoffed at that. 

“My patron’s been practically bouncing with excitement ever since I was snatched up onto that nautiloid - I think the ‘entertainment’ condition is very much in my favour right now.”

Astarion continued to observe her as she began pencilling a symbol on her forehead.

“May I ask why..? I do think it’s rather fetching, but... why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” she asked as she concentrated on her reflection, red pencil in hand.  

“The symbol in the middle of your forehead,” he rolled his eyes. “Why draw it? Is it for your patron..? But it can’t be, it’s not even the same every day.”

“It’s just for me,” she replied. Meeting his blank stare, she added: “They’re more likely to stay away from you if they think you’re crazy.” 

“…Who, ‘they’?” He asked, sounding annoyed.

“Everyone,” she said, simply. “Although it doesn’t seem to work on stubborn vampires.” She breathed a laugh, meeting his gaze, before continuing. “You have some real nerve, you know: propositioning me for sex earlier, and acting like you’d be doing me a favour.” She returned her attention to the mirror. “I meant it, you know. You’re not my type.” 

The sheer audacity of the proposal had nearly left her speechless when it happened, though its forwardness was growing increasingly… funny, the more she thought about it. It would have been insulting, had it not been so genuinely candid. The man truly believed that sleeping with him would be a gift bestowed by the gods.

She cursed as she botched and started to erase the symbol with her own spittle for the third time in a row. 

“Oh for the love of... Here, let me.” Astarion grimaced, grabbing the pencil from her hand, and sat up, kneeling in front of her. “Hold still... And close your eyes, I’ll retouch them as well.” 

She took him up on his offer. How many people could boast a vampire doing their makeup for them?

“What is your type?” he murmured softly as he worked.  

“Oh you know...” She replied, pensively. “Tall, dark, burly. Thick beard, tree trunk arms, strong hands. Smelling of woodsmoke. Brutally masculine.” 

His fingers felt cool on her skin as he delicately held her chin, drawing lines around her eyes. She sensed a light scent of bergamot and something earthy as he leaned toward her. 

Despite herself, she wondered how his lips might feel on hers. Were they cold? Were other parts of him..? Perhaps she would find out, later. After all, why not? Why shouldn’t she add a vampire to her list of lovers?  

The pencilwork stopped, but Astarion’s fingers lingered lightly under her chin. Asmodea opened her eyes to see him much closer than was reasonable or necessary. 

“Exquisite,” he whispered, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back, his index finger slowly running beneath her chin, gently tilting her face upward. 

Oh hells no. This was not happening now. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You didn’t just draw a dick on my forehead, did you?” she asked. 

Astarion blinked, producing a quiet little snort, creases forming around his eyes, adding to the smile that had already been on his lips. 

“I thought about it, but then I remembered that you do have a reflection,” he said, leaning back away from her.  

She considered his work in the handheld mirror.  

“Not bad... Not bad at all,” she said, turning her gaze back on him, with a raised eyebrow.  

“I have sisters,” he offered, by way of explanation.  

The vampire had a family? Curious.  

Astarion continued to linger as she began putting her things away.

“We’ll need something a bit more personal than that pompous name given to you by your patron, if we are to continue to travel together,” he said. “‘Asmodea’ doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. It’s nearly as bad as ‘Shadowheart’.” 

“Patron business,” she shrugged. “Don’t ask me why they chose that name in particular. The contract prevents me from even suggesting anything else you might call me.”

“So I’m free to choose a nickname for you myself then? Hmm... Asmodea, Asmodea... The first thing that comes to mind is ‘Assie’,” he said with a wicked grin. 

“I will blast you,” she warned, with a glare. “Darling.”  

“Shame, it’s all too fitting for your charming personality... What about... Asmo... No. Momo. No...” 

She groaned, throwing her head back as though praying to some god for patience.  

“No, no... I have just the thing for you,” he smirked.   

“By all means, humour me,” she sighed. 

He continued to grin at the half-even woman before him, taking in her intricate eye makeup, the symbol drawn on her forehead, the piercings and wild orange-red locs on her head. 

“My magnificent wild warlock...” He proclaimed, gesticulating with a theatrical flourish. “My darling little bard... I know who you are.” 

She narrowed her green eyes at him as he booped the tip of her nose with his index finger. 

“You’re Oddie.” 

She clicked her tongue but otherwise said nothing, in annoyed resignation, refusing to admit she kind of liked it. 

Wyll ducked into the tent.  

“We’re ready to go.” He gave Asmodea an apprehensive look before continuing. “Do you have any kind of plan for how we’re going to handle this..?” 

“My plan is to wing it,” she replied. “Just follow my lead, I’ve dealt with the fuckers before.” She turned to Astarion, getting up. “Come, ‘kindred spirit’. We’re infiltrating a goblin camp.” 

Astarion made way to his tent to grab his own gear, pleased with the progress he’d made. Oh, this quaint little creature could continue to feign disinterest for a while longer – she would do exactly what he needed her to, in the end. There was no rush – he had days, perhaps even weeks, to reel her in – not the mere hours he was accustomed to. What a luxury.

In the meantime, though he was almost loath to admit it, this little game was... kind of fun.

Part 3

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @asterordinary

[knight-of-flowerss]

Prompts: “tell me what is behind your back”

Summary: The reader has been Legolas’ nanny for what felt like centuries now, even though he was a man grown, he refused to have you stop being his nanny. But, when he left with Tauriel he left you a note that was hidden underneath his pillow in his chambers. You go to burn it but there is a visitor standing in the door way, awaiting your response for what you are doing in the elvish princes’ chambers.

Warnings: fluff, angst(Legolas’ mother), gets a little- suggestive -near the end.

Pairings: Thranduil x Reader, Platonic! Legolas x Reader

Masterlist

You: red

Thranduil: blue

Legolas: green

Burning desire

Thranduil X Elf!Nanny!Reader

Legolas had always been fond of you, ever since he was a young princeling, you never knew why he favoured you over the over two nannies that accompanied him. So he spent the most time with you than the other nannies, hell, he even spent more time in your presence than he did in his own fathers.

As the boy got older he finally realised why he enjoyed your company so much, you were the mother he never had.

You were kind but strict when necessary, polite but always stood your ground when someone had whispered some obscurities about the prince or his parents. But most of all, you treated him like a person. Not a prince, not a child, just Legolas.

****************************************

Legolas felt that he was betraying you when he ran after Tauriel who disappeared into the woods. He got about a mile from the door and realised that if he was going to leave, he had to give you an explanation.

****************************************

Your hand smooths his sheets out, stuffing the edges in between the mattresses and bed frame. You hands next go to fluff the large pillows, starting on the right side, you do both pillows and order them neatly.

You walk around the bed and reach for the under pillow. You raise it up to Fluff and notice an envelope nearly falling off the edge.

Your delicate fingers pick up the paper and place it on the bedside table while you finish the princes’ bed.

Reaching for the envelope, you go to put it in his draw on his bedside table when you notice your name written on the front.

Eyebrows furrowed and lips frowned, you peel off the wax and take out the piece of paper. It read:

Dear Y/N

I regret to inform you that I have left with Tauriel and sadly, don’t think I will be returning. I have a small box underneath my bed filled to the brim with golden pieces, enough to last you a lifetime, enough to get you on your feet if you wish to leave or find a new job. Please don’t try and find me and do not show this letter to others eyes than your own. Please, as my last wish to you, burn this letter and build a better life for yourself.

Thank you, and all that you’ve done for me.

Love from,

Legolas.

You look at the back of the letter and his guess of where he would be headed was scribbled on the back.

Lake Town.

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You stood in shock, tears threatening to travel downwards from your glossy eyes. You couldn’t believe that they had just let the high born elf leave like that, letting him morph from a respectable young prince to a wreck less young man.

Your feet moved faster than you brain, leading you towards the fireplace in the elf princes’ room. Reaching out, putting the corner of the envelope into the flame. After watching it burn for a while you throw it into the fire. You look to your side and pick up the note from the chair.

You go to put the corner of the page into the flames when a voices perked up.

“What are you doing in my son’s room?”

You whip your head around and hid the paper behind your back.

“My king, I..didn’t expect you to be here..”

“What did you expect then? That no one would notice that you overstayed your stay in my son’s room? No one would notice you lingering by the fire? I know my son cared for you but now that he has left, you have no business prolonging your stay in his chambers.”

His stoic stature took few steps towards you, coming chest to chest with you.

“I’m sorry my King, it was inappropriate for me to be staying in her as long as I have, I shall be leaving now, my King.”

You try to walk past him but a hand flew out and stopped at your chest, pushing you back ever so slightly so your eyes meet.

He was intimidating to say the least, he made you feel like he was a mountain and you were a mouse staring all the way to the top.

“Dear,…. What is behind your back?..”

Your eyes widen, looking away while putting the paper in your right hand, crumpling it up.

“I don’t know what you mean my King.”

Your knuckles went white while trying to hide the evidence of your princes’ whereabouts.

“I will not ask again Y/N. Tell me what is behind your back.”

You gulped, your eyes flickering from Thranduil’s eyes, to the table in the middle of the room, to the fireplace.

Your mind was fighting with you as you stared at the flickering of the flames. Your rational brain was saying no. To not get you imprisoned and to just give up the not the the KING.

‘Do not even think about it, just hand the paper to the King and and beg for forgiveness, atleast you won’t be imprisoned or feel the wrath of the beautiful king.’

Your eyes widen and you realised your impulsive side came through, ‘throw the note into the fireplace, protect your prince, protect your honour. Maybe the King could have mercy on you after finding out why you defied him, but it is very unlikely.’

You turned towards your king as his hand had travelled upwards without you noticing as you were lost in your train of thought.

His slender fingers gripped the underside of your jaw and turned your head towards him. Tipping it back to look at him in the eyes.

“Y/N this is the last time I ask before I forcefully take it out of you sneaky little hands, what. Is. Behind. Your. Back?”

He exhaled through his nose in anger, the air hitting your face. That made you snap. You got out of his grip, turned around and threw the note into the fire, watching it burn in the flames.

A look of shock adorned Thranduil’s face, as his eyes flick between the lick of the flames surrounding the scrumpled paper to your face.

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed your arm. Spinning you around and pushed you up against the wall. Your head hit the wall and you groaned out in pain.

He dips his head down and through gritted teeth whispered, “What was on that piece of paper dear?”

You were so close to the Elvish King, up close you could appreciate his features a lot more. His sharp jawline, his porcelain skin, his soft and plush lips, his cerulean eyes, so complex, full of stories.

His eyes bored into yours as you subconsciously moved closer, your noses touching eachother and your lips grazing.

You get thrown back onto the wall while he steps back, his hand covering his mouth, squeezing his nose and then landing back at his side as he breathes out of his nose.

You step forward after collecting yourself, staring up at the King as his eyes flicker all around his sons chambers, avoiding your eyes.

When your eyes finally do meet, you are nearly pressed up against him, head tipped back as you stare at his pretty face.

Your hands reach to grasp for his robes, pulling Thranduil down a bit to your level. He moaned out your name in an almost submissive whimper, “Y/N…”

Your lips meet his as he pauses, in shock. Your left hand leaves his extravagant robes to cup his cheek.

When Thranduil finally clocked what was happening, his hands came up to either side of your face, palms on your jawline and fingertips weaving through your hair.

The once innocent kiss quickly turned heated as Thranduil guided you towards the table in the middle of the room, pressing you up against it.

Years of being ignored by the gorgeous elf where quickly overlooked as soon as he bit your bottom lip.

You knew that Legolas would be upset when he finds out about your little affair with his father. Someone who he loved dearly and someone who treated him and anyone he liked like the dirt underneath his shoes.

He would be livid.

But you didn’t care and neither did Thranduil, you both just caved into your

Burning desires.

****************************************

@thethreeeyed-raven

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