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masterangst · 7 months

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Be Worth Something

Summary: Tav (named Axel) gives Astarion a present, and Astarion sucks it up and returns the kindness by learning to comfort someone else.

Pairing: Astarion × Tav (MxM)

Words: 4.4K

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, a bit unedited

A/N: This is a bit self indulgent. Just a scene I imagined occurring between Astarion and my Tav sometime in Act 3 after Cazador. Also this is for Whump October (it's October somewhere).

No. 31: Emptiness | Setbacks | Take it easy

Gortash was dead. Cazador was dead.

The band of weirdos were getting closer and closer to confronting the source of the little creatures taking their brains for a ride. Everyone agrees it's a good idea to rid themselves of the problem. Astarion would agree as well. He had no interest in becoming a mind flayer. He had his body taken from him once, sure to the hells was not going to let that happen again.

However, unlike the others. Astarion would not be set completely free. Each day felt like a ticking clock towards his shackles back to the shadows and good gods did that not fill him with dread.

"Astarion, freetra starta den lun." Axel's deep voice cuts through the thoughts in Astarion's head. The ranger waits for Astarion's red eyes to meet his piercing gray ones before he smiles warmly. "I have a surprise for you."

Catching himself, Astarion performs a smile. "A surprise? For me?" He clicks his tongue, pretending to be shocked. "How adorably sweet of you."

Axel's chest rumbles with a stifled laugh. "Well, what can I say," Axel's calloused hand guides Astarion's to his soft lips, his eyes looking longingly into Astarion's, "I love to spoil you." If Astarion's heart could still beat, he's sure it would have skipped one.

He had confessed his love for the leader of their group. For the one who had stuck with him no matter what. The stubborn and goofy man who loved the color blue so he made his entire attire blue and somehow made it look good. Astarion told the man he loved him and yet he still is not used to this. Before he would throw back some flirty banter and try not to think about it, but Astarion promised himself he would try harder for Axel. That he would try his hardest to be more genuine.

He still doesn't know what he's doing.

"Is it an excuse for me to not attend this event?" Astarion asks as Axel drags him away and up the stairs of the Elfsong.

Axel smirks over his shoulder, "Oh, yes."

Astarion can't help but smirk back, "My, aren't you a playful little mouse."

Axel snorts with a scoff. "I like to think I'm more of a wolf."

"Don't go telling that to Shadowheart, darling."

Axel stops outside an unfamiliar door and spins on his heels to face Astarion. There is a devilish look on his face. One that intrigues Astarion, and makes him nervous.

"Close your eyes, Starta." Again with that name. A common thing the man likes to call him. The phrase, freetra starta den Lun, has been Axel's version of "darling" it seems. Frustrating considering Astarion has no idea what it means.

With a huff, Astarion does as he is told like a good boy. "If you are leading me to my ultimate death, this is quite an inconvenient time for it."

"Is there a convenient time to get murdered?" The sound of the door creaks open. The faint aromas of lavender, mint, and roses fill the moist air. There's a heat radiating from the side of the room and Astarion knows what is waiting for him before he even opens his eyes.

"You can open your eyes now." A steaming tub of freshly poured water, lined with books, wine, flowers and various soaps presents themselves to him.

The quip dies on Astarion's tongue, like a rat caught in a trap. Instead his expression turns to confusion. "What is this?"

Axel smiles, "I thought you might enjoy some peace and quiet instead of loud drinking. So I found some books for you. I'm not sure if you'd like them, but then I wasn't sure what you might want. I also bought some soaps for ya, I noticed you liked more earthy, flowery smells, so I picked out some of those. I hope you like one of them."

Astarion cups his lover's warm cheek, smiling at the way the otherwise stoic and few words man rambles when he gets nervous. Can hear the way Axel's heart pounds in his chest. Worry plaguing his features. How could he be so worried about something so thoughtful? Did he think Astarion would hate this gift?

"This is too kind." This is true. Axel was always too kind to Astarion. It twisted his insides more than a knife ever could.

To think. Astarion would get his revenge, walk in the sun, and be gifted a man who wanted nothing from him other than Astarion to be happy. He didn't believe such a person existed until Axel.

Axel's features relax and he leans in to press a short kiss to Astarion's lips. When he pulls away Astarion's stomach tightens in anticipation. A gross part of himself awaits for something. He tries to convince himself he doesn't know what it is, but Astarion does. He told Axel he loved him, but has yet to hear the half-elf say it back. Astarion hates how desperate he is to hear it. When was the last time someone said it to him and meant it? Said it not in post ecstasy?

"Not really." Axel shrugs nonchalantly on purpose to tease him specifically. Astarion pouts and drops his hand.

Axel chuckles and cups Astarion's cheeks, "Enjoy yourself. If you need anything…well better tell me now because I'll be downstairs." Axel grins, probably believing he's the funniest man to walk Faerun.

It isn't until Axel steps past Astarion does he realize what the man said. "You aren't staying?"

"I promised Haslin I'd best him in drinking. I can't let him down."

Astarion scoffs and shakes his head. "Wouldn't it be more fun?" Astarion tries again, gesturing towards the tub as he backs away with a button already off his coat.

Axel's eyes roam Astarion's body with appreciation, before stopping at his eyes with warmth. "This is your relaxation, meg louvè. Enjoy it." With that Axel slips out the room, leaving Astarion alone.

Astarion scowls at the romantic display, nauseated even. All of this and just for him and him alone? He could trick himself into thinking he was royalty if it wasn't for the distant roar of the people a floor below.

