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sorcerous-caress · 6 months

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to dance with you | Astarion

[ fluff, heavy angst, bad end, character death, trauma, nb!reader ]

[Before the events of bg3, Reader is one of Astarion's victims ]

I am very sorry.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness.

You couldn't escape it, no matter how much you tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for you back home at the end of the day.

And while you knew it was hopeless to attempt to rationalise your way out of it, to cling to some justifications that explain that lack of warmth in your life, that just maybe it somehow made you superior to endure, you knew deep down it was a waste of time.

There's no dignity in suffering. There's no prize for enduring agony.

Your drink was getting cold.

Lifting the cup to the edge of your lips, you swallowed down what you could of the lukewarm liquid. Barely registering the taste of it.

You're spiralling again. You always did around this time of year.

People say one must imagine sisyphus happy, and yet you've dragged your own corpse up this hill too many times to count. Clawed your way out of rot and into a resemblance of a functional adult.

Staring out the cafe window into the snow-covered city, you finished the rest of your now cold drink. It was barely night, and yet the sun has already said its goodnights.

The streets will fill out soon. The buzzing of the nightlife was just on the horizon.

You found it ironic in a way, for how much Lathander's followers loved to proclaim the sun as the symbol of absolute goodness, then how come people only felt like being their true selves at night.

It felt like a curtain being drawn at the end of the show, when the angels slept and the pressure to perform melted away.

You should take your leave soon.

Your eyes shifted to stare into the bottom of your empty cup, traces of the remains of your drink have dried up in various shapes.

"Good evening" a voice called out to you, someone standing in front of your table, next to the empty chair.

Looking up, you were met with ruby eyes. Silvery hair and curling around pointy ears, framing the pale face and.

"Would it be alright if I joined you, my dear?" The elf continued, voice gentle as if coaxing a rabbit out of its nest.

You don't know why, but at that moment you nodded.

He sat down on the opposite chair.

You weren't superficial. At least you didn't think so. People couldn't control their appearance, so what right do you have to judge them based on it?

Yet when you took in the man in front of you. His half lidded eyes made you the sole point of his focus, the subtle smile to his lips. You would've been blind to pretend that it didn't affect you in some way.

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink? Something to warm you up, maybe?" Clear concern in his voice, "it tends to get very cold quickly at night, and we don't want someone as lovely as you getting sick now, do we?"

He was…worried about your health? A stranger you've never met before?

You shook your head. "No, it's alright." He was probably just trying to be nice, "I wasn't aware I looked miserable enough to worry a stranger, I was just about to leave anyway."

His eyes widened, his smile dropping. "No wait…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend" he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the misunderstanding he caused, "But where are my manners? You may call me Astarion."

You stared at the hand that he extended to you, he didn't seem phased by your hesitation to shake it. In fact, he patiently waited for you.

Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already is, you took his hand. He smiled again.

You told him your own name, and he said it suited you. His cold hands let go of yours after running his thumb across your hand.

"Please excuse my previous…failed attempt. I'm not used to approaching people." His eyes looked to the side, probably to mask his nervousness, you thought.

He seemed so bold and confident moments ago, yet the second you mentioned leaving, he immediately switched.

Huh, people really aren't what they seem like, you thought to yourself. Who knew behind his confident facade was just someone like you.

"It's alright, I'm sorry for my rushed assumptions." You felt bad. This person was just trying to be nice, and you were rude to him for no reason but your own paranoia.

"I noticed you since you walked in," he admitted, "you looked…simply breathtaking." His eyes drank you up, taking in every detail of your form.

You've barely noticed him. You've barely noticed anyone in the cafe. You were too occupied wallowing in your own misery to give the outside world more than a passing glance.

"I'm flattered, really." You admitted, "but I'm not sure if I will live up to your expectations…" as shameful as it was to admit, you thought it was better to warn him early on than to pretend to be someone you're not.

Astarion's hand reached over the table, holding your own in a loose reassuring grip. Giving you enough space to pull back if you wanted to.

"Oh no, trust me." He gave your hand a comforting squeeze, "you're simply perfect." His voice dripped with honey, warm and sweet sliding down your throat.

You held his hand back.

"Then let me make it up to you, how about I buy you a drink? To warm you up." There was a playful edge to your voice as you repeated his words, "well by how cold your hand is, you probably really need this drink."

Amusement filled his face as he chuckled. "You clever little thing." Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips, "I'm starting to like you already."

After a couple of drinks and some time, the two of you ended up leaving the establishment together. Light conversation flowed seamlessly and weaved into one another between you both.

To say he was easy to talk to would've been an underestimation. You felt like you're hanging out with a lifelong friend instead of a stranger you've met a couple of hours ago.

You really didn't pay much attention to time flying by, not when the night sky looked so mesmerising above you. Not when Astarion sat next to you on the garden bench.

And while your conversations didn't stay light for long, he didn't seem like he minded as he leant you his shoulder to lean on while you expressed your worries.

"I think you should tell them. They're your parents, after all." His arm kept you close to his body, "Isn't it their job to help you during rough times and all of that?"

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be an adult." You hid half your face in his shoulder, "I much rather suck it up until I find a new job, and then maybe I'll tell them."

Easier said than done. It's been a week since you've handed in your applications, and yet not a single letter was sent back to you.

"I just don't want to be a burden," you continued "sometimes I wish I didn't worry them so much. Maybe they'll do better without me holding them back."

Astarion didn't reply. His hold tightened around you.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just disappear." You buried your face in his neck, taking in his scent and closing your eyes.

Again, no reply, only the sound of the night breeze rustling the nearby bushes. The moon looming over the both of you and showering you in her light.

A waning moon.

"I ruined the mood, didn't i?" You let out a bitter laugh as you pulled away from him, "I'm sorry."

There was a somber expression on his face, his usually sharp eyes appearing soft and round.

"No, not at all." He said, "I was just thinking about your words. Wishing to disappear."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to you. "I could preach to you all night about how valuable a single mortal life is like they do all morning at those temples, but we both know that's bullshit." His voice sounded more natural, vastly different from the smooth sultry tone he had before. "Life will still move on, with or without that person."

You snorted, "What, not a fan of the church and gods?"

"More like they're not fans of mine. But I suppose we can't all have taste." Getting up from the bench, the moonlight illuminated the edges of his hair like a halo, completely facing you.

"I suppose they're missing out." Walking by his side, the two of you strolled through the garden at a slow pace. Hands occasionally brushing against each other.

"Definitely, who wouldn't want this face on their side. I'd probably get them more visitors than their clerics ever could." Leaning closer, Astarion stopped in his tracks as his hand held your face.

"Actually, something tells me you'd do very well at that job, helping others." You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said "Please, me?"

"Yes, you." When you opened your eyes, you were met with his intense gaze, "you're really good at making people feel at ease, letting them speak their worries. Like you did to me."

"Darling, I did no such thing." He lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his own. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to avoid your gaze.

You gently lifted his chin to look at you again, "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to listen to them, truly listen."

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I have been cold and rude to you, and yet you've treated me with warmth…that's a gift, you know. I won't ever forget it." Your own hands cupped his face, contrasting against his pale cold skin. "So yes, if you ever consider being a cleric or something one day, you'll definitely have my recommendation."

Closing the distance between the two of you, your lips gently pressed against his forehead. Wishing his safety and well being with a quick peck as you pulled away.

His own hands left you long ago, laying abandoned on his sides. His fingers twitched.

Taking a deep breath, you saw his usual easy going smile come back. You felt at ease again as he returned to what you knew as his normal self. "I can think of a way or two you could repay me then, something we would both enjoy greatly." he said.

You felt a subtle touch against your hips, his hands asking permission to hold you.

It was getting really late, you realised. Your dogs must be worried sick back home. Their anxious figures waiting in front of the doorstep, you remember kissing them goodbye before you left.

...

It will be alright, it's just one night. You always left them more food than normal just in case, so they'll be safe and happily fed until your arrival.

Maybe you can even introduce Astarion to them tomorrow. You have a feeling they'll absolutely love licking his face until his hair is a mess.

"Yeah." You pushed his hands to fully grip your hips, his smile grew. "That sounds good to me."

The time spent during the walk to his home flew by. He was very good at making you lose yourself in the moment.

Stepping inside, he kept a tight hold on you as he led you through the corridors.

Huge oil paintings adorned the crimson walls, a red carpet to match. You immediately noticed the lack of windows, and whatever ones you could spot had a thick layer of black curtains drawn closely shut over them.

He ignored any servants you passed by, and likewise, they seemed to pretend you didn't exist either, as if you were invisible like a ghost.

Astarion's demeanour shifted the second you stepped foot inside the palace, and his replies reduced to one word or less whenever you tried to start a conversation.

You had a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach, gnawing at your flesh and slowing down your steps.

"Is something wrong?" You asked him after he led you into a bedroom at the end of the hall. "You don't seem well."

His back was turned to you.

You took a step forward, placing a hand on his back. "Astarion?"

He flinched away from your hand the second you touched him, as if you burned the flesh on his back. A low hiss of pain escaped his lips.

Turning to face you after a few seconds, his expression was schooled back into the most charming smile.

"I just tend to get nervous when it comes to initiating intimacy." He told you, a nervous look in his eyes as he shifted slightly.

Oh, is that why he has been acting this way? You offered a comforting smile. "That's completely alright. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"... really? Even when you came the whole way here?" He said with a sceptical tone, "nonsense, my dear, I will get over it in time. I just…need a couple of minutes, yeah."

"I really mean it, Astarion, we don't have to do anything." You repeated yourself more firmly.

You thought your words might offer him some relief, yet the subtle frown to his lips only grew deeper.

"How about we just get comfortable on the bed and see where the night takes us?" He offered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his embroidered shirt and sitting on the lush bed.

You didn't like his total disregard for your offer. You could tell he wasn't believing you. But you didn't want to push him at the time, so you just let it go.

After making some adjustments to your clothes until you were in a comfortable state, you joined him on the bed. He immediately turned to face you. His body was so close to yours.

"Now…" he whispered so close to your ear. "Just how much I wanted to make you mine since the moment I saw you."

One thing led to another, a teasing touch there, a promising squeeze here, and the taste of his lips against yours.

He just knew how to take your breath away, how to get you to melt into the kiss. Wanting more, chasing after his tongue for another taste.

His hand going down your body, feeling your throat, your chest, your waist, and then your thighs. Heat collected between your legs. You could feel your body respond back to his expert touches, completely ignoring your brain and forming a mind of its own as it grinded against his hands.

Pleasure was overwhelming you. It was both too much and not enough at the same time. It was addicting and consuming.

Was he enjoying it, too? Did seeing you this needy and responsive to his touches make him burn with lust and desire for you?

You tried breaking the kiss to get a good look at him, but he wouldn't relent. Wouldn't give you a chance to even think about anything else but your own pleasure.

When you finally managed to pull away from his lips, you couldn't get more than a glance at his expression before he immediately went for your neck. Sucking and marking the flesh with vigour, teeth sending shivers down your spine.

You didn't realise how sharp his teeth were until you felt them graze your neck. They were almost alarmingly sharp, one wrong move, and they'd glide easily into your flesh.

"Astarion…" you called out to him. His lips left your neck and took it as an invitation to kiss you again, stealing your breath away. "Astarion no wait- " you mumbled between each kiss.

That got him to stop, his hands pulling away from your body.

"Yes my love?" He breathed against your lips.

Your eyes met his, you took in his dishevelled appearance, the flush to his cheeks and his wet glistening lips. His eyes looked like they held desire in them, inviting and tantalising.

But the more you stared into them, the less they seemed to look at you and instead look through you. Deep inside his eyes, he was a thousand miles away.

You couldn't even see a hint of desire in them if you took away the facade.

"I don't want this." You whispered.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No…I just don't want this."

He got off of you, giving you your space back.

Neither of you mentioned it, instead each of you stuck to their own side of the bed.

It was clear he didn't know how to proceed forward, a crease to his eyebrows while in deep thoughts, as you assumed.

The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable even. Your mind wandered back to your home, your comfortable safe haven.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you said, "one time, Luna cost me over 5000 golds."

Seemingly coming back to reality, it took Astarion some seconds to fully register your words, "Luna?"

"My dog," you said, "the sweetest shepherd you'll ever meet. I came home from work late one time and she wagged her tail so fast that she fractured it."

"She sounds charming." Astarion let out a soft laugh, "although, why Luna?"

"She's black and white, you know like the phases of the moon. I thought it was clever at the time." You admitted, "or are you more of a cat person?"

"I'm not an animal person at all, honestly."

"What, are they also not fans of you?"

That got another chuckle out of him. "They tend to be too smelly for my liking, but I'd take a cat over a horse any day."

He turned his body to face you again, you did the same.

"Really? Luna adores horses, she could teach you a thing or two."

"Are you really not only suggesting that the dog and I meet up, but that she'd also take me as her pupil?"

"I mean…well yeah, I was kinda hoping I'd take you to meet her tomorrow morning." You cleared your throat, "well that's if you want to.

His focus seemed to drift again, "...you don't happen to have cats, do you?" His tone was quieter than before, eyes not fully meeting yours.

"There's a stray that comes to visit Luna daily, he's not very friendly to other people but who knows." As corny as you thought your line sounded, you still proceeded to say it in hopes it will lift his mood up, "maybe he'll also fall victim to your charm like I did."

Instead of the reaction you expected, you were met with genuine scepticism.

