#That poor anxiety elf

[miabrown007]

girl who sucks at making OCs needs to make a DnD character send help

#I did make one who was rad but then got vetod by the DM and now I handed in a half-elf wizard but she's just so basic #she literally has no personality send help #and also idk what direction should we take because I have no idea what the other people will be like in the party #and I'm the only girl player there so I don't want for that to be like be a thing and bring a stereotipically girly character #and I could make her like a standard bookish wizard which obviously stands very close to me and would be super easy to play #but that's so cliche and I don't want to be like everyone's mom in game if everyone else is just running around and fucking shit up #but I know that I'll have a harder time playing a more reckless and careless character and if there isn't going to be someone #thinking for the team and we just go headfirst into stuff that also sucks. #and like I like to be someone who thinks about the solutions it just can't just be me being the party pooper if you get me #but poor wizard girl is just so mid with her 'my parents wanted me to be an X wizard but I'm gonna be an Y wizard instead' backstory #like wow such rebellion you're gonna show them girl #but at this point I'm a week behind schedule so I need to have a character like for yesterday #and I don't want to just copy others' dnd characters from D20 but they have like a group cohesion and individual arcs and that's so cool #and I suck at making up little men #miaing #mia's dnd adventures #I'm stressing so much over just making a character and meeting strangers bringing a character with anxiety disorder wouldn't even be rp #I guess great that my sorcerer got vetoed how would I play out being the face of the party

[legendariium]

Maeglin had to grow up so fast and yet he died so young, too. somethingsomething dior parallel and the difference having a loving parent vs. an abusive parent can make

#Maeglin was abused and suffered severe trauma and never got the healing he needed for it #I don’t think he ever stopped looking over his shoulder even after Eöl dies #he tried to make Gondolin his home but he probably suffered from severe anxiety and depression and never felt like he belonged #probably always blamed himself for his mother and father’s deaths #of course maeglin gave in to Melkor’s torture and of course he would make deals that in his mind protect his loved ones #he was told he’d be given lordship of Gondolin and Idril’s hand in marriage #fucked up. yes #but in his mind after being tortured both physically and mentally by literal Satan #he told himself the if he’s given lordship of the city then that means there will be a city with inhabitants left to rule #and Idril will be kept alive #not making excuses but I can see the reasoning #and again when you consider that he’s quite young for an elf & was probably never that mentally stable in the first place #I just. poor thing #and when you remember the books are supposed to be translations & technically up for interpretation? #boom. bias has become introduced #you cannot stop me #anyways we both had a parent that abused us and made us wish we were never born #and that’s why I’ll defend maeglin to the grave :) thank you very much :)

[autistichalsin]

*Inhales*

Halsin's entire arc is him facing one isolating experience after another!!! DO YOU REALIZE THIS do you realize that he has spent his entire life fucking alone (even if he was surrounded by people) because he went from being a sex slave in a society that treated surface elves like less than dirt, to losing his ENTIRE family, to losing all of his friends and colleagues to the Shadow Curse, to being forced to take over as leader of the Grove ensuring that he couldn't stay friends with hardly any of them because they saw him as just the leader instead (AND he was also isolated from nature to boot because he had to deal with their problems instead), to struggling to maintain a healthy relationship with alcohol (addiction or even pre-addiction being an inevitably isolating experience) until he swore it off, to being kidnapped and tortured by goblins???

AND YOU AS THE PLAYER are literally the first person to not wish him harm, and to be on an equal level with him, to be someone who can help shoulder his pains (not that he'll let the player do that since GUESS WHAT he is well out of the habit by now), to actually want to know who he is, to CARE ABOUT HIM!

And then people are surprised he latches onto the player so hard like dude at this point it's amazing he doesn't have intense separation anxiety towards the player tbh!!

AND just to make this even more heartbreaking think about how much power an asshole!Tav has to break his heart at every turn. If he talks about friendship like in the new scene they can say they just want him around to lift heavy things (they ALSO can say this when recruiting him), they can shoot down his romantic confession in the cruelest way imaginable by calling him a "tonne of dumb muscle", they can let him get kidnapped by Orin and then tell her to kill him, hell even in the goblin pens they can join in on torturing the poor bear, they can romance him and then emotionally abuse him by utterly fucking with his heart to the point that he actually asks you if it pleases you to see him look crestfallen-

Like PLEASE PROTECT THIS ELF GOD FUCKING DAMN IT

#halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[soliarus]

Fangs and Claws pt 3

- fluff, angst, fantasy world, vampires, werewolves, elves, ect ect... a bit of suggestiveness

: temptations have begun to brew...

Part One Part Two

words 1.3k

werewolf!momo x vampire!sana x gn!elf!reader

—

Momo woke up with her surroundings in a blur. People kept rushing past her—people in gold painted armor. Pushing at her shoulders as she stood still and stared straight ahead, confused. She looked down and noticed that, in one hand, she had a long broadsword and a wooden stake in the other. She gasped, backing away. Anxiety rushed through her. Where was the tiny cottage? Where was the stream? And the little garden? Where were you? 

Where was Sana?

She took shaky steps, too lost in her head to know what was going on. Suddenly a figure runs up towards her, and out of instinct, she raises her sword to block. The two swords meet with a loud clang, steel against steel, metal against metal. She grunts at the sheer force, pushing all her weight into blocking the strong swipe. Her eyes squint, and she can just make out the matted black pieces of armor in front of her, plus the glint of bright red behind the helmet.

But what she really notices are the familiar red feathers that adorned their helmet. 

“S-sana? It’s me! Momo!” She stammers out, and the figure in front of her grunts, raises her sword, and swings down. 

—

Momo groans into the pillow; the morning light has clearly disturbed her, and she’s willing to make it known. Her arm reaches towards her left, but all she finds is an empty spot next to her, so she reaches to the right. Another empty spot 

She groans again, this time louder; the empty bed has now clearly disturbed her, and she’s more than willing to make it known. She lays there sprawled out, letting out an annoyed huff. Suddenly, through the slight crack in the doorway, a smell starts to waft through—a good smell, a yummy smell. 

No time is wasted, a quick hop off the bed, a skip to the bathroom and a rush out the room. Sana came in front of the front door, carrying in some cooked salmon. You were setting up the table, preparing other dishes such as rice bowls and zucchini pasta. 

“Oh Momo! Just in time for lunch!” You smile, taking her hand leading her towards the table. 

Lunch? 

“You slept for a long time today, you must have been really tired” You mumble, pushing her hair back behind her ears, pecking her forehead before filling up her plate for her. 

Sana sits at her end of the table, Momo was confused, not a single word fell out her mouth, no snarky comment or flirty quip or anything. Very unusual. 

Momo tilts her head towards Sana, What’s up with her? 

You sigh in return, “poor baby as been acting like this since the moment she woke up” you sigh, moving to put food in Sana’s plate, “I know you don’t feel hungry, sweetheart, but you need some food” you lovingly mumble into her hair, snuggling her a little before rubbing her shoulder. Sana lets out a shaky sigh, not looking up at all and takes her fork before picking at the salmon. 

Momo notices how Sana’s eyes flash red for a moment, a familiar glint. She feels a shiver down her spine but doesn’t think anything of it. 

Maybe it’s the breeze…

 Sana was quite all day long which was… abnormal. She was always quick to make a flirty joke here and there. She just wasn’t herself and Momo was worried.  

Hopefully things go back to normal tomorrow. 

The three of you got ready for bed, Sana and Momo actually surprised you with a larger bed for your second month anniversary as an official throuple, even if it took up like eighty percent of the space, the three of you were now able to cuddle together. 

—

“S-sana! What are you doing?!” Momo tried to get out of Sana’s grip but it was to no avail, she was questionably strong. Sana was panting, hard. Her eyes were bright red and dilated. It was almost like she wasn’t there. Sana leaned forward as she held Momo’s wrists tight in one hand, her other hand dragging itself on her neck, she trails it down until it rests just above Momo’s trousers. Her nose brushed against Momo’s neck. The werewolf could feel her heart beat against her ribcage as Sana presses herself onto her body. 

“Sana please…what’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like thi-” Sana covers her mouth with her hand before opening her own, her fangs shining, and she swiftly pushes herself into Momo’s neck.

“Wake up, wolfy! It’s cleaning day!” You jumped on top of Momo, abruptly waking her up. 

“Ahhh!” Momo screeches her arms wrapping around your body, as she holds you close, her eyes shut tight. When she looks up she only sees you looking at her confusedly, and she’s quickly letting go and scratching her neck “oh– uhmm…w-where’s Sana?”

“Sana? She’s right there” You point to the doorway and there’s Sana, wearing gloves, a cleaning apron, a mask on her chin, and a bandana wrapped around her head. She looks way less scarier than in Momo’s dream. 

—

Momo and Sana was busy cleaning the living room, after you found out that there was a shortage of cleaning syrup you threw a hissy fit before literally running out the cottege to get more from the village. Leaving Sana and Momo in charge of cleaning the rest of the interior. It was an awkward silence, Sana was the same as she was the day before, no flirty quips, no “hey wolfy”, and no snarky comebacks. 

But Momo, oh clumsy Momo, she accidenlty dropped the vase she was cleaning, and it shattered everywhere. “Shit! Shit! Y/N is gonna kill me!” She panics, and suddenly bends down to pick up the pieces only to cut her finger, but she ignores it. It’s not until her hand is harshly pulled back, 

“Hey! What-” Momo’s words stop as she looks into Sana’s eyes, they were just like in her dream, red and dilated. She follows Sana’s eyes to her cut finger which was oozing blood. 

“S-sana?” Momo mutters trying to pull her hand away from Sana’s hold but her grip is too strong. Slowly Sana brings Momo’s cut closer to her. She looks into Momo’s eyes, and as Momo gets a good look she notices it’s slightly different from her dream, yes it’s red and dilated filled with hunger but instead of harshness she’s met with softness, like she’s asking for permission. Momo gulps, and then slowly and caustiosuly, she nods. 

Sana hums, she brings Momo’s fringer slowly to her lips and softly tastes the blood, licking it clean. 

Uhhh, okay that’s super weird. 

Momo thought. She looked at Sana with a slight grimace on her face. And as Sana was going down town with her finger the door flings open, 

“They only had three bottles! What am I supposed to do with- holy shit!” You drop the bottles on the ground as you look at the scene in front of you, a shattered vase on the ground, with glass everywhere and your girlfriends literally inches apart from one another, one in pure ecstasy and the other in…pain? Pleasure? You don’t even know anymore. 

“How come I always find you two in these positions?” You sigh, walking over to the two. They both had nervous blushes on their faces looking away. You sit next to Sana, running a hand over her back. 

“Wolfy?” You ask, eyeing her. 

“Wha- what!? Why me? She started it!” Momo squealed pointing at Sana, who was looking down with a blush on her face, Sana murmured something under her breath, something you didn’t get. 

“What was that, batsy?” 

“I drank her blood!” She shouted, you’re taken aback, looking at Momo, who slowly nodded. 

“Uhh okay, honestly I didn’t think you would cave that fast, batsy” You tuck her hair behind her ear, “are you feeling better now?”

Sana nods nuzzling her face into your neck, “aww you’re so cute you big baby” You coo petting her hair. 

Momo sits there flabbergasted, “Am I missing something here?”

“Oh just that batsy here has been hiding drained rabbits behind the tool shed” 

Sana stiffens from the sudden reveal, 

“Wait you know about that?”

#sana x reader #twice x reader #twice imagines #sana imagines #twice #momo imagines #sana x momo #momo x reader

[captain039]

PART 3 Souls coming together (last part most likely)

Ascended Vampire Duke!Astarion x human!reader

(Intertwined with a mortal continuation read part one here)

Warnings: Olden times, age gap, lots of feels, angst, working through trauma, tension, sexual, oral f-receiving, marriage, Astarions trauma and issues, body shaming, harassment, anxiety’s and depression, lotta issues xD

Previous part <-

You didn’t see the duke for a week and you were going mad. You were thinking the worst happened, either a vampire hunter got him, or he wasn’t drinking again, or he truely gave up this time on you and him. Gods you were a mess, you often writ letters, but never sent them, you tried to avoid public outings because of chatter and whispers. It was becoming a little to stressful on your omega self, it was the eighth night now and you were putting on a hood, some of your oldest gross clothing you could find before you glanced out your window. You hesitated freezing when your door opened.

“Lady Y/n?” Your servant asked and you turned around ushering her in and closing the door as softly as you could before sighing.

“May I ask what’s going on?” She said slightly amused.

“I’m going-“ you stopped feeling your cheeks warm.

“To see Duke Ancunin?” She finished and you groaned quietly.

“It’s been eight days! Eight! He missed the party which was horrible anyway, he hasn’t visited either!” You felt over worried.

“Sneaking out the window is the best idea, come” she smiled and you froze, she was going to help you? She led you out one of the back doors and onto the street without being heard or seen, you were surprised at how sneaky she was as she gave you a grin and ushered you off.

“Is this really wise?” You suddenly asked and she huffed.

“Fine, come on then, I doubt you even know where to go” she rolled her eyes taking your hand and leading you down the streets of Baldurs gate. You ended up at the dukes place with little trouble, a few odd looks by those without homes, but they didn’t comment or trouble you.

“This is highly inappropriate!” You whispered stopping her.

“You wanted to do this” she stated.

“Shhh! I wanted to see him, without actually seeing him!” You groaned quietly making your servant raise her eyebrow.

