Staring into space 24/7

The song Elenion played tonight had not always had an ending.

They sang softly on the tower balcony while the stars shone silver-blue above. Their fingers moved over the lute strings without much thought, following the melody where it wanted to go. Beside them, Gale leaned back with his eyes turned toward the stars and one shoulder pressed warm against their own.

Halfway through the second verse, Gale went still.

Elenion kept singing for another breath before they dared to look at him.

"That line," Gale murmured. "I said something like that once, didn't I?"

"…You did."

The song had been unfinished and wordless the first time Gale heard it: on another night beneath the stars, long before Elenion had known what to call the peace they felt beside him.

Back then, the night had been colder.

Elenion wasn't supposed to be on watch duty. They just didn't want to sleep. Didn't want to be alone with their thoughts, especially not with the tadpole writhing behind their eye.

So they sat alone by the campfire, no closer than they had to be to feel its warmth. Above them, the moon and stars caught on the deep-blue celestial patterns of their lute as their fingers drifted over the strings.

The song didn't seem to know where it wanted to end. It wandered from one phrase to the next, circling the same few notes as if searching for somewhere safe to rest. Elenion let it wander beneath their hands, quiet enough not to wake the others.

"Hello, Elenion."

Their fingers stilled.

Gale stood just beyond the firelight, his hair mussed from whatever sleep he had managed. The moonlight made his face look softer than it did by day. Younger, maybe. Or just tired.

Either way, it was incredibly unfair how badly Elenion wanted to sneak away from camp with him and see how long that careful composure lasted.

"I hope I’m not intruding," he said.

Elenion looked up, a sly smile already on their lips. "On my tragic moonlit solitude? Devastatingly." Their voice dipped. "You may as well come closer and ruin it properly."

Gale raised an eyebrow. "A generous invitation."

"I’m known for those."

"So I've heard."

That should have been the easy part. Flirt, smile, tilt their head just so. Gale would either blush or flirt back, and they'd both continue this little game of theirs in the morning. Desire was simple enough. Desire did not ask questions Elenion couldn't answer.

But he only stepped closer, his gaze flicking to the empty space beside them.

"May I?"

Elenion tilted their head. "May you what? Interrupt me? Sit with me? Attempt to seduce me beneath the stars? You'll need to be more specific."

Gale blinked, color rising faintly at his ears. For one satisfying heartbeat Elenion thought they had won.

Then his smile softened. "Sit with you, if I may."

Oh.

That was much worse.

"Suit yourself," Elenion said, as if their pulse hadn't just done something humiliating.

Gale sat beside them, not too close, but close enough that the night felt a little less cold.

For a while, he didn't say anything. That was the strange part.

Elenion knew what to do with silence when it wanted something from them. They could fill it with a joke, a smile, a song. Turn any quiet moment into a stage if they had to.

But Gale’s silence didn't seem to want anything from them. He only folded his hands loosely in his lap and turned his gaze toward the stars.

Elenion plucked one quiet note, then another, if only to avoid looking too closely at Gale in the moonlight. After a moment, the same melody came back, softer than before but still uncertain. Gale didn't ask for more. Didn't demand a song he knew, or a story, or something brighter. He simply listened, eyes on the moonlit sky above, as if even this unfinished song were worth hearing.

It was infuriating.

Only after the melody had circled back on itself twice did he ask, "What are you playing?"

"I don't know yet," Elenion admitted. "I was hoping it might develop manners and introduce itself eventually."

Gale laughed softly. The sound loosened something in their chest. Somehow, that was worse than if he'd flirted or blushed. Worse than anything Elenion had meant to want.

"A bold compositional strategy," Gale said.

"I prefer to call it trusting the artistic spirit."

"Of course. Far be it from me to question the artistic spirit."

"Wise of you."

Gale smiled, then looked back up at the sky. The stars shone bright above them, silver-blue and impossibly distant.

"It does suit the night," he said.

"The night?"

"The song." He lifted one hand, tracing a loose shape through the dark. "Or perhaps it's the stars. They look almost like notes from here, don't they? Scattered across the dark, waiting for someone to find the shape of them."

Elenion's fingers stilled.

That was an irritatingly beautiful thing to say. Worse, it made the melody feel different in their hands.

