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bakuliwrites · 9 months

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Just to Be Held- Astarion x Reader

I’ve had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told? You were my first.

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Baldur's Gate III

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader

Tags: Discussions of sex, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional, body autonomy, Baldur's Gate III spoilers, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Affection, Gender-Neutral Tav, Astarion's POV, Tiny Kisses, In this house we cherish and love Astarion the way he deserves to be cherished and loved

Summary: Astarion and Tav share a quiet, peaceful moment together along their journey. Astarion learns that he is valued and loved. Read here or over on my AO3.

Sometimes, when Astarion drinks from you, it's overwhelming. The sensation of his teeth piercing your skin, pin-pricks in your tender flesh, warm blood welling up to greet his lips. He can feel himself drowning, every nerve ending in his body lit aflame. It's almost too much as iron bursts across his taste-buds, flooding his throat with the heat rushing through your veins.

He drinks to sate and never in excess. He's certain that if he let himself partake in too much of you, his mind might never rest, though it is tempting at times. All the years he's spent in darkness, forced to consume the blood of pests and creatures far less appetizing than you, have left him longing for sweeter meals. But he hadn't accounted for how utterly overwhelming that might be.

When he's finished, he pulls back, breathless and overheated. It's as if he's febrile. Sometimes, he's filled with a clarity, a strength unlike anything he's ever felt before. Other times, his skin feels like it's on fire. Like with the slightest coercion, he might combust. In these moments, all he really wants is to rest. But he’s never known rest, and he’s not quite sure how to ask for such a thing. So he resorts to what he knows: teasing you with tantalizing promises of illicit rendezvous’ or making some sort of snide remark before stalking off into the night.

Sometimes, his encounters with you end in said trysts. Most often, however, they don’t. It’s almost frustrating how unbothered you seem when, after he’s done feeding from you, he doesn’t initiate anything further. You sit almost passively, waiting for Astarion to make a move, seemingly content either way the night ends. If you’re not doing this for sex, he wonders, then why the hell are you helping him at all? Surely, no thinking creature would want something so important as their blood to be taken from them without getting something in return. At least, that’s his logic for it. It almost makes him trust you less for not demanding recompense.

So, no stranger to confrontation, Astarion decides it’s high time you gave him some sort of explanation. As you enter his tent that night, he greets you with a steely gaze, a frown deepening the lines of his face.

“Are you alright, Astarion?” you quietly venture, boots crunching over gravel. A small branch snaps under the weight of your steps, causing you to flinch as if the rest of your party is going to hear it from where they slumber. When they don’t come bursting through the tent flaps, your shoulders relax once again and you turn back to the pale elf before you. Your furtiveness is almost endearing, Astarion realizes, and irritatingly so.

“What are you getting out of this little arrangement of ours?” he blurts, crossing his arms over his chest and passing you the most petulant gaze he can muster. He watches a look of shock pass over your face, before it settles into something pensive.

“I- I don’t know,” you mutter, “I guess- I haven’t really thought about it as something I would ‘get anything’ out of. It’s just- you need to feed. And I’m happy to provide.”

“You know, most people would expect something in return,” he reasons, dissatisfied with your answer, “It’s not as if what you’re doing is a minor inconvenience for you, like letting me borrow a hanky or something. I’m draining you of something rather necessary for you to live.”

“I mean,” you return with a shrug, looking rather flummoxed by his outburst, “It’s not like you’re taking a lot.”

“Tsk,” he huffs, realizing he’s not going to get anywhere with this line of questioning. Perhaps asking you was a fruitless endeavor from the start. Astarion drops the subject, pouting as you settle in to let him take what he needs from you. You bare your neck to him, relaxing on his bedroll as he leans down to sink his teeth into you. It’s always the same each time: your involuntary gasp as his teeth pierce your flesh, the combination of both his and your relaxed exhales as he drinks.

Maybe it’s the humid night air or maybe it’s his own frustration, but Astarion feels the fever in him build with each sip he takes from you. A pyretic euphoria, born of longing for blood more nourishing than what he had to resort to for two whole centuries. He feels satiated by you and it’s almost- embarrassing. He feels mortified to react so viscerally, so enthusiastically. He pulls back suddenly, watching you wince as he roughly removes himself from your neck. But the irritation on your face dissipates when you meet his gaze.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you offer, your voice so gentle, it hurts him, “You seem preoccupied.”

Astarion hardens his gaze, gritting his teeth and opting to remain silent. Of course he’s preoccupied, but it’s nothing he wants to delve into. Least of all with you. But instead you decide to pry, speaking up with a tender, “Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly, no,” he returns, glancing sheepishly away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, crimson smearing his pale skin. He bites the inside of his cheek, snagging it with his sharpened canine, hoping it’ll stop the stinging threat of tears in his eyes.

“You can go now. I’m done with you,” he coldly spits, avoiding your gaze. He hears the rustle of fabric as you obediently lift yourself from his bedroll and make your way to the tent flap. But instead of opening it and leaving like you normally would, you pause, your hand grasping the fabric.

“I like being with you,” you quietly explain, turning to face the vampire spawn, “You asked me what I get out of this arrangement of ours. Well, I just- I guess I just like you.”

Astarion frowns, arms still crossed and posture stiff as a board. But he can’t hold his silver-tongue, despite his upset.

“Unfortunate, really,” he murmurs, unable to help the smile tugging at his lips when you laugh.

“I don’t need to ‘get anything’ out of this time with you,” you go on, letting go of the tent flap and striding back towards him. You kneel down, eyes filled with a brightness Astarion can hardly believe is meant for him. A silence passes as you wait for him to respond. He fidgets with his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists before he finally allows his shoulders to slump and an exhausted sigh to escape his lips. His body still feels overworked, heated and unable to settle.

“I assumed that sex was what you wanted from me,” he starts, still unable to look you in the eye, “Stupid assumption. It’s the only thing I’m-”

It’s the only thing I’m good for, he wants to say, but stops himself.

“Well, let’s be honest,” he chuckles ruefully, trying to divert your attention from his unfinished statement, “I wanted that, too. I mean, how could I not.” He says this with a sly smile, something impish twinkling in his eyes as he sweeps over your form. But then his face falls and he casts his glance to the ground again.

“It’s just- sex isn’t always what I want,” he finishes, “And I assumed that it’s what you wanted. So I guess I was- I don’t know- worried that you would be disappointed when we don’t tear each other apart like animals every time I feed from you.”

Another pause, this time filled with anticipation. With anxiety. For some reason, when Astarion has been around you lately, he’s found himself incapable of holding his tongue. He spills his thoughts left and right to you. It’s terrifying, the effect you seem to be having on him. It’s taken him a long time, but still, he isn’t sure he should trust you. Yet here he is, regurgitating deep-seated fears that are better left buried in the rot that’s bloomed in his mind.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he hears you whisper, pulling him from worry, coaxing him from the tendrils of self-hatred and disgust that have entangled him for two hundred years. He glances at you, disbelief in his crimson eyes before a rueful smile breaks his shock.

“You are far too kind to me,” he chuckles, a cocky smile on his face.

“I mean it,” you return, brows crinkling your forehead, “We don’t even have to touch if you don’t want to. And if you don’t want to keep this arrangement anymore, that’s totally fine. I’d be happy to help you find another source of food. I won’t be hurt.”

He eyes you suspiciously, scanning you for any hint that you might burst out laughing at some sort of cruel joke you’ve made, or some sign that you’re absolutely bullshitting him. The look you’re giving him is almost naive. He scowls, nauseated by your sincerity.

“Well, I don’t mind physical affection,” he mutters, desperately trying to hold on to his air of indifference, “Just-”

His shoulders slump as he releases a heavy sigh. He’s been worn down by your patience, worn down by years of keeping everything to himself. Here you are, offering up companionship without any expectation. Here you are, sitting in front of him, telling him that you actually, for some gods’ forsaken reason, like spending time with him and you’re not expecting any sort of compensation from him. So why is he trying so desperately to push you away?

“All I’ve ever been is used,” Astarion admits, wondering if he’ll regret this admission later. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, like it always does. “I don’t get a say in what happens to my body. I don’t get a say in what happens to me at all.”

“Astarion,” you breathe, gently cupping his face and turning his head so he can meet your gaze. His eyes are filled with a deep sorrow, the desolation of two hundred years scarring every crimson facet of his irises. In you, he sees no ounce of malice, no smarmy flattery, or deceit. All he sees is you, offering him your kindness, offering your companionship, expecting nothing in return.

“What do you want?” you go on, “Right here. Right now.”

Astarion’s mouth goes dry. His blood, your blood, threads through his veins like white hot needles. His nerves feel open to the air, every brush of the wind on his skin like lightning shooting through his body. Overwhelmed. He’s so overwhelmed.

“I just want to be held,” he finally whispers, and the absolute devastation in his voice threatens to break what little composure is left in that tent.

“I think I can do that,” you return, smiling softly. You let him take the lead, laying back on the soft bedroll beneath, waiting for him to decide what he wants to do. He sits beside you, cautious. He is raw and he is new, shivering from his overworked nerves, cold from the overpowering feeling of sweet blood in his body.

Gently, Astarion lays his head down on your chest and tenses, unsure of what to do. When was the last time he was gifted a moment to just rest? To just lay in the arms of another? He can’t remember, and thus, he can’t even remember how to relax. He shifts uncomfortably where he lays, trying to find some position where his arm isn’t falling asleep. You give no protest, patient as he rearranges himself. Finally, he finds something suitable and goes back to resting his head on your chest.

“I can stay as long as you’d like me to,” you offer, your voice reverberating through your body, before you both fall quiet.

In the silence, Astarion listens to the powerful thrum of your heart, the way it beats in rhythm to an unsung tune. He hears the air constrict in your lungs when he first rests his head upon you, before you let out a deep, comforting sigh. Crickets chirp in a jovial dissonance beyond the fabric of the tent and a wolf howls sorrowfully somewhere in the distance.

Astarion can still taste the metal of your blood on his tongue. He can smell it rushing through your veins, nourishing and enticing. It mingles with the faint smell of whatever makes you you, whatever pleasant natural musk you have that has become so comfortingly familiar over the months. The curling smoke of the fire outside has woven itself into your clothing, though it is not unpleasant in scent.

Astarion glances up at you from where he lays, studying your serene face. Your eyes are closed, eyelashes feathering shadows on your cheeks. Your mouth is parted ever so slightly as you doze, lips evoking pleasant memories of the way they’ve felt against his skin in nights past. He lets his eyes rove for a moment, searching the tent ceiling as if he’ll find something particularly interesting up there. He doesn’t, except for a small hole he’ll have to patch, come morning. Though, it is nice to see a couple twinkling stars peeking through the broken fabric.

As his eyes flutter shut, Astarion feels the heat from your body, cozy and benevolent. He presses further into you, wanting desperately to feel your closeness. In response, your arm wraps around him, pulling him nearer. Your nails tickle his back as you rub small circles into it. Snowy ringlets caress his forehead when a breeze picks up the fine strands of his hair. The earth beneath him isn’t terribly comfortable, but between you and the bedroll, he doesn’t much care.

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion thinks he might feel peace. It’s very possible, he decides, that in this quiet moment, he feels safe. In your arms, he could let down his defenses. Wrapped in your warmth, Astarion could allow himself to be vulnerable.

He slips his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers, quietly whispering that he’d like it if you stayed the rest of the night.

"Also, if you could possibly not tell the others about this?" he adds, somewhat jokingly, "Can't let them think I've gone soft."

"Your secret's safe with me," you chuckle, before smiling softly at him and pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. He lets the feeling wash over him, calm and comfort him. When his body settles, when his mind finally manages to quiet, Astarion lets his eyelids fall shut. He lets you envelope him in your embrace. He lets himself sleep, knowing he’s safe with you. Astarion lets himself dream, and they’re the first pleasant dreams he’s had in centuries.

A/N: I normally do a banner for my fics, but I really wanted to use this gif I had made of one of my favorite Astarion cutscenes. It's where he admits to Tav that they're the first "thinking creature," as he puts it, that he's ever drank from. The line delivery is incredible, the way Astarion looks away is so heartbreaking and endearing. This small moment of vulnerability is one of the first ones we see from him and it just feels so special. I wanted to write a fic exploring how he might feel in regards to Tav letting him have the freedom of feeding from them. And I wanted to explore the idea that Astarion might find it odd if Tav doesn't expect anything in return. There's a later line in one of his cutscenes where he's very obviously self-conscious about the fact that he and Tav haven't been intimate in a while. His sense of self and value is so contingent on the fact that his body has been used for two hundred years. I wanted to write something for Astarion that would give him a peace, gentility, and rest, without sexual intimacy. Anyway, I could ramble on and on about this forever. Perhaps I need to make a longer post about it, so I'll get on that.

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sassy-stupid · 4 months

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Pairing: Halsin x f!reader

Angsty fluff

Word count: 1,3k

Content warnings: none as far as I'm aware, but feel free to correct me if I missed anything.

Summary: Halsin is going through it, and you're worried about him.

Okay, so seeing the vid of all the companions as barbarians changed me. Not only do I now think Halsin would be perfect as barbarian in the 'nature's wrath' typa way, I also decided to make Gale a barbarian in my next playthrough. My boy had the most pathetic little shout, and i happen to think that's great.

Anyway, here's reader getting worried about sweet druid Halsin turning into raging barbarian Halsin. There will be a part two eventually. It will be smut. Sorry guys, but i can't keep the horny in check.

Also, this is rly more of a drabble than a fic, so I'm not naming it :)

Ever since you'd been unable to save the grove, Halsin had been unable to change into an animal. This change hit the archdruid hard. Not only did this mean that Silvanus saw no chance of redemption in him, it meant the rest of his connection with nature was gone.

At least that's what he had convinced himself of. You were not so sure. You still saw the way nature seemed to respond to his presence, a spark of natural magic still present in the large elf. And yet, you also saw the rage, the new way of fighting he'd adapted to at least try to end the shadow curse alongside you.

The first time he fought by your side since the loss shook you to your core. It seemed for a second that the gentle giant had disappeared. The deep war cry that left him would have stunned you had you not also been fighting the claws of a shadow monster off.

It left an impression on you. You didn't necessarily dislike his new demeanor, but it did worry you. It simply didn't seem like him.

"Halsin!" You call out to the man as he stands next to lae'zel's tent, sharpening his newly acquired battle axe. "Come look!" You'd spotted the ducklings near the ruin in your camp before, but you'd never pointed them out to anyone before. Something about seeing Halsin with the axe made you want to take his attention off the blasted thing as soon as possible, though.

Your plan was working. He put down the axe, jogging to your side in a way that made your heart flutter. What can you say, the man was big in a way that was very attractive to you, and his normally gentle ways only endeared him to you more.

"And what is it I'm here to look at?" He asks, looking straight at you instead of looking around. The lack of his usual perception skills bothered you a bit, but at the same time, you didn't mind his attention being on you either.

"Look over there," you speak more quietly now that you're closer to the animals, not wanting to scare them off. You softly guide him closer to them when you notice he still hasn't spotted the ducklings. "Thought I saw them in the grass yesterday, but the mother finally had the courage to come out!"

The heat of his skin against yours is nice but you chastise yourself for focusing on that when your mission is distracting him, not yourself.

"Oh, younglings this late in the season? The mother has her work cut out for her if she is to keep all of them safe until adulthood." Halsin's voice seems to soften and you can almost physically feel the connection between him and nature. "Though maybe she should give up while she's ahead, protecting what is dear to you is sometimes...simply impossible."

The pain in his voice is clear to you, his eyes steeling. "There will always be new dangers to threaten it after all," Halsin speaks, a new edge entering his voice. "Always new ways to fail," anger. "Always injustice." Rage.

The increasing volume scares of the mother duck, sending the ducklings scattering across the lake. The seething man next to you seems to be too caught up in his anger to even realize. But you do, you realize maybe more than you should have.

A moments hesitation, maybe you shouldn't be getting this involved in Halsin's feelings and inner turmoil. After all you were part of the cause of it all, you'd failed to protect the Grove just as much as he had. What would you do if he turned this newfound rage to you?

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. This was no time to fear consequences to yourself. Halsin could use your help, so you have to try, even if that possibly leads to your favourite man in camp hating you.

"Halsin," you speak softly, almost like you're attempting to soothe him. "Look." The same words from before, spoken differently but accompanied with the same gentle guiding gesture.

It snaps him out of his inner spiral but the anger is clearly still there, barely even hidden beneath the surface. "I know nature has been rejecting you lately, that Silvanus has all but abandoned you." You subconsciously start stroking the man's back in an attempt to further soothe him as you try to make your point. "But this right now? It's you. You're scaring them off. I'm not sure if there's space in you for all this rage and the power of nature."

His eyes linger on your face for another while after the last words leave your lips before he diverts them back to the ducks. He doesn't speak, and for all your nerves, you're not as scared anymore. His posture became less tense and as he crouched down by the edge of the water, you see the old him again.

His hand reaches the water without disturbing it, and as the ducklings regroup near their mother, she swims up to him. You see the change in him the second she touches his hand. Like a world of weight fell off his shoulders, his burden still heavy, but bearable now.

A soft golden glow emanates from the water now, and before you can question anything, Halsin begins chuckling.

"By Silvanus, you were right! Nature never severed my ties, I was burning them with my own fury." he turns to you, still crouched by the ducks who've started nuzzling in his palm now. "You've returned an important piece of myself to me."

"I only pointed out some ducklings, Halsin. You did the rest." You send a wink his way before turning back to the rest of camp. "Oh! Does this mean I can give that sharpened axe to Karlach? She's been eyeing it," you ask, turning back to Halsin, barely noticing the blush creeping over his face. He merely nods in return, feeling his heart stir at the grin you give him.

You'd been right about the axe, Karlach's face when you handed it over to her could only be described with the same words one would use for an overjoyed child. She'd even vowed to you to keep the ribbon you'd put on the handle clean of blood so she could keep it on there.

Unbeknownst to you, as you were accepting the barbarian's expressions of gratitude, the druid that was admiring you form afar got cornered by the two other elves in camp.