“That makes total sense, come, I know a man here” she said and by the look on her face she knew him very well. She knocked with a rhythm and an elf opened the door.

“Laria? What on earth are you doing here?” Asked looking to you before his eyes went wide.

“You bought a lady of your house?! Are you mad?!” He snapped as she huffed at the poor beta.

“Let us in” she said and the elf groaned, but let you in.

“The master is not going to be happy” he mumbled.

“Is he alive?” You asked.

“He’s alive” The elf said vaguely and your stomach churned.

“He’s not himself” the elf added making your stomach churn even worse.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately” the elf sighed and your servant smirked.

“I do” she grinned and you glared at her.

“Besides the lady! This should be a blessing finding your mate instead he’s acting like this!” The elf sighed body sagging.

“I try to talk to him and it goes sour really quickly, by either of us, I don’t know what’s going on or how to talk to him” you said sadly.

“Maybe you should go see him” the elf said.

“Come” he added beginning to walk up the stairs. You followed him your servant by your side before he stopped in front of a door. Light shone through the bottom and you gulped slightly. You sensed him in there and you knew he did too by the silence.

“Maybe this was a bad idea” the elf muttered and you huffed hand reaching out to the door with shakiness. You took a breath before opening the door frowning a bit at the utter chaos of the office. Books were everywhere, papers had flow everywhere, things were broken and smashed. You saw him in the corner of the room sitting on the floor his eyes staring at you. You closed the door behind you and shrugged off your cloak and hung it up on the surprisingly standing hanger.

“Why’re you here?” The duke asked.

“How are here?” He added a frown on his face.

“I snuck out” you said gulping as his eyes narrowed. He was suddenly in front of you and you let out a small gasp.

“You shouldn’t walk around at night” he said eyes boring into yours.

“Astar- duke Ancunin, I haven’t seeing you in eight days, you missed the party and I am concerned for your well being” you spoke softly and kept your eyes from his.

“After our last encounter something happened” you said looking to him.

“Nothing happened” he said and you saddened.

“We can’t keep doing this” you muttered.

“Doing what?” He asked and you clenched your jaw briefly.

“Shutting everything out or off, avoiding actual conversation, simply dancing and expecting it to work- I” you took a shaky breath.

“I want to know you” you said looking to him again, his eyes widened as he stared at you.

“Whatever demons or past haunts you, you don’t have to say, I just-“ you sighed again.

“I want to know my mate, be with him, more than dance and fake lives” you whispered looking to the ground again.

“I will marry you, if that’s what it takes” you added searching his eyes only his walls were too high. You sagged again, stomach dropping and the same feeling of rejection settled in again.

“Then we shall marry” he said and you looked up to him in surprise. You couldn’t read his expression though.

“If that’s what you desire” he nodded and you shook your head.

“What do you want?” You almost begged.

“It can’t just be one sided it’s a union of two people! Two souls!” You gestured between the both of you and he frowned.

“Please, what do you want?” You begged finally trying to hold onto a sliver of hope.

“You” he muttered his eyes on you so intently it made you shudder. He hesitated briefly making you frown slightly before lips pressed against yours. You made a surprised noise, but quickly welcomed him your hands cupping his face. His hands grabbed your waist, tugging you closer before backing you up to the wall. You moaned quietly one hand tangling in his hair the other resting on his chest, gripping the white frilled shirt he wore. His hands ran over your sides, squeezing the flesh as he went sending your body alight. You made small noises opening your mouth hoping to get air. He pulled back only to kiss down your jaw and to your neck as he began untying the back of your dress in haste. You tilted your head panting harshly as he managed to slip your dress off, leaving in your undergarments and slip. You felt your cheeks go hot as he moved from your neck back to your lips, tongue prodding against your lips. You parted your lips letting his tongue slide in. He moved you both and you fell on a lounge, him following. You gripped the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, he pulled apart letting you lift it over his head. You threw it on the floor and held his face as you kissed him again, he rested his hips on yours as your hands glided up his arms and into his back. You felt him freeze instantly though as your finger went over raised skin. You looked to him feeling more raised skin in a pattern, what was it? Before you could ask you saw his eyes glaze over like they did when you last met. You panicked a bit cupping his cheeks instead.

“Astarion?” You asked breathlessly and worried, he couldn’t exactly disappear in his own house. You frowned slightly an image flashing in your mind, people locked in in a prison, a man’s face with a sinister grin, the same man bloodied and dead on the floor, you felt power flooding through you, heard screams of many. You opened your eyes with a groan before panting harshly as Astarion shook above you. You focused back on him, who was that man? What had happened there? You tugged him to you gently, forcing him gently to lay on you. You kept your arms around him fingers lightly massaging his scalp. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what was happening, but you felt his need to be safe, find somewhere safe, you just hoped you could provide it.

#astarion x reader #duke astarion #ascended astarion #x reader #aob #au #Bridgerton inspired

[lamemaster]

The fucking elf of my dreams

Pairing: Finrod x GN Reader

Genre: Spyverse

Summary: You have been dreaming of an obnoxious elf and Finrod Felagund of Arda has been hearing an exasperated voice in his mind.

AN: This was so fun :))) hapi hapi hapi (Based on a poll long ago where @a-contemplation-upon-flowers suggested this-)

The elf in your dreams is an idiot. Trusting any moving thing, unable to shut up when needed, and piss poor disguises," he was annoying to the point of exhaustion.

You had, on several occasions, resorted to screaming sense into him, but the elf in your dreams seemed to be completely oblivious, if not averse to your words.

How did these weird dreams come to be? You have no fucking idea. Perhaps you were finally losing your mind after messing around for so long.

Finrod heard noises in his head. A loud screaming voice that he has come to name his conscience.

"Fuck can you shut up," The voice sighed in exhaustion almost. "Let the other blondie deal with it man," the voice muttered clearly talking about Angrod.

Standing before Thingol, Finrod ignores the voice and narrates the truth that had conspired on the shores of Alqualonde. The voice sighs, and Finrod barely conceals his wince as a string of curses echo in his mind.

And for days after that, the voice is quiet. Almost sulking. which is better than Angrod, who is throwing dirty looks his way.

Looking at the bleary-eyed men, you could see the awe in their eyes had you not witnessed the authentic Finrod Felagund for past years, you might have felt the same.

"Bro, that's freaky stop," you fail to look away from the scene of your dreamy elf sitting there and putting on a whole ass musical from a bunch of sleeping people.

Did he really think he was a Disney princess or something? The music is cool and all, but for godsake, Finrod is random AF.

It doesn't take long for the golden retriever to make friends with men. And yes, you do lecture him over the panic attack over discovering men sleeping with eyes closed.

"Build some weaponry for goodness," you mutter as you see Finrod lug another treasure chest full of his gems. "You can't fight with your pretty headpieces," the elf as usual ignored you, and at this point, you would have thought that he could not hear your rambling if not for the slight tremor of laughter in his body whenever you so much as uttered a word.

The King of Nargothrond prepares for another onslaught of curses as he senses Beor's heavy footsteps coming his way.

"Are you for real?" You huff in annoyance. "Why not accumulate an entire empire in the secret city? Just why..." The voice groans.

Perhaps Finrod would have been offended at your treatment of his dear friend if not for the coying fragrance of envy that seems to accompany your complaints.

"You sleep a lot these days..." Your partner, Jack was looking down at you from where you lay on the couch. Even upside down you could see the amused glimmer in his eyes.

You were indeed sleeping a lot. Napping when you could. All to witness the obnoxious elf in your dreams.

You had just woken up from another one. One where another man with a familiar emerald ring showed up with a favor to ask of your elf.

And shit was going down. That idiot.

Lifting the corners of your lips in a smile you conceal the anxiety that the supposedly relaxing nap had built in your system. "Maybe because I am pregnant with your child."

A cushion lands on your face, followed by a vase.

Jack clearly did not appreciate your humor. Not as the elf in your dreams did.

"Target the maw, it is the only vulnerable spot you can aim for" he hears it. The voice is back.

"The day we meet Finrod Felagund, I shall bind you to me, you are not to wander the face of this world alone. Not for your own good."

You do not look away. You witness every second of the elf of your dreams breaking apart in the dark halls of villains you cannot protect him from.

His nimble fingers grasp on the beast's fur with a force, you've never seen him exhibit. And then he rips the monster apart with his bare hands.

By the end of the fight, there are punctured wounds in his body, blood covers the cold hard floor your elf lay panting on. His companions are long dead. The man is gone. He is alone. Dying.

You weren't a stranger to death, you have delivered many to its door. You've almost met yours a dozen times. But his death is the most unnatural shit you have witnessed.

Sitting cross-legged by his cooling body you continue talking as you have done for decades."That day, you, Finrod Felagund will answer all my questions and obey all my commands." For the first time, Finrod sees the faint outline of your features before his vision fades into the dark and his fea floats in the sea of oblivion.

That night you wake up drenched in sweat, almost choking on your vomit. Fuck Felagund, you wipe the annoying tears streaming down your face.

Your death is swift. Finrod barely makes it to his dream before he watches you crumble as a sharp piece of metal embeds itself in your head.

Your eyes never meet his, given that you are not aware of his presence. Your legs falter and in a fleeting moment, you plop down on the unforgivingly unyielding ground.

You are the voice. Ever since his rebirth in Valinor, he had dreamt of you. Unlike you, he has kept you in the dark about his presence.

His life is different from yours. Your hands are full of blood of men, he does not know about.

After years of watching you, Finrod has come to know you as the master of disguise. He has witnessed your battle cries as you assassinate men of power.

And on frigid nights as you sit nursing a glass of wine, Finrod has found his name scribbled on a piece of paper. In those moments, when you are alone, Finrod barely clings to the silence of his choice.

After all, what does he, Finrod Felagund owe you?

That is the case, until the streets of Tirion brim with hushed whispers. Until Tulkas' Maiar are seen looking around the markets. Maiar of Mandos following them with anxious frowns upon their foreheads. Until he bumps into a hooded figure.

A small fall that he gets up to apologize for only for him to freeze hearing the familiar notes of "fuck," muttered in a voice he remembers.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #finrod x reader #finrod felagund #spy reader #happy ending #character death

[danger-xylophones]

The King's Herald Part 3

warnings: she/her, brief mentions of anxiety, femine titles (I.e. my lady, Princess, etc.)

summary: on your way to the palace to surprise your father you meet a dear friend

masterlist | elves | the king's herald navi

As you stepped further and further away from where Elrond had left you, you found yourself wishing you'd asked him for an escort.

Your memory of the palace grounds was...limited...to be polite. Everything had seemed so much larger and further apart as a child and to be honest you'd spent most of your time trying to catch your father's cloak under foot or chasing butterflies instead of paying attention to the many winding paths.

But still you picked your way along the earthen paths gilded with the yellow leaves of the trees, looking for any familiar marker.

Several elf-maids passed you by, each one donned in either a deep blue, green, or soft cream dress that fluttered behind them. It was odd, you reflected to see such attire again.

While the Greenwood was not lacking in refinery, most occupants (men, women, and others alike) opted to wear trousers and high boots. The draping fabric so common in Lindon would be nothing but an inconvenience in the dense, underbrush flanked paths of the Woodland Realm. In fact, you could recall one day when Thranduil had decided to wear a long, draping robe that his governess had gifted to him for his begetting day. It was truly beautiful - a vibrant, bright green that was embroidered with swirling depictions of falling leaves trailing all around it's border in silver.

He'd been so proud of how it looked on him, he'd wanted to show it off to his entire realm and thus invited you on a parade-esque walk about. The poor lamb. Not even five minutes after departing from the palace, he'd snagged the robe's train on a thorny bush and ripped a hole in it about the length of your forearm.

He'd been so distraught, practically bursting into tears when he noticed. You'd done your best to comfort the poor prince but to little avail. He eventually had to return to his governess and sheepishly explain what had happened to his gift to her. She, being an unceasingly kind elf-maid, laughed it off and happily repaired the robe for him.

Since that day, Thranduil had never worn a draping robe outside the palace. Although he still pranced about in his favorite silver one whilst inside the walls. Honestly, you couldn't blame him. Had draping robes looked as good on you as they did on him, you would be inclined to waltz about with a 10 foot train too.

Rather, you were more than content with your trousers and tunics.

Although...those robes did look beautiful. Perhaps it would be worth dressing more akin to the inhabitants of Lindon now that you'd returned?

A thought for later perhaps because you could swear you'd passed this same arch before. Twice.

Looking around you found that yes, you had in fact passed through here before. A small rock cluster sat propped against the base of the bleached white wood arch - an oddity that did not occur amongst the other arches so you could not be mistaking a new location for an old.

"Damnit," you hissed under your breath, "damnit, damnit, damnit." With a heavy sigh you stepped off the path and allowed yourself a moment to rest on the ground. Seated atop a protruding root, you propped your elbow on your knee and fitted your hand beneath your chin. Gods above how you loathed your younger self for not learning the routes to the palace right now.

In fairness, the younger you never predicted they'd be removed from Lindon before they had a chance to learn them. Besides, you knew the paths of the Greenwood like the back of your hand. Because you'd been given time to learn them. Because you thought you were going to stay in the Greenwood forever. At first.

Blowing a raspberry, you reached a hand up to rub down your face as if you could wipe your confusion away.

"Excuse me, young one," A warm, mature male voice broke into your ball of confusion, "Are you well?" His voice was like still burning coals - comforting in it's warmth but undercut by a rough edge betraying his age.