"Ha" his laugh was bitter, "you don't have to spare my feelings darling, I know you don't see me that way."

You sat up on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you, you felt like he was attempting to make himself smaller against the pillow.

"Oh I'm not holding a grudge or anything." He claimed, "I can admit it when I'm not someone's type or whatever."

Brushing a strand of his hair behind his pointy ear, you tried to coax him to meet your eyes again. "...Astarion, I am very attracted to you.

He leaned away from your hand. "Then why did you want to stop?"

The truth burned in your throat to admit. "I just…I didn't feel like you were enjoying it. Like you wanted it."

That look, the eyes staring through you.

Astarion seemed very conflicted, about what? You weren't sure. But you wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain and carry it yourself instead.

He never denied your words.

You pulled your hand away from his hair, still not laying down beside him as you watched his body curl under the covers.

"It's alright, you don't have to explain anything." You got up from the bed, "I can leave if it's-" just as you were about to pick up your clothes, his hand immediately grabbed your wrist in a desperate grip.

"No," he said with dread in his eyes, "you can't."

It was a complete switch from his previous state, you weren't sure what to even make of it.

"I can't?"

He seemed to catch himself, letting go of your wrist.

"stay with me, at least for tonight." His eyes were pleading, "we can just hold each other, isn't that what you want?"

He sat up from the bed, gently taking your hands in his as he led you back to the comfort of the sheets.

"It's what I want." He whispered, voice so inviting and beckoning you closer, "I swear."

You weren't strong enough to resist.

Following after him, your bodies pressed together under the soft sheets. You only felt your own heartbeat in your chest as he held you close. He was cold, so you shared your own body warmth to warm him up.

The candles in the room were burning out, a calming silence fell. Lulling you to rest and let the day end.

You could only hear your own heart beating.

This was nice, it felt nice and safe so it must be.

Just as sleep was about to steal you away, Astarion's voice nudged you back awake.

"What do you like about me?" His voice was raw, sincere.

You couldn't see his face, "you, of course."

He moved against you, "obviously, now be more specific."

You tried to think about it. It felt like one of these important questions that'd shape your future relationship with him, so you tried to give it all of your thoughts.

There were so many things to love about him, but many of them were things you'd still love him without.

Yet they were still parts of him, but how many parts were actually him.

"Your nature." Was the answer you gave, still not quite satisfied with it.

"Oh shit." His serious tone didn't last long before being replaced by a playful one, "I didn't invite a druid to my bed, did i?"

You snorted, "very funny, but I meant it."

Even without seeing his face, you felt his lips curl upwards against your skin. Claiming that small victory was enough for you.

"You know" you found yourself rambling, "my day was going absolutely horrible until you showed up. I don't usually really believe in gods or miracles, but…you were the closest thing to a guardian angel I've ever had."

A yawn escaped your lips, you continued.

"I was too inside my head. I forgot that a whole world outside existed. A world with people like you." Your eyelids fluttered, sleep lurked behind them. "As shitty as life can be, somehow I believe things will be okay."

Adjusting your position so you could face him in the dark, you felt his body stiffen against yours.

"Goodnight Astarion." you gave his forehead a small kiss, wishing for his safety and well being. "Rest well."

The deep hours of the night is when the Szarr palace fell the most silent. Merely an hour or two separating them from dawn.

A warm living breathing body laid next to him, just like many others before. And Astarion embraced them just like many others before.

But the waves of emotions swirling inside him like poison were definitely new.

He didn't get a hint of rest, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes for the remaining hours and ignore the waking world. After all they will definitely disappear in the morning, so what's a few hours of blissful ignorance?

But he just couldn't, the thought itself threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Disgust he has never felt in years lurching at his insides.

It's their fault, it's all their fault.

They should've made it easier for him. They should've just closed their eyes, spread their legs, and ignored his existence.

They shouldn't have mentioned their stupid moon dog. They shouldn't have made him leer inside at the idea of having parents to support you yet still choosing to suffer alone.

How dare they be so cruel? How dare they kiss his forehead so tenderly.

He was choking. His throat burned so much that every breath felt like needles being dragged against the inside of his neck.

Worst of all, he could still hear their heartbeat. Did his own sound like that before? Is this what it felt like to have a speck of evidence that you're alive?

A constant reminder of your mortal life, of your endless potential, of your stupid naivety and your pointless kindness.

His whole body was shaking.

Cazador will be here soon. Just like so many times before.

He needed to act fast. He needed to do something. Otherwise, he felt like he would go crazy.

They don't deserve whatever that monster did with all the others. They don't deserve a fate that cruel, not someone like them. Please God, anyone else but them.

He prayed, holding them closely as he begged and pleaded with each one of the Gods he could recall the name of in his state of panic.

If not for his miserable life then please do something for them, they're still a mortal, they're still one of your children. Please god just save them.

Like always, no answer came.

Astarion felt hopeless, useless and small.

He stared in horror at his own hands, still in the same praying position. He truly had nothing to offer.

Nothing except a dignified death.

Death would save them from Cazador, Death would save them from torture.

Death was what he should've picked that night almost two centuries ago.

Careful not to disturb their peaceful rest, Astarion grabbed a pillow.

He took one last good look at them in the dark, he engraved their face into his memory.

He wanted to lean over and give them one last kiss. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

The pillow pressed against their face, slowly cutting off their oxygen.

Astarion held tightly. He kept his hold firm even as they struggled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the pillow, his tears falling and staining its white cover. A drop after another.

As their struggles died down, by that time, he had gotten his side of the pillow entirely wet. He still held firm, despite his shaking fingers, despite the blood slowly joining his tears onto the pillow from how hard his teeth dug into his lips.

At these hours, the Szarr palace was the most silent. He couldn't risk making a single sound.

Only when a heartbeat ceased to exist did he let go of his grip.

He got off the bed, closed their eyes and covered their face with the sheets. He sat on the floor, head next to their cold dead feet.

Despite his clean hands, he swore he felt their blood on them, seeping into his skin and marking him forever.

Not just their blood, but the blood of every innocent miserable person he lured back into this hell.

He just wanted to save them, to save this one person. Take a life in stride and carry the guilt to the end of his days.

It was just one life, one very precious person.

Was a very precious person.

But he forgot to account for the hundreds of lives he has taken indirectly before, it was easier to forget when it wasn't his own hands stopping their heartbeat.

His whole world felt like it stopped because of one life.

As he sat there on the cold floor, naked, shaking with tears streaming down his face, he heard the very familiar tapping of a staff against the floorboards.

All of his feelings vanished in an instant, as if he was drowning in a deep volcanic abyss before getting pulled into the freezing surface.

He could not feel his fingers, numbness spread throughout his whole body.

The tapping got closer. It was heading towards him.

Cazador was heading towards him.

There were no feelings left inside him, just pure numbness.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness.

He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for him back home at the end of the day.

#♡Astarion #♡angst #astarion x reader #angst #angst with a bad ending #no comfort #bg3 angst #bg3 x reader #astarion #trauma #character death #nb!reader

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justcallmefox89 · 27 days

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Gnome Troubles Part VI (Astarion's POV)

Wicket shows a moment of vulnerability.

“Looking at something?” Astarion arches one eyebrow as he studies Wicket’s reflection in the glass of his mirror. The cleric is drinking more than usual tonight, choosing to keep to his own company rather than join the others around the fire for the evening meal.

“Just looking,” Wicket murmurs, sipping from his goblet of wine. “What are you doing?”

Astarion fights to suppress the shiver that rolls down his spine. He’ll never admit this, not even under the threat of death, but he adores the way a wine-soused Wicket speaks. The gnome’s voice is already far deeper than one would ever imagine, given his size, and when he’s in his cups the husky growl becomes more of a soft rumble… the sharp, clipped edges of his accent become softer, more rounded… a velvet darkness that reminds Astarion of snowfall on a winter’s night.

Astarion forcibly shakes himself out of his musing to answer the question. “I’m looking too, but not seeing very much. Another quirk of my affliction.”

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” Wicket tilts his head to the side, curious.

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity?” Astarion sneers. “Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

“What color were they before?”

“I… I don’t know.” Astarion pauses, slightly ashamed to make such an admission. “I can’t remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing that I’ve lost.” He dashes the mirror onto the ground, fury coursing through him as he’s forced to face the reality of his condition yet again. After two hundred years one would think it would get easier…

But it doesn’t.

Wicket deftly sidesteps shards of broken glass and sips his wine again, his eyes never leaving Astarion’s face. With his free hand he motions for Astarion to come closer. Curious, the vampire cautiously kneels down so that they two are able to look each other in the eye. He remains motionless while Wicket’s eyes rove over him, greedily taking in every aspect of his face. His colorless eyes, so often dark and haunted, burn with a pale fire that Astarion has never seen before. Unlike Astarion, who quit aging upon the moment of his death, Wicket bears the burdens of his time in the earthly realm; long, black hair streaked with silver… his skin is tan and weathered from his many years spent traveling through the wilds of Faerun… a myriad of scars litter his skin, a testament to the danger of his life as a chosen of Kelemvor… faint wrinkles bracket his eyes and mouth, the signs of laughter and much time in the sun. Astarion finds himself wondering about who Wicket was before fate threw them together, the Wicket who smiled and laughed often enough to create those lines in his skin.

“I see you,” Wicket whispers hoarsely.

“And what do you see, exactly?” Astarion inquires breathily, almost afraid to hear the gnome’s thoughts.

“Starlight and rubies,” Wicket murmurs absently, his free hand drifting upwards as if to touch Astarion’s cheek. He hesitates just before his fingertips brush the elf’s skin, so instead his hand just hovers, faintly outlining the arc of Astarion’s cheekbone and then the strong curve of his jaw. “You are like moonlight on water… The kind of beauty artists and sculptors dream of but can never truly capture on canvas or in clay. Ethereal and eternal.”

Part of Astarion wants to scoff, to demand that Wicket specifically cite what he finds attractive about him… but another part, a long forgotten part of himself that existed before Cazador, when he was still a young boy who daydreamed of an adoring lover who would shower him in poetry and loving glances… that part of him blissfully listens to Wicket’s every word.

“In my wildest, most exquisite dreams I never could have imagined someone like you, Astarion,” Wicket continues. “My moonlit beauty.”

“Wicket…” Astarion breathes out the gnome’s name, turning his head just enough to barely graze the other man’s fingers with his lips. He freezes, surprised at his own willingness to touch a gnome.

Wicket seems equally shocked but quickly collects himself; his eyes grow cold as his expression shutters and Astarion is once again faced with a stoic and loyal cleric of Kelemvor. He takes a few steps back and offers Astarion a stiff nod before turning away.

“Sleep well, Astarion,” he calls as he strides away to his tent.

Astarion stares after him, unable to formulate a response, and struggling to understand why Wicket’s sudden departure has left him feeling so… bereft. Astarion is not unfamiliar with flattery certainly, after all compliments are all part and parcel of the game of seduction. And after two centuries of luring and obtaining victims for Cazador, Astarion is a master of that particular game. But in all his years no one has spoken to him so genuinely, stared at him so rapturously… been so tender towards him without the expectation of anything in return.

Astarion scowls, pulling himself out of those idle thoughts. He won’t allow himself to be swayed by tender feelings and whispered sweet nothings, from a gnome of all things, not when there is so much at stake. But perhaps if he can twist Wicket to his advantage… Astarion smirks to himself.

Yes... that could prove very useful indeed.

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redstarcat · 6 months

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The Red Moon Calls

Brainrot would not let me forget about this, so here you all go

“I’m surprised that you didn’t go with Magic Man and Scribbles to confront the creepy elf guy. Lundis, was it?”

Essek looked up from his book to stare at his current companion and savior, Kingsley Tealeaf. The two were currently resting within Essek’s tower in Darktow, waiting for some tea to brew. Ever since Kingsley took over as Darktow’s new Plank King, the tiefling lifted the ban on his fellow Nein and created a sanctuary for the drow fugitive. Kingsley had a decently sized tower built to give Essek a place of respite, which relieved Essek greatly. “It’s Ludinus, Moonlight,” Essek corrected, smirking at how Kingsley purposely forgot the archmage’s name.

“Are you sure?” Kingsley smirked back, chuckling as he lifted the lid of the ornate teapot. “Ludinus seems too cool of a name for such a lame person.” The tiefling hummed a little, picking up the teapot to pour into one of the cups. “Well, at the very least, they’re having me keep an eye on you to ensure you’re safe.”

‘I am not the one that they want to keep safe,’ Essek thought, remembering how the Nein had once come together for dinner, and Kingsley nonchalantly spoke about his strange dreams of Catha and Ruidus. The memory of worried whispers and gentle hands trying to shield Kingsley from a red glow tightened his throat. “I’m sure they’re just worried for all of us,” Essek vaguely responded. “What good would it do if all of us went with them and something happened to the whole group?”

“Eh, I suppose you’re right,” Kingsley shrugged, passing a teacup to Essek. “I still think they should have at least taken Yasha with them. I don’t know why she's hanging out in Darktow and not with her wife.” He stood up, picking up his own teacup with him. He walked over to the balcony behind Essek overlooking Darktow. “Though, she has been having fun with the locals. Wrestling has become a fun pastime for the folks around here because of her.”

Essek looked down at his book, smiling. The times he'd accompanied Kingsley down into Darktow to watch Yasha arm wrestle with half of the Darktow population had always been entertaining in some way. All in the name of good fun, of course. “Yasha certainly had a lot of fun,” he chuckled, looking back at his book and picking up his cup. “You certainly had some fun when you decided to challenge her as well, didn’t you?”

No response.

Slowly, Essek put down his cup. He didn’t dare to turn just yet despite the dread he was feeling. “Kingsley?” he called out, hoping that the tiefling would respond.

Something shatters.

Essek immediately turned at the sound of a teacup falling, dropping his book in the process. Kingsley stood at the balcony that overlooked Darktow. However, the Plank King wasn’t looking down at his fellow pirates. No, Kingsley stood frozen, his arms limply hanging at his sides, making no movement to attempt cleaning up the fallen teacup by his foot. His head was tilted up, setting his gaze up at the sky…

…as a red hue practically washed over him.

Essek was quick on his feet, standing up so fast that his chair fell over. He grasped Kingsley’s shoulders, desperately pulling him back into the room. Once the tiefling was inside, away from the gaze of Ruidus, Essek flicked his hand, magically closing the balcony doors not caring in the slightest when they swung shut with a bang and closing the curtains for good measure. Essek turned Kingsley to face him. The tiefling was still quite limp with how easily Essek manhandled him. His expression was blank as Essek looked at him. His red eyes (oh, his lovely ruby eyes that shined with such love and happiness) were dull, blank… empty.

“Kingsley?” Essek shook the tiefling gently, trying to get him to snap out of it. “Kingsley, wake up!”

Kingsley blinked at his shout, his red eyes immediately flaring back to life. “E-essek?” Kingsley mumbled, his tone feeling so exhausted. “What is…why does my head hurt?”

Essek’s brows furrowed with worry. He mustn’t tell Kingsley of his current worries that Caleb and Beau were most likely in danger. No, he promised the others that he would watch over Kingsley. That he'd make sure the reckless tiefling didn’t try to sail off to assist them in taking down a madman who preyed on the Ruidusborn. “You are probably tired from the long day you had,” Essek answered, giving a small forced smile he hoped wasn't seen through. “You should probably rest. Come, you can rest in my bed tonight.”

“Mmn,” Kingsley groaned, rubbing his eyes as he let Essek drag him to his bedroom. “You know I cuddle.”

“I can deal with it,” Essek softly sighed, leading Kingsley into his bedroom and to the bed. “You’re in luck. I am feeling particularly soft today.” He gently manhandled Kingsley onto the bed, pushing him to lie on the soft comforter. “Stay there for a moment. I just need to change to my sleepwear.” He floated off, barely registering the quiet; “Mm, okay,” from Kingsley as he floated back into the other room and out of Kingsley’s earshot. He took a deep, heavy breath before whispering his incantation, thinking of a particular monochrome Aasimar.

“Yasha,” Essek shakily started, “I believe that thing we feared would happen… has begun…”

#star canvas #fic #critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #kingsley tealeaf #essek thelyss

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 10 months

Text

A Lord’s Proposition

Prompts “bite me” ”if you insist” and “each of my thoughts about you are improper”

Pairing: Melkor x Fem. Reader (Elf / Finwë’s daughter with Miriel and Fëanor’s twin| second person POV)

Themes: Slowburn | Smut (lemon-ish) | Soft

Wordcount: 4.9K words

Summary: Melkor had kidnapped you and kept you confined to a tower while he travelled to Utumno. He has now returned, and asks for you.

Rating: 🔥🔥 Minors DNI | 18+

For rules and tag form, read here.

To the person who requested this, I hope you like it.

You looked out a barred window, your heart aggrieved by the sight that befell your eyes.

There was no starlight here. None could be found in Angband. The sky was murky black from the thick smog of smoke from the keep’s many furnaces. The air was damp and cold and foul. The scent of ash and smoke and worse crept in through the windows and clung to your garments. Some days, the smell was so strong that it made your eyes water and bile rise at the back of your throat. You had no choice but to bear it all in silence. You were a prisoner, utterly dependent on the favor of the one who held you captive.

Still, you supposed, it was a better fate than most. You turned your attention from the sky and peered into the gloomy courtyard. Thralls scurried to and fro like mice desperately trying to escape the talons of an eagle. They were like wraiths, mere shadows of the fair and glorious beings they once were. That was how your captor liked to see them: fearful, half-starved, and brought down to the lowest point of their existence.

Not just them, you realized with great dread. I am one of them. The daughter of a race he loathes with a murderous passion, so the poets and singers say. How long will it be before I am made to sip from the cup that was forced onto them?

Your skin prickled out of fear. You closed the shutters of your window and sharply turned away as soon as a wretched scream carried through the courtyard. You did not want to dwell on that sound or from whom it came. There was no need to feed your nightmares with fresh fodder.

You studied your chambers like you always did, ever since your capture. The walls and floors were bare black stone, the pelts were thick, and the rushes were new. Besides the old hearth, there was a basket filled with blocks of peat instead of wood for a fire. The bed was small but comfortable. You reflected on the remnants of your last meal. The bread and roasted meat had been fresh, the water was clean and cool.

Mine may be a wretched lot, but it is still better than theirs, you reminded yourself. Much better than theirs.

Someone knocked on the door. It was loud and insistent. You made haste to answer it, your shoes clicking over the floor. You expected to find a thrall and came face-to-face with her instead.

Thuringwethil, they called her. Woman of the secret shadow. Herald for the Dark Lord. The first vampire. Her eyes gleamed like new rubies. Her wings dragged behind her whenever she walked. A gown was draped over one arm.

"My lady." You quickly dipped to your knees even as the words stumbled out of your mouth. Anything to not anger her.

A gale of laughter greeted you. It was shrill and painful to the ears, like nails over brittle glass. You had to stop yourself from physically wincing.

"You certainly have good manners, little elf," Thuringwethil replied, and looked over you critically. "That will serve you well with him, I think."

"With him, my lady?" You sputtered in disbelief. "Which him?"

Your mind was a roil. There was more than one him here in Angband, and each one was as mercurial as the next. Was Thuringwethil speaking of Mairon, Melkor’s most favored advisor? Or was she speaking of that Balrog high general? The one who could change from a creature of great beauty to one that inspired nothing but sheer terror? Or was it the Maia who found great joy in changing into a giant cat and tormenting everyone who crossed his path?

"Him," she said, and moved around you in an elegant flourish. Her wings trailed behind her over the floor, all black and deep crimson. You took a deep breath and sighed wistfully. The very air around her smelled like a meadow in full bloom. It did not surprise you. Thuringwethil used to be Yavanna’s Maia after all. "Lord Melkor, no less. He has returned from Utumno and wishes to dine with you."

You gave her a measured look. You were a prisoner, captured and carried off after a daring raid in the heart of Valinor itself. And now you have been invited to dine with your captor, the Lord of Angband, no less. The prospect frightened you.

"I… I hope I will not offend Lord Melkor," you blurted out, and hoped this invitation was not a ruse to heap unspeakable agony upon you.

"I see you truly are nothing like that heedless, foul-tempered brother of yours," Thuringwethil observed, not unkindly. "And I promise, he will not be offended by anything you do."

She did not give you time to think or frame a reply. She went on to add, "Thralls will see to your bath now. An orc will come to fetch you once you have finished."

You shivered and nodded in fright. Thuringwethil took her leave of you, practically floating out of your chambers in a swirl of wings and lace and night-blooming roses. You walked over to your bed and ran the flat of your palm over your new dress. It was soft to the touch and dripping in gems, and finer than any gown you possessed before.

So lavish, you mused. What does he want from me?

There was another knock on your door. This time it was hesitant and timid. "Come in, please," you said, and moved away from the bed.

Thralls walked in carrying pails of clean, warm water. Another pair brought with them a small copper tub and a towel. A thrall filled the tub with water before adding fragrant oils. Another helped you out of your robes, her eyes downcast. Her fingers fumbled with the sash; it was as if they had all turned into thumbs. You wanted to talk to her, to ask how she came to be here. All you did, in the end, was bite your tongue.

I must take care of what I say to them. It may cause more trouble for them if I do.

The sweet-smelling water was a welcome relief from the smells of the outside world. The thralls sluiced water over your hair before gently brushing out any tangles. One of them went to work on your nails and feet. It felt strange, to have them wait on you in such a manner. It was stranger still, given the cause for such pampering.

She said nothing I do could offend him. I am certain now that he must want something from me. What is it?

You had seen Melkor before. He had come calling on your brother; his words like honey. You were by an upstairs window, looking down on the gardens where they stood. Fëanor had been furious with the Vala’s intrusion. He grew even more enraged when the Vala glanced up and caught you looking, his lips curling up at the corners. Their exchange grew heated. Fëanor sent Melkor away, but not before Melkor managed to steal a second glimpse of you. That was all you saw of him until after your capture, when you were presented to him like a prize, your arms and feet bound in iron, your clothes reduced to rags. He said nothing. All he did was sit on his lofty throne and look down on you, his eyes roaming over you in a way that made a flush creep up your throat.

You never saw him after that. Melkor kept you confined to the tower you now lived in. No one was allowed to see you save for the thralls that had to tend to you and Thuringwethil. The other Maia were allowed nowhere near you. Even the orcs were allowed nowhere near you, until now.

It is as if he does not trust the others with me.

A thrall held out their arm, to help you out of the tub. You stood still while they toweled you dry, your cheeks ablaze when they first helped you into the wisps Thuringwethil brought with her. The garments were so soft, you did not even notice them. Next came the dress, an airy confection of lace and silk that clung to your body. Then came a pair of soft slippers and finally a perfume, one that was dabbed on each of your wrists and behind your ears. The thralls wanted to style your hair, but you declined, insisting on wearing it loose.

"The master calls," insisted the orc that came to escort you to Melkor’s private chambers deep within Angband. "Come."

You followed him silently, walking through lofty corridors and vast halls, each as empty and dimly lit as the next. Your footsteps echoed all around you even as you sunk deep into your thoughts. Melkor had insisted you be brought to him alive. He had kept you in a tower, apart from the thralls and other prisoners. He had provided you with decent food and drink, even new garments. No one was allowed to harm a hair on your head. And the way he looked at you when you were presented to him, his eyes dark with hunger. The memory alone was enough to give you pause.

You shook your head. No. It could not be. Melkor desired nothing but the complete dominion of Arda. He treasured nothing but power and causing pain. That was what the songs said. That was what your father and brother said. And yet…

And yet…

He kept me safe. Made certain my needs were seen to. Did nothing to cause me harm. Were they all wrong?

The orc stopped by large wooden doors, each more than twice your height. "Let her in," he snapped at the guards. They obeyed and opened the doors for you. "Get in," he mumbled almost in politeness.

You meekly stepped over the threshold and made your way into a chamber as large as the halls you had passed. There was a soft thud. That was the sound of the doors closing behind you. You were truly trapped now.

The room you were in was nearly as silent as a tomb. And poorly lit. There were no lamps, or torches. Just a dim fire sputtering away in the hearth.

"Come closer, little elf," a deep voice called from behind you.

You gulped in fright but turned in the direction of that voice.

"Closer," it called. "Come closer."

One measured footstep followed another. You walked on hesitantly, not stopping until you reached a smaller chamber filled with the light of several candles. There was a large bed in one corner, and a small table at the far end. This room, too, was empty. You were confused now. Where did that voice come from?

"Does this please you?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard the voice behind you. You turned on your heel and found yourself looking at your captor. Melkor was studying you with a quizzical gleam in his eye. "My lord," you murmured, and gracefully dipped to your knees, remembering your courtesies.

He laughed merrily. "Thuringwethil was right. You do have nice manners."

You looked at him, shocked. She spoke to him about me. Why would she do that?

Melkor smirked and looked at you approvingly before walking over to the table. He pulled out a chair and gestured for you to join him. It confused you even more. The table was devoid of food and drink.

"The food…" you breathed out and struggled for words. Melkor was as glorious as the day you first saw him. The image of him standing there and watching you was enough to muddle your mind. "There… there is no food, my lord."

"There will be food," he replied, "for later. For now, sit."

You obeyed and made your way to the table, your skin prickling the entire time. You glanced at Melkor and found his eyes following your every move. There was something dark and primal in his eyes, something you could not quite describe.

"I will not mince words,” he said. “The reason why I summoned you," Melkor waited till you made yourself comfortable before moving to the chair opposite yours. "Is because I have a… proposition to make."

"Proposition?" You repeated, baffled. Melkor was one of the most high. There was no need for him to ask anything of anyone when he could simply take whatever, and whomever he desired, without so much as a "by your leave."

“Yes." Melkor studied you before saying, "A proposition. I wish to make you my companion. I made this offer to your brother. I was hoping he would put a word in where your father was concerned…"

The day he called on your twin. He had asked for you. You kept asking why and Fëanor refused to explain the cause. He grew angry whenever you asked. Your father finally forbade you from broaching the topic.

"But the fool refused," Melkor snorted in derision. "Now that I have you here with me, I would like to ask this of you myself. Will you be my companion and bind yourself to me?"

You swallowed and wrung your hands. His companion, he said. You did not even know what it would mean. What little you knew of intimate relations between elves came from the books you read while the others were away. "Your companion, my lord. What would I have to do? Read to you? Play the harp?"

Melkor laughed again, softly this time. "Your family has kept you ignorant of many things, I see. I do not wish you to merely read to me and amuse me with music, little elf. To put it in simpler terms, I want you to share my bed."

Your cheeks were aflame. To share his bed. You had read enough books to know what that meant. "To share pleasures with you…" you sputtered, "but if I go back, if the other elves find out what I allowed you to do to me, I will be ruined."