"Say Halsin, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost say you're fawning over our dear little (y/n)." It was Astarion who spoke up first, but by her proximity, Halsin could tell Shadowheart had some words for him as well, most likely less sugar coated than Astarion's.

"She's not just our leader, Halsin," Shadowheart begins, "if you hurt her, we'll be forced to hurt you." The clear threat from the cleric was endearing to him. He liked knowing how much the others cared about you.

"Actually," Astarion continued. "I'm fairly certain if we really needed a druid on our travels, we wouldn't be too hard pressed to find one. Jaheira seems entertaining if nothing else." Astarion's thinly veiled threat was less endearing but the same thought process kept the smile on Halsin's face.

"Thank you both for stepping up like this. Though I assure you, I do not give my heart lightly, and I'm ready to offer her all of it." His eyes returned to you as he spoke, watching you fondly as Karlach lifted you into the air and swung you around.

"There is nothing in this world that could make me hurt her."

#halsin x reader #halsin x f!reader #halsin x reader fluff #halsin x reader angst #halsin #bg3 halsin #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 halsin #here's the 4am thing i was talking about #blaming any bad writing on sleep deprivation cuz i refuse to critically read this

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sorcerous-caress · 5 months

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It is so ridiculously, adorably, painfully wholesome (in a kinda twisted way?) that high elf loser would have continued to remain a porn rotted loser if Corellon hadn’t decided to give him one (1) friend to act as a sort of anchor to reality. I mean he’s still kind of a loser, but now he’s a loser with a friend that’s also a really hot fwb/fuckbuddy/maybe partner if his delusions ever come to fruition :) I really love the thought of the two of you still partaking in the hobbies you initially bonded over together, you coming over to his place to play the video games you like or watch TV shows you discussed. Like yeah sure sex is nice (especially when you beat his ass in a game and ride him on the couch so hard he cries) but also it’s probably really nice to have someone who sees him and accepts him for who he is and is happy to spend time with him :) It’s mostly a bonus that it comes wrapped in a gorgeous human frame that makes him so hard it hurts.

Like for a moment just imagine the sheer domestic bliss our beloved loser feels when you spontaneously decide to sleep over instead of going back to your place. How excited he gets when he realizes that he gets to keep you for the night and take care of you and make you food and then maybe, probably, plow you with all his characteristic desperation against the kitchen counter. And he finds himself looking forward to when you inevitably fall asleep in his bed because that means he’s gonna get to feel your warm, soft, human body pressed so nicely up against him for the hours you’re spent dreaming. Like mentioned he won’t touch you while you’re asleep (unless… the two of you have a discussion about that…) but just having every curve and line of your body against him has his cock hard enough to hurt while he drools a puddle of pre-cum into his sleep pants. Knowing how he is, he probably even thinks the little twitches/mumbles you make while you’re asleep are painfully endearing.

On that note: Morning sex? Waking up all drowsy and sleep-soft early in the morning and being surprised to see he’s in bed with you (when he sometimes gets bored or antsy and gets up to do other things while you’re unconscious), so you either roll over and climb on top of him for sleepy morning kisses? Or you drag him on top of you for the same? I know he’ll be pathetically ready to go either way

Also his possessiveness has me weak in the knees I cannot lie OTL He sees how heavily you are coveted and maybe it sparks something surprisingly hot and spitting in his chest, a combo of fear and irritation swirling in him as he thinks about the possibility of losing you to someone else. Or, even worse, having someone figure out your identity and try to arrange a hookup. Maybe it drives him to dig his nails into your flesh a little harder the next time you let him stretch you open on his dick, grip your hips and thighs tighter to imprint his hands into your soft skin, nip at your chest and throat a little fiercer. You’ve already utterly ruined him for anyone else, what’s the harm in learning into it a little harder?

I was putting these asks off until the name poll ended so I could officially use his new name. But at this point there are only 2 days left and I think we have a clear winner.

So woo! Meluidil, our beloved loser high elf, now has a name.

Now Meluidil does truly think it is Corellon's pantheon which are responsible for bringing you into his life. Blessing him with a lover who's his only friend after years of solitude.

But did Corellon really do it? Who knows.

Maybe he didn't. After all you are a human, how could the god of elves really command you or influence your life? You are out of his domian. For all Corellon knows, out of the blue this one high elf started praying to him again and giving offerings. Thanking him for a blessing that Corellon doesn't even remember giving or if he did at all.

Or maybe he did influence you, he is a god after all. But don't get him wrong, he never liked doing it or you. Much like a parent finally begrudgingly getting a puppy to their screaming toddler. Corellon dislikes half elves and the hold humanity has on his children. Your kind is a plague on his beloved elves and yet he still obliges from time to time and coax a human or two into a lonely elf's arms if nothing else worked.

Believe him, he tried. Really tried to get Meluidil a soulmate in another elf. Even sent an aquatic elf to him to save him from drowning once, and all that pathetic loser did was talk for hours about human movies where they almost drown and a mermaid saves them. Sighing about how the reason he even was in the ocean was because he was planning to save a cute human, alas he forgot that he himself didn't know how to swim that well. Then bid the aquatic elf goodbye and never came back to the beach again.

Corellon tried everything, but the human fever was strong with this one. So he accepted his loss and pulled some strings of fate until you landed into Meluidil's arms. But don't forget yourself, lowly human, elves still deserve elf partners. You just happened to be an exception this one time.

He never could've predicted the domino effect of your filming yourself with Meluidil and pulling even more elves into this degenerate human kink.

It is a blessing and a curse how much time he gets to spend with you now. On one hand, he's over the moon at the fact he can just turn and look at you whenever, feel your smile against his skin, taste your lips no matter the hour of the day, listen to your voice first thing in the morning.

On the other hand, you can't get anything done without him clinging to your side. All needy and curious about your human hobbies. Asking you the most intrusive of questions or beginning you to brush and play with his hair, maybe massage his ears. Do all the things to him that he was raised to never do as a high elf, touch him in all the places that a human normally wouldn't he able to touch an elf.

He wants your attention and love all the time. His own love for you is even spilling over the edges. Lust, admiration, adoration, fascination. You're like the spring dream that he never wants to wake up from, especially after a harsh winter.

And he is still a high elf in all appearance and mannerism. He still has this aura of importance around him, this ethereal way of speaking, every syllable akin to a melody on his tongue.

Having one of these creatures that were written about in history, that many humans never saw throughout their lifetimes, just sprawled across your lap, wearing your own oversized shirt as he whines about you paying more attention to your phone than him.

It is also sometimes jarring whe this hundreds of years old man, who probably lived through so many historic events and was there even before the moonlanding, just casually references a lame tiktok he saw while the two of you have lunch.

Making bad jokes and laughing at his own bad jokes, being able to inhale a family sized bag of the most spicy chips in the world like it's nothing because elven tastebuds get more endurance with age.

And at times- he is just so....human. the way his hair tangles and he struggles to fix it with a grumpy expression. The way he hits his toe on the table leg and curses the tree it was made out of in elvish.

The way he shows vulnerability and insecurity at times. At maybe not being pretty enough for you, smart enough or impressive enough. At how by elf standards, he is below average, it's just because you are human that you find his life achievements so impressive. That you find his face so enthralling, his voice so enchanting.

He deeply wants to belong, to understand humanity. Humans who are so impossible different from each other yet managed to find home in each other. How even the smallest difference could get you becoming an outcast in elven culture.

Somehow, the more the two of you sleep together, the more addicted he gets. Things that were supposed to cool off or become the norm after a few months, instead keep getting more and more ablaze. Each time he thinks this is as good as it can ever get, you surprise him with something new without even trying to.

Each hour at work feels unbearable, especially when he knows that you'll be waiting for him back at his apartment since his schedule ends after yours. He can't stop thinking about you there on his bed.

He can't get hard at work, but fuck he can't stop thinking about you touching yourself. Grinding into one of his pillows and moaning out his name, in that adorable human way where you keep mispronouncing it. He never thought his own name could sound so hot until you cried it out in bed.

And then, his phone innocently pings. A text notification from you.

His heart is racing, he's looking around his office even tho he is sure he is the only one there. Fingers shaking as he unlocks the phone, lips parting in a breathless gasp as he views the pictures you've sent him.

You're going to be the death of him.

The possessiveness is new.

It's not a feeling he's used to, he thought that he loved all humans equally. Found the majority of them hot and irresistible.

But he has never been close to one like he has been close to you, never even befriended one before.

You were his first human. He had sex with elves before, back when he was in denial of his human preference. It was alright, but he never truly was into it. Still, it was nice.

But after you? After your body and the tightness of your hole making him lose his breath? After a taste of the forbidden apple, there is no way for him to forget it now.

You've completely ruined whatever hope there was for him to have a normal elven relationship. Completely ereased any future possibilities of him sharing his bed with a non-human. He can't get enough of your plump body, your human scent.

It's like he is in a constant spell around you that keeps him seeking more, keeps hims asking for another round even when tears run down his cheeks from overstimulation, keeps him exhausting the both of you without any shame.

That's why the possessiveness is sprouting inside his core. He can't possibly find another human if you become interested in someone else. Even then, he doesn't want another human, he wants you.

He wants his friend that was there to console him whenever he was having a bad day, he wants the same person who played games with him and shared details about their day. Humans are truly wild and unpredictable, there's only one of you in this whole world and he can't imagine losing the one person he finally felt understood with.

#♡human kink #♡human reader #♡Meluidil #♡smut #♡fluff #♡modern au human kink #♡modern loser high elf #♡🩵anon

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 7 months

Note

Hello! Thank you for doing BG3 match-ups. I know these can be a lot of time and effort, but I’m sure you’re making lots of people happy! (I’m also very curious to see what other people submit because I love learning about everyone’s Tavs/Durges.)

A few tidbits about my Tav, Chamois: to begin with, she is a wood elf sorcerer with draconic ancestry (silver). Her family has long been tea artisans and she, as the youngest of four, has just started her apprenticeship under her mother. For now, she assists her mother in selling their tea leaves. Chamois can get a little tunnel-visioned at times, so deep is her love for all things tea.

Positive Traits

Chamois can be quite charming, in a sort of awkward way. As a child, she was very studious in her eagerness to understand more about the trade, to the detriment of her social development. Now that she’s older and not such a shut-in, Chamois has almost leaned into that awkwardness—she know she can be an oddball but she’s a friendly oddball! Who likes to laugh! And also wants to sell you some delicious tea! She talks to almost everyone with an unguardedness and cheerful energy that most would reserve for close friends. Hence, even if she says something strange or goes off on a tangent, many folks just see it as an endearing trait.

Negative Traits

Chamois has a tendency to tell white lies. It’s almost instinctive, the way she’ll slip a lie into some story she’s telling, even when she’s not being interrogated or pressured. Whether it’s to make her tale a smidge more exciting or because she can’t be bothered to give a long explanation, Chamois doesn’t have any qualms with sticking to absolute truth.

She’s also a huge coward; this comes more into play for the tadpole adventures. She’s never fought before and most of her sorcerer spells are teeny tiny bits of magic to help out on the tea farm. She desperately wants to be better though. After her moments of fear, she tends to really berate herself over her mistakes.

Chamois struggles with her negative emotions. She feels jealousy (especially jealousy), anger, and loneliness as much as anybody else, but always wants to present a cool, composed face so badly to others. A lot of her self-worth (when she’s not with her family) is placed on her friendliness and charm.

Likes

Tea (obviously!)

Reading, particularly on botany and chemistry

Theatricality and dramas

Windy days

Meaningful work

Socializing with others

Sour foods

Dislikes

Practical jokes

Unreliable people

Disruptions to her schedules or plans

Alcohol

People who never or rarely complain

Preferred Result

Male; monogamous or poly is fine!

Sorry my response got a little bit away from me. Thank you again for taking match ups and I hope you have a good night!

A/N: Holy information, Batman! Thank you for being so detailed. I love how you organized it too! Very neat and considerate. Thank you!

For you, my Detailed Anon, I think your best matchup is… Gale!

Gale is the perfect match for Chamois! He’s smart and kind, and a bit awkward himself. He’s a wizard, which may put him in competition with sorcerers from time to time, but he finds he actually Chamois great company to be around because she’s much more humble and less overconfident in her abilities than typical sorcerers are.

For sorcerers, magic comes from within, but wizards are required to study and practice in order to harness and control the natural web of magic flowing through the universe. This means Gale is a great partner to study with. He’d be very encouraging to Chamois in helping her learn more about her innate abilities. He’ll most likely suggest she look into more traditional means of magic as well, be it potions or using The Weave, just to help her gain confidence and sort of find her footing as a magic user. With his constant cheering her on, Chamois is bound to become more proficient in her natural abilities, the longer they spend time together.

He’s also lowkey obsessed with the fact Chamois is a tea artisan, as he’s quite the avid enjoyer of tea. He insists on having at least one cup a day, and cannot quiet his mind before bed without it. Plus he was raised by a single mom, so he’s very understanding of Chamois’ closeness to her mother.

Gale is very social. He’s also incredibly awkward. Thanks to spending much of his formative years locked away studying magic, he didn’t develop the nuanced social disciplines possessed by most adults. The good news is the two of them can be awkward together! The bad news is, it can make them a bit more obvious to others in public. But Gale doesn’t mind. Being the odd one out looking in never bothered him all that much before, why should it bother him now?

He’s not always cheerful per se, but he does tend to look on the bright side of things. This makes him much more likely to appreciate Chamois’ sunny disposition. And he loves it when she goes off on one of her knowledge tangents! He does the same thing as well! Their niche love language is basically them taking turns info-dumping to one another.

Gale isn’t a huge lair, although he does tend to be a bit withdrawn when meeting new people. He’s more likely to omit a detail than to tell a fib, as he’s more on the secretive side. (It’s a wizard thing.) He’s also used to being in close competition with braggarts (like Rolan and Lorrokan) so Chamois’ embellishment doesn't shock him too much. He does ask however that she remain honest with him on matters of the heart as it relates to their relationship. He’s been burned in that area before.

I wouldn’t call Gale a coward, but he’s on the fragile side (also a wizard thing lol), so he’s often more in the back or the side of the fight as opposed to the frontlines. He’s not put off by Chamois being scared- he’s scared too. And he thinks it’s smart of her. It shows she’s paying attention, and she understands what's at stake.

Despite how hard Chamois is on herself, Gale thinks she’s wonderful. He’s always singing her praises, telling her what great thing she did to aid the fight, no matter how minor it may be. He knows what it’s like to be hard on yourself, and he certainly knows the pain of making mistakes. He doesn't want Chamois to ever feel alone in that way. He wishes she could see herself the way he does, through his eyes. That way, maybe she’d understand how truly lovely she is.

Gale’s traditional when it comes to love. He’s a one-lover-at-a-time kind of person. He tends to be a bit insecure in his affections, which often manifests itself as jealousy. It comes from a deep-rooted fear that he won’t be enough for his lover. (And it’s all the more recent a wound because that’s how Mystra made him feel when she abandoned him.)

He’s not a huge drinker, but he does indulge occasionally. So Chamois better be prepared for the odd drunken declaration of true love, because he's most certainly going to get up on his soapbox and give that speech one, too many times. He really does mean everything he says- he loves her. And he thinks she’s the best thing that could have ever happened to him. Even with the tadpole, and the orb in his chest, he wouldn’t have had his life turn out any other way.

He loves staying indoors on thundery days, with delicious tea and good books, Tera nestled between the two of them. He can hardly wait for the day their families meet, hers and the Dekarios clan, so they can be one big happy tea-selling, potion-making, magic-using family.

#gale x tav #gale x reader #gale imagine #baldurs gate imagine #bg3 imagine #bg3 x tav #baldurs gate 3 imagine #bg3 #matchups

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falmerbrook · 8 months

Note

New TES OC’s???!???!??!

*puts head in hands* Tell me all about them!

EEEEEE I'm glad someone wants to hear about them!!!! Well, they aren't necessarily new, but I haven't talked about most of them here for the most part so they are to most of you :D

Also, little disclaimer, I'm the type to make a whole cast (family, friends, distant cousins, etc.) for like every character I make, so I'll just introduce the major ones.

(also I'll put it under the cut to not clog dashes)

Morrowind

Stellar (Nerevarine)

My Nerevarine. Argonian. 19 years old at the time of the game. Was hatched and grew up in slavery in eastern Vvardenfell before escaping and running away to Cyrodiil when he was about 11 (where he eventually got his name, and tried his best to assimilate and lose his Morrowind-isms). There he settled in a little gang of thieves in the Imperial City, where he eventually went to jail (long term) after he accidently killed a guy. From there he gets sent to Vvardenfell and [PLOT OF MORROWIND]. For obvious reasons he is not happy about that, and only goes along with Caius's schemes so he can get the money to go to Black Marsh. He has the classic teenage boy-ism of acting very hard, aggressive, apathetic, and mean to mask a more genuine curiosity, desire for adventure, and care for others. So while he'd never admit it, he gets very invested in all the mystery around the Nerevarine prophecies. When he eventually does get to Black Marsh, he finds himself equally not welcomed there, and instead accepts his place as the (potential) Nerevarine, returning to Vvardenfell.

I think he's the only character that I've ever gone through a proper deign process with so I'm very proud of his design (even though I'm still struggling to draw it accurately).

Ramshuribani (Stellar's friend/love interest)

22 year old Ashlander of the Urshilaku tribe/Nerevarine Cult. She specializes in textiles, leather working, and making clothing. After Stellar arrives at the tribe and starts hanging around to earn their good graces, she's the first to take an interest in him. She finds his seeming delusions and his earnestness endearing, but eventually becomes the first to take him seriously, becoming his biggest cheerleader and urging him forward in his journey. When Stellar goes around trying to become the Nerevarine and Hortator, she tags along with him and they bond.

Moss/Sleeps-in-Moss (Stellar's friend/love interest)

One of Stellar's childhood friends. 18 year old argonian. As a young teen when he had the chance to flee to Black Marsh, he decided to remain in Vvardenfell and work with the Twin Lamps to help others escape slavery. While at first thrilled to run back into Stellar and learn he was ok, he's put off and frustrated by Stellar essentially being a pawn of the Empire and Ashlanders, and thinks all the Nerevarine bs is just a way to manipulate him.

Skyrim

Elisere Vaelenwyn Faerendal (Last Dragonborn)

21 year old altmer with snow elf ancestry on her mother and grandmother's sides (thus her pale complexion). While most of her family doesn't share her zeal, her and her grandmother are both very passionate about learning and trying to connect with the snow elf history and culture. Her grandmother is a researcher on the topic. She has a very intense personality, but is also sort of a prissy asshole.

So I really like the interpretation of being dragonborn being a sort of allegory for neurodivergence (but more specifically autism/adhd because I have experience with the former) and so I lean into it a lot with her. She struggled a lot growing up and into adulthood with always feeling like she needed to be in complete control/order, black and white thinking, poor socialization skills, and general anger and violence issues. While she tried to pursue an education focusing on destruction magic at a prestigious university, she struggled with control of her magic and felt restricted there. All of this, living in a place with heavy thalmor propaganda, and her passion for the snow elves led to her developing very extreme xenophobic views of humans (particularly nords).

When Elisere's mother and grandmother died in very close proximity to each other, El doesn't really know how to deal with it (losing her family and the two people she felt like she had left of her lost culture) and so she decided to go scorched earth and drops her whole life and head to Skyrim to do... something drastic (she didn't think that far ahead). Once arriving there [SKYRIM INTRO] happens and it slaps a bit of sense into her. Irregardless, she decides to stay in Skyrim. While in Skyrim, over time, she realizes 1) she's dragonborn (worst thing that could happen to her ever), and 2) it might be a better cultural landscape for her. Character development happens (I'm leaving it here for now bc I'm tired and I don't want to seem like I'm rambling, but she's my problematic child whom i love)

Helge Saber-Skin (Eliere's companion? adopted mom? friend??)

Nord woman in her late 60s. Looks at Elisere and goes "I can fix her" [motherly]. A very classic born-and-bred Nord; loud, confident, friendly, and proud. She and her late husband fought in the Great War, moving to Haafingar and raising 4 kids afterwards (I'm still foggy on that timeline though). Generally anti-Imperial and pro-Stormclaok (although willfully ignorant to the Stormcloak's less-noble beliefs), becoming very pro-Stormcloak after her husband was killed by an Imperial soldier and she feels pressured to move out to Eastmarch. As a widowed empty-nester, when she stumbles upon a very injured Elisere, she takes her in and upon hearing El vent, realizes that Elisere probably just needs a surrogate mother figure in her life, and eagerly tries to fill that void and support her while she's in Skyrim and on her journey. This is not something Elisere wants, but if Helge is anything it's stubborn (and it's probably something Elisere needs). They make each other more open minded.

Oblivion

Morvyn (Hero of Kvatch)

Mid to late 20s dunmer (they/she/he btw). Grew up in Ald'ruhn to a single abusive, unstable mother, which led to them running away as a teen and ending up Cyrodiil struggling to get by. They have intense anxiety from their upbringing, and struggle with psychologically-induced selective mutism. They almost never speak, and use sign-language to communicate (when they can. most people don't know it. this just contributes to their asociality and anxiety). They're sensitive, nervous, and a people pleaser, but also very resilient, selfless (to a self destructive degree),a nd empathetic. Their desire to help others is often the only thing to override their other issues. They are a jack-of-all-trades, master of none, and can pick up new skills pretty easily (but struggle to get very good at them). They initially bond with Martin through their shared experiences of being bastards. They're kinda greasy.

I have another major Oblivion character but she's real underdeveloped and needs more time in the oven. Too much brain power goes into morrowind and skyrim, sorry oblivion.

Saori

I've already talked about her before (this post) but I will mention her again. My necromancin' ecologist child :D. She kinda exists outside the realm of the games but she meets and becomes acquaintances/friends with Elisere and Stellar.

#sorry if this is too much but you did ask so i happily took the oppurtunity #like i said some of these guys have whole families and stuff but those can be for another day #and i could go on for hours about them and more about these guys but like i said another day #mine #my ocs #tes oc #tes ocs #oh god i have to tag them all #oc: stellar #oc: ramshuribani #oc: moss #oc: elisere #oc: helge #oc: morvyn #oc: saori #i should post moss's ref sheet later (if i havent already i dont remember) since i know people like when i post my argonian designs #ask

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chicken-fifi · 2 years

Text

Super Junior Reaction - You're a Voice Actress

Requested by @confusedchildsstuff: Can you write suju dating a voice actress?

Leeteuk:

Jeongsoo tries to watch every movie or show that you have given your voice to

He’ll ask you questions about the whole process too

Do you act out what the character you’re voicing is doing to get a more accurate sound?

Do you get to meet the other voice actors?

He’s invested in wanting to know as much about your profession as possible

“Do you think you’ll take on a Disney role? You would be a great Disney Princess.”

Heechul:

Heechul strikes me as the type who would join you during a number of your recording sessions quite frequently to see you work

He too likes watching the movies and shows you end up being in

Sometimes he’ll try to mimic how you voice specific characters

Or he’ll ask you to voice different characters in your own way

He asks a lot of questions regarding voice acting and genuinely wants to know a bit more about it

“Do you think this is easier in a sense than physically acting or a bit more difficult because you have to visualize what this scene will look like animated?”

Yesung:

With Jonghoon, I think a huge part of his interest will come after finding out that you’ve sung in some of the animations he’s seen

He wouldn’t have guessed that he was dating the person who voiced a monumental character in the Disney movie he watched out of boredom

He asks a lot of questions regarding the level of difficulty that some roles are to prepare for

Or how different singing is from the acting portion in your job

He loves listening to you run through your lines and loves to hear you sing

He does wonder why you chose voice acting versus typical acting

“I still can’t believe that that was you in that movie.”

Shindong:

Completely wonderstruck about the fact that you’re a voice actress

When Donghee first found out you were an actress he’d been so confused when you told him you were in a well known animated movie and an even better known cartoon

He couldn’t figure out how it was possible

And when it clicked, you best believe he asks you to say things in your character’s voice

He gets quite the kick out of secretly recording you while you’re using your character voice and then posting it on the internet (you’re out of shot ofc) and watching as everyone goes wild trying to figure out when he had kids

“Voice acting? You’re a voice actress? You’re who? Can you do the voice?”

Eunhyuk:

Hyukjae is always trying to mimic the voice you use for your most current character

He’ll sit for hours listening to you as you run through your lines

Only chiming in during a line he finds to be particularly cute or funny

While he finds it endearing he does get a bit jealous when ELFs go up to the two of you while you’re on dates and ask for you to say a particular line

Cute, but he’s the Super Junior member!

“I’m starting to think they like you more than me.”

Siwon:

Siwon finds it rather endearing himself

You typically lend your voice to shows and movies directed towards children

And boy does it show

When the two of you are out and about and just talking there isn’t a child that doesn’t stop and point at you with the brightest smile knowing to mankind

He finds it to be the cutest thing ever and is more than willing to be asked to take a picture of you and your tiny fan

“You are literally their hero! I’m surprised they know it’s you, I mean you and that little dinosaur don’t look similar unless you’re angry. I was joining!”

Donghae:

If Donghae isn’t freaking about this, I think something is wrong

From the moment he’d met you he knew he’d heard your voice before, but he wasn’t sure where

And it isn’t until you meet his nieces that he finds out

You voiced the main character in their favorite movie

Which subsequently became his favorite movie for roughly 3 months

From that point on he’s constantly trying to catch you practicing your line in your character’s voice

A task that is much easier said than done

“Come on! You know I’m not gonna laugh or give any line spoilers to anyone! Please! Just this once?"

Ryeowook:

Ryeowook tries to not make too much of a big deal about it

But he can’t deny the fact that he loves sitting in on your recording sessions and listening to your practice your lines

He especially loves watching as you act out the actions that your character will be doing in order to make it sound more real

Like when your role was going to be doing a handstand so you attempted multiple times to do one so that it would sound as such and failed each time

A for effort on that one and he got a good laugh every time you fell after three seconds

“Do you want me to hold your legs so you can focus on talking?”

Kyuhyun:

Kyuhyun often tries to get you to help him out when he’s watching his nephews

It’s not shock that you’re favorite when they first meet you

And they only like you even more after they watch a cartoon where you’re voicing some animal and they instantly recognize it

So now when they go to see uncle Kyu they really only want to see you

And they only listen to you

Yeah

It’s a whole thing

“Can you tell them to finish their vegetables? They won’t listen to me when I tell them…”

#kpop reactions #super junior #super junior masterlist #super junior reactions #leeteuk #heechul #yesung #shindong #eunhyuk #siwon #donghae #ryeowook #kyuhyun

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tarydarrington · 3 years

Text

It takes about half an hour for the general topic of conversation at the party to turn to his scars.

It shouldn’t be a surprise; any guests of Archmage Beck’s are bound to have at least a passing familiarity with the way a Scourger’s arms are meant to look. The maze of ink is a symbol of power, a sign of something dangerous and elite, and his ragged array of raised, pale cuts is a far cry from elegance. It’s natural that they would pick up on the difference. It’s natural that it would be gossiped over. It’s natural that Caleb feels rather like teleporting straight home and letting his future self deal with the social consequences.

To borrow an odd turn of phrase Veth had once used, two halves are at war inside of him. One is filled with an angry, headstrong pride that makes him want to shove his scars in the faces of all those who care to gawk and let them have their fill. The other wishes he had brought a coat.

It’s rare that Essek does much at these functions aside from artfully disappearing in such a way that lets him mingle with as few fellow guests as possible, but after only a few moments of stares following him, the elf appears at his side.

“May I borrow you, a moment?” he asks.

The way his eyes dart around the room reminds Caleb of an irritated cat’s tail swishing.

“As many moments as you like,” he replies, and follows Essek into an empty hallway.

The sound of the crowd is immediately muffled by the walls as they step inside, and Caleb wonders fleetingly if this is where Essek has been all night. Someday, if they ever manage to talk about whatever this is between them, maybe the two of them will attend a party without the rest of the Nein. Just for the pleasure of being able to leave early without stranding anyone, if nothing else.

Or they could stay. Caleb thinks he wouldn’t mind a party like this quite so much, if he were with Essek.

He shakes the thought as Essek finally looks him in the eye for the first time, and Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up as Essek begins to shrug his way out of his cloak.

“Herr Thelyss, we are in public,” he deadpans, and grins at the way Essek’s face - not quite his own, here, of course - flushes.

“What is the Empire saying? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” He takes the cloak in both hands, holding it out between them at its full length and width, turning a critical eye on Caleb. He seems satisfied with his findings, folding it neatly over one arm before clearing his throat. “If you like,” he says in a softer tone, “you may borrow this.”

He might have been less surprised if it were a striptease. Essek is fond of his layers. They’re elegant, they present an image of inscrutability, and - most importantly to Essek, he has learned - they obscure his body. It gives him privacy, this kind of which he values greatly. To be offered something like this is quite a gift, indeed.

Essek seems, as usual, to know what he’s thinking. “It is rather warm, tonight. I dressed accordingly.”

Caleb gives him a once-over for precisely the length of time that could not possibly be considered staring. He’s not lying. The fine, light clothing beneath his cloak is amorphous enough to preserve his modesty.

Caleb thinks of the way their stares follow him. He thinks of all the pain he went through to get these scars, and all the good he’s done to ensure they are never inflicted on anyone else. He is not ashamed of these scars. Essek will understand, if he turns the offer down. He always understands.

Then, he thinks of the faces they’ll make if he returns to the room wearing Essek’s cloak.

The rest of the night passes about as he expects, with three important observations made. Firstly, Essek’s cloak is still warm and smells very much like Essek. Secondly, the well-tailored, black tunic he had been wearing underneath follows the lines of his body loosely enough to obscure most details, but just closely enough to draw his imagination to fill in the blanks. Thirdly, despite the smattering of murmurs and stares that still turn in his direction from time to time, the sum of the previous two facts makes this evening entirely enjoyable.

He suspects, from the way Essek steals a few more glances than necessary, that it might be a positive experience for them both.

The number of times the Mighty Nein find themselves in combat before the end of a fancy party truly ought not to be as high as it is.

Then again, Essek remembers the circumstances of their first meeting. It may be absurd, but it isn't surprising.

What is surprising - or rather, what would have been surprising, had one informed him of it several years ago - is the way he doesn't think twice before placing himself between a nearly-downed Veth and the blow intended to finish her. The blade cuts him from shoulder to chest, catching him at the wrist on the follow-through and leaving a stinging cut in its wake.

Caduceus sees to the wound with his usual easy precision, but the magic doesn't work the same way on his clothing. He picks dejectedly at the tattered remains of his neckline, the end of his sleeve hanging ragged to match. This had been a nice cloak. That, and the Ruby’s festivities inside, blissfully unaware of the commotion in the gardens, are still due to continue for another few hours.

Just as he's considering how bad a faux pas it would be to call it a night, Caleb ducks down into his line of sight, squatting beside him where he rests against the low stone wall.

"You know, I think perhaps you are a little breakable to be trying for Yasha’s role,” he says with a bemused smile. Before Essek has a chance to respond, he adds, “That was very brave of you. I will thank you on Veth’s behalf, since I think she has, ah, moved on from the moment.”

Moved on from the moment seems, in this case, to mean that she has been offering for the last several minutes to bandage Bluud’s barely-scratched biceps. Essek waves a hand.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he says. “Though I must admit, I will mourn the clothing.”

Caleb gives him a sympathetic grimace, and Essek tries not to fidget as he watches those blue eyes assess the damage and catch on the strips of rarely exposed skin. He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue as he takes it in that is much more attractive than it ought to be.

“Would you like to…” Caleb’s brow furrows in thought, and to finish the question, he takes the end of his scarf in one hand and dangles it between them. “If you like?”

Essek wipes the look of wide-eyed, touched surprise from his face as fast as he can, but he’s sure from the way a small smile tugs at Caleb’s lips that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. His gaze drops down to his ruined neckline. The damage is high enough that it’s possible the scarf could cover it, if properly arranged.

“That would…” He takes a breath. “I would be… grateful.”

With an encouraging smile, Caleb ducks out from the middle of the scarf and pools it in his arms, offering it to Essek. When he takes it, the warmth and weight of the fabric reminds him of Caleb’s cats. He tries to keep his breathing steady as he turns it in his hands - and realizes only when he attempts to duck through the center that he has no idea how to properly wrap something like this.

He’s slighter than Caleb, so the loops that circle Caleb perfectly slip awkwardly off his shoulders; besides that, the elegant coil has been tangled in the handing off. He tries to wind it around his own neck from the beginning, but finds it frustratingly difficult to get it to sit the way he’d like it to, and is entirely uncertain of what to do with the ends.

“I… am afraid I am rather at a loss,” Essek admits begrudgingly.

Caleb cocks his head to one side in curious surprise, but instead of questioning, he holds out his hands. “Would you allow me?”

He takes the scarf back when Essek nods mutely in response, and suddenly he is very, very close. Caleb gives him a reassuring smile, as though he knows - and of course he knows, he always knows - that he needs a moment to adjust to the proximity. The care in those eyes almost knocks Essek’s gaze away, but instead holds it locked in place.

“Is, ah…” Caleb begins, and his voice sounds thicker than before, “is this alright?”

Essek hopes the somewhat dazed half-nod he manages gets the point across.

He’s had Caleb’s arms around him before, but for some reason the feeling of them bracketing his neck as Caleb drapes the scarf around and around him is so achingly intimate that it stops his breath.

His gaze breaks from Caleb’s for just long enough to notice the v of bare skin now visible at the neck of his shirt, and he snaps his attention back to Caleb’s eyes as his face burns. Caleb’s smile quirks upwards on one side at the sight. He gives the scarf a few gentle tugs to place it just right.

As his hand draws away, he lets it rest cupped against Essek’s cheek for just a moment. The night is cold, but the space between them feels warmer than a fireside. The fireside, as well, would have fewer sparks.

Caleb clears his throat as he pulls away and stands, and the spell is broken as both of them turn to studiously examine their surroundings. Essek shifts the weight of the scarf experimentally. Sometimes, one of Caleb’s cats will climb the man and wind itself around his neck in a thoroughly endearing display of affection. Caleb has always thought of it as the highest compliment, to be chosen in such a way, and Essek imagines it must feel something like this. And never, not even covered in four layers and his old mantle, has he ever felt so protected from the outside world.

“Thank you,” he manages after a moment.

“Ja, of course.” It’s a minor relief that Caleb sounds about as breathless as Essek feels.

As he stands, letting his levitation spell carry him gently off his feet, the hem of his sleeve catches his eye. Caleb’s gaze falls that way, too, then flicks back up to his with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well,” he says, and holds out his arm, “that is a shame.”

Essek looks from Caleb’s face to his arm and back, heat creeping up his neck. Caleb knows him well enough to understand this is no small request. He knows Caleb well enough, in return, to understand that he will take no offense if he refuses.

Carefully, holding his breath, Essek tucks his hand under Caleb’s arm. The billowing cloth of his sleeve falls down to cover the ragged end of Essek’s, and Essek finds himself wondering for a moment if the loose style was intended to mimic his own.

The smile on Caleb’s face is so fond that Essek can’t help but return it.

“Well,” Caleb says, leaning in conspiratorially, “shall we?”

They’re not the last of the Mighty Nein to return to the party - Essek suspects Beauregard and Yasha have found their own pursuits in the garden, judging by the looks they had been exchanging after the battle - but they’re not the first, either. Jester and Fjord have found the Ruby and joined her in polite conversation. Caleb steers him dutifully in the other direction; they both know well what will happen if Jester sees them like this, and perhaps Caleb is as loath to break the moment as he is. They make the rounds together, and Essek thinks that they must look for all the world like a real couple. The thought brings a strange lightness to his chest, and he finds himself absently curling his hand around Caleb’s arm where it rests.

“My nefarious plot has gone off without a hitch,” Caleb murmurs with a grin. “Now, you are stuck with me for the rest of the evening.”

Essek doesn’t bother holding back the smirk. With a covert flick of magic in his free hand, he draws away from Caleb’s arm to politely retrieve a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. Caleb watches him with incredulous surprise, eyes trained on the end of his sleeve - perfectly intact through a Seeming spell.

“I think I can manage without, if I must,” Essek says mildly.

He passes the drink to his off hand as Caleb flushes a bit.

“Well,” Caleb says sheepishly, “that is one way to do it.”

Essek raises his eyebrows at him teasingly, and before he can talk himself out of it, slips his hand back into the crook of Caleb’s arm.

To his credit, Caleb doesn’t tease. The surprised little smile he gives Essek instead gives him more warmth than the scarf does, and Essek lets himself smile back as Caleb’s hand comes up to rest over his. Not enough to hold him in place, just enough for a little more contact.

“You know, you could have done that before,” Caleb murmurs. “At Astrid’s party, when you lent me your cloak.”

Essek takes a sip of his drink to hide the blush. “I realize,” he replies. He could admit that the way those people had treated Caleb lit his anger in a way few things have since he left court. He could admit that he knows, from experience, that it’s more of a comfort to have something real between you and the rest of the world. He could admit that giving his own cloak as such a barrier for Caleb had felt like a more personal kind of protection.

He could even point out that Caleb could have used the spell himself, if he had wanted to; but he finds he likes the quiet implication given by the fact that he took Essek's cloak instead.

"It suited you,” is what he settles on.

Caleb gives him a hum of acknowledgement in response. “Ja, well,” he adds with a soft, knowing smile, “the scarf suits you.”

Of course, Caleb always understands. And as they move about the party for the rest of the night, arm in arm, Essek thinks that he doesn’t mind parties quite so much with Caleb by his side.

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #mine #mine:fic #caleb #essek

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fallen029 · 3 years

Text

Nervous

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"You sure?"

Mira tilted her head to the side though her eyes betrayed the cute, quirky questioning vibe she was going for as they, instead, seemed rather disbelieving. It was easy for Laxus to note it these days, having fallen like most other in the hall for her typical chaste trickiness and innocuous pretenses over the years, but after being far more than just a guild member to her now for a good number of them as well, he'd begun to pick up on the little things.

Like how she seemed forever trapped in a guilelessness that didn't quite entrap her as well as she thought it did.

But this was fine, the ease at which he disarmed her now, as Mira was able to pick apart the man's own fallacies and walls.

"Yeah," he grumbled to the woman's question, but she only grinned at him, as if victorious, as she picked apart his lies with ease.

"Then why are you biting at your nails?" she asked with round eyes. "You only do that when you're nervous."

And now she'd managed to annoy him.

"Mira-"

"I'm only curious," she insisted with a little shake of her head. "Dragon."

He huffed some, his chest deflating as he finally gave her his full attention. They were in the bar, as they typically were, but Mirajane had actually found a moment to take a break. Rest. S-Class trials were, at that very moment, going on and those who hadn't been chosen were sulking away from the guild for the time being while a decent sized group was off being put through the rigorous trials and tribulations that were associated with being designated part of the elite group of mages that were Fairy Tail S-Class wizards.

Laxus had no reason to be nervous.

He'd claimed his spot many years before and, at times, wondered if he even had eventually surpassed the old geezer all together. He'd be a wizard saint, someday, he knew, or at least told himself so, and that meant that he had far more concerns than something as silly as a guild distinction.

Not when may one day have the distinction among the entire continent.

S-Class trials had nothing to do with him and, if anything, he was mostly just glad to find that bar emptied out some that day.

"It's okay," Mira assured him then though and when she reached across the table, it was to grab his hand, pulling it down so that she could caress it as she looked deeply into the slayer's eyes. "I am too."

"You are what too?" he asked dumbly, confused equally by her words as he was calmed by her gesture.

"Nervous," she insisted.

"About what?"

"The same thing as you."

"I'm not," he told her, "nervous."

"Laxus-"

"What do I have to be nervous about, huh?" Then, frowning, he questioned, "What do you?"

"Well, actually, I'm nervous about a lot of things," she said, releasing his hand, but only so she could bring her own up to her cheek and rest her head there then, as she thought. "I have a shipment of meat that hasn't come in yet and I know, this weekend, if I don't get it, that I'll have to serve meals without any meat portion and the guys will be pretty upset about that, which will affect my tips, and I've been trying to save up money for my wedding. Which brings me to my next point, I've been saving for a wedding that can't yet happen because my boyfriend is dragging his feet with proposing to me even though we've talked about it a thousand times-"

"Mira," he warned, but she only shrugged.

"The dog I look after was sick last night, too," she finished. "I'm nervous about that."

Laxus, with a slight breath, questioned, "What's wrong with him?"

"He has the shits."

And he blinked. Then narrowed his eyes while the woman only gazed right back with hers earnest and honest.

Shrugging some then, Laxus said, "If you need help wrangling him down to a vet, I could-"

"Oh!" Mira sat up then. "And I'm super nervous because my baby brother is off on the S-Class trials and I want him to preform well." Shrugging, she added, "But I'm torn, because I also want all of my friends to do well. Including your best friend. Freed."

Laxus' face fell then as he realized he'd been duped (possibly; her street dog did have a hefty amount of ailments from time to time) and only looked off once more as he remarked, "Sounds like your problem. Not mine."

"Oh, it's not a problem. Laxus. To be nervous about such things." Sighing, she said, "It means that you care. About them. To be nervous for someone else. I want them all to come back, knowing that even though they can't all be the winner, at least invigorated and ready to start right back at training and trying their hardest to, eventually, be that winner. It's an honor to be nervous on someone's behalf. I'd gladly take all of Elf's nerves if it meant he could put all his focus into the trials right now."

Laxus snorted. "Yeah, well, bully for you. Freed can take care of his damn self. I don't need to worry about him, like you and your loser brother."

"Behave."

Snorting, the man looked off before saying, "I'm not worried. Over Freed. Or anything."

"Fine. Not worried then." Mira had lost some of her jolliness at the slight her boyfriend had sent towards her absent brother. "But you are thinking about it. Aren't you? Even just a little? He's your best friend. I would at least think-"

"I'm," he insisted to her with a finality in his tone he usually reserved for literally anyone who wasn't his demon, "not nervous about the S-Class trials. Or worried. Or concerned. Alright?"

Sighing, she looked off for a moment, considering the slight surge of people that had come in in the last ten minutes or so and weighing in her mind whether or not her break was officially over. Not quite ready to let it go though, when her eyes drifted back to her boyfriend, it was with another set of words on her tongue.

"If you're not nervous about the trials," she began in that tone and it was enough, just on its own, to make him regret coming into the hall that day, "then that must mean that you're nervous about something else, so what is it? Huh? Is it that you've been seeing someone else?"

"Mira, what?"

"Some other woman, is it, then? Who is she, Laxus? Huh? Don't think that I wont' make a scene here, right now, in front of everyone, because-"

"What are you-"

"-if you don't tell me what it is that you're so nervous about, then I have no choice but to assume that you're cheating on-"

"I'm nervous for my friend, alright?" And he usually wouldn't take such a tone with her, but he did then, snapping some, out of aggravation and, maybe it was a trick of the lights, but the woman could have sworn she even saw a flick of his fangs as the vein on the side of his head bulged and his eyes darkened. "I want him to be S-Class with me and I'm worried that your stupid brother or one of those other idiots will get it over him. Or that...that… He'll fuck it up himself. Is that what you want to hear? Huh?"

No.

The other people around the guildhall did not.

But they had, quite clearly, heard nearly every word of his little outburst and, feeling all those eyes on him now only made the man growl louder. He was primed for a retreat, storming off and staying away from the hall for a few days, until he could stomach a return without smashing in the face of the first person who questioned him.

Mirajane, however, wasn't going to let this happen.

Because, yes, she had been very happy with the explosion of information that had just fallen out of the slayer's mouth. She'd only been prodding at him her entire break. For it to result in such a satisfying revelation meant it hadn't all been for not.

"Awe," Mirajane giggled, clapping her hands at the slayer's misery. "You guys are just such good friends, huh, dragon? You feel a lot better, don't you? Getting that off your chest?"

"No," he told her with the same candor that he'd just exposed himself and his nerves to the entire guildhall. "I feel worse."

"Well," Mira hummed as, job complete, she got to her feet once more, she offered, "I feel better. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Demon." The moniker was more of a proclamation than an endearing term. "You're evil."

"I love you," was her purest of explanations and she meant it too, he could tell, as her deep blues flashed a bit of hurt. "Helping you admit your feelings for your friends is how I show that."

"Yeah, well," he muttered under his breath, "then you need to find new ways."

Laxus took off that night, before her shift was finished, but that was fine with the woman as she'd more than begun staying most nights at his apartment.

When she arrived, he was flicking through an old atlas, comparing it to a current map. Something for a job, was all he grumbled to her when she lightly questioned, and Mira let his tone go because, well, she had been rather insistent before, at the bar, and all things considered, he hadn't outright acted a fool.

Just mostly.

"If Elfman doesn't make S-Class," she did whisper, eventually, over dinner that night and she saw the man roll his eyes, thinking she was trying to goad him back into a conversation, "I'll cry."

Grunting, he only continued to stab at the steamed vegetables at his plate, never rightly bringing them up to his mouth, but not quite ready to admit, when he insisted in a huff that he be the one to make them, that this was a bad idea.

"Of course," she hummed again, "if he makes it, I'll probably cry then, too."

"Mira?"

"Yes?"

"I already told you what you wanted to hear," he told her plainly. "What else do you want from me?"

"I'd like you to make a big emotional plea again," she replied back with the same amount of flatness that it almost made the slayer recoil. At the sight of it though, she broke some as, with a giggle, she admitted, "I'm just talking, dragon. About my baby brother. Who wants this so badly-"

"If he wanted it badly, he'll come back S-Class," Laxus told her as, with a shake of his head, he went back to stabbing at his vegetables. "If he doesn't, then that means he didn't want it badly enough."

"Well, I'm not saying that to him, if he comes back not S-Class."

"Yeah, I figured."

"And I'm not saying that to Freed either."

"That's fine," Laxus told her. "I will. He knows where to go to hear the truth."

"A little kindness will get you a lot in life, Lax," she replied, but he only shrugged some.

"Won't get you S-Class," he retorted and, well, the next morning would finally put the entire conversation to rest.

Cana had never looked prouder than herself and, that night, never gotten drunker, than when she was finally, after wanting it for so long, so much, to find herself on the same Fairy Tail tier as her father.

He was there, Gildarts was, having been hanging around for a few days, prepared for this, and she seemed rather annoyed by all of his attention, shoving at the man's face any time he tried to hug her, but betraying her annoyance by the glistening in her eyes, every single time he, also drunkenly, announced to those amassed how proud he was of the guild's newest S-Class member.

His daughter.

Mirajane was caught as she always was, between dismayed at the heartbreak evident on the faces of those who weren't victorious and the one who was. As she comforted both Elfman and Natsu over their losses, she did take note, across the bar, of where Freed was very stoic and graceful in his defeat, but still being comforted in their own ways, by his two friends.

"Who wants to be S-Class anyways?" Bickslow questioned. "When you can be part of the most elite team in all the lands?"

"I would," Ever admitted under her breath though, still, she patted at Freed's shoulders sympathetically.

It was as they stood though that all three felt it. It had been looming, after all, the entire time. The presence of their most highly viewed mentor, Laxus, who came out of hiding, down in the game room. He'd been down there transferring his nerves into some rounds of pool, but Cana and Gildarts very loud commotion had finally caught his attention and he found himself not welcomed to the celebrations of the member he'd most desired.

At his approach, both Bickslow and Ever took a step back. They too had disappointed the man in the past, but never quite in such a grand fashion. Freed was primed to take the gold this time around, only to lose out to the guild drunk and Evergreen couldn't help but to glare over at the other woman, hating her more, even, than Titania, just for that day only.

Laxus came to a stop before the trio, eyes on Freed, and the rune mage forced himself to meet the gaze of the other man. It was just as he was beginning to open his mouth though that he caught sight of Mira, over at the bar, staring very pointedly his way and he took in a breath, instead of speaking, reconsidering his words before he was unable to take the back.

His gaze didn't soften, not exactly, but Freed was almost surprised when, instead of being reprimanded, he was welcomed with a pat at the shoulder from the man, as well as a slight grin.

"You kicked Elfman's ass, at least, right?" the slayer asked to which the other mage bowed his head a bit.

"Well, we did find ourselves across from one another and I found myself moving on while he did not, but-"

"All that matters."

"L-Laxus-"

"You'll want it more, next time," he told the other man simply. "After getting so close."

"Yes." And he balled up his fists then, Freed did, nodding his head at the man as he insisted, "I will!"

It was a celebration that night, not a pity party, as Cana was far from someone that anyone could look down upon (especially not with her father there, intent on making certain this didn't happen) and it was a good night.

For everyone.

The night peaked though, for Laxus, when towards the end of it, as he sat up at the bar drinking with the still far too giddy Gildarts, listening to the man go on about all of where he'd been (with some praise for his little girl sprinkled in there), Mirajane appeared at his side. The slayer originally thought it was to refill his mug, which he held up to help her with this, but instead of leaning down to fulfill this request, the woman instead pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering long enough for Gildarts to giggle at the man.

"Mira," Laxus questioned with a bit of a rosiness to his cheeks as the woman rightened and did, finally, begin to fill his mug with golden ale once more. Such public displays were hardly their style and the man raised his head then to question, "What was that for?"

"I just like it when you're nice, dragon." She even giggled. "I like it a lot."

But the night was busy and she was being called off again, across the bar, which left the still somewhat blushing Laxus and grinning Gildarts.

"You caught a good one, Laxus. Proud of ya."

"Shuddup."

"No, seriously." And Gildarts glanced over his shoulder then, to the table where his daughter was plying herself with barrel after barrel while her guild members, all so thrilled by her accomplishment, sat nearby, happily congratulating her. "I fucked up. You know. Once. With the only one that mattered. Sometimes you don't get second-chances, man." His serious tone faded though as his face contorted in a smile that didn't seem to stretch right across it as he said, "Unless you're like my Cana! No need for second-chances; she's all S-Class!"

"Yeah," Laxus snorted, "she just needed fourth and fifth and sixth-chances."

"What did you say? Eh? Laxus?"

And when Gildarts turned his head then, his face had contorted into something far darker and Laxus found it best to just sip his beer in silence for awhile.

They left together that night, Laxus and Mira did, the man a bit drunk and the woman, who'd worked the entire night away, stone cold sober, but it was fine, as she seemed high on something else.

"I'm so happy," she insisted to the man. "For Cana. It almost washes away how badly If eel for Elf."

Almost.

She was twirling and skipping that night, slightly before her boyfriend, and he only watched her for a few moments then before speaking.

"Maybe," he offered with a bit of a shrug, "he could come out with me. Elfman could. And we could train some times. To get him ready for next year."

And she stopped dancing then, Mira did, to look over her boyfriend as she instead flel into step with him. Slipping her arm into the crook of his, she snuggled up close to the man who, even drunk, only rolled his eyes.

"You're so sweet, Lax," she assured him as the man only groaned. "When you wanna be."

Even though his reaction seemed the exact opposite, slowly, Laxus was learning that, maybe, he always wanted to be.

#Miraxus #Mirajane Strauss #Laxus Dreyar #Cana Alberona #Gildarts #Freed Justine #Fairy Tail #Fanfiction

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

It’s Wednesday?! *scoffs* Preposterous!

Thank you @noire-pandora and @rosella-writes for the tags! I send you hugs and flowers and LOVE! >:3

Seriously though, this week has felt long to me, as have the last several weeks to be exact, and despite those long, long days, I haven’t really been able to write beyond this ongoing monster of a ‘short’ story. I wouldn’t really say I have writer’s block. I have ideas, I can write little bits and pieces, but I lose momentum from a lack of energy. *shrugs* If anything, I’m treating this story as an exercise to help me cement some of Fane’s inner workings and practice more intimate events. *waggles eyebrows*

So! Have a bit of a long snippet of Solas and Fane being sappy. They’re so fucking sappy, I swear. No shame.

“...What I’m trying to say is, titles have no bearing if you don’t let them. It’s easier said than done, I know, and that’s why I constantly need the reaffirmation of my name. The spiral is deep, and one syllable is all it takes to slow the fall.” Another sigh, this one far heavier, far more aged. “I know what it means, what it feels to have your identity shredded to ribbons, Solas. I know that so much it hurts. And that’s why I’ll say two syllables for you, so you don’t forget the first title; yourself.”, he stated, tone serious, but warm. “And no matter the other artificial titles, the good and the bad, you are you. Furthermore, you are my sky. Endless. Enduring. Unbending. Eternal. You were all of that to me before you were Fen’harel, or even Solas, or anything else. It may be just another title, but I hope, I hope, it’s one that matters to you because a sky matters more than anything to a dragon. Anything, and I won’t let the expanse that is you be taken from me as surely as the actual sky has been.”

Solas blinked at that waterfall of tender words, entranced by the look of earnestness on Fane’s ivory, but inked visage, the faded green lines almost seeming transparent due to how the setting sun filtering into their quarters bathed them in gold. He was lost, he was reeling, he was grappling between wanting to argue and wanting to relinquish his own stubbornness before letting out an airy laugh, shaking his head as the latter won out. How much more could his heart take before it burst? Such devotion, such pure, unwavering devotion was meant for better people than he, and yet, he couldn’t balk at it, usher it away. It would seem he was not the only one to have come so far.

“...I do not deserve that. I do not deserve such a...christening as that.”, he said, despite his thoughts. He may have come far, but some habits were hard to break. “It baffles me how you can be so certain that your feelings will not change when you know what is to come, when you know what I will be called upon to do.”

“We, Solas. You’re not alone anymore because I won’t let you be alone. No amount of words or deeds will change that either. You know that.”, Fane said, voice harsh, deep, but caring in its timbre.

Solas chuckled quietly. “I know that you are stubborn. Almost infuriatingly so.”, he tried to joke and it had a bit of the desired effect as Fane rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You walked into my domain centuries ago, elf.”, Fane growled, but it held no disgust or anger. “You poked a dragon and earned its heart, so suffer.”

Solas couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that. “I suppose I have no choice in the matter?”, he asked, but he felt lighter, calmer. How easily the dread and the ice melted away. How such a thing could happen was beyond him, but he would be lying if he said that he despised this heat, this warmth of souls.

Fane smirked. “None at all.”, he retorted casually before leaning in to nudge at one of Solas’ cheeks, growl slipping into a quiet, but deep purr as their eyes connected, gazed into each other’s sunlit souls. “So, let me show you how I can be so certain, how you can be so deserving of what I feel.”, he said next within a heartbeat, eager, but even harsher with conviction before it dropped to a baritone whisper. “Let me show you how much I love you, Solas.”

Solas barely had time to fully process those tender words before Fane took all thought away, lips connecting with his own, warm and velvet, but somehow cool to the touch. The gentle suddenness of that connection had him startling a bit, so unused to the reserved man before him to be the one to initiate, but he relaxed soon enough, eyes falling shut and allowing tenderness and certainty to soak into him.

Their lips moved slowly, languidly, but there was an ember to be awoken in their movements, to be sparked and set ablaze. However, there was no rush, no hurry to meet that bonfire. There was only gentle tending as one of Fane’s hands came up to loosely grip his jaw, tilting it just so to dive in deeper, etching his message of affirmation with tender kissing and soft, cool huffs through his nose. The other was busy kneading into one of his hips, a sturdy arm wrapped around to keep them close together. Solas weaved both of his hands into Fane’s head of slightly messy hair, drawing him closer, deeper into a spiral bliss, and humming deep in his chest as a velvet sweep of his dragon’s tongue against his bottom lip had his mind growing foggy.

However, despite the fog of his mind, Solas kept his mouth shut, halting his movements of the kiss, and smirked against Fane’s lips when a resounding growl sounded. His dragon should know good things came to those who waited.

...Or rather, continued to push. He wanted to see how heavy a dragon’s passion could be, but first things first.

Solas pulled away a bit and smirked more when Fane attempted to chase, curling his fingers in snowy strands to keep him still. Another, deeper growl left those enticing lips at that, nearly making him let go and give in from his made his whole tremble with desire, but he remained steadfast, gazing calmly into smoldering, gold-emerald orbs with a hum.

“You may growl all you wish, ma’isenatha, but I will not relent that easily.” He chuckled softly when Fane almost appeared to be pouting. His heart truly could not take much more of this endearing, stubborn man. “Even so, you are becoming a force to be reckoned with. It won’t be long until I do relent to your will.”, he purred, chuckling a bit when Fane’s visage turned pink yet again from his praise, pout turning into a slight grimace of sheepishness. “Before that, however, I wish to continue where we left off, but you stated the endeavor of mindful connection tires you out. Extremely. Will it do so in this case?”, he asked, common concern threatening to ruin the moment and making his smile falter. He wanted to let the mood take the reins, but his dragon’s comfort came first and foremost.

Always.

Fane shrugged, clearing his throat of embarrassment and his own momentary excitement. “In the past, yeah, but that’s because I would try and force the link. Since I can’t even do that anymore, it’s not so terrible.”, he stated simply, leaning in to nuzzle just below Solas’ ear slowly. “It’s no different than sex, to be fair. Intense, and then an afterglow. I’ll feel tired afterwards, but not bone achingly so.” A growling purr, a mixture of thunder and a babbling creek followed after those words, housing more. “Other...actions will make that happen. We’ll make sure of that.”

Solas hummed contentedly at the nuzzle, feeling how his chest began to quicken in its breaths at the heated words. “Mm, indeed we will.”, he murmured, a warmth able to be detected along his neck, cheeks, and ears. He was blushing. Lovely. It always threw him off when Fane would utter seduction. “But, I am curious as to how this ability of yours replicates sex.”

It was Solas’ turn to be pleasantly pleased with himself as Fane’s face flushed, pink shifting deeper to where his freckles were washed out and eyes were a titillating shade of ochre. Two could utter seduction, and after Halamshiral, he had pinpointed that Fane nearly dissolved if the word ‘sex’ was uttered from his lips. A dragon’s beauty had many layers, and while they were rare to be witnessed, his dragon was an open book during such carnal pursuits. The memory of the few times they had engaged physically and deeply nearly had Solas crumbling from shudders and soft pants, but the way Fane was now kissing just under his ear, face still flushed, but more from excitement now than a flustered disposition, was doing that also. How easily the mask fell and shattered from just a brush of lips, a glint of gold as two-toned orbs glanced up at him, a roll of thunder housed in a body so different, but so very much the same.

How easily the game could be tilted towards the other at any given moment.

“It’s a dance of thoughts, a waltz of wills.” The Elvhen dragon halted his kisses to whisper against the sensitive skin below his ear, breathless and husky, before giving it a firmer kiss. “You felt it after our sparring match, and that was just a dying connection - whisper of an afterglow. Rage had drowned out most of the euphoric intensity. But here, with us so close to each other, calm and willing...”, he trailed off, pulling back to level Solas with a solid amber gaze, abilities flaring to life with the emotions swarming around them. “...you’ll feel how deep the line runs, and so will I. After all, what’s more revealing and intimate than piercing each other’s thoughts? The connection of bodies is simple, but the mind... That’s more complicated and all creatures yearn for the depth of understanding.”

Solas let out an airy sigh, reaching up with a hand to stroke a deeply flushed cheek of freckles, ink and ivory. “So, it is a combination of thoughts, a glimpse into the inner when the outer offers no clear answer.”, he said, Fane responding with a tiny nod and pleased smirk due to being understood. “Is it like that if you were to connect with others, or..?”, he asked, a question born of more curiosity, not jealousy. He knew better than to harbor that type of nasty feeling with Fane. Devotion ran deep, as deep as the scar upon his heart’s face as well the scars upon his body. He was just once again fascinated to hear these thoughts and complexities of a being he had only been able to speculate on.

Fane shook his head, laying another kiss against his neck. “No. Most people’s minds don’t bend, their emotions locked up in fear and their minds cordoned off in their own ways. Mages, especially those like you, are easier to link up with, though.”, he murmured against the skin before running the flat of his tongue along his pulse.

Solas let out a quiet gasp, clawing at a broad shoulder as the wet and warm sensation of Fane’s tongue nearly had him melting. That action always made him react violently, and his dragon knew it, chuckling against the column before continuing.

“...Your emotions are potent, despite what you want people to believe. They’re attuned to being flexible and it was why during the duel I could begin the link. You were already reaching out, so I...exploited it.”, Fane admitted with a flash of shame in his eyes before sighing. “But, the sensation we’re about to experience is..” He pulled away from his neck slowly to practically gaze at him with a blazing smolder. “...only available when love is at the forefront. Your mind is willing before it even knows. You want me to enter. You want to share in the pain, the sorrow, the madness, and the passion, and I want you to, too. So, you allow me in. It’s an act of trust, and there is no one, other than maybe my sister, who I trust more than I trust you. And hopefully, you feel the same in regards to me.” A bit of uncertainty shuffled into dual colored eyes and a wry smirk, but they both dispersed as Fane shook his head a bit. “So again, no. It’s not the same for anyone else and it never will be.”

Solas stared at the man before him with slightly wide eyes before a tender smile graced his lips. Leave it to his dragon to word such a serious matter so affectionately, so beautifully. Sometimes, it was hard to see anything but the beautiful creature he had met so long ago when such things were uttered.

It was easy to forget how much suffering and sorrow had laced a mind with crimson poison.

Despite those weighty thoughts, Solas brought his hands up to cup Fane’s face once again, stroking his cheekbones reverently as they gazed into each other. Amber orbs shone slightly from both the slowly descending sun just outside and abilities that were slowly regaining their full power with time, observing him with so much silent love that it made his heart squeeze and a small, warm smile form on his face.

“Ar lath ma.”, Solas said, smiling more when the words of affection had Fane’s eyes darting away sheepishly, but there was a tiny smile upon his own lips. “And I do trust you as you trust me. Implicitly. Trust is a dangerous gambit, but in this instance, I will roll the dice. For you have already bet enough, my dragon.”, he whispered out tenderly before leaning to seal their lips together again gently, wishing to connect physically as well as mentally and emotionally.

Yes, a connection. That is what he deeply yearned for. To understand and to be understood. To bond and be bound to in turn. To know every inch of the one who had seen him at his lowest and greatest, who worshiped him as the sky and nothing of the past that had thus far defined him.

A bit lengthy, but that’s what I’m good at! >:D I just like words. Woooords~ :D

Tagging (*sends cookies* :3): @oxygenforthewicked @little-lightning-lavellan @dungeons-and-dragon-age @the-dreadful-canine @varric-tethras-editor @drag-on-age @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @dreadfutures @whataboutbugs and anyone else that’d like to share their endeavors! :D

#wip wednesday #oc: fane lavellan #solavellan #solas #dragon age #my writing #fane is a chatty chatty dragon in this short story XD #he's either deathly silent or a mess of profound words #he confuses himself sometimes *pikachu face*#solas enjoys it tho :3 #*is bonked with the bonk stick*#smut will not elude me forever! *shakes fist*

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severusdefender · 3 years

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Hey so I'm the furby anon (that's an odd way to introduce oneself but oh well). This is so long I'm so sorry.

I think one of the insane things that I realized of the mauruader fanbase is what they stand for in a general sense but how much they really have tarnished that.

I think the mauruader fans should be proud that the story of the mauruaders is all about the rebellion of norms. Sirius and his family, lupin and his condition, James and Peter both driving and encouraging a friendship that lasted them what 7 + ish years (I'm sorry but I know nothing on Peter and I would love to hear a fucking narrative on James potters struggles from a Stan (to any stans that was sarcasm I realized you enjoy jumping into conclusions so I needed to be direct))

Anyways their friendship is basically found family and I think is okay to enjoy their story lines but I think it's when you only see them in a myopic lens where you acknowledge that they did pranks generally and not at the expense of someone in particular(snape) because of their existence. It's okay to celebrate their struggles of adulthood because they all have their own plots and yes! It's starts of with them being a dick that is how their growth starts. Look I can belive that James had some level of conscious to belive on what's good and also say he was a fucking asshole to snape and I don't think it's right to say he changed (because even though he joined the good guys team doesn't make him a good person because there is no evidence to say he apologized to snape or anything if it's not there it isn't there). I can celebrate lupin and blacks struggle on individuality but I can also critize them for their cowardice and arrogance and not excuse their behavoiur as well.

Snapes charecter is an example where if you only see him in a myopic lense you cant see him more than just a bully and part time deatheater. He has his faults you are right and he should be held accountable for his actions, but I think it's hypocritical that a fanbase that seems of reading between the lines to congratulate on their favs outstanding behavior that has little to no canonical evidence ( snape stealing James ideas, applauding James for saving snape during the werewolf attack (I'm not to sure how I stand with this because I think it's more fitting James being concerned over lupins state of being as in he knew that this was lupins fears that is being exploited at an expense of a joke but not snapes) , saying snape led them to their deaths by giving their addresses to voldermort, blaming him for dumbledores death, not freeing sirius black from Azkaban (we literally went through this no one knew each other to protect each other's identity except for voldermort himself what the fuck do you think the deatheaters are a multi level marketing scheme???), any fucking headcanon that starts with the mauruaders making an anti bullying club (that made me laugh so much), the whole hugging a deadbody scene that wasn't there also yall never seen any other movie apart from hp because that's shown in so many movies irrespective of relationship,,,, if your gonna go the whole only hug the ones you have a romantic love with then I have to ask so you ship harry potter with dobby the elf because that literally happened, him being evil because he hit Petunia with a branch)

Also I need to get this out of my chest,, of you think the only way of saying fuck the system because you feel like a little guy in a big boys club or whatever and then choose to attack a fucking minority I'm sorry but that sounds equally as pathetic as someone who is clearly the privileged person giving a shallow apology without any reparations. You have undoubtedly missed the whole point (as a poc it sounds when a yt person says they understand inequality (racism) because they experienced it when the Chipotle dude Stas someone who came way later) .

Second of all saying someone deserves x thing because in the course of their morally grey lives they do things that are a. Questionable and b. inexcusable, sounds like you are deeply rooted in purity culture where you only acknowledge retribution and redemption only of they are wholly right and all actions can be explained as a they didn't mean it and are a 'deeper' person (see above mauruaders and their anti bullying campaign).

People can change but they don't need to be nice about it, they can be bitter and angry but still do the right thing it may not be endearing or cute, but you can't not acknowledge their good because it isn't in a nicely delivered format. People can change what they stand for they don't need to be sweet about it if the people you support also caused you a lifetime of pain then you can support the cause not its members you are allowed to do that.

And this might sound like jumping into an extreme conclusion (I wanted to participate in extreme sports like the mauruaders fans) if you think that (you need to be nice and do the right thing) then I think you guys lack a certain level of empathy and not have kids. As kids have unsound logic and make mistakes and can be cruel, assuming that they cruel forever because of their unsound logic at one point and punishing them with a lifetime of guilt and ignoring them seems a bit insane to say loosely. (after all that was your response to a fucking fictional charecter who was punished for being different and whatever actions that followed in his miserable life was well deserved because of his actions to be a 'bad guy' . After all isn't that not your response to people who enjoy his charecter and then decided to belive that they deserve death and 'extermination' or was that just a convenient joke/comment at the expense of someone else's interest??? I have no sympathy for most yall your just cruel)

Good points

#Anonymous #severus snape #pro snape

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viola-ophelia · 4 years

Text

some thoughts on my favorite murder boi, aka i sat down to type out a couple of ideas about tyelko and accidentally wrote an essay:

tolkien is infamous for writing characters that lack substance, and celegorm in the canon silm is a prime example of this. consequentially, a fair portion of the silm fandom chooses to interpret celegorm as a flat, one-dimensional villain. this makes sense to an extent-- if you look at the basic actions canon gives us to work with, they are, at face value, quite evil. celegorm works with curufin to overthrow nargothrond, plays an indirect but deliberate role in finrod’s death, kidnaps luthien in an attempt to force her into political marriage, and is implied to have participated fully, willingly and even enthusiastically in both kinslayings he was alive for. however, i do not think celegorm is a fundamentally “bad” character, and i’m about to endeavor to prove it, or to at least convince you that he’s worth taking a second look at.

first, it’s worth noting that i’m not interested in being a feanorian apologist here. the evil deeds listed above are canon, and there’s no doubt in my mind that a) celegorm definitely did them, b) that they are very, very bad things to do, and c) that he should be held accountable for their consequences. if celegorm’s a morally gray character— as i’m about to argue— he’s certainly a very dark gray. but i’ve always had a problem with the fandom stance of just accepting without further thought that his evil actions in canon must mean he’s a fully, indisputably antagonistic character with no motive or nuance apart from the urge to commit senseless acts of violence. that just seems... boring to me. so i’m going to try to explain my personal set of hcs about celegorm and how they might tie together to provide not an excuse, but an explanation for why he is the way he is.

let’s first talk about celegorm pre-canon. one important hc that i have is that celegorm is, both visually and characteristically, an outlier in his family. i don’t mean to insinuate that he’s hated or shunned, but i do think, because of his differences and because it’s just so easy to overlook middle children, that he wasn’t given nearly as much attention as, say, maedhros or curufin. let’s examine basic visual differences first. celegorm is the only feanorian suggested to have fair/silver hair, and it’s a pretty common fan interpretation that he inherited this trait from miriel. in the years of the trees, bearing a strong resemblance to the only elf ever to fade/die would certainly not have endeared him to anyone. in particular, feanor, who was deeply affected by the loss of his mother, now has to face a constant visual reminder of his trauma. celegorm’s primary skill/talent also sets him apart from the rest of his family-- in a family primarily oriented around smithing and crafting, being the only hunter isolates him. the only other finwean who shares this interest with him is aredhel, and though tolkien tells us they were good friends, it’s likely that their interactions were met with disapproval from feanor due to his distrust/dislike of his half-siblings.

so where does this put celegorm at the start of the silm? we can infer from his basic actions in canon that if he has any motive at all beyond senseless violence, it’s a deep and unconditional loyalty to his family. after all, he was more than willing to commit countless atrocities, and eventually sacrifice his own life, in the name of his father and brothers. despite its steadfastness, however, it’s also a complicated loyalty— because the evidence above suggests that it was not always acknowledged or returned. at the beginning of his character arc, celegorm is a little naive (as they all were), a little reckless and prone to acting before thinking, and a lot desperate to prove himself to a family that has always viewed him with casual indifference. this youthful zeal puts him in the starting position of a typical coming-of-age story, and in a happier tale, we might have expected to see him mature and cultivate an agency of his own.

so what goes wrong? celegorm never gains that independence— in fact, far from it. he falls increasingly under the control of external and internal factors— the oath, curufin, and his own thirst for violence— and worse, he seems content to let himself be strung along. celegorm’s character arc is a perfect downward spiral. we see him go from a slightly overzealous defender of his family to a full-on bloodthirsty murderer in the span of only about half the silm, and when his death comes at last, our gut reaction is probably something like “ugh, FINALLY!” he makes us hate him through his actions, and he dies exactly the type of bloody, reckless death we’d expect. but here’s the thing. celegorm expected, even wanted his death just as much as we did. remember, he was the one who stirred up sentiment for the second kinslaying. to put it bluntly, i think he all but ran himself through with dior’s blade.

celegorm knew, i think, from his first kill at alqualonde (maybe even earlier! maybe from the moment the oath left his mouth!) that he was past the point of redemption. now, that is a very difficult thing to come to terms with. what do you do when you know you’ve already doomed yourself? what can you do when your actions, good or bad, become entirely meaningless— when no matter whether you spend the rest of your life helping little old ladies cross the street or murdering people in cold blood, you’ll still end up in the same place? it’s a very nihilistic mindset to come to, and celegorm reaches it alarmingly early on in his arc. and it’s painfully clear what that realization drives him to do.

celegorm is not like maglor, who clings to the notion that because he feels guilt for what he’s done, he must still be a good person, or curufin, who through lies convinces himself that because his deeds are in the name of feanor’s legacy, he must be on the good side of history. celegorm fully acknowledges his own evil and makes no excuses for himself. and he sinks deeper and deeper into the pit he dug for himself, because why bother trying in vain to claw his way out when the void is all he’ll find on either side? as a hunter, celegorm was never a stranger to the taking of life, but the vehemence with which he comes to embrace it indicates a full surrender to the animalistic whims of his id. i imagine him toward the end telling himself over and over that one more murder, one more lie, one more bad deed tacked on the end of his long, long list means nothing. celegorm ends up seeking out his own death because he hates the person he’s become. he stops trying to be good because he knows he’s past salvation, and this makes him an irreconcilably evil character-- he proves himself exactly right in that regard.

celegorm is often characterized solely through his actions, and in fact, he personifies action itself in a sense: he deals in physical pain, and he’s the physical driving force of the oath. and yet it’s his inaction— his unwillingness and/or inability to free himself from the vicious cycle of violence— that is his ultimate undoing. celegorm’s character is full of these paradoxes. he murders elves without hesitation and then goes out into the forest and has a chat with a bunny rabbit. he goes down in history as “the cruel,” but his love for his family is so strong he’s willing to kill and die for them. it’s impossible for me to hate him because as terrible as he is, i can feel him-- i feel his struggle with life’s seeming futility, i feel his increasingly hopeless desperation to get back even a fraction of the devotion he so freely gives his family, and i feel the volatility that brews in him unchecked, the product of that hopelessness, that i’ve already lost, the game’s already over which drags him so quickly under.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion meta #tolkien meta #silm #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #celegorm #feanorians #character study #:3 #cat's meta

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mooresomore · 3 years

Text

One of the things Eddie didn’t know when he started hanging out with Buck was just how much Buck loved Elton John’s music. Like seriously, Buck listened to it all the time. It was kind of cute and endearing actually (and Eddie wasn’t going to look into the way that Elton seemed like a role model to Buck). Buck had come out to Eddie almost immediately after the grenade incident, revealing he was bisexual. Eddie thanked Buck for trusting him enough to tell him, but said he wasn’t quite ready to come out regarding his own sexuality quite yet, because he was still working through things.