You lifted your head and found, as you suspected, an elder elf peering down at you. He was tall, even by elvish standards, and his silvery-gray hair draped down to his waist whilst braided. He was not wearing a draping robe or cloak like the other Lindon elves, instead he was clad in a midnight blue tunic with a high collar and silver belt about his waist. His sleeves were crumpled just slightly, hinting that they had been rolled up at one point. His trousers were brown and tucked into high, well-weathered leather boots that reached nearly to his knees. Something clicked in the back of your mind, a sense of recognition, telling you that you already knew this person.

"Apologies, my lord," you rose and gently smoothed your skirt, "I'm afraid I'm new to Lindon and incredibly lost." As you spoke, you felt your ears warm, "I was hoping that if I sat for a moment, I might recall my way."

"A good thought," the elder elf bowed his head, "but did it work?"

"No. I still have no clue where I am or how to get to," you caught yourself, realizing that if you told him precisely where you were going he would inevitably question why you were going there. But you would eventually have to tell him you were going to the palace if you wanted directions. "I'm trying to get to the palace." You finally spat out, eyeing the older elf for his reaction.

He blinked passively at you. "I see," he said, lips suddenly parting to form a rather toothy smile, "I thought I recognized you."

You felt your jaw drop but caught it before your lips could part and reveal your surprise. However, you weren't as quick to catch your eyebrows before they pinched in confusion. "What?"

"You have grown well - your bearing has matured." The elder elf stepped forward and peered down his long, sharp nose at you - scrutinizing. "Of course, there is still an air of mischief I doubt you will ever outgrow, ingaranel nin."

You couldn't help but gape up at the tall elf. Who exactly was he? "I'm sorry, my lord?"

"Sorry for what? You've created no strife yet. Save for sneaking into Lindon without your father's knowing." He grinned wider. Ah, he was toying with you.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" You finally asked, borderline snapping at the cheeky old elf.

"Come now, you don't recognize me?"

You shook your head.

He gasped, placing a hand over his heart. "Time has eaten your memory, dear one. This loss wounds me greatly." His smile, though still firmly affixed to his face, settled into something softer as he lowered his hand and regarded you once more. "Cirdan, my lady."

Your eyes went wide. Cirdan! How had you not recognized him? He was still just as impish with you as he was when you were a child. A drastic change from his stoic demeanor around others like your father. "By the light of the Valar..." you couldn't help but stare at him, before charging forward to wrap him in a tight hug. "Cirdan!" You cheered, embracing the older elf who laughed and held you close. "My gods, I didn't recognize you at all." He smelled the exact same as he always had - of the sea, of aged wood, and the fresh light of dawn.

"I noticed," he chuckled, holding to you just as tightly. "I remember your memory being terrible but I'd wager it's gotten worse."

"That's what 700 years will do, Cirdan, my friend." You pulled back but kept your hands clasped on his forearms as he did the same. "And it wasn't that bad."

"I had to escort you to your bedroom nearly every night before you were given caretakers." Cirdan argued back with a raised eybrow.

"Perhaps I just liked your company." You fired back. "I seem to recall having no trouble finding my way once Almarian was assigned to me."

"Ah, yes, your father informed me of your many spats with that elf-maid." Cirdan shook his head. "You were quite the terror according to her."

"According to her being the important bit. If she wasn't so nasty to me all the time, I would have been more inclined to be nice."

Cirdan huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Best not to dwell on it anyways. You're grown now. And able to wander without a caretaker evidently."

Your ears warmed at the pointed look he sent you. "I believe you know why I don't have a caretaker at the moment." You muttered.

"Yes, yes I do." Cirdan's voice grew a little more firm as he released you but did not take on a scolding tone like you expected. "I won't ask why you chose to ignore your father's wishes right now. As it stands, we are both running late to meet with him." He offered his arm to you. "Come along, my dear, I will show you the way back to the palace."

Exaggeratedly, you linked arms with him. "Just like old times."

"Indeed, ingaranel." He bowed his head and together you set off towards the palace.

As you walked, Cirdan informed you of all that had happened in your absence. Namely, how Lindon had changed and how your father had grown more confident in his own reign which you were happy to hear. In truth, you partly blamed your father's reluctance to lead on why he had sent you to live with Oropher. Of course, that was no excuse for him to unceremoniously rip you from all that you knew but it made living with the fact easier. It hurt less to think him pitiable rather than cruel.

Also as you walked, Cirdan was kind enough to point out landmarks to you so that if you ever found yourself without a guide you would be able to manage on your own. For your part, you did your best to memorize each and every one no matter how small or odd.

At length, you came upon a familiar sight - the palace doors. Not as grand as the one's leading to the palace in the Greenwood but no less ornate in their own right mimicking the swirling branches of the trees of Valar.

Without hesitation, Cirdan approached and only spared the guards a polite nod. They bowed and stepped aside and the doors slowly swung open allowing the two of you to pass.

Your throat grew tight. You were entering the palace...from the front entrance. You hadn't done so since you were small.

"You may want to fix your dress, ingaranel." Cirdan spoke into your growing emotions. You spared him a questioning glance before realizing that your skirt was still hitched up from when you had done so in order to climb the tree. Hastily, you undid it with one hand and kicked at it from inside to get it to lay flat once more which made Cirdan laugh.

"You try dealing with these things then." You hissed at him. To which he shook his head and remarked that he was quite comfortable with his pants.

A part of you was annoyed that he'd waited this long to inform you your skirt was still altered but another realized that was Cirdan's way. He always waited for you to figure such things out on your own.

Still it was strange that no one had said anything to you. Not even...Elrond.

By the Valar...

Elrond was the herald. What if he was dining with your father? What if he happened to see you accompanying Cirdan? There was no way you were going to be able to keep up your ruse of simply being a scholar no matter what you did.

You felt the blood drain from your face and hoped that Cirdan didn't notice.

"Are you well?" Cirdan asked, side-eyeing you.

"I'm fine." You lied, swallowing the lump of nausea that had built in your throat. "Just a bit nervous about seeing atar."

Cirdan hummed something understanding. "I see. You need not worry, my dear. He will be delighted you are here. Even if you are arriving ahead of schedule."

Rounding a bend, you came to a stretch of hallway that you did recognize. The dining hall lay ahead and you could already see through the arches.

Seated at the head of the table was none other than Gil Galad.

"Atar..." you whispered to yourself. Cirdan squeezed your arm.

"One step at a time, my dear." He whispered back and continued to guide you closer. "Would you like me to address him first?"

You could only nod, your eyes were fixed on the image of your father. He was clad in all gold, a departure from the deep blue and purple attires he'd been so fond of when you were younger. His hair had grown longer too, reaching farther down his back than you could recall seeing before. What remained the same though was the laurel resting atop his brow that denoted him as High King.

"Very well." A few more steps brought you within hearing range of the table. "Good evening, my king." Cirdan greeted in a tame but projected voice. "I apologize for my tardiness, I ran into an unexpected friend."

At the address, Gil Galad's head raised and his eyes settled on Cirdan - not yet noticing you. "It is no trouble, my friend." He stood, a wide smile across his face, and opened his arms as if inviting his friend for an embrace. "We waited to start..." His eyes landed on you. "Who is...?" A beat. "By the Valar, it can't be."

"Atar." You whispered, voice trembling as you fought back the urge to sniffle. There was a familiar sting along your waterline. There he was. "Atar!" And you were off, charging towards him.

"Aranel!" He gasped in turn, taking a few quick steps forward in time to catch you as you collided with his chest. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as yours met his waist, each holding the other as tightly as possible without hurting the other. Gil Galad brought a hand up to the back of your head to press you to his shoulder. "Praise Eru." he whispered, resting his lips on your forehead. "Praise Eru, you're here." He pressed a warm kiss to your hairline before pulling away. He cupped your cheek wit his palm as he spoke once more. "Aranel, I was not expecting you until tomorrow."

"I know," you sniffled, wiping under your left eye. "I know, but I couldn't wait."

"I don't even have a speech prepared." He chuckled, squeezing your face a little.

"I don't need one, Atar." You protested, holding to his arm. "I promise, I do not need one. I just wanted to be home."

"And home you are." He agreed. Clearing his throat, your father stepped away from you to address his table. "My lords and ladies, please forgive my outburst. I would like to welcome my daughter home. The princess of Lindon has returned."

Applause erupted from the table, inter-cut with polite congratulations and welcome homes, subdued but no less energetic. And enough to make you face flush warm.

But through the gentle peals of welcome, one voice caught your attention.

"Welcome home, ingaranel nin." You looked up to find Elrond watching from the right hand seat of your father.

tagging: @goingtoladyworld

#elrond x reader #rop elrond x reader #lotr x reader #rop x reader #x reader #lotr #rop #rings of power #elrond

[rim-draws]

Fearûnian Writing Challenge

Day 5 | SFW

First time seeing their love interest fight

(Not really)

(Since Halsin never start fighting til Act 3 except when we first met him, this is just more camp life featuring bear-Halsin shooing the gnolls near camp area)

Tav waddles over towards Halsin, having just returned from the grove to retrieve the man’s smoking pipe.

Astarion grabs the back of their armour and yanks.

Only it was Astarion who was yanked to the ground.

“Stop! Stop walking!” He huffs and puffs.

Tav finally ceases. They needed a few moments before noticing the poor elf. “What?”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me! Help me up!”

Tav does as they often do.

Astarion huffs a few complaints under his breath as he dusts himself off. He then leans onto Tav, a hand on their shoulder as if it didn’t happen.

“I know that look of yours. You had the same look when we first met.” His voice does that thing where it goes slightly sultry, eyes darken every so little. “You’ve changed your target.”

“Cruel to call it a target.”

Astarion's attitude towards Tav has been… flippant to say the least. When they first met, it took Astarion no time at all to outright hate Tav. It didn’t improve when they saved the grove from the goblin raid, to the point that he outright laughed after he, himself, brought up the idea of having sex with them. Things got a bit better after the Ethel and monster hunter incident. Then increasing as they make it through the Underdark before going back to the upper road to do some unfinished business.

Now, one could say they’re… unlikely friends.

“I don’t judge. We’re like minded people, you and I. And Halsin is a great choice. If we could get him to finally move that big mass of muscles and be useful, all the better for everyone involved.” Astarion waves his hands around, almost smacking against Tav’s face a few times.

“If you’re implying I’m trying to bed him so he’d follow us, you’re–” Tav pauses.

Is Astarion actually wrong, though?

What is the reason Tav is doing all this for? Coming up to Halsin to ask to spend the night, going all the way back to the grove to fetch his smoking pipe, constantly checking up on him at all although he had proved no help after giving them the lead for Moonrise.

Halsin is the Archdruid, Tav is… just some half-elf at best and a criminal at worst.

To try so hard for Halsin, simply because they… like him? That’s… pathetic.

“ –right. Yeah… W– We don’t have a druid with us, especially those who know a lot more than we do. Maybe a few more hip swings and he won’t be able to leave our camp anymore.” Tav traces the texture of the old pipe, focusing on that instead of the sinking feeling in their stomach.

“No need to try that hard. Just take off your shirt. He practically drools every time anyway.” Astarion pushes them forward. “Go get them, tiger.”

Tav fakes a smile. They’ve been growing increasingly good at that. They moved towards Halsin again, less enthusiastic now.

Gods, they really are in over their head. Now their head hurts and it’s hard to tell whether it is the tadpole or because they’ve been… having thoughts!!!

“You’re leaking with anxiety. I can practically smell it from here.” Lae’zel grinds her teeth as well as, well, all their weapons. “What seems to be the problem? You’re never this pathetic.”

It’s like she’s their inner voice, spoken aloud the thoughts they’re desperately running away from.

“I’m just thinking.”

“And it is causing that much grief? Perhaps you should do it less.”

Tav could feel their blood bubbling with rage but this is not the time, Tav. They still have a pipe to deliver.

“If it’s about Halsin, the quicker you can get the druid to carry his weight, the better. He has wasted our time and is wasting our resources.” She takes out one of the many swords Tav brought back, examines it then throws it to them. “Sell this. It’s useless.”

Tav catches easily. “He’s only tagging along for a while.”

“You are very obvious with your intentions. But we are on a deadline. This better be worth it or we will be dead for it.” Lae’zel practically hisses. “Get whatever carnal sins you wish from him then tell him to leave!”

Tav casts their eyes downwards. She’s clearly sharpening Halsin’s whittling tools as they speak. “It’s alright, I know you have a soft spot for animals. He’s practically one anyway.”

“I do not.” She said plainly. Scratch sits on her cushion, tail wagging. “Leave, this conversation is over.”

Tav resists the urge to snap and just turns away.

This is simple. They just need to deliver the pipe. And maybe tell Halsin perhaps his presence is causing a bit of unrest in camp seeing as he’s just kind of… around. Or maybe they won’t tell him at all.

Tav tries to put some energy into their steps again. But not too much to be so obvious that apparently they smell like it. And maybe with a bit of intent so it looks like they’re trying to get something out of him and not just deluded into wanting his attention. Yes. Sounds— great.

A long roar echoed through the woods behind Halsin’s usual spot. Tav stands, shifting from one foot to another awaiting for his return. Within the shadows of the forest, a large bear swings his claws. The pack of gnolls facing him cackles and hisses before quickly retreating. Tav sighs dreamily, catching the disapproving look of Lae’zel and the approving thumb up of Astarion and sucks it back in.