Gale hummed thoughtfully. "It sounds," he said slowly, "like something adrift, but not lost. Waiting for the right star to find it."

Elenion stared down at their lute.

They should've said something clever. Should've made fun of him, or deflected with a wicked comment about sleeplessness and all the ways two people could spend the night.

"That is a dangerous thing to say to a bard," they managed instead.

"In my defense," Gale said with a small smile, "I did warn you I occasionally try my hand at poetry."

They rolled their eyes, because it was easier than admitting they wanted him to keep talking.

Their fingers found the melody again, and this time, it didn't sound quite so alone.

Elenion let the last note fade.

Gale's shoulder still rested against theirs. The silence was different now, no longer something strange and waiting to be filled. It settled between them as easily as Gale’s hand in theirs.

“What are you thinking about?” Gale asked softly.

Elenion looked over at him. Moonlight softened the silver in his hair, and they had to resist the absurd urge to look away as if they were still sitting beside that old campfire with nowhere to put all the quiet.

"I was just remembering how insufferably handsome you were when we met," they said.

Gale raised an eyebrow. "Were?"

"Still are. Fishing for compliments, love?"

"I am merely pursuing accuracy."

"Shamelessly."

His laugh was quiet, familiar now, and it still loosened something in their chest. Only now Elenion knew what to call it.

They looked back down at their lute. “I was thinking,” they murmured, “about how peaceful I felt beside you before I had any idea what to do with it. Back when admitting I loved you felt like the most terrifying thing in the world."

Gale's face softened. His thumb traced a gentle circle over their knuckles.

Elenion played the line again, letting a shimmer of pale blue stardust trail from the strings.

"Adrift, not lost, beneath the blue," they sang. "The stars drew a path, and it led me to you."

Gale hummed beneath the phrase, quiet and careful, his voice finding the spaces around theirs as if the song had always been waiting for him there.

The song finally knew where to rest.

This just might be the only time I ever actually write a lyric for one of Elenion's songs instead of just describing what the song is about. I have zero confidence in my lyric-writing ability but for this story, I thought it wouldn't make much sense or be very impactful if I didn't say what the line Elenion sang was so I gave it my best shot! Actually thought of it a while ago because this fic concept has been living in my brain for ages, and this event just inspired me to finally write it.

BG3 Pride Month Calendar:

The Dark Urge gets a special moment after agreeing to travel with Jamie.

Narrator: * The bile swirling in your stomach turns blood-warm and hostile as Jamie smiles. Something vile within you churns at the sight of this blithe threat. *

Shake the thought away. Jamie's just another survivor. They need help... almost as much as you do.

Wonder why your psyche so firmly believes this skinny street rat to be an adversary.

Acquiesce to your hungry knife-hand and end this problem before it begins. (Attack)

(for 1 or 2) Narrator: * Your brain squirms as you resist. Whatever the cause, something in you bristles when Jamie Cross draws near. You'll need to overcome this prejudice, one way or another. *

The player wouldn't know this yet, but Jamie's a Chosen(-ish) of Mephistopheles, who is trying to become the God of Blood. Meph and the Dead Three are enemies (less in an arch-nemesis way and more in a petty-drama way because that's infinitely funnier to me), and I imagine a Bhaalspawn would feel that beef in their bones.

The creation of the pattern:

When I create a pattern, I use a heavy tape to draw and cut out the pattern. I redraw the pattern on a special pattern paper and after I sew a tunic draft to see if the pattern is right or not.

I'm no photo of the under robe pattern with the tape, I used over robe pattern

The creation of the under robe

For the tunic I used a heavy burgundy fabric. the result will be better with an heavy fabric.

The sleeves and the under sleeve. For this the under sleeves, I used a second hand fabric, it was an old shirt of me, the color of this fabric is darker, it was so perfect for the under sleeve.

