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loriache · 13 days

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Butch up that Elf: my Marcille manifesto

TBQH, this came into being because the Falin "dragoness" fanart rewired my brain completely. It's sillytimes, but we're going to make a serious argument: trying out being a little butch would Fix Her.

1. Marcille Gender Discomfort

Now, Marcille LOVES feminity. She loves playing dressup, she loves elaborate gowns, she spends her free time going to the spa - the absolute last thing I want is to deny that. However, there's also a definite vibe that this isn't just a preference. Specifically, the way that she pushes Falin towards femininity suggests that she isn't comfortable with gender nonconformity in the people around her.

If this was something she was 100% confident about ("I'm doing this for myself and nobody else!") surely what other people do wouldn't be a big deal? Of course, you can read this as a little bit of solipsism; "what works for me must work for you too! I think this is so cute and would suit you - wouldn't you agree?"

But for the sake of this argument, all I'm trying to suggest is that gender nonconformity (and probably sexual nonconformity... well, frankly, any kind of sexuality at all) is unlikely to be something that's on Marcille's "radar". She hasn't tried out other ways of presenting and decided she doesn't like them. I do think she'd be a very flamboyant butch - "ouji lolita" vibes, you know? It's a whole new set of wardrobe options she could play dress-up in, even.

After the story ends, she starts dressing like her mother in all black, which makes sense - her mother was also a court magician, so she's probably emulating her in order to project confidence and authority. But I can't say I think she should stick with this. Break away and be your own person, Marcille! Try a fancy waistcoat and frilled jacket!

2. Haircut

This is another potential hard sell, I'm sure. The people she loves doing her hair is a cute symbol of their care for her, and her hair is key to her magic - so there's plenty of reason for her to keep it long. But like... think practically. Having someone do your hair every morning, for the whole of her long life, while it gets messier over the day (because she can't remember to keep it neat)... That's got to be such a pain. My hair gets messy when I put a hoodie on. And I have short hair.

It would require her to go through a change of mind, and probably a little more growth in how secure she feels in her relationships, but - the hairdo's a symbol. The more important thing is the relationships themselves. Eventually I think there might be something liberating about cutting it off, even if she might eventually decide to grow it out again.

The lion, her trauma, took something away from her which was really important to her. The people around her are able to make that easier, and make up for it, and soften that loss, but... Mithrun isn't the person he was before, you know? He's a new person. The relationship he has with his brother is new, and I don't know if it's one that the person he was before could have had. If Falin hadn't died, they wouldn't have gone on that wonderful adventure! They wouldn't have met Senshi or saved Izutsumi and Laios and Marcille wouldn't have gotten so close. So I think it's totally congruent with the themes of the story that the burning away of this part of Marcille's self might eventually create the potential for new growth in a new direction, not clinging onto the parts that are gone.

This also isn't totally out of the norm for elven mages - both Otta and Flamela have short hair. Otta is canonically butch, and potentially Flamela reads that way to elves too, but the point is it clearly is possible to be an accomplished mage without long hair.

3. Desiring (to be) a chivalrous prince

Marcille's succubus is clearly General Halleus from her favourite book series, the Daltian Clan. The fact that this is her ideal man.... it certainly plays into readings of her as Not Straight. But at least, this conveys the way her conception of sex and romance is strongly idealised, dissociated from the bodily and from physical desire.

There are many ways to interpret that, including thinking about what types of desire this fixation is obstructing because she is not comfortable with it, but I am going to focus here on what this desire does signify. She likes the trappings of courtly romance, and is clearly comfortable putting herself in the role of the princess, being taken away on a white horse by a noble (but tormented; eyepatch has "death" on it lmao) prince. (Though I think he's actually the token male lead who isn't royalty; he's a General. There's always one in Romfan, lmao. IYKYK)

A kiss on the hand - this is so chaste, I think it's clear it's more about desire to play a role in a dynamic than it is about desire in a physical sense. There is undoubtedly a big part of Marcille that wants to be a beloved and chased-after princess, but I think it isn't at all impossible that she'd also enjoy being the powerful, cool, and chivalrous "prince" to someone (a pretty girl, perhaps) who needs her protection.

This is a little silly, because it's clearly just aping the shoujo artstyle that articulates basically the same idea as her succubus, that Marcille is attached to highly abstracted and idealised romantic (and Romantic) tropes and ideas. But the imaginary "successful" Marcille from chapter 4 looks quite similar to her succubus. (Another thing I noticed is that in the fantasy she has sharp ears... like full elves have. Despite what she says, I think the cultural messaging that this trait is "attractive" and hers are inferior got to her at least a bit. 😥)

Also, the way that she treats Falin, scolding her indulgently, trying to look after her and wanting to be looked up to and respected by her... that aligns more with the "masculine" role in the trope that her succubus is referencing. "What are we going to do with you...?" I can imagine her saying this to Falin, word for word. Whereas, if anyone real started talking down to her, even affectionately, I don't think she'd like it, given the negative way she reacts when people don't respect her or her skills. Especially after canon, given the way the Winged Lion was treating her.

Her attitude to Falin is partially down to her reluctance to acknowledge Falin as an adult, who is independent and can grow beyond her and leave her behind. But I think even as they move on from that unhealthy dynamic, Marcille is still going to get pleasure from feeling capable, reliable, able to look after and protect Falin. She'd like to pull the chair out for her in a restaurant on a date, you know?

4. Conclusion

Even after the growth she goes through during the story, there are parts of Marcille's character that are very much obstructed. Romance, sexuality, and gender, feel like one of those to me. The way that her discomfort with the messy origins of food betrayed a deeper, more significant discomfort with the cycles of life and death.

Much in the same way, I'd argue that the simplified, idealistic, and safely fantastical way that she views romance, as well as her very "safe" gender presentation and tendency to push it onto others as well, suggest an underlying discomfort in her own gender and sexuality. The character growth she goes through leaves her in a place where it may be possible to safely re-evaluate her relationship with Falin, as well as her choice of clothing and hairstyle, both things that go through a change at the end of the manga. Neither, I think, reach a sustainable stopping point that we see - there will be a point when it's more servants doing her hair than friends, just out of practicality, because they're all going to be so, so busy. The black clothing to copy her mum is cute, but once she gets some more self-confidence in her own skills as a court magician, I think she'll move on from it. And... who knows what direction her relationship with Falin will develop, over the years? I'm rooting for them, anyway.

In all those cases, I think moving outside of the things she's done before, into something really different from the things that are "safe" and expected, will be the most rewarding path for her. Like in the dungeon, things that she would initially reject were actually able to sustain her and broaden her tastes. She loves dressing up, looking after people, and "princely romance". So I say: Butch Marcille! It'll be good for her!!

#og post #marcille donato #falin x marcille #farcille #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi meta #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #dunmeshi

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cambion-companion · 8 months

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Glimpses (Baldur's Gate 3 x reader)

A collection of x reader snapshots as follows: Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale and Raphael. Part II will have more!

"Careful darling, I bite."

"I don't think most people know what you fully mean by saying that, Astarion." You whispered to the Elven vampire spawn as you made your way to the tavern table, flickering firelight making the bustling atmosphere cozy and warm. "It's hardly an appropriate disclaimer."

Astarion's red eyes flicked over to you, a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. "You sound jealous, my love. Don't be, my fangs are all yours."

"I'm thrilled." You deadpanned, your gaze drifting back to the barmaid Astarion had definitely been flirting with. "Do you chat up everyone or were you just trying to get discounted ale?"

"You are jealous!" Astarion chuckled and you squeaked slightly as he pulled you by the waist to sit next to him. "Now, don't go off in a huff." He leaned in and you smelled his familiar scent of cloves and iron. "

"I'm not going anywhere." Your familiar words caused Astarion to still, his hands softening their teasing grip on your hips.

"Darling..." Astarion murmured. He hesitated and then you felt his soft lips touch your neck, no scrape of his fangs against your skin this time. He buried his nose in your hair, and you heard him inhale deeply.

"Like what you smell?" You teased gently.

"Mmm." Astarion murmured, kissing your neck once more before moved his face away again. "Like wine and death."

Moonlight filtered silver through the latticework windows, turning the stained glass to broken shards of ice against the starry sky. You heard footsteps approaching you, soft upon the deep carpet of the hallway. You turned, your breath catching in your throat as you saw Shadowheart walking to you dressed in a gown that seemed to be made of the shadows themselves, hugging her every curve.