Astarion sighs and tears his armor off him and chucks it into the corner. His previous thoughts sour the relaxation he's meant to feel when he enters the tub. This act is just another reason why the upcoming battle terrifies him. He already can't offer anything to Axel, but to add in not being able to walk alongside him in the sun? To force Axel to walk the shadows as Astarion will; and soon.

Astarion sighs and eases into the tub. He scans the array of options and lands on lavender and smiles. Sometimes I can't tell if I hate that man or love him.

….

Time was lost on Astarion. He soaked in the tub until he was practically the same temperature as a human and then until the water was cold. He moved on to drying off and laying on the luxury bed with a book in hand. Flipped through some of that until the noise downstairs turned into a stampede of wild animals, shaking the very bed itself.

Curiosity tugged at his skin. Despite his best effort he couldn't stop himself from wondering what fun the others could be having. Drinking, partying, letting the atmosphere carry away your burdens. Astarion isn't a virgin to the wild of a late night tavern, but he can't remember a time he partaken without the heavy dread of knowing it would lead to the demise of some poor fool wanting to use him for temporary bliss.

This time would be different. Cazador is dead.

It was a fact that still felt so foreign.

Besides, he's bored.

Astarion freshens up and strides downstairs to meet the excitable crowd head on. Elfsong was one of Astarion's prowl sites, but he never saw the tavern quite like this. The room stunk with the smell of beer, sweat, and weirdly blood. The closer he got to the center of the mass, the more he began to recognize one source of it. The familiar sweetness from his tasty treat himself, Axel.

The ranger's face was cut on the arch of his brow. Blood had dried where it streamed down the side of his face. His lip was split and his chin bruised, but Axel still wore a beaming smile on his face.

"You're alone for five minutes and already got yourself in trouble." Astarion clicks his tongue. "Quite embarrassing, darling."

Axel holds up a finger to silence Astarion, his movements sluggish. "Don't flirt with me. I'm taken." His voice is quite clear for a man clearly drunk. Axel doesn't seem to notice it's Astarion he's speaking to either, the man's eyes are too focused on the men arm wrestling in the corner. Something stirred inside Astarion's undead heart. Taken. Astarion quite likes the sound of that.

Astarion flashes his signature grin. "Darling, do you not even recognize your own lover? I feel I should be sad?" He fakes a pout.

Astarion's chest squeezes an unbearable amount of feeling into him the moment Axel's eyes immediately melt into complete admiration when he turns and looks at Astarion. Has any creature in existence ever been gazed upon with such purity, such love and adoration? Clerics live to serve their gods they have chosen. They devote themselves completely to their god, body and soul. But is this what the gods feel when their devotees look to them. When they are prayed to? Or are they not nearly as lucky? Astarion turned down being a god in favor of being his pathetic self, but in that tiny moment he imagines he must have been one.

Axel places his hands over his heart, his face screwed up in agonizing fondness. "Oh, Astarion. Meg Starta. How beautiful you look in this lighting." There's a lightness in Axel's voice that's not normally there, his breath reeking of ale. Astarion grimaces, but he can't say he doesn't enjoy the peppered kisses Axel gives his face.

"You may want to take him upstairs." Wyll whispers into Astarion's ear from behind. Axel gets distracted by Haslin, joining the large man at the bar like a moth to a flame.

"He seems to still be enjoying himself." Astarion shrugs, his face plastered with a sly smile.

Wyll snorts, "That may be the problem my pale friend. He has drank twice as much as any of us and already lost in a boxing match. He might need some rest now." Something on Wylls face makes Astarion squint at him. There is something else the man wants to say to him.

"Is that all?" Astarion raises a brow, trying to hide his curiosity behind a veil of annoyance.

Wyll glances over at Axel and Haslin before lowering his voice so only Astarion could hear. "If I didn't know any better. I'd say Axel was looking forward to losing."

Astarion wanted to scoff. To laugh in Wylls face for such an absurd idea. "The man who refuses to lose to anything? I doubt it, perhaps that last eye of yours is failing you."

Wyll shrugs, "I've seen Axel throw punches. He's not the strongest, but he's quick. He was definitely holding back, even if he is drunk." Wylls face droops into worry. "I'm just saying. Maybe it's best if he lays down. Before he burns himself up."

Astarion was not good at emotions. Whether they be his own or others. He was not like Wyll or Haslin. He's not the best at comforting, but that never stopped him from trying even if it meant for him to fail. He could just play it off as a joke later.

Axel never seemed to need to be comforted. His emotions were held tighter than Astarion's, and if he was feeling something he was very honest and straight-forward with it. Most days, most nights..actually every time it's Axel comforting Astarion. Reassuring him, loving him, comforting him.

Even now, Axel looks happy. His flushed cheeks stained red, but has a lazy smile on his face as Haslin speaks to him. A sudden creeping feeling comes up from the shadows in Astarion's mind. Am I the last to know what's going on with him?

He has seen how close Axel is with Karlach. Had discovered a small bit of details about Axel through her or Haslin more than anything from Axel's mouth himself. A part of him wondered if Axel truly trusted him, surely he must if Axel claims to care for him. Then why hasn't he said I love you back?

The doubt was settling in. Astarion was weak to it at the best of times, why would he expect to be strong to it now. Anytime his self loathing led him down a desolate path, Axel always was there to be a guiding hand back to the light. For now Astarion will push those thoughts away and help his lover to bed like he knows someone much kinder than him would do.

He tugs on Axel's sleeve, perhaps a little too rough as Axel stumbles a bit into Astarion. "Time for bed, my love." Astarion bites back his growing annoyance and keeps up his smile.