“Whatever you need man, I’m here.” Buck had said. “Even if it’s just someone to work through things with. I’ve been there before.”

“Thanks.” Eddie was actually about to take Buck up on his offer (and see if it was just a one-time thing, or if he was truly into guys), but then Shannon had come back and things had come to a stop before they even got going. Buck still invited Eddie and Christopher over (and took Christopher a couple of times to give Eddie and Shannon some time).

Then there was the Christmas Santa scene. Eddie had spilled his guts to Buck and Buck just listened and offered some advice. Of course, Eddie hadn’t heard what the elf had said to Buck. Buck got into the Jeep with this look Eddie couldn’t quite decipher and started driving them home. Eddie was about to ask Buck what was going on when Buck all but screamed, “I love this song!” and cranked up the radio. Eddie couldn’t hide the smile that worked its way onto his face. Of course it was Elton John’s “Step Into Christmas”.

“Hands on the wheel.” Eddie gently reminded Buck when Buck got a little too overzealous rocking out to the song.

“Sorry.” Buck turned the radio down a little and focused on the road.

Eddie turned the music back up. “Didn’t say you needed to stop. Just tone it down a little and get us home in one piece, ok?”

“Yeah.” Buck glanced over at Eddie, who grinned. Buck looked to the backseat where Christopher was dancing around in his seat the best he could. “Wait a minute.” Buck looked down, where Eddie’s fingers were tapping against the console in time with the beat of the song. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Eddie grinned. “But if you tell anyone…”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Buck said, grinning as he pulled up in front of Eddie’s house. “We have arrived at your destination.”

“Thanks. I had fun tonight.” Eddie said.

“Me too.” Buck said.

“Thanks for coming with us Buck.” Christopher said as Eddie got him out of the Jeep.

“Anytime Superman. See you on Friday night for movie night?”

“Yeah!” Christopher grinned.

“See you then.” Eddie said softly. “Text me when you get home?”

“Always.” Buck said.

***

The next time it happened, Eddie was hanging out with Buck at Buck’s loft. Abuela had offered to take Christopher so Eddie could have a day to himself (he hadn’t got many of those since Shannon had died- and Eddie really didn’t want to relive that part of his life again). Buck had immediately decided Eddie didn’t need to be alone, so he had come up with the flimsy excuse of needing to try out a recipe, knowing that they were still on shaky ground after the lawsuit. Eddie had said yes without a moment’s hesitation (he couldn’t refuse Buck’s cooking), so here they were.

“What do you want to do?” Buck asked. “Tonight’s your night man. I’m down for whatever, as long as it’s legal.”

That pulled a grin from Eddie. “Whatever’s legal, huh? So if I said I wanted to get completely shitfaced at a strip club and bring a girl home, you’re down for that?”

There was a look that Eddie couldn’t quite place for a second on Buck’s face, but it went away and Buck said, “If that’s what you want, dude. Let’s go.”

“What?” Eddie asked as Buck grabbed his keys. “No, Buck. I was just kidding. I was using that as an example. I don’t want to do that.”

“Good.” Buck said, dropping his keys back in the bowl by the door. “Cause that wasn’t really going to be fun.”

“What?” Eddie asked. There was that look on Buck’s face again. Eddie was still trying to decipher it.

“It wouldn’t be fun watching you get drunk and hook up with someone else.” Buck’s voice was soft and Oh! Eddie suddenly knew that look. It was jealousy.

“What you’re saying is you would totally be ok if I got drunk and hooked up with you instead?” Eddie asked. They hadn’t ever really talked about Eddie’s orientation again since the initial time, but he was pretty sure Buck was picking up on all the flirting Eddie was laying down.

“Yeah.” Buck said. “Or you could not get drunk and still hook up with me?”

“Buck,” Eddie said. “I’d never regret hooking up with you. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

“You have?” Buck asked.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Just the timing was never right. I wanted to ask you. Then Shannon came back, then she died, then there was the lawsuit and I couldn’t talk to you.”

“You can talk to me now.” Buck said. “I want you to talk to me now.” Buck amended. “I need to know a lot before we get up to anything. This can’t just be a casual thing. I can’t do casual.” Buck said.

“It’s not.” Eddie promised. “I want it all with you. I want the awkward dating stage, the ‘we can’t keep our hands off of each other’ stage, and the ‘I don’t want to spend my life with anyone but you’ stage.”

“Me too.” Buck said. He looked at Eddie. “I need to know how much you’ve done and what you’re comfortable with.”

Eddie knew this was an awkward conversation, but they needed to get it out of the way. He told Buck about the couple of experiences he’d had, what he’d liked and hadn’t liked, and what he wanted to learn and do. Buck listened and then explained his own experiences and what he wanted.

“Now that we have that out of the way, let’s say we get started?” Buck asked, leaning in towards Eddie. “You can say stop at any time and we can stop.”

“Ok.” Eddie leaned in. Buck’s phone rang, Elton John’s “Rocketman” coming through the tinny speaker. Eddie pulled back, laughing. “I should have figured.”

“Stop.” Buck put his head in his hands. “I thought I had turned off my ringer.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with some Elton John.” Eddie said. “Just not when I’m about to make out with my best friend.”

“Take it to the bedroom?” Buck asked, reaching out his hand towards Eddie.

“Yes please.”

***

They had made it through all the stages and were now up to the “I don’t want to spend my life with anyone but you” one. Buck had just proposed, and Eddie (after consulting Christopher) had agreed. Bobby had given his blessing and they were at the courthouse getting their marriage certificate (they didn’t want a big thing). When they got home, Buck said, “I do want to do a first dance with you if that’s ok. I just always had this vision and…” Buck was cut off by a kiss from Eddie.

“Bring your phone here. I know the perfect song.” Buck wordlessly handed over his phone and watched as Eddie scrolled through the songs until he grinned. Soon, “Something About the Way You Look Tonight” filled the living room and they were slow dancing. Buck had tears in his eyes.

“Babe,” Eddie said. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He said as the song ended.

“They’re happy tears, promise.” Buck said. “That song was perfect.” He hugged Eddie close.

“Elton has all the right words, even when I don’t.” Eddie said, smiling. “Yes, you’ve turned me into an Elton John fan.”

“Took you long enough.” Buck grinned.

The joke was on Buck though-Eddie said that he had gotten them a honeymoon gift. He made Buck close his eyes. Buck humored Eddie, and Eddie placed the tickets and VIP passes into Buck’s hands. “Open your eyes.”

Eddie watched as Buck realized what they were. “Eds?”

“I love you.” Was all Eddie could say.

“I love you too. So much.” Buck said.

Buck managed to not pass out when they got to meet Elton John, so he counted it as a win. This was definitely one of the coolest things he’d ever got to do.

***

If you were in the Buckley-Diaz household, there was a 95% chance that Elton John was playing on the speakers.

#writing #fic writing #buddie #soft and domestic #Buck is totally an Elton John fan in my mind #And he convinces Eddie to be one as well #The 118 just looks at them like it took you two long enough to get together #Step Into Christmas is totally one of my fave Christmas songs #Why yes- I do have an Elton John playlist

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wincestisasincest · 4 years

Text

Bob Your Head (The Fellowship x Reader)

I HAD A DUMB IDEA BON APPETIT BITCHES.

Summary: You get stopped by a woodland spirit that inhibits you from continuing, before noticing your silky smooth hair.

Words: 1616 (soz it got way longer than i intended)

Things literally just kept getting weirder and weirder for you. First, you’d fallen into this strange land. Then, you’d joined their crackhead quest. THEN you’d found all of these nerds oddly endearing. AND NOW you were to face to face with this mischievous tree motherfucker. Great.

“Please, I beg your pardon, but our quest is of the utmost sensitivity.” Aragorn communicated with the slender, brown-skinned sprite just as he would a political ally. Big mistake.

“I am not some king to be courted by you greasy-haired hobo.” As the sprite convulsed, the rest of the trees began to grow around you, and you realized that you were completely trapped in the glenn. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that magic exists in this world, and then it comes back and smacks you in the head like that.

“Are not the sprites kings of the forest?” Gandalf muttered under his breath.

“It’s not up for you humans to decide what we are at all, actually.”

“Okay, well that’s like half of the group, nice.” You said it sarcastically, out of instinct, but the sprite turned to look directly at you. You could feel the leaves begin to touch our arms and legs. Boromir, protector of literally everything he was, put his hand to his sword as the hobbits took a step back.

“What was that?” His eyes flared with anger. Legolas coughed, looking at Aragorn, Gimli, and Gandalf like he was expecting them to do something, but the just stood watching you in fear. That’s enough fear for one group, though, and you took it on yourself to act at least a little brave.

“I said that’s half of the group, bro. Like, him,” you pointed to Boromir, “and him,” you pointed to Aragorn, “and me are human. Gandalf, I don’t know what he is, but it’s not human, Gimli, well, he’s a dwarf, that long haired guy is Legolas, an elf, and all of these peeps,” you gestured to the hobbits at your side, “are hobbits. So, uh, you got some of it right, I guess?”

Aragorn facepalmed. Pippin seemed more intrigued by what you were doing, and almost opened his mouth to add something on to it before Merry nudged him aggressively.

“Is that so?” the sprite raised an eyebrow. You nodded.

“You’re not from here, are you?” You nodded yet again, suddenly aware of everything on your body that was modern, from your t-shirt under your tunic to your undergarments to your sneakers.

“What gave it away?” You made eye contact with Frodo, who looked like he was about to cry. You recall that one night at the campfire he had shared stories of sprites that he’d learned back in the shire. He was shoulder to shoulder with Sam, looking utterly terrified.

“Everything, human. What’s your name?”

“Y/n” You flipped your hair back sassily. At this point, Boromir had put his sword away, but he still appeared very much on guard.

“Where does one get a name like that?” You could swear that this man was writing a Wikipedia article on you.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Mr., uh-”

“Elmwood. Call me Elmwood.” You swallowed the urge to call his name redundant.

“Well, Mr. Elmwood, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you where I come from, and everything about me, if you let our lovely party pass.” You smiled, pleased with your own cleverness. Thus far, you felt as though you had been more of a burden to the group than anything, but now you were actually contributing.

“Hm. No.” He put a finger to his chin, looking displeased. Even Gandalf was somewhat surprised, leaning in front of Legolas to get a better view of your conversation, almost as if he was expecting something.

“Look, all we wanna do is-” You were not about to take his bullshit.

“I know what I want from you, human. You, you woman.” Ah yes. We have a real observant one here. Though some members managed to remain contained, the hobbits, especially Merry and Sam, visibly cringed. They were far more familiar with having unchangeable qualities about themselves being used as insults.

“Well spotted. Well, what is it? I haven’t got all day.” You wondered to yourself if they could smell fear, like dogs. Behind him, you noticed Aragorn reach for his sword and rest his hand on the hilt, while Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance before getting into a stance that would easily allow them to grab their weapons at any time. Boromir whispered something in Gandalf’s ear, but Gandalf just shushed him.

“That hair of yours. I want it.” Now everyone, including yourself, simply looked confused. Your hair had grown long and soft since you had come to Middle Earth, as your general lack of upkeep had allowed it to return to its natural state. To be honest, for a while, it was the least of your problems.

“My hair?” You reached up and touched your tendrils. They had dried well in the sun.

“Stop this nonsense. Y/n, you don’t have to-” Boromir stepped forward. Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, Boromir. Though, he is correct y/n. We can always take the long way round if you would rather not.” The hobbits nodded affirmatively.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not that big a’ deal. Just sorta weird.” You fingered around on your belt before landing on a dagger, a gift from Elrond, that you had yet to use. You slid your finger across the blade. It was mighty sharp.

“Y/n, are you sure?” Legolas stepped forward, deeply rooted with some sort of concern.

“Lass, I wouldn’t mind takin’ the long way round.” Gimli nodded.

“Yeah, we’re durable!” Pippin called from the hobbit group, to which Merry and Frodo affirmatively nodded, while Sam continued to look on.

“I would hate for you to lose your lovely hair, Miss Y/n.” Sam said softly.

Gandalf stayed silent, calmly waiting for you to make your decision.

“Uh, guys, it’s not that big a deal. My hair is not that important to me, like, it’s fine.” Before any more protests, you pulled your hair back, lifted the dagger slightly under your chin, and sliced, feeling the weight vanish from the back of your head.

Your hands clutched a fistful of your locks, leaving you a very blunt bob cut. Though there were no mirrors to look at, you ran a hand through your hair, only to feel a wave of adrenaline run through you as you felt the emptiness behind your back. You shook your hair a little bit before making eye contact with the sprite again, who seemed awfully pleased with himself.

“Well, here ya go,” You offered the fistful of locks to him, which he approached cautiously before snatching from you, “Now can we pass?”

“Sure, just mind where you step.” The sprite didn’t look you in the eye, but was too busy playing with the hair that was once yours. And just like that, he disappeared into who knows where, leaving a vacancy.

You peered around. All eyes were on you, some with concern, others with pity, and only one, Gandalf, with understanding. You sheathed the dagger and put in back on your belt, before running your hand through your hair once more.

“Are you alright, Miss Y/n?” Merry, bless him, looked at you with wide eyes. You awkwardly smiled.

“Yeah, y’all, I’m fine, it’s really not that big of a deal. It saved us a lot of walking, that’s for sure.” You tried to ease the awkwardness as you looked forward.

“Y/n, if you require us to explain to people the situation with your hair, we would be more than glad too-”

“Situation?” You cut Aragorn off. You didn’t mean to sound angry, but this sort of confusion was frustrating you.

“There is no need to get angry, Y/n.” Gandalf sagely said.

“What? No, I’m not angry, I’m just confused. Is there some hair stuff I don’t know about?”

“I think what they mean to say,” Gimly stepped forward, “is that your hair is far more befitting of a young lad than it is a proper lady.” Everyone else nodded with agreement.

“Wait,” you paused, “Is short hair not a thing here?” Everyone looked amongst themselves awkwardly, but thankfully your own memories were there to ask you questions. Now, pretty much every man in this world, save for the hobbits, had longer hair than you, and the women all had hair down to the middle of their backs, at the very least.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” you said understandingly, “though like I said, I don’t really care. You don’t need to explain it to anyone, it doesn’t bother me, short hair is very common where I come from. Besides, now it can stop getting in my face when I’m trying to do things.” You giggled, and you could see Aragorn and Gandalf adopt small traces of smiles.

“It’s common where you come from?” Frodo inquired.

“Yeah, like we would call this a bob cut. Cause it bobs.” You shook your head to demonstrate the bobbing effect, and the small crowd of hobbits laughed.

Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir still didn’t appear to be convinced, but Gandalf didn’t have time for their shenanigans.

“Well, now that that’s settled, on we go!” He lead with his staff, to which the hobbits quickly trotted behind, followed by you, then a tentative Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir, and finally a patient Aragorn, holding up the back.

Wherever you went after, you could feel eyes on your short hair, though you didn’t mind. It was the least strange thing that had happened to you so far.

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chaos-of-the-abyss · 3 years

Text

The One

*This fic takes place during Melkor's false "repentance" after he's defeated for the first time.

___

Mânawenûz’s hair is soft on his cheek.

He is lovely like this, in the pale glow of the moonlight; long silver-white hair wreathed around his face and neck, a sharp contrast to the copper skin, dusky in the dim light. Silvery eyelashes that frame his closed eyes, a gracefully arching nose and soft, full lips. Mbelekhūrūz catches himself before he can reach out fully, the tips of his fingers just grazing the peerlessly beautiful face before his eyes.

Mânawenûz is always beautiful; no other being can even begin to compete. It’s not the fana that makes it so, really. It is more just because it is him, that he is there.

Mbelekhūrūz remembers the Timeless Halls. Things were simpler back then; not better, not happier, for then he was still a blind puppet dancing in the palm his Father’s hand – but simpler. When he and his brother would sink into repose, their ëalar intertwined into a single unit, full and soft and peaceful. Mbelekhūrūz thinks that it might be the most content he ever recalls feeling. Back then, curled around and with and inside his brother, he felt that everything was perfect, that he could not find a single grievance in all of the infinity of Father’s domain.

