Details after the cut!

Thank you so much for the tag @dramatiquechipmunk, it's lovely to see you starting to come back from hiatus and I am very excited about the new project you teased. (And a thank you to @cinder-rellish181 as well, your tag came in mid-draft and I had you on my tag list so optionally take a tag-back if you wish hehe)

Teeechnically this isn't my first snippet of the year but it's the first of a new project so does it fully count as cheating? *looks over shoulder for tag game police* Here's a teaser for what I'm cookin' up for @spillingteanotpermitted's Bridger's Gate Valentine's Day Event.

The gentlest of tags for @bladesingerlily, @elceewunjo, @litsenn, @theya-art, @aerin67, @riddlerosehearts, @optimisticgrey, @lolthwoven, @lilhumanoid, @r3drozebud, @scoldingdarjeeling, @lucretiouswept, and @arlynx if anyone has something they'd like to share in whatever medium.

Working title for this project: The Modiste and the Marquess

Image quality looks poor in my preview so here's the text below, in case it's not legible:

"Miss Damaris," the gentleman said with a bow, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her skin. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I have already written a regency AU fanfiction - Sorcery and Scandal - which follows a different plot to the Bridger's Gate prompts, but I couldn't help giving a 3D render idea a try for this first day's prompt 'Introductions'.

The bonnet! The top hat! Gods have mercy on my silly little heart.

by MissFortuneTheRogue

I am so very taken with this BG3 Regency AU, and this scene in particular (Ch4), that I had to recreate it in comic.

A dashing tale of forbidden love, double lives, and salacious scandals in a Bridgerton/Regency AU setting

My fic for this event (Jewel of the Gate) is technically not AU and has to interpret the prompts creatively because it's not romance-themed, but a) I couldn't resist putting Wyll into a Regency-like ball situation and b) I couldn't resist making it his eighteenth birthday celebration -- because we all know what happens before he turns 18, right?

Summary: Wyll's eighteenth birthday approaches, and Ulder agrees to let a family friend throw him a three-day birthday ball. Tiamet's cultists lurk outside the city, planning their attack.

Rating: G for general

Themes: Parental Estrangement

Introduction

My friend Ulder, How time flies, especially for the short-lived. You mean to tell me the boy who nearly burned down my barn (we've established — the brazier was FAR away from any archery target) is nearly eighteen? These short human childhoods frighten me — I cannot imagine growing up when life has only just begun. Indulge me this, Ulder: a three-day birthday celebration, with a ball, games, revelry, wine — a RESPECTABLE affair, I assure you, but one no young man would soon forget. Perhaps Wyll can show me my archery lessons did him some good. You were young once, too. - Coran

WHEW it's been a while since I WIPped! Thank you so much for the tags, @archduchessgortash @cinder-rellish181 @dramatiquechipmunk @emmy-and-the-tieflings @lucretiouswept @litsenn @chaushaus @gortashsrighthand @gloura @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream @lilhumanoid!

Uno reverse tags to all of you, plus extra tags for @optimisticgrey, @spillingteanotpermitted, @endermal @elceewunjo @theya-art @bladesingerlily @thepalelawyer @burnt-by-marigolds @echoechowhiskey @carnivaley @cursed-nyxan @arlynx

I have been writing quite fervently, just haven't had time to pick a snip to share. Chapter 9 of Modiste/Marquess is drafted and in editing; hoping to publish it either tomorrow or Monday. I'm proud of many parts of this chapter, but I'd like to share the Dalyria POV which I was not expecting to enjoy writing as much as I did. It's her meet-cu-ewwww-te (meet-cute, but they're pretending they hate each other) with Rolan 😆

Two snips from the same scene, with a CW: injury/blood. And a disclaimer that I, the author, know it is a debunked myth to cut into a snake/venomous predator bite and suck out the venom, but I maintain that this totes would've been accepted practice back then/in this world. Plus, it's deliciously dramatic lol

Divider by @/anitalenia

"How novel; more jungle plants," Rolan sneered.

That did it. With a roll of her eyes, Dalyria pushed ahead to walk shoulder to shoulder with the archmage of Ramazith's Tower, her chest puffed out to mimic his swagger.

"Clearly you found the study of regional flora beneath you or you would know that the previous area was showcasing the beauty of temperate rainforests while this one is a near-perfect microcosm of tropical rainforests. You would never find mountain hemlock in a tropical area just as temperate rainforests don't stay hot enough for passion flowers or birds of paradise to thrive. You pompous arse!"

Dalyria knew the moment the last two words flew from her mouth that she had gone too far, but she was too fired up to walk them back now. Instead she snapped her head in Rolan's direction, challenging him to dispute her. Aided by the supercilious smirk snaking across his smug face, his dark sclera made the radiant gold of his irises look all the more mocking.

"I could conjure more impressive flora with my eyes closed using the weave, Miss Dalyria."

A flushed rage pooled in her core at the sultry way he said her name. Yes, it was definitely rage. For what else could it be?

"And yet they would be useless for naught beyond gawking at with heart-shaped eyes. Have you any idea how many precious medicines can be found from rainforest flora? Of course not. For what use is mundane healing when you can wave your hands and chant a few words to bend fire to your whims and destroy whatever you please?"

"You tell 'im, Dalyria!" Lia whooped, punching Rolan in the shoulder hard enough that he swayed into Dalyria. "Rolie, lighten up, would you? If you are so keen to show off your prowess you should have thought of hosting an event at the tower. But this is Halsin's night. Pipe down and enjoy."

How dare the braggart be so warm against her?! She wanted him to brush against her again; perhaps if she set her will firmly enough she could steal his warmth for herself and leave him shivering. That would give him what for.