Axel groans in protest, like a child whining. "Oh, alright. Whatever you wish." Axel let's Astarion lead him back to the room. Astarion is more than pleased to be away from such pounding noise. He didn't realize how loud it was down there until they reached the tranquil silence of their shared room for the night. Up here Astarion could think more clearly; though he can't tell if that's a good thing or not.

Axel shuffles in behind Astarion, heading straight for the bed and collapsing partly on top without care. Astarion rolls his eyes, "You still have your shoes on you big oaf." Axel only responds with a muffled groan and then silence. He's clearly not asleep.

Astarion huffs and kneels down to yank the boots off himself. He will not have this bed soiled, not when he only gets it once. Axel is lucky he doesn't chop his feet off instead.

Astarion kicks his own off and settles them down nicely by the foot of the bed. He sighs and plops down on the edge besides Axel and crosses his arms over his chest with a pout.

Axel stirs and turns over, glancing at Astarion before sitting up. "You look beautiful tonight."

The irritation Astarion felt eases away slightly at those words. Still, that doesn't stop him from feeling whatever strange concoction was brewing in his chest.

"Flattery won't win you anything tonight, darling."

Axel doesn't acknowledge those words. He rubs his head and winces when he feels the cut above his brow. Astarion's eyes widen for a moment and he sighs as he dampens a towel. Astarion sits by Axel's side and presses the cloth to his lover's face.

Axel doesn't even wince. There's something distant in his eyes. Astarion recognizes that look. He would say he has seen it in the mirror when he sees himself, but Astarion can not see himself anymore. That doesn't stop him from knowing. There was something that Axel said to Astarion once. "I know that look, because I'm familiar with it."

Again, Astarion knows he's not the best when it comes to the nursing part of whatever it is they are. For 200 years he's had no one to nurture him, he has forgotten how those muscles work. But he wants nothing more than to be there the same as Axel has. To provide him with something when all he could think about earlier is how he was lacking in that department. Astarion wanted to see him smile.

"Love, you should be more careful with this pretty face of yours. I'd hate to see it ruined." Astarion purrs.

Axel chuckles and scratches his neck, "Ah, I've been through worse." At least he seems aware enough. Not too far gone it seems, which is good.

Wylls words come back to Astarion and the curiosity eats away at him again. He thinks of how he can spin his words into a pretty picture. Astarion fakes a chuckle and a little wave, "It almost seems like you were trying to lose." Astarion laughs.

Axel snorts and shrugs, "Most times I fight in a bar I lose. That's the point." Darkness is creeping into Axel's eyes. Emptiness like a black void. Astarion is unfamiliar with this Axel. Perhaps even unaware this side of his lover existed. Was this Axel's real self or was it the alcohol making his brain fuzzy and tired? Either way, the confession left Astarion feeling uneasy.

Astarion thought more carefully on how to phrase his words and instead decided to take a page from Axel's (or anyone else's) book and ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Axel shook his head, "No." That was his usual response. Axel didn't talk about himself or his past. He told stories of beasts and his brother when the group was around the campfire, but those were adventure stories. Axel revealed his mother was a druid to Haslin and that's the most intimate detail Astarion knows. Other than arbitrary details like favorite places or colors or animals.

Astarion couldn't help the words that flowed out of his mouth. "Why do you not like telling me about yourself?" And just like that, fear gnawed at his stomach. He could only stare at Axel with uncomfortable vulnerability, awaiting for the horrible truth to carve another poem into his back.

Axel suddenly springs up, marching over to the vanity with his fists clenched tightly. "Because I have nothing worth telling. My stories aren't worth telling. I'm not worth knowing!" Axel yells, his face full of fury uncommon on his features. He seems to catch his temper and sighs as his body relaxes just enough to calm his voice. "Why can't you understand that?" Axel speaks more to himself than to Astarion.

Astarion was taken aback by the sudden outburst. He has only ever seen anger on Axel during a battle against an enemy, never towards anyone else. Axel is disgustingly kind and empathic. Calm and poised most of the time when he's not being goofy. Astarion isn't sure how to respond. "Axel."

Axel looks into the mirror and Astarion can see his lover's face through it. Axel grimaces and looks away. "I hate feeling like this. I don't know why it's coming up now. Emptiness. Of course I lost that fight. Who holds back on fighting?" Axel spits over his shoulder, the frustration back on his features. "That man should have knocked me out. Most of them do."

Astarion's face twists in sadness. To think Axel would seek out pain in such a way, and to learn he's sought it out before. Astarion wants to reach out to him, but Axel isn't done.

"My life has been kind to me, so why would I insult you by bringing it up? I am not rich, or powerful. I am not exciting. I am boring. I am a boring lover. I am foolish and dumb. You deserve so much more." Axel's face turns from anger to anguish. "You deserve someone exciting. You have the freedom to find that person and I know you will."

Axel hangs his head and shakes it. "And I will not hate you for it. I could never hate you. You deserve someone who isn't like this." Axel gestures to himself. "I have nothing to offer. You think you are the only person who feels unworthy? Feels they offer nothing? I can't even offer you the freedom to explore. How selfish I am to know you deserve more yet keeps you to myself."

Axel looks in the mirror again and the anger returns. "You wish to see yourself in the mirror and I only wish to rid myself of such a burden." Axel rips the mirror from the vanity in a flurry of rage, the mirror shattering into a million pieces.

Axel takes in a deep breath and looks at the mess he's created. His face crumbles and his voice shakes and wavers as tears prick his eyes. "I'm a failure. You deserve someone better. Take it," Axel pinches his nose as a tear falls down his cheek, "take it from someone who loves you. I will not say it knowing it'd cement you to me. I can not. I do not deserve anyone's love, but I can't bear the thought of losing someone else. If you were to leave and I have said it, the pain would be too real."