But for one thing. One nagging, persistent desire, one ceaseless, unyielding thought.

He had wanted to be one like this, all the time. Their ëalar were woven together in that moment, but if, Mbelekhūrūz had found himself wondering, if he asked his brother – do you want to, would you like to – and his brother agreed – yes, yes, I’d like to, I want to – then if they could perhaps be united forever, irrevocably—

He would not go back to that past, of course. Those days are gone, and he is his own, a slave no more, never again. But right now – right now, he tells himself. Just momentarily, why not? He does not believe in denying himself the things that he wants – so why not? No one will stop him. Bharadāz is not here. She is in Valmar with some elf, one of her pretty golden-haired pets, he can’t remember the name. Mbelekhūrūz doesn’t understand – why would any being ever look away, ever dream of looking away, when Mânawenûz, sublime and breathtaking and totally incomparable, is right here – but he is not complaining. This moment is his.

His ëala unfurls, tentative in a way that he has not bothered to be in a long time. Mânawenûz’s comfort has stopped meaning anything to him, but he does not want to wake his brother. To shatter this stillness.

He threads his ëala through that of Mânawenûz, slotting the grooves into each other, pushing past the borders so that the two of them melt together, and his breath catches in his throat. It is the same. It feels exactly the same. The serenity, the calm, the quiet, the pleasure—

So long, Mbelekhūrūz thinks. Too long. He did not imagine it was possible, but he forgot, he must have forgotten. They have been apart for so long, and even though Mbelekhūrūz can bear it, even though he is not so pathetic that his brother’s absence will make him crumble, he cannot deny that this is good. It feels good.

Do you want to? Would you like to? The words come unbidden to his mind.

Yes. Yes. I’d like to. I want to.

Mânawenûz’s eyelids flutter. For a moment, Mbelekhūrūz’s thoughts go absolutely and utterly still, entranced by the sight. Then sense comes back to him, and he realizes that he has involuntarily reached forward, pressed himself closer to his brother’s body so that Mânawenûz’s shoulder is touching his chest, and his arm, if he reached out but a little, would be wrapped around his brother’s waist.

Mbelekhūrūz almost does it. He almost holds Mânawenûz to him tightly, almost buries his face in the crook of his brother’s neck, almost presses his lips against his jaw. But he stays himself. Mânawenûz is stirring – his hands, folded neatly on his abdomen, pull apart to his sides, and one of them lands nestled right against Mbelekhūrūz’s stomach.

Mbelekhūrūz waits for a moment. He wonders what he will do, if Mânawenûz’s eyes open. If his gaze clears, and he looks at him. Will he ignore it, pretend that it does not matter? Smile? Speak? Or, perhaps he will wait for his brother to speak first.

He will not let go, though. Why, he thinks, why should I? It has always been the two of them, always together, like this. And as far as Mânawenûz knows, he has repented, he has changed, and so things should be what they once were, should they not? And back then – back then, Mânawenûz was his. His brother. His other half. He might be a traitor, he might have betrayed Mbelekhūrūz, accepting the crown of Aþāraphelūn when it should belong to him, the most powerful, the greatest – but Mânawenûz is his. It’s unchanging – Mbelekhūrūz doesn’t need his brother’s opinion. Whatever Mânawenûz wants to believe, they have been two halves of one whole. They are still.

I will have you, Mbelekhūrūz thinks, gazing at his brother’s sleeping face. No, that’s wrong. I have you already. I always have. But I will make you realize it. His brother has a place, a rightful designation, and that is at his feet. Crawling on the ground, collared and chained, at his side always. The nearest to him, of course – he would not allow anyone else to even get close. That light, that beauty, that perfection, it belongs to Mbelekhūrūz alone. It only makes sense. They were born with each other, together, in the same space, at the same time. Father might deny it all that He wanted, and so might Mânawenûz, but is that not proof, is it not confirmation, that their Father believes the same? He – Father, ah, Father – is a greedy, self-centered tyrant, to have put Mânawenûz instead of him on the throne so that He could maintain His command over Aþāraphelūn , because Mbelekhūrūz will never simply kneel and purr and nuzzle his head into Father’s hand the way that his brother does.

But. But. In this one thing, Father was right. To create them thus, to have one thought and cleave it in half, to form the two of them. Mbelekhūrūz and Mânawenûz – they are one. It matters not that Mânawenûz is Bharadāz’s husband, it means nothing. Mânawenûz – Mânawenûz has been his since the moment that they were born. It is only right that they are together. Only right that he, the stronger, the mightier, leads, and his brother follows, and that they are never parted.

Do you want to? Would you like to?

It does not matter, Mbelekhūrūz thought. He does not restrain himself this time – he reaches out, and his thumb traces the contour of Mânawenûz’s lip, and his ëala twines itself stronger, deeper, into his brother’s. You will. It is right, righteousness itself, and you will admit it.

Mânawenûz stirs again. Mbelekhūrūz does not move, does not retract his hand. He stares instead, motionless, wordless, as his brother’s eyes flutter open. They are turned in his direction even before his eyelids fully part.

See? Mbelekhūrūz almost smiles at that – almost. You feel it, do you not? You feel me. You belong to me.

“Brother.” Mânawenûz speaks. Softness in his voice. Softness in his gaze. Mbelekhūrūz’s breath catches – and, well. His brother has always been good at that. Coquettishness. Charm. It is how he operates, how he snares those he wants to his side. It used to be amusing – endearing, even.

Now, Mbelekhūrūz’s jaw tightens. If it had been another that Mânawenûz was looking at in such a way, Mbelekhūrūz would have snapped their neck. Wrenched their jaw apart, dug out their eyeballs, cut out their tongue. But no, no – he smiles instead – it’s alright, because his brother is looking at him. Good. That coyness, that, too, belongs to him alone.

“I don’t recall inviting you to my bed like this,” Mânawenûz breathes. He looks like he has not a single mind to move away.

“You invited me into your home,” replies Mbelekhūrūz. He resumes tracing his thumb down his brother’s lip, moving along the smooth seam until he stops at the corner of Mânawenûz’s mouth. Mânawenûz’s eyes flicker downwards, but there is not a hint of discomfort there. “You know me well enough for the result to be plain, dear brother.”

Not exactly true. If Mânawenûz truly thinks that he has repented, that he regrets, then he does not know him at all. Never bothered to know him at all, and the thought is irksome. You belong to me, you should know all of me. He will not try to change it, though. This – he will stick to this, for the moment.

“Are you implying,” Mânawenûz murmurs, playful, a smile – beautiful, Mbelekhūrūz thinks – turning the corners of his lips up, “that you have some ulterior motive in mind, dear brother?”

Oh. Oh, he has many. Deception. Domination. Justice. You. Too numerous, far too numerous, to count, to even begin to keep track of, and he will achieve them all. But right now, he will content himself with this. He will content himself with only you.

“Quite,” replies Mbelekhūrūz. His hand has gone lower, fingers now curled lightly around Mânawenûz’s throat. He feels the beat of blood beneath his thumb, and remembers the first time they fashioned and wore their fanar, the first time they came together as such. It was a fascination, Mbelekhūrūz recalls. Pulling his brother’s hair. Caressing his lips. Taking him into his mouth. Thrusting into him.

He is hovering over Mânawenûz, now. Close – their breaths intermingling, the heat from their skin joining. Briefly, Mbelekhūrūz wonders if he ought to proceed. He does not know if Mânawenûz is prepared for him; he does not want to startle his brother, after all – because that, that would drive him away and would not help this ruse he must play to fool him.

He is still wondering when Mânawenûz kisses him first.

Mbelekhūrūz’s mind blanks. He always thought about how he would react if this happened again. If he would laugh. Or smile. Or grip his brother’s hips and flip him over and take him against the wall of his own chambers, hard and fast and deep so that by the time Mânawenûz comes undone, he will be a trembling, gasping mess in Mbelekhūrūz’s arms.

But he doesn’t do any of these things. He doesn’t think that he can. His mind is white, empty as the Void, save for just yes, yes, yes, more.

And so he does not resist when Mânawenûz presses him against the bed and rids him of his clothes, flinging them off to the side haphazardly and with abandon that no elf could ever imagine the Elder King of Arda to possess. If he thinks he might be on the verge of regaining his composure again, any slightest brush of his brother’s fingers against his skin returns him to a daze.

Mânawenûz strips too, brisk and efficient, his azure gaze blistering-hot, and Mbelekhūrūz can only stare. The fana is easy on the eyes, it is true – but it is not that, not that, that has his chest tightening, his mind blanking. Mânawenûz, Mânawenûz, is – here. He is doing this – is willing, eager, to do this, with him.

I have him fooled, Mbelekhūrūz thinks. He tries to be smug. He is smug. The thought, the reminder that this is a farce, is not bitter, and does not sour his mood.

When Mânawenûz leans down to kiss him, he returns it. Eager. Laughing, breathlessly, sweetly, his brother breaks away a little to adjust their positions, but Mbelekhūrūz twines his hands in that long, silvery hair and pulls him back down. Do not get further away from me. Do not dare. Their lips connect again, and Mbelekhūrūz – a farce, he remembers, a lie, a show, a deception. He violently shoves the thought away.

When Mânawenûz enters him, Mbelekhūrūz does not try to hide his moans. When Mânawenûz thrusts, finds a rhythm, strokes his chest and stomach and lavishes his throat and jaw with kisses, Mbelekhūrūz allows himself to cry out openly. When Mânawenûz starts plowing, hands braced around his hips, hard enough to hurt and hard enough to leave bruises, Mbelekhūrūz gasps and keens. He would not normally do this, but perhaps – perhaps, a farce, a lie, a show, a deception, perhaps he can drown it out this way.

“Mbelekhūrūz.” Mânawenûz’s voice is sonorous, rich, smooth, and hearing it husky from exertion, strained with lust, is almost enough for Mbelekhūrūz to unravel right there. “I’m – ah, I am—close.”

I as well. The words never leave Mbelekhūrūz’s lips. Mânawenûz snaps his hips, precise and ruthlessly aimed, and he chokes on a sob. Keep going, he thinks, heedless of anything else. He can think of nothing else but Mânawenûz, gasping against him, filling him up, taking him. Keep going, don’t stop, more, I’m close, I want it, want you—

They come. Explosive, glorious – and together, together, just as always, just as is right. Mbelekhūrūz twines his arms around Mânawenûz’s shoulders, buries his face in the crook of his neck, all thoughts robbed from his mind. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Neither of those things makes sense; he is not that blind fool anymore.

There is silence. The world has not returned yet, Mbelekhūrūz does not want it to. He is suddenly lost in imaginings, in a fantasy. Of his brother, shackled and bound, at his rightful place at his feet. His toy, his plaything, his partner, his. They can have this – this wholeness, this completion – whensoever they wish, every second of every minute of every day, and no one will stop them. Mbelekhūrūz, he will smite anyone who dares try. There will be no need for secrets, no need for falsehoods, no need for deception. It will be like it used to, like it was supposed to be always.

“Mbelekhūrūz.” Mânawenûz is calling him. He does not reply; no words are needed. And when his brother goes to separate, Mbelekhūrūz traps him in his arms, refuses to let go. Why should he? Why? Why should Mânawenûz have to be Bharadāz’s husband, the Elder King of Arda, the King of the Valar, when he is simply Mbelekhūrūz’s other half?

Mânawenûz laughs softly, tenderly, and wraps his arms around the small of Mbelekhūrūz’s back. Not gently, like one might expect, but firmly, insistently, perhaps even purposefully. Yes, Mbelekhūrūz thinks, this is it. This is right. He holds his brother tighter, too. This – they – cannot be changed – it has been this way from the moment that they were born, from the moment that Father decided to bring consciousness forth into existence.

We are one. You belong to me.

You are mine.

___

I want to make it clear that Varda is not cheating on Manwë here; it's a consensual affair. I don't tend to see the Ainur as 100% monogamous all the time, and some of them are cool with their spouses having other partners as long as it's not done in secret. That's basically what's going on with Manwë and Varda in this fic; they're still a couple, they still love each other very much and extramarital relations are consensual from both sides.

Now. Melkor. He's definitely an unreliable narrator here. He says that he doesn't care about Manwë's comfort and is only being careful to not wake him, and that he doesn't want to startle Manwë because it would be detrimental to his ruse, but part of him (a large part of him) still desperately loves his brother and, despite everything, doesn't want to see him in discomfort.

He also resents Manwë for his perceived betrayals of him (why don't you take a good look at yourself before that, Melkor...), but remains insanely possessive of his brother nonetheless. It doesn't matter a lick to Melkor that Manwë is married, or that he's the king of Arda, or that Manwë would never want to just sit by at Melkor's side while Melkor makes Arda into his own personal evil empire. In Melkor's mind, Manwë is his, he was born his, and there's no getting around it. That doesn't stop him from being intensely jealous of and despising anything that takes Manwë's attention away from him, though.

#they're a mess your honor #manwë súlimo #manwë #manwe #manwe sulimo #melkor #morgoth #morgoth bauglir #manwë x melkor #melkor x manwë #manwe x melkor #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #my writing

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iatethepomegranate · 3 years

Text

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Content warnings: lots of grief, Caleb's backstory, referenced child abuse

Chapter summary: The Nein goes shopping and Caleb is tired. The market offers up an expected memory, and the chance to hold a little piece of childhood in his hands.

Notes: Title is from Nine by Sleeping At Last.

****

Chapter 4: I let the scale tip and feel all of it, it's uncomfortable but right

Jester and Caduceus were a force to be reckoned with at the marketplace. They had already convinced Caleb to let them buy him a set of curtains for his side of the house. Thick fabric to block out most light and definitely any nosy neighbours. They were a soft yellow-green patterned with watercolour chamomile flowers, which they had figured out were native to the Zemni Fields behind Caleb’s back.

“These are so pretty Cay-leb,” Jester said, gently sliding them into the bag of holding with Fjord’s help as they stepped out of the shop. “We’ll put these up as soon as we get back, okay? Yasha promised she’ll help us.”

Yasha was a little way off with Kingsley, her arm over his shoulders as they looked at swords at a nearby market stall. Caduceus dragged everyone off to stock up on kitchen necessities and more seeds for Yasha’s garden. And a ton of baking supplies, because Yasha had begged Caduceus to teach her, even though everyone knew no one had to beg Caduceus for that kind of thing.

Essek, disguised as a half-elf with soft brown hair and eyes, held himself a little awkwardly here in the heart of the Dwendalian Empire, but he defiantly refused to complain. He had little input on Empire goods, aside from wine, about which Beauregard happily bickered with him. Caleb was happy enough to let the others direct him, even if he theoretically knew the markets better than they did.

He trusted them. And he was so tired.

So he quietly followed the Nein around the market and let them make decisions for him with minimal input. He must have looked wrecked, because Essek, despite his disguise and clear nervousness, held his hand to anchor him.

Fjord, Jester and Kingsley bought him a ton of high quality paper and ink for the study, with Essek’s subtle guidance. Caduceus picked out basic kitchen staples for Caleb that would keep him fed even if he didn't have much time to cook, in the event he couldn’t eat with Beau and Yasha. Veth found some orange-amber cushions that complemented the curtains. Yasha found an orange-white checkered tablecloth that she declared matched his hair and therefore was a necessity for the house. She and Beau bought two, one for each side.

Caleb, in a lucid moment, found a soft blue rug for Beau and Yasha’s bedroom and bought it for them, despite their objections. It was only fair he gave them something back after everything they were doing for him. He would have to work out the logistics of installing a real-world sex mirror later as a proper gift. He’d ask Essek to help, and Essek would do it, but he would hate every second of it. The one sex joke he had ever made in front of the Nein was 50% deflection. And jokes were very different from installing a sex mirror for someone.

Jester would be up for it. A little bit of gold dust would be enough for Caleb to hold it in place with Immovable Object while they secured it.

Caleb was pulled from his calculations about dimensions and weight for a ceiling mirror when Veth tugged on his hand. “Hey, Cay. There’s an old lady selling homemade quilts. Rexxentrum is very cold, and you are going to catch a chill if we don’t get you something better than that one shitty blanket. Come on.”

She led him over, catching up with the rest of the Nein. Jester was chatting with an old Zemian woman sitting behind the table behind piles of bright quilts. The stitching sparked an old, old memory in Caleb, and he found himself stepping closer before he had consciously thought about it.

“Ja, I make the trip up from Blumenthal every few months,” the old woman said in a thick Zemnian accent, much thicker than Caleb’s after all his time travelling.

Caleb froze for half a second, easing himself through the shock of that information. “Ah, hallo, grandmother. It is good to meet someone from home.” This conversation would be easier in Zemnian. Common lacked the polite Sie form that Caleb would typically have used for respect. But he wasn’t sure he could handle having this conversation in Zemnian, so it was probably for the best.

The woman smiled up at him, her lips wobbly with age. “Hallo, young man.”

Caleb’s knees ached a little, just to remind him some parts of him really were not young at all.

She held out a wrinkled hand for him to shake. “Call me Lisbeth.”

Caleb had a strange moment of indecision regarding his name, trying to remember if he had known this woman as a child but coming up empty; Blumenthal was just large enough that it was possible not to know everyone, and she may have even moved there after he was gone. “Ah, Caleb Widogast.” He shook her hand. “I grew up in Blumenthal. This stitching is…” Why was he just saying everything that came to his mind?

“Very traditional, ja.”

“Ja, my mother used to make quilts like these...” His was probably ash now.

He was dimly aware that the Nein were watching him, and that Veth had done an extremely visible double-take.

Lisbeth searched Caleb’s face for one terrifying moment, and he was convinced that maybe she did know him after all. But then, whatever she saw made her soften, and she reached beneath the table. “I like to save my best work for those who will appreciate it. Here.” She laid a thicker quilt on top of the others. “I made one like this for my grandson. He wears it like a cape around the house.”

The stitching was a little more intricate, and the squares were detailed with minimalist animal shapes. Mostly cats. Una had taken Caleb’s cat obsession to heart; the quilt she had made him had been similar. Painfully so.

Caleb traced the stitching of an orange cat, his vision blurring. Essek squeezed his hand. Caleb blinked until he could see again. Even with the disguise turning purple eyes to brown, these were definitely Essek’s eyes staring up at him with a familiar look of both affection and concern.

“We’ll take it,” said Veth. Veth, who had already bought Caleb a house, and cushions. This was… no.

“Veth.”

“Caleb.”

He sighed. “A word, please.” He took her hand, leading her a little away from the group. “Veth, this is too much.”

Veth’s eyes were wet. “No. No, it’s not. I saw how much this means to you. Caleb, you just talked about your childhood and your mother to a total stranger. That’s not…” She sighed. “I saw your face when she pulled out that quilt.”

“I cannot let you…” Caleb could barely speak. “Veth.” He swallowed. “You bought me a house. You are still buying things for me. This is… I can’t take this.”

“Why not?” There was an edge to her voice, but it was a genuine question. “I thought we were over this. Why is this the line?”

Caleb did not know where he found the strength to stay on his feet when all he wanted to do was fall in a heap. He stared at the dirt.

“Cay, look at me. Please.” Veth couldn’t reach his face, but she absolutely could conjure her mage hand to lift Caleb’s chin until he met her eyes. “Will having this make you happy? Or does it hurt too much? I won’t force you to take something that hurts you, but if this is because you don’t think you deserve it…”

“I don’t know, Veth.”

They had spent a long time alone together, relying on each other to survive. If anyone could read him, it was her. She stared at him for a few moments, eyes moving as if his face were a real book.

“I don’t think you would’ve struck up a conversation with a random Zemnian lady if this was the bad kind of pain,” she said. She rolled her shoulders back. “That settles it: you’re getting the quilt. I’ll get the Nein to chip in if that makes you feel less weird about it.”

It kind of did. And Caleb didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. “Ja, okay.”

Veth pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek and led him back to the stall. “All right, everyone give me your money.”

It was probably a sign of how bad Caleb looked that nobody questioned her. But when Essek reached for his pocket, Caleb reached out to stop him.

“No,” he said. “Not you.”

Essek frowned deeply with the half-elf’s face, but the expressions were undeniably him. “Caleb.”

“No. You need that money. Do not put me through this.”

Essek’s face softened. “All right.”

The rest of the Nein, even Kingsley who still barely knew Caleb from a bar of soap, coughed up enough coins to pay for the quilt. Lisbeth, a little teary herself, offered a discount, which they refused. Jester and Veth gave her extra gold that Caleb couldn’t count through his brain fog. Okay, he was very much not coping if he couldn’t even count things.

Veth was too small to pick up the quilt without dragging it on the floor, even after Lisbeth had gently folded it, so Yasha accepted it from Lisbeth and handed it to Caleb. Old muscle memory took over, and he buried his face in the soft fabric.

“Danke schön,” he said quietly.

Lisbeth smiled at him again, but it was sad. “You should come by the market and say hello before I go back home in a few weeks.”

“I will.” It would hurt a lot, but Caleb meant it.

“Take care, Schatz.”

No one had called him that in a long time. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Grief was funny like that sometimes. You think you’re getting on with things, doing okay, and then there will be a scent on the wind, an old term of endearment, stitching identical to your mother’s… and you break.

Caleb squeezed the quilt and barely held himself together as the Nein led him back home. Whatever shopping they had left to do… they had wordlessly agreed to leave it for another day.

****

Back home, Caleb asked to be alone for a bit. That meant Essek was allowed. They laid the quilt out on Caleb’s bed, Essek’s disguise abandoned. Caleb stopped fighting the tears, letting the sobs come as he smoothed out the edges, fingers catching on a stitched golden retriever puppy.

Essek pressed his palm between Caleb’s shoulder blades. “Sit. Please.”

Caleb lowered himself slowly, wholly convinced he would collapse if he wasn’t careful, and settled on the edge of the bed. Essek pushed him onto his back and curled up next to him, guiding Caleb’s head to settle against his chest. Limbs tangled together.

No more words were said for a while. Caleb drifted asleep at some point, waking with a headache. Essek left briefly to fetch him a cup of water. Caleb stretched and his back cracked a little bit. He felt hollowed out, but in a good way. The way you felt after a good, well-deserved cry.

Essek returned in a few minutes, wiping his own eyes on his sleeve, and made Caleb drink the whole cup. “You should eat something.”

“Soon.” Caleb still felt a bit queasy from the tears.

Essek tucked himself into Caleb’s side, arm around his waist. He squeezed, just a little, and kissed Caleb’s collarbone. Caleb pulled him in close and kissed the top of his head.

“Danke.” The word was not enough to express the depths of Caleb’s gratitude that Essek had lain here with him through his grief, that he had taken such a risk to stay at Caleb’s side in the market to begin with. Under better circumstances, Caleb would have been furious with Essek for that, but they both knew Caleb had needed him today.

Caleb slowly rubbed his palm across the surface of the quilt behind Essek’s back. It felt exactly the same as the one he’d had when he was little, which Una had repaired again and again over the years because he was so attached to it. She had made it last until he was seventeen. Until the night he had destroyed everything because of a false memory, primed by faux-patriotic indoctrination and horrific abuse. Caleb would never fully shake off the guilt. Not entirely. Whatever Trent had put in his head, it had been Caleb’s hands that set the fire. But it was getting easier to accept that Trent had engineered the situation very carefully, so that Caleb did not feel like he had another choice.

He was glad Veth had convinced him to accept the quilt. One more piece of his past reclaimed. One more piece that could become a comfort instead of a knife in his ribs.

Caleb felt better. The two of them slowly stretched out their limbs, rolled aching joints, and headed to Beau and Yasha’s side of the house. There was a scent of baking in the air. Not apple tarts--Caleb probably would have broken again if it had been, no matter how happy the memory. He could smell spices.

They stepped down the stairs into the living area. Beauregard was grumbling over some Cobalt Soul report, while Kingsley, notably bored, lazily slapped her leg with his tail over and over. Fjord listened to Beauregard’s complaints with a constructed look of sympathy. Veth was openly ignoring her, head in her spellbook once again. Yasha, Caduceus and Jester were notably absent.

“Oh!” Fjord was very quick to find an excuse to stop listening to her. “There you are. The others are baking biscuits that none of us can pronounce.”

Beauregard rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you I said it right.”

“Caleb, help us out,” said Kingsley. “They’re some kind of spiced biscuit dusted with sugar while they’re still hot. Normally for special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion,” Veth told him. “It’s got the same number of syllables as fluffernutter. I think.”

Caleb suspected he knew what they meant. “Ah. Pfeffernüsse.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Told you I was right,” Beauregard muttered.

“They’re very good,” said Caleb.

“I think the first batch is almost done,” said Veth. “You should be our taste tester.”

Caleb crouched beside her on his way to the kitchen, pointing at the book. “Veth, that rune is upside down.”

“Fuck!”

He found the spell she was copying out in his own spellbook and set it beside her. “Here. It’s easier with more than one source. I’ll be back to help you in a moment.”

Caleb then stepped into the kitchen, with Essek on his tail. Yasha had a pair of soft pink oven mitts on, pulling a tray from their dark metal oven. Jester held a bag of confectioner’s sugar, bouncing in anticipation while Caduceus tried half-heartedly to close the bag before she spilled it everywhere.

“You’re just in time, Mr Caleb,” Caduceus said, giving up. “The lady selling baking supplies at the market gave us the recipe. I am not going to try pronouncing it again.”

“Pfeffernüsse,” Caleb supplied again.

“Yeah, no.”

Jester snickered. “He kept trying to say it while you were upstairs. It was very cute.”

By now, Yasha had set the tray down and put another in the oven. “Caleb, Caleb, come here! Look!”

Caleb stepped to her side and gazed down at the cookie tray. They were a little less round than the pfeffernüsse Caleb was used to, but recognisable. Jester came over and sprinkled the sugar over them with far more grace than anyone had expected.

Once cooled a bit, they brought the biscuits out to the living area. They were soft like Caleb remembered, and the spice blend was excellent. “These are perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”

Yasha looked genuinely touched, and swept him into a huge hug.

“May I help you next time?” asked Essek. “I have never baked before.”

“Of course,” Yasha said. “Caduceus is going to teach us to make bread soon.” She held up her hands in a slow-motion shrug. “Goes well with soup?” Her voice went up at the end, making it sound like a question.

Kingsley, who had absolutely not paid any attention to the conversation, shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, his eyes widening to a ludicrous degree. “What the fuck? This is the best thing I have ever tasted.”

“We are famous for our baked goods,” said Caleb.

“You’d think Zemnians would be a happier bunch if this is the shit they eat,” Beauregard said, her mouth covered in sugar.

“Depression baking is a cultural pastime,” Caleb said.

“Bro, what the fuck?”

“Do you think Astrid and Eadwulf eat these things?” asked Jester.

“Probably,” said Caleb. “We used to.” That reminded him; he needed to message Astrid and arrange a time to discuss the job offer. “Ah, one moment.” He pulled out the copper wire, sticking to Common for the sake of his companions. “Astrid, it’s Bren. The Professors delivered the offer. Do you have time to talk? I am a little nervous about it. Time and place?”

Astrid replied in Zemnian, “Do you remember Trent’s old office? I’m there now. Come when you are ready.”

Caleb re-upped the spell. “I will be there in half an hour,” he replied in Zemnian.

Still in Zemnian, Astrid replied one last time, “I look forward to it.”

Beauregard was the only one who could understand the Zemnian half of what Caleb had said. “Caleb, I don’t wanna be patronising, but are you feeling up to that?”

“I want to get it over with,” Caleb replied. He clarified for the rest of the group, “I am going to see Astrid soon, to talk about the job.”

“I’ll pack some cookies,” said Jester, grabbing the plate and rushing into the kitchen. Yasha chased after her before she could break anything.

“Do you want an escort?” asked Fjord.

“Nein. I’ll be all right.”

“You will call if you need us?” Fjord’s voice was firm; it wasn’t a question.

“Ja, of course.”

****

Caleb was out the door in a few minutes, carrying a cloth bundle of six Pfeffernüsse, all that had been left of the first batch. It was four in the afternoon, the air having chilled a little but it was still pleasant. Caleb didn’t mind the cold too much, as long as he wasn’t trapped in it.

Walking into the Shimmer Ward was less frightening than it used to be. There would always be a lingering hint of anxiety, but he had it well in hand. There were crownsguard stationed at the Academy gates; they silently let him pass into the manicured gardens of the campus.

Coming here as a teenager had been a dream come true, which had quickly become a nightmare. Maybe coming back here to teach would let him reclaim those memories, turn them into something useful. He headed to the nearest tower, where he knew most staff kept an office. Trent had rarely been in his, but Caleb recalled that Astrid had been teaching here, so it made sense she would make better use of it.

The tall marble archways and huge windows had not changed one bit since the last time Caleb had been here, not long before he murdered his parents. Maybe coming here was a bad idea, especially after the day he’d had. Or maybe he needed to get this over with. If he got emotional about being here, at least he could claim it was because he was tired.

Muscle memory carried Caleb to Trent’s old office. He felt nauseous. He knocked on the door. It swung open, seemingly of its own accord.

Astrid was seated behind the massive, heavy mahogany desk. Caleb knew from personal experience how sharp the corners could be. He was going to be sick.

Astrid set aside her pen, capping the inkwell front of her. “Hallo, Bren.”

Caleb swallowed before he spoke. “Astrid.”

Astrid continued in Zemnian, so Caleb decided to match her. “Sit down,” she said , gesturing to one of the three chairs. They looked spindly and delicate, but Caleb knew for a fact how sturdy they were. And how much force it took to break out of any bindings tying one’s arm to the arms of the chair.

Caleb took a deep breath through his nose, picking up the spices of the Pfeffernüsse. It helped. He placed the bundle on the desk. Astrid’s desk.

“Jester, Yasha and Caduceus are experimenting with Zemnian baking,” he said quietly, letting himself fall into a chair. “They’re good.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow, gently picking at the piece of twine holding the bundle closed. She lifted a biscuit from the cloth. “They smell right.”

“They taste right, too.”

Astrid split the biscuit in half, handing the larger part to Caleb. He wasn’t sure if it was affection or distrust. She waited for him to take the first bite but also quickly followed suit, so maybe a bit of both. Understandable.

“These are good,” she said, finishing the biscuit and rubbing a thumb across her sugared lips. Slowly. It had to be deliberate. “You look tired.”

“Long day.”

“How is the house?”

“Good. Different. I am...” He laughed, just a bit, thinking over the last couple days. “A little out of practice. I don’t know if you knew… I was homeless for a while. It felt safer.”

Astrid did not look surprised. “I know.” She exhaled through her nose, visibly rousing herself. “You wanted to talk about the job offer?”

“Alphira would have made a terrible Volstrucker.”

Astrid cracked a small smile. “She told me about your meeting today. I apologise for her clumsiness. You took it more gracefully than I would have.”

“I doubt it.” Caleb didn’t tell her about his breakdown behind the shop. “A shame the smut shop is gone.”

“Evidently their business fell apart without your patronage.” Astrid gave an extremely put-upon sigh. “Wulf found another place. Get him to give you directions.”

“Kingsley is curious.”

“Yes, I am sure that is your only motivation.” Astrid cleared her throat and visibly put her mind back on task. “Bettina needs a replacement. The Archmages are falling over themselves to sing your praises. They are, in some ways, full of shit. Hiring you will terrify them. I think you will like that.” She glanced at the now-closed door and lowered her voice. “Headmaster Zivan Margolin is a weak link to Trent, but a link nonetheless. Your presence will make his life very difficult.”

Caleb matched her volume. “Whoever decided the Headmaster of Soltryce Academy should be the same person as the Archmage of Conscription is…” He sighed, unable to put into words how much the deck had been stacked against him, Astrid, Wulf and every other child pulled into the Volstrucker program. And how much it upset him. “What the fuck.”

“Margolin is busy pretending he loves you,” said Astrid. “He’s become a little bold in his claims that he saw your potential from the beginning. The Martinet is growing uncomfortable with the implication and will throw him to the sharks to save his own skin. One word to the right people…”

Caleb knew Beauregard would carry the message to Yudala Fon in a heartbeat. “We need to be careful. Take it slow. We have disrupted the Volstrucker pipeline for the moment. We cannot afford to stumble now.”

Astrid leaned back in her seat, looking very much like a cat who had just eaten a bird it had been chasing for miles. She raised her voice to a normal volume. “So, you will take the job?”

“I might.”

“Bettina told me your demands,” said Astrid. “We’ll put them before the Archmages. See what we can do. If nothing else, making the demands will prove a point no matter what they do about them.”

“Astrid, I am serious. I want them fulfilled.”

“I know. Bettina has suggestions about the ethics lessons. I agree you should teach it as part of the Transmutation classes, at least for now. Would we have listened when we were students?”

“I think that depends on who it came from. And whether Trent had gotten to us yet.”

“I agree. I think you will make a more compelling speaker than anyone else we could find.” She smirked a little. “You were always charismatic, and you have the lived experience to make an impact.” She took another biscuit, chewing thoughtfully, eyes tracing through the air as if she was reading calculations. “You said you were nervous.”

Admitting that in the Sending had been an impulse decision, born out of an emotional day. He didn’t regret it. Outside the Nein, Astrid probably understood best that Caleb had always been an anxious person, even if he had handled it much more gracefully in his youth. When he eternally swung between deep insecurity and excessive arrogance owed to his skills, and the fact he had known very well how charming he could be. Anyway, Astrid and Wulf knew his old insecurities well. Now he had new ones, and Astrid was trying to be on his side as much as she could.

So Caleb voiced something he wasn’t sure he would ever tell anyone else. “I have always wanted to teach. You know that. But. It’s a lot of responsibility. Maybe Trent is still in my head a bit, but I am afraid. He said that I am not the only ‘one of us’ in the Assembly who went through similar trauma. What if I… turn out no better than he did?”

“He also said you were defined by your trauma, if I recall.” Astrid’s face had shuttered a bit the instant Caleb invoked Trent. “He likes to find our pressure points and push until we break. You know that.” She took a third biscuit and shoved it into his hand. “He saw what he wanted to see, and he wanted his vision of you to be what the rest of us saw as well. I… made an error. I misunderstood your ambitions. As did The Martinet.”

“What did Ludinus think I wanted?”

“Power. Like most others in the Assembly. Revenge. Like most Volstrucker who have thought deeply enough about what Trent put us through.”

“He would have been right. Once.”

“I know. The first time you came to me, you were still very angry.”

“I never stopped. My goals changed. I… learned better, I suppose.” Caleb owed so much to the Nein, especially his talks with Caduceus that helped clarify what he did and didn’t want in the end.

“I didn’t. You know I would’ve killed him if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“I wouldn’t have resented you if you had.”

“You were right to stop me. It was more satisfying to shame him in public and have him tossed in a dark cell with a silencing collar glued to his neck forever.”

“And his hands glued together for just as long.”

Astrid’s eyes softened a bit. “One of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life.” Her gaze lingered on him, just a second longer than either of them could dismiss as casual. “How’s your beacon thief?”

“He’s fine.” Caleb wasn’t sure he could handle talking about his current partner with Astrid of all people.

“Have you seen him recently?”

“I am not telling you that.”

“I won’t turn him in. It would not go well for me.” Astrid rested her chin in her hands, searching his face. “Are you two happy?”

“Yes.” Caleb did not offer further details, and Astrid did not pry.

“You deserve it.” She smiled down at the bundle of biscuits. “Tell your friends thank you for the Pfeffernüsse. Will you take the job?”

“I will.”

“Good. For what it’s worth, I think you will be a good professor. You and I both know how important that will be.”

Caleb matched her sad smile. “No more children on the pyre.”

“No more.”

Caleb felt better. He could do this. It would take more than one person to make change, but he could do his part. Astrid had her ambitions, but he knew her in a way very few people did. There were conversations to be had between them, more damage to stitch up.

But it had been a long, emotional day. There would be more days. More time to pull the vulnerable from the flames, to stand between them and the remaining elements of this government who would use, abuse and discard them.

And, he hoped, time to care for those had already been hurt.

#caleb widogast #shadowgast #critical role #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

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