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@theartofmadeline
One Nice Bug Per Day

if i look back, i am lost
d e v o n
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noise dept.

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Jules of Nature

#extradirty

Janaina Medeiros
occasionally subtle
Mike Driver

Origami Around
Keni
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

blake kathryn
Three Goblin Art
YOU ARE THE REASON
Game of Thrones Daily
Not today Justin

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@oneeyedtav
Baldur's Gate Text Posts: 0-25 | 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
I just think she's neat and support her striking fear into the hearts of evildoers everywhere. Fish or otherwise.
"Yes, my love? Are you done talking to your friends? Can we leave?"
✨️Tell me, do you believe in love at first sight?✨️
WIP! Isobel and Dame Aylin, daughter of the Moonmaiden! Card 12/15 of my Baldur's Gate 3 Oracle Deck.
To Be Cared For
Pairing: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm
Characters: Dame Aylin, Isobel Thorm
Tags: mention of Sex, Aftercare, No hurt only comfort, First time, not beta read
AO3 Link: here!
Word count: 1,062
Summary: “Mortal comforts have never appealed to me as much.” Aylin explained late one evening, biting into the flaky treat Isobel had brought her. “I think I’m starting to understand now,” Something mischievous flickered across Isobel’s eyes. “There’s a whole world of creature comforts for you to enjoy, my angel.”
Not Broken, Just Bent
For:@aylinisobel-weekDay Three: The Moonmaiden's Silver Light Relationships: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm Notes/Warnings: Feelings of incompetence, Non-explicit mentions of sex, Hurt/Comfort, Descriptions of Torture, Psychological Trauma, Aftermath of Torture Word Count: 2,645 AO3 Link: Here! Summary:“I want to take care of you.” She pressed on, though backpedaled after a moment. “I know it is a big step to ask of you to take, I’ll accept your refusal in the face of your comfort, however, if you’d like to try, I will stop the moment you ask.” Pondering the promise, Aylin thought back to conversations of the past, how different they’d been a century ago. Once upon a time, these were conversations regarding bringing something new into their love life, long conversations regarding where to touch, how to grab, and the kind of pressure they were comfortable applying. Oh how the mighty had fallen, their conversations now regarding the simple basic touch of one lover to another. “I will do my best to endure.” “No.” Isobel’s hand moved from her hips to her bicep, gently guiding her back to their bed. “You will not force yourself to endure, not here, never with me."
Compromising Sacrafice
For:@aylinisobel-weekDay Two: A Century of Sorrow Relationships: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm Notes/Warnings: Graphic Violence, Blood and Injury, I suck at dialogue and emotions. Word Count: 2,330 AO3 Link: Here! Summary: Tired eyes watched the flakes of ash as they floated to the ground, her body finally sapped of all the fight she had mustered as she dropped to her side at last. "Aylin!" Isobel called again, though it sounded far away, echoing through a tunnel, even as she focused on the silvery moons dotted across the hem of her beloved's robes. As it had so many times before, darkness enveloped her, and the world went quiet. Her mother's embrace was not waiting for her. It had all been a cruel trick of the Shadowfell after all.
Salubrious Moonlight
For: @aylinisobel-week Day One: Moonrise Over Reithwin Relationships: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm Notes/Warnings: Feelings of incompetence, Non-explicit mentions of sex, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 2,074 AO3 Link: Here! Summary: "I believe I made a promise or two that I cannot fathom breaking." And yes, Isobel knew Aylin was deflecting, but as her angel lifted her into her arms and strode across the room, she deigned to allow it to slide, if not just for the feel of Aylin's lips and teeth returning home against the smooth column of her throat. It had been far too easy to let herself fall prey to normal, in the way that Aylin set her down on the edge of the bed, only to drop to her knees before her, heavy armor scraping against the floorboards, and in the way that her Paladin had eagerly devoted herself to the task of reuniting with the feel of Isobel's body beneath her, warm, respondent, alive.
drawing computer still not set up so an older doodle for today
Throwback to when I made a typo and my spell checker decided to channel the spirit of Dame Aylin.