The bear gathers his wooden logs with his mouth and returns to the centre of camp. “Ah, my friend.” Halsin’s voice is muffled through the logs. “Did you come by for the daily petting?”

Tav was about to say no. They were, truly. But the temptations are too big. They rub his bear cheeks and his bear chin, scratching his bear head before stepping a bit back for Halsin to wild shape back.

“Your fur is very soft today too.” The greatest conversationalist - Tav.

“Thank you. I hope you don’t feel discouraged by my enthusiasm.”

“No, no. It’s better for me that you like it.” Tav scratches the back of their head. “Oh!” They fumble, almost dropping the pipe. “In the library. I found. Nettie said it’s yours.” Their voice almost crack. Almost. Just barely held it together.

“Oh, my smoking pipe.” He chuckled. Tav places it in his hand. They ignore the way his palm is twice the size of theirs. “It’s a bad habit of mine. Long hours of work always fill the library with smoke.”

Tav purses their lips. Halsin’s laugh is very nice to the ears too. Maybe it’s better to hold off on telling him to go away for another day…

“My apologies, it’s not something to brag about. I talk of myself too much.” Halsin seems suddenly flustered.

“No, no. I… I enjoy listening to you and learning more about you. Do indulge me.” Tav tried to say.

“I appreciate that. But I need to focus on the Shadow curse Lands.” Tav deflates slightly. Halsin’s eyes grows half lidded, “We’ll… have plenty of time after that.”

Tav perks up at that.

#bg3 tav #bg3ficfeb #my tav #bg3 writing #bg3 #bg3 oc #halsin silverbough #astarion #bg3 astarion #lae'zel #my child is 80% simp 20% rage #nonbinary tav #bg3 fic #halsin x tav #halsin x oc

[tamurilofrivendell]

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 9

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700​​​​​​​​​​​ @jinlizz-dragondrama​​​​​​​​​​​ @firelightinferno​​​​​​​​​​​ @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl​​​​​​​​​​​ @achromaticerebus​​​​​​​​​​ @sleepyamygdala​​​​​​​​​​   @smalltownbigheart​​​​​​​​​ @qmabailor​​​​​​​​ 

The footsteps came closer with surprising speed, too much for you to jump out of the way and hide as you might have done so as not to come face to face with any strangers. It did not sound like Thranduil and, besides, it seemed far too late in the day for him to pay you a visit anyway - this was not the normal time that you would usually come to this clearing. 

Nerves took hold of you as the stranger suddenly stepped past the boundary from through the trees, falling to the ground with a soft sob as they did so.

Your eyes went wide as you could only stare dumbly for a few long moments until it finally hit you that they were crying and you rushed forward, crouching down beside the newcomer, though unsure what you could do to assist.

“Excuse me? I... what’s wrong, are you alright?” You managed, though received no immediate response. “Do you need help?”

The woman - you could see now this was a female - lifted her head, her long dark hair sticking to the tears running down her cheeks. She was beautiful even in severe distress, that much was immediately plain though you weren’t sure why you would even take notice.

“I... they were chasing me, I... I cannot...” She shook her head as she trailed off, lifting a hand and covering her face once more.

Standing, you quickly rushed past her and peered through the trees, anxiety spiking as you grappled with the fact that danger could be coming directly for you... and you had no way of protecting yourself, let alone this poor woman.

You saw nothing.

Heard nothing.

Turning back, you stepped cautiously back towards the woman and crouched once more, hesitating briefly before you laid what you hoped was a reassuring hand upon her arm. “There is nobody there.” You told her gently. “You must have outrun them. You are safe... you have nothing to fear.”

Tear-filled eyes lifted to meet your own and the woman smiled. You returned it and gave her a little nod. “Where are you from?” You asked after a moment. “Are you from the Elvenking’s Halls?”

The female shook her head. “One... one of the settlements, my lady.” She murmured, straightening and lifting her hands to wipe away the remains of her tears.

“Oh, please, call me Lothíriel.” You said quickly, not one for such formalities.

“Pretty name for a pretty face.” The woman told you with a smile and you ducked your head, a soft breath of a chuckle escaping your lips. You were still not used to all types of social contact and compliments were right at the top of the awkwardness list - you had only just gotten comfortable with Thranduil!

Gods, if Radagast could see you now!

You briefly wondered if he was home but the woman speaking again recaptured your attention.

“They call me Luithien.” Enchantress.

You didn’t take note of the way she said they call me instead of my name is - as you offered her another smile. “Your name is pretty too.” A beat passed. “Are you going to be alright? Do you need... somebody to walk home with you?” You did not know how far this settlement might be and you weren’t truly comfortable offering but you felt you couldn’t really leave her alone if she had just been chased. Could you? It did not feel right.

“Anarórë!” A loud voice from beyond the other side of the clearing suddenly called out, causing you to jump and turn your head in the direction of the sound. Radagast! He must have returned home and found you missing.

Upon turning your head once more, you realised the woman was suddenly standing and appeared to be much farther away from you than she had been before Radagast had called out your true name - something he only ever seemed to do when you paid no heed to his first calls. Not intentionally, of course! You were not so rude! You were just so easily distracted.

“Oh!” You stood quickly and took a step towards her. “That is only my uncle! You do not need to be afraid.”

She shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. I’m not. I really should be going.”

“Are you sure you would go alone?” You asked. “My uncle could take you, you would be perfectly safe with him.”

“No!” The response was sharper and quicker than you had expected but then, as you flinched a little, she seemed to soften again rapidly and smiled. “I just mean, I can manage by myself. Thank you. You have been very kind.”

From behind you came the sound of large rabbit feet bringing Radagast closer. You turned again as he practically exploded into the clearing. When you glanced back over your shoulder, the woman was gone.

“How many times!” Radagast cried, coming to a halt beside you with an exasperated look in his eyes.

“Sorry...” You mumbled, stretching out a hand and giving one of the rabbits a big scratch behind its ear.

The wizard sighed and shook his head, but he was already relaxing at finding you safe. However, a moment later, his face changed and he seemed to tense up again as he turned to survey the clearing, his gaze moving very slowly.

“Was somebody here?” He asked, turning his face to you again, his eyes full of something you could not decipher.

“No.” You weren’t sure why you lied to him this time. Thranduil was different, you wanted to keep that for yourself somehow, but... a random woman suddenly finding herself here out of the blue didn’t seem like something you necessarily needed to keep from him. Still, it was too late to take it back and you quickly moved to get onto the sled behind him.

Radagast made a humming sound but didn’t say anything else. He looked around the clearing while you got yourself safely on the sled.

He did not believe you because, as he stood there, he could sense it. Feel it. The magic. The presence of the Enchantress. A shiver went through him. She had found you. Depending upon whether or not she had seen or heard him coming, she would easily be able to connect him to you, which would bring nothing good. Nothing at all.

Radagast set the rabbits off for home, his mind working on overdrive. If the Enchantress had found you, then the worst was truly happening. It would only be a matter of time. She was wicked but she was not entirely stupid... and you did look so very much like your mother.

No, this was it. He could not wait for Gandalf and he could not hide you away in his cottage any longer. Radagast had to tell Thranduil.

As the rabbits whisked the two of you back through the forest, towards your little cottage, evil eyes watched from high above in the thick branches of a tree.

The Enchantress smirked to herself as you disappeared from view. She had come here curious about the elleth that she had seen Thranduil dancing with when she had been spying... now her interest had peaked tenfold.

This strange little elf had a connection to both the Elvenking and the Wizard? That was far too much of a coincidence to ignore, even if Radagast had not used the very name of the little baby girl she had cursed many thousands of years ago.

Descending the tree, the Enchantress made herself scarce in case Radagast returned. She made her way to a newly built fortress at Amon Lanc, where she had been hiding for the duration of her stay, and there she started to form her plan.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #thranduil x fanfiction #lotr x reader #sleeping beauty

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I have a fun new Claudia/DM theory spawned from E1 tidbits yesterday

(yes I got out of bed for this, and it's long, don't judge me):

Claudia has some new dark magic disfigurement, but she also has a walking stick to help with her missing leg. Maybe she has just healed herself, and the disfigurement is from that. But I got a much wilder idea and I gotta write it down or my head will blow, SO:

If Claudia attacks Terry because she isn't healed yet - attacks him for dark magic power to heal herself, using the walking stick he lovingly made for her, no less - then she's finally coming face to face with a big issue that's been hiding in the corner of her eye for a while now.

Claudia sees Terry as "a good elf", and the rest as enemies. But when push comes to shove, she also sees him as young, agile, and alive.

Just like the little deer she lured close with milk fruit.

And Terry is very, very close now.

But she does love him. She really does, as best she can. And it sounds like, in the pain and angst of the moment, she decides that she really is a monster, and that the only way to protect them both - her heart, his body - is for her to leave him.

Yes, if they stick it out, he could conceivably leave her someday, like her family has. But he's shown no sign of that at all. Terry is ride or die! Claudia maybe can't see that from inside her own traumas, though.

And, also likely, she's simply not telling him the monster part. She's very smooth at lying to "innocent" characters she likes about really dark topics. Little white lies aren't just a Moonshadow elf thing. And he'd try to argue her point, when she's made up her mind.

Basically, it's the Claudia version of Rayla leaving Callum in TTM.

Rayla, to Callum: the enemy is too dangerous, stay here

Claudia, to Terry: I'm too dangerous, stay here

SO. Claudia breaks up with Terry and literally walks (hobbles?) away for his safety, and only she knows the full extent of her reasoning why. She's alone and hurting, emotionally and physically, she's self-isolating, she's gonna brood like there's no tomorrow... and without support in that time, she's very prone to unstable influences. We all know Terry helped her with anxiety attacks and etc and generally set a really good mood at their camp.

Now, all of that is gone. She might forget that there is in fact a synonym for cinnamon.

Claudia could fall prey to Aaravos or any other outside entity at this rate - but she could also spiral on her own. Garlaath knows the poor woman's had enough angst to feed off for a lifetime.

Confession: I love Claudia, but I don't get out of bed for her. There's more to this theory. My kind of more.

It's hard to say from outside NYCC whether it's apparent that Claudia's new dark magic disfigurement is from healing herself or not. Maybe she was all healed up already and the attack was about other things - just scaring him, frustration, etc. Maybe she'd partially healed and it wasn't enough to get her foot to reach the ground, and there was nothing else nearby to kill.

But maybe it's "new" as in, it's still left over from the pentapus transformation.

Viren's a careful, calculated spellcaster. He doesn't waste magic, he does as little as possible to get the job done. Perhaps a caution borne from living long enough to want to be there for his kids as they grow, on top of his usual kingdom defense reasons.

But Claudia has grown wings, been half a snake, and then half a pentapus, all in the span of thirty days (not thirty-one, because we don't get the extra day!). That's some Doctor Strange What If material right there. Maybe some bits of those creatures... maybe they stick around in her DNA afterward.

Maybe they become part of her.

Maybe that's what "dark magic leaves a residue in the mage's body" is really about: You can burn snap magic cantrips at will because you've fused your body with a magic creature's essence.

Do you see where this theory leads, though? It does lead to Doctor Strange What If territory.

Here it is, then:

What if every unique monster in Greater Xadia used to be a dark mage?

What if they accidentally build themselves like Dr. Lazarus from that one Doctor Who episode, out of every creature they've ever burnt for power? Each dark mage's final evolution would be unique.

What if, one day, they just... erupt into a new form and have to run away or be attacked by everyone they love? Or what if they hide away in caves and cliffs, in bogs and burrows, because they can start to feel it coming?

Even Kpp'Ar lived alone in a weird house, like Dracula or something. What if Viren was a one-off, the way he was so so careful, the way he covered his stains, so he could serve publicly and keep Katolis safe? The way he married, had kids, tried so hard for normalcy?

What if Viren knows all of this, has always known it, and it helped him turn away from Aaravos at the last moment? If he'd rather die as he is.

When it really matters, Viren doesn't want to hide in the body of another, either. Maybe in that last argument with Aaravos, Viren finally understood where Harrow was coming from. Neither of them wanted to have a ship of Theseus life. For them, the answer to that age old question seems to be No.

I have one more fun twist, darlings.

What if the research Viren was doing for Harrow regarding the famine wasn't on Xadian monsters at all? What if he has a secret book of monstrous dark mages - because of course they're pragmatic enough to dutifully record each other's final downfall, in case someone else needs what they've become for a spell someday?

Maybe his source wasn't any scout report at all, but a horrible passage about a mage who used too much Sun magic and turned themselves into a giant, lumbering Magma Titan who could never go home again lest they set everything they love ablaze.

Yes, I'm still on my "but they looked so depressed out there by the lava river!!" bullshit, and it shall continue! This is at least my 3rd iteration of a Magma Titan backstory. And you'll hear it again lmfao!

I just. Love monsters. A lot.

Alright, there we go. You survived another one of my speculative theories. Good job. Remember to drink water.

#tdp #tdp speculation #tdp theory #viren #claudia #dark magic #tdp spoilers #tdp s6 spoilers

[iamthunderhearmehowl]

BG3 Headcannons: Halsin's Daughter PT2

If I ever go through and write this fan fic - I just wanna let ya'll know that I wake up in the morning and think about how I can emotionally damage my readers (okay mostly myself)

So here are some more headcannons for Halsin's Daughter:

I had this idea in my head that - what if they did meet way earlier in life but didn't know it?