Axel's chest lurches with a sob. "I… I don't know what is wrong with me. Why, why are these feelings coming back to me? I have a responsibility to you and the others and yet I'm failing once again. Is this why I'm alive, to continue to fail?" Axel crumbled to his knees, his hand catching himself, but on the shards of glass. Astarion smells the blood, but Axel doesn't seem to notice the pain.

Astarion feels numb. His chest hurts, if his heart could still beat it would be breaking. How could Axel feel so unworthy, when he was arguably the only one bringing anything to the table? That's the second time Axel has referred to himself as unexciting. The first time being when Axel declared he didn't need another lover and that he wished for Astarion to not have one either. That if Astarion wished to have that option, then he should end it.

Everything else Axel said was working slowly over in Astarion's mind. He knows some of that was not for him. That something else darkens Axel's mind, but the half-elf is not in the state to elaborate.

Astarion kneels down gently by Axel's side, guiding the man's chin up to face him. Axel's face is a mess of tears and his eyes are heavy with fatigue and fear. Astarion can hear how fast Axel's heart is beating, like the sound of a war drum.

Astarion doesn't say anything other than, "take it easy." His honeyed words are lost to him. For now he guides his lover back to the bed and licks up the blood on Axel's hand before pulling out a healing potion for him to drink. Axel's chest is still heaving, but the tears have stopped. Now he sits mindless as Astarion guides him. The display is unnerving for Astarion, but he knows he must fight through it.

When Axel's face clears up, Astarion cups his cheeks and brings his lips to Axel's. It's tender and Astarion tries all his might to put every ounce of his feelings into it.

"Listen to me." Axel looks into Astarion's eyes. "Why would I want someone else, when I didn't even know I needed you? You are not boring. And you have not failed me. Or the others. I'm not afraid of your darkness. You are worth knowing. I want to know everything. You think anything you could tell me would shock me?" Astarion huffs with a sad smile. He grows serious. "This will pass. And I will still be here when it does. I love you."

Axel swallows and smiles. "Freetra starta den lun. Meg louvè. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have burdened you."

Astarion scoffs, but not with malice, but in sadness. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who struggles with this. If anything it brings me closer to you. Your burdens are mine to bear, just as you have carried mine. It's the least I could do."

Axel buries his head in the crook of Astarion's neck. He takes a long sniffle and Astarion can feel Axel's lips twist into a smile. "Lavender. I knew you'd go for that one." Axel's hot breath on Astarion's skin makes his body flutter in a way he has never experienced until he met Axel.

Astarion kisses the top of Axel's head. "You know me too well."

Axel hums and wraps his arms around Astarion's waist, digging his nose deeper into the crook. "Smells amazing on you." Axel groans as he takes another sniffle and Astarion can smell the desire now replacing the anguish in Axel. It almost makes Astarion laugh when he's suddenly reminded how drunk Axel actually is.

Axel doesn't try anything. He simply seems content just holding Astarion in bears grip. The warm intimate feeling is comforting, despite the guilt of knowing it was him who was meant to comfort Axel. Seeing an opportunity, however, Astarion asks. "My love?"

Axel hums and it vibrates against Astarion's skin. If his body was capable of it, he'd get goose bumps. "You have been using those phrases of yours since our first confession. Yet it is in a language I do not understand." Astarion is hoping he can lead Axel to the ledge and the drunk man can take the leap himself. He's afraid if he asks him full on, Axel will deny him the knowledge. He usually does, stating "that's the point, darling".

Axel shrugs. "It's Jotun. It means my star and moon. Is that the one? The other means, my love." Astarion's body blossoms with warmth, disgusting happiness he can't help but cringe at.

What sweet phrases. Am I truly his star and moon?

"I didn't want to tell you, because I was embarrassed. I didn't want to scare you off and I thought I would if you knew how much I was falling in love with you." Axel said, muffled against Astarion's skin. Astarion remembers Axel's words. I will not say it knowing it'd cement you to me.

Astarion forces Axel to look at him. Now Axel's eyes are hazy with half sleep and Astarion can't help but think he looks absolutely adorable. "Tell me you love me." Astarion all but demands.

Axel smiles tiredly. "I love you." And he means it. Astarion smiles and tucks Axel into bed, holding him close. Though, mostly because Axel refuses to let go.

Suddenly the fears of what the future holds seem less scary now that he knows Axel loves him as well. It seems Axel isn't the perfect untouchable thing he saw him as. And that only makes Astarion's longing for him grow.

Cazador believed flawed things were an abomination. Astarion disagrees. As much as he claims to hate the weak and flawed. Flawed things are much more beautiful. And to know he doesn't have to carry that burden alone. That makes it all worth it. Even perhaps giving up the sun. Because Axel is worth it.

#bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion brainrot #astarion with a male Tav #also Astarion being the one that comforts is sweet #maybe ooc?#i dont quite think so #baldur’s gate 3 #i have a problem #whump prompt #whump October #whumptober #also there is no dnd dictionary for Jotun #so i used fae #shush #hope you liked it!#oh #astarion

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ghostly-cabbage · 19 days

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We need to talk about the worst thing about making AUs....

The fact that then when you inevitably think about crossovers you don't want the crossover with the canon you want it with your specific AU. Your brain worms, your circus, but THEN WHAT?