“Take inventory and count every arrow among us. We will not move until we know what we’re up against.” It was not looking much better for the rest of them: spells depleted; bodies broken, wounded, and exhausted; swords, maces, and armor in dire need of repair. Except, perhaps, for the Druids. Illevios’s gaze settled upon the robes of the druidic spellcaster in his company. Meeting the searching gaze of Thistle, the Circle of The Land Druid from the Wealdath forest, he asked, “Can I still count on your sister?” The Rock Gnome gave a decisive nod, placing a turquoise-studded, gauntleted hand over her chest. “You can, I can feel it. Hetty is the swiftest flier of our circle.” But even her smile faltered at the corners as she spoke. Her face was streaked with earth, her wild curls interspersed with twigs and red berries. Her braids had begun to unravel at the ends, and her robes had turned more grey than white from the dust of rough travel. The Druid laid a protective hand over the injury on her upper arm, nearly reopened by the hastened climb. Looking down at himself, Illevios found his own condition equally lacking and murmured a quick prayer to Corellon. “Chii chii chii!” Everyone rose to their feet, dropping what they were doing. Looking up, the Ranger-Knight found another member of his company, Oswell, a Half-Orc Cleric, pointing towards the open grey sky and giving the hunters’ sign for bird. Could it be...? Blessed with keen sight, Illevios spotted a gyrfalcon. Its white-speckled wings cut and wove through the clouds as it dived with impossible speed towards the cover of the very tree in which their company had found refuge. With an audible gasp, Thistle rushed past the Forest Warden, her relief and revived spirits plain for all to see, nearly knocking Illevios off his feet in her haste. In a flash of gold, a nearly identical Rock Gnome appeared before them, dressed in garb fashioned much like the one now embracing her in a tight hug. Barely catching her breath and restraining her over-eager twin, the Druid the Ranger knew as Hetty met his gaze, weary but sharp. “The First Druid is on the move.”

— From Chapter 3: The Black Hand

Ok, so, this photo is a part of the broader line of storytelling VPs, but it looks badass, so I wanted to edit it in a more brooding, sinister way, I guess xD

The WIP story itself involves Nim practicing fighting with daggers while Rolan watches and is very normal about it. You know, “couples’ things.” This, inevitably, leads to knife play - like I said, “couples’ things.” 🥴

But honestly, I dunno when all these photos will be done, I am always intimidated by editing multiple-photo sets. x)

No-pressure tags (also sorry for double-tagging/if you've already been tagged): @cursed-nyxan @the-shadowfell-darkroom @optimisticgrey

@smokepotgivetop @mogruith @litsenn @burnt-by-marigolds @mercymaker @aristenfromwarsaw @judasiskariot @vakariansyndrome @rdekarios @twilight-sanctuary @inrin @purpleasters-inseptember @alstromeri-a @thecampjuicebox @onlytavs @faeriiefire

“Safeword ready?” The bard asked as they slowly started to unbutton their shirt.

“Always. But I doubt we’ll need it.”

Ellith wasn’t so sure. Each new sexual exploration with Astarion could lead to something new, ecstatic or emotionally challenging. And although the bard was ready for both outcomes, they'd do everything in their power to avoid the latter. “Keep it in mind, just in case....”

He nodded, and before Ellith’s trousers could fully reach their ankles, Astarion was lunging towards the edge of the bed, his delicate fingers easily finding their way to the bard’s soft hips, gently digging into the flesh. Face buried deep in the crook of their neck, teeth grazing teasingly against the tender skin, there was no trace of hesitation or discomfort in his touch; movements hasty and clumsy enough to translate his genuine arousal. Nothing like the expert but detached automatisms he had relied on for too long.

He had nothing to prove. Ellith had made it clear more times than necessary.

Warmed up by the little snack he had nibbled on earlier that night, Astarion’s skin felt healthy under Ellith’s fingertips, but beneath the sweet scent of his signature perfume, the bard could still detect the tantalising aroma of death. A comforting smell for the redeemed Bhaalspawn, a soothing whiff from their forgotten, macabre past.

Ellith’s fingers slowly glided up to brush through his silver curls, fingernails carefully scratching his scalp, and despite the fire his touch had kindled in their stomach, they pulled away from his embrace. “If you want me to put this thing on, you’ll have to let me go for a moment.”

He grinned against their cheek, and Ellith could have bet that a soft purr was rising in his chest. “All right darling, but don’t make me wait… I’ll fetch the oil in the meanwhile.”

