#parawritesnonsense

Aww thanks @serial-chillr for the taggy tag. I swear, every time I get one of those, I look at my fanfic folder and go “Am I just...getting weirder? Because this stuff is weird. What WAS going through my head at the time? Was it the wine? It was the wine, wasn’t it...” On the upside, I do have reasonable stuff to share—by which I mean I’m not writing smut for PWOTR gnomes. Or well, reasonable in my usual “these two people clearly are orthogonal in subtly similar, yet misaligned ways, and therefore respond to each other with one of the predictable 4 Fs, let’s find out which one it’ll be.” Astarion/Ryl, for BG3 (next chapter of Honey and Pitch).

It's one fluid flurry—action and reaction—too fast for words or reason. She presses her dagger under his jaw, but the tip of his blade is already lodged against her ribs.  She ignores the useless stalemate. Her question, when it comes, is more snarl than sense.  "When?"   She could have asked anything else—a dozen more useful questions, but they all snag together, twisting into a knot that clogs her throat. There's rage in there, and preemptive grief, and the thin, treacherous ice of disbelief she knows better than to lean on.   He's many things, the bloodsucker, but he wouldn't lie—not if the truth cuts sharper.  "We both know I'm faster, darling," he says, eyes fastened on hers in the pallid moonlight. "Besides, you won't kill me this way unless you manage sufficient force for decapitation—though I doubt you will. Not from this angle, in any case."