Halsin was kept in the underdark for 3 years as a slave; a child can be sired and grow to be a toddler in that time.

As said earlier - just like her father, she has a kind heart. So this little baby toddler sees a hungry bear in a cage, and what does she do? She sneaks him her dinner

I would think that she was attention starved - she is a bastard child to a noble. Her dinner was probably meager in comparison to her full noble born siblings.

I don't think he would know that the poor little thing was his, just that the little baby was cold

Would probably cuddle her as a bear to keep her warm

100% would wittle her a small duck <3

She carries the duck with her on a keychain into her adulthood. It's attached to her bag

Imagine the look on his face when she's sitting at the bar of Last Light Inn and he sees it on her bag

He would walk up and ask her and she got it. She would look up at him with her doe eyes - more than likely wouldn't recognize him at first and then she would start to tear up. He's aged significantly since then, but the words "My teddy bear" would fall from her lips as they hugged.

NOTE: I'm kind of working out the kinks of what she does and doesn't know about her father - previously I stated that maybe the only thing she would know was that her father was a larger than normal elf that can turn into a bear - but i'm probably going to scratch that out just for this headcannon.

ALSO not quite sure yet on how they would find out that they're father and daughter. The only thing they have in common physically is their eye color.

I kind of thought it would be funny if she was like "Yeah I'm here looking for my dad" and he's like "Oh let me help" and they spend all this time looking for him and. . . .it's him. like. Surprise.

She spent all this time searching with him and looking, being riddled with anxiety and fear that he would hate her, reject her just like her mother, and then she finds out and shes like BRUH THIS WHOLE ASS JOURNEY COULDVE BEEN 3,000 STEPS SHORTER:

BUT I WOULDN'T DO THAT TO YA'LL. I am, however, cackling to myself because this is some bullshit that would happen to me irl.

Anyways

Thats all I have for tonight <3

Orignal post can be found here

ONE LAST THING: I am looking for anyone who would like to casually RP this for funsies - it would also help me have a backbone for the fic <3 if you're interested please message me or comment and I will send you the discord server.

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #halsin #bg3 halsin #bg3 headcanons #bg3-headcannons #baulder's gate 3 #tav #bg3 half drow #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 rp #baulders gate rp #baulders gate halsin #baulder's gate 3 halsin

[tieflingsfingers]

Unwoven and Triple Knotted

What and who: Conflict resolution of mirror scene between Astarion and Thomasin, 18+ soft dom moment. Humor and fluff mixed with inner turmoil. Summary: Thomasin finds Astarion isolated, stargazing, and attempts to confront him about their argument. When her positive comments over his appearance don't land well, she takes another approach and teaches him about the ribbon she ties around her neck. The two find themselves connecting but intimacy at this point of their lives has become muddied and difficult to navigate. Warning/Content: More in the realm of character study, so a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. OC lore on home in Baldur's Gate, her performative careers, and the ways her and Astarion relate. Part of series. Word Count: 4,775 Ao3 Link

Thomasin was hesitant, but pushed herself up onto each rocky step until she noticed Astarion. Legs stretched out and bathing in the moonlight as she often found him doing in the sun’s shining glow. He looked over at her, emotions difficult to read. The elf’s nonchalant nature quarreled with nervous habits. Shame only shone by his nails digging at the weave of his pants. A nightshirt that cascaded over on his frame, each button immaculate in its stitching, aside from the last, whose threads had been picked and pulled at. His fingers curled inward once caught.

“A night owl come to catch the night’s prey, I presume,” he joked in a quick rebuttal to anything she may have had to say. Any stoicism left on his face waned as he watched his tone. He assumed no sympathy, so the stakes weren’t to worry over.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly, smoothing her long shirt down to sit beside him. 

The elf let her ruminate in silence, until he noticed something in her peripheral. He had assumed she was entranced by the window of sky just as he was, but the faint constant beat of her vitals inclined. She was looking at him.

“What? What are you looking at?” he asked, unsure whether to be concerned. 

Thomasin sighed, sleep heavy on her eyes. Her palm laid flat against his cheek and rested along the angle of his jawline, taking in the details of his face. The measured inches, curves, and planes of where each feature met. The heat from her skin burned hotter than usual, a signifier when anxieties were being snuffed. 

“I can tell you what I see,” she said as she tilted his face side to side, handling his visage with a particular tenderness.

Astarion’s eye refocused once realizing she was nervous. He had to remind himself, safety had its own sacrifices and her reign wasn't awful. Although tender hands always reminded him of nights where he sat with shy folks, pretending all was normal and the opportunity of sweet delusion. The tiniest crumble of respite. Sweet nothings, bashful glances, and those poor souls that gave him the key to their chest cavity.

The heart was a raw, greedy thing, but it also housed their deepest secrets. Their unfiltered adoration. Impossible to not be utterly captivated by such naivety. Those beautiful natural gems he cradled before they were sent off and cut down into shards and sharp edges.

He dislodged the rhetoric in his mind. Earlier that day, her body had stiffened. He observed how she walked with mechanical grace their entire venture through the Zhent hideout. Heel to toe, grammar, etiquette, and poise. She, too, was prone to discomfort of the past, but inner turmoil often left him blind to such a fact. At least she smiled back at him once more, expression worn and forgiving. These moments always left him slightly puzzled.

Thomasin’s eyes wandered, knitting together compliments and observation alike. 

“Piercing red eyes, but still kind. Strong bone structure cast in a pale light. Shall I keep going?”

Astarion’s face contorted, although careful to not give away his search for ulterior motives. It was easier to ascribe her attempts at creating this mythology to lack of practice. It’d take her at least another century to get to his refined status. “If you wanted to give me obvious little compliments, you could’ve said so.”

Thomasin threw her head back in annoyance, returning back to give him a gentle slap on the cheek.

“After storming off on me, take my advice just this once and choose silence. Let me have my fun. Forbid I not speak of my favored treasures like thy curls and how they intertwine with a caress between my fingers. Thou must be witness to my confession, how besotted I become at the thought of thy strong arched nose. One that can make a bluebird sing even in those most damned of tempests.”

Astarion laughed a bit. Longer than usual, in fact. Something he rehearsed often to figure out how to let it be more natural. At least the prose tickled him. Easier done when he admitted to himself that he enjoyed her habit of brushing away his stray curls hanging down his temple. It had taken him getting used to others seeing his fussed up appearance after bathing in the woods. A scrappier aspect he wasn’t proud of.

 “When did you come up with those?”

“In my spare time, when I find you charming.” She tilted her head. “ As rare as that may be these days. You’ve yet to find the journal I’ve filled with every reason I adore the creases on your cheeks when you laugh.”

Astarion frowned, now all too conscious of the lines embedded with imperfection, and straightened his face. No need to exacerbate the problem. Only now was he thankful she held onto his cheeks so often, preventing his skin from its aging collapse. 

“I think you look lovely. Is that a crime to speak upon?” Thomasin reassured him. 

Astarion rolled his eyes.

“My skin is as pristine as it was when I was a magistrate. How foolish of you to assume anything about this vessel is working by mortal rules. People were sentenced to city square executions for less offensive behavior. ”

She let her jaw go ajar at his lack of tact, pushing his face away from her. “Dearest Magistrate, dare I utter the words? That I’ve enjoyed a freckle or two on your face?”

“Death. First orders to the guillotine, expedited. Rescheduled, then re-expedited.”

Astarion let out a half-hearted chuckle, leaning back against the cold rock wall. This was not behavior he was going to foster. The elf’s fingers ran along his face where her hand last was, as if the teasing had physically stung. 

“But you’ve never complained about mine before, have you?” she protested, resting her back against the rock wall beside him. Her knees clutched in tight to her chest, thin woolen tights insulating her from the cool cave air. Her leg knocked into his playfully. “I caught you counting the freckles on my thighs at the grove once. Heathen. Wait until you’ve counted the ones on my ankles before you go that far.”

He chuckled, but before he could respond, he felt her clutch onto his arm with both hands. As much as the affection caught him off guard, it was accompanied by a much needed exhale from him. Thomasin’s body rested against his, forehead pressed onto his shoulder. The mixture of emotions was confusing. Frightening, even. But this was no abnormal way of being since she was dropped onto the coast to fend for herself and her tadpole. 

City life was comfortable in its monotony, but now it felt like every protective layer she had built was being peeled off constantly. So haphazard, constant peril and danger revealing the gentle genuine inner shell that could be startling at first. Like a stranger, but this was no unknown entity. These were the remnants of young adulthood exposing their wounds in its regression. 

“I hope I didn’t upset you too much earlier” the half-elf uttered, her expression dropping a bit as it lowered. Her voice bent curled at its edges, frayed like parchment dried after a rainy morning

“I’m not upset at you. My past self and his tepid lust for life is just of no importance now.”

He pecked a kiss atop her head, scooping up her cheek to witness her vulnerability. The warmth of her skin. The bare natural state of her face and how fatigue roosted itself into her languid body. He considered how his composure cracked before and the contemptuous untruths he spit at her. Elven hierarchies and their bloodlines were of little priority now. Arguing over the exact definitions of elven maturity even moreso, the elf finding the societal concept of years unreliable. Long after a century, many elves he knew were feeble, sheepish, and unhinged. But, he couldn’t help shelter under the cloak of superiority bred by insecurity.

Astarion funneled the ambivalence towards her in actions he knew best. The elf was not to dwell on what felt uncomfortable. What atrocities he could commit, knowing he was incapable of true intimacy. He could, however, atone for past mistakes in the way he knew best. What all wanted from the dexterity of quick hands and jaded charisma. An apology not from the heart. That was long dead to have any significance.

He was to make it up to her by satiating what was insatiable. Eroticism where once was pain. The elf caressed Thomasin’s face in a manner that seemed practiced, recognizing the beats where he could probe his tongue against hers. Affection he was certainly not unfamiliar with, but not one he was frequent to consider in his arsenal. Feeling her reciprocate, the two still had occasions of awkward fumbles. The overcompensation of those muddied in their early experiences of sensuality. The silent identification of whether to perform carnality or stay alert for threats.

Thomasin could feel herself giving too much, burning down the wick to nothing and watching candle wax drip far faster than she could stop it. A sharp inhale flooded her nose as she pulled back, chuckling between them. “Lust is a fickle thing if we don’t know how to treat her. Or how to treat ourselves, honestly,” she said before swinging a leg over to straddle his lap. 

The half-elf’s violet nightshirt was long enough to hit at her hip, leather strings lacing down its side to personalize one’s shape. Although the garment hung loose along her frame and she began to unlace the string from its eyelets. It slithered from each hole with ease, reliving the fabric of its tension and allowing it to split and settle at the natural indentation of her waist. She, then, gingerly wound it twice around his neck. A little bow now dangled at his adam’s apple, loops pinched at the ends until tied symmetrical. 

“You know how I always wear a ribbon? I picked the habit up again after the crash. Throughout the years, when I’d sleep with, y’know, paying lovers, I kept one tied around my neck. I always said it was for better tips in the end, and part of it was. I think men found it enticing, but I think I liked it because it was the only thing they weren’t allowed to take off. So I could feel in control of at least that.”

Thomsin leaned forward to press her lips along his jawline and neck. Careful, gradual, in the same way she placated previous clients and lovers with anxieties. Signs she caught fast after the sudden urgency of their last sexual encounter. Now, she was to ease into his pace, whatever that may be. To figure out if he was just there for her body and what could be stemmed from its blood and loins. 

“Makes you look darling,” she said, letting her breath brace the crook of his neck, where his bite scars resided. The miniscule twitch of her cheek when she felt him laugh from a blend of amusement and fluster, she hoped. Her next words came out in such a low volume, they could only be understood by the parting of her lips and flicks of her tongue. As if it was only to be heard from his keen ears and not a soul more. “Does it make you feel safe too?”

Astarion’s ears drooped as he endured the rising pang of obligation lighting up within him. He wanted to through the motions set forth. What was planned. He couldn’t process why she would want to derail the inevitable. His fingers hooked onto the waistband of her woolen tights and began to tug downward. A subtle shift in his weight as he tried to take a dominant approach.

She placed both of her hands on his wrists to stop him.

“Please, let me do something for you,” she remonstrated. 

Thomasin was immediate to catch her insistence and recoiled. Not out of bashful regret, but knowing of how cloudy and unclear sexual communication could accidentally become. How, even if he consented, she didn’t want to lose her own agency from a lack of thought. “Unless, I’m overstepping this.”  

Astarion processed the type of intimacy that was happening. His eyes locked onto her, pushing down any malaise until he could sheath it under a practiced grin. Responding in a now humored tone, he pulled his hands back, open palms at her mercy. Playful dramatics in his surrender.

“All is alright. I know the connection we share and how much you want me. How could I say no to such flattery? This is you treating your lust as it deserves to be treated. Should I pretend to be a client? The Anonymous Rivington Special?”

She scrunched her nose at the thought, hiding her disapproval beneath an unimpressed smile as if it was absurd to offer. It wasn’t that her career in Baldur’s Gate was tortuous or even unpleasant. Life there had unconventional quirks and repetition. The same roads, daily newspapers, ignoring bickering on the streets like it was wallpaper. The guards she’d walk around as they penned down the details of a knife fight. A woman and child rejoicing over the same ten magic tricks performed on corners every evening. 

The half-elf survived off barkeeps giving coin for her music and the bar patrons that nearly fell from their seats. Surrounding brothels were always somewhat regulated and the vital gossip was plentiful, giving insight into those requesting private home visits. Both a safety precaution and ample reason to bond with co-workers over bottles of wine.

None of those, however, would lay in her bed at night. Wouldn’t cradle her after her thighs ached and eyes were sore. She was never one to complain, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a hollowness in the confines of her small home. Even the nicest clients and most loyal bar-goers could show their appreciation only so much.

Thomasin shook her head. “Be here, please,” she whispered and went back to the peppering affection upon him. Mild kisses and nipping that caught the edge of his ear lobes and jaw. Underneath her, she could feel his chest rise and fall with a sigh and his demeanor relax muscle by muscle. His cold embrace resting atop her hips and guiding their rocking motion. A lazy rhythm that needed no allusive interludes or coy lyricism to keep up with. 

Murmurs and muffled giggles skulked from her throat until she noticed his arm move in her peripheral vision. As she leaned back to meet his gaze, she noticed him pointing upward. Not at the moon, but at the particular aura of nothingness around them. He tilted his head, as if to catch noise in its stillness. 

Their campmates weren’t terribly close, it did remind her how the cave’s systems latched onto loud noises and echoed when shouted in. Something Karlach was very fond of entertaining herself with when they first arrived. Astarion lowered his voice, keeping a finger up to punctuate the lack of vibration about. 

“This place will blare your lecherous thoughts,” he warned her.

Thomasin nodded at him, understanding how overwhelming it was for the two, but never to be said aloud. How she had to keep control of herself, as if to preserve some sanctity she couldn’t quite define. Perhaps it was the lingering aftermath of feeling she wasn’t much more than a vessel. The thought was all too consuming. Neither had remembered what intimacy was like within passion and leisure.

Astarion was quick to pull her back in to solidify their agreement. To prevent her from asking questions or voicing more thoughts. His internal motor was powered by pure curiosity and the prospects of sex outside of rigid oppression. He’d been submissive, dominant, and every version of versatile.

Now there was a newfound feeling, leaking like an old ceramic carafe whose baked clay flaked off in fragile chips. No way to keep the water from spilling out, streaming from between his fingers. It was as if emotions were both primary and secondary, fighting to claim the forefront.

All of the battling to and fro muddled the longer her touch explored his bounds. The light tickle of her fingertips and bands of rings grazed over a prominent bulge in his lap. Deepening their contact until it was a massage, kneading at the woven lacing of his pants, awaiting for his sobriety to stutter. How she idly fussed with the baggy pair keeping him clothed, brown linen tied at the waist and tapering into his boots. 

Thomasin could see him fidget under her like a yearning ache he was trying to suppress. A man that remained as collected as he physically could until immediate gratification was stripped. She was now fiddling with the lower half of his shirt. Her touch had retreated up his pelvis and attempted to finesse a button or two open, only to be dissuaded by his hands.

They were pushed back down to take care of the lacing she left behind. An urgency that reassured her he was enjoying himself. The half-elf laughed at his unabashed persuasion, letting her delight buzz between their kissing, while lacquered nails loosened the knot securing his pants tight. 

As the fabric gave way and access, she moved to gain better leverage. Thomasin inched over and straddled atop his thigh. One hand propped against the wall while the other cupped his cheek. Silent but studying his eyes and their curved inner corners. How his eyelids lowered in a manner she had only seen stunted and interrupted. 

The warmth in her fingers dragged downward, leaving an imprint of its presence down his shoulder, clavicle, ribs and then the unfolded flaps of his waistband. The half-elf tittered as a light gasp hit her ears. She continued until she held onto the bare flesh beneath a pair of embroidered underwear, careful consideration being lent as his breathing and muttering devolved. Heavy petting, lingering, laborious. Thorough in her strokes.

Astarion shuddered, feeling the head rush of pleasure elbowing its way in, fogging his thoughts faster than usual. A high he had only felt when savoring the bloodletting between them. The only time he had pushed past this threshold at abrupt speeds. 

Maybe it was the grounding of her weight atop him. It made him want to make up for any time he practiced restraint. Make an apologetic announcement over how foolish he was over the tiniest missteps. Even if he was in the right, logic and context had flown out of his orbit. Scenarios his brain couldn't formulate visuals of, yet alone articulate.

“Enjoying yourself, my sweet?” she whispered, listening to him devolve into panting.

He liked the way that sounded from her lips. 

She was sweet. More delectable than the untouched perfection of a devil’s dinner table spread. Fresh baked pies and grapes in every form. Ripe, crushed, fermented, enticing across polished silver platters. Buttered breads and grilled game signaling harvests and carnivorous tendencies. Garnished by the herbs of a garden manufactured in the hells. The eternal bloom of moonflowers frozen by a beautiful pact.

Astarion let his head roll back, feeling his haggard breath, the jutting air rolling off his tongue. Time felt slow. Silken. Like every sensation was boiling down to feeling her hips sway back and forth upon his leg. His eyes settled on the small crater at the roof of the cave, observing the night sky. The same glowing vastness above him every night, clustered from the lack of light pollution. It was the smattering of stars against the darkness. The speckles reminded him of the freckles on Thomasin’s shoulder and it sent the signal to tilt his head  forward and look at her. 

“Fucking hells, I’d rise from the grave every night for this,” his voice hushed through self-restraint. However, the worry of social decency was getting crushed by eye contact that met back at him. How she looked with bare skin and the evenings he caught himself staring after she washed up in a stream. Her face’s details greyed and softened. Eyes honest in their fatigue and unwavering search for comforts. It triggered his subservience, attempting to offer what compensation she was entitled to. The demands felt like loosened floorboards creaking in his skull, too unstable to commit jumping on.

Astarion figured his face must’ve shone his struggles as she smiled back at him and pressed her lips to his. The elf felt her tongue swirl along his, allowing her to take the lead due to every other muscle occupying his faculties. They all twitched and strained, desperate to betray the last grip of composure left. He wondered if this was what it felt like when others opened their chests, but then noted he hadn’t given a key. His felt like the forced butt of a shovel, cracking ribs and applying steady stents to heal where clumsy hands left. He wondered if it would halve his heart. The organ wouldn’t know what counted as a stake until already split.

Thomasin’s touch gave too much grace for that. She wasn’t just giving him time to run, waiting until he was far enough to no longer anticipate the arrow puncturing between his shoulder blades. The primal urge toward preservation never bubbled to the surface.

The longer he let himself enjoy it all, the more he could accept she paid attention to him. His ears occasionally drooped down and back up, melting, the spontaneous revival, until melting once more. His thoughts became blurred, an ever-confusing mass of connections. Attempts to compare the feeling and identify it. Maybe the high of moonflower sable burning to ash in pipes in seedy bars. It was hard to recall. 

Astarion’s own hands followed her movements and the folds of her stomach until the texture of wool met his fingertips. He yanked at the thin fabric of her tights, elvish pouring out of him from a dictionary long unused. “Orar, descenthallon, tham salen irinal irador. Saren rivvim–” A pause, somehow remembering to consider her partial fluency, and simplifying the elven prose to be understood. “I wish to touch all of you.” 

The half-elf was more than ready to lean aside to let him get rid of the barrier between them. Her fingers untied the other half of her nightshirt so the slits on each side opened for his use. With a covetous hoist, he positioned her back onto his lap and let his fingers glide along her inner thighs. The momentum pulled a giggle from her that only encouraged his rapacious behavior.

Once Thomasin made herself comfortable and widened her stand, she lowered herself down to the hilt, lifting her shirt to view it from her angle. Her shoulders rose in tandem with her heartbeat, acclimating her body to his and the closing space between them. Groans rumbled off his teeth and into the still air as she graduated into a gentle rise and fall. A trance that let Thomasin drag into the mental haze that plagued him. Her own half-lidded eyes met his, their minds blurring into the slow incline of speed.

For the first time, he was able to properly study the details of her body. With her head buried in his shoulder, he collected data like he’d done with countless others. Consuming the ridges and trails of her body. Fingers digging in until indentations were deep within the plush of her thighs. Each bump, bruise, scar. A tactile history on his clammy hands.

It wouldn’t occur to either of them that this outlet came naturally from arrested development. Two folks forced out of their young adulthood and the frivolous mistakes that being young allowed. The privilege of aimless learning they were supposed to share as anecdotes years later. Daring friends to jump off docks, pocketing fireworks to take to city limits, sloppy trysts. Their stories were now told through dismissive jest and omitted details. The opportunity to simply enjoy a night was organic.

Astarion watched as she fell victim to her own greedy hedonism, awaiting for her clenching muscles to seize. Muffled moans hid in the crook of his neck and he pulled her hair back to keep her posture upright and taut. Now facing him, she looked startled and couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Wha- Too loud?”

“I-Lift your arms up for me, ” he whispered, demanding yet wearing a giddy smile that betrayed any dominant persona. 

Astarion unveiled Thomasin in one fluid motion and balled up her nightshirt in his fist, pressing it to the back of her head. Cushioning the impact now, he shoved her back onto the cold rock beneath them. The yelp and subsequent mirth from her lips was dampened with her own clasping hand. But, before she could remove it, he placed his atop hers to further muffle the sounds. Her heavy breathing flowed loudly through her nose as he pressed uncoordinated kisses on her chest.

“You’re doing so well. My veluthe talibund.” 

The elf proceeded to drown out any ounce of negative feelings by focusing on the vibrational feedback ringing through both of their palms. Returning to a thrust, he rutted with no grace, shameless and unable to be inauthentic in any way possible. Selfishness that had mutual benefit and left her grasping onto the nape of his neck. A quick succession that felt a lifetime until his back hunched and his own moans disregarded the cave’s echo. With no shame left to their names, the two shared those long seconds, collecting themselves after a clash of endorphins.

The rock walls bounced their laughter about and awoke creatures scurrying within its confines. Dazed and silly, like ill-mannered young elves, now finding secret moments to be irresponsible for once. Astarion eventually rolled beside her in defeat, lifting his pants around his waist and securing them tight. She clung to his arm as she had the tendency to, but now he allowed himself to be clung onto. 

The silence blanketed them in the afterglow. Bathed them in unspoken intimacy. Like a feeling of warmth that wasn’t attributed to the temperature of her skin. A sensation too good to be true as reality seeped into the elf’s brain once more. The clarity of it all and the gravity of their situation rearing its head. His eyes flicked back open, the twinkle in his eye dampening a bit.

 “When I’m with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again, with you,” he whispered.

His words floated above them, heavy in their juxtaposition to what occurred minutes before. Not what was whispered in her ear, but the verbal clanking of faux beads and counterfeit jewels. Shallow poetics only pleasing on the surface. One of many off a mental list of validation. 

“Hm?” she hummed, turning her head to look up at him.

“It’s just that every part of your perfect body whispers temptation. Like the gods made you to simply ruin me.” His limp hand lifted before them, flicking in a gesture to punctuate his powerless victimhood to her pull.

“I-You don’t have to say all that.”

“I’m wonderful at flattery though, darling. What about everyone’s favorite little words?” He let go of any inhibition as he always had before speaking sweet nothings. “I love you.”

Thomasin was instantaneous in her response, loosening her grip so she could sit up and rest upon her palms. The half-elf looked at him perplexed by his sudden shift, voice sedated yet stern. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean. Lying won’t appease me.”

He snickered, ensuring he didn’t take the action as rejection, but rather part of the natural tug and pull. “A rather beautiful lie though, isn’t it?”

Thomasin sighed, looking over at the cave’s mouth and then back at him. Even though she was reluctant to, she gathered the scattered clothing around them and bundled them against her chest. “Whatever you say, Astarion. I’m going to clean off in the stream. Goodnight,” she said upon departure, positioning herself to slide down each leveled stone step. 

Astarion smiled watching her go, letting his head rest back down to watch the starry projection in the sky. It wasn’t long until his amusement simmered back into mild worry, however. The space beside him felt empty. Absence now more threatening and enveloping than expected. The elf pinched at the bow around his neck, tugging a long strand until the knot popped free. He could only sneer at himself in self-pity.

#bg3 oc #bg3 tav #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #astarion smut #soft dom astarion #half elf tav #half drow tav

[elithilanor]

A Healer’s Touch, An Herbalist’s Kindness P1

Concept: See above

Request for: @sotwk​ This one is a bit more from Haldir’s perspective than OFC and honestly I found it a little more difficult to write, so I hope this is to your liking! I decided to split this up into sections just because a) it was getting long and b) really different vibes were going on between the initial meetings and the later visits/excuses to see each other. So here’s the initial meeting! This one’s a little angsty, but it’s mostly up from here, promise!

We’re probably looking at another 3-5 parts depending on flow. So strap in for the ride lol. Yes, there’s also definitely a writing shift because I was testing new styles, but decided it has its time and place. Hope you don’t mind!

Tags: way pre-relationship Haldir x OFC (healer/herbalist and future wife); emotional hurt/comfort; emotional whump! Haldir poor guy, he’s really going through it it’s been a rough season for the wardens out there!; angst

TWs: injury and light blood descriptions; anxiety and panic attacks; some situational self-loathing

____________________________________________________________________

“Círan, you cannot be serious!” Haldir exclaims as he struggles against the other elf’s hold preventing him from marching back into surgery.

“You would leave my brother in the hands of an apprentice with this?” His voice is tight in outrage.