"The other elves will not find out.”

“Why not?”

“Because your brother is not coming for you," Melkor said simply.

"He is coming for me!" you insisted. Your eyes stung with hot tears threatening to break free. Melkor was the prince of lies. That was what they all said. You refused to believe him, thinking he was lying to you even now. "Fëanor is coming for me!"

"He is not, little elf," Melkor replied gently. "Fëanor is not coming for you. His hunger to create the silmarils has consumed him."

Despair of the acutest kind settled over you like a thick fog. The creation of hallowed jewels, each containing the light of the two trees, was all your twin talked about. He would think of nothing else until such priceless treasures rested in his hands. You knew him well enough for that.

"And your father’s thoughts have been consumed with the new family he is creating with his second wife. No one is coming for you." Melkor reached over and placed his hand on top of yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "Say yes, little elf. Take my hand, and every comfort imaginable will be yours. I will be yours."

You sat there, feeling alone and wretched. Your brother was not coming for you. Your father was not coming for you. Days had bled into weeks and weeks into a wholly different season, and no one had come for you. There had not even been a whiff of an elf seeking you out. Your kin had abandoned you to your fate, and the knowledge of it was too much to bear. It made you want to cry, to scream and tear out your hair, but such acts were useless. They would not set you free, and they would not make your kin search for you. You turned your attention to Melkor. He offered a life you were once accustomed to. Perhaps he was not lying. Perhaps he was telling the truth. But still, to say yes to him and take him inside of you…

"The others… your servants…" you whispered, "What will they say?"

"Nothing." Melkor smiled and spread his broad hands. "Life in Angband is different. You can be with whomever you wish, whenever you wish, and however you wish. No one will say a word in protest."

"No one?" You glanced at him, trying to get a sense of him. "Not even you?"

Melkor ground his jaw and growled. His eyes narrowed to thin slats. "You are mine, little elf. All of you belong to me."

Goosebumps rose all over your flesh when he said it. The sheer possessiveness in his tone was enough to make you forget your sense of dread and excite you to the point of actually considering his offer.

"Before I say yes," you licked your lips nervously and confessed, "I… I must tell you I have neither the… skill nor the… experience… in such matters. What little I know has come from books."

Melkor’s lips tugged at the corners. "I thought as much. But first, you must say yes."

To say yes. To take his hand and bind yourself to him for all time. You thought of your suitors, how all of them bowed their heads and walked away without a second glance the moment Fëanor denied them. Then there was Melkor, who willingly risked war and doom to bring you here. You knew what your answer would be.

"Yes."

"Come."

He rose and took you by hand, helping you out of your chair and leading you straight to his bed. You eyed the silk sheets and the soft pillows. To just lay in that bed was temptation enough. Melkor did not give you time to think of much else. He grabbed your arms and kissed you before you could say another word.

The books spoke of kisses that were sweet and soft, like feathers. Melkor’s kiss was none of that. It was all heat and wildness and hunger. His tongue glided over the seams of your mouth before pressing against your lips. You sighed helplessly and parted them for him. His mouth tasted like some dark spice you could not get enough of. Melkor smirked in triumph, his breath heating your flesh.

"How easily you yield, little elf!" he cried when you tugged on his tunic to pull him closer. "And how fortunate I am to have you in my grasp!" He laughed again and placed his hands over your shoulders, pushing you down onto the edge of the bed. "Tell me," he cooed softly, "What else did you read in these books?"

You looked at him, your eyes widening when he undid the buckle of his belt. "I…" You glanced at him, then at what he was doing. He was loosening the drawstrings of his breeches. "I have read about certain acts, but…" Your cheeks heated when he tugged it down just enough to free his cock. "But…"

"It was not enough?" Melkor asked and caressed your cheek. "Then I will guide you. Open that pretty mouth for me, little elf."

He waited, neither forcing nor demanding that you obey. A thumb glided over your lips, making you look at him. "Open little elf," he insisted gently, "Go on."

The sight of him all exposed and hard proved too tempting. You opened your mouth, eager and willing and curious, struggling to breathe while he sank his length. Melkor moved slowly and gently, his hands delving into your hair and keeping you steady. He groaned and shivered when you ran your tongue along his shaft and let curious hands skim over his thighs. His hand glided over to cup your cheek. You opened your eyes and found his fixed on yours; his mouth parted in a silent moan.

"I have been thinking about you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, little elf," he confided, whimpering when your tongue brushed over his tip. "Each of my thoughts about you have been improper."

Melkor was gentle with his instructions. "Loosen your jaw, little elf." He caressed your cheek again to catch your attention. "You clench it too much."

It was easier after that. You reached up and clutched the edges of his tunic, your mind going hazy with bliss. Everything you felt, from the hands brushing over your hair to the little ridges brushing against your lips to the soft grunts you heard, was dark and sinful. You had often wondered what such acts would be like while reading books forbidden to you, but no words could describe what you were feeling now, all feverish and wanton.

Melkor drew back and pushed you onto the sheets. You gazed at him, surprised, and more than a little disappointed. "Move further up, little elf," he chuckled, running his thumb over your swollen lips. "I want to claim you as mine."

Again, you did as he asked, even more eager this time. You moved further up the bed, trembling whenever you felt the wetness between your thighs. Melkor undid the clasps of his tunic one by one. You expected to find vast parts of him withered and deformed, as the songs said. What was slowly revealed instead was the stuff of a maiden’s dreams: a fana that was all supple muscle and devoid of flaw. His skin was the color of new steel, and his arms were large and strong.

Not once did he use that strength to force me, you mused, flushing when the mattress sank and he crawled into bed with you, boots on and all. Melkor pushed your thighs apart with his. His hands slid under your skirts.

"I…" You found yourself trembling with growing need when the flat of his palm glided over your leg. "I thought we must be undressed, my lord."

"Next time," Melkor promised. He hiked your skirts up to your waist and shoved his hand down your undergarments, ripping them apart with one tug. "For now, let me do this."

His fingers grazed your slick heat. The friction was delicious enough to make you see stars. Melkor trembled. He actually trembled. His touch was gentle, almost worshipful in its exploration. He propped himself on his free arm, just so he could watch you while he slipped a finger inside of you. It made your breath hitch when that finger slid deeper and deeper.

"My lord," you moaned without even realizing it. He dipped his head and ghosted his lips over yours.

"I am here, little elf," he purred softly, brushing his hand over your hair. He dipped his head again, nibbling your earlobe and sighing when your arms circled his back.

He had been thinking of me since he first saw me, you remembered. When was that?

"M-my lord?" Your back began to arch with each thrust of his finger. He inserted a second as carefully as the first, groaning whenever your warmth clenched around them. "W-when did you first see me?"

"When I was allowed to return to Valinor," he confessed softly against your neck. "I saw you with your father and brother near the Ring of Doom. I stayed in the shadows and watched you. Even then, I knew I had to make you mine."

The Ring of Doom. When your father was called to hear the Valar’s verdict on his appeal to remarry. That was a full century before Melkor approached your brother for you.

A hundred years was but the blink of an eye for an elf. Lesser still for a being such as him. But still...A hundred years. He had been seeking me out over a hundred years. Your hands brushed over his hair while he nibbled at your earlobe. The thought of him marking you with his teeth was enough to make your pulse scramble. You grew a little bolder.

“M-my lord?" You mumbled shyly. "W-would you c-consider marking me?"

“Bite you, little elf?"

"Y-yes. B-bite me."

Melkor raised his head, his dark eyes darkening even more. You heard a low and otherworldly growl. The sound inflamed you. "If you insist," he said, leaning in and running his tongue over the hollow of your throat. "Turn your head to the side, little elf."

He peppered the soft expanse of your throat with kisses that were bruising and almost violent. Every time his teeth grazed the curve of your neck, your nails would dig into his back. "Melkor," you sighed again. "There. Right there. Oh."

"Now everyone who sees you will know you are mine." He lifted his head and admired the canvas he had made out of your body. When he drew his fingers away, it made you feel strangely empty. "Rest your legs over my hips, little elf." Melkor hovered over you, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. "And do not tense. Can you manage this?"

He wanted to claim your maidenhead. You looked up at him, trying to decide what to do. If he did, if you said yes to this, you could never go back. The other acts you could hide in lies, but not this. Never this. No elf would stay married to you once the truth came to light. Your family would never welcome you back. Your father would not wish to ruin the prospects for any child born to his second wife, and your brother… you shivered. You did not want to even think of what Fëanor would do to you.

Why am I fretting over what others will say, when those others have already turned their backs on me?

Melkor’s knuckles drifted over your throat. He may never ask for you again. He could send you away and carry on like nothing happened. It would would you deeply if he did. But the memories would feel so sweet.

You made up your mind. You moved your legs over his hips, the insides of your thighs rubbing up against the supple leather of his breeches. It felt strange but wonderful. "I am ready," you whispered.

“I will be gentle," Melkor promised, trembling again. His kiss was soft and so very warm. He kissed you until you were breathless, kissed you until you moaned, and your hold around him tightened. He guided his shaft inch by slow inch into your slit, stopping whenever you whimpered to give you time to breathe. His hand glided over your thigh, your belly, his words a sweet melody in a tongue you had never heard of in your life. It put your entire body at ease. He would move again, now slowly, now gently, filling you in ways you never thought possible. He stopped again, this time after claiming your maidenhood. He looked at you with questioning eyes, as if asking for permission.

"Yes," you assured him, sighing when he moaned and started to move.

He was so big, and it felt uncomfortable. And he was gentle, just like he promised. Pain and discomfort slowly gave away to a pleasure that had no name. Every time he moved, every time he found a place that sent jolts of deep ecstasy licking up your spine, you clung to him, moaning his name shamelessly. Melkor’s lips crushed yours in an all-consuming kiss. At your own urging, he went a little deeper, a little harder, a little faster, growling when his hips slapped against the insides of your thighs. It was too much. And not enough. And intoxicating all at the same time. Melkor knelt up and dragged you with him.

"Kiss me," he demanded, "and make it count."

His fingers dug into the back of your dress, his nails ripping into the fabric the moment your mouth opened over his. His tongue tasted like wine when it pressed against yours, and his hair felt like silk when it slipped around your fingers. A tension that was sweet and drugging grew in your belly.

"So-something is ha-happening," you mewled, not knowing what it meant. "I... d-do not understand…"

You may not have known, but Melkor did. "Soon, little elf," he whispered, latching onto the curve of your neck. A mixture of kisses and nips of the teeth skimmed over your throat. "A little more. Just a little more."

That soon came faster than you could have thought. Your muscles coiled and tightened, and snapped, like your body was splintering into a million different pieces. You could not think. You could even breathe. You were lost in a sea of untold rapture. You barely felt it, Melkor’s hold on you tightening even as your nails raked over his skin. You barely heard it—a deep grunt of satisfaction when he thrust one last time, and a torrent of his spend filled you.

The world had gone still, so very still. Your thoughts were still muddled when Melkor laid you on your back. You were silent while clarity slowly crept in.

Melkor had claimed all you willingly gave, and so much more. He made you experience joys you had never experienced before. And now you braced yourself, your heart gripped in agony, thinking he might prove the tales told about him true and send you away, never to seek you out after that. The books did not prepare you for the pain of his rejection. You prepared yourself anyway, your body still shaking when the featherbed sank again under his weight. Melkor threw an arm over your waist and drew you to him. Both arms encircled you now, even as he buried his face in your hair.

"I will have your possessions moved to my chambers. Rest for now, little elf." He mumbled and pressed a chaste kiss over your shoulder. "When you wake up, I will bathe you, and we will dine together. Perhaps you could even read to me."

tags: @lemonivall @cilil @edensrose @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese

#Melkor #Melkor smut #Melkor x reader #Morgoth #morgoth smut #The silm #The silm imagine #the silmarilion #melkor imagine #morgoth imagine #x reader #Reader insert #reader insert request #writeblr #fanfiction #The valar #The ainur #💫a world of whimsy writes

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bigbadboybruce · 5 months

Text

(PG-13 content warning)

Three times he had a chance to kiss her. Three times the chance slipped through his fingers.

For one of them the context wasn't right. It was on the side of the road leading to Lord Bloodwrath’s estate. She wore that silky gown with an emerald cascade about her neck and ruby red lipstick at which he couldn't help but stare. He wore a stupid smile that only got him in trouble.

Heated words. A switch. A correction. 'Miss Mourningvale.' Her name tasted like sugar on his tongue.

'I'll save Kallarel for when you're in trouble,' he promised.

The scene dimmed at the edges in his mind's eye, clouded by sin. Cynicism was her suit of armor. A kiss would have only whetted the appetite for the taste which followed and she would have been right.

But then there was the ballroom in the ruined mansion, where Her branches cracked the ceiling and bled sunlight on faded marble floors. She was radiant. Powerful. Dangerous. He was but a fly in fate’s web, compelled by an absurd notion to dance.

And dance they did. He caught a glimpse of her austere expression as it melted, just before she buried it into his shoulder. She must have heard his heart hammering away like a drum, but he smothered it by humming an old Gilnean tune.

He told her a story. Something from his childhood. She broke away, once again at an arm’s length. Losing her touch was like falling off the ferry in the night.

He lied. Did she know? It didn't matter. The moment was gone.

Then there was last night.

On the floor of an oblong, dug-out cave piled high with books from her childhood, she held out her hand, expecting the bronze band which disguised him as an elf to be deposited for refinement. Sleep would evade her, she decided, and accordingly planned to work through the night.