"You look beautiful." You said, the words leaving your lips feeling like they did no justice to how your heart was skipping.

Shadowheart looked uncomfortable, pulling at the edges of the fabric that draped so elegantly over her hips. "I can't remember when I last wore something so impractical." Her green eyes met yours. "But thank you for your sweet candor."

You closed the distance between the two of you and touched her hands, coaxing them away from where she was tugging at the dark dress and pulling her into you. You pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed your nose against hers, feeling her body begin to relax at the familiar affection.

"We must make our required appearance at this gathering, and then we can slip away." You promised, your hand ghosting up the side of Shadowheart's neck until your fingers tangled in her long thick hair. "Get into something more comfortable."

"Can we indeed?" Her voice lilted, always an edge of playful teasing to her words. "I suppose it'll do."

You pulled her in by the nape of her neck and kissed her plush lips, dragging a small groan from the woman you'd grown to love deeper than the shades of Night Orchid blossoms.

"Now let's go show Faerun how lucky I am to have you at my side."

"She is the most darling little thing I have every laid eyes on." You spoke fervently, but kept your voice soft as you looked down at the winged cat sleeping in your lap.

Gale approached quietly, his smile fond as he looked at the two beings he treasured most in the world. "She's quite taken with you."

"And I with her." You looked up at him and smiled, it was always such a pleasure to hear his voice and share his company.

Gale crouched down beside where you sat with Tara, his hand reached forward and stroked the Tressym's feathers gently and scratched her sleeping head. Tara yawned widely, showing off her sharp white teeth before she tucked her head beneath a wing and went back to sleep.

You pouted a Gale as he continued showering affection his sleeping friend. Gale caught your eye and chuckled. "I'll pet you too, if you ask nicely."

You snorted but your expression softened when you felt Gale tuck his fingers beneath your chin and tilt your face back up to his. He leaned forward and placed a loving kiss on your cheek. He moved his lips to press against the top of your head and lingered there for a moment. "You'll never know how grateful I am for you." His voice was as gentle as Mystra's weave, it carried notes of magic and the promise of safety. "

"I love you too, Gale."

You grumbled in frustration as yet another wooden match broke in your fumbling fingers. "Gods above..." You muttered, yanking another from the box to try again.

"Not quite." A familiar voice said, and you turned to see a well-dressed noble with dark hair and eyes. He gave you a devious smile and clicked his fingers.

A spark of fire, the smell of sulphur, and your campfire burst into flames that quickly took purchase on the sodden logs and warmed your face pleasantly.

"Ah." You grimaced, fighting down the feeling of elation at seeing your favorite cambion. "Raphael...thanks for that."

"You're most welcome." Raphael said dryly as he approached you, glancing over your bedraggled figure. "Did my mouse get caught in the rain?"

You rolled your eyes, smirking at the familiar needling banter between the two of you began. "What does that make you? The cat, making sure its meal is warm and dry?" You grinned at him as he stepped even closer, pushing into your personal space. "A guardian devil as it were."

You felt his hands dig into your waist, the sharpness of his claws growing more apparent as Raphael slowly dropped his human guise. "You should know better by now." He rolled his shoulders, stretching his wings to their full extent, the flames of your campfire dancing wildly in the gust of wind the motion created. Your hand slid up between his shoulder blades, the heady scent of musk and cherries filled your nostrils as you felt his teeth on your neck. The devil's voice sent a vibration to your heart. "The fox, rather...luring you in inch by inch until you belong to me."

#baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #gale x reader #shadowheart x reader #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #astarion #shadowheart #gale bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #fluff

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

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Widower Astarion Headcanons

Ok, we wanted pain - I bring you pain. @astarionsbeloved @wickedwitchofthewilds @sleepykitty21 @starlight-ipomoea

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion isn't an idiot; he knows you are mortal, a topic you've discussed before.

Jokingly, he suggested you find a vampire lord, but even if one were found, Astarion would never allow you to turn into a vampire.

"It hurts, it's painful. The existence of a vampire is miserable. I will never do this to you."

The price of mortality is death.

You made him promise not to step into the sunlight and to keep living, carrying memories of you into the future.

You die as you always wanted: in a glorious battle, or safe and comfy in your bed, or brought home by Astarion to a place you grew up in.

You die with no regrets, sorrows, or complaints.

Astarion is numb; all the feelings he learned how to express are gone with your last breath.

He dissociates; it's not him, not now, not real—he is somewhere else.

He hides in the shadows, safe in the darkness and lonely.

Unfortunately, Astarion has never learned how to be alone; you never left him on his own for a long time.

He realizes he can't meditate; there is a mental block preventing him from doing so in your absence.

It's even worse since he can't give himself a break.

Eventually, some friends of yours give him a Potion of Angelic Slumber. He sleeps for a few days in a row, without dreams and nightmares.

When he wakes up, the first thing he does is look for you, and then he realizes you're gone.

In this moment, Astarion breaks down, crying and cursing in Elven and Common.

His back hurts as if there are flesh wounds; the cold grip of darkness holds his undead heart. The tears burn the crimson eyes.

He mourns, grieves, wishes to be dead, but the given promise and the innate desire to survive prevent him from going into the sun.

For the first few years, he lives as a hermit in your shared house, starving himself by not hunting and spending months on your side of the bed without moving at all.

It's not life; it's an existence, miserable and hopeless when he imagines you alive.

A wake-up call is sudden but almost divine.

Deep in his thoughts, he finds himself in his own grave in Baldur's Gate, seeing you six feet above him as young as you were back during the tadpole adventure.

"I didn't get you out of this grave to let you bury yourself. Come on, you promised to me to live! Then, live! This is my last gift."

He wakes up, starving and cold, goes up and leaves for hunting. He hunts for a few days, satiating himself with animal and sentient beings' blood.

As his mind returns to him, Astarion washes and repairs his clothes, brushes his hair, makes himself look decent.

He ravages through your things, collecting them carefully in one place. You wouldn't want a shrine, so he sells the things he won't be able to use anymore.

He puts on your wedding ring (now he has two identical rings) and also a necklace you always liked.

He re-sews one of your gowns into a shirt; now, it feels like you are still with him.

Astarion leaves his first forever home and starts his own journey, taking the role of a sole adventurer - a monster hunter, a protector of the weak. He has always had this heroic side in him, just never admitted.

The most difficult thing is to stay alone; people praise him for saving someone from a monster, but they fear mingling with a vampire.

Sometimes, Astarion cries in his tent, cursing the evil gods for taking the only good thing he ever had.

He constantly talks to himself, imagining you standing beside him.

He actually enjoys these one-sided monologues because he can pretend you are still here.

Years pass, memories of the happy life fade. Astarion joins groups of adventurers here and there but always feels off.

Eventually, he finds the strength to live up to his promise, to enjoy what he has.

He explores places he has never been to, does things he has never done, and hears stories he has never heard.

He makes friends, mostly among long-living creatures. "Oh, my young vampire friend! It's been a while!" A wizard elf greets him with open arms. "I am 400 years older than you, idiot," Astarion chuckles and returns a hug.

Most importantly, he preserves the memory about you, paying bards and storytellers, talking about you at campfires, and putting you as an example of kindness and bravery.

Once, Astarion hears a song, "The One Who Saved Baldur's Gate." The motive and words are nice, but the more he listens to it, the more in shock he is.

This song known to every decent bard in Swords Coast is about you, a distant memory, a long-forgotten story.

He has fulfilled your promise, made sure you live in people's hearts. This day is bittersweet; he cries his eyes out, listening to that song over and over again.

But he feels happy, the first time in years.

With decades to pass, Astarion creates the Blood Guild - a union of vampires and dhampirs who prefer to hunt monsters rather than be ones. They also keep an eye on other vampires who are a danger to mortals, especially those who make spawns and thralls out of innocent victims.

Having immortal undead friends feels nice; having friends who understand his issues, too.

He finds himself in the position of a mentor; vampires come to him for advice and emotional support.

Then he meets a person, a runaway spawn, angry with what happened to them, determined to do whatever it takes to break their chains. Astarion agrees to help; they constantly bicker about every single thing—views on life, personal experiences, shared interests.