I’m begging you to write for yourself.
“But readers don’t like—“ who cares?
The only reader of your story that you should care about is yourself.
Do you like your story? Yes? Then it’s perfect.
That's what creating is all about! 🫶🏽
Caged Spirits
For @polyshipweek Day 7: Free Day Relationships: Dame Aylin/Shadowheart/Isobel Thorm Notes/Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Werewolves, Self-worth issues, brief mentions of torture. Canon Major Character Death Mention Word Count: AO3 Link: Here!
Aylin- Oh Aylin would never, though, as Isobel studied the desecrated remains of the prison, awfully reminiscent of that which the Nightsong spent over a century restrained in, she knew that this was the work of her paladin. Deep gouges ripped through stone and metal as if it were nothing, while blood and viscera painted the walls.
There had been no survivors, and while Dame Aylin was always one to fulfill her oath, to be her Mother’s Sword and to bring Justice to those that would cause harm, she very rarely ever stooped to such… barbaric means, not since she’d crushed the monster who’d fed off her own suffering.
Isobel stepped past the rotted remains of… well, she couldn’t quite tell what species the poor sap had been, he was nothing but mushy remains now. Caught in the mess of his entrails, the cleric reached out, plucking a once-white feather from an indiscernible lump of tissue. She twisted the calamus between her fingers, allowing the warm torchlight to catch on the hues of gold and silver, hidden beneath the downy vane, each minuscule barbule catching fire in its own way as she studied it.
“Oh love… where did you go?”
Shadowheart’s footsteps were silent across the forest floor. The weight of the spear in her hands was hefty. Lady Shar was placing so much faith in her and was willing to give her this chance to prove herself. It was not one she could waste- She would kill the Moon Maiden's monster, cut the wings from its grotesque back, and return victorious where so many others could not.
The tracks were large, pressed deep into the soil as if it had wanted to be found. Shadowheart clung to the safety the darkness provided, knowing she would be dropping into a trap, but hoping to catch the monster just as unaware. The moonlight pierced through the thick canopy of trees, seeming to grace every step the monster had taken.
Her nose crinkled as she grew closer. The distinct reek of death and decay filled her nostrils, and as she slowed her pace to peer through the thick shrubbery, she caught her first true sighting of the cryptic silver wretch.
Some would say such a beast was magnificent, a great wolf larger than even the biggest Róthe she’d ever seen, with wings that spread resplendently into the night. Selûne’s blessing caught the icy feathers, igniting them in a way that seemed like the embodiment of holy fire from The Overgod Ao’s might itself.
Its fur was as silvery as the surface of the moon itself, white like the Tears shed by Shar's lesser sibling, yet still touched by divinity. Golden cracks cut through the thick fur, almost as if the beast was no more than a mason’s shattered statue, rebuilt repeatedly, unwilling to accept that the masterpiece was a lost cause.
The monster’s mouth was turned towards the moon, and the song that passed its muzzle was a howl of agony, serene and penetrative, embedding its woe into Shadowheart’s chest, sinking past her bones and into her very soul.
She knew better than to allow the scene to fool her than to give up her Lady’s will for a beast that would cleave her in half without a thought. Using the sound of the beast's song to her advantage, Shadowheart began to creep closer.
It was no sooner than her boots crossed the treeline into the clearing, the sickly silver moonlight dousing her boots in its toxic light, that a voice called out. “Aylin!” A woman, a voice she’d never heard before, one full of worry and sorrow- Emerald eyes tracked the voice to the hurried movement across the clearing as a woman burst from the line, running towards the beast in what had to be a suicidal hail mary.
The beast did not attack, and neither did it move to greet her halfway, instead, Shadowheart watched as its large head lowered shamefully, and the silver-adorned woman embraced it. She only then noticed the blessings of the moon bestowed upon the woman, with white hair and silver adornments that glinted in the light.