Instead, his fingers cupped her palm. Without hesitation or thought, he drew her into his embrace.

Excuses back filled the hole in his mind. He was more comfortable than stone. It was cold. The sleeping rolls were itchy.

‘Let me keep you safe for a spell,’ he decided. And it was true. That was all he wanted, at least for last night.

But he could have had a kiss, if he'd only asked.

Three times he had a chance to kiss her. Three times the chance slipped through his fingers.

Would he really go to the grave without successfully sharing a kiss with the woman who made his debilitated heart flutter?

Would that perfect moment come before his inevitable death?

... And then there was Thilonous. Greased by a bottle of wine, he kissed the bard on a rooftop terrace just to prove a point. And when his eyes slipped shut and red hair still burned in his mind, he could picture it was her he was kissing...

One day he'll get things right.

@daily-writing-challenge

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jaskwritesthings · 2 years

Text

Caleb, Molly and Essek cuddle puddle (bonus points for one or more of them being sassy menaces) requested by @glossolali

tags: none

(ao3)

“Caleb my love, my darling, my little flame -“ Molly waxed on poetically before Caleb interrupted him.

“Your point, Mister Mollymauk, please find it,” Caleb begged, the amusement clear in his tone.

Molly intentionally nuzzled his head back against Caleb’s hip, “You are clearly not eating enough,” he said pointedly, using the tip off his horn to jab at Caleb’s boney hip.

“You’ve seen me eat, at every meal time and you bring me snacks in between,” Caleb reminded him sleepily. He was warm and comfy and surrounded by the men he loved, so of course he could sleep while Molly was having quite a difficult time finding any cushion around his firebug wizard's stomach. Frankly it would have been far more concerning if he wasn’t fully aware of just how much Caleb and Essek ate. Something about magic burning energy or something. He never paid that much mind to the why, just enjoyed feeding Essek and Caleb by hand on occasion.

“Then where, by all the gods, is it going ‘cause it’s certainly not on your person,” Molly demanded.

“Do you have a complaint about your current position katz?” Caleb questioned, running a hand through Molly’s hair and making sure to scratch at his scalp the way Molly enjoyed.

“My sweet little spark, your hip is stabbing my neck,” Molly complained.

“It’s not that bad.”

“If I move, I shall bleed to death,” Molly declared theatrically.

Caleb’s hand cupped his cheek directing him to look up at Caleb, “You are a dramatic fool,” Caleb said too softly to be anything but an endearment of purest love.

Molly kissed the fingertips he could reach before turning his attention to the dozing elf cuddled into Caleb’s other side, “Essek my sweet darling nightflower -“

“Please stop,” Essek mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Surely you agree with me?”

Essek hummed sleepily, “I must admit it’s quite extraordinary the amount of food you eat and yet you remain quite lean Caleb.”

“You are lean too!” Caleb yelled in a scandalous tone of one horribly betrayed but still utterly amused by the situation.

“Hmm, but far less so. I think it’s the muscle definition from all your adventuring days,” Essek purred as he traced a hand through the hair leading a curly track down Caleb’s chest, paying special attention to the defined muscles along the way.

“I do not recall such complaints about my muscle mass while we fuck,” Caleb muttered.

“Oh darling I have zero complaints about being thrown around -“ Molly leered.

“I do not throw you around Mollymauk,” Caleb denied, skiing turning a delightful shade of red.

“But for cuddling you don’t provide much of a pillow,” Molly finished as though Caleb hadn’t interrupted him so rudely.

“You are both similar in build to myself, why am I targeted this night?” Caleb sighed, long and deep.

“Because you are hard my love and not in the way I usually enjoy,” Molly said, taking the sting from his words by chastely kissing the offending hip bone. If he lingered longer than one could claim was innocent he doubted Caleb minded.

“Essek?” Caleb whined as he pleaded for support.

Essek finally deigned to open his eyes but didn’t look too happy by the prospect, “I find you both comfortable enough for resting on but Yasha is far superior to you both for hugs.”

“Betrayed!” Molly wailed dramatically as he twisted onto his front to ensure Essek got the full effect of his watery ruby eyes, “my love and my dearest friend! I am betrayed!”

“We do not need all of your fey cats Caleb, we have one in tiefling form right here,” Essek raised an unimpressed eyebrow as Caleb tried in vain to hide his laughter. Molly hissed playfully at him, fangs on full display as his tail lashed to and fro behind him.

“You’re lucky I love you both or I would flee to a circus,” Molly flopped back on his back making sure the move was as dramatic as he could manage. Caleb let out a ‘oomf’ as Molly tried to get comfortable against him again.

“Aren’t you banned from every -“

“Hush loves I am trying to nap,” Molly chastised and Caleb spluttered at the turn about.

#critical role #shadowidomauk #shadowidomauk fanfiction #critical role fanfiction #glossolali

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eunoiaastralwings · 2 years

Note

A Caranthir x f!elf!eader fanfic inspired by the song 'Beneath a moonless sky' where it is a bit of forbidden love. You two can't be together because of his binding oath and because he already lost so much, he doesn't want to add you to the list. After a fight, you both confess the love you have for each other. The two spend the night (doesn't have to be NSFW/ a SFW spend the night, like just cuddling) together but you both know you two would have to go your separate ways in the morning.

featuring caranthir x reader

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

warnings 18+ smut, fingering, angst, no fluff because caranthir leaves and dies in the second kinslaying no matter what decision you make :(

a/n yes - the most dramatic song about a one night stand ever — lmao don’t kill me

By Eru — didn’t you know, it was wrong. But you couldn’t stand there and watch him go — not until you poured out your heart.

It was accident —in the heat of the fight — when he asked why the fuck did you care so much.

But you knew — and so did he —it was the truth.

For years — the both of you kept it hidden, even though it was painfully obvious to the other.

Your hearts were begging, aching and your souls wanting to be one — but your Moryo has already lost so much, ever since he had bound himself to the oath — how can he possibly take you down with him?

“Because I love you!”

The words replayed in his mind — how you screamed and cried in anguish— how much you wanted to be near him—and cure that loneliness in his aching heart —when has ever someone loved him this much?

But he couldn’t do it— he knew that as he stared at you there — standing across him him a few feet away— breathing hard and heavy through those plumb lips he had always dreamed of kissing — your chest rising and falling and the wild part of him wondered— how much of an effect did he truly have over you . . . over your heart, mind and body . . .

Caranthir didn’t know what took over him— but he immediately crossed the space and pulled your body against his— flushed until you had no escape.

You only had the time to let out a small gasp— because he crashed his lips to your open mouth. He held you tightly against him.

It was only when his hand tangled in your hair— tilting your head to kiss you better did you react. Kissing him back just as passionately.

He groaned— the prince had tightened the hold on your waist.

When you let out a soft whimper— it drove him insane.

Caranthir’s hands quickly wandered down— until they were behind your legs.

Without a word and still kissing you with immense passion— he lifted you up and made you wrap your legs tightly around his waist.

For a moment — he pulled away and looked at you — hair already wild because he tangled his hands into it so many times and lips a ruby shade that almost matched his reddening skin.

Your hair dangled over the both of you like a curtain.

Your hands that were around his shoulders since he hosted you up — slowly travelled to his face and you cupped him delicately.

Tears sprang to your eyes but you held onto them— there was a silent plea in your eyes.

You knew what you were getting into — and Caranthir was giving you the option to back out— only, you didn’t want to. You wanted to keep going despite the fact he will leave you in the morning for the second kinslaying.

He will leave you— as much as he didn’t want to, he had to leave you and fulfil he took with his father and brothers.

You shook your head and kissed his lips slowly.

“Y/N. . . I need you to speak the words. . .”

He sighed into the kiss.

“Don’t actions speak louder than words, Cara. . .?”

You said.

You had even used the nickname you always dreamed of calling him by— for this one night you’ll let yourself pretend of the perfect life— a perfect storybook romance.

With that being said— he kissed you back firmly and stole your breath away.

He still held you and carried you slowly into the direction of his bed chambers.

He laid you down on his bed and hovered over you slowly— he looked at you, truly looked at you— looking for any form of uncertainty.

The tears you tried to hold back came flowing down and his thumb gently wiped them away.

“We don’t have to do this, melda. . .”

“Please. . . just hold me—. . . hold me and love me for at least one night, Cara. . .make me yours for this one night.”

You begged.

He sighed again.

But kissed you — you instantly wrapped your arms around him and gently tugged at his hair.

His tongue slide over your bottom lip— and you immediately opened your mouth for him. Your tongues danced— it was bittersweet, there was no battle, only caressing.

One of his hands slid down your dress— he carefully pulled the material up until he felt your soft shaking thighs under his fingers.

You shuddered when his hands glided over the soft skin— but you only pushed yourself closer to the prominent bulge on his trousers.

He groaned.

He quickly held your hips down and you begged— begged for him.

“I do not care what tomorrow brings. . . am still willing to be bare on your bed, my prince. . .”

You said— knowing very well what you were signing up for.

Caranthir let out a string of curses and his hands latch onto the laces of your dress— almost ripping it all off your body.

When the cold air hit— your skin erupted in goosebumps.

You noticed him kneel on the bed and he quickly got rid of his shirt.

Your hands tentatively ran over his chest and for a moment— he possessively stroked the flesh of your brutalized lips.

He dove in again— quickly taking off your undergarments until you laid completely bare underneath him.

Caranthir quickly closed his eyes for a moment— and breathed in through his nose, his desires to ravish you coming to the forefront of his mind.

He had to continuously tell himself— he needed to take it easy at least for you.

This could happen only one night— then in the morning you would part.

But Caranthir just could not control himself— when you looked far more beautiful than he imagined, laying underneath him so willingly.

“Spread your legs. . .”

He whispered— he tapped the inside of your thighs.

You did and he stroked your womanhood— delighting in the way you trembled.

Caranthir admired you— all of you, for a moment he wondered if you were a maia and how he was lucky enough to have you. . . even if it was for this one night.

His hands stroked you again and enjoyed the sweet moans you made— it further prompted him to push a finger in— and he groaned at how your walls tightly clenched around him.

He continued to stroke and pump in and out of you— bringing you to the edge over and over again.

“Cara. . .”

You moaned his name every time— biting your lips and gasping at the sensations he brought, especially when his tongue had joined at one point.

One night, one night. . .

You kept chanting in your head.

Caranthir quickly knelt above you again— hands resting on his trousers.

“Tell me now. . . and we can stop now. . .”

But you didn’t want to.

You didn’t even know if you could call him husband in the morning— but you went with it. . .

Because you knew you could only die in heartbreak and loneliness if you backed out now. You were already here, bare and ready underneath him.

“I told you. . . no matter what. . . am willing to do this. To be bare on your bed for this night. . .”

His eyes roamed your body— he was ready to devour and ravish you as his, just for this one night.

Caranthir quickly discarded his trousers and laid skin to skin on top off you— carefull not to apply all of his weight on your delicate body.

You blinked away your tears and smiled at him— gently cupping his face, you stroked his skin carefully.

“Am ready. . .I promise. . .”

You whispered.

Then— not even a second later, he slid himself into you with one stroke.

You gasped at the fullness of him penetrating your walls— and wrapped your arms around him again— keeping him close to you, before you had to let him go.

But you wouldn’t think about that now. . .

Right now— you were focused on how he stretched you.

He felt hot and heavy inside of your walls— it felt like a burn unlike any you ever witnessed— and probably never witness again.

This wasn’t right— this wasn’t how a night between two elves was supposed to take place— but everything about this felt right.

You were meant to be in his arms— he was meant to penetrate your walls and make love to you— even if it was for this one night — you didn’t care.

You loved Caranthir, and you wanted him— as much as he wanted you.

“Please move. . .”

You had to beg him— noticing when he paused himself, watching your reactions.

“Just one moment. . .”

He groaned— the prince looked into your eyes— narrowed and sharp like he wanted to tell you something— but nothing came out.

Instead he grunted another string of curses— and slowly started to thrust deep into you and pulled out, only thrust back in faster— picking up the pace— keeping his eyes locked with your eyes.

Some strong and powerful started to blaze inside you— inside your chest.

It was a deepened heat— something caressed and fluttered you as you laid underneath him and consumed by each of his thrusts. Whatever was inside your chest started to grow.

Then— you let out a small sob realizing it was bonding of your souls— of your Feas.

Caranthir felt it too— you knew from the guilted look in his eyes.

For a moment, he rested his head on your forehead and continued thrusting into you until the both of you finished— abliss in the moment of pleasure and peace.

He did not pull out of you— instead he turned and tucked you to his side.

Neither of you spoke— nothing was left to be said.

What could you say?

But you did not regret it— even though the was leaving in the morning for the second kinslaying.

You laid with him in comfort — catching your breaths as he stroked your hair and back.

“I love you too, Y/N. . . veri” (wife).

He whispered when sleep had pulled you in— savoring the moment for himself, selfishly.

The morning you woke up to an empty cold bed— and you cried into the sheets realizing he had already left.

The papers near the bedside table caught your attention.

Your hand slowly reached out.

Marriage annulment

The words Marriage annulment made you cry harder— even more so in seeing Caranthir had already signed it.

The note attached to it was enough to make your decision.

