sspiderliliess
SSPIDERLILIESS
they | 21 ──
amateur artist
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diamond .
⟶ astarion x nervous, soft gn!tav — romance
i hyperfixated on bg3 for a while... i should get back to it. this feels like a bit of a word vomit and im still learning to express right but gosh i love emotional astarion stuff. (astarion and tav have a moment while they tend to his wounds | tav is gender-neutral but takes ideas from a female oc) ❤️🩹
⟶ rating — fluff?? suggestive at the end | tw blood, references to astarion's past
A tender flame danced. Outside, beyond the tent’s flimsy walls, rain poured for miles. The thriving forest floors squelched with a sea of puddles, the skies veiled with gray. But the pale crimson of the vampire’s tent was blooming with orange as the light within a lantern flickered across the walls and his belongings.
Trinkets left and right beckoned my wonder, chiseled figures and crackled books that showed their age placed atop the shelves and the indigo rug. In the dark, the gold gleamed and teased my vision. Against the petrichor and iron from his bleeding gashes, the faintest aroma of wisteria tickled my nose.
Ah, yes! The nighttime florals just nearby. I remember being so delighted that our group’s camping spot was placed so conveniently close to those lovely plants. Purple was a soothing color, and those wisterias could comfort me almost as well as any lavender-based remedy could.
It reminded me of Astarion, sometimes. My gaze wandered to the deep cuts across his leg, caked with drying blood and shining against the lantern’s light. The sight had been with me since it happened early in the day; a bundle of determined trolls could certainly leave their mark on someone—particularly three right across his calf and thigh. But sitting here, breathing in the smell of his blood that strengthened with every dab of the washrag, my stomach began to stir.
Either that, or his more notable nature came back to my senses. Had I really forgotten how regal he was after all of this? A magistrate, he said. Different circles, he said… I love you, he said. I’d spent a good time getting to know him and his quick-witted remarks. His irritable nature reared its head often, but something beneath the rough had always twinkled if I squinted just right. He didn’t have to take these hits for me. I knew my heart felt truly for him, but I didn’t know he’d be the type to do that so quickly.
“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but—ack—it’s just that this blood is finding its way all over my bedding. I could tend to this myself, you know?”
I turned my attention back to Astarion, who had propped himself up and was leaning my way with a hand reached for the stained rag. The gash on his thigh was oozing with blood, a thick trail pooling onto his blanket.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I gasped and crawled forward to continue the cleansing.
He furrowed his brows, then raised them, and a smile etched onto his lips. “Now, for a vampire to get lost in thought at the sight of blood, I could understand… but what’s making you so bothered?”
“I’m,” I hummed. “I’m unsure.”
I tilted my head and continued to absentmindedly dab at the cuts. He laughed under his breath.
That familiar Astarion in his playful quips and egotistical humor. Those with a demeanor such as that rarely gained my attention for too long; I was always frightened by what judgments they might make, how out of place I felt. In the beginning when our group happened upon him, it’d bothered me quite a bit and I was sure he caught onto that, thus, I did what any mature person would have done when met with some sort of problem.
I ignored it.
The sly fox had taken note of this reaction. Maybe that was what got him to be nicer to me so quickly, less… prickly, especially in the times where I let him feed. But as I’d grown closer to him in our travels and had more meaningful conversations, I found him to be a book I might like to read, and the teasing came back on its own. I wasn’t bothered then. I might’ve enjoyed it. I still find myself thinking of that evening back near the grove, where he nearly choked at the teasing he threw my way when he saw the small and clumsily crafted animal in my hand. I told him how my mother had made those kinds of things with me, back in Baldur’s Gate when I was just a child and felt lonely, and his laughter stopped.
He seemed hurt by that. Regretful, almost. I'd like to think that turned out to be a nice day, though.