(Also sorry, I'm not good at writing smut - not good at writing at all, but this might be worse 😅)

Well, it was bound to happen one of these days. In hindsight, it's surprising that it took so long for her Wild Magic to trigger a body swap of all things (and, really, she turned Gale into a vicuña once). Thankfully, experience shows that these things rarely stuck for more than a full day.

So, first off all; the braids and the warpaint got to go. She can't deal with having anything painted on her face and the thickness of whatever the fuck Spooky is using reminds her of the foundation Mother's servants forced onto her face to cover her natural skin. So yeah, off with the makeup unless the Elfsong wasn't another surge of Wild magic. Braided bangs come next - similar reasons, it's a sensory nightmare to her - and while at it, she will brush her hair (even if it is a bit hypocritical given she doesn't really care about her own looks most of the time).

Next, we're spending a couple of minutes sulking because everything looks different now that She Is Tall (taller than before at least) and, with sudden lack of her dead weight of a tail, there is a certain lack of balance but once that's done and she stops walking into things, she then notices how fucking cold she is.

Granted, the wind carrying the lovely stench of the fishmarket does not help but yeah. No wonder Deet is always cold when he's wearing next to nothing.

Also, the sudden… awareness of another pair of twins being present. And unrestricted.

Pants, she needs to find pants that will fit these giraffe legs. Then socks and shoes because she knows those cobblestone streets - and his poor excuse of sandals is not enough for those. A shirt, an undershirt, maybe a vest - capes, she will forever question his fashion choices - and she's somewhat readier to face the Gate.

Only, there comes the problem of performing any work because knowing their luck - it will end in a fight. And while she's good with a sickle or a scimitar (it's something about the curve) on a regular day, it's with a body she knows. Not this, tall, too heavy with muscles developed by running rather than walking, fighting with bows and daggers and claws and fangs.

And she'd rather die again than tap into warlock powers but her own Wild magic is dormant in this body. There is not tingle in her veins, no scent of ozone that seems to cling to the inside of her nose whenever she casts.

Instead, there is that long forgotten feeling of an unwelcome guest behind her eye and another presence poking at her memories before she shuts the connection violently.

No, we would not be dealing with him. Not today. And hopefully not ever again.

Thankfully, the tadfools can handle all the end-of-the-world bits. Hopefully. Right?

Right? Eh, it will be fine. Which means a day of absofuckinglutely nothing. Yay, vacations in the middle of end of the world.

But honestly, it will be fiiiiine.

Also, because she is a rude little thing, she likes that the twins have a brother.

"Finally! I can piss standing!"

Val vs Deet (picture by @erin-unknown)

Valeria actually enjoys being in 'Spooky's' body; being taller than him, with broader shoulders - it makes her feel more correct. She's always felt protective of Deet and will definitely try to come up with ways to just pull him closer to her and just hold him.

There was always a part of her that felt ridiculous for acting like this due to their size difference; like a lap dog trying to appear threatening and guarding its owner. Now, she can just wrap herself around him and even if she can't shield him the way she wishes - not when it's his body being in harms way - it feels right to her.

Granted, it is a bit like navigating through a thick fog; Val never did get much experience with simply being affectionate, nor receiving affection and she's still afraid of not doing it justice and Deet not being able to get the experience he deserves she tries not to think about what she'd want because she will never be really comfortable with asking for things in fear of being denied.

Still, in the moments they are separated - Deet refusing to sit back and let the tadfools handle whatever task they currently need to complete, and Val being out of her depth with this heavier body - she finds herself being a bit... selfish with her exploration.

Not too much, of course. Despite being very happy with finally understanding how it feels to have a dick, she's also very content that she didn't get Deet's sex drive in this swap (and because she's an idiot, it will take forever for her to remember that her bo-- that Deet is quite the pervert and is definitely as much - if not more - curious as her).

Still, as a tiefling, she never really had any experience with body hair and while she loves the feeling of Deet's against her, casually touching his arms makes her feel silly. And touching his chest or belly is more often than not associated with sex so it wasn't she could just do either.

But here, in the privacy of her room at Elfsong, she does let herself enjoy the feeling of coarse hair under the palms of her hands. As much as Deet's braids and bangs are a sensory nightmare on her face, running her fingertips over the forearms is almost comforting.

tagged as ordered via taglist: