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goldspxcld · 1 month

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❛ your conniving acts is never a sight i will grow old of . it’s very amusing to see blighted thine eyes riddled with tepid piss . ❜ venore admissions , tipping the barrel of his mug back . the iron clasps surrounding the girthy bosom glinting in the dim lantern light . it was at a certainty , the last surviving descendant of the yril'lys house left a great deal to be desired in terms of emphasis on lack of regality ; nigh nearly every sentence he spoke was also laced with a lick of inebriated profanity . for a drow raised in such a fine house , befit of battles & feasted loyalty , even raised by a chosen priestess of the lolth — he certainly hadn’t picked up any manners . ❛ i don’t even need to be sober to know you’ve somehow — someway — weaseled your arse into convincing that barrel-sharped fellow into giving you his most valuable family crest . depending on the bastard’s familial status , those are probably worth at least a night at some luxury inn . ❜ the gold at best , was worthwhile at least .

tawny lips press against the wetness of the iron surrounding the rim of the mug , a dull gloss evident , presumably from blend of cheap ale & his own spit . the menzoberranzanian’s contented gaze stilled on astarion as he downed the rest of the mug’s contents , finalizing with a swallow . his tongue wallowed in the aftertaste of the beverage , before poking out from his lips & folding to rest between the ridges of fang & gum . he does this for a few beats as the mug was once again placed annexed to a passing barmaid that uttered annoyed grievances to his horrendous demeanor . not that he cared to appear tasteful to some folk . he got shit even if he was trying to cozy up to some would - be companion . easy on the eyes , sure .

❛ i’m sure you would like that , wouldn’t you ? after all , your complaints thus far on this journey have been in wanting of a supple bed to rest , yes ? ❜

if there was a word he could describe this vampiric spawn : it would be … princess . astarion wasn’t a fellow that made his stomach recoil & convulse into vomit . as things normally did with the way death seemed to be fucking prancing on hells gate every damn centimeter in stride . the bloody spawn had an appetizing face , sultry voice even . white hair sprouting into a grandeur of loose curls , swept behind his pointed ear . red eyes that knew how to fucking rile someone up ; whether it was lust or hatred , that was left to the grantee . astarion’s looks made the enraptured need not explain . venore would be wise to assume it was among the latter of seduction . at least enough to warrant a damn crest in hand .

❛ zifreinn vith rasimorf … ❜ venore grovels out . his tongue rolling distinct hard lettered syllables as he spoke his mother - tongue . ❛ at least one of us doesn’t have to find somewhere to piss & sleep . a hay stack might do me sumn’ good actually … ❜ he scratches his head . he somewhat recalls a stable being located abreast of this dilapidating old tavern . dark , quiet … enough for him . asides from it smelling like horse shit . then again , his eyelids would be heavy enough for him to just collapse on without a care .

starter for @sanguisstella .

#sanguisstella #ASTARION .#VENORE | drow i am - but not an arsehole - IC #not me looking up the drow language dictionary JEJEHRBRBR

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witchcraftandburialdirt · 4 months

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✧ ── 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄?

Tagged by: @warmothered ( thank you! ♥ Tagging: @bells-of-black-sunday @agonizedembrace @hemoplagued @sanguisstella @witches-and-weirdos @manufactoredxbyxdesign @kalijhomentethi @lightshielded @burntscars @mxlevolence @saviourofzaun @steel-and-fire @fluxjumped @bloodandhairspray @nameaprice

IN YOUR TEETH

━ love has uneven edges but it is something you sink your teeth into. with love you give all of yourself over and feel everything as it happens- good and bad. for you love can be a fight, whether it's hard won or hard lost (or hard to hold on to), love has a way of leaving it's impression in your skin. it's not that it hurts, it's just that it knows your tender spots and seems to hit those first.

#ℝ𝕆𝔹𝕀ℕ 𝔸. 𝔹𝔸𝕌𝔻𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕀ℝ𝔼 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ-ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 】#verse: league #mun speaks #dash games

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delphinixm · 6 months

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⟨When death arrives like a bride at the isle, send me off in my brightest clothing⟩

⨻𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔵𝔪: A private and selective Baulders Gate 3 Tav / DnD Pc penned by Spük -Affiliated with: @sinistercall ; @sanguisstella ; @moonmaidened ; @moonserved -

⟨There's no reason to cry my dear, I've waited all my life for such a beauty to take my breath away⟩

⪁ Rules ⪄ ⪁About Cirith⪄

Minors will be blocked on sight

⩔ Cirith is a death domain talontar Cleric, discussions of death, disease and other triggering content will happen; please proceed with caution ⩔

Sideblog of @bells-of-black-sunday

#∭ 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 - [𝑶𝑶𝑪]

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moonserved · 6 months

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# 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 , an independent &. selective blog for 𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙱𝙴𝙻, from 𝖡𝖠𝖫𝖣𝖴𝖱'𝖲 𝖦𝖠𝖳𝖤 3. canon compliant &. headcanon based. as overanalyzed and loved by mel ( she / her, +25, gmt -3).

— 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉: @moonmaidened @delphinixm @sinistercall @sanguisstella @moonspear

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃, 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝐈. carrd. 𝐈𝐈. prompts. 𝐈𝐈𝐈. headcanons. 𝐈𝐕. blogroll.

#* pinned post !

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sinistercall · 6 months

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『 "𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓" 』

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯; 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘮, 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘯-𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

Such a thing graced Ithuriel's eyes as she cut back into reality once more, finding herself laying down within her tent atop her bedroll - it smells sweet, like cinnamon ; how had she gotten here? Cinnamon ... Kettle ... Tea - Her gaze flicked over to spy that fluttering imp, right, she remembers now. The group had settled down for the evening after finishing up various chores, and she had thought it better for the night to read that 𝐆��𝐔𝐃𝐘 romance novel Astarion had lent her. Something to clear her " 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 " and hopefully lead to ... " 𝘦𝘹𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 ". The comment racked a shudder across her being. Fel ( 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦? ) had arrived shortly after, happy enough in her presence to speak with her plainly; his voice - despite all of the horrid vocabulary - somehow was a comfort. She'd managed to convince him to settle down in his chatter beside her, but ever diligent to work he kept twitching - so she had given him laundry to fold while she ‘studied up on runic symbols’. A lie, but one he didn't seem displeased by despite her confidence that he knew what she was actually up to.

"Ahh you always were 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 for knowledge Master! You should really rest though, my Lady, you must be tired from all of the sorocide from today. However, if you insist, I will stay here to watch over you and make sure you complete your studies."

Like a parent guiding their child. Had it always been that way? Had there been a point where the Scleritas held her 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐞 hand? Much to her chagrin, it brings a soft grin to her lips - a fleeting one as she peeks over to her gentlegoblin. She had no memory of being a child, no memory before waking up on the Nautiloid ... Surely she was 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓, once? He had mentioned being a " 𝘋𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘩𝘢𝘢𝘭 '' himself, something made to aid and protect Bhaal's most beloved child - Perhaps if there was any good within the 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑, he had placed it into Fel to keep her company and guide her along the way ... If not just to puppet her back into the Dread Lord's sticky and crimson embrace. The Butler began to hum as her cerise gaze trailed downward to her - well, 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 - book once more.

"𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘳, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘌𝘰𝘸𝘺𝘯, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦?’

Surely he'd given her the wrong novel, this was far from some cheap romantic smut fest she had expected to open into, and she was unsure if she was disappointed or not. It was a fabulous book, one she had almost instantly bonded with; a traveler on a long journey fighting against his own corruption. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 - 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. Instinctually her stare lifts to the rest of camp, alone in her tent but never truly lonely; someone was always out and about. The Sharran and Blade of Frontiers seemed locked in wicked debate, though their voices were soft their bodies told a new tale. Yes ... That was it, she concludes - the book she was so fond of; it reminded her of 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. Introduced crudely but swiftly found to be resourceful and, well, a joy. She should speak to her soon ... maybe the two could step aside from their differences. Although the woman’s piercing expression did little to ease any doubts dancing about Ithuriel’s mind.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘌𝘰𝘸𝘺𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

Ithuriel observes over the camp once more before white moon-kissed locks greet her, eyes angling lower to watch Astarion mumble and pace about while holding a book that seemed much too heavy for his nimble statue. Her lips part with a tilt of her head, her own wintry hair spilling over her shoulder as she finds fuzzy moss growing in her. It's warm and fluffy and invades every part of her form, the garden inside of her chest feels like it's going to sprout from her mouth - and her ears flutter as though she were a butterfly prancing about from petal to petal. A blushing flush ran across her cheeks, she is safe in her small den ; and Astarion is far too preoccupied. She tries to further indulge in those 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘 feelings, and in the selenic glow, soft rays of silver and blue - he's as beautiful as glistening dew and the call of bird song. To her own reluctance, Ithuriel's mind begins to twist herself into the visage before her, next to him and listening to his murmurs of frustration and amusement. Her steady intelligent gaze studied him closely, noting the strength in his forearms that bore every inch of his determination and longing for freedom.

Insurrection. Spite. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ... 𝘠𝘦𝘴 ... 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴.

That is when those sanguineous eyes meet hers and lock in, her tadpole twitches - longing to reach out - but the shuddering of her skin gives her the strength to break the look between them. Ithuriel had never been looked at so 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘, within a moment he had undressed her soul - even buried under blanketed layers of wool she'd never felt so naked. The tiefling dares to look back at him; her veins turning to ice at the stark realization that he has not broken away yet. Not once. Those eyes are full of a deep understanding and calm indifference. It is a crimson sea she wishes she could pour herself in to become the foam atop each wave of his iris. She is a person and he, as another person acknowledges that.

... 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ...

How long ... How 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 had it been since she had felt like one? Not a monster, not a 𝐆𝐨𝐝, not a 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐍 -

" - Master, I have finished! -- Ohhh! Oh my Lady, did I startle you? It still pains me so to see my little liege in distress." The Sceleritas comforted quickly, soothing Ithuriel back from her skittish yip. "You appear to be on the same page as before! Are you troubled, Master?"

" ... No. I - Thank you, Fel. I - I," her hand fidgets forward to free the clasp of her tent, closing off herself from the outside world. From Warmth. From Friends. From Love. She doesn't dare look at any of their companions. Not now. "I think I will be turning in for the night, I ... Will you stay? I ... I think even with my loss of memory I have missed you."

"Ah ... Master, you make a butler 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇! I'll carve that compliment into my heart! Worry not, my demiurge, these feelings of distraction will wane soon enough and you will be back on your feet by the next moon! A person of your fine 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 is never down for long, I know the unholy guarantee of your Father's legacy will spur you on. It is woven into you."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

✧ ── 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 ۞ 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ɪᴛʜᴜʀɪᴇʟ ʟɪꜰ - ʙᴀʟᴅᴜʀ'ꜱ ɢᴀᴛᴇ 3: ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴜʀɢᴇ - @burntscars

#── 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐄𝐋 ...【 ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʙᴜᴛʟᴇʀ 】#── 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐅 ...【 ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ʙᴀʙᴇ 】#── 𝐎' 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ; 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ... 【 ɪᴄ 】#── 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 ... 【 ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ 】#── 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 #moonmaidened #sanguisstella #burntscars #hi albedo!!!#mwah #enjoy!#i kinda got carried away -#yes i do be quoting tolkien #love me some lotr

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sinistercall · 5 months

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Leave it to the rest of their eclectic little group of tadpole-inflicted comrades to ruin a PERFECTLY radiant afternoon— something in the planets must have aligned for the entire party to be in such a disgustingly good mood, even Lae-zel and Shadowheart are behaving civilly, for once. Even more APPALLING was the scene before him, everyone's favorite warlock doing his honest best to try to lead Ithuriel through he proper steps of a waltz. It'd ALMOST be endearing if Astarion could stomach the sickly sweet sight without wanting to vomit. Wyll's hands holding her's too softly, their bodies too close, their smiles too bright— he's had ENOUGH.

The sad excuse for a novel he'd been reading is slammed shut ABRUPTLY, a dull thud as it's tossed to the side so the vampire can make his way over to the pair.

An IRRITATED click of his teeth is the only sound offered before he oh, so politely shoulders his way into Wyll's place. "Gods above, you're both so clumsy. You'll let me handle this, won't you...?" Whatever the warlock answers is INCONSEQUENCIAL, the spawn already spinning them so their friend is out of eyesight ( the real view is in front of her already, isn't it? ). ❝ My apologies, darling. I just couldn't bear to sit idly by and watch the two of you embarrass yourselves in the middle of the entire camp any longer. ❞

He realizes too late that he's made the grave error of placing himself front-and-center to something that may read more intimate and genuine than it really is— a MISTAKE he won't make twice, though he'll do his best to relish this moment while it lasts. It'd be a shame to waste the good weather, after all. And the paladin just looks so, so STUNNING in the sunlight ( what a shame their most delicious moments under the cover of night ).

❝ I absolutely refuse to believe you've never done this before, not even you can be that uncivilized. ❞ The tiefling's movements are CLUMSY and UNSURE, but not the steps of someone ignorant to the motions— she seems to need little guidance, effortlessly following the sway and flow of his body, pressing herself closer with the delicious kind of confidence he normally has to TEASE out of her. Perhaps, like most things, this is just something else she's lost— forgotten with the rest of the mysteries of her past. Though he's certain there's a little more BLOOD on her hands than either of them know, he silently hopes she's at least had moments like this before, small moments to enjoy herself, to be HAPPY.

A rather UNBECOMING thought, and he catches himself smiling much too casually. He's certainly gotten sloppy. Well, he thinks, no choice but to do what he does best—

❝ You know, there really was no need to try to make me jealous. If you wanted to be close to me, all your sweet little self had to do was ask. ❞ Always one with a flair for the DRAMATIC, he takes it upon himself to pull the paladin impossibly closer, swiftly pressing her flush to him before lowering her into a exagurated dip just so he can press his lips closer to her ADORABLY pointed ears. ❝ Or perhaps, ❞ he hums, ❝ it was me who wanted to hold you just. Like. This. ❞

He pulls her up before he has a chance to dwell on how UNSETTINGLY easy it was for that last part to slip out— the taunt hitting too close to the truth for his comfort. Sloppy indeed....

|| @sanguisstella (o:

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊'𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓.

Horrifically the topic of her request had come up within one of those novels 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 had lent to her - his insistence of getting her books was ... endearing to say the least - and she wished to know all she could about the novels presented to her, but there were many things she'd forgotten after the tadpole had burrowed into her mind. There was a strange innocence in the way she approached him, Ithuriel had always known Wyll to be a 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 and noble man - a protector she felt safe with, someone easy to 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓. Revealing her secret to him was inconsequential, at least at first when the Warlock had promised to teach her - she was unaware that the lesson would begin immediately, and terribly, in front of their many companions. A few chuckles and smiles surround the pair, the warmth of Wyll’s hands allows the crimson shade of embarrassment budding upon the apples of her cheeks was soon to fade into a soft hue of joy - she even lowers her gaze to part his in order to stare down at her feet, observing the 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍 of movement between them. Ithuriel savors it. She feels akin to a ray of light dappling through the lush green canopy framing their camp, an air of 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 curiosity bounces her skirts and hair as they dance; it is moments like this, when she is drenched in sunshine, that she can feel Lathander cupping her heart and murmuring in her ear.

Her sense of wonder at each step is delightfully sweet, a simplicity and an openness that was almost child - like; within this moment she had found how to be at 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄 in the middle of her stormy life. For a few minutes in time she was free of every shackle that had ever been placed upon her, she was her own person able to decide what she wanted for herself. Her canines bite softly into her lower lip, pushing the plush in while the vision of one of her companions comes to the forefront of her thoughts. A melody plucks itself within the echoing recesses of her mind, she doesn't remember where it is from but it lends itself well to the situation before her; her feet do not succumb to her usual clumsiness. Even when he seems to trip she catches their footing and keeps pace; although her brow quirks up when she notices that his shoes are 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 - but her lips were already moving and her head was already lifting to see ... 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍. No no - stop!

"Oh W-Wyll, I feel like a princess - "

But its too late, the words had spilled most of the way from her tongue, Ithuriel only able to catch the last few - and suddenly her face feels 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. Her breath catches, she hadn't expected Astarion to prance his way into her personal space; let alone start crooning about his jealousy, she only imagine how he would mock her later about revealing such girlish whimsies. A princess. 𝐇𝐀! Worse still is the way she's unable to turn away from him, did a part of her hope that he'd mosey his way into this waltz? The vampire’s presence invades every corner of her perception, his cool hands against her waist and palm, the teasing scent of his cologne. He’s everywhere and she’s unable to deny how eagerly she 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 in his visage. 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 is reflected in the clarity of her wide eyes - the pale rays of light igniting his curls into a halo; she hates the way her heart flutters and a nervous giggle leaves her. As though she is a young 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 again looking up at some fae prince and ... 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺; 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘰? She finds herself allowing it at the gentle teasing and genuine grin curling his petaled lips; it suddenly feels safe to open this softer, ethereal side of her soul to him. She shines with the light he provides and he was the brightest shade of gold she’d ever seen, one she wanted to 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 herself in.

"Ah - Astarion - ! Wait!"

Another swell of laughter leaves her once their bodies are 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 and he is expertly tilting her back to see a new angle of the world, palm holding the small of her back with a strength hidden by his lovely form. Ithuriel pulls her focus from the touches across her body to focus on the mass of birch trees behind them; waves of black and white - a never ending ocean with a bright leafy abyss dappled with brilliant gold patches. Her hair brushes the dirt when she’s suddenly descending even further. Ithuriel instinctively coils her arms around his back and shoulder to cling into the fabric of his shirt; perhaps she was frightened he would drop her? Hot breath tickles her ears, causing them to flutter like flustered 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘 wings - she feels light as a feather on a spring breeze; floating over the lily ponds and catching the blossoming hue of their flowers and her face. It pains her that she cannot pick up the rush of his blood - the soft 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐒 in his chest were silent … and she cups the back of his head. Her mind opens to him once they begin to straighten out again, although her arms do not shift from their embrace - her heels lift and her fingers card through his hair ... It is time for 𝐇𝐄𝐑 to whisper lilting croons into his pointy ear, or rather, for sweet words of adoration to caress across the loathed scars upon his throat.

"Then I'll be sure to ask you everyday, I know how embarrassed you get over this - Don't worry, it will be our little secret."

Ithuriel doesn't wait for Astarion to catch up, she cannot 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊 his defenses to come back when she finally has him so vulnerable and moldable - maybe right now he will finally 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 her words. I care for you. Let me in ... please. She hugs him firmly. Implacably - the warmth pouring from her soul a confirmation that she would do this as long as he needed. All 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. All 𝐃𝐀𝐘 - until their bodies settle into place and become intertwined trees, she would be there to sink her roots with his. She doesn't fail to note how easily their bodies mold and move to fit the other, and their forms pressed so intimately together seems to slow her racing heart. No longer does her skin produce electric shocks but instead melts into a pleasant enduring sense of 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 that pulls a sigh from her lips.

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 - 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

However time stalled for no man and soon she's remiss to find herself lowering down onto the flats of her feet, connecting fully with the earth once more. Already she misses the scent of his perfume. What had felt like an eternity to her is but a few minutes of time as they continue their waltz throughout camp. Thankfully none of their companions notice the 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 way she leans into him, it is easier to feel free when he is with her; it is easier to be 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 enough to grasp what she wants. To allow her scarred fingers to 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 the 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 of his soul. As much as she yearns to stay in this sanctuary the paladin decides to take it upon herself to bring them both down from that whimsical little ... moment they had just shared. She opts to take hold of his hands again and spin their steps closer towards the edge of camp. She senses a fleeting chance to tease him back within his stunned state, an opportunity she was not above taking - not when he looked so ...

𝘏𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦?

Her words follow the sway of their bodies and she begs her voice to not betray her, he would laugh at the depth of feeling within her chest. Ithuriel is unsure if he would ever be able to accept it. "I was actually speaking to Wyll to show me this dance so I could better understand the movements of the characters in the book you lent me. Although there were many other things I did not know about either, would you like to be the one to teach me all of them, Darlin - Ah - !"

The edge of a root snags under her ankle and little can be done before she stumbles just enough for gravity to take them both tumbling down the hill’s curve, angled just enough that there is no hope of stopping the descent into the valley below. Verdant ribbons lick against her camp clothes, painting the pale linen strokes of lush green and bright yellow as she rolled through the foliage. Her laughter echoes through the valley they find themselves collapsing into, a glimpse into an 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 version of her soul; free of Bhaal, of duty, of rules - and the world's wonder reflects in her starry cerise eyes. Ithuriel lifts her face towards the sky once the momentum stops and her flailing form is brought to a halt, the clouds are beautifully swept across the endless azure of the sky - and the burning yolk of the sun seems to smile down at her. Soon that happiness is directed towards the 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 as she observes his messy tresses - unable to help herself but to pluck some of the grass from them. Gods above he looks perfectly 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 and she knows she looks just as messy - the snorts and gasps for air don't stop and only after using all of her will to relax does she speak:

"Y - You look like a potted plant!"

Her chest jumps when she finally settles back down, laughter relaxing into low giggles, having moved closer towards the vampire once more; it seems she was interested in the heat he managed to bring to her cheeks. Soon those plucky slim fingers are carefully 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 through the pale curls framing around the angle of his temple, each thread alight with the brilliant luminescent 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐎 behind her silhouette. She's curious in how being around him manages to stretch time - their ticking bombs meant little to her right now; somehow as long as he is beside her she knows her heart will still find a way to 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐏. Ithuriel slips a few flowers by his ear, followed by a gentle caress to the beautifully carved face under her, “There … some daisies and dandelions, you do make a rather pretty vase, Astarion, like you were made to only exist in the sun.” Her own hair had become unraveled with their tumble - and it creates a curtain around their heads when she gazes at him, a waterfall of Lathander's light. The fire behind her eyes, usually intense enough to sear flesh and bone, had simmered down into crackling 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 while she regarded him. Part of her longs to curl her fingers around the back of his head to have him rest against her. Instead she lowers into the sea of grass beside him, both of them hidden away from the rest of the world's judgemental 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒; she felt safe interlocking their fingers and pressing their foreheads close. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩. It's quiet away from camp and it feels almost wrong to break it.

"Let's stay here for a while longer, I'm sure the others will come in due time - but I wouldn't mind having some alone time with you. Will that help cure you of your jealousy?"

━━ @sanguisstella

#── 𝐎' 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ; 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ... 【 ɪᴄ 】#── 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐅 … 【 ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ʙᴀʙᴇ 】#── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐅 … 【 ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪꜱꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀ 】#── 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 #I wrote a little too much #i blacked out and woke up to this #crying weeping throwing up #idk idk #cyn help me

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witchcraftandburialdirt · 1 day

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✧ ━━ 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

Tagged by: @witches-and-weirdos (thank you!) Tagging: @bells-of-black-sunday (for Aita?), @agonizedembrace, @pitgritted, @manufactoredxbyxdesign, @coolrpblog, @leadxxr, @mxlevolence, @deathfxnds , @deathdxnces, @sanguisstella, @kalijhomentethi @steel-and-fire, @chaotick-musings, @thegoldentigress, @aquatic-hybrid, @dethdvncer, @risingshine, @seekslight, @yanlei

name: Robin A. Baudelaire

nickname: Birdie, Little Bird

gender: Cisgender Male

romantic orientation: Biromantic (closeted - male leaning)

preferred pet names: Darling, Love, Beloved

relationship status: Single

opinion on true love:

"Mortals cling to the idea of such fortunes, don't they? Two people destined for one another, capable of a never ending love that transcends all. It is quite a dazzling prospect, is it not? How many countless tales have been woven in its name? How much blood has been spilled for it?" Robin scoffs, a bitter twist to his lips as he recalls the image of Knight and his Pretty Bride, of their perfect union. A sinking feeling settles in his stomach; heavy and suffocating. He keeps his eyes facing ahead, focusing. "Love. The word itself reeks of mockery. In this cruel world, true, heartfelt love is nothing more an illusion, a weakness that people use to manipulate the pitiful. A lie concocted for fools who lack the wit to see reality for what it is: a harsh, unforgiving joke." His fingers curl into the loose lock of white hair framing his face like delicate tendrils of moonlight, "A myth. A story to sell books and make women swoon. A man would be a damned fool to waste his time chasing after it."

opinion on love at first sight:

"Love at first sight… More stupidity. Ha! Lust at first sight, certainly. The human heart is weak, emotional - primal. It can never make a decision like love that hastily; poisoning oneself takes time, after all."

how ‘romantic’ are they?:

━━ Just ignore ol mister soggy socks up there - he's just a bitter little thing. It takes a lot to keep his attention and curiosity, let alone for him to actually fall in love; it will take a lot of interaction and chemistry to work. I'm sure in some ... messed up, toxic way he is romantic; romantic cannibalism and obsession. Maybe once his story progresses and if he becomes less ... that - then perhaps more standard forms of romance would apply. Even then I cannot see a world where a romantic, or any type frankly, relationship with him would be strictly healthy?

ideal physical traits: ━━ Robin experiences basically non-existent levels of lust in Dead by Daylight, he cares very little for the physical and much more for the internal workings of a person. Even in life he was never tempted by the hot sin of desire; bodies are flesh and bone, but what makes a person tick? That is a measure of their soul. Maybe a nice voice - mostly because there's going to be a lot of conversation and I can't imagine him wanting to listen to a voice that grinds his ears. Maybe????

ideal personality traits: ━━ That being said there's plenty of these that are reaaallly important to him in regards to every interaction he has. Robin at his core is a dark empath who uses his understandings of people to manipulate and puppet them. He cares very little for people who let him do this, or who don't even realize its happening; so when someone plays against this his interest is immediately drawn. Keeping it requires pragmatism, sadism, being intellectual and being able to keep up with him in conversation and debate. Robin likes a high level of self confidence in the people he speaks to, as to match his own - catching him off guard or matching his wit will absolutely delight him. Robin is a monster who finds enjoyment amongst his own kind. Perhaps he falls in love with a darkness that he recognizes in himself; a place where the worst parts of him can find a home. Man, maybe he is romantic!

unattractive physical traits: ━━ Less so a trait and more so a habit but bad hygiene. Despite his carnage, Robin remains immaculate - he's well groomed, clean, and he does not smell. As I said prior, Robin's focus on the physical is so minimal that I can't even think of anything he'd be physically unattracted to because it matters that little to him.

unattractive personality traits: ━━ Ok now I can talk. There are quite a few personality traits that Robin hates, particularly in this verse. Stupidity, forgetfulness, being pretentious, lacking tact, childishness, being loud. He finds naivety and innocence to be pathetic, something to snuff out. Robin reaaallly has trouble trying to interact with anyone he thinks of as unintelligent; there are very few exceptions to this rule, but they would never be considered attractive to him. He's also incredibly pragmatic, so any sort of idealistic lunacy borders on the imbecilic to him. Being a ruffian, or a brute too.

ideal date: ━━ I think dates are pretty much ... constant when with him. He doesn't find romance in outings or decorative flair or anything like that - its just what's coming out of the person's mouth and the exchange between them. It's also practically impossible to have dates in the Fog I'd think - but then again a nice joint slaughter is always fun. Literally any interaction is quality time to him since it's all that matters to him. Although I imagine he would, at some point, love to see the ocean since he's never seen it before. But that's a pipe dream in the Fog. Plus, the pragmatism thing, there isn't really time for a fancy outing - it's a waste of time better spent else where rather than preening.

do they have a type?: ━━ See "ideal personality traits" because I accidentally went overboard and explained it all up there.

average relationship length: ━━ With the intensity and depth of his genuine relationships, I imagine its an all or nothing sort of thing. Anyone who is with him will see the most vulnerable parts of him, bold of you to assume he would ever let them go.

preferred non-sexual intimacy: ━━ Yes. Ok but seriously, like I said before Robin cares so little about physical things already that sexual intimacy is pretty much off the damn table and in the trash. That being said physical intimacy lends itself to strengthen emotional bonding; emotional intimacy is the bed and support and physical intimacy is the blankets. That sort of thing. The bed by itself is fine, its comfortable and easy to rest in, but blankets are never unwelcome. Granted its something he'd have to get used to since he never had any lovers in life, and with his role in his Church - had very little physical contact in general. He's so physically starved that he's sensitive, but overtime it'll be fine.