"Shh! The venom already spreads. Lord Ramazith, I will cut the wound bigger, and then I must suck the venom from your arm until Halsin arrives."

Her words spurred a rallying of constitution in the archmage for he sat up, sputtering. "You are mad, woman! Already I feel much improved with those needles free from my arm."

"You are a fool to think you know better than I about medicine. Refuse my treatment at your own risk."

Another shudder racked Rolan's frame and his pupils dilated. His vision would begin to blur around this time. When he spoke again his tone was devoid of its usual commanding confidence. "Miss Dalyria, it would be improper. What would the Ton—it is against sensibilities!"

"DAMN THE SENSIBILITIES, ROLAN!"

Everyone fell silent. Time stretched, each moment of hesitation further jeopardizing Rolan's safety. Just when Dalyria was about to give up and storm off with the shame of failure hot in her eyes, he nodded.

Dalyria wasted no time.

Although she had never performed this procedure before, she read about it enough that her hands were steady as the knife sliced into Rolan's wound. She did not balk at the bubbling of blood or the pained grunts of her patient.

Nor did she notice the spectators circling around the scene as her mouth closed over the wound and began to draw out the venom.

The only consideration she spared for anything beyond patient and treatment was in where she spat the blood. Lia quickly made room for Dalyria to discard it away from both their gowns.

It wasn't until she had drawn several mouthfuls of Rolan's tainted essence that Dalyria's awareness expanded just enough to catch the mixed commentary.

"Savage." "Hero." "What strange customs they must have in Mirabar." "Thank the gods Dalyria knew what to do." "Disgusting." "Fascinating." "Shameful." "Improper."

Each insult was a barbed hook clawing its way into her back, threatening to drag her out of her focused state. Tears began to well in her eyes. She was trying to save him! As if these cowards had what it took. She kept working.

"Sister, Halsin approaches!" Petras called out.

With a guttural groan, Dalyria expelled the final mouthful of blood and scurried backwards on her hands. It was then that she truly noticed everyone noticing her. Following their gazes down, Dalyria saw that the front of her dress was a waterfall of blood, her chest glistening crimson. Her chin and throat, too, were wet and sticky. Had she been alone with Rolan that Wispweed gossipmonger would have fabricated some story of Dalyria being a vampire vixen preying on the Ton's marriageable men.

What is time anymore? Haha. I'm still stuck in the back of the struggle bus on this ballroom chapter for The Modiste & The Marquess but I think my exit is coming up soon. Still dunno if it's any good but whatevs, it's called WIP for a reason.

Appreciation for the tags goes to: @spillingteanotpermitted, @gortashsrighthand, @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream, @archduchessgortash, @cinder-rellish181, @optimisticgrey, @litsenn, @bladesingerlily, @aerin67, and @carnivaley. Consider yourselves uno reversed if you'd like to keep the WIP train going.

And additional tags for: @lucretiouswept. @heartsong94, @theya-art, @irondeficienttav, @michanvalentine, @lottavilja, @lolthwoven, and @chaushaus.

This image not at all reflective of either of their experiences at the ball lol, it's just pretty.

The middle of the ballroom floor faded from bright purpleheart to an all-consuming circle of ebony that dropped Astarion into a disorienting pit as he took his place in a square formation, joining three other couples.

As the first notes of Luracious's Spring Sonata No. 3 caressed Astarion's senses and the lively trill of the violin rushed through his veins, Astarion stood beside Jenevelle. Flanked on either side by Lady Baenre and Lord Silverbough with their respective partners, Lord Rolan and Miss Rion, he stood across from Lord Cinderheart and Dalyria to dance the cotillion.

He let himself be swept away by the sonata's rhythm as the viola joined the fray, limbs loosening and mind wandering to greener pastures. The soft hands of Jenevelle and Rion joined with each of his, and despite himself he longed to feel the rough pass of callouses where instead there were silk gloves. Muscle memory took over as his thoughts roamed instead to sunny picnics and clandestine kisses beneath a weeping willow with a certain scrumptious half-elf.

Balance, rigadoon, chassé to the right; balance, rigadoon, chassé to the left.

Dal did not look particularly enchanted to be dancing with Lord Cinderheart; her steps were clumsy, her face placid. Her eyes kept darting instead to the Archmage of Ramazith's tower, and Astarion wondered if he ought to arrange a formal introduction.

He took Jenevelle's hands. Balance, rigadoon, turn to the right. He was supposed to make conversation.

"Any hobbies?" he threw out, wholly uninterested in the answer.

Balance, rigadoon, turn to the left.

"Praying to Selûne; dancing in Her name; nighttime walks; and…"

"Let me guess: howling at the full moon?"

"…embroidery."

A flicker of amusement played across Jenevelle's face. She parted from him to join hands with the other three ladies; Astarion put on his best semblance of gentlemanly patience while they frolicked slowly in a circle. It was a nice reprieve to place more focus on the music instead; while the quartet was skilled, it lacked the fullness of emotion this piece was made for.

Jenevelle returned to him before they wove in and out with each of the couples, footwork fluttering and bodies twirling. Next it was the gentlemen's turn, Astarion's fine-boned hand clasped with Dammon's sturdy mitt, and as they spun Astarion let his gaze wander beyond their little dancer's square.

Others danced in their own groups, chatting amicably—old friends, no doubt, unlike the group of relative strangers surrounding him. Off in the corner, Lady DeVir slunk away from a servant left in tears. Married couples, older nobles, and those without a dance partner stood on the sidelines, chatting while they looked on casually.