Oh, yeah, to understand this crossover you need to go read this entirely different fic/series? Girl help 😭 you can't do that

#high-key this post is about the genrex x dp crossover I started way back when and how I don't think i'll ever be able to go back to it #bc fae and I have literally put such a massive amount of work into f.h:s and fleshing out the world and how everything works and #the characters personalities and development that I genuinely do not wanna write something in the canon universe anymore #like f.h:s has become my default way of thinking about Rex in a creative capacity #we're here just to suffer but also experience untold amounts of joy you know #we're really lucky here in the phandom bc fanon is so prevalent that people are willing to get in on the ground floor with any #wacky crazy fun hcs you can dish out #and i love it here for that #but for the smaller fandoms its... you cant expect your readers to already have an understanding of your specific au and bible length hcs #anyway #in a low-key way this post is also about how #last month Fae and i went insane for several days about our gen rex AU version of Rex ina crossover with Murderbot and it was so fun but al #It was just for fun and for us YES but I keep thinking about and it's objectively hilarious to write something that is for a max of 4 ppl #When you really get to it tho it was actually for a max of 2 people and those two people are named Kei and Fae

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katebeckets · 1 month

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Emily's Follower Appreciation Event 🌷 ⤷ 🎨 temperance brennan + shades of purple

Elephants are not purple. This is wrong.

for @clairesbeauchamp ♡

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ghost-bxrd · 3 months

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I’ve been getting really into magical stuff recently and also DC so I’m just gonna drop this here:

Fae Dick Grayson

F A E

okay so fae stories are special to me because I grew up on hearing pagan folklore and fairytales about fae and fae adjacent creatures as good night stories so hooo boy yes I adore that trope! (I mean, I made Dick a Banshee in my fic Shuck so… hehe)

Anyway, Fae Dick Grayson! There’s just so many things you can do with it ✨

Robin appears from one day to the next, following in Batman’s shadow like a mischievous sprite, so honestly rumors have been going wild about him since day one. Robin actually being something non-human doesn’t really come as a surprise!

The fae folk are known for being awfully good at blending in with regular humans when they put their mind to it, the only thing that puts them apart (in most stories) is their otherworldly beauty, and Dick Grayson? Well, he’s definitely got that in abundance.

Just sometimes, when the light reflects off a surface in just the right way, when someone pours a glass of water and you happen to look right through the spray, or when you think you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye and you spin around— but there’s only Dick Grayson, even if a second ago you could have sworn you saw eyes where there weren’t supposed to be any; colors that aren’t supposed to exist; feathers where only skin has any right to be.

And, gods, all the talking. Dick is terrifyingly good at talking to people without actually saying anything, to the point where you walk away from the conversation feeling utterly drained after spilling your entire life story but when you think back on it— you can’t remember him ever telling you anything about himself. You know there were the usual pleasantries of “hi” and “nice to meet you” and “how are you doing?” but anything beyond that just kinda… seemed to spill out of you? It’s very strange. It’s very unnerving. By the end of the evening you other convince yourself you’re overreacting or you simply push the incident out of your mind altogether.

And there’s another thing about Dick. His name.

He only ever introduces himself as Dick Grayson/Robin. Never Richard. Never. Especially not Richard John. Names are sacred for the fae folk, names have power, so while Richard John Grayson may not be Dick’s true name, he treats it as such to honor his parents. None are allowed to use it. None except Bruce or Alfred on special occasion.

Of course, Dick’s “true” name isn’t exactly a secret so when someone does happen to use it… well, Dick may be… other… but he’s still intrinsically good in a way many of his kind don’t have the patience to be. Dick judges on a case by case basis, just like his parents and Bruce taught him. And usually people do not mean it maliciously when they use his name so he kindly corrects them and that’s that. But oh man, if they still insist on calling him “Richard”? Well..

“Oh no, it seems your credit card is being declined, sir!”

“Sheesh, you tripped over a root? In Gotham?!”

“What do you mean ten birds flew into your window last night? You live on floor level!”

“Dude I’m telling you that rash doesn’t look normal.”

“I… don’t think crows are supposed to follow you like that.”

It’s little things (most of the time, unless you really pissed Dick off) but they keep piling up, slowly driving you insane. You feel like you’re being watched, but it’s just a bird sitting on the window sill again. You feel like someone moved all your furniture just slightly to the right even tho you checked all the cameras.

The fae are kind, but they are also vindictive when crossed.

(Thanks to Bruce, however, I think Dick’s bouts of “vengeance” rarely go much farther than that though.)

Dang ok that ended up being an entire rant… wow. Anyway, yeah. Fae.

#look growing up in the middle of the woods just does something to you #my entire family told us tales about the creatures in the woods #looking back on it now a lot of them were fairly creepy #but my cousin and I always went looking for the one who ‘swayed the trees’#there’s not a good translation for it but it sounds pretty cool in my language #and also slightly gruesome #double meaning and all that #then again our idea of fun was traipsing into the moors and finding ways through it without getting stuck so idk #wow ok that reads like a bit of a horror story but I swear it was great #anyway #ghost talks #fae dick Grayson #dick grayson #nightwing #Robin

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suntails · 1 year

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idolatry

#the absurd unhealthy levels of devotion sebek has is so interesting. silver too but in a different way. sebeks is so blatant so OVERT #i think it would be rly fun (awful) if book7 had OB malleus and sebek having to choose whether or not to go against his lord. and thing is #im half convinced he'd still pick malleus. i think malleus could be mid OB and wrecking the world out of his mind and sebek would still pick #to be by his side. even knowing hes wrong. even seeing the negative repercussions live. i think he could #like i dont quiiite see twst going that dark realistically. like sebek was willing to fight malleus in halloween 2 thinking he was possessed #tho it could be argued he only fought BECAUSE he thought it wasnt malleus too. idk just food for thought #i want to know Why sebek idolizes malleus and lilia so much. its implied bc theyre fae but i want an inciting incident backstory #twst #twisted wonderland #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia #do i get to tag malleus? his portrait is there.....its my post i do whatever i want #non silver art for once. dont get used to it. this is silver nation im sure he'll be back soon #suntails

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rosenfey · 6 months

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— the adventure begins. 🍂🌰

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ffxivedit #warrior of light #viera #*fae creations #*ffxiv #oc: faerene rosenhall #idk what tags to use lmao its been months since I played this game ghgngnng #not sure if i should tag mewtuals idk if anyone is into ffxiv so!! no tags this time

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ghouljams · 6 months

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can the fae!boys use the taps in ways for like fully good intent like lets say if libeling was freaked and stressed out of her mind and well overworked just one tap and shes putty in königs arms to take care of- or the panic attack with her fic got me thinking if she was in one he could just go tap

Taps can absolutely be used with good intent. This is where I say that magic in this au cannot be good or evil, it's all in how you use it. Blessings and curses are two sides of the same coin: a spell for a baby might be a blessing for one and a curse for another, but at the end of the day it's the same magic. But yeah let's have someone other than the kinksters use the tap for good vibes.

You're completely run down, drained of everything that isn't numbers and money or worries about numbers and money. You should call your accountant. Instead you're sitting at your little kitchen table with receipts and month income reports. You're pretty sure you're turning a profit. You might not be. Who knows? Not you.

You haven't had a day off in... fuck when was the last time you took a day off? Maybe two, three(?), months ago? When you got dragged to that Renn Faire? That sounds about right. Today doesn't count. End of the quarter accounting doesn't count as a day off even if you had to close the shop.

König seems restless. He's been pacing around the flat with nothing to occupy him all day. You've snapped at him a couple times, sent him outside or to the shops just for a moment's piece. You rub your eyes with the heel of your hand, tapping you pencil against your calculator as you stare down the list you've been making on spare notebook paper. You're starting to get a migraine. The lights are too brightly haloed, each ambient noise too loud against your skin, you can feel your bones and it's nauseating.

You sit back in your chair and press your hands to your face, giving yourself a moment's darkness as you try to weigh Advil against just going to bed. When you finally slide your hands from your face you're staring up at König, his concern radiating off of him, or maybe he's just blocking your overhead light.

"Are you sick meine liebe?" he asks, leaning to press the back of his hand against your forehead. He takes it back with a frown, fingers hovering close.

"No, I'm just-" You shake your head, sit forward again to keep working, König's hand covers your eyes. You sigh and lean against the gentle touch, "I'm just tired König."

"Everything will still be there in the morning Liebling, come to bed." His thumb rubs at your forehead, soothing the worried creases.

"I'll just keep thinking about it," You let out another sigh, press your hands against König's, press his warmth and darkness into your tired eyes. You feel a childish whine building behind your ribs, your head hurts and you don't want to think anymore. You think- you think Love talked about Ghost doing something about that. God the last thing you want is to engage with anything similar to her reckless behavior, but the thump of a migraine against your skull is highly convincing.

"Can you-" The only experience you have with König's magic is what he gives you during sex, you don't really know what to ask for. You don't really know what to call what you want. Good fucking God you hate asking for help. König stays quiet, lets you sort through your thoughts without his interjection. "Can you make me stop thinking?" You ask, the migraine has started migrating towards nausea and the threat of being curled over the toilet overpowers your self sufficiency.

"You would put yourself in my care?" His voice is so soft, so careful and almost hopeful. You don't really know how not thinking would need care, but you nod against his hand. König takes a breath, his pointer finger raising to tap your forehead lightly.

Everything about you drops as you sag forward. All of the building pain is gone in an instant as König's magic sweeps through you, pushing every thought from your head. It settles like a blanket over your mind, hushing your sense of self and independence, and leaving you at König's mercy.

It's dark. No. There's something covering your eyes. A very careful movement, a hand sliding off your line of sight to cup your face and tip your head back. You're kissed so sweetly, gentle pressure and soft lips against your own. König, your sluggish brain supplies. König's magic seems eager to pick and choose what you know. Just the important things, his kiss tells you.

He pulls away with a low purr. You watch the twitch of his gaze, transfixed by the way he searches your eyes. He takes a breath and when he exhales it blows over you like a mist. Your eyes lid, then close, and you threaten to tip over again. Everything is heavy and soft. His hands slide under your arms, lifting you out of your uncomfortable seat.

"Up Schatz," König coaxes you to stand, helps you move your fuzzy, floaty, limbs, "There you go." You hardly stand from your chair before König's hand is pressing between your shoulders, tipping you forward at the waist to rest your hands against the table and scatter papers. His hands are big on your hips, holding you up as he drops to his knees behind you. "Let me help you," His voice is so husky, you hum and drop your head forward. It feels too heavy to keep holding up.

But it's so blissfully quiet, your thoughts silent and still as a lake. Any thought that slips through König's filter falls like sand through your fingers. Too slick to hold onto, not that you want to. No, this is good. Somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, your body tingly and warm, just at the edge of a dream. You feel so peaceful. König drags your pants down. You feel kept. You feel like you're forgetting something.

"Am I supposed to be doing something?" You ask König, he'll know. He pauses, his hands squeezing your ass appreciatively.

"No, I'm going to eat you, and then you're going to bed." He tells you. You hum, that sounds nice. "Alles gut?"

"Yeah, good." You pull the syllables out into a low hum as his tongue licks a flat stripe over your slit. You rock back against his hold when he repeats the motion, slicking you with long teasing strokes. His tongue is so strange, twisting and circling against your clit, between your folds. Inhuman, entirely inhuman. The thought hums pleasantly in your veins, stirring heat alongside his long thick tongue.

It's hot and wet, his breath ghosting over you as he laps at your cunt making you shiver with need. Each slick drag rolls back and forth as his fingers squeeze your hips, your ass, every inch of softness appreciated for what it is. You. König closes his lips around your clit and sucks, his tongue fluttering against the sensitive nub, making heat race through you. You stomach jumps, your breath hitches, you press your hands against the table to try and press back against him. His hands hold you firmly in place as pleasure leaps up your spine.

The clench of your needy cunt catches his attention, and he shift to wiggle his tongue into the hole. He slurps greedily as you drip into his mouth, one of his hands leaving your hip to thumb your clit, coaxing you to clench on his tongue and whine. One of his claws catches your clit and you jerk, only for the ones on your hip to dig in further. Your breath stutters feeling the firm pressure of skin at its breaking point, the hot pinpricks of beading blood.

You freeze, grip the scattered papers under your hands with unsteady fists. If you focus past the slick liquid pleasure he's licking into you, you can feel the flat dangerous press of teeth just behind his lips. You shiver, his tongue twisting inside of you to push against your gummy walls, stroking alongside the fingers at your clit. He's more monster than man, and you're reminded how much you love that when he growls against your cunt.

"More," You beg, pressing back against his mouth. He pulls back and his hand leaves your hip, hardly giving your knees time to buckle before it smacks your ass. You jolt forward, your thighs hitting the edge of the table as quickly as he's holding your hip to pull you back onto his tongue.

"Such a greedy thing liebchen, remember your manners," He spits on your cunt, watches his saliva drip down with the rest of your slick before gathering it on his tongue.

"Please," You mumble, letting the word drop from your lips as he licks you. The hot roll of his tongue before his mouth closes over you, before he sucks at your slick skin, makes your back arch. His hum reverberates through you, and you let your eyes roll. König pinches your clit meanly, before soothing the ache with his tongue, his fingers moving to press into your hole.

He lets you rock back against them. The two thick digits rough with callouses, crook to press against your spongy sweet spot, claws all but forgotten as he strokes your soft inner walls. Each gentle thrust of his fingers drags a new coil of heat through you, tightens the feeling deep in your stomach. His tongue coaxes it tighter, easing you towards a hard release.

"Don't tell me I made you so stupid you forgot how to cum Schatzi," He murmurs, pressing sucking kisses to your clit. You don't think so, but you certainly feel like you're missing something. Every touch of him inches you a bit higher, winds your muscles a little tenser, until you don't think you can take any more.

His grip on your hip loosens as his hand slides up under your shirt. König's fingers spread wide under the fabric, hooking themselves in the strands between you with practiced ease. They grip, hard, and rip you forward to collapse against the table, all your tethers bursting into full technicolor. Everything inside of you breaks and you feel your orgasm crash into you.

"There you go, there you go," He groans, fingers thrusting a little faster into your cunt, hitting your sweet spot a little harder as you squirt against his mouth. Every muscle firing to shake and shudder as you collapse forward onto the table, letting König work you through your orgasm. Your legs shake, hips jerking as he keeps fucking you, keeps sucking at your clit, overstimulating you when you don't have the energy to tell him not to. You whine high and tight in your throat, feel another spring snap and bring the shivers back in full. It hurts so good. He drinks you down so nicely.

You don't know if your really standing as much as König's letting you sit on his face. Dimly you think it doesn't matter. You said you'd put yourself in his care, and you don't regret it. You're tingling and warm, wrung out. He's gentle moving you, you hardly feel it when he stands, when he helps you pull your shirt over your head so he can pick you up.

You settle against him, his hand holding you up as your arms drape over his shoulders. You close your eyes and enjoy the darkness of it, the calm peace in your mind. The sink turns on as you nod off in König's grip. The rush of water is almost a welcome sound, but does nothing to eclipse the soft purr that rumbles from your partner. He moves and you lose track of where you are in space in favor of letting his purring pull you further under his spell.

He settles you in bed, just like he promised. A warm washcloth wipes between your legs, cleaning you up as gently as König can manage before he's crawling onto the bed behind you, and tugging the covers up. He murmurs something your brain is too sluggish to hold onto, and kisses the top of your head. You're tugged snugly back against his chest, his arms oh-so tightly wrapped around you. Comfortably held, your body wastes no time dragging you down into sleep.

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thetwstwildcard · 20 days

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"Oh, you think I'm gone 'cause I left

But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze

My footsteps on the ground

You'll see my face in every place

But you can't catch me now

Through wading grass, the months will pass

You'll feel it all around

I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere

But you can't catch me now

No, you can't catch me now"

Leah Fiorello, my oc who is Silver's mom who was killed trying to protect fae

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chernabogs · 22 days

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ERLKÖNIG

Inc: Malleus (/Reader later on), Reader/Prefect, Lilia, Silver, Sebek, Ace, Deuce, Grim, and a lot of fae who should not be in this dimension yet somehow are. Wc: Roughly 9k (Currently sitting at chapter 2/23). Warnings: Violence, reference to war, kidnapping, rituals that fae allegedly did in mythology (wild), psychological horror, body horror (not until much later), and the boys are fighting... a lot. Relies heavily on ancient Celtic and Welsh lore (Tam Lin, Thomas the Rhymer, and Oisin I owe u my life) Summary: Your first encounter with the fae was not in Twisted Wonderland, but rather on the coast of a village your grandmother once lived in—where stones bit into your bare feet and the water poured into your lungs as you were pulled to a world so different from your own. It was by cunning alone that you managed to escape, having since pushed those memories aside. But the fae do not forget—not even when you cross dimensions once more—and as Beltane looms, the time for collecting is near.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) below the cut. Check out the work up to chapter 2 here!