“Oh, darling!” The woman’s voice was heavy with emotion, and Shadowheart was certain she was crying as she tufted her fingers through matted and grimy fur. “You poor thing-” Her sentiment was met with a low rumbling- not a growl of impending doom, but closer to an exhale of reluctant acceptance. Whatever that monster was, it felt shame, or at least, it was playing into the Moon Witch’s trap, just as Shadowheart almost did.
With her heart thundering in her chest and blood rushing in her ears, Shadowheart ascended, her steps were light and her goals were clear. She had no intention of letting the two commune longer. That is, until, she heard the moon cleric whisper. “Shar did not break you, my love. The pain she bestowed upon you is not a mark of your shortcomings but of her own wretched jealousy. Neither she nor my father; they can't hurt you anymore.” Small gloved hands stroked past the beast's muzzle, smearing splattered blood deeper into the snowy fur as she did so.
Shadowheart froze in her tracks at the keening sound Lady Shar’s name brought from the great beast. She faltered, unable to move further, unable to heft her spear and send it soaring into the hearts of her enemies. Some part deep within a mind she did not truly know ached for them, and she understood the cleric’s words in a way she had never afforded to ponder on.
Her hand flared in agonizing pain. Shadowheart’s gasp cut through the clearing and her spear dropped to the ground with a mighty thud as she reached to alleviate the pain from her cursed wound. The silence that followed was thick as two sets of eyes turned to acknowledge her presence.
The beast growled, pearly teeth baring in a way that perfectly accented the bits of flesh and gore that clung between its canines.”Aylin…” The cleric tried to reason with the monster, but it was too late.
The wings unfurled, giving Shadowheart a perfect view of the metal armor inlaid in the bone as if the beast's ulnare had grown with the purpose of slicing throats as it took to the air. In just a few long strides, Shadowheart was facing her death in large silver eyes, in the drool that pooled at the corner of the monster’s mouth, no doubt salivating at the thought of fresh blood.
She felt powerless, she felt like no more than that girl saved by Lady Shar’s people, cornered by a wolf, mocked by the moon as it licked its chops, waiting to turn her into a meal. “Aylin, stop!” There was no longer an empty chasm between the Sharran and the wolf, now, the Selûnite cleric stood between them, her back to Shadowheart, arms thrown wide as she placed herself as an offering for the beast, so clearly ready to pounce.
“This is not who you are.” Isobel declared, keeping her tone firm, no matter how much it hurt to speak to her beloved in such a manner, how much pain coursed through her reanimated heart at the way Aylin’s ears drew flat to the back of her head, or how the Paladin’s haunches shook as she lowered fully to the ground, muscles aching in the exertion to restrain herself. “Don’t do this.”
Shadowheart took a step back at the sound of the first wet snap, though when the Cleric’s head turned to catch her in her peripherals, she found herself frozen once more. Curiosity got the better of her as the snapping and cracking grew more pronounced. It was a gruesome process, though the person inside the wolf did no more than release a deep breath once her bones had found their home wrapped in the skin of a celestial being.
Like the wolf, golden rivers seemed to hold this woman together, metal danced across every inch of her flesh, slicing through unnaturally pale skin in vital areas. And just like the wolf, the humanoid had wings, wings that folded close to her back, as if she could not find the pride to extend them to their full glory.
Shadowheart was enraptured as the warrior in rags knelt before the cleric, raw power pushed into submission by no more than a request from one who clearly loved them. Was it a weakness? Or was it great strength that put the cleric between Shadowheart’s doom? Shar would preach the former, though she could feel her heart tug towards the latter.
“You do not know who I am, dear Isobel. Not anymore-” The woman’s head had turned to the side, silvery eyes locked onto one of the deep gouges she’d left in the soil as if it would reveal the answers to her strife.
“You are my Aylin,” Isobel’s voice softened as she reached out, her fingertips brushing across the Paladin’s jawline. “Nothing can change that, my dear. You are the woman I love.”
“I am not!” Aylin’s voice trembled. Shadowheart felt intrusive as she caught the wetness freely tearing through the dirt against pale cheeks. “The woman you loved is dead. Killed a thousand times over, she died easily. Far too easy to be…” A growl of frustration. Aylin’s cheek pressed into Isobel’s palm even as a hand moved to tangle viciously into her own hair, trying to find an outlet for frustrations far beyond mortal comprehension. “To be the Moon Maiden’s sword.”
“You are no god, Aylin,” The hand not cradling the aasimar’s face moved to trail along a golden wrist, interlocking their fingers and guiding the wolf’s hand from her hair. “You are not indomitable, and even Selûne must see that, or she is a fool.” Her tongue burned, speaking in such a way about her Goddess, more so when the woman’s light graced them all, but surely she wouldn’t wish to see this pain spread and fester in her beautiful daughter?
“I fought so hard not to break in the Shadowfell-” Shadowheart felt her blood run cold. “I thought once I was free, I would be fine- My body… it has sewn back together time and again, and yet… It feels as if it was the freedom that shattered me.” Aylin admitted, broad shoulders heaving as her forehead pressed against Isobel’s abdomen.
“Shar has stolen from you. She has stolen time, freedom… your life, but she did not steal your heart.” Isobel released the Paladin’s face to place her palm flat against a knotted section of scar, just over the aasimar’s chest. “She did not steal who you are. You are never the same person as you were yesterday. You may remember the pain of all you’ve endured, but that is what’s natural. You survived a great deal, and you are stronger for it.”
“She shouldn’t have had to be strong.” Shadowheart found her lips moving before her brain could catch up and found herself peering over Isobel’s shoulder at the beaten-down woman. “She should have been safe.”
Aylin’s lips parted to speak, though she found herself speechless in the way her beloved had nodded her agreement. “You understand then… There is no safety where the kingdom of light cannot reach. But there is a promise to those who find Her again. Healing. Life. You are no less the sword of Selûne today than you were a hundred years ago, even if you choose to lay down your arms for the rest of your immortal life.”
The wolf- woman’s face contorted in disgust. “I will not turn back on my oath,” She defended with more bite than her beast had been capable of, appalled that the cleric could suggest such a thing. She was the Sword of Selûne, of Justice, and she would not falter-
“A sword will not temper under constant pressure.” Isobel tutted softly. “But alas. Another night. Once I get you home.”
“And the Sharran?” Shadowheart found herself frozen once more, both in the agony of pain that flared through her hand at the perfect time of those piercing eyes meeting her own once more. “No… Not quite a Sharran…” Golden brows furrowed. Shadowheart focused on the way the solder in her skin seemed to wrinkle, silent as she ignored the scrutinizing gaze. She was meant to kill them, and now? Now she was left reeling, with something she could not understand all but prying on the boards of her recessed memories.
“So that’s it? You’ll kill me now?” Shadowheart swallowed hard as she looked between the women. Her call for magic was left unanswered, and the spear was much too far away to lunge for now. Shar had left her at this moment, unable to slink into the clearing with Selûne poisoning the world with her light.
“To be Selûne's chosen is to be granted a great honor, and a greater burden. To be stolen by Shar…” Aylin trailed off as she rose to her feet at last. She towered over Shadowheart, and yet, as she drew closer, the dark-haired woman no longer felt that all-consuming fear. “It is to be stripped of who you are. To be peeled apart as no more than fodder.” Shadowheart could still see the flesh caught in the woman’s teeth, though she assumed the Paladin’s words were to the effect of that thing tearing at her mind as if it were eating her connection to Shar far away.
“When given the chance to kill us, you did not, little warrior.” When did Aylin get so close? When did great wings spread to encircle the three of them in their magnificent span, allowing only moonlight to pierce their protective cocoon?