“Chief Marchwarden!” Círan snaps. “She may be recent to us here in The Golden Wood, but not to her skills. Chief Marchwarden,” their voice then softens, “Haldir, please. Rúmil is in good hands with her. She recognized the symptoms as soon as the rider came and has been preparing the whole hours since. Please, let us work.”

Haldir bites his tongue as he watches the unknown elleth briskly cut open the dressing he’d wrapped himself around the jagged wound on his brother’s chest and side and begin flushing it with an alternating mix of clean water and a pungent brew of dark herbs, only some of which he recognized. He can just see her tilt his brother’s head back and produce a vial before the doors swing shut, cutting off his field of vision. 

Haldir takes a shaky breath then reluctantly nods before forcing himself to step back and off to the side. He clenches his jaw and sits in the chair provided by Círan before the healer goes back to assisting with the work ahead.

Haldir, The Lady’s voice sounds clear in his head, startling him from his worry. Celeborn tells me the patrols have destroyed the orc holdout responsible and are bringing in the poisoned blades to the healers for inspection. Expect them within the hour. I have already let Nestál know, as well. How is Rúmil fairing?

Haldir closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before responding, willing away some of the adrenaline and underlying panic in his system.

No worse than before we set off, my Lady. The new healer apparently has seen something similar before and she’s taken the lead in his healing. He says, a touch sardonically.

Ah, slight amusement and warmth filters through their óswanë link. Yes, I imagine she has. She pauses before adding.

Haldir, rest. Let the healers take care of Rúmil. Orophin is on his way in from the Northwest outpost, as well. You take care of our people well, let them help you. Take this time to be with your brothers, we’ll hold steady until your return.

Haldir flounders for what to say and his hands clutch at his own over cloak now torn in three separate places and soaked through with his brother’s blood. He wants to argue but knows he can’t. There is nothing for him to argue against.

Of course, my Lady. Thank you.

Be at peace, Chief Marchwarden. Today has been a dark day, but all will be well. She soothes before withdrawing from his mind.

Haldir sighs and begins to compile a list of all the reports he’d need to complete and patrol routes they’d need to revise. He rubs his temples and settles in the chair for the long vigil he knew he’d have ahead of him.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

“Marchwarden?” A soft voice breaks into his thoughts over which paths they could secret into the mountain sides above Moria. 

Haldir jolts back into awareness as the elleth caring for Rúmil steps into his line of sight, worry flooding his system. He goes to stand but she waves her hand at at him.

“Is he-?”

She smiles softly, her eyes tired. “As long as your brother makes it through the night - and there’s every indication that he will, just a precaution - then he’ll be fine. It will be a delayed healing process due to the venom, but we all are certain he’ll make a full recovery.”

The relief Haldir feels makes him weak in the knees and in hindsight, he’s incredibly glad that she let him stay seated. He now feels guilty in more ways than one, too. He clears his throat.

“Círan says you’ve encountered this before?”

“Ah, yes.” She looks grim. “Spider venom.”

Haldir blinks in shock, wondering if the new but not-new-to-them apprentice realized how ridiculous she sounded. “You must be mistaken. The Children of Ungoliant are not here in such a way; they’re regional to Mirkwood.”

“Yes, Marchwarden, I’m aware.” She bites out then releases a breath, running a hand through her tresses, messing the already loose braid down her back. “I did my herbalism and first aid training in Imladris, but my mother is from the Greenwood.” Haldir raises an eyebrow at the emphasis feeling as if he would smirk at her if he had the energy left in him.

“I’ve spent much of my life there assisting their healers with the reactions to venom. Its fortunate I’ve learned to always carry vials of antivenin on me or else we’d have to dispatch riders to Lord Thranduil for supply and it likely would be too late for your brother.”

Haldir feels a shiver run up his spine, wiping away his slight amusement.

“You must understand that just because you have no spiders means little. Orcs join forces with them and can coat their blades in the poison; it’s very common in the Greenwood and surrounding areas such as Dale. I’m just surprised. I’ve never heard of the practice extending past the forest’s borders. Nonetheless, Nestal is informing Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel while Círan and I monitor Rúmil. I’ve already made contact with Lord Thranduil to inform him and request additional antivenin be sourced and sent here to Lórien and to Imladris lest they head that way, as well. Orc sightings have been also steadily increasing along the road paths, as I’m sure we’re all aware.”

“Sauron.” Haldir curses. “It seems everyday his range increases and the grief he brings to all lands intermingles with the love already there to be found.”

A smile touches her lips briefly, “Yes, the bastard.” Haldir startles at her bluntness and stares at her.

“Ah, apologies. We have a tendency to be more informal in the healing halls.” The ellyth clears her throat and gestures towards the recovery wing. “I’ve set up a cot near Rúmil for you along with a stand and a couple other things you may need for the evening. Given the availability at the moment, I’ve also set up another space for hm. I believe Lady Galadriel said you had another brother?” She questioned and moved closer to the door, indicating him to follow her.

“Yes, our younger brother Orophin.” Haldir responds, gathering his things.

“Will he be needing medical treatment, as well? I can alert Círan and Nestál.”

“No,” Haldir replies as he stands and moves towards her. “He’s been at post in Nanduhirion.”

She nods at his answer, but looks as if she was parsing out a riddle in her mind’s eye.

“Near the Doors of Moria in the Northwest. Rúmil and I were attacked near the main borders above Cerin Amroth closer to the Northeast.” Haldir says, a touch impatiently, as they move into the next room.

She mutters something from behind him, but Haldir doesn’t hear her as clearly as his training should have him. Instead, he stares at his brother’s form lying prone in a healer’s bed, chest rewound in fresh bandages and a thick, acrid poultice the color of decaying moss and leaves laid over-top every inch. Rúmil was paler than perhaps his first several months out of their mother’s womb and despite his sleeping state for the last several hours, his eyes were sunken in his face and ringed in darkness. Almost as if Rúmil had already met the Death the healers had been trying to prevent.

“-warden. Haldir!” A voice gets louder in his ringing ears and a hand tightens on his arm. He looks down at the short ellyth standing concernedly at his side. He towers over her, he realizes. She’s on the shorter side for an elf. He wonders if she has any Mannish blood in her line.

“Haldir.” She says again. He’s unsure if he hears her as much as sees her lips form his name. She smiles a little as she catches his eye, but the crease between her eyebrows gives her worry away. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”

It takes him a moment but he nods.

“Your brother is doing very well given the situation and with no complications, should pull through just fine. He just needs rest and treatment every few hours. Nod again if you understand me.” He nods. Despite his initial annoyance with her presence, her voice is incredibly soothing to listen to. Something about her is soothing to him. Perhaps her healer’s training.

“Haldir, breathe. In. Out. Can you do that for me?” He forces a stuttering and shallow breath into his lungs.

“Good,” she soothes, “again.” He feels warm at the nape of his neck and repeats the action at her guidance. His sight clears at the edges, bringing him back into awareness with his body. He hadn’t realized how out of focus he was or how close he was to loosing consciousness.

He hadn’t realized a lot of things today. Some Marchwarden he was. Some brother he was, Haldir thought bitterly, tightness rising in his chest again. 

He feels a slight pressure and absentmindedly looks down at the hand on his arm pulling him towards his brother. The ellyth gently guides him to sit on the made cot next to Rúmil‘s and sets his things down on a stool nearby before pouring an already steeped, hot cup of tisane from a full-brewed pot.

She presses the mug of tisane into his hands and Haldir clutches it as if were a lifeline she had thrown out into his drowning hand in the fast-moving waters of the Celebrant instead.

“Drink, Marchwarden. It will help, I promise.” She says gently and he’s suddenly reminded of what she said earlier: I’ve set up a cot near Rúmil for you along with a stand and a couple other things you may need for the evening.

He looks around the space as he sips on the tea provided, scalding his tongue in the process. Tea; mugs; a heated water pitcher, basin, and rags; his bag; pillows and a cot with warm linens made for the cool nights; a reading candle and his brother’s condition report nearby if he wishes to update himself on Rúmil’s progress; and a small platter of fruits, cheeses, bread, and a jar of honey.

A couple of other things, Haldir thinks incredulously. This ellyth had gone far beyond any duties in providing for a family member of an injured patient, Chief Marchwarden or not. Especially one who had been treating her and her healing skills as callously as he had been thus far.

“Marchwarden?” She asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Chief Marchwarden of the Northern Boundary.” Haldir can’t help but snap back out of instinct. He immediately regrets his words and goes to apologize, but finds his ability with words too, have finally escaped him.

It’s been a gruesome day and a longer month and an even more grueling several years. He’s not sure he could say the words he wants to express even if he could think of them in the first place.

“Well, then, Chief Marchwarden of the Northern Boundary.” The ellyth states sharply, then pauses and eventually sighs.

Somehow, she still sounds kind when she begins again, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on your brother’s progress and change his bandages. Círan will do hourly rounds until then. In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest. It will be a long night.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she shakes her head slightly and smiles tightly at him then speaks as she runs her eyes over Rúmil. “Please alert us if there’s any serious changes with your brother. Goodnight.”

The ellyth briskly walks out the back set of doors in the room, deeper into the healing halls.

Haldir sighs and sets his empty mug down, rubbing his hands harshly over his face before laying down and staring at the panels in the ceiling.

Just another tally against himself today, Haldir thinks. He can’t even gather himself to be civil with the elf tasked with more than adequately saving his brother’s life after he couldn’t do it himself.

He’s tired, he realizes. A deep, bone-aching tired that lends itself to tides pulling him out to sea.

In the morning, he’ll see what he can do to mend his transgressions from today, he thinks, brain slower to map out possible plans of action than normally.

His yawn cracks his jaw and his eyelids begin to droop of their own accord.

The tisane, he belatedly registers. Made of valerian root, lavender, and rose hips.

Haldir snorts and grins as he begins to drift to sleep. Clever minx.

#haldir imagine #elithilanor #lotr imagine #lotr #lord of the rings #haldir #haldir of lorien #haldir x reader #haldir x you #no y/n #haldir x fem!reader

[captain039]

PART 6 Intertwined with a mortal

Ascended Vampire Duke!Astarion x human!reader

Slight alpha Duke!Wyll x reader

Bridgerton x Astarion 👍🏻

Warnings: Olden times, swearing, age gap, tension, slow burn, vampire Mates, vampire things, angst, sexual, harassment, bigger reader, fat shaming, 18+, angst, Astarions trauma, anxiety, depression, learning to touch and love, big dislike for children lmao, AOB, artist reader, manipulation, jealousy

Previous part <-

You were biting your nails as you sat with Wyll by the lake, mind elsewhere.

“You’re miles away Milady” he chuckled lightly and you sighed.

“Did something happen?” He asked and you glared ahead.

“Yes! I don’t know what his game or problem is!” You snapped, but also trying to be mindful of those around you.

“I don’t understand this and my mother is so invested in me marrying you!” You gritted your teeth.

“Would it be so bad? Duke Ancunin is not a potential suitor, he’s a problem” Wyll said and you stared at him.

“To be married to me?” He added his eyes shy and you froze, had he not realised you weren’t interested in him? You loved his company he would make an omega beyond happy.

“I can’t marry you!” You hadn’t meant to snap and the poor alpha flinched and you felt horrid instantly. Your heart dropped and you saw his hurt instantly, you stood and apologised before briskly walking back to your family ignoring his calls.

It’d been two days since then and you were prepared to rip the skin off your bones. You cried in frustration throwing your canvas and throwing your paints and jars on the floor before crying. Your father and mother had rushed in as you sobbed. Your mother took hold of you and took you away from your room to sit out in the hall as your mother called the servants. Your mother held you as you sobbed and clutched onto her.

“I can’t do this!” You cried while she hushed you.

“I just ruined a perfect marriage” you added.

“Sweetheart,” your mother said softly.

“Duke Ravengard wasn’t your one, you were friends nothing more” she said and you looked at her as she smiled softly.

“Your dancing with Duke Ravengard was fun and familiar your dance with Duke Ancunin was passionate, a silent dance of two souls becoming one, it was amazing” She wiped your eyes.

“The heart wants what the heart wants” she said bringing you back to hold you as your father came out to sit on the other side of you.

“I snapped at him, I ruined the friendship too” you explained and she sighed softly.

“I’m going to invite their family for tea, please explain to him what’s happening, and put his thoughts to ease,” she said and simply nodded.

At the dinner you ate awkwardly, picking at your food before you all went to the living room, one of Wyll's half sister playing the piano. You sat next to Wyll feeling nervous as you glanced at your mother who gave you an encouraging smile.

“Duke-“

“Lady-“ you’d both spoken at the same time and chuckled softly.

“You first” he said nodding and you hesitated.

“You first I’m going to mess up,” you said and he smiled, but nodded.

“I apologise for what I said, it was self-indulgence,” he said sighing.

“I know your heart is already intertwined with Duke Ancunin and I cannot get between that” he said and you felt tears roll down your face. You quickly wiped them away.

“You’ll make an omega really happy, you’ll be happy with them I wish nothing less for you,” you said as he held your hand and kissed the back of your hand.

“I just-” you sighed.

“I know,” he said softly and you sagged a bit, giving his hand a small clench before looking at his sister playing.

The next party was held at the Ancunin residence, the place was grand and darker in terms of decor, it made the pale elf stand out more, like a star in the night. You had kept to your mother's side, hoping nobody would ask you to dance. Chatter filled the room as you stayed silent briefly glancing to the Duke. He kept his perfect act, but there was an unseen tension in his body, his body trembling subtly every now and then. As the dancing began, it was slower and more intimate dancing, the music somehow suiting him and the feeling in this room. You were off to the side seeing Wyll dancing with an omega you briefly remember, Lady Lila, she was smiling softly as the duke led her. You sensed his presence though and you turned seeing the duke standing there, red eyes on yours as he held his hand out, no words spoken as you took it.