Whatever decision you make— I be accepting of it, whether it being my wife, friend, or stranger, I shall respect it and follow you — Caranthir Cara.

taglist: @mslizziesblog @doodle-pops @spidergirla5

#caranthir #caranthir x reader #caranthir imagine #the silmarillion x reader #The Silmarillion #the silm #the silm fandom #morifinwe #caranthir silmarillion #the silmarillion fandom #tarawrites #caranthir smut #caranthir x reader smut #silmarillion #silmarillion smut

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twiggys-dnd-archive · 10 months

Text

she's so freaking bad ass you guys don't even know. I made her for an old western campaign that we haven't started yet and I'm literally dying to play her because yes she has a country accent. oops she also has a tragic backstory ↘

She grew up in a small town. She was born to a young elf women who said it was an act of the gods that she was pregnant, because her and the father had not been married and he had run off. When she was born, it was clear she wasn’t just an elf, her father had passed on his demonic bloodline. However she was beautiful and only had a small horn, so she was excepted by her very religious mother and named Efvren Llesere. She grew up a modest spiritual girl and was seen as an important member of the church.

When she was just turning 18 a strange man wondered into town. He just seemed to show up out of nowhere and he started asking for work, desperate for somewhere to stay. He was very strange and obviously from somewhere different entirely. He and llesere got to know each other and she gave him shelter and used her status in the church to convince the towns people to give him work. He was slowly excepted as he repaired houses and got closer to llesere. He introduced himself as Ornan rhruk.

The two grew very fond of each other despite lleseres mother wanting to marry her off to an older man in the church. They would run off together for long periods of time and this would effect lleseres work in the church. He eventually revealed his true demonic form to her, and told her he was from another realm. He had run off to find a better life and was glad he’d found her, he was in love. She was surprised but loved him back and they made plans to leave together.

Before they could there was a storm and a building collapsed, forcing Ornan to reveal his demonic form in order to save llesere. It didn’t matter that he had helped the town or saved llesere, he was seen as a demon from hell come to take her away. He was run out of town, almost being killed by the mob of people. Llesere defended him violently but this only caused them to see her as too far brainwashed by the devil. She was seen as a demonic witch and strung up on a stake to be burned for her sins. Ornan hid in the shadows as he saw his love engulfed in flames, and in a last attempt in saving her, he transferred all his demonic force into her. This saved her from the fire, and gave her the power to break free and run. But that was all of his life force and he had only enough power left to go back to his home plane, the Abyss. She searched for him after she escaped, but found nothing. She knew it was him who saved her with his power, and gave her his wings and tail, but she could only hope hes still alive.

After running and finding a place for herself in a larger city, she grew up and became disgusted by any religion or religious people. She has moved on a lot from crying herself to sleep and jumping every time someone touched her, but she still dreams of Ornan, she still has hope he’s alive somewhere in some unknown realm. She now uses the power he gifted her to take violent jobs and assassinations for money, although if some kind battered women comes to her with a story of her nasty husband, she’ll do it for a cup of sugar. She quickly picked up the name Ruby form her tendency to turn red when pissed off, then she came up with Whitelaw so people would have a name to go with the face.

#dnd #dnd charcter art #dungeons and dragons #teifling #dnd art #dnd5e #ruby

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dendroaspis-polylepis · 3 months

Text

Oath of Vengeance: Chapter 3

A surprise visitor leads to an interesting interaction, as well as some of the most restful sleep Retribution's had in years.

Chapter 2

Read it on AO3

Retribution was typically a light sleeper. Her initial upbringing in Menzoberranzan and later mercenary lifestyle predisposed her to startling awake at the softest sounds. This time, however, it wasn't anything she heard that roused her. Instead, it was her tadpole's frantic squirming that caused a lancing bolt of pain. Groaning as she rubbed her face, Ret was startled to meet Astarion's ruby eyes, wide with panic about a foot above her.

He was frozen in place crouched over her prone form, blocking her exit. One arm was thrown over her torso, creating a cage.

“Shit.”

Retribution’s mind played tricks on her as she returned to the barracks of House Duskryn for but a moment. The terror that squeezed her heart inspired a surge of action that thrust one of Ret’s hands up to form a vice around his throat as she yanked him to the ground beside her, rolling herself to swap their positions.

Glaring down at Astarion, her mind returned to the present. She was on the surface, and the handful of drow she saw in her memory were now nothing more than unsightly smears across stone. Retribution seethed as his eyes raked across her features. It took her a moment to determine why. When she did, Ret jerked as if struck, horrified to realize that her eyepatch was still laying on the ground next to her pillow. Digging a knee into his sternum painfully to hold him in place, she leaned over to snatch it up and hastily secure it. She returned her hand to his neck, eye blazing with fury and embarrassment.

“Explain yourself. Now.” She hissed, easing her grip just enough to allow him to speak.

Throwing his hands up in a show of surrender, he quietly wheezed, not yet fully recovered from having her substantial weight pressed upon his chest, “Please, it's not what it looks like, I promise! I just- I just needed...” He hesitated for a second too long, prompting Ret to huff menacingly. “...blood.” He winced as he said the word, his entire body attempting unsuccessfully to angle away from her.

She took a moment to absorb his words, piecing it together with everything else she's seen thus far. His oddly sharp canines for an elf, the defensiveness earlier around the campfire, and his steadily-deteriorating appearance came together to point to a single conclusion. Astarion could pinpoint the exact moment she connected the dots by her soft, “Oh”.

Sensing an opportunity, he continued, “I promise I didn't mean you any harm, I just needed a bit of blood to get my strength up.” His hand came to Ret's wrist, and he was surprised when she actually allowed him to remove it from his neck. “Then I could hunt more effectively. Animals, not people,” he amended with a nervous laugh.

Leaning back, Retribution allowed him to sit up. He was about to say more when another streak of pain wracked Ret's mind. Clutching her head, she was assaulted by a myriad of different visions and sensations. She saw bustling streets at dusk teeming with citizens well into their cups during a festival, felt coarse fur between her teeth as she bit into something small and writhing, and looked down at a nude human in the throes of passion. As quickly as the pain arrived, it vanished. She returned her attention to the newly-revealed vampire still in her tent, who must've experienced something similar with how his features twisted in pain.

A flash of anxiety had her worrying about what he saw, assuming this was a two-way exchange of memories. Brushing it away, she refocused to the quandary at hand.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Concern and residual irritation tinged her question in equal measure. This could have been fairly easy to remedy and (probably) wouldn't have resulted in him getting choked if he had been more forthcoming. She was… sympathetic

He sat dumbfounded for a moment, “I'm sorry, are you joking? Are you really asking me why an undead creature of the night didn't tell a paladin of all people they were a vampire?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am. Need I remind you that this so-called ‘creature of the night’ chose the paladin to feed on in the first place!?” Retribution rasped, exasperated.

“Fair point.” He had no rebuttal. Looking down, he gathered his thoughts. “Look, I'm sorry for attempting to feed from you without asking.” Meeting her gaze, Astarion continued, “But surely you're smart enough to understand my reluctance? I wasn't going to kill you, if that's your concern. Just... take a sip...” His garnet eyes had a hopeful glimmer as they flicked to a pulsing vein in her neck.

She nodded, seeing his reasoning perfectly. That didn't mean she had to like his subterfuge. Many paladins had an innate disdain for any and all undead. Admittedly, Retribution shared this sentiment when she initially took up her oath all those years ago. Up to that point, all of her experience with undead was limited to cutting down corpses resurrected by drow necromancers from rival houses, or the occasional reanimated myconid that strayed a bit too far from home.

Mulling over his words, she considered her options... There weren't many. Her companions likely wouldn't be as willing to listen, or donate, for that matter. Especially not their newest monster hunter. And animal blood didn't seem to be cutting it anymore, if his current desperation was anything to go by. She could always kill him, but there was safety in numbers, and he had actually proven himself to be quite useful. Cementing her decision entirely on his usefulness, and not at all on her many conflicted thoughts about him, or how beautiful he was, or how she actually thought it was kind of sweet when he gave her Kagha's note, or-

“Fine.”

“Wh- Really?” His whole face seemed to light up in genuine surprise.

“Yes. Whether we like it or not, we're all stuck together, so we might as well learn to live with each other. And if this,” she gestures to the air between them, “helps, I'm willing to try it.”

“I... thank you.” He composed himself before slipping his sultry facade back, leaning forward to press gently on Retribution's shoulders. “Let's get a bit more comfortable, shall we?”

She didn't budge. “I'd rather not lay down for this.”

“Must you be difficult now? I promise it'll be much easier this way, trust me.”

“After you just snuck up on me? No thank you. Have you never drunk someone's blood while they're sitting up?”

“Of course, I have, darling,” he said a bit too defensively. “It's just not my favorite position,” he drawled. The double entendre was not lost on Ret.

“However, I am nothing if not adaptable.” Throwing a leg over hers, he seated himself to straddle her lap and threw his arms around her neck. Pulling himself close to her face, he husked, “The only question now, is: which side?” Her long, black hair was pushed behind her shoulders. His vermilion eyes dropped to the exposed skin of her neck and collarbones, appraising porcelain planes and silvery scars.

Ret swallowed; hands suddenly clammy as they dug into the fabric of her bedroll. “Your choice. But I would like to suggest not biting my neck proper if you're hoping to hide your... uh, condition from the others. This whole area,” she tugged her collar aside to run her fingers over her trapezius, “should also work, and be a bit easier to hide.”

He looked back to her eye, ruby meeting garnet, as his brows pulled together incredulously. “You won't tell the others?”

Shaking her head, she responded, “It's not my information to tell. On top of that, I'm struggling as it is to keep Shadowheart and Lae'zel from strangling each other. The last thing I need is Wyll thinking he has a new target.”

Astarion regarded her with a certain approval. “I… appreciate your pragmatism about all of this.” His eyes softened and the corners of his lips perked when he asserted: “You know, I think choosing the paladin was the right choice. After all, I get such a lovely view.” A delicate hand whispered across the right side of her face, thumb trailing across her cheekbone and onto her lips. She almost believed his honeyed words.

Surrendering to his gentle touch, Retribution allowed herself to bask in his ministrations, eye fluttering closed. Who cared if he was lying through his teeth? Maybe — just for tonight — she could pretend his little compliments and seductions about her beauty were genuine.

Parting her lips, he took the invitation to slide his thumb in. The digit was lukewarm, but quickly heated up to match her temperature. He pressed down onto her wet tongue, dragging his thumb across the spongy surface before pushing it back in, repeating the motion.

His other hand tugged at the remaining laces holding her collar closed, peeling them back to reveal most of her shoulders and upper chest. He traced lazy patterns over her with his fingers, gauging her reaction the first time he trailed over a substantial scar. When she didn't shy away, Astarion grew more confident. Placing his hand under the space between her collar bones, his fingers splayed out. He left it there for a while, simply enjoying the feeling of her infernal warmth, and her strong, steady heart beats thumping against his palm.

Taking her jaw in his hand, he angled Retribution's face to him and removed his thumb from her mouth, prompting her eye to open and seek him out.

“There you are,” he cooed, his expression more soothing than seductive. Leaning in, he gave her plenty of time to retreat, pausing a breath away as his eyes flicked to her lips deliberately. Instead of waiting for him to continue, Ret met him halfway.

Their kiss began chastely, little more than a delicate press. His lips were chilled upon hers, returning again and again to absorb her heat. The kisses grew in length until they no longer separated, becoming one, long, continuous dance that left Retribution breathless. His left hand sank into her soft, inky hair, cupping the back of her head and gently scratching with the pads of his fingers. Her soft sigh of approval had her lips parting, prompting Astarion to dip his tongue between them, tasting. Faint traces of iron and red wine flitted across her tastebuds. His tongue explored freely, running along her teeth and paying special attention to her sharp tiefling canines. She moaned quietly into his mouth, her own tongue stroking lasciviously against his.

Retribution's hands moved of their own accord, pressing slowly along his hips and waist while their mouths were occupied. Astarion's pleased hum inspired her to be a bit more bold. Two large hands hesitated for just a moment, then came to rest on his backside, giving a tender squeeze. Narrow hips canted forward, pressing the front of his trousers into the flesh below her ribs. A throaty whine poured from his lips at the friction as he repeated the motion.

Stilling himself, Astarion grabbed Ret's lower lip between his teeth before pulling back, reveling in the hiss he drew.

His half-lidded eyes took her in. “Did you know your cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink when you blush? Oh look, there it is!” Giggling to himself, his lips returned to hers while his free hand looped around her back to trail up and down her spine over her shirt. Tightening the grip he held in her hair, he slowly tilted her head to the right. Astarion's lips wandered. Meandering lazily across her jawline and down her neck, they eventually landed on the muscle she pointed out earlier. Running the tip of his nose across her skin, he inhaled deeply, savoring.

“May I?”

She nodded in response.

“I'll try to be as gentle as I can,” he whispered into her.

His lips pressed against her skin. Not kissing, but feeling. Feeling for the best place to bite, where blood flowed the most readily. After a moment of searching, he found a suitable spot and placed a gentle peck before sinking his fangs into her.

Ret gasped and her grip on him tightened. She had expected some pain, of course, but she wasn't expecting just how cold his bite would be. It was... thrilling. She had lost more blood than she cared to remember over her lifetime, but never had she given it up willingly. All of her senses became heightened. She could feel his throat bob against her collarbone with each mouthful of blood he pulled from her, hear his low moans as her life flowed across his tongue.

