This is a full list of my completed and active fics published to AO3.
My Profile is Here.
Format is Title - Words/Fandom - main ship
For Fics in progress, words will be expected words, so I do not have to continuously update this post.
Completed Long and Mid Fics
Back on the Bus- 21k/BG3 - Astarion/Wyll
Taters - 57k/BG3 - Astarion/Shadowheart/Karlach
A Home in the Darkness - 39k/BG3 - (Tater's Sequel)
True Love's Kiss - 44k/BG3 - A!A/OC , past Astarion/Karlach
Long Fics In Progress
Twelve Days of Debauchery - 70k/BG3 - A!A/Lord Byron (prequel to A Striking Resemblance)
A Striking Resemblance - 150k/BG3 - A!A/OC
In Memoriam - 60k/BG3 - God Gale/Durge, Astarion/Durge
Threadbare - 600k/BG3 - Astarion/Named Tav
Unbidden and Ill-Begot - 50k/BG3 - Gale/OC
One Shots
A Dark and Stormy Night - Gale/Tav, Astarion/Tav
Gale and Astarion are in love with Tav, they jerk off about it.
A Decadent Discourse - Astarion/Lord Byron
Three Months of Courtship by Letters
Felicitations and Whatnot - Gale/Astarion
Post-Canon, Gale throws his friend whom he is definitely not in love with a birthday party. Astarion attends even though he is not in love either.
Something Old, Something New - Astarion/Jaheira
A 10x100 fic, how after the brain fell, they fell despite themselves.
Reclamation and Reverence - Astarion/Named Tav
Astarion rediscovers pleasure after seeing Tav in his shirt.
Toddler Fight Club - Astarion & Lae'zel & Minthara
What if these three opened a daycare postcanon?
What? Like it's Hard? - Astarion/OC, Astarion/OC
Astarion as Elle Woods in his precanon law school days
Words, Words, Words - Gale/Astarion
The line between hate and fucking is non-existant if you cross it.
You Can't Spell Coquette Without A Coq - A!A/Lord Byron
A!A was yeeted to Earth after the brain, 200 years later, he walks into a poetry reading and falls for rakish young man. (Prequel to Twelve Days of Debauchery)
People noting this anniversary reminding me again that it is such an insane failure of the pro-choice movement that we do not as a nation think of George Tiller as a civil rights hero and additionally a martyr at the level of MLK Jr. or a Kennedy. So, you know, do your part, etc.
“It is my fundamental philosophy that patients are emotionally, mentally, morally, spiritually and physically competent to struggle with complex health issues and come to decisions that are appropriate for them.” – George Tiller, MD
“It is my fundamental philosophy that patients are emotionally, mentally, morally, spiritually and physically competent to struggle with com
It’s been a while since I had time to sit down and compile my lil reading list! Doing this in two parts because the last month I’ve managed to do a bit more reading than usual!
Recs below; please check tags before diving in!
Our Memories by @gortashsrighthand (baldurs_simp on AO3) - Enver Gortash x Tav, I am a sucker for the idea of past lives and always fated to meet across time / space. And this hits all these marks for me. I am still thinking of this one and I will be going back to it time and time again.
The Devil In A Glass House by @theendofanerror (inveniamviam on AO3) Gale x Tav, Modern AU, When Gale seeks time alone at one of Mystra’s gatherings he meets Mia, recently commissioned to paint his mentor’s portrait. It seems like he’s met a woman he could fall in love with. If only he wasn’t under Mystra’s thumb (and other parts of her!). Genuinely the sad man Gale; I want to hold him just as much as I want to shake him. I can’t do this justice. Read it. Each chapter is sumptuous and juicy with such wonderful prose.
In the Margins by @galeswetdoeeyes (Ysmiyr on AO3) - Gale x Tav, Hurt/Comfort One-Shot set in Act 2 following the visit from Elminster and the reveal of Mystra’s demands. I really hope we get a series of Ellara and Gale, because this gave me all the good feels.
“10/10, Would Recommend.” By @aerin67 - Gale x Tav. Modern AU, Gale is a cardigan wearing librarian with a crush on regular patron, Tav. He is also waging war on whoever is ‘vandalising’ is book recommendation wall. Whoever could it be…. Absolutely delightful! Special shoutout to librarian Astarion who is just as mischievous and witty as you would expect.
Override & Underground by @saylofwaterdeep - Gale x The Dark Urge, Enver Gortash x The Dark Urge. Modern AU, Gale returns to Harper Pharmaceuticals as Head of IT/Cyber Security where he met and lost the love of his life. Complications arise when a new counterfeit drug hits the streets from a new cartel, the race to find them and the arrival of Gale’s long lost love, who is not happy to see him. So much fun to read; I am obsessed with the way we flit between 2001/2011 and the clear change in dynamics. Sayl’s writing always feels so immersive and this is no exception.
Thin Ice by @ficbrish (EverythingIsAlreadyTaken on AO3) - Astarion x Tav, Modern AU. Retired Ice Skater Astarion agrees to come out of retirement to show newcomer Vistri he’s still got what it takes, only for them to be shoved together to skate as a pair for the PR. Shenanigans ensue!! I absolutely cackled my way through this as part of the @baldurs-writers-3 exchange last month and I immediately added it to TBR to continue asap!
Surely, it was a jape.
That was the only possible explanation for why Anth— Astarion was leading a pretty young woman by the hand through the gardens.
Byron watched from the bedroom window, seething with a jealousy more fierce than he'd ever known, as smiles as easy and warm as a summer breeze passed between the pair. He gasped when his love, his love, who'd declared his own passions so fervently the day before, suddenly knelt before the woman with flaming hair, plucking a daffodil and passing it to her like a most precious gift.
The sound of glass shattering startled the poet, and he looked down, realizing he'd dropped his water glass in shock.
He turned, trying to soothe himself. Of course, Ancunin would still be courting, still looking for a wife. It was a requirement. A duty. It was patently absurd to believe for a moment that the fervency of their affections would be able to stop the tidal weight of social obligation that was marriage.
Nonetheless, George decided right then that he would make him pay for having to watch this mockery of the words they'd spoken in their passion.
He summoned Viktor with a bell, a plan fully laid out in his mind. The Prussian frowned when he'd worn naught but a waist-coat over a summer's shirt of fine muslin, even foregoing a cravat. The frown deepened when he'd directed the man to affix the collar to his neck.
Without the finishing neck-piece, the collar was clearly visible for what it was, nestled in the high but open collar of the shirt, the diamond star at the front drawing in every eye, impossible to miss.
As Byron stood in the doorway, debating between whether to ride out into the gardens or catch the two of them in the grand hall, Viktor cleared his throat.
"You may speak."
Viktor took a slow breath. "I mean no disrespect, my Lord, but I worry you may be acting with a certain youthful, well, imprudent passion."
Byron narrowed his eyes at the imposing man. "And by what rights would it be your job to determine this?"
The taller man looked down. "My Master, he's…" The man took another low breath, seeming to draw courage. "He would be quite distressed were something to happen to you, as his affections have grown quite deep."
"And why would you believe something might happen to me, Viktor?"
The man looked him straight in the eyes with his piercing blue stare. "My Master is a dangerous, volatile, viciously jealous man."
It should have felt offensive, the implication that somehow Byron would be unable to defend himself. Part of him bristled, rose up, and angrily demanded that he put this upstart in his place. But the sincerity in the man's bright eyes was hard to overlook.
"Perchance," George began, toying with the collar. "Could you tell me who the young woman is?"
"Yes," the word sounded like the man's voice was run through gravel. "Her name is Kotryna Grigolaitė. She arrived this morning from Königsberg."
"Isn't that your port of call, goodman?"
Viktor nodded, jaw still tight. "Kotryna is my daughter. She came without notice, and expressly against my wishes."
Tagging a few people, tag yourself if you'd like!
@missfortunetherogue @shandoratheexplorer @alwaysmauria @jettherooster @nyx-knox @nw39 @thecosyblue @spacethatsinbetween @scrapsovereign @davenswitcher @glitzgremlin
tagged by @unovafarm @thepalelawyer @shandoratheexplorer @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream @archduchessgortash , thank youuuuu!
If I missed your tag, ping me, please. It was a busy week and I love to read your stuff!
accompanied by this incredible shot by @deianestormborn. Thank you so much, darling! You are also tagged! 🫶
Gentle warning for severe injuries, bloodloss and fever dreams
They all needed tending to. Truthfully, we all did.
Lae'zel's arm had been broken badly enough that even she struggled to conceal the pain. Karlach had borne the worst of the fighting as usual, her body battered and bruised to an extent that frightened me more than I cared to admit. Gale looked as though he had not slept in days, thankfully he had only suffered superficial injuries. Wyll was lightly wounded and stubborn as ever. Shadowheart exhausted. Halsin wore the particular expression healers often do when they are running on determination alone.
To this day, I am not entirely certain how we survived.
I remember looking around our miserable little makeshift camp and feeling a strange, detached gratitude simply because everyone was still breathing.
It felt miraculous enough.
So I told them to care for themselves first.
I was injured, certainly, but not as badly as the others. At least, that was what I claimed.
Whether anyone believed me is another matter entirely.
Shadowheart and Halsin worked together to do what they could. Wyll and Gale fetched water, tore cloth into bandages, emptied the last of our dwindling potion supply, and assisted wherever extra hands were needed. Between them they managed to stabilize Lae'zel and Karlach and patched wounds well enough that we would survive the night.
At the time, survival until morning felt like a sufficiently ambitious goal.
When they put me down by the fire, I practically collapsed onto my bedroll with a sigh.
After all those months on the road, it no longer smelled like strangers. This realization remains oddly vivid in my memory.
There had been a time when every blanket, every bartered tent, every bedroll had carried traces of other people—sweat, smoke, damp earth, old leather and unfamiliar dreams, fears and hopes. Yet somewhere along the way this old bedroll had become mine. The blanket smelled faintly of woodsmoke and soap.
Small things. The sort of things one notices when they are exhausted enough to mistake them for treasures.
The fire crackled softly nearby.
Lae'zel, Karlach, and Gale had been settled farther away behind hastily erected tent flaps to afford them a measure of privacy. Under other circumstances I might have accepted the same arrangement.
Instead, I insisted on remaining beside the fire.
I wanted the warmth. Or perhaps I simply wanted the company.
Looking back, I am not sure which.
The fever had already begun settling into my bones.
I remember shivering so violently my teeth hurt while sweat soaked my clothes and blankets. Every inch of me seemed caught between extremes. Too hot. Too cold. Burning. Freezing.
The wounds in my leg throbbed relentlessly. Sleep came only in fragments. I drifted between consciousness and fever dreams, between reality and whatever strange places the mind wanders when the body is struggling to mend itself.
Most of it is blurred now. Sensations more than memories.
The weight of blankets.
The smell of smoke.
The distant murmur of hushed voices.
The crackle of burning wood.
And through all of it, Halsin.
I remember his voice before I remember seeing him. Deep and steady and impossibly calm.
He was speaking Elvish. I noticed that even through the haze of fever.
There was something different about the way he spoke the language when he thought nobody was truly listening. Softer somehow. Older. Like water moving over smooth stone. The cadence wrapped around me more than the words themselves, becoming something soothing and familiar even when I could not entirely follow what he was saying.
Perhaps he was speaking to me.
Perhaps he was praying.
I didn't ask. I only remember finding comfort in the sound.
Then his hand.
Gods.
Even now, after everything, that memory remains achingly clear.
Halsin's hands are enormous. Capable of splitting wood, shaping stone, shifting into claws large enough to tear through armor.
Yet I had never felt gentleness like his. A cool cloth brushed across my forehead. His fingers moved through damp strands of hair, carefully pushing them away from my face. The blankets shifted as he tucked them closer around my shoulders.
Every touch was deliberate, as though I were something precious.
As though he had all the time in the world.
I drifted in and out of sleep while he remained beside me.
Each time I surfaced from fever dreams, I found him there again.
Speaking softly.
Adjusting the blankets.
Replacing the cloth.
Checking my temperature.
Watching.
Waiting.
And though I could scarcely keep my eyes open, though pain and fever and exhaustion dragged me under again and again, I remember the certainty that settled somewhere deep within me.
I was safe.
Not because the danger had passed.
Not because my wounds were healing.
But because Halsin was there.
Show us what you are working on! @alstromeri-a (if you like) @rdekarios @bg3screenshotdump @litsenn @lllchiaroscurolll @lotus-ignis @saintsandsorcery @elfiramore (if you like) @ele-millennial-weirdo @jbenn656 @zigloo @cinder-rellish181 @chaushaus @alliskit @alleiramagic @mellybaggins @lucretiouswept @dragonsbone @elceewunjo @arlynx and, as always, @lilhumanoid
"Vanderhorst had been under the influence of MDMA and three litres of vodka she had consumed on the night of the offence last September, her lawyer Michael Hill told the court."
Dropping a fic rec. I started reading this story for the third time now.
This fic is an almost original novel that happens to be set in the Elder Scrolls/Skyrim universe. The writing is stellar. The characters feel real. The hurt/comfort of it all is mostly hurt in the best way.
Just 100/10 of a fic.