"What is this?" "Affection." "Disgusting................. Do it again."

opinion of public affection: ━━ Robin is a reserved person, and he often won't partake in PDA. Not because its "sinful" or because he didn't grow up seeing it everywhere within his small village - but because of his own need for privacy. Anything touchy or any vulnerable will take place in privacy, or well - given the thread he's currently in - dire moments of possible death, public or private. He does, however, like playful banter regardless of who's watching or where he is.

past relationships?: ━━ None. He had no lovers in life/before the Fog.

#── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ...【 ᴅᴀꜱʜ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ 】#✧ ── 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐀. 𝐁𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ-ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 】#── 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 #this is so long

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sinistercall · 2 months

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🖤 you have to do the thing for star now (o:

@sanguisstella

🖤 - 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦:

𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐓.

Just a little shitty cup full of even shittier wine - and how 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 it was to be pressed against his full, pretty lips and to feel the hot pang of his breath across the rim of its glass. Ithuriel knew she was staring at him; captivated by his striking features as she stared at him from the opposite side of the roaring fire, disregarding Wyll's 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐂 narrative in favor of seeing how the flames danced in Astarion's crimson gaze. She was lost in her daydreams up until the point when Karlach filled her mug with the watery beer they had located en route to establishing their camp. Ithuriel momentarily wondered if her laughs sounded 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 enough to hide that she had missed almost all of Wyll's story - but then someone else began to speak. Her lily-curled ears caught onto that tenor immediately; the vampire's polished and soothing voice, accompanied by his 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 peals of laughter brought her attention westward to focus on the conversation he and Lae'zel were having.

With a covetous gaze, she traced the shimmering edge of his goblet as it touched his mouth - and the pang of jealousy was enough to shake her core. Especially when her eyes met his through the dancing firelight. How was he able to 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 such a fierce desire within her heart? To the point where it ached to be set free from its constraints and unite with the one it had been yearning for - how many times had she tethered it back down? Even upon their first meeting she had leashed any initial feelings she might have had towards him; her mind had danced with thoughts of a 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄 - 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵?

Yes. It was. How couldn't it be when he disarmed her with a single 𝐂𝐎𝐎 of her name? That all of her fangs and fury and bloodstained claws seemed to fall away from her body the moment she had to interact with him? Her harsh edges were transformed into soft 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐄, and her menacing growls were shushed down until they held no 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇. Bhaal seemed to have no dominion when Astarion held her; or at least that is how it felt. Ithuriel's heart yearned for nothing more than to spill her own blood - to be gripped and 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐃 out of the cage of flesh it called home. Or … Had called home. Now it had found home in Astarion, and it's deepest wish was to be enshrined in his chest - or to be cradled in his deft, capable hands.

She wondered if he would press her beating and bloody heart to his lips too … if he would be 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃 by it's sickeningly sweet taste or find solace in its warmth. Ithuriel wasn't sure if she was ready to face his scrutiny; she had witnessed his derisive treatment towards those who appeared to want him. Want. What a simple, 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 little word. She did not want him. No no no - far worse: Astarion had gradually taken over most if not all of her thoughts; like an instinctual need - hunger pulled by a taut, elastic 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 that she had valiantly battled against. But the paladin couldn't resist for long and soon enough every action that she made rested under neverending blanketed questions:

𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘈𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘗𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺? 𝘕𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺? 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙.

A brief, disdainful and acrid snort escaped her as she began to 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐃, recognizing that he would scoff at her vulnerability if he ever found out about the extent of 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐘 he had over her emotions. Ah … what had he once told a previous admirer? Something about "𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴"? Ithuriel's declaration of those 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨 would have meant her demise, she was sure of it. The parasitic entity's domination of her mind would have been a 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 outcome to the humiliation of rejection - she could not fathom facing him after that. Worse still was the thought of no longer gazing into his tired, soft eyes - rubies sanded down into perfectly smooth marbles. She didn't want to think of what they'd look like staring down at her with abhorrence; all her mind could do was beg for him to not hate her. She was 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘. Gods above please let him forgive her for imagining him in her stories - 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 - please forgive her for 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 that he possibly could ever feel the same.

Forgive her for thinking about how the sunshine would have danced upon his curls in the summertime - how her hand would have held his in their youth had the world been kinder. The both of them pressed close together watching Lathander's fingers give way to the calm of night ...

For now the tiefling found herself lost in her own drunken reflections, casting a scornful glowing gaze upon his stupid 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄 from across the campfire, oblivious to the fact that she had been fixating on it throughout the entirety of Wyll's story. With the night's breeze changing westward a sudden plume of smoke pulled her away and a rough, forceful cough erupted from her while a burning sensation brought tears to her eyes and blurred her view of 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍. Ithuriel was 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋 for the small sparkling pearls dappling the curve of her wintry lashes; she was finally free of him. The paladin sighed in relief with a small shake of her head as she made an effort to remain 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 upon rising and unwittingly attracted the focus of Karlach and Gale who both raised a curious brow towards her. Quickly, she wiped her eyes and spoke,

𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙩, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙, 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙚?

"I ... I'm going to go to bed now, I think. I'm just a little tired from the events of the day,"

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥 - 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱.

"Goodnight."

━━━ @sanguisstella

#── 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐅 … 【 ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ʙᴀʙᴇ 】#── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐅 … 【 ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪꜱꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀ 】#── 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 … 【 ᴀꜱᴋ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 】#── 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍

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sinistercall · 5 months

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A few goblins he could deal with. But HUNDREDS? Actually, hundreds?! The sweet little tiefling might be losing her mind, or she's too much of a BLEEDING heart for her own good. Astarion is already voicing his displeasure to the situation, whining loudly in hopes to be louder than WHATEVER power is compelling her to aid these strangers.

❝ —it'll take HOURS to kill them all. We should just go. ❞

But it's too late— the paladin already pledging herself and EVERYONE ELSE'S aid to that pathetic grove. Wonderful.

❝ Darling. Love. Kitten whiskers— can daddy have a moment to speak to you privately...? ❞ He just wants to talk....