“You… mentioned Shar, and-” Shadowheart found herself stammering over her words.
“Even without knowing the truth of who you are, you understood at the moment that she has failed you. You have been twisted and manipulated, doomed to a life of servitude, to be left alone and unclaimed in a death undeserving of all your trials and tribulations.”
And when Aylin’s forehead pressed against her own, she found herself transported back to that cursed clearing, except this time, she did not see a wolf prowling to lock her in its maw, but a father fighting to save his daughter from the followers of Shar. “They may not have broken you in the way they’ve broken me-” Isobel’s hand rested on Aylin’s bicep, even as her arms encircled Shadowheart, reminding her of her distaste for that particular word choice. “They have taken from you, and perhaps, like myself. It is not too late to find who we are meant to be.”
“What… Will I do now…?” Shadowheart breathed at last, for once, allowing herself to sink into an embrace that sought no harm against her. Shadowheart lived and died a thousand times in the silence that followed, unable to understand the way their eyes passed so much between each other. As a Sharran, she should have seen comfort in dying a warriors death for her Goddess, except Shar’s acceptance was nowhere to embrace her, the dark maiden was silent when she should have been all-encompassing, there for her warrior who was making the sacrifice to get a shot at a Selûnite. Through each of the deaths she imagined the Paladin would give her, she saw only herself, abandoned for eternity. “You are not alone. And you never have to be again.” Aylin started, words slow and deliberate, as if unsure as she spoke them. Isobel’s hand squeezed her bicep to steady the woman’s words.
“We will walk this path together, as long as you’ll have us.” Isobel offered. This new silence that settled over the strange group like a blanket them, was calm, at least for a moment. “And I believe that first step should be towards a bathhouse-” She tried to look towards the not-quite-Sharran without too much scrutiny, though Shadowheart was sure the stench of the House of Grief was unpleasant, especially compared to the stench of a prisoner that had broken free of a century of enslavement, just to spend weeks as a lumbering beast covered in gorey remains.
When their hands laced with hers, she didn’t find that age-old pit of regret in her stomach, she only felt the warmth of their hands linked in her own, and the way the moonlight seemed to make her skin tingle pleasantly, a welcome feeling from the sickly crawl the silvery kiss had left her with prior.
Even the stench of the wolf under Aylin’s skin grew bearable, and the sight of fanged teeth contained in a human maw nipping at bubbles as they floated gracefully into the air in the bath house felt like it helped dispel any notions of monster.
Is it obvious this is extreme ADHD hyperfocus word vomit? I just can't stop thinking about them rn...
Not Enough Hands
For @polyshipweek Day 2: Blorbo has two hands Relationships: Dame Aylin/Shadowheart/Isobel Thorm Warnings: Suggestive Themes Word Count: 882 AO3 Link: Here! Notes: Did I intend to write actual smut? Yes. Has it been so long that I scared myself off of the idea? Also yes. But goddammit I'm gonna try,,, eventually.
Isobel’s body pressed Aylin’s hips apart where she arched off the wall, fingers grasping needily at the Paladin’s broad shoulders as Aylin licked hungrily into her mouth. Aylin’s fingers squeezed against the cleric’s thighs in her grasp, urging the roll of her hips against her own.
When Isobel closed her teeth around the muscle of Aylin’s tongue and sucked, the aasimar growled, pressing her closer to the wall, pulling back only when her darling gave her the gentlest of taps against her shoulder, releasing her devilish hold on her tongue. A string of saliva connected their mouths, and Aylin took pride in the way the cleric looked at her, blue eyes blown wide, kiss-swollen lips parted just for her-
The door to the room opened as Shadowheart slipped into their quarters, dropping her mace and shield beside the front door as she huffed a breath. “Clowns, why did it have to be-” Noticing the two pairs of eyes watching her, “Oh, hello. Am I interrupting something?” There was a teasing smile on her face as her arms crossed over her chest, smearing the blots of viscera that still clung to her armor.