She got lost in the pleasure of just existing. No worries, no tadpoles, just this pretty man straddling her and whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

Retribution had no idea how much time had passed, but she did recognize how her thoughts slowly became fuzzier as her surroundings grew warmer. Or maybe it was just him. His hips rocked his hardening length into her again, and her shoulder buzzed as his moan was muffled.

Her blood loss had her slumping forward onto Astarion, causing his length to press into her more firmly. The rest of her dwindling blood rushed to her face, further weakening her.

“'Ssstarion...” She attempted to say his name, but her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Her hands at his hips dropped like lead weights.

Gods, maybe she should have laid down for this. It's not as if she was a light woman, and she was no longer able to hold herself upright, relying entirely on Astarion to support her.

He pulled back breathlessly, a pinkish string of saliva and blood connecting himself to her flesh before snapping. His tongue flattened to lave across the twin puncture wounds, lapping up any stray droplets that wept from his bite.

Feeling warm hands cradle her face, Retribution's eye fluttered open as she marveled at just how attractive he was with all that red smeared across his lower face and neck. She watched blissfully as glittering ruby eyes scrutinized her. He looked worried. Why did he look worried? Oh, he was saying something.

“Retribution, darling? Are you still with me?” His voice was tight with anxiety, sounding far away despite feeling his breaths on her face. Something was wrong.

“Mhmmm,” she nodded, which only exacerbated her lightheadedness.

“Lovely. Now let’s get you to bed, you reckless woman.” He carefully maneuvered her to her bedroll, cradling her head to keep it from lolling about. He re-laced her bed shirt, tugging her blankets to her shoulders soon after and tucking her in.

Retribution was all but dead to the world, feeling exhausted after her impromptu bloodletting. The last thing she heard before succumbing to sleep was a whispered, “Thank you.”

She had just enough brain power left to register the genuine happiness in those two little words.

#astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #Tav: Retribution

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dansnaturepictures · 1 year

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25/02/2023-Redbridge Wharf and Lower Test

Flora, fauna and fungi pictures I took today in this photoset are of; one of a few Mute Swans seen closely at Redbridge Wharf, lesser celandine at Lower Test it was a pleasure to see these golden forest early spring flowers one of the first to come out in the wooded bit of the Lower Test walk, fungi at Lower Test, some beautiful and intricate turkey tail fungus one I like seeing, snowdrops at Lower Test these carpeted the forest floor brilliantly I’ve had a good year so far for seeing scenes of snowdrops beautifully covering places which is a sight to behold, a Great Spotted Woodpecker it was pleasing to see at Lower Test, two of one of two gorgeous Peregrines I was thrilled to see this one sat on a pylon and another one flew before this one did always a wonderful bird to enjoy seeing, daisy and beautiful ruby red scarlet elf cup I’ve had a good week for seeing them too and moss.

The visit to Redbridge Wharf the first time for us was to look for the Iceland Gull that has been there and we did see this angelic bright white gull, another amazing bird to see this year and lately only our third ever sighting of the species to take my year list to 147. Common Gull with the Herring and Black-headed Gulls, Woodpigeon seen well and Wigeon were also nice to see here. Other standout sightings at Lower Test were Cetti’s Warbler, a decent few Wrens seen intimately and calling their typewriter call, Shelducks, lovely Little Egrets and pretty Roe Deers. Periwinkle and golden daffodils near to each other also adorned the woodland part of the walk. We walked all around Lower Test and it was my first time at the hide and screens side for years. This bit is where we first visited here when it was the second nature reserve we visited in my childhood early birdwatching days I believe and we don’t come to this bit too often now so it was great to be here. It brings nature into an urban area well with the reedbeds mixed nicely with hallmarks of an urban area like Starlings and their gushing calls and and a nice camellia tree flowering in a garden.

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amidstthemists · 1 year

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Bernard the elf tries faerie wine for the first time with a faerie. Now all he can do is try to not make a fool of himself by fawning over Gale, the faerie (his faerie), when all he really wants to do is see if she tastes as sweet as the wine.

~A mood board and an excerpt of my fic~

Gale rested her hand on Bernard’s knee in emphasis, reminding him, “You’re a faerie for tonight. That means you learn through experience, through feeling. Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Bernard said with forced casualness when, in reality, all he could focus on was the weight of her hand on his knee.

Breathe, he had to remind himself. He almost forgot to breathe.

The faerie went on, not noticing his spiking heart rate (how could she not? He could have sworn his heart was beating so loudly that everyone at the party could hear), “You’ll have plenty of time to think later. Let’s just enjoy the party while we can.” She gave his knee a pat of finality before standing up, “Come on. Let’s get you some water. Since you still have your wits for the most part, we can indulge in some controlled flirting on the way there… if you are good.” She gave him a wink and tapped her own nose knowingly, “I think you’ll find flirting to be enjoyable with the faerie wine whispering in your ear.”

When she realized he wasn’t moving, only staring dumbly up at her like she was nothing short of an Angel (still had his wits indeed), she took hold of his hand and pulled him up to his feet (he was oddly impressed and slightly titillated from the seemingly effortless feat of strength on her part but that was beside the point).

“If I’m good?” It was only when his head started to spin that he realized he had forgotten to breathe completely.

Breathe, he reminded himself again. Breathe.

His nerves were suddenly so on edge, his muscles all clenching so hard that he might have started cutting off his own blood flow. His every sense felt assaulted… and all just from hearing the word ‘flirting’ come out of the faerie’s intolerable berry sweet lips (he had never tasted the lips himself but he had some theories at that point in the night) and feeling her darling, little hand pull him along.

“You know, like how if I was good today—which I was—you were going to tell me which you preferred more: cookies or kisses—“ Gale stopped their trek across the room for a moment as she downed the rest of the wine in her cup, before adding, “—which you should.” She shivered as the wine lit up in her veins.

Bernard watched with great intensity as a ruby drop of wine dripped down her chin, dislodged from her shiver after a valiant effort to cling to her bottom lip (coincidentally, he found himself wanting to do the same thing, but refrained). Instead, he swiped the side his finger up her chin to collect the drip before it stained her dress and then licked the drop from his finger like an elf possessed.

“How do you know if I’ve been good?” He asked her, noting the way her pupils bloomed just as the flavor from the drop of wine bloomed on his tongue. The burn the drop of wine offered was enough of a distraction that he didn’t have to question what he just did. His heart beat faster because it was a bold move for him, but there was a tickle of those butterflies inside his chest that moved even faster than his heart, telling him that this was a fun game and that she had said they could flirt, after all, so why should he worry?

There was something wild that shined in Gale’s eyes, then. Something that, on a regular day, might have put him on edge, but, this time, he recognized and felt in himself. She smiled and his heart flip flopped. Then she said, “That’s the trick, Bernard. You’re always good. You’re the best.”

Whatever intensity he had felt building deep inside him released at the praise, leaving him feeling soft and fuzzy inside. Serotonin bubbled up in his head so much from the kind words that he couldn’t help needing to ramble, “Aww—you really think so? That’s so nice. You’re so nice. Even when you don’t let things go, there’s still just something…” He trailed off when he realized, in delighted surprise, that she was good at playing so many games at once. He observed, “I suppose I have to tell you now, huh? That’s the real trick from you calling me the best.”

She grinned widely, her wings fluttering in excitable pleasure as she asked, “D’you like that?”

“You know, I did,” Bernard said with a laugh. He knew that being tricked would usually put him off, but the faerie wine brought a lighthearted amusement to it that made the whole thing seem too harmless to worry about. He took her by the hand and walked them through a swinging door to a side room where they could find things momentarily stored for the day’s events: dishes and cutlery, the bottles of faerie wine, spare cookies and frosting, extra snacks, juice and water.

While Gale emptied the rest of a bottle into her cup, Bernard got them both cups of water, observing with an amused chuckle, “Usually I like to stay far away from tricks but that completely tickled me.”

“Tricks always tickle more with faerie wine,”Gale grinned, clearly enjoying having someone to enjoy the art of trickery with. Her eyes sparkled in wonderful, dangerous mischief and she put down her cup of wine, as if preparing for something. Then she too innocently asked, “Imagine what it would feel like to be actually tickled right now?”

He put his arms out defensively, but it took no more than a single tap of one of her fingers to his side for him to scream as if she burned him, “I’d—AH!” He batted her hands away, finishing his sentence with a dry, “combust. Surely.” He shook his head when she started to laugh, but he couldn’t stop the smile that played at the corners of his mouth.

Bernard watched the faerie as her laughter eventually dwindled, chuckling to himself at his reaction, at the bizarreness of the situation, but, mostly because her mirth was beautiful and contagious. He remembered what they had been talking about only when his eyes lingered on her lips for too long and he found himself admitting, “Y’know, kissing is not usually a great motivator for me. Cookies are at least something that can sustain me while I have my coffee, but, right now, I have to admit that I’m finding kissing to be something I’m having a hard time getting off my mind while I couldn’t give a flying reindeer about cookies.”

Something shifted between them, then. It wasn’t a big shift. Really, it was only a change in awareness. But, it was the first time he had opened himself up to her and said something that could mean… something. It could have been the dim lights of the room, it could have been the faerie wine, it could have been a long time coming. He couldn’t be sure of much other than that he thought he just might want to kiss her if she let him—and for some reason that fact felt like it should have been a big deal, but at the moment it didn’t feel like a big deal at all.

Gale took his admission with stride, leaning against the counter and wondering in a dreamy, playful sort of way, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could be sustained on kissing alone? A peck if feeling peckish. A light smooch for lunch. A grand open-mouthed devouring for dinner. A saucy little lick for a taste of dessert.”

When he moved closer to her, though, she straightened back up and daringly hooked her fingers to the bottom shirt, tugging him the rest of the way over to her as he said, “I think I’d like that very much.”

She leaned back into the counter, letting him cage her in. He had only just (finally) begun to nuzzle into her neck when he felt her stiffen against him. Then she was pushing at his chest and he was pulling his head back to see what was wrong. She stumbled through her words, faerie wine catching up with her enough to tangle her sentences with her conflicting emotions, “Wait—we can’t—I can’t—there are boundaries—oh, dear it’s hard to think straight around you on a good day.”

She groaningly threw her head back, frustrated with herself or the situation or him, he wasn’t sure. Bernard tried to pull away from her, afraid he had done something wrong, but the faerie’s fingers had a firm hold on his shirt. Confusion mixed with his worry, spiking his anxiety until his clarity blurred into strong, swirling emotions. Rejection, confusion, guilt, anxiety, feeling cornered, feeling lonely, feeling voracious, feeling pulled in a million directions. He felt everything so intensely and so loudly that he was practically deafened from everything else around him.

It was only when Gale’s hands found his face and she forced him to look into her eyes that he was able to follow what she was trying to tell him. “Listen, before you get lost in a spiral—no, don’t look at me like I cancelled Christmas. I am stopping this because I care.”

He stumbled over his words, worry coloring his tone as he desperately insisted, “I didn’t mean to push your boundaries. Honest. We were just talking about kissing and I thought—“

“No, not my boundaries,” she clarified, “Your boundaries.”

“My boundaries?” That might have been the craziest thing he had heard all night. It definitely wasn’t his boundaries that had told them to wait. In fact, he had felt very certain about what he had been about to do—what he still wanted to do—until she had stopped him.

He stuttered, trying to make sense out of what was happening, “But… but I want…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. He wanted so much. He wanted everything. He swallowed, eyes searching her face as he repeated, hoping she would understand, “I want.”

Gale brushed her thumbs along his cheekbones soothingly, forcing him to be still and catch up with himself as she patiently explained, “You, sweet cheeks, are under the influences of a faerie’s wine and her wiles. You’re hardly cross eyed, but you are not sober. If we kissed, it would be a lot harder to stop than you realize because of what the faerie wine wants from you, because of what it wants you to want.”

He listened to her in silence, enraptured by her presence. He reveled in everything about her in that moment. She, who could be both strong and gentle. She, who could be so wanting and yet was able to push her own wants aside because she was also caring. He felt inspired by her strength; he could strive to be as strong. He felt motivated by her care; her intentions for him were heartmeltingly noble and it made her interest in him mean so much more. He felt emboldened by her want; she was just as affected by him as he was by her (she had been the one to pull him close, hadn’t she?).

She had been under his skin all week and now he knew what to do about it.

The facts added up in his faerie-addled mind and he felt even more sure than ever before that he had to kiss her. He felt wild, but also like he was in more control in that moment than he had ever been before in his life. “I bet I could stop," he dared, bargained, promised, eyes glinting as he stepped closer to her. His hands found her hips as if he had been searching for them for years. He ducked his head and looked at her, waiting for one sign, one look, one assent, and he would finally (finally) taste those lips.

Gale pressed her hand to Bernard’s mouth, tilting her head forward so closely to his that their foreheads bumped. Her eyes stayed locked with his as she said, firmly but with good spirits, “And, if you still feel this way once you’ve sobered up, we can test that theory. You know where my room is. Just give my door a knock and I’ll eat you up. I’ll ravish you right on the rug in front of the fire place.” She kissed the back of the hand that covered his mouth before pulling away, working on disentangling herself from his arms.

Feeling the absence of the kiss that should have been his, would have been his if her hand hadn’t been in the way, was like a cruel joke. Longing tugged at his heart from the action alone and then to have her pull away from him completely? To just go on as if something cataclysmic hadn’t been so close to happening—as if he didn’t still want it to happen? He felt cold without her near. His hands felt empty. “This isn’t fair,” he pouted, close to stomping his feet like a wronged toddler.