@sanguisstella

"𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄, 𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐒 ... 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅."

There is a hint of annoyance in how she regards him, brow furrowed with a slightly wrinkled lip, although it is quick to fade into a more startled appearance once his previous words about leaving the grove settle into her mind. It was as though she could not hope to even begin finding an excuse for this type of complaint. Had she truly been sheltering a 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 all this time? Ithuriel's ears swiftly angle down while her cerise eyes became swallowed with her expanding pupil, the abyss reflecting his wintry tresses - as though she were finally recognizing whatever darkness he may have been hiding from her. He had always been 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 - a thorny maze hiding a beaten lamb, Astarion ... just a wee little 𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 when he had lost it all - with proper navigation perhaps she could reach him; or so she had thought.

The tiefling lets herself settle back into the reality of Emerald Grove surrounding her, freeing herself from the troubled, agonized misery that was Astarion’s mind and heart. Lathander had kissed the Grove with gently cascading light - each blade of grass ignited into a beautiful shade matching the grove’s title. The paladin's gaze flicks to the side as she drinks in the sight of children cuddled up to their grandfather under a peach tree fresh in bloom - even her Urge doesn't bubble in delight at the thought of their tattered bodies littering this wondrous space. Nausea settles in her stomach like curdled milk at the bottom of a glass - visible and conspicuous; she's unable to 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 her hurt and surprise - it paints and piles onto every feature of her face.

𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

"You are right, Astarion, it will take hours - hours to save over a hundred innocent lives from despair and dread; something many a person should have done but didn't. I will not fall into the category of people who stand idly by and let hundreds of lives be lost because 𝐎𝐍𝐄 act of altruism may disturb my day. I ... I had thought you would feel the same as me, but I ..." Her gaze begins to blank and the longer she watches him, the more her brows relax and lower into something far worse than anger; and even worse than disappointment - there was ... Nothing. Just like the falling leaves in autumn she was soon left barren and cold before him; there was no flame within her except the swirling bile in her stomach which threatened to bring up her breakfast. What kind of person would just allow such a slaughter to happen? What kind of person was he? The screaming thoughts render her nearly placid, and it was that distinct lack of 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 in her voice that illustrated her true feelings hiding under all of this civility.

“They called me 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 - without hesitation."

Those with rose and blushing flesh like her - swiveling horns and pointed tails; seemingly hell spawned devils - how kindly they'd regarded her ... How quick she was to melt into their warmth and gentle hand; family maybe, more likely something feasible and earthly to cling to. What feelings of dejection had she kept so feverishly 𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘? Had he not even been able to detect them? What yearning screamed and ripped itself forward even past her Darkest Urges? Ithuriel shifts her focus past him as though he has become yet another 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄 for her to overcome. Her hand rests upon the hilt of her blade, yet her fingers never curl to unsheathe its mighty edge - instead she spares him one last glance as she steps to the side of him to approach the others within their party:

"You may leave, if you like, I don't own you. If you wish to go, then go - I will not stop you."

@sanguisstella

#── 𝐎' 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ; 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ... 【 ɪᴄ 】#── 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐅 ...【 ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ʙᴀʙᴇ 】#── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐅 … 【 ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪꜱꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀ 】#── 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 #── 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃? … 【 ᴀꜱᴋ 】

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sinistercall · 6 months

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💕 for science....

|| @sanguisstella

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 💕 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑

── 𝟖𝟏%💕

Dr. Love thinks that a relationship between Ithuriel Lif and Astarion Ancunin has a very good chance of being successful, but this doesn't mean that you don't have to work on the relationship. Remember that every relationship needs spending time together, talking with each other etc.

Pink paints her cheeks when the teller finishes their tale of love and work between the two of them, the tiefling quick to glance over to her companion with a jump of her 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 that she hopes he doesn't hear. Those sharpened ears of his seem to betray her more often than she would like to admit, how many of his 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 were based in truth? Ithuriel isn't able to stop the way her canines momentarily dig into her plush lower lip, almost hard enough to pull that sweet crimson into the air. Ah - this was far too much for even her heart to take; what a mockery of it all ... These foolish feelings meant nothing, they had to - to let herself be frazzled with affection for such a man as 𝐇𝐈𝐌. He who 𝐌𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐒 her Lord, he who pokes and 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐒 at her; the ever so charming Astarion bent on making her skin 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐋 at every turn. Ithuriel's ears lower along with her gaze which settles upon his hands ... He who binds her every night, and rests by her side with tender expressions which seem so foreign for his handsome face. A mirror of his true self reflected in the rounded shape of his eyes and uptilt of his brows. Those things, that look, while she remembers she dare not say aloud. A fool. 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 girl with 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 hopes once again dashed away by that smarmy leer upon his face.

Why did he need to dash any hope of genuinity between them both? Why did he hide so feverishly ... ?

"Do not intend to invite me to spend "time together" with you in the darkened hours, Astarion. These acts of mysticism are precisely that, simple plays and follies meant to dazzle the less rational - nothing more. Should you invite me to your bedside the answer will be the same as before; "No"."

#── 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐅 ...【 ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ʙᴀʙᴇ 】#── 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 ...【 ᴀꜱᴋ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 】#── 𝐎' 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ; 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ... 【 ɪᴄ 】#── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐅 ... 【 ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪꜱꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀ 】#im weeping-

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sinistercall · 2 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐈𝐒 ━━━ 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐈𝐍 ━━━ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄.

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 : 🇸🇪🇱🇪🇨🇹🇮🇻🇪 🇩🇦🇷🇰 🇺🇷🇬🇪/🇸🇨🇪🇱🇪🇷🇮🇹🇦🇸 🇫🇪🇱 🇧🇱🇴🇬 🇼🇷🇮🇹🇹🇪🇳 🇧🇾 🇪🇬🇬 ( 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 @𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵 ) 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃 - 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 🇦🇫🇫🇮🇱🇮🇦🇹🇪🇩 🇼🇮🇹🇭 @sanguisstella, @moonmaidened, @delphinixm,@moonserved

ᴍʏ ʀᴜɪɴᴇᴅ ʙᴏᴅʏ ʏᴇᴀʀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴘ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏᴜʟ ᴜʀɢᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟꜱ ɪᴛ ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴍʏ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ. ɪɴᴊᴜʀᴇᴅ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴇꜱɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ :

𝐈 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄, 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃. ɪ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴛᴡɪᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴋɴɪꜰᴇ-ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇꜱ ᴀ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

• MUSE INFO • RULES 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ : ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴄᴀᴜᴛɪᴏɴ

━━━ 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ━━━

#── 𝐏𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 … 【 ᴘɪɴɴᴇᴅ 】

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sinistercall · 3 months

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What motivates your Tav to either embrace or resist the tadpole?

How does your Tav feel about killing?

How good of a liar is your Tav? How do they feel about lying?

𝟑𝟎 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐕

── What motivates your Tav to either embrace or resist the tadpole?

Ithuriel rejects the tadpole due to the 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐄 it elicits from her. Ithuriel is in a constant state of battling inner desires that she finds repulsive and not give into any of her urges. The initial tug she feels from the tadpole frightens her, it instantly shaped into something that was "𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋" and that she should avoid. That being said this is not set in stone, Ithuriel can be convinced by companions of the tadpoles power - and if the pros outweigh the cons she can be tempted to 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 the abberation.

── How does your Tav feel about killing?

Morally Ithuriel knows that killing should be used for 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 reasons (protection, hunting, execution with justice etc) and she vehemently follows Lathander's teachings. However even with all of that 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 little compares to the burst of exihileration and pleasure she feels watching the life 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄 from another creature. She is disgusted by it but she cannot control the raw unfiltered joy she experiences when taking a life. This poses a problem during battles as she can be influenced by the adrenaline rush to go overboard with her blood letting. It is a dirty little (not so) secret. Whenever she is soaked in 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 she feels as though she's being embraced by family.

── How good of a liar is your Tav? How do they feel about lying?

She isn't a Paladin for nothing. Ithuriel is a horrible liar who 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 it, which in turn only makes it really obvious when she's trying to hide something. When I say horrible I mean it too. She gives off practically 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 tell tale sign that she's fibbing; avoiding eye contact, fiddling with her hair or focusing way too hard on whatever task she was doing before she needed to lie, overcompensating for it - its a 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒. This often comes through in her spats with @sanguisstella when he teases her because everyone and their mother knows that she enjoys it; her forced "frown" looks more like a squiggly line and she can't make the redness on her cheeks go down either. Its almost comical.

#── 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐅 … 【 ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ʙᴀʙᴇ 】#── 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 … 【 ᴀꜱᴋ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ 】#── 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 #steel and fire

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sinistercall · 6 months

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dip, sender skinny dips in front of receiver and invites them to join.

(o:

|| @sanguisstella

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐊𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓.

The tiefling finally had a moment to slip away from her companions to spend a night with herself; horrifically enough she cannot recall the last time she didn't smell of 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇 and 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍. With how many battles their journey had torn her through she was shocked that she wasn't somehow covered horn to tail in gore - needless to say being at camp was a welcome rest. Ithuriel nearly glows when the rays of silver moon light passes over her form, lithe fingers eager to unbraid her long hair and let it flow freely down her back; within the crisp night hair she suddenly realizes why fae hold their gatherings at these hours. Selune's wild and freeing call infected everything around the Paladin - crickets screaming, bats calling, the bubbling flow of water just ahead. Golden clasps fiddle between her fingertips as she finally releases her cloak, allowing it to fall slowly onto a nearby boulder. Although she is quick to startle when a sharp 'ahem' fills her ears upon the untying of her collar - cerise eyes flicking around quickly to locate the origin of sound only to meet crimson.

"Astarion - ?"

Good evening, Darling.

Fluttering ears fall flat against her head as her gaze descends from his face farther and father until she meets water; his body shimmering within the moon's playful effulgence. The blood in her cheeks rises to the surface in a surprisingly demure display as she registers his next request: to 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 him. In her mind she scoffs but her body does not heed her command, she finds herself wishing that her companion might rise from the water and untie her attire. To feel the caress of another without fear of harm - the thought is too sweet to bear, and she waves it away from her fantasies. There is a strange 𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 in her next movements; belts unbuckling, leather sliding, the fall of fabric ... Her sheer underdress but a ghostly sheet barely able to cover even the flushing red across her chest, the moonlight behind her reveals every slope and curve of her silhouette. Ithuriel pauses a moment to drink in the way Astarion almost seems to 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 her - yet the furrow of his brow reveals his shock that she would agree to join him. She cannot tell if he is happy by her decision, or now finds her just as wretched as the others that gaze upon him hungrily; it was always difficult to tell where his true intentions lay versus the mask he put on. She expected to never be able to see past it, as if he would remove it for her - a foolish mistake if he did, she thinks and ruminates while gazing upon the vampire’s expression, there was no goodness within her, what could she possibly offer him?

An exhilarating rush sparks in her when she watches his lids fall halfway, eyes lock onto hers in a way that already strips her nude. Her head swims with dazzling illusions, her lips yearn to be kissed and the shame nearly swallows her whole when her chemise circles her ankles and she steps away from the pale fabric. Her long hair cascades over her shoulder as her feet and strong legs slip into the cool water - the ends of her wintry tresses catching on the current to paint her into a picture of grace. She’s a strong form with flesh as white as bone - a gentle peach tone encircling the framework of her body; 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 in scars - from claws to bites. The stamped skin tells of a life much longer than her young appearance, a full life that had been torn away and worn to nothing after the tadpole ate her memories. Her steps come to a rest as Ithuriel raises her face to the moon, drinking in the moonlight with deep inhale; she can feel him watching. She does not remember the last time someone else had witnessed her form like this, the last time she had wanted someone to look upon her - had she ever felt like this before?

For a moment her tadpoles squirms uncomfortably and produces a strange, distant image of someone that causes her cheeks to flush darker. Perhaps before she had wanted someone to see her like this ... was this someone from before the Nautiloid? A deep voice cooed in her head as she stood, dark hair and eyes like the abyss locked to hers within her memory. The stranger's features are decidedly less chiseled than Astarion's but they hold a bubbling sense of determination and ambition - his brow is furrowed and his smirk is turned in such a way that Ithuriel finds her body growing ever more hot. Who was this person ... Someone who promised her rule, power, friendship; an ally - maybe 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 . Only when her mind focuses once more unto the companion before her does she realize just how 𝐅𝐈𝐗𝐄𝐃 her stare had been, her eyes burn from lack of blinking, and her expression relaxes once more. How long had she been standing here before him looking to be worshiped like a 𝐆𝐎𝐃 instead of her usual self - sacrificial martyrdom?

What parts of her had been snuffed out in order to try and "be better"?

Selune's silver embrace finally coaxes her forward and gives her the strength to meet Astarion's eyes once more, her own husky voice low and gravelly as she 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒. The tiefling feels her skin tickle as each pore raises into goosebumps - the heat she had felt with the stranger stays and lingers, deciding to comfortably nest in her thighs once her inner flame decides Astarion is worthy of her attention. Now pointedly aware of the tension in the air she sank down into the river's water - its cool touch eliciting a quiet 𝐌𝐎𝐀𝐍 from her lips. Her wisping lashes fell heavily halfway down her eye, blown pupils hazing over as he filled each blackened pit. Her ears remain alert as her jaw falls ever so slightly agape to reveal small canines, eager and ready to 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄. Her visage has transformed into an ethereal siren, dark gospel pulsing in her veins that beckoned him forward into the danger that was her very being, her heartbeat crooning to him like a 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑. It seems that she has grown comfortable. Cherry lips curl upwards into a sneer as she lifts her chin and sews her fingers between a lock of pale hair; revealing her gleaming breast in self - satisfaction. Even the waves within the river seemed to turn and bow before her, she felt powerful with his wanting gaze upon her;

"Well, Astarion, what of it then? What now that you've gotten me naked before you - did you think I would turn into a blushing, stuttering maiden like those within your seemingly countless romance novels?" She scoffs with a playful glint in her eye, bringing her head down to slick the bangs off of her face, "Are any of them even good?"

@sanguisstella

#── 𝐎' 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ; 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ... 【 ɪᴄ 】#── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐅 … 【 ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪꜱꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀ 】#── 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 #suggestive tw #── 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃? … 【 ᴀꜱᴋ 】

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sinistercall · 6 months

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He's IRRITATED, to put his mood lightly. He's been scowling so long that it'd be a miracle if his face doesn't freeze with his eyebrows permanently drawn down over the GLARE leveled at the back of the paladin's head. He'll admit he's been a little distracted— equal parts lost in his mind trying to understand the dark, KNAWING feeling in his stomach while ruby eyes predatorily track the sway of the tiefling's hips in front of him, but he SWEARS they've passed these overgrown ruins at least twice.

❝ How long are we going to keep walking for? ❞ he huffs, voice sharp and none too pleased about their situation. ❝ Honestly, darling. When you took the map, I at least assumed you could read it.... ❞ An errant curl sticks to his forehead and he ATTEMPTS to dislodge it with his breath, but even that is coming out warmer than usual.

❝ This is ridiculous.... Do you know how hard it is to make a vampire sweat...?! ❞

|| @sanguisstella

"𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 - 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 - "

" - And you haven't offered to help me once with it, so, until you take a crack at it I would implore you to cease your 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆. While I may be loathe to admit it, it is doing an amazing job at distracting me. So, Darling, save that for later at camp - "

Although her quip is cut short when Ithuriel decides to stop walking once they, again, enter the dilapidated throne room; the tiefling only pausing in her steps when she is in the center - not realizing that she would inadvertently bump into Astarion in the process. It hardly phases her, they had been in closer contact at various points of battle and rest. Her wrists still ache from the binds he had used, it is a good pain ... if there ever could be such a thing. Cerise eyes scan the various structures before the visage of a picked - clean 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 : what appeared to be the ruler of this place, or rather what had once been. It's scent is far too decayed for any mortal to catch, a part of her is thankful, another wonders ( 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 ) what is smells like to her fellow companion. "Wait a moment ... Oh, yes Astarion, I - I think I know it now." Yet her grip is quick to find Astarion's arm, the map is shoved into his chest as a single glimmer shines across the bauble strung around her right lower horn. Its sway flirtatiously following the flick of her tail as she began her trek towards the corpse, a curious practice to each foot placement. Almost as though she was trying to match something previously placed. "Yes I ... I 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 now:

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘍𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘐𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥.

Yes ... That ... That is what it says."

She stands atop the lustral basin as though she were born to it, as though her feet knew each step forward - rising into the broken curtain of blue painted from the shattered stained glass windows above. “ - and well, as much I will never tire of sitting upon the thrones of dead kings, haha; I do feel it somewhat … difficult to do considering well, the corpse is still there.” Her palm smoothes over the skull's dust, clearing it away to reveal a shimmering white that mirrors Ithuriel's very flesh. 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 is her stare as she lowers down to align her sight with that of the skull. Her chest rises and fills with breath as her pupils narrow and flee from the expanding whites of her eyes. After a few moments of searching, her pointed gaze fixes to the vampire's dangerous eyes; her lips curling before she straightens, filling the dais with her prowess and a swift raise of her finger-

"𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄."

The word is spoken as though she is regarding far more than just Astarion, yes ... she remembers this place. She remembers the Reign of Blood and Terror across Baldur's Gate, splattering blood from the ports to the plains outside of Norchapel. For a moment she feels alive, as though the Nautiloid were a distant nightmare; and the air is rife with sonorous war horns. She breathes in the rotting scent of old blood - her feet carrying her with ease down the stairs back into the main hall; each step a shattered skull under her boot. The hall seems to erupt into screams within her memory, each body here a blood sac to leak dry in offering to the Dread Lord. What had this place been, who's God did they spit in the face of? How much living flesh had she split inside of these walls? 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 and 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 skin skewered and pierced all within her 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 name - a sacrificial lamb left to 𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 in his embrace. Had this been one of the crowning jewels to her cruelty, her design? No. Surely something as simple as this would only satiate the call for a day, maybe two - how many had died? How had she done it? Was it one of his favorites; a petty and barbaric betrayal? Had she sapped the essence of a changeling to infiltrade and lead her followers inside?

Her stride is memorized as she passes by Astarion, her hand reaching to grasp the hilt of his dagger in a practiced motion while a low hum moaned from her throat; a dull, haunting sound. It was unlike her joyous cries to the sun that had once echoed between the walls of the canyon they'd past through. No no, that sound was a mixing array of color: creamy orange above, then bright vermilion, and below, purple and chocolate beds. A mimicry of the nature surrounding them; of the color the Lord of Light had 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 them to see. But this ... ? This was an aching whisp of the void, a reminder of the expanse of nothing ahead of all men. Ithuriel swirls the dagger between each pale digit, a blooming sense of familiarity is planted within her when she notices the stigmata resting in the deepest pit of her palm. A 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓. She feels a tether pulling her further, a snap of her wrist meeting the blade down into her muscle and viscera; that beautiful crimson spilling down onto the marbled mirror below. Hungry eyes scan the wall steadily until she spies the sanguine stained rocks; littered with bloodied prints dating back centuries. She places her fingers upon the most recent stamp, the tendons in her head a-flutter at the way it seemed to mirror her form perfectly. Blood seeps down the cracks, the walls seemingly thirsty as each drop is brought away through the mineral later and vanishes.

Her left ear flicks back at the sudden crying from the ruins, scrunching howls of torment giving way to a gore ridden door next to Astarion. Ithuriel stands for a moment, her mind racing to catch up with her body - what had happened? What memory had possessed her? Bloodied fingertips swipe from the corners of her eyes downward to her mandibular notch: the motion following the lines of her makeup perfectly. Yes ... Makeup she never felt herself without; something that belonged there ... Perhaps those lines were always mimicking dripping 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃. Although the tiefling gasps when she recognizes the gummy ichor, a momentary sweep of terror rushing her heart to slam against her chest in a fit of panic. Pride and hedonistic pleasure had all faded from her expression, leaving behind the hollow and 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 paladin. Less a valiant woman and more a skittish otter-faced 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 - how quickly she'd been reduced into humiliation and shame.

"Astarion - I ... " She clears her throat, trying to play off the performance she'd just given - forced motion and play. As if she can 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋 him into thinking that it was her all along, she tries to smile, but her usual tone hitches: "I should not think you to doubt my rationale again - there is the pathway; what is next on the map?"

#── 𝐎' 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ; 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ... 【 ɪᴄ 】#── 𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐅 ...【 ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ʙᴀʙᴇ 】#── 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 #── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐅 ...【 ꜱᴀɴɢᴜɪꜱꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀ #blood tw

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