“Mmm, not interrupting, never interrupting,” Isobel promised, taking Aylin’s distraction in her bloodlust to find the sliver of skin where her throat met her jaw. A hot tongue laved at the skin, following the river of molten gold, teeth brushing against the skin enough to make her proud paladin falter.
Her attention turned back to Isobel, though she could hear the quiet sounds of Shadowheart removing her armor, could smell the musk of sweat and the stench of death where it wafted from the woman. “She seems quite preoccupied, does she not?” Shadowheart came up behind Aylin, fingers finding the spot against her back, right between where her wings would rest, pressing into knotted muscle in a way that made her knees shake. Isobel’s chin lifted from the crook of her neck, though Aylin could not see the look the two clerics shared.
“Well, I do have two hands,” Dame Aylin boasted, practically beaming at Shadowheart, even as Isoebl’s lips and teeth attacked the column of her throat.
“I can think of a better use for you, and your hands.” Shadowheart’s hand trailed down Aylin’s left arm, coming to a rest at the inside of her wrist before dragging the pad of her finger along the smooth metallic feel of a golden scar, racing down the aasimar’s palm and ending in the cook between her ring and pointer finger.
The touch of magic was barely noticeable, easing the phantom pains that the demigod had learned to live with. Her hand relaxed against Isobel’s thighs, and when Shadowheart reached to hook a finger under her chin, guiding her towards their bed, she became malleable to both women’s wishes.
Aylin was gentle, always so careful in setting Isobel against the pillows at the head of the bed, though the shove from Shadowheart that pressed her face into the pillows was nothing of the sort, Aylin still felt a warm laugh bubbling past her lips as the half-elf settled beside them, fingers trailing up the line of corded muscle along the aasimar’s bicep, biting back a remark about the pull of the muscles that kept her elevated above Isobel, even as the cleric of Selûne attempted to urge her lower.
“This is getting out of hand,” Aylin complained with no real bite in her tone, allowing the persistent press of Shadowheart’s fingers into her arms and Isobel’s heels pressing into the small of her back to finally pull her down, body flush against Isobel, who, upon being pressed firmly into the mattress by the paladin’s weight, released a long, contented sigh.
“Now, I thought you said you have two hands for a reason,” Shadowheart interrupted, a sly smile on her face as she pressed close to the pair, laving her mouth and teeth over the juncture of an uneven scar fissure, causing the paladin to shiver.
“I believe we outmatch you, my love.” Isobel all but purred in her ear, taking immense satisfaction in the sight of sculpted muscles jumping at just the sound of her voice. “We have four hands between us.”
As if to enunciate her point, those blessed hands danced up her arms, briefly ghosting over Shadowheart’s cool touch before following the golden sutures to a point along her back, pressing into the muscles that held her wings. “Devil women.” Aylin shuddered, allowing the movements of both women to roll her to the side, instead leaving Isobel’s weight pressing comfortably into her abdomen, left to gape up as both clerics exchanged a knowing look between themselves, a communication that the Aasimar was not privy to.
The instinct to slide her hands along Isobel’s thighs came from something deeper than her DNA, trailing her fingers along soft thighs and urging her to sit just a little higher. Falling perfectly into the cleric’s trap, Shadowheart used the new space to settle herself between Aylin’s legs, earning a faux sigh from the demigod. “I believe I need to start the search for more hands.” Isobel laughed a joyous sound to her ears, before leaning down to capture her lips. “We’ll be happy to lend ours to the cause… after we’ve had our fill,”
That First Touch
For @polyshipweek Day 1: Group Hugs Relationships: Dame Aylin/Shadowheart/Isobel Thorm Notes/Warnings: N/A Word Count: 641 AO3 Link: Here!
Isobel had cautioned her to be slow, not to overwhelm the not-so-Sharran, and Dame Aylin had tried, truly she had. Time and time again, when her muscles would twitch, shaking with the exertion to fight the urge to reach out, to brush the pad of her finger against the scar against Shadowheart’s cheek, and to express her pride and admiration. Each time she wished to, she would bite her tongue, would show a restraint stronger than she had ever been able to gather in her imprisonment, and turn towards their next task.