Gale drank deeply from the first cup she grabbed at. She caught her breath, muttering wryly, “Imagine feeling so strongly more or less every day of your life.” She wasn’t facing him but he could see how she shook her head and raked her fingers through her hair.

He crossed his arms over his chest to stop himself from grabbing out at her, the pressure of his arms against himself as a poor man’s replacement for having a faerie in his arms. He forced himself to lean against the counter as he comprehended what she said. It was hard for him to imagine feeling the way he currently felt all day every day in any capacity. He asked in wonder, “Do you, really? How do you get anything done?”

She shrugged, still keeping her back to him as she explained, “It’s all I’ve known. I have a hard time understanding how folks can get anything done without all these pent up feelings to use as fuel.”

The full fic Something in the Air can be found on ao3 at the following link. More moodboards and excerpts can be found on my blog.

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sparrowsarus · 1 year

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Crack AU where Mandos collars Boromir on his way to wherever the souls of Men go and says "Not you. Stick around for a bit."

Several decades later comes Merry, spry as of old, and Mandos sends him to Boromir. "The final door is not yet for you." Then Pippin comes, shortly after, and finds himself corralled with Merry and Boromir--neither have been told what they are waiting for, in these timeless Halls.

And they wait, and wait, though they don't know what for--but they don't really wait any time at all, in this place of eternal Now.

And then one day they are summoned to Mandos, who bids them farewell; and then they find themselves in a cloudy drizzle in front of a hobbit hole. By the window they see an old hobbit, and two younger; a Man-shape clad in white, and a dwarf, and a blonde elf; and a ranger. All but one are smoking pipes over tea and biscuits.

They are noticed rather quickly, of course, and ushered into the warmth of the fire--given a pipe, each, and a cup of tea--like they were expected.

"But--" starts Boromir.

Gandalf smiles. "A boon, granted to me after I fell; a few years, only, for the Nine Walkers to dwell in blessedness on Tol Eressëa. I could not grant you access to Valinor--it would fade you, faster than even your mortal lives--but if it is within mine or Legolas' power, or even Elrond's, whatever you desire to see will be brought to you in some fashion or other.

Now, enough! Eat Sam's delightful biscuits! He is telling us of the scrape his young Ruby once got into."

And the Fellowship dwells in Tol Eressëa, for a little while; and Arwen comes (mortal, still mortal, her Doom has not changed; but she sees her mother, and forgets she is a queen and has splashfights with her brothers, and finally meets her grandmother Elwing, and learns of Earendil the person, rather than the star.

#LOTR #Silly

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axolotine · 7 months

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The dwarves of Sastresbiban, an ever pragmatic culture, keep in daily use their artifacts... and yet the occasional foolish thief happens across their museum. Deep in the earth, hewn from solid chert, this display of dwarven folly sits. Fits of inspiration married with lack of wisdom make for a particularly dangerous display, and dwarven enchantments are notoriously stubborn - having been forged in the metal itself. Many warnings are carved in the stone in every language of the realm, but it does little to deter the covetous.

A kobold finds a ruby-encrusted razor on a pedestal that strikes their fancy. They pick it up, and it springs to life - every feather is cut in a flurry of steel... and then the bleeding starts.

A statue of a dwarves admiring a golden orb sits in the center of the museum... a human approaches with a chisel and attempts to purloin the golden prize. In a flash, they too are part of the statue.

An elven emissary spies a silver warhammer that really ought to be theirs. The weight is perfect in their hands. They give it a swing... exhilarating! It sails through the air effortlessly as if it were weightless... but it keeps moving. It smashes into the wall, which crumbles. The elf has no time to react as the massive force causes a cave in.

Near the surface, in the tavern, a weary visitor sits down for a drink. They have been feeling rather down, lately. An otherwise unremarkable tin cup full of mead is given to them. They drink and think of the good times, remember the small, daily kindnesses that they had forgot. They feel - across time - family, friend, and stranger alike, making merry with them. They feel loved, and comforted, for the first time in a great while.

#text post #sometimes I write as if possessed #IDK why #well #here you go #writing #short story

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filthy-darkweaver · 10 months

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Tea time for Faltheriel

"Why the interest in cultist activities?" Blonde Faltheriel prodded at his black-capped signet ring, "What we have is an extremely unfortunate scenario. My king is Kael'thas Sunstrider in every timeline we are aware of, save this one. In every single scenario, he was redeemed in Outland. Sometimes Illidan has mercy on him and cures his racial addiction. In other timelines, Kael'thas plays the ole' game and outwits Kil'jaeden himself. In a few others, Jaina Proudmoore seeks him out to save him, and then she eventually becomes his queen."

The Night Elf priestess known as Opalbane cringed. She looked at nothing for a moment, then took up her cup of tea again.

Faltheriel winked at her, "Don't worry, in my timeline, a squadron of Blood Knights, specially-trained for the task, dragged Kael to redemption. And he married their captain, so no mages, blood nor Kirin Tor, were harmed in the making of my world." Faltheriel winced, "In other timelines, he marries Sylvanas, or another crush he had. One queen was an absolute knockout, a rebel Eredar woman he met while battling the Legion for control of Netherstorm. It varies."

"What??" Opal shook her head, "Well. A union between those two, Jaina and Kael, just seems the most cataclysmic of all to me." She sipped the aromatic ruby tea, "Even if Jaina and Kael made it work in a thousand other timelines, the initial clash of their personalities, their magics, it just makes me shudder. And maintaining peace between their kingdoms would be a nightmare job, at best--"

Faltheriel interrupted in a staunch tone, "In any case, things have come to a head at my end. That is why I need your husband's help."

Opal itched the center of her pale forehead. Her kaldorei features were characteristically youthful and flawless. It aroused instant ire in some, but Faltheriel couldn't help smiling at her exotic beauty. He was taxed with being treated like a handsome elven anomaly himself, being sin'dorei, and couldn't help feeling relief in their fast comraderie. But there was something else they both shared, a tinge of malice, a burnt-around-the-edges quality. Hers was the violet-dark of the Twilight Hammer Cult, and Faltheriel had been fully inculcated into the fel green Burning Legion before he escaped. So they were both once power-hungry addicts, but saved from damnation by true love, apparently. People who, once they knew the light in their souls, angrily fought to tear them out of their separate messes.

For a brief period, Faltheriel's obsession had extended to Opal's husband. However, that was a misunderstanding, and over ages ago. Hopefully. By his absence today, Triumvir Alessandre Shademoon was clearly not convinced.

Opal smirked, the thought of a gruesome conflict she might yet puzzle apart enticed someone like her. "Come to a head? So then, my husband the master spy is right and King Kael'thas intends to invade our world in some form? You're clearly the advance force, albeit a darkly charming one, Faltheriel." She reveled in staying so casual about such things, showed off with another langid sip of tea.

Faltheriel frowned at her, "I don't think it's so simple as that."

Opal grinned and showed her elven fangs, "Fine. Lie directly to my face. A civilization such as yours, a mighty Quel'thalas all but restored, bathed in the arcane once more, near fluent in time magics that were once considered the birthright of Bronze dragons alone. In your world, and under King Kael'thas Sunstrider, have become mere Blood Elf cantrips--"

Faltheriel flattened finely gloved hands on the table, on either side of his storm-gray cup. "We are not speaking of invasion!"

"No? It sounds like Kael'thas has not changed in any era. We're finished with our business then." She set her teacup down with a firm clack, rose from the table. "I'll tell my husband, the assassin, to escort you the hell back--what happened to the main-world you, anyway? From this timeline? You dispose of him?"

Faltheriel checked at her mood swifting from reviling him, to mild curiosity. As mild as the Opal's Bane got.

"No, I--he was already dead." Faltheriel chanced showing true emotion on the matter of his alternative demise, "Just by, horrible, horrible chance."

Opal lay a hand on her hip. She wore a darkened mauve-and-white version of moon priestess robes.

"The um, marvelous strip club where my now husband worked, where we first met. It didn't exist. The Goblin man who dreamed it up got discouraged early on in his business pursuit by those who would judge him harshly, so he decided to keep his beloved kinks and cravings underground. A secret. And so, there was no prominent gay strip club at that end of Kezan, drawing handsome Night Elves and men of all races to come and dance." He watched her, he couldn't resist seeing whether Opal was as morally open as she purported to be. She looked right back at him, solemn. "So, on a certain night, the other me did not end up someplace naughty-but-nice. He ended up someplace truly nasty instead, indulging another kind of addiction."

"Fel magic?"

"Whatever passes for strong enough stuff in the bowels of Kezan. Between that and my utter loneliness and desolation trapped in the Legion, I destroyed myself. I'm sure the gruesome loss of my liege pushed me beyond the limit."

Opal lingered, a manicured hand on her chair. Then, she sat down again. Her voice was tender, "But in the other Azeroth, where you are from. You found and married this man?"

Faltheriel gently cleared his throat, "Dannox was a high-ranking druid, he'd faced plenty of nightmares. Perhaps worse ones than mine. Suddenly, a had a seasoned champion fighting on my side. And then there's my wife--"

Opal went instantly on the defense. She dug nails into the table.

"I got married twice! It's not like that. I'm not cheating. We're all together, we have a... we are a triad."

Opal relaxed some, "But about Kael'thas..."

"That is also so unlike what you must be thinking. It is a different world, Opal. King Kael'thas is disturbed that this is the one timeline, the only one, where he has not succeeded in defeating the Legion, come home as a triumphant king. Wouldn't you be? And people, other Blood Elves especially, will one day learn about this. We couldn't hope to keep it a secret for long."

Opal regained her knowing look, "So Kael wants to take the throne, here, to consolidate his power? Quell the doubt in his own timeline. About his true character, his motivations, practically every decision he makes on the throne. He must have some serious opposition."

"It's... yes, that comes into it. But that opposition exists only because the world is a dangerous place."

"Typical Azeroth, I suppose. The Alliance should give him a hard time, in my opinion. It's a wonder the Draenei of your timeline can stomach Kael'thas as a king."

"There, you see? And it's undecided yet whether he will build a permanent time-rampart in order to rule in both places--"

"Time rampart!" It did sound a bit evil, Faltheriel allowed for that.

"Or if King Kael'thas will merely reach out to his counterpart here in the Shadowlands, help him to retake the throne."

Opal scowled, "That Kael'thas is dead. You'd be putting a literal undead man on the throne. We already had that in Lordaeron."

Faltheriel brightened, "He'd be the Sun King forever! Eternal youth, a constant celebrity on the throne, and stability for Quel'thalas!"

Opal swore under her breath, what Faltheriel could hear at the end of it was, "...You damned fanboy zealot."

"Uh, the other thing, priestess, that I hoped your people would be greatly interested in is the task I have, from my good king, to discover why this anomaly has happened. Why was Kael'thas an utter failure and a despot on this version of Azeroth?"

"What?"

"I... well, there was some kind of timeline meddling, surely. By the Primalists? Or, Murozond? Or perhaps the Legion that hasn't actually been conquered like we think?"

Opal stared for a time, "I rather think the timeline has been altered, the other way around, in Kael'thas' favor."

"I don't follow you," Faltheriel's smile was certainly condescending.

"Your king wins in every single timeline there is? In all of existence? Not even Nozdormu... not as Murozond. He was never so lucky, the aspect of Time itself."

Faltheriel's smile hardened. "What, precisely are you implying so boldly, and to my face?"

Opal narrowed her gaze at him, "And Kael’thas so conveniently chased his lusts, whatever was the flavor of the moment. One queen was an eredar did you say? Where is his soulmate in any of this! Did he manage to marry his succubus in another timeline??"

"How DARE you!"

Now they were both up on their feet.

"Faltheriel Darkweaver! It is highly irregular that Kael'thas is rich, handsome and victorious, married to some hot dish in every single variation of Azeroth available to us! Don't you think? You're being played for a fool! This isn't about his vanity, at least I hope not! A man that vain would be insane, dangerous, worse than Denathrius himself, worse than Sargeras!"

Faltheriel gasped, clutched at his silken necktie, "You take that back!"

"And you open your eyes! Admit that Kael'thas is a villain, and he's coming to invade our world. I said it before, jokingly, but yes! You are the advanced force. Look at you!The scouting mission before the storm. Can't you see that?"

Faltheriel sat right back down, drained his teacup and resumed his lunch. His elegant apartment in Valdrakken was extremely quiet in that long, weird moment where he preferred to fuss with slicing the dainty remnants of a homemade roast and sprouts on his plate.

"I... I am not a scout. I consider myself more of a shocktroop!" His final, vain retort.

Opal growled and stormed out of there.

Faltheriel shouted after her, "Well we don't have to get along! Will you help me or not? We do still have a common enemy!"

Opal slammed the door behind her.

Faltheriel kept eating, alone, with his excellent manners until he cleaned his plate. He did briefly consider that he may be brainwashed and that his master Kael'thas craved more than perfection, but dominion, in some long-range plan that involved controlling the timelines. That Kael'thas, in every timeline, would, before too long, prove to be an insatiable, evil man.

But then he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a white cloth napkin. "She's just bitter! I'm closer to serving a godlike creature than she will ever be and it infuriates her! Ex-cultist witch!"

Another thought occurred to Faltheriel soon after. Did this mean her husband, Alessandre, would be out to assassinate him again?

Faltheriel threw up his hands, exasperated, "Oh balls! Fine, then. What will this be, the tenth time? Bring it on, Big Al!"

Alessandre murdering Faltheriel. That seemed to be another constant in every timeline.

#story

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