Always Read the Fine Print
paraparadigm
Summary:
Vera's world ended not with a bang, but with a whimper: the year is 2095, the world in the throes of late-stage climate change. The Earth will keep going, the humans - not so much. As it turns out, the apocalypse is contagious: either that, or she has spectacularly bad luck.
Waking up naked on a bloody altar isn't the best introduction to a new place, but you make do with what life hands you. After a rocky start, Vera finds herself in Markarth, trying to make a new home for herself amidst the violence, corruption, and Thalmor zealotry.
But just when things are finally settling down - as much as they can in the city of blood and silver - a Nord and a Dunmer roll into town with the mother of all bad deals. Always read the fine print.
This series starts about a year before the events of the game and will continue through the timeline and the DLCs. This fic is the first installment. Canon-compliant(ish), but skews towards a lot of original content. Narration is in 3rd person limited; the protagonist is not the Dragonborn.
Hell is empty and all the Devils are here Book One: Dawn
Chapter 5
There were moments, usually late at night while we sat together among stacks of books and cooling candle wax, when he would begin speaking—not directly, never cruelly, and certainly never accusingly—about control. About impulses. About the dangerous things people carry quietly within themselves.
He always spoke in broad terms, carefully enough that I could pretend he was not speaking about me at all if I wished to preserve my pride.
"Power without discipline is merely destruction waiting for opportunity,” he once told me while correcting my grip on a spellform, his hands warm and steady around my wrists. "And desperation, when left unnamed long enough, often convinces itself it deserves indulgence.”
At the time, I remember going very still.
Thank you, @rubyeyebabybat and @alrendriablaze, for tagging me!
I can't really share the last line I wrote because it's a huge spoiler, so I'll just drop you guys the fanfic itself. The first chapter is up and has only 2745 words
Have fun!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Now onto the teaser for Broken Mirror's next chapter!
"Gods, I'm so tired," I whisper. "It is her right to punish me so. I have failed, and I deserve this."
"Do you, though?" The whispered words sound like they come from far, far away, and oddly enough, they sound just like Rolim.
"Leave me alone," I answer as blood trickles down from the corner of my mouth. I draw another wheezing breath, trying to gather enough magic to heal the damage so I may yet live another day.
I reach for the magic I share with my Dark Lady, but the pool is empty.
I feel so cold…
This is the end, isn't it?
"Shadowheart," Rolim's voice again. "Stay with me."
"I don't need you, and you don't need me," I answer the phantom. "So why won't you stop pestering me?"
"Because you're my friend."
I manage a weak snicker; the cold feeling from before gives way to a gentle warmth.
"Who knew that death could feel so nice?" I mutter weakly.
"Now now, don't be dramatic," Rolim's voice sounds in my ears again. "You're not dead yet."
"I'm hallucinating," I answer. "Clearly, this is it."
But then—
I wonder—
Why would I dream of him when I lay dying?
Gentle tags to @nw39 @optimisticgrey @lottavilja @vakariansyndrome @denesmera @roguishcat @chaushaus
My fav cute little astarion hc thats borderline canon is that dude is MESSYYY. Blood spills everywhere, 500 pillows, his nasty little vampire baby blanket… Oh my kleptomaniac recovering from trauma and regaining a sense of belonging elf ur such a cutie pookiebear even though ur tent is a tripping hazard
I'm working on Spawn Me the Details again - we're meeting the Gur in Rivington, and I'm so excited about it.
No pressure tags for @atsadi-shenanigans, @lesbihane and @nandorisms ❤️
"But if his own spawn approached? Someone he thought he could control. He would throw his doors open and welcome you in. And once inside, you could do what we could not. You could save the children you damned."
A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. Before your inner eye, the entrance looms. The place where you died. And she wants you to go back there.
Astarion's voice is uncharacteristically quiet as he answers.
"You don't know Cazador like I do. He's merciless. You want me to go into the lion's den and save your children, but I promise you they're already-"
He stops abruptly as something dawns on him. His eyes widen and his head snaps to face you, his gaze intense as he stares. Mouth slightly open, but not daring to ask the question.
You gasp loudly as you realise it, your hands flying up to cover your mouth in horror.
Because you remember now. A few cells down, on the opposite side. There were children.
You didn't think it possible, but Astarion's eyes widen even futher as he tries to gauge your answer from your reaction. You feel a knock against your mind - a request for permission.
Astarion wants to see it.
Somewhere in the background you hear the old woman asking if you're another spawn, and Wyll trying to keep the peace, but none of it matters right now.
You nod once, without breaking the intense eye contact, and then you show him.