This new person is annoying, obnoxious, brave, and lovable. Suddenly Astarion realizes he doesn't want to stay in his tent alone; he doesn't want to speak to himself anymore.

The long-forgotten feeling of loving someone aches in his undead heart, but now it's not his turn to confess.

"You know, I've been manipulating you into helping me. I am sorry. if you want, I will go away."

"You are a good person, Astarion. No one is like you. But you deserve honesty and something real."

Astarion smiles back and hugs this person.

This relationship is different; the runaway spawn is nothing like you, different in every way possible—personality, appearance, behavior, views on life, everything.

At first, there is profound guilt, as if he betrays your memory by having another romantic relationship.

They talk, sharing the darkest and saddest parts of their immortal lives—crimes they had to commit, lives they lost.

Eventually, Astarion tells them about you—how wonderful you were, how kind, how brave, how much you meant to him. His new love smiles and takes away a strand curl from his face.

"So, this is the person I must thank for you?".

He helps his new love to break the chains by killing the vampire lord.

Returning back, Astarion starts talking about the future.

Adventures? Of course! His partner is also a spawn, they need healing and freedom the same way he needed many years ago.

And then - who knows? Life is full of cruel wonders. Especially, for immortals.

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 2 months

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Starlit Skirts

Astarion x fem!ElfTav|| ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: T Word Count: +2.5k A little smile stole onto Tav’s lips. “I would’ve married you in the half-hour between having my back blown out and breakfast this morning, if you’d let me. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Better yet—the day before that. A lifetime ago…” By the way his lips tenderly began to mirror her own, she could tell that it was decided. Astarion would be her husband by morning.

a/n: Valentine's Gift Exchange for @marcynomercy ; happy early Valentine's Day! ♡

Tav was growing bored, positively so.

The early Autumn sun had pleasantly warmed her back when Astarion had first helped her onto the wooden step stool. Now, the chamber was bathed in the scattering light of late afternoons, the sun’s weakening sunrays crawling past the useless cheval glass in front of Tav.

Suppressing a yawn, her gaze wandered over the thick cotton sheet that was draped over the mirror, and—for the lack of anything better to do—she began to count the loose threats standing out from the tightly woven fabric one more time.

“I’m bored,” she declared when her eyes started to strain but a moment later.

Silence.

Tav rolled her eyes. Sometimes, it was rather irritating that Astarion only shut up when he was engrossed in his needlework—or when his mouth was otherwise occupied.

“You could at least entertain me a little,” she tried again, her voice light as she swallowed yet another yawn. “Since you’re keeping me on my toes like this all day...”

It was no use. As if he hadn’t heard her, Astarion continued to kneel at her feet, rearranging her skirts every once in a while to have them fall in a specific way Tav wasn’t privy to.

Astarion had been working on her wedding dress for months now, and although she’d donned the dress for a number of fittings, she’d yet to see the actual gown.

Astarion was adamant about keeping the look of the finished dress —his wedding gift to her— a secret, covering every reflective surface in the room, having her blindfolded if the need arose; working well into the night when their Elven eyes could only see in scales of grey.

So, all Tav knew about her wedding dress was that it was quite heavy, which was at odds with the cool gossamer fabric that felt so wonderfully soft against her skin, mimicking her lover’s sweet embrace…

Tav wasn’t able to suppress a third yawn. Not only was she bored, no, she was exhausted.

It was the second day in a row that Astarion had her stand in front of him for hours on end, and her body was becoming increasingly stiff. She wasn’t used to feeling this drained by doing absolutely nothing, but she supposed it couldn’t be helped.

“Don’t move,” Astarion muttered all of a sudden, pearl head pins secured between his teeth as he grabbed Tav’s wrist to keep her left arm from moving.

He’d pinned the dress’ knee-length sleeves to its skirt some time ago, insisting that he needed to see where they would overlay with…well, he wouldn’t tell her with what exactly.

Tav, frowning at his sharp command, hadn’t even noticed that she’d tried to roll back her shoulders, instinctively wanting to ease the dull ache in her joints.

“And no peeking.”

How had Astarion even known that she was glancing down at his silver locks when he was still re-pinning and inspecting the hem of her sleeve?

“Sorry,” Tav said, a tad too meekly to be considered honest as she ironed out her slouching shoulders.

Astarion acknowledged her with a huff, but that was more than enough for Tav. Wherever the Vampire’s mind had been wandering for the past hours, he was now back in the same room with her.

She would not let him go again.

“How much longer must I suffer, heart of my heart? My feet are getting so, so tired,” Tav pouted, accentuating her misery with a deep sigh. “I don’t think I can stand like this for another moment.”

It only took a heartbeat for Astarion’s busy hands to pause in their movement.

Tav allowed herself a triumphant, albeit small grin. If there was one thing Astarion couldn’t endure these days, it was her discomfort.

“Another moment is all I need, love. Promised.”

“I would so love to believe that, but you said the same thing at least three moments ago, you big old liar.”

Astarion scoffed, although Tav could hear a small grin of his own in his voice.

“Darling, it’s not my fault that I have to alter this dress every other damn week.”

Now, Tav let out a peeved laugh. The nerve of this man!

“It is, though!”

“Well, kind of,” Astarion admitted sheepishly. “Maybe?”

“Surely! Half of it is, at the very least.”

Astarion’s hands began picking at her skirts again. “Haven’t we already established that that was an accident?”

“You really are shameless, Astarion, truly,” Tav shook her head, the grin on her face widening.

How she wished she could see his face now! She could almost picture the way his eyebrows were knitted together, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a mask of concentration.

The dull ache in her spine was all she needed to decide that she’d earned herself that very sight of him. A look wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Slowly, Tav lowered her eyes, glancing down at Astarion through her eyelashes.

The bodice of her dress was ivory, she couldn’t help but notice entirely against her will; or a gentle cream. Maybe a very pale grey? It was already hard to tell in the growing half-light…

Tav bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to peek at the dress, really; she just couldn’t help it. And it wasn’t her fault that she could see past the crown of Astarion’s curly head. Or that she noticed the golden thread he pulled through her skirts, sewing on…a pearl? A crystal? It was something shiny for sure, but what?

Tav craned her neck, trying to get a better look at—

“Eyes up, damn you!” Astarion cried as he tilted his head back, catching her in the very act of gawking at as much of her dress as she could catch. “I swear I’ll have you blindfolded again.”

Tav’s eyes darted back up, pointing obediently towards the useless mirror as if they’d never left it to begin with.

“Oh, don’t you threaten me with a good time, darling,” Tav sighed dramatically, trying to make light of the way her heart raced.

“Let’s see if you’re this cheeky later tonight, shall we, pet?”

“That could be arranged—if you’re on your knees like this again…”

“Tempting. Very tempting indeed,” Astarion purred, his hand vanishing under her skirts without warning.

His nimble fingers trailed up from her ankle towards her knee, splaying out across the back of her thigh as he gently tugged her leg against his chest.

Tav gasped.

She didn’t dare another peek at him but was sure he was still looking up at her, face half buried in her skirts. The image inside her head expelled any lingering sense of her earlier fatigue.

“But let’s finish this first, alright? It really won’t be long now—you think you can endure your plight for a bit longer, you poor thing?”

Tav swallowed. This time, it was her turn to hide her embarrassment as she tried to look absorbed in the little dust particles floating through the day’s fading light.

“I suppose I can. But only because it’s you.”

“Good girl,” Astarion nodded approvingly against her shin before he withdrew, his hands taking up their work outside her skirts anew.

As it turned out, Astarion did keep his word this time.

It didn’t take very much longer until Tav could feel one final tug at her sleeve. A moment later, Astarion shook out her skirts one final time before he rose to his full height in front of her.

He unfastened the pincushion from around his wrist as he considered Tav from head to toe, circling her to examine his work.

“That should do,” he announced, coming to a halt behind her. “Close your eyes, love.”

Just like he always did, Astarion made to unfasten the lacing of Tav’s bodice.

Unlike the other times, though, she turned around before his fingers could hook under the lacing on her back; her arms came up to protectively wrap around her middle.

Astarion raised an eyebrow at her.

“What is it?”

“I want to see it.”

A deep frown settled between Astarion’s eyes as he slowly stepped behind her once again.

As if it were a dance, Tav turned to face him once more.