Except things were different. Aylin had been distracted with bashing in the skull of a rabid Gnoll, and hadn’t heard the scattering of taloned feet against the cobblestone. It would have been too late, and she would have had to face the agony of once more dealing with her wings being cleaved from her body.
If it hadn’t been for Shadowheart’s shout, the way her voice lilted with the magic weaving through her incantation, and the sudden flash of a blinding inferno, blazing its way to the aasimars rescue, she was sure she would be reliving not-so-old wounds.
Shadowheart reached Aylin before Isobel could race down from her spot in higher ground. Scarred hands reached towards the Paladin, as if afraid to touch her. “Are you alright? I didn’t burn you, did I?” She questioned, the soft green of her eyes bouncing across Aylin’s armored form. She would have laughed, wanted to proudly exclaim that Dame Aylin was untouchable, despite the many scars that proved she was not quite as indomitable as she had once thought.
Instead, Dame Aylin took one staggering step forward, eying Shadowheart with more emotion than she knew how to channel through words alone. In the next breath, strong arms encircled the cleric's waist. “Aylin!” she heard Isobel call, though it wasn’t with the scorn of a woman whose orders had been defied, instead full of the worry and admiration held for her lover.
Shadowheart’s forehead rested against the cool metal of her armor, hands clasping almost hesitantly around her faulds. The Paladin only moved her arm enough to allow Isobel the space to wrap around the both of them. “Thank the Moonmaiden you two are alright!” She wheezed, blackened lungs struggling with her mad dash toward the two from the front lines.
“More than alright, my darling Isobel,” Aylin murmured, surprisingly quiet as she leaned her chin against Shadowheart’s head, arms squeezing carefully around both women in her grasp.
The trio stayed still for a moment, as if frozen in the respite their proximity could offer until Shadowheart slowly released her hold on Aylin’s armor and cleared her throat somewhat ineligantly. “Apologies, I saw the nasty beast lumbering after you, and-”
“You have done nothing to apologize for, little warrior,” Isobel promised, pretending not to see Aylin’s beaming smile as her nickname stuck to the not-so-sharran. Aylin pressed her lips to newly dyed hair, inhaling the familiar acidic scent of the dyes as they danced within the flowery fragrance of the clerics’ shampoo.
“Our Lady Silver smiles upon me this day, to grant me with one as brave and forthright as yourself.” The Paladin agreed, finally relaxing her grip enough to catch the heat on Shadowheart’s cheeks. “And I could not be more thankful that it is you she has sent us,” Isobel’s hand sought out her own as their embrace came to an end. “Let us retire, so I may properly show my appreciation for your actions.”
Shadowheart had never been a particularly shy person, at least from her memory, but whenever it came to Dame Aylin, and her pride in each word spoken, she could feel the tips of her ears reddening more and more as the Paladin led the way back to camp, hand in hand with Clerics blessed by Selûne.
i dont even post my art on here anymore, but i made so fucking many homestuck bg3 gifs and i could only think of this dumb webbed site to throw them into. and yes this was mostly inspired by my friends saying that shadowheart and lae'zel are each other's kismises.
pt. 2
Shadowheart: How did you know I was a Sharran?
Also Shadowheart:
Quick Tips for Writing Protective Tension
One character immediately steps in when something happens, overprotective much? The other one is like, “Chill. I got this.”
They stand just a little too close, constantly checking if the other person’s okay, but trying (and failing) to be subtle about it.
“Be careful,” “Watch out,” or “Don’t do that,” every two seconds, like they’re babysitting, but it's all about concern.
One of them puts a hand on the other’s shoulder, almost possessively, like, “Don’t worry, I’m here.”
They instinctively move in front, even if it’s something minor like a crowded street or a heated argument.