biolumien

[biolumien]

you’re… something | astarion x oc

note: i love thinking abt writing something rather than actually writing it, don’t you? lol. minos is my seldarine drow bard that i’m playing for my current run of baldur’s gate 3 :)

The Underdark is beautiful.

In a way.

Bioluminescent mushrooms almost murmur as timmask spores perfume the air below, and the entire place seems to breathe with quiet majesty.

Minos’s eye stares out. Once, he could perceive the depth of the cliffs below—and yet, now, it’s murky, hard to tell. A vast drop, sure, but it holds less power than before. He isn’t sure whether or not to be happy about it.

“I would think you would be more thrilled to return home,” Astarion’s voice is always composed, prim, and proper. He never approaches from Minos’s periphery, though. Minos doesn’t ask why. “Instead, this entire time you’ve been here, you’ve had a bit of an unsightly little grimace upon your face. Displeased, are you?”

He feels and hears Astarion more than he sees him—he feels the soft, sauntering steps, the sharp inhalation of breath like Astarion’s not quite sure whether or not this breath will be his last.

Minos’s lips quirk in a downward smile, or something like a grimace.

“Not quite,” Minos says.

Astarion hums.

Minos hears him sit down on his right, settling his weight delicately on the stone.

Minos doesn’t talk about his partial blindness. Not really. Mostly because it shouldn’t be a big deal. It doesn’t come up in discussion. It hasn’t made him a worse fighter, hell, a worse bard. He’s managed fine. But it bothers him still, somewhat, for some reason. Bothers him that Astarion won’t sit on the left, and let Minos see him. Not that Astarion even knows, but then again, shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t they all, with their illithid connection—

No.

Astarion is close-lipped. He is close-minded, but in the sense that he shuts off how he feels from others.

There’s something there, of course—buried down deep is a story to be truly dissected, about his scars and about his vampiric nature.

Minos wonders, of course, when he will be given the gift of Astarion’s story.

“Baldur’s Gate is.. was more of a home than this place,” Minos says after a moment.

Astarion shifts.

“You’re from Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion’s voice is… possibly curious, though tinged with his signature flare of uncaring sarcasm.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Minos says.

“I thought that drow burned in the sunlight,” Astarion replies coolly. Minos can’t see his expression, but he imagines that Astarion’s lips have curled upwards, his red eyes sharp like bloodstone.

“You live in Baldur’s Gate,” Minos says. “And you burn in the sunlight.”

Minos turns his face now, to look at Astarion properly. His initial guess about Astarion’s expression is right. But as Minos continues to speak, Astarion’s gaze fixates on the chasms below, his brow furrowed.

“I would hardly call it living,” Astarion rasps. “To be under the thumb of a vampire master and jerked around for his every whim, a dog at his beck and call…”

Astarion’s voice sharpens.

“That’s not living at all.”

Minos hums.

“But I tire of this,” Astarion says, in a way where Minos can tell he’s not bored of talking about himself at all, but that this amount of vulnerability is the thing that makes him uncomfortable and puts him on edge. “Tell me about your story. How does a Seldarine drow end up in Baldur’s Gate?”

Minos laughs.

“My parents and I escaped the Underdark when I must have been… eight, nine? I don’t remember,” Minos says. “We moved to the Lower City. My mother and father repaired instruments. I played them to test them. Pretty good life, all things considered.”

Minos traces patterns onto the stone floor.

He’s spent more time not seeing his parents than he’s spent seeing them. He barely remembers their faces anymore, he thinks. A wrinkle on skin. A broader nose, softer jaw. A bubbling laugh. Dappled sunlight on wood, the searing pain of light against his skin as his mother whisked him up. He can’t picture her face, only the swift movement as he went from the ground and then lifted upwards.

“Don’t know who my parents pissed off, but one day I smelled smokepowder, and that was it. The shop, my home, my parents—gone in an instant.”

He’d been forced to fend for himself. He was drow, after all—no kind word or aid would ever be extended to him.

“It wasn’t right,” Minos says. “For me to be the last one alive. I should have died.”

His head throbs, and he winces as he feels the tadpole press at the back of his eye, carving out space in his brain as it takes the memories, nibbles on his anguish. He leans forward, letting out a low groan of pain.

Astarion watches.

He thinks he sees Astarion extend a hand, but it dangles somewhere between them, and he does not cross the gap.

“The explosion took your sight,” Astarion says.

Minos snaps his head up as the tadpole ceases its movement.

Astarion’s face is impassive.

“What?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly growing a touch defensive. His expression settles on something more neutral, relaxed. “I notice these things, you know. You are not nearly as sly as you think you are. You favor your left side. Twice Lae’zel has called out for you to avoid an obstacle on your immediate right and you failed to notice. At first, I thought it must have been because you were playing a fool. But I see now.”