As you joined in his arms you felt your previous feelings melt away as you stayed in the moment, feeling his cool hands holding you. You sighed lightly his scent filling your nose. No words were spoken, but the dance spoke for you, apologies and new feelings as you moved together. As the dance ended you both bowed as you gave a small smile before leaving back to socialise for the rest of the night.

His mind was suddenly at ease as he felt your hand in his, your familiar warmth touched his body and your sweet honeyed scent filled his nose. You looked perfect tonight, a cream dress with lace on the top, pearl earrings and necklace to match, and your hair done up differently again. He felt an urge to untangle it, watch it flow down and frame your face. He didn’t find a need to say anything, say something flirtatious or tease you, he felt at ease and nobody else mattered in this moment. He didn’t know what he was feeling, the way you moved with him so effortlessly like you were made for dancing together, the way you relaxed against him despite not knowing him or his monstrous secret. He felt different, you weren’t his prey, he was yours and he’d already fallen into your trap.

Next part ->

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #x reader #aob #au #bridgerton inspired

[theconstellationprincess]

House and Home:

Chapter 3: Meals and Deals

tw// angst, regression repression (lmk if I need to add anymore)

-

After an hour had passed, far too quickly in Pix’s opinion, everyone was rounded up and shuffled downstairs to the dining room. It was extravagant, large arches and windows creating a wide, open feeling space. Pix was one of the first to enter the room, a fact he quickly regretted when he realized he’d have to pick a spot. There were no assigned seats, something he was a little disappointed about, as it would have made his life easier.

Fwhip sat down first, with Gem and Sausage following. The table was set up in the same way as the House Blossom Alliance meetings, and the three of them followed that seating plan. Pix followed suit, taking a spot that mirrored his position in meetings.

His knee bounced, so he held it down with his hands in his lap, which had the added benefit of preventing him from fidgeting with his fingers are anything on the table.

As everyone sat, he was amused to note that everyone else had also followed the pattern, Katherine included. He looked across the faces of his friends and wondered, truly, how had things gotten so terrible between them all? His eyes caught on Fwhip, breath catching in his chest as he found his gaze returned.

Fwhip stared at Pix, unblinkingly, until the food was brought out. Fwhip knew Pix far better than the others, and he was privy to a fact that, to his knowledge, only he and Pix knew. Fwhip was aware that Pix was a regressor, though he was certain Pix didn’t know he knew. The poor king went to great lengths to hide it, going so far as to lock himself in his bedroom. It made Fwhip a little sad, but truly he often felt a similar way, so he did not judge.

He was concerned, about Pix. He had been so busy lately, large bags prominent under his eyes, and Fwhip had noticed that one of the bags that Pix had brought seemed to be filled with paperwork.

When Pix made eye contact with him, he tilted his head slightly, trying to convey ‘are you alright?’, though based on Pix’s increasingly confused and anxious expression, he was failing.

When lunch arrived, he had to make an effort to not scrunch up his nose. He was familiar with the food of other empires, of course, and he didn’t expect Katherine to cater to his… specific diet, but it was still a bit annoying to be given a salad that was entirely vegetables, no protein in sight.

But alas, he was trying to make an effort here, so he shoved the leafs into his mouth, actively avoiding grimacing. He noticed a couple of the others picking at their food, and Scott looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

To Scott’s credit, he was doing a wonderful job pushing the salad around on its plate, just not so much at taking it off the plate and into his mouth. He looked stressed, though Fwhip couldn’t blame him. He’d had a rough go at it lately.

See, look at him empathizing with the elf! He was winning at Katherine’s little game for sure.

Scott was not winning Katherine’s game. Since leaving the sanctuary of his assigned room, he’d quickly come to the conclusion that he would never be able to rest in this house. Everything was far too noisy for his sensitive ears, and he felt like he was going to puke from a mixture of anxiety and sensory overload.

Katherine was prattling on about something to the group, but Scott was being focused on trying not to cry and wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t his fault that Katherine had hired an army of servants that were constantly moving and making sounds that felt like a hammer hitting Scott’s skull. He dug his nails into his palms, careful to avoid reopening the half-moon scars that had been left behind after a life time of too sharp nails on too soft skin.

He observed the room, grateful that Katherine’s chatter had at least silenced most of the group around the table. Pixlriffs was writing furiously in a book (where had he pulled that from?), but the soft pencil scratching was far more soothing than distressing. He focused on the repetitive noise, slowly unclenching his hands. It would be a nice sound to fall asleep too, but alas, Scott trusts most of the people around him as far as he could throw them, which is admittedly, not particularly far, unless he was flying...

Regardless, his eyes stayed firmly open. He drifted his gaze towards the Cod Father Alliance, Joel and Jimmy were whispering furiously to one another, while Lizzie was exasperatedly trying to get them to quiet down. Scott narrowed his eyes, were they regressed?

The Cod Father Alliance all did, he knew that. It was a well known fact, he'd taken care of Lizzie a few times, and Joel, and once had a regressed Jimmy foisted upon him by a panicked Lizzie and taken care of him. They were easier to talk to, when regressed. Or perhaps it was because his biases towards them were far less strong when they were kids, after all he wasn't going to be mean to kids.

Joel stuck his tongue out at him, Scott smirked and did it back, but quickly looked away when Joel started tugging on Lizzie's arm to get her attention. Her resulting sigh almost made him laugh.

Katherine continued to talk, and then she stopped and everyone started standing up. Scott stared at his uneaten salad and shrugged, following suit with the others. He'd have to find someone to ask what Katherine was talking about, perhaps Pix. They'd never been close, but they weren't enemies either.

Pix, on his part, had been paying close attention to what Katherine was saying. It was a schedule, and he would not be caught unprepared for any activity! He flicked through the notes he had taken, there was a surprising amount of games of hide and seek scheduled throughout the week. He wondered, briefly, if Katherine had perhaps allowed her small side to dictate parts of the schedule.

To Pix's knowledge, almost every emperor regressed, himself included. Sausage didn't, or if he did Pix didn't know, but everyone else did, at least occasionally. Some were rarer than others, his own included. He was almost always a caregiver, and had watched over almost every empire's ruler at this point.

Pix nearly walked straight into his door, face buried in his book, but stopped himself at the last minute. He quietly shut the door behind him, Scott appeared to be feeling under the weather and he didn't want to cause the elf any pain. He set the notebook down on the desk, grateful that the rest of today was pencilled in as a break. Katherine had mentioned that they would all be sharing lunch with each other, but no other meals would be mandatory to be shared amongst them.

Pix rolled out of bed and started pacing. The doors did not have locks. That was... unfortunate. He eyed the closet. It was spacious, inside, and had its own light source, and lots of shelves for candles... Pix determinedly pulled his well-loved box out of it's hiding space, and then froze.

What on earth was he doing? He couldn't regress, what if someone needed him? Scott might be getting sick, and Pix knew from experience that being sick enhanced regression tenfold. He knew Scott was wary of almost everyone here, too, but seemed to be okay with Pix. He shook his head. He ignored how his hands shook and how tears pricked in the corner of his eyes and how much he was already regressed and just not letting himself admit it and shoved the box back into it's hiding place.

He wasn't regressed. He wasn't. He was big! He needed to be big, just in case.

Pix swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut and climbing into the bed, pulling the covers over his head. He was a neighbour to an elf with sensitive hearing, he would need to be very quiet if he didn't want Scott to find out about his current... emotional upset. Because then he might be asked questions, one's that he could not answer.

The darkness under the blankets was far from comforting, but the sound muffling was necessary as Pix tried his best to not cry. What was with him? Honestly, he was behaving like a child.

A few tears dripped down his face, and he was quick to wipe them away. Crying because he didn't get his way? Crocodile tears, clearly. He was just crying for attention, ignoring the fact he was entirely alone.

More tears fell until Pix gave up on wiping them away and let himself cry. He wasn't small, he couldn't be. A soft knock sounded on his door.

Pix froze.

Then it was a scramble of actions. He pulled himself out of his blanket cocoon and furiously wiped at his face and combed his hair with his hands. He hoped his red eyes looked more sleep than tear induced.

Scott stood at his door. He opened his mouth at the same time Pix did.

"Hello! What can I do for you?" Pix asked cheerily, faking a yawn and stretching his arms. "Sorry," He said after yawning, really amping up the tiredness.

"Pixlriffs," Scott greated tensely. He looked nervous, but tossed on a smile as he leaned in and quietly explained, "I'm rather afraid I missed what Katherine was talking about earlier. Could you, perhaps, explain to me what it was she was talking about?"

Pix grinned, opening his door to allow Scott inside while he approached the desk, pulling up the notebook. He turned around to see Scott staring, wide-eyed, at the several candles he had set up along the nightstands and dressers. Pix winced.

"Here-" He cleared his throat, "Katherine was talking about a schedule for the next week, it's all written down here." He offered the book to Scott with a nervous smile, getting one in return. "They're not for, um, death. Pixandria uses candles for many practices, including celebration and friendships-" Pix babbled, cutting himself when Scott's face contorted into something different. He was terrible at reading facial expressions, he couldn't tell if Scott was interested or annoyed. He swallowed, allowing Scott to leave with the book without more conversation.

His traitorous eyes locked onto the hiding space of the box. But he was feeling leagues better already, having shoved all his emotions inside a deep part of his brain so that he could act normally for Scott.

He approached his bed again, genuine exhaustion clinging to his bones as he burried himself under the blankets, though not covering his head.

It was still light, which meant he needn't light any candles if he went to bed now, since he would avoid all the darkness.

Nothing bad would come of heading to be early, he was certain.

-

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed! @little-froglight

#star writes #age regression #sfw agere #agere #fandom agere #empires agere #mcyt agere #pixlriffs #fwhip #smajor #scott smajor #angst #empires season 1 #empires season one #house and home

[badwithten]

Jack Frost coming for y’all, run run

The holiday that freezes us to the bone, silence

There’s nothing special

Why did everyone wait for so long?

Christmas EveL

Christmas is supposed to be a special time filled with joy, family and giving. But this year just as the festivity boils up in your blood, you see the red pour out and stain the snow below you. Terror strikes you in the gut and the warmth from the joyous session leaves your body.

“Christmas really is evil, isn't it?” You laugh, trying to make light of the deadly situation you've got yourself in.

A wicked smile plays over his lips.

“Told you so”

One of my favourite genres to write is horror, but I came back to Tumblr missing October. Lucky for me Stray Kids has a song that allows me to bring this genre into the festive season! Leading up to Christmas I’ll have a horror-themed story for each of the members.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

A/N although this was supposed to be a horror series more of these turned out to be angsty rather than scary lol but all will be tagged with their warnings if you are wanting to read!

Crazy in the Cold

The cabin Jeongin rented out for your winter getaway was too far for your old car to make it. Breaking down in the middle of nowhere during a snowstorm wasn't ideal, yet you trusted Jeongin and knew he’d keep you safe. But you can only keep the cold away for too long. And soon you lose yourself in the white abyss. 

Blood Thirsty

It was your first Christmas with Chan and things were looking good. You had recently moved into an apartment with him, organised a Christmas dinner for all the members and had mistletoe hanging round every corner (any excuse to give him a kiss). But as Christmas gets closer, something about Chan seems off. His skin is cold and he won’t stop looking at you like a starved man who's just seen food for the first time. 

Eyes of the Elf

After a warm welcoming gift from your new neighbour, you notice him becoming more attentive to your life. You blew it off as him trying to make you feel more welcome. It soon became clear it was more than that. And despite not believing in fairytales, you swear your elf on the shelf keeps moving on its own. 

Blood on the Table

You held Christmas close to your heart, wanting to spend the holiday time around those who you love. Unfortunately this year, your boss insists on spending Christmas eve at his house for a company dinner. With Lee Know at your side, you head inside the strange house. At first, your anxiety was based on the awkward small talk required to get through the night. But you soon realise your life might be on the line if you don't play along with your boss's games. 

Lock Down

Despite being locked inside your family's farm house due to the poor weather conditions outside, life couldn't be better. Nothing but you, Felix and a cosy environment to spend time with the person you loved the most. All is well until you start to hear movement outside in the snow storm. But with the worsening conditions, there's no way for any human to survive out there. So who keeps knocking on the door? 

Winter Warfare

Secret Santa was something you wouldn't miss for the world, so when your manager suggested a workplace event you were thrilled. Instead of one gift on Christmas, each workday you surprise your secret Santa with a new present on their desk. It started with small trinkets and chocolate. But on the 8th day, you decided to show your secret Santa how much you really cared.  

Unwilling Alone and Forcibly Together

The first Christmas on your own wasn't going to be easy after the death of your husband last year. While rummaging through the attic for Christmas decorations you come across a box of his old things that you had never seen before. You hope to find some closure within but after reading his journal, more questions are asked then answered. Was his death an accident after all?

Maze of Memories

Having a real Christmas tree was something you took pride in each year. Going to harvest the tree, setting it up and enjoying the fresh pine smell was well worth all the mess the pine needles make. But after adventuring too far through the pine tree farm, you and Changbin struggle to find your way back. Instead, you’re forced to deal with a demon of your own creation.

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