Astarion ran his hand through his hair, his crimson eyes searching hers as he tried to make sense of her silly game.

“You know why it’s called a wedding dress, my sweet? Because it’s worn on your wedding day— and that’s the day you’re going to see it.”

“Well, I’m wearing it right now,” Tav established with a shrug, earning herself a puzzled look from her lover.

Fiancé.

“What?” asked Tav. “We could be wed in a moment. Or three, considering you haven’t done your hair yet. The courthouse is right around the corner.”

Astarion, clearly surprised by her sudden proposal, opened his mouth, exposing his fangs for but a second before he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“All these months of wedding planning just to get it over with in one short moment?” He asked calmly. There was no bite in his voice, just honest curiosity.

A little smile stole onto Tav’s lips.

“I would’ve married you in the half-hour between having my back blown out and breakfast this morning, if you’d let me. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Better yet—the day before that. A lifetime ago…”

By the way his lips tenderly began to mirror her own, she could tell that it was decided.

Astarion would be her husband by morning.

But the pale elf was nothing if not a tease.

Taking a step towards Tav, his hand came up to her low neckline, fiddling with a detail Tav didn’t dare peek at—not under his intense crimson gaze.

“Why so impatient all of a sudden, dearest?”

Even while standing on the little step stool Tav had to raise her eyes to admire his beautiful face—the same face she wanted to look upon until the end of her days.

“I’m exhausted, Astarion. And maybe I’m even scared that time’s running out,” Tav murmured, putting into words what had troubled her for the past weeks as her hand reached for his. In an instant, his fingers intertwined with hers. “And I really don’t want to labour through another dress fitting, now that it’s getting all serious…”

Astarion pretended to look wounded as his thumb brushed over the back of her hand.

“Darling, and here I was thinking that we were already quite serious before our little accident.”

It was true—Tav had already put a ring on the Vampire’s finger a good decade ago, allowing them to not only spend their nights but days together.

There’d never been any need to rush to get married until now.

The Sunwalker’s Gift caught the fleeting daylight as Astarion raised his other hand to cup her cheek.

He considered her for a moment as she leaned into his touch.

“Are you sure?”

Tav only nodded once.

“Always been,” she whispered without any hesitation before she pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand. “And my feet are literally killing me. My spine, too. And, gods, my shoulders—”

Tav’s moaning was interrupted by a quick peck on her lips. The tip of Astarion’s nose brushed against hers as he pulled back just enough to look at the blush on her face.

“We can’t have that, can we?”

“Absolutely not.”

Astarion nodded understandingly, his hand moving from her cheek down her shoulders, along the long sleeves of her dress. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifted her off the little stool, hugging Tav against him for a moment longer than necessary.

“Time for your wedding gift, then,” he whispered in her ear before he set her gently down on her feet in front of the mirror.

“Will you close your eyes one last time, love?”

Tav let out a delighted little laugh as she squeezed her eyes shut—this time she really wouldn’t sneak a look.

The heavy cotton sheet that had covered the tall mirror for months fell to the floor with a thud.

“You may look now,” Astarion said, his hand still lingering —trembling?— on her hip.

Tav’s wedding gown was unlike anything she’d ever seen.

Not knowing where to look first, she gaped at the tiny crystals sewn along her neckline as they caught the light of the golden hour fading into shades of blue.

Brilliant embroidery shot down her batwing sleeves like silver linings, naturally guiding her gaze down to her skirts.

“Oh,” Tav breathed, watching the lonely form in the mirror brushing her fingertips over the starlit skirts cascading down her swollen belly like water.

Golden threads brought pearls and crystals together in the most breathtaking constellations, making Tav think of the few fleeting moments between night and daybreak when the sky is at its softest periwinkle, kissed by the gentle fingers of the morning sun.

“Well,” Astarion cleared his throat. “I wanted it to be unforgettable, but since you’d other plans…”

Dumbstruck, Tav could only tear her eyes from her reflection because she needed to see the man who had created all of this. What would she give right then to watch him stand next to her in the mirror?

“Astarion—” was all she could get out before the first tears began streaming down her face. “It is—it really is unforgettable!”

Astarions pulled her back against his chest, his chin resting atop her head as he urged Tav to look back in the mirror.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he purred against her dark hair. “It’s just some fabric wrapped around my entire world.”

Tav hiccuped up a laugh, leaning back into Astarion. Maybe it was the tears, or the standing up all day, the babe growing inside her or just the dizzying feeling of profound happiness, but she didn’t quite trust her balance.

“Would you look at my swooning little bride,” Astarion grinned as he turned her to take her in, his hand unwilling to stray from her waist.

“Do you like it?”

Tav nodded vehemently, accentuating the truth of it with more tears.

“But I don’t have your gift ready yet, I’m afraid,” she pouted as Astarion tugged some loose strands of hair behind her pointy ears.

“No hurry, my heart,” he said, wishing with all his undead heart that he could see himself standing beside his bride in the mirror, caressing her ever-growing belly that had been so tedious to work with. Maybe one day he would. “Unlike you, I’m patience incarnate; I can wait a moment longer. Or however many more moments that little accident of ours may need.” Tav dared to stand up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss against Astarion’s lips. “Let’s go show off this masterpiece of a dress in the meantime?” Astarion grinned as he beheld Tav lifting her skirts so that she could get a better look at a section of embroidery he’d laboured over for weeks. He wouldn’t tell her that her happy smile was the very thing that made her dress shine—that knowledge was his selfish little present to himself. “Why, darling, that’s a gift I'll gladly accept for now.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion fluff #astarion x elf tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #emicha writes #wilteddreamsbg3

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wendydeglee · 2 months

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My current project: an elven dress for Idril Celebrindal made from lavender crushed velvet and silver silk dupion. I wanted to make an elven dress of one of Arwen's ancestors. So the style is recognisable from the movies, but I had a different character in mind when designing it. Also I've done a lot of burgundy red gowns lately, so I wanted to use more spring like colours. The combination of lavender and silver feels very elvish to me. And as is my usual style I added lots of embroidery, both hand- and machine embroidery. I plan to make a lavender embroidered cape as well, but I ran out of fabric.

#lord of the rings #lotr elves #tolkien #elves #middle earth #the silmarillion #sewing #sewing project #hand embroidery #embroidery #machine embroidery #idril celebrindal

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sweetbutpsychobutsweet · 5 months

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Care To Make A Wager?

Chapter 5

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: There's only one bathing pool and all of the pent up tension between you and Thorin finally starts to come to a head in the form of a bet

Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, Minors do not interact, angst, fingering, spanking, light choking, biting

author's note: Ahhhh! I'm so excited to finally share this chapter with you guys!!!!!! There will be plenty more spiciness to come between these two, and that is a promise, dear reader😉

Word count: 3686

To say you were in need of a bath would be a massive understatement. After spending so long on the road you felt as though you were covered in a permanent layer of dirt and dust. Your boots were caked with mud and your hair seemed to be harboring an entire forest of leaves and twigs.

When Lord Elrond offered you rooms to wash up before dinner, you were all too happy to accept. You had spent so much time in Rivendell over the years that you knew exactly how to get to your regular guest suite.

The wardrobe was still full of fine gowns and shoes in your exact size. The well-worn books you had failed to return to the great library still sat undisturbed in a pile next to the bed. It took a great amount of restraint to keep yourself from running your fingers along all of the familiar elven luxurious. Not until you had scrubbed all of the dirt and grime from your skin.

There is a large bathing pool right outside your room that you are all too eager to step foot in. It is always filled with warm, flowing water, and the ceiling above remains open to reveal the sky overhead. You grab yourself a clean towel and practically skip through the adjoining door.

Only to stop short when you see someone else has already beaten you to it.

“No!” you shout in frustration and Thorin turns to see you pouting angrily at him from the doorway.

He chuckles at your frustration from where he already stands in the warm waters up to his chest. You take extra care to direct your glare right at his face, refusing to let your gaze wander down to all the exposed skin.

“Sorry lass, not fast enough this time,”

“Thorin,” you growl, “do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to visit this pool again?” he just shrugs at you. “There's another one down the hall I’ve been told, if you hurry you might still be able to beat the others to it.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap before letting out a sigh.

“I can’t use that one,” you mumble, “it’s too…deep.”

Thorin stares at you in confusion for only a moment before barking out a laugh.

“Are you saying,” he chuckles, “that after all these years you still haven’t learned how to swim?”

You growl at him before turning around to march back to your room.

“Wait!” he calls after you, still laughing. “I’m sorry, lass. We can share if you’d like? There’s plenty of room.”

You turn back to look at him suspiciously. He’s right, it’s a very large pool you could easily fit several people at once. The problem is that sharing it would mean taking your clothes off in his presence. It’s one thing for him to be naked, while you stand there fully clothed. But the depth of the water prevents you from seeing anything below his chest and you have a lot more…parts, that require coverage.

It’s not that you feel insecure about your body, especially with all of the low-coverage outfits you’ve worn while performing. It's just that the idea of Thorin seeing you in that capacity feels… different.

“I won’t look,” Thorin promises, seeing your internal debate.

The water looks so refreshing and warm, you can’t help but think it would be worth the risk.

“Fine,” you relent, tossing your towel nearby and toeing off your boots. “But if I catch you peeking you’re walking out of that pool with fewer parts than you had going in.” He turns around slowly to face the wall when you reach up to undo the laces of your trousers, shimmying them down your legs before letting them fall into a muddy pile with your blouse not far behind.

You cautiously dip one foot into the water, slowly lowering your body all the way in and a contented sigh escapes past your lips before you can stop it.

The water comes up to your shoulders, and you try to rearrange your hair as best as you can so it covers your breasts.

“Alright,” you tell him, and he cautiously turns to face you again.

His gaze slowly trails down every inch of exposed skin, lingering just a moment longer on the ends of your carefully placed hair.

Thorin takes a cautious step closer towards you and your breath catches in your chest. He slowly moves closer and closer to you until he’s standing right before you. If you were to drop your gaze, it would be safe to assume that you could see all the way down his torso, perhaps even further… which is exactly why you keep your chin held high and your eyes locked on his.

He lifts one hand up out of the water and lifts it up reaching towards your chest ever so slowly. Your eyes widen and you temporarily forget how to breathe in anticipation as his hand finally makes contact… with the bar of soap beside you.

He takes a few steps back with that self-righteous smirk on his face as he starts to run the soap between his hands.

“Is something the matter?” he asks you tauntingly, “one might say you look… disappointed.”

You let out a growl and angrily splash water in his direction but he just laughs at your irritation.

You turn around to dunk your head underwater, wetting your hair enough to start lathering in one of the fragrant shampoos sitting by the side of the pool.

With the product now in your hair, all of the dirt and debris finally starts to untangle itself from your head. All except for one particularly stubborn twig that seems to have knotted itself around several strands of your hair in one of the most inconvenient and unreachable places on your head. You yank and pull at it blindly but no matter how hard you try it only seems to make it worse. You could try adding more products but it would be pointless.

“Could you help me please?” you ask with a frustrated sigh. Thorin hums in confirmation behind you and you feel the heat radiating off him as he wordlessly approaches you from behind.

You let your arms fall back to your sides in the water as his strong hands come up behind you to take their place. He delicately starts untangling it one strand at a time. Moving gently to try and avoid causing you any pain. You can’t remember the last time someone’s played with your hair like this, and the sensation causes your eyelids to flutter closed and your shoulders to droop in relaxation as you sink slightly deeper into the water.

“I could teach you if you’d like,” he says quietly, “to swim I mean. It’s an important skill it just might save your life one day.”

“Sure it is,” you reply sarcastically, “you just want an excuse to grope me underwater,”

His fingers still for a moment, “It doesn’t have to be underwater, but if you’re offering…”

You tip your head back to look at him with your eyes narrowed, pretending to give it some thought.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your generous offer my king.” you reply formally, “I have very high standards for all my lovers, I only share my bed with those who can give pleasure just as well as they receive it.”

You’re only half joking to get under his skin, but Thorin doesn’t seem to take it that way.

His grip on your hair gently tightens, and he leans down to bring his lips beside your ear.

“Are you implying that I’m incapable of bringing a woman to climax?” he whispers darkly.

Shivers run up your spine and a hot clenching sensation forms in your belly. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly.

“Care to make a wager on that?” he challenges.

“Very funny,” you smirk nervously, trying to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve quickly gotten yourself in.

“I’m not laughing,” he replies darkly, one of his hands leaves your hair to trace a slow, agonizing path down the side of your neck, before landing on your shoulder.

“I bet I could make you come, right here, right now, using only my fingers.”

You gasp at the filthy images that start to fill your mind and you’re forced to squeeze your thighs together to help relieve some of the ache.

“How about we make a deal,” he drags his other hand along your spine causing your back to arch in ecstasy. “If I can make you come, you have to let me teach you how to swim.”

You laugh at his request, before thinking of a condition of your own.

“And when you can't, you have to let Lord Elrond look at the map.” his hand stills on your back and you half expect him to refuse.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he brings both hands down to your hips and roughly pulls your back up against his chest. “Deal,” he whispers before playfully nipping at your earlobe.

One arm snakes around your belly to anchor you closer to him, while the other reaches up to grab one of your breasts. You moan as his hand squeezes and massages the soft flesh.

He growls into your ear and thrusts his hips deeper into your backside, making it all too clear to you just how his body is reacting to yours.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?’ he asks, his hand on your breast starting to trace slow circles around your now hardened nipple. You bite your bottom lip trying your hardest to suppress the sounds of pleasure his ministrations threaten to pull from you.

“Do you know how many times, I’ve had to find some excuse to slip away, just so I could touch myself to thoughts of you in those damn trousers? It’s all I can think about.”

A wicked grin crosses your face. It brings you great satisfaction to know just how much of an effect you have on him.

“Tell me,” he whispers from behind you, his free arm moving down the curve of your ass to give it a rough squeeze. “When you touch yourself, what do you think of?”

His hand slides around your hip to slowly inch closer and closer down toward your core. You arch your back to encourage him to keep moving his hand closer, but he stops right above the spot where he knows you need him the most.

You let out a whine as he stubbornly keeps his hand frozen in place.

“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, “who do you think of?”

You tip your head back to rest against his chest, your eyes meeting his. You smirk at the dark lust you see in his eyes, swimming with desire for you. You think about lying to him, giving an answer that you know will make him angry, unhinged. But you don’t want to risk him moving that hand any farther away from your core.

“You, Thorin,” you whisper to him, “always you.”

He roughly brings his lips down to yours in a fierce kiss, and at the same time, he slides his fingers down the rest of the way to trace large circles around your core. His hand at your breast reaches up to wrap around your throat, applying gentle pressure to keep you in place as he gives his tongue the freedom to explore your mouth.

You let out a moan before you can stop yourself, and you can feel the smirk on his face without even having to open your eyes. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip as his fingers start to tease circles around your entrance, one finger tracing the outside before pulling further away again.

You whine at his teasing and thrust your hips up to try and bring the entrance closer to his fingers.

He abruptly pulls his hand away when he realizes what you’re doing to roughly grab you by the hip, the hand around your throat tightening the smallest amount in warning.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he chides in your ear. “Behave yourself.”

He removes his hand from your throat and presses it between your shoulder blades, gently bending you over in front of him. He keeps a gentle hand on your hip and brushes all of your hair to one side of your neck, exposing your entire back to him.

Your hands reach up to grip the edge of the pool with a gasp as he starts to kiss his way down your spine slowly.

“Can you do that for me?” Thorin asks, “Can you be good?”

You nod eagerly as his lips hover over the curve of your backside that remains above the water.

You jolt in surprise as a hand comes down to your ass with a sharp smack.

“Use your words,” he demands, gently rubbing the now tender skin of your cheeks.

“I’ll be good,” you whisper hoarsely, “I promise.”

Thorin hums in approval as one hand slides down your bottom to tease the entrance to your core once again. His other reaches up to grab a fistful of your hair. With a gentle tug, he is pulling your head back to look at him.

The hand at your core leaves you briefly empty and wanting. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as two of his thick fingers push into your mouth. You can already taste the sweetness of yourself on him as he presses them deeper into your mouth. Your tongue licking and sucking every drop of yourself from them.

You let yourself put on a little show for him, imagining it wasn’t just his fingers in your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed at the idea of what it would taste like, what it would feel like to have that beast currently pressing against your thighs deep inside of you.

“Eyes open,” Thorin warns with a sharp tug of your hair.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, leaving you such a disoriented drooling mess that you don’t even notice where he’s relocated those fingers until they’re plunging deep inside you.

Thorin releases the hand in your hair to cover your mouth just barely fast enough to muffle the scream of pleasure you can no longer contain.

You push your hips back onto his fingers, signaling for him to start moving and he is oh so happy to oblige. He does not start slow, his brutal pace has you arching your back and crying into his hand at how quickly you can already feel your climax approaching.

That fire in your body is growing hotter and hotter and yet you still need more.

You desperately reach back behind you, blindly searching for his cock in an attempt to give yourself some kind of anchor in the storm of pleasure. As if sensing your intentions already he growls your name in a low warning, giving his fingers an extra deep thrust to catch you off guard.

You gasp into his hand, your fingertips just barely grazing the tip.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Thorin reminds you.

Shit. you think to yourself. The deal.

You were so confident that all of his talk would not be able to translate to the bedroom, that the only reason his fingers were deep inside your throbbing pussy right now was as part of a childish bet.

A deal to finally find the answers hidden in that map, to help you enter Erebor, and most importantly to knock his ego down more than a few notches.

If you let yourself come on his fingers like this he wins. You’ll have lost the wager, and he’ll be able to lord this victory over you for years to come.

You can’t let him win, you just can’t.

You bite down hard on the rough hand covering your mouth to try and distract both of you from your current task but it still isn’t enough to slow his pace. His eyes narrow at you from above, a wicked grin spreading across his face, seeming to relish the pain.

You growl in frustration, desperate to think of some way, any way to put a stop to the rising flame in your core.

You try thinking of the most unsexy things imaginable: Orcs, rotten fruit, trolls, too-tight corsets, chamber pots.

But no matter what you try the only thought you seem to be able to hold on to is Thorin.

Thorin who has his fingers inside you.

Thorin whose enormous cock is still pressed up against you.

Thorin whose beard keeps tickling your bare back.

Thorin whose blue eyes look like the hottest part of a burning flame.

Thorin whose deep voice sends shivers down your spine.

Thorin who left you.

Who abandoned you, lied to you, broke your heart.

A hot angry tear slides down your cheek and you bite harder into his palm, enough to feel droplets of blood start to roll down your chin and mix with the salt of your tears.

You hate him. He betrayed you, broke your trust, and left you all alone. And he has the audacity to still make you feel things for him? After everything?

Perhaps after everything, he owes you this much. A mind-blowing orgasm, deal be damned. You’ll convince him to share the map some other way.

You’re feeling a pleasure so intense, so intoxicating, that when his fingers finally hit that one perfect spot inside you, you let yourself come undone on him. You’re too high on your own bliss to even care that you’ve lost the bet.

You wait for Thorin to start gloating, to rub it in your face that you were wrong. But he doesn’t.

He just slowly removes his fingers from your core and his bloody palm from your face and quietly disappears behind you in the water. Your head suddenly feels impossibly heavy and you let yourself slump over the edge of the pool, exhausted and trembling.

Thorin reappears behind you with a gentle hand on your back, while the other brings a warm cloth against your skin.

He gently turns you to face him and you’re too tired to put up a fight. A strong arm wraps around your back to hold you upright against him. He brings the warm cloth to your face, gently wiping the mess off your chin and your lips, before trailing it farther and farther down washing every inch of exposed skin with an intense focus.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Sensing your fatigue he drops the cloth as soon as he’s done and starts to slowly lead you out of the pool.

“Wait here,” he whispers as soon as you’re out of the warm water’s embrace, cold and shivering. You cross your arms over your chest to try and warm yourself before a soft towel is gently wrapped around your body. You attempt to take one, shaky step back towards your room and are immediately swept off of your fawn like legs into Thorin’s arms.

He carries you back into your suite, the both of you undoubtedly dripping water across the marble floor as he gently places you on the bed.

You’re almost disappointed to see that he now has a towel covering his bare waist.

You expect him to leave you now if he has no interest in gloating, but instead, he crawls onto the bed with you. His body heat is such a welcome feeling that you don’t protest when he settles in right behind you wrapping a strong arm across your wet skin and pulling you in closer towards him by your waist.

“You were trying to fight it weren’t you?”

You shiver at the sensation of his breath tickling the back of your neck.

“How could you tell?” you ask him.

He chuckles against your ear before giving it a playful bite.

“You always have this look on your face, whenever you’re trying to restrain yourself. I’ll admit it’s not a look I see often as you tend to say or do the first thing that pops into your head without thinking it through,” he grunts as your elbow reaches back to jab him in the ribs.

“What made you change your mind?” he asks in a serious tone. “You could have easily fought me off if you wanted to.”

“I know,” you reply with a sigh. “As much as I hated the idea of letting you win, I figured after everything you put me through, betraying and abandoning me, at the very least you owed me a mind-blowing orgasm.”

You can feel Thorin tense up behind you. You crane your neck to look back at him and he’s staring back at you with an intense look on his face that you can’t quite place.

“I would have thought you’d be flattered to hear me refer to it as ‘mind blowing’” you laugh nervously. He blinks at you and gives a weak smile before slowly untangling his arms from your waist so he can rise to a seat on the bed.

“The others are waiting,” he says, “we should head to dinner before someone comes looking for us.”

You nod silently, not having enough strength to call him out on the convenient change of subject.

“You go ahead,” you tell him, knowing you’ll need some time to process everything that’s just happened. “It might take me a while longer to finish getting ready,” you lie.

He rises from the bed, still clearly deep in thought as he crosses the room to head back to his own suite. He pauses for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, like he has something else he wants to say to you. But instead, he just disappears through the door without another word.

You let out a deep exhale and press the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“I can’t believe I just let Thorin Oakenshield finger fuck me,” you groan.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline

#thorin x y/n #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader smut #thorin oakenshield smut #the hobbit #thorin oakenshieldx fem!reader #thorin oakenshield x afab!reader #thorin #thorin fic #thorin x reader #the hobbit fanfic #thorin x fem!reader #thorin oakenshield angst #thorin oakenshield x y/n #thorin smut #thorin angst #thorin oakenshield x reader angst #thorin x reader angst

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kieiswrite · 6 months

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Another ficlet for the possession au! The first part is here. The awesome artists building the au are @elven-kisses and @tibby-art This is about Cleo joining the group. Previous part here. The next part here - The Extraordinary Road Trip to Nashville, Tennessee

Cleo is having a perfectly normal morning.

Sitting in the kitchen, in her dressing gown, she’s sipping tea and scrolling idly through ads for jobs she has no real intention to apply for. There’s dishes from yesterday that need washing in the sink but she’ll get to them later. One of the legs of the chair is a little wonky and she really should see to fixing it, but she’ll get to that later too. In the meanwhile, she just needs to be careful when sitting down. The weather is nice. The tea is nice. It’s just—nice.

All in all, a morning as regular as it gets, for a person legally dead.

Her doorbell rings.

She takes a peek through the spyphole. It’s her neighbor—that lanky, talkative man who Cleo used to think was a little overly familiar, since even a casual greeting in the hallway from him would come off like the start of a sales pitch. After living next to him for the better part of the year, though, Cleo has accepted that that’s just the way Scar is. Odd, a bit shady maybe, but overall a decent guy. And he has a cute cat.

So she opens the door, and it is indeed Scar standing in the hallway, wide-eyed, out of breath, deep scratch marks on his cheek that are still bleeding, and that’s where the normalcy of Cleo’s morning comes to an end. In retrospect, one could say the same applies to the normalcy of her life, except—well.

She has seen her share of the weird before. But starting now, things get decidedly weirder.

“Well hello there, Cleo!” Scar’s usual cheer comes off very obviously forced. “I have run into a small problem and I was wondering if—that is, in case you’re not busy with anything, maybe you could lend a bit of neighborly help for a man in need?”

Cleo hesitates a moment, clutching the door handle. She has made it this far in her secret second life minding her own business. She prefers to keep out of trouble, but— “Sure. Sure! I guess.” It’s fine. It's fine. Odd people got to stick together. She steps to the side. “Come in. Let’s get those scratches cleaned first.”

“I hope the blood doesn’t trouble you,” Scar says.

And it’s not—she doesn’t mind blood. She really doesn’t. She can handle things far more gruesome than some scrapes on skin. It’s just that she’d prefer not having to scrub bloodstains from her floor. “Did you have a disagreement with Jellie?” she asks. She gets the disinfectant and a packet of plasters from the loo.

Scar is antsy. Doesn’t sit down, slaps a plaster on his face without even wiping off the blood. “No, no, Jellie would never!” he says. “It was Cub.”

“You had a disagreement with Cub?” That’s Scar’s friend, the quiet one who regularly crashes on his sofa. Cleo doesn’t know what their exact relationship is; she has not pried, because it’s none of her business, but she has never seen Scar and Cub acting anything but amiable with each other.

"No, of course not! It’s—it's more that Cub is not quite himself. We should go check up on him, actually."

"Oh." Cleo thinks it over. "He's having an… episode of some kind?"

"You could say that." Scar's voice is a little panicked. His charming smile a little unsteady.

"I see." Cleo tightens the belt of her dressing gown. "I assume he's staying with you?"

"Uh—actually, we have to go outside. I left him in the car."

Cleo draws a deep breath. "You left a man who is having an episode in the car."

"I didn’t have a choice! But I parked real close. If he got out, we'd probably know it already!" Scar ushers Cleo to the door—she changes her slippers to sandals on the fly—and out of it, prattling on, all casual as if what he’s saying isn’t a cause for serious concern. "He should be fine. We were out together last night, doing—it’s a little hard to explain. We have a business together. It’s a whole thing. Don't worry about it, you'll understand when you see him."

The car (two-door hatchback that may or may not be roadworthy) is parked askew, one wheel on the sidewalk. The radio is on; Cleo hears the bass. She hears, in addition, a loud thump that’s definitely not the bass.

Scar opens the passenger door and the music pours to the street. “Come, Cleo.” His tone may be glib, but his body is tense. “Come, take a look! It’s totally safe if you’re careful, but try not to scream. We don’t want to spook the passer-bys.”

There’s nobody inside the car, but another thump comes from the back. There’s the music, but there’s also—sounds. Groans.

Cleo doesn’t quite understand why she does it. Maybe call it morbid curiosity. Maybe Scar’s persuasive power is greater than her natural tendency towards caution; or maybe she’s confident that if Scar is trying to trick her, the only one ending up hurt will be him. Either way, she climbs over the folded-down front seat to look into the boot of the car.

Scar’s friend lying in there, tied up in the tight space, squirming, duct tape on his mouth, shocks her—less than it should, honestly. “Oh,” she says. She doesn’t scream. “Oh. That’s—that’s not good.”

That’s not good at all. What makes it worse—or maybe better? Better at least in the sense that Scar has been genuine in his plea for help. What makes it worse or better or at the very least special is that Cub’s eyes are jet black.

Jet black, inhuman and filled with malice.

Cleo gets out of the car. Scar shuffles his feet and looks at her, nervous, expectant.

“So he’s having an episode,” Cleo says.

Scar leans forward, putting most of his weight on his crutches. He licks his lips. “In a manner of speaking! Don’t—don’t get alarmed now, Cleo, but I think he’s possessed.”

“You think.”

“Okay. Okay, you deserve to hear the—geeze. I’ll just go ahead and tell you. We were hunting a ghost. I—see, they—they usually get out when asked, how was I supposed to know this one is a big old meanie! It wouldn’t stop screeching at me so I had to tape Cub’s mouth shut.” He pokes his head inside the car. “Sorry, Cub! It’s going to be fine! Cleo’s here now, they’ll help us."

“Oh. They’ll help. Right.” Cleo drags a hand down her cheek. She avoids attention the best she can, and she likes to tell herself that she’s the type to play it smart; but at the end of the day, the odd ones got to stick together. Her soft heart will be the death of her.

Again.

She sighs. “I suppose they will. You do look like you need all the help you can get, that’s for sure. How did you manage to tie him down?"

“I just banged him really hard,” says Scar.

“You—you just—” A sudden snicker, wholly inappropriate for the situation, threatens to escape Cleo’s mouth. She hides it by coughing to her fist. “Say that—you did what again?”

“I banged him to the head. With my crutch!” Scar tries to demonstrate this by lifting one of them, but unfortunately his leg chooses to give out and he nearly falls over as a result. He manages to save himself by propping his shoulder against the car, and when he struggles back to his feet from the weird half-lean half-crouch, he forces a grin to his face and gives a thumbs-up to the concerned citizens. Some people have stopped to stare, either because of him or because of yet another thump from the boot.

Cleo shakes her head. Her concern grows.

“So!” Scar directs his grin back at her. “What do you think we should do?”

She considers it. How to deal with a ghost and a fool. “I have a friend,” she says. She picks every word with care. “A friend who—I mean, I think I know where to go, but it’s going to be a long trip. I’m not doing this in a dressing gown. Let me get changed, and then you can drive us to Nashville, Tennessee.”

—

Cleo thinks she should have kept her mouth shut.

No, she doesn’t really think that. Leaving Cub in the boot would have risked him getting injured. Getting injured would’ve been bad. The ghost doesn’t care how much his head gets banged. Berating herself about the choice, however, takes Cleo’s mind for a small moment off of the immediate reality of the struggling, growling creature next to her on the back seat. He’s trying to wiggle free of the ties. Cleo’s job is to make sure he’ll stay restrained.

“Everybody has to use the safety belt, Cub,” she says, a little condescending. That’s how she copes.

Cub doesn’t answer. He can’t. Scar wanted to take the tape off when they stopped for petrol and snacks (“Cub’s paying for this,” Scar told her, “so we should ask him what he wants!”), but unfortunately the only thing Cub declared he wanted to eat was their souls, so now he gets to be muted again.

Scar is singing along to the radio. He may be exceeding the speed limit, but Cleo is biting her tongue to not mention it. After all, she wants the trip to be—

…no. That’s not quite true either. She may have told Scar off when his monologue threatened to exceed an hour (which is why he switched to singing; he also claimed it soothes Cub, but evidence for that is inconclusive), and she could do with less sinister company on the backseat, but overall she’s having a surprisingly tolerable time. Considering.

“I tolerate you,” she tells Cub. “You’re not too bad for a ghost.”

Ignoring Cub’s furious stare, she checks her phone. Oh, good: Joe is waiting for them. They’re finally home from work, and they’re making preparations. When Scar, Cleo and Cub arrive, they’ll be ready for an exorcism.

—

“Joe. You should.” Cleo is panting. Her hands shake, and she’s not sure if her legs would carry her if she stood up now. Luckily no one is demanding she move just yet, even though they could leave the circle if they wanted. The tension has broken and the terrifying, suffocating presence is gone. “You should charge more for this. I don’t know how much you’re charging, but it should be more.”

“I have actually considered casting out spirits to be a recreational activity,” Joe says. There remains an energy around him. A shimmer. Otherworldly breeze moves his skirts, and it almost looks like he’s floating above the floor. “Although to be fair, I would not describe it in terms of creation. An exorcism is at its core the opposite, an act of degradation, so you may have a point.”

“All I’m saying is value your work, Joe.” Cleo draws a deep breath. She’s feeling the beginning of a headache. “Trust me. You could use the money.”

“That’s true,” Scar agrees. “You should charge double from everyone who is not your good friend’s friend to compensate for helping us for free. Cub, how are you doing?”

“Doing good.” Cub’s words are a little slurred, but he sounds human. That’s an improvement. “Doing good. Oh man. That was intense.”

“Just to clarify—” Scar holds his hand up. “Before we move on, can we say that we are all in agreement that this was a real, actual possession. Right? No acting, no monkey business, Cub was genuinely possessed?”

“Yes! Yes, he was, Scar. Joe, you should definitely take money from these people.”

“Good, because—wait, what did you say? No, no, Cleo. Cleo. Let’s not make hasty judgments, let’s talk about this.” Scar directs his charm at her. Even from across the room, his attention prickles on Cleo’s skin. “You wouldn’t want to advocate against us before hearing my offer.”

“Your offer. Hmm. What could you possibly—”

“I want to hire you!” Scar’s smile widens. In the flickering light of the candles, his eyes gleam. “I want you in the team. We need you! We need someone smart. Sorry, Cub.”

Cub nods, no hesitation, even though he and Cleo have barely spoken outside of possession. “I agree. We need you, Cleo. Desperately.”

“You have said you want to feel a part of something,” Joe points out, as if that is an appropriate thing to bring up in a situation like this. “Maybe opportunistic and mercantile supernatural investigation is your calling. You never know if the shoe fits before you try it on, unless you’re really precise at taking measurements.”

And Cleo looks at each of them in turn, and she doesn’t need to think hard at all to come up with a dozen or so reason to say no. The danger, for one. The lack of foresight. The business ethic leaves much to be desired. And yet, with a feeling in her chest that is part warmth and a part exasperated resignation (but the warmth, she thinks, is winning out. The warmth is growing), even before any further details are negotiated, she knows already. She is going to accept.

#the possession au #zombiecleo #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #joe hills #hermitcraft fanfic #cw possession #also one scar-typical suggestive joke #kiescribbles #these are characters i don't feel confident in writing but they say it's good to try things out so i'm trying things out

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herbgerblin · 1 year

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Taako and Lup in formal dresses and/or suits please?

Anonymous asked: For the drawing suggestion, maybe Lup in her heist outfit?

gonna merge these two together :0

ID: Digital art of Taako and Lup, an elven man and woman respectively, descending confidently down a red staircase. Both have curly blonde hair, tan freckled skin, and slight body builds. Taako is wearing a white tux, a white wide-brimmed hat, a grey dress shirt, and a black scarf and gloves. Lup is wearing a black, form-fitting gown with long mesh sleeves, a large white bow over the chest, and a slit up the left side. She is also wearing a black wide-brimmed hat and holding a white clutch. Her hair is also swept over one shoulder. End ID.

#taako #lup #taz balance #the adventure zone #my art #herbgerbart

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transfemtopposting · 1 month

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Elven ambassador that administrates policy talks and then goes home to get her tits slapped and her cunt fucked raw by her human wife.

She wears lingerie under her royal gown in case her wife visits during the day and wants to remind her how human cum tastes.

She's like two feet taller than the human but that doesn't really matter when she's getting the baby batter fucked into her.

When she's sucking dick, her wife sometimes strokes the lower part of her ears and it makes her mewl like a kitten.

#nsft #trans #trans nsft #transfem #topposting

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tonixe · 9 months

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"I only have eyes for the King'

n.o.t.e.s - I have been watching some royal tv shows and movies, and it made me think of this. Also, I love kyle sm. ✩

w.a.r.n - Some Nsfw mention fluff, cheating, and violence.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - Kyle Broflovski x Queen!reader ✩

w.c. - 1.1k

part two: II

A long time ago in Zaron, a young queen was ruling over the Kupa Kingdom, trying to find a 'husband' to rule but her only real intention was to produce an heir to rule after her.

You fixed your gown and your French hood, sitting down on your throne. Guard surrounding you with protection. You crossed your legs holding your head with your palm.

Your head is filled with boredom from your past suitors trying to get your attention, you sat there with boredom in your eyes. You were getting tired, as your squire and lady-in-waiting saw.

"The next suitor up is Clyde Donovan, The Duke of Kraghon" you're ellman announced. You place your head on your fisted hand on the throne bar.

Most of your suitors were old men trying to seek power. A few were young but there were merely a few royal titles, not much to bring to the table but their healthy sperm were able to create an heir to your kingdom.

The duke was one the examples of what you thought. He was young and handsome, pure, and had eyes filled with hope. But not enough to woo you short.

Soon there wasn't any suitor to read off of.

"Is it done?" you asked uncrossing your legs and looking at your officer.

"Yes, my grace" he bowed as he spoke to you.

"I'll be leaving to return to my chambers" You got up from the throne with the help of one of your guards, soon walking onto the beautiful tapestries leading down to the huge doors, that started to open by the guards, your lady in waiting following suit.

The guards, servants, officers, and political figures bowed down to you before you left the room.

Walking down the hallways in the big palace, your heels clicking onto the marble floor. Soon one of your paladin ran towards you and he stopped when spotting you, his landing audible.

"M-my grace" he stutters out

"What happened," you asked the paladin.

"My grace, the king of the elven kingdom is coming, for a talk with you," he said as he bowed down.

"Make sure to keep the knights on guard for his arrival," you said as you glanced at the blonde paladin bowing down to your feet bowing down.

"Yes, my grace" the blonde man bowed as he ran away.

"My grace," your lady-in-waiting, Princess Kenny, spoke up, her blonde hair braided into two, as she was wearing a purple dress. "Shall we start planning for the King's arrival" she spoke up.

"I suppose so; we can't show the enemy of our faults," you spoke, holding your hands together as you glanced past her. You don't have the greatest relationship with the Elf king due to past arguments with the red-headed king. The only thing you would agree with about your ex-husband would be how annoying he was.

"Kenny inform the staff of the King's arrival" you spoke softly as you look at the blonde princess.

"Yes my queen" She curtsies, walking away from you as you hear the clicking of her steps. It puzzled you how the red-headed king was coming to the kingdom, you glance at the color-stained window, adorn by the long satin red curtains.

It hasn't been this loud in the palace ever since the time that you used to be a past ruler or such would say your 'husband' has been ruling over, King Eric, the grand wizard they say.

The real person who should be dead, stealing the stick of truth and lying to his followers more than that, he lied to many kingdoms and the elf kingdom. It didn't even matter. You got your revenge on him cheating on you with Duchess Heidi Turner, destroying them both. Revenge for Cartman makes them look like a fool, while he prances around the duchess not even making it discrete from the kingdom. Painting you as to a fool.

It was because of him you did it.

Sneaking into the elf king's chamber through a beautiful rug, wrapping yourself in, only wearing an elegant, revealing nightgown that barely covered anything before you stripped yourself bare for him.

That was the first night.

But not the only night you had with the elf king, using his influence to kick your 'husband' off the throne.

The memory haunting your mind, the thought of the elf king touching your nude skin, as he kissed your delicate skin, covering your body in love bites. Kissing you passionately, your moans slipping from your lips.

While he touched you in places he shouldn't. your chastity was gone from the beginning; you didn't pass it to your husband; you gave it to his enemy and an enemy supposedly of yours.

He is supposed to be your enemy, not your lover, the history of both of your kingdoms built up a great rivalry.

But it felt like when you were with him, you were free. You always dreamed of him, and you have children together as you prance through the field of flowers with your children and on in the way. As you wrap your arms around his neck, he kisses you lovingly.

But that dream has been crushed by politics and war; as you sighed out, looking at your knights walking to the front guarding the castle.

[A few days later]

You were in your chambers, maids helping you get into your dress. You sat at your vanity, and your lady-in-waiting, Princess Kenny helped with brushing your hair and placing it on your French hood.

"You look beautiful, my queen," she said as she lifted up your lip brush to apply red paint on your lips. "Thank you, Princess Kenny" You fluttered your eyes at her, making her cheek turn pink.

After Kenny finished up your makeup, she gave you a curtsy and walked out of the room as you turned yourself to your vanity, picked up your powder puff, and applied powder to your face.

You heard knocking on the door.

"Come in," you spoke as you slipped on your white gloves.

Your paladin came in with news; you assumed, "My queen, he's here, waiting for you" As he bowed down to you, your eyes widened at the name, "I'll be there," you said, "Thank you" you looked at Butters, as you dismissed him off.

You didn't know what was going to happen in the meeting, but you were ready for anything, though for him being a past 'lover' he was just a pawn for you to play against your ex-husband.

As you powder your face some more, fixing up your makeup before you exit your chambers, your lady-in-waiting waiting outside for you as she is accompanied you to the awaiting elven king.

Your long emerald-colored dress inched from the floor as you held your hands together, walking to the council room. Making contact with the red-headed king before looking away and sitting on one of the two throne chairs in the room, Princess Kenny sitting on the council chairs.

"Shall we start?" the red-headed king said.

"Yes, we shall" you made eye contact with the king.

#kyle brofloski #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle brovloski x reader #kyle broflovski #kyle brovlofski #south park #south park x y/n #south park x you #south park x reader #stick of truth #butter stotch #eric cartman #princess kenny #sp kenny #sp kenny mccormick #sp butters #butters leopold stotch #queen reader #stan marsh

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