I was pulled from my gnawing thoughts once again as a slender finger slipped under my chin. Astarion looked less playful now, eyes glazed with what looked to be concern. He sat there in silence for a moment, staring at me until I felt my skin heat with blood and my heart tremble, and then he sighed. “Sometimes, I don’t know how to go about talking. It’s easy to flirt, to say things you don’t mean. But I would like to know what you’re thinking. Truthfully.”
He continued to hold my chin up with that single finger, his eyes almost pleading to listen and talk. It was the Astarion less familiar to most, and like a timid rabbit spoken to with the softest voice, I found myself being drawn closer right then and there.
“You told me a while back that you were a magistrate, a long time ago,” I began, awaiting his response.
He swallowed slowly and shuffled to make room for me on the bed. “I was, yes. I don’t remember much more than that. That life is so distant now, a pained memory of what was and what could have been, I suppose.”
He didn’t move aside from a mournful wince that I was sure had little to do with the physical state he was in. He laughed bitterly, “It’s funny to think about. I remember that simple fact, but nothing about me.”
It almost shocked me, the way he seemed to care so little about his old role. To be of such importance in Baldur’s Gate, to have such power over just about anyone before you… and yet, have it taken away in an instant. It threatened to sprout an ache in my chest—the thought of such a family and stability gone in the blink of an eye, power replaced with powerlessness. In the quiet and my dwelling, I understood him just a bit more. I could only wonder what happened to make the paths fall as they did.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me today. We might not know who you were back then, or what happened before, or what you looked like, or what you knew… But I know you now. And I’m grateful.”
I’d always been so cautious with him, so much so I could hardly form the words properly. I pushed myself to keep my eyes on him, though, and I watched as he looked to the ground with a smile. Those crimson eyes appeared much glossier.
In that moment, I did what any confident, self-assured individual would do. My heart pounded against my chest the minute I leaned forward to gently wrap my arms around him. He paused briefly and I heard his breath hitch, but he returned the gesture.
“I’m grateful to know you, too,” he sighed into my ear.
His breath and curls tickled my neck, where old bites were planted. I’d forgotten they were there until his nose brushed against it and a dull pain bloomed in their place. He stayed like that for a while. “I know that I’m in no place to have a passionate night,” he said a bit awkwardly. “But I would like to spend what time with you that I can, if you’d like..?”
It took me a second to understand just what he meant, and I couldn’t help but pull away with tensed brows and a muffled giggle. “I don’t know if passion is the best idea, seeing as though you’re still bleeding as is.”
I pointed to the fresh puddle of blood on the blanket, where his leg had pressed into the furs. He scowled and pursed his lips, but his smile soon resurfaced. “Well, perhaps that another night, darling.”
He leaned back to lay down again and I grabbed the rag from the bowl of water, wringing it out as the dark reds faded to pinks again. It was then that I’d notice what sat opposite of me while I crouched on the ground. Tucked away from most prying eyes was a spindly little nick-nack on his shelf, with leaves and vines coiled together to make a deer-like toy that you’d think only a child could love. It was placed within a makeshift forest scene, crafted impressively from grass and sticks. It’d been a while since I’d seen it.
I didn’t think I would again.
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skyline .
➝ jovier — newly established relationship
first little post of them two those two mildly based on a fanfic i’m working on. still feeling their vibes out, personalities are hard ❤️🩹
➝ rating — fluff, mild angst with comfort ig (?)
The flaring petals of forget-me-nots quivered. Their hues mirrored the sky back north, under which they were hastily plucked. In a rough bouquet, fuzzy dandelions sprouted up between the clusters. It was a stark shift—the soft blues to vivid yellows—though much like the sun glowing over empty horizon from its clear sky, it was a pleasant combination that seemed only right.
John’s fingers clutched the bundle enough to strangle the tender stems. Every so often, he’d mutter under his breath and loosen his grip, only for the process to repeat as he trudged down the shaded and winding pathway to camp. Each step closer to his destination made his muscles tense that much more as the thoughts raced his mind.
It hadn’t been too long ago since he’d shared such an intimate moment with Javier. A good one even if it tugged at the nerves, seeing him in his forlorn and troubled state brought John to long for another, just to see him happy again. He didn’t know why Javier had gotten so upset—he wasn’t always one to talk about such things—but he wanted to help. If a smile was truly contagious, between them, such a notion was proven.
But like too much whiskey still on the breath, the nauseas remnants of a place so vulnerable still kept its hold on the man, begging him to leave Javier to his own problems. They talked and they drank even before Abigail’s sudden death, and Javier had always been a good listener when it came to John’s relationship issues and especially during his mourning, but he couldn’t bring himself to always offer the same kinds of support despite a romance between the two having risen past its blooming dusk.
Nonetheless, like a thoroughbred to the finish line, John persisted in a need to win them both shared peace. Times were rough.
Times were rough.
When the curtain of tree limbs parted way to golden sun and camp tents perched about Clemens Point, the hum of familiar voices blending in with the twill of forest birds managed to both soothe and frazzle John. Karen’s sudden shout was followed by a couple guffaws, which made him jump; deep beneath the commotion, he could pick out the soft and distant melody of guitar strings.
They pulled him closer, if not by their cooing, then by the very threat of the regrets such hesitation might would bring. Standing there just at the edge of the clearing, bundle of florals in roughened hand, the man scurried off towards where the music resonated from. He hardly noticed his fingers tap against the paper in a heartfelt rhythm.
As he stopped next to the thin tree, he found Javier seated at the dock just above the murky waters. The sunset cast a tangerine veil upon the man and his guitar, lining raven hair with gold, illuminating honeyed skin. He was dusted with the lightest layer of dirt and marked with shiny scars which John’s eyes traced again for the millionth time.
He didn’t notice the steps he took nearer, a few feet from where the water climbed to shore. His fingers cooperatively loosened from the bouquet as if given instructions by the gentle plucks of the strings, but the tightness in the chest lingered. Absentmindedly, or perhaps a bit too present, he sighed.
Javier stopped playing and turned to look up at him, eyes wide before his expression softened unassuredly. “I didn’t notice you here. Where have you been?”
There it was—that haunting shiver in the chest. It visited John time and time again when he was to venture into more romantically motivated conversation with his longtime friend. Adjusting was hard, they both knew, but that mutual awareness didn’t always stop John from feeling the habitual reclusion he was so known for.
“I just…” he began, exhaling the air he’d held in. “I was up north. Found some nice flowers—that nice blue you like. Made me think of you, s’ here.”
He shoved the bundle of picked flowers at him, ears and face warmed with blood, though the pink tinge hardly showed through the evening’s ambience.
Javier looked down with furrowed brows at the bouquet, an examination drawn out and only adding to John’s discomfort. A minute passed and he released another held breath as Javier’s examination ended with a smile.
“Th… thank you,” he said. “You picked these all for me?”
John cleared his throat and shuffled to sit down next to him, eyes shifting between him and the crooked planks. “Well, I didn’t go up there for ‘em. Just wanted to see the mountains and hunt, y’know, where I ain’t freezin’ to death.”
The two sat in a brief silence, Javier’s eyes cast to the other side with a growing grin he tried to hide in vain. John caught a glimpse of it and scowled, nudging him with his elbow and prompting a laugh.
“So you stopped your hunting trip just to pick flowers for me?”
John’s scowl deepened. “No! I didn’t find nothin’ good and thought— Well, whatever.”
A flurry of giggles erupted from Javier, light and gentle, much like the flowers in his hand. He leaned into John’s shoulder and exhaled, still fiddling with the individual stems of the dandelions, which seemed to be a bit more sturdy.
“I like them a lot,” Javier whispered.
He looked up and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to John’s jaw, crinkling his nose at the prickly but familiar texture of his stubble.
The gesture made John tense again if only for a second, and he shuffled to lean back onto one of the dock posts. Every now and then, his gaze would drift to the twinkle of sunlight on the rippling waters, the swaying leaves of trees on the bank, and then return to Javier’s peaceful features. Such a painting urged him to not recoil. “Breathe,” it could have said, and he did so.
“I wanted to give you somethin’ to smile about,” John cooed in his ear.
By now, his chest rose and fell with a pace more at ease, but a part of him wondered if Javier would notice the slight shake in his words. Being laughed at by the others could often rub him the wrong way; Javier’s sweetened laughter was always of good nature. Just the sound still playing in John’s ears was enough to wash away his distress, bit by bit, like the lapping waves on Clemens Point.
He ran a timid finger through the loose bangs framing Javier’s face. “You don’t have to talk… but you can.”
John watched him put the flowers down with a fading smile. It felt as though he’d lit a radiant candle only for a gust of wind he’d conjured to blow it out, and all he could do was either try to light it again or stumble in the dark.
“I talked with Dutch,” Javier stated. “I think a lot.”
John tilted his head and brushed the bangs closest to him behind Javier’s ear.
He gave a shy smile as he pressed his lips together. “I am okay. I don’t want to be wrong—“
“Who does?”
Javier laughed under his breath. “I don’t want to give in, give up… Be weak.”
He cocked his head to the side and fiddled with the flowers again. Before John could respond, however, he shook his head as if to dismiss the topic.
Although John accepted the closing with wavering suspicion, it never left. He continued to brush the pads of his fingers over Javier’s hair, letting it glide between them like velvet. It might’ve been a self-soothing pattern, as it was one he fell into often, but it seemed to comfort them both. He watched him, brow tensed, and finally said, “Play somethin’ for me.”
They stared at each other for a moment, the chatter of camp keeping the silence at bay. Javier fixed his posture and pulled his guitar into his lap, running a calloused digit against a string as he glanced up at John, who waited in patience.
A string was barely grazed, the sound near a whisper and unsteady. An introduction, perhaps. Slow and with a rhythm John knew almost as soon as it began, Javier played a bittersweet tune. They breathed in at reverberation, exhaled at the shift of notes.
This was their talk. This was their peace, their contagious smile. To not know the details of Javier’s complications would bug him later, but here, he was content.
Again, John gazed at the sunlit guitar and its owner. The glow, a gentle art, like shots shared between the two.
Like blue and yellow. Like sky and sun.
It felt only right.
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⟶ spider/lily - they - 20s ⟵
hi. i am an lgbt+, multicultural being that has vibes somewhere between human and nonexistent. my (inconsistent) posts consist of writing and artwork of whatever fandom i fall into at the time, and occasionally, i am open to requests. please do not engage with me if you are under 18.
✓‿other time periods, color palettes, music (aurora, oneheart, etc)
✕‿heavy gore, pop, uncensored stuff (porn bots 🖕)
dni‿under 18, fit basic criteria, easily triggered, support doxxing/witch-hunts
⟶ writing | about me
my writing themes are often emotional and are usually sfw and only suggestive. my x reader stuff is typically gender neutral, and the characters i write about are non-fictional; below are the fandoms/cores i usually write for. those that are starred are my most common.
red dead redemption ★ ★
detroit become human ★
baldurs gate three ★ ★
texas chainsaw massacre
medieval/royaltycore
dreamcore
southern-gothic ★
mystery, fantasy ★
⟶ trigger warnings | (18+)
some of the characters i write about can be problematic as everyone has their flaws - some more than others. below is a list of things found in my posts.
blood, moderate gore
moderate drug usage, alcohol
topics associated with any games above (abuse, misogyny, horror)
⟶ asks | more boundaries
if i ignore asks or dms i'm sorry. please give me a content warning for nsfw-related messages or i will probably block you. i might also reject a request if i feel i cannot do it justice or if it portrays an image i don't want to portray. i am typically comfortable writing any gender. here are the main characters i would write:
arthur morgan
john marston
javier escuella
sadie adler
karen jones
connor rk800
kara
rupert
ralph
astarion ancunin
lae'zel of k'llir
karlach cliffgate
johnny slaughter
sissy slaughter
maybe i’ll post something you’re into❤️🩹
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