“I—”

Astarion stands.

Minos feels hot embarrassment creeping its way onto his face.

“If it’s any consolation,” Astarion says, and he seems to take pause. He shakes his head, jerking it slightly. “You…”

He looks at Minos again, and Minos wonders what expression he must have on his face if Astarion is looking at him like this, like he’s properly seeing Minos for the first time.

“You’re… I think… you’re… something.”

With that, Astarion stalks off back into the camp, and Minos is left alone, staring out into the chasms below.

#baldurs gate iii #astarion #astarion x oc

[biolumien]

sing, muse, of the passion of the pistol

[biolumien]

i love running on WET BRICKS!!

clip for bigger project iwant to make

[biolumien]

staying here | rin (oc) & muriel

tw: implied drug use (dont ask me where they acquired the weed. how would i know. literally how would i know)

“m so out of it, muri,” rin exhales as they press their face to muriel’s fur cloak, their fingers knotting into it. 

muriel’s breathing is jittery. 

“i told you you couldn’t handle it,” muriel murmurs, carding a gentle hand through rin’s hair. muriel’s hands are always gentle, never exactly touching rin fully. “smoking.” 

rin shakes their head petulantly, blinking blearily upwards. 

they want nothing more than to just close their eyes, but they think they see muriel cracking a grin. 

“how’re you fine,” rin’s voice is kind of slurring. maybe. they bury their face back into muriel’s cloak. “meanie…” 

“mean,” muriel says, as if tasting the word. he shrugs. it feels like a mountain moving under rin’s touch. “i’m just better.” he sounds light. humorous. it’s something rin’s not quite sure they’ve seen. or heard. 

“mm,” rin mumbles. “muri.”

“mm?” muriel hums in response. 

“i had a dream about this once,” rin blurts. the weed makes them honest, at least. they don’t even have the energy or self-awareness to blush. 

“about smoking?” muriel teases?

“no,” rin whines. oh, gods. they can’t even feel embarrassed at the petulant cry leaving their lips. “you-you know. you know what— what i…”

“shh, shh,” muriel murmurs. “there there. a dream about this, right? me holding you?” 

rin thinks their face is burning. they nod. 

“… it’s funny,” muriel says after a moment. it might have been a few seconds. but it feels like a century of silence. “we’ve… you…” muriel doesn’t finish his sentence. 

bloodied fingers clutch onto fine silk.

"your… your shirt,” muriel whispers weakly. “i— i’m messing it up.”

rin shakes their head, running a hand through muriel’s hair. slowly detangling it with deft fingers. “you’re not ruining anything, friend.” they smile impishly. “plus, nadia will replace this instantly.”

”storyweaver,” the word is hard to say through shaky breaths, muriel’s chest heaving as he feels himself start to panic. “stay—“

“—with me.”

“hm?” muriel looks down at the curled up form pressed close to him. 

“stay,” rin implores. 

”always,” rin says.

“always,” muriel says.

#the arcana #the arcana fan character #the arcana fan apprentice #fan apprentice #the arcana muriel #muriel #muriel of the kokhuri #rin #tw: marijuana #dude dont even ask me #wrote like the first paragraph of this WHILE high so yk what I DONT wanna fuckin HEAR IT

[biolumien]

unquenchable flame | rin (oc) & muriel

“please, rin,” asra implores. “i’m doing this to keep you safe. please, please understand that.” in the magician’s hand is a small box, and his other hand is clutched in a tight formation, his fingers bending as if holding tightly to a tether. 

“safe,” rin’s voice echoes. 

but it’s not quite human. green sparks fly from their clothes, their skin. their eyes are illuminated with fire, their teeth bared into a snarl. 

“safe?!” rin’s voice booms. 

and then it’s made abundantly clear— 

asra has constructed a prison. a cage to hold—

“please calm down,” asra says, his voice more of an order now. “i’ve been barely able to restore your human form—”

“what makes you think i want it?” rin screams. the skin of their hand shatters, replaced with brilliant green fire. the skin around their eyes crumbles, giving way to brilliant green underneath. “just because you got it back for me? LIED to me?” 

“i didn’t— i didn’t lie,” asra tries. “i just wanted to keep you safe. when you-when you died, i was so heartbroken, rin. i did this— i was going to do anything to bring you back.” 

“shut up. SHUT UP,” rin screams, throwing their hand out to throw a wave of fire at the cage’s wall. asra wheezes, the air knocked out of him as the fire connects. “i don’t want to hear your excuses. you sad, pathetic excuse for a magician— you lied to me this entire time. everyone in town stared at me like i was an abomination—”

their human form shatters like glass. gives way to pure fire, crackling and untamed. 

“all because you couldn’t move on with your fucking loss!” rin’s fist made contact with the cage’s wall. the wall rumbles, and asra coughs again. blood trickles from his lip. 

muriel, sweet thing— has watched the entire time, silent and unmoving. but as soon as asra begins to bleed, he rushes for his friend, his hand glancing asra’s back, not fully touching. 

“i never asked for this,” rin sobs, slumping down. “never asked to be brought back to life. from how i fuckin’ see it, everything went to shit because i was brought back. if i died that day— if i died at the lazaret… then i should’ve been left for dead.” 

their tears are fire, burning the grass beneath them. 

“i’m sorry,” asra’s voice cracks. “i’m so… so sorry.” 

“you’re SORRY?!” an explosion of power shatters the cage. asra flies back, landing in the ground with a groan of pain. rin’s eyes are furious. “sorry doesn’t fix this! sorry doesn’t— doesn’t fix the heart of the forest dying. doesn’t fix the fact that lucio is out for *blood* because—”

muriel’s arms are wrapped around rin’s body, his fingers grazing across the burning fire. he grits his teeth— it hurts, of course—

“none of this,” muriel whispers, his voice steady, “is your fault.” 

“let me go,” rin hisses, their voice becoming more desperate. “please.” their body wobbles, the flames sparking and dancing as if to jump away— but they don’t. their weight, whatever it is now— remains in muriel’s arms. 

“no,” muriel says. more confident than he feels. “you can’t go.” one of his hands rests against the small of rin’s back, the other holding their hair. it burns. his skin screams with pain, but—

“please,” rin cries. “i’m hurting you— i’m burning you.” fiery tears drip onto muriel’s fur cloak, singing it. 

“my heart,” muriel whispers. “my firebug. i need you here. storyweaver. please.” muriel’s hands reach up to cradle the crackling, flaming edges of rin’s face. “you’ve been here for me. when i faltered. how could i n-not, for you?” he laughs wetly, realizing the tears on his own face. 

rin’s breath shudders. at once, the flames seem to cool down as they lean into muriel’s touch, sobbing openly. 

“i’m sorry,” rin cries. “i— i didn’t— i didn’t, i—”

“shh,” muriel murmurs. “i’m here. i’m here. you’re safe.” 

he’s not quite sure how long they stay like this, rin’s fire crackling across his skin. but eventually, it becomes gentler. warm, but not burning. he turns to asra, who has approached slowly with an extended hand to soothe the angry red burns on muriel’s skin. 

rin’s form flickers. they almost look how they used to— nearly fully human, but the green glow under their flesh seemed to suggest otherwise. 

“i’m… sorry, asra,” rin says. “i didn’t mean to-to hurt you.” 

“you’re alright,” asra says. “your reaction… is completely normal, given the circumstance.” a small smile plays on his lips. “but i mean it. you’re a friend. and i— the last thing i wanted is for you to get hurt and implicated in this.” 

rin sighs. 

“yes,” rin murmurs. “but now we move forward.” 

they take one of muriel’s hands in theirs, running their thumbs over his knuckles. their touch is unbearably hot, feverish. maybe that will never leave. 

“stay with me,” rin says, not meeting muriel’s eyes. 

something approaching a crooked smile forms on muriel’s lips. 

“always.”

#the arcana #the arcana fan character #the arcana fan apprentice #fan apprentice #the arcana muriel #the arcana asra #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel #asra #rin

[biolumien]

storyweaver | rin (oc) & muriel

“who was i? before all this,” rin says. the silver glow of the steppe shine light onto rin’s face as they cock their head towards muriel. “before i…”

they dance around it. the issue of being known as dead, technically. 

muriel swallows. 

“… you read me stories,” muriel says. “storyweaver. is what asra called you.” 

“i did?” rin asks, as if surprised at themselves. 

“after all my matches,” muriel mutters, not meeting rin’s eyes. focused heavily on the ground, his lower lip tightly bit. “you would come. to the coliseum, and read. didn’t— it didn’t matter to you if i hated myself to the point i just—”

muriel’s fist tightens. 

“storyweaver,” muriel repeats. “that’s what you were. are, still.” 

“did you love me?” 

muriel’s face blooms red. 

rin laughs, nudging muriel’s fur cloak teasingly. 

“don’t feel pressured to answer,” rin says. “i know you. hard to put your feelings into words. same for me.” 

“… that’s what’s also different,” muriel says. “you never used to be unsure like that. you always had a word for everything.”

#the arcana #the arcana fan character #the arcana fan apprentice #fan apprentice #the arcana muriel #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel #rin

[biolumien]

anger doesn't fill an empty heart, empty stomach | mareike (ofc) & julian

“are you… mad at me?” 

“what?” mareike eyes julian, a gentle scoff passing her lips. “why? have you given me a reason to be mad at you, dr. devorak?” 

“no, no,” julian says immediately. “nothing. nothing like that.” his smile is crooked as he leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “just… i left. for three years. and i’ve…”

his breath is shaky. “and i’ve only barely begun to remember you. aren’t you mad?” 

mareike hums.

it’s strange. she’s angry all the time. feels it in her blood, pulsing through her veins. it’s her conduit for her magic— her one source of power. 

“i was mad,” mareike says slowly. her hand reaches to touch julian’s shoulder, not missing how julian seems to relax bonelessly, as if a weight he didn’t realize he was holding dissipated. “was. you left me, y’know? left without explanation. and then— then you come back, and what? you don’t remember me? you prosecute yourself in front of the countess, the entirety of vesuvia— for a crime i know you didn’t commit?” 

she laughs. 

“i was furious,” she says. “but… i missed you.” 

julian’s lips are parted, mouthing something wordlessly. 

he shakily exhales. 

“i missed you too, lovely,” he murmurs.

#the arcana #the arcana fan character #the arcana fan apprentice #fan apprentice #the arcana oc #the arcana julian #julian #julian devorak #mareike

[biolumien]

hope and the absence of it | avis (oc) & asra

“who was i?”

avis watches as asra falls silent. worries his lip, quiet and contemplative. his brow furrows. avis wants nothing more than to reach out, press it flat. they’re not sure where that comes from. 

“you…” asra’s voice is quiet. “… were a very, very powerful magus. probably the most powerful of our time.” 

“i know that,” avis tries not to sound irritable. “i know that *that* was stolen from me.”

“i’m sorry,” asra says. “i-i know, that-that what i’m saying isn’t— it’s not helpful. to remind you of what you’ve lost. of what might not come back.” 

the magician’s words ring in avis’s ears. 

“what if you were a monster, little bug? what then?”

“did i hurt you?” 

asra’s gaze flicks to avis’s face, down to their hands. their clasped hands, holding tightly to a bound tome. 

“if anything,” asra says after a moment. “you were too good at trying to make sure no one else could be hurt in the gamble you tried.” asra’s smile is wan. “but the only one who has suffered is you, my friend.”

#the arcana #the arcana fan character #fan character #the arcana fan apprentice #fan apprentice #asra #the arcana asra #avis #the magician

[biolumien]

little boy king | jaxen (omc) & lucio

“fucking idiot,” jaxen’s voice is harsh, a deep growl from somewhere in his chest that doesn’t sound human at all. he licks his chapped, dried lips as his teeth form into something akin to a snarl, his lips peeled back. 

lucio is cowering now. 

good. 

jaxen always liked it when he made someone cower. reminded them of their place. 

reminded them of just how fucking useless they were to stop him. 

a small glowing ball of magic— he sees it in the myriad-eyes of the Hunger. a dark red thing, sparking and crackling with all of the Devil’s energy. at the center of lucio’s chest, embedded where his heart was. 

“you— you, you can’t,” lucio breathes weakly as jaxen steps closer. lucio’s feet scrabble against the ground, not finding purchase. “you can’t, jax, please—”

the demon beckons. 

“now, jaxen, do it,” the hunger whispers. the snow from the star’s labyrinth falls on jaxen’s horns, against the rippling sinew of muscle and just— wrongness. “take it. the devil’s power.” 

oh, how he wants to. 

but why? why doesn’t he? why doesn’t he sink his claws into lucio’s body, powerless and weakened by the cold—

“one good reason,” jaxen’s voice almost returns to him, the dulcet tones of something approaching almost-human. “one good reason as to why i ought to let you keep it.” 

“because— because we have to help each other,” lucio says weakly. “because if-if you kill me and take it now, then you don’t— you don’t get to take power from the source.” jaxen watched as lucio becomes more emboldened, sits up a little. “we can still *help* each other.” 

jaxen’s not sure what makes him falter. 

but his powers recede. 

the hunger quiets, if only for a moment. deeply discontented, of course— but…  quiet. 

“fine,” jaxen says. his voice is sharp. “but double cross me again, boy king…” he leans down to grip lucio’s face with cold fingers. “and see how much i’m willing to bite.” 

#the arcana #the arcana fan character #the arcana game #the arcana lucio #lucio #montag morgasson #montag #the arcana fan apprentice #fan apprentice #jaxen