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.

- La Belle Dame sans Merci, Keats

19??, Dunhill, Ireland. October.

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. After all, why else do we face horseshoes upright, or close our blinds when the sun begins to set? We did not learn to play mute when we hear our names get called at night for no reason, nor did we discover on a whim that blackbirds circling are harbingers of ill outcomes.

Your grandmother was a woman of superstition. Because she lived in Dunhill, Ireland, you very rarely had the opportunity to see her growing up. This didn’t mean that you weren’t occasionally shipped out to arrive at her doorstep for a few weeks at a time over the summer months.

Your memories of her appearance are mostly flashes of the few moments you saw her. Knotted joints on her body, silver hair hidden behind a headscarf she always wore, and the way her shoulders would stoop with each shuffling step she took. What you remember more vividly was the way she acted when the two of you went out. Her trembling hands—Parkinson’s, you think your parent may have mentioned—would always press an iron nail into yours to put in your pocket before you departed.

“They like to wait on the coastlines,” she had murmured when you asked why she gave this to you. “And they’ll like you the most.”

She would not offer any further information, nor would she let you out until the nail was securely tucked away. Despite how slowly she would move on your many walks along Benvoy Beach, you never once failed to miss the way her sharp gaze would always be fixated on the unruly seas beyond.

She dies when you’re ten years old. Her funeral is a vivid affair. Your grandmother’s humble home has been transformed into a centre of traffic within a matter of hours since her passing, barely giving your family a moment to breathe despite catching the red-eye flight earlier that day. People you have never seen before shaking your small hand and offering their condolences. The strong fragrance of unknown flowers and cheap perfume fills each room, suffocating out any last semblance of your grandmother that may have still lingered. It feels more like they’re spitting on her memory than honouring it. You know your grandmother—she is, was, a quiet woman, and not one for all this pomp and circumstance.

Perhaps this is why no one notices when you sneak out and down the rocky hills.

You slip on several rocks and scrape up your hands really good by the time your feet hit the familiar sandy beach below. With the way the sun is beginning to set, the waters seem to be a wine-red color, swirling in their chaotic fervour to reach the earth you stand on. You pause to take several breaths before kicking your shoes off and stepping forward into that hungry sea.

Your parent will be furious at you for dirtying up your formal garb, but this isn’t at the forefront of your mind right now as your eyes slide shut and you stretch your arms wide. You feel the wind rush along your body and the fragrance of salt overtake you as you spill your grief into the vast waters, letting it mix and swirl into that abyss for a moment of catharsis.

It’s when the wind carries the scent of something pungent that your eyes snap open again. The foulness is brief, and for a moment you write it off as simply a byproduct of the ocean, until it returns again stronger than before. It smothers the brine and has your head turning to look around for the source. You look over your left shoulder at the empty beach around you. The sun continues to set, and your gaze tracks the path of a gull flying overhead before you look over your shoulder once more.

This time, someone is waiting.

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. The reason why we are scared of things that try to look like us, why we try so hard to ward them off, is because we know that anything that wants to be like a human certainly has no good intent in their heart. This is the case for the figure you see standing on the beach.

They’re wearing the same dark funeral garb you had seen the others in your grandmother’s home wearing. A wide-brimmed hat sits upon their head to conceal most of their features, although you can see scarlet hairs peeking out, and their hands appear to be clasped behind their back as they stand stoically ahead. Despite the winds that bite at your cheeks, not a single scrap of fabric on the figure’s body moves. It’s as though they’re cut from a painting and placed in real life.

You both observe each other in silence. You can feel your body locking up as your mind chants to you wrong, wrong, wrong, over and over again like a mantra. Your right hand drifts down to your pant pocket—you did not take a nail with you before you left the home.

They like to wait on the coastlines, and they’ll like you the most.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The figure smiles—black, sharp, and not quite human.

Something in your gut tells you to run and you, even as a rebellious child, do as you’re told. Your body twists around to scramble towards the rocks as your feet slip in the wet sand. You completely discard grabbing your shoes in your haste to get away, fully accepting the agony that the stones ripping into your soles will bring as consequence.

You don’t get very far. Whatever is on the beach with you is far quicker than you will ever be. Within moments of you turning, its cold fingers dig into your shoulders. You scream—cry—as the figure leans down and the pungent aroma of rotting fish emanates with each breath it exhales. You thrash and twist in its grip until you face each other, and you lock eyes with her.

She looks exactly as she did the last time you saw each other. Same knotted limbs, same silvery hairs, same stoop of her shoulders.

She stares down at you. The wind whips the loose strands of her hair around her face, and her eyes are the cloudy blue of the dead as something begins to claw in your mind. You watch as her thin and cracking lips form the syllables to your name—but it’s lost to the roar of an ever-cacophonous sea. The ground surges up around you, wrapping thorns—thorns? —around your legs. They bite into your skin, draw ruby gems from beneath your frigid flesh, and when you lift your head again, your grandmother merely continues to wear her blackened smile at the sight.

You cry out once more, but just like your name, your pleas are stolen away by the winds.

Everything lasts all but a few moments before the sea finally reaches what it has been clawing for.

#twst fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfiction #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #malleus/reader #malleus x reader #twst x reader #enjoy the sneak preview of the first 5 chapters lmfao #fellas is it dumb to use media as a promotional material? :/#anyway i just want to write about. fae doing things they shouldnt #and the fae in twst seem too bloody nice so im pulling on dimensions #in mythology they can dimension hop anyway so <3 not breaking any logic LMAOOO

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