Tagged by @irandial 💖 I'll just...list my LADS wips only, because my writing folder have 724 files, and 3/4 of those are wips from every fandom I've ever interacted with.................. 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠
Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
👁👄👁 I'm sorry idk 61 people, let alone writers, but.....no pressure tags to these lovelies 💖 @deepspacenova @vesearlee @iraot @solifloris @aeyumicore
5 times you ask zayne for food suggestions + 1 time you ask sylus
5 times you hide your relationship with sylus + 1 time you told the truth
darling can i be your favorite
father's day
foursome because i lack shame
risky pregnancy ask - 03 - mc dies baby lives
risky pregnancy ask - 04 - stillbirth-miscarriage
ZayneMCCaleb - one bed three of you
brat tamer caleb
build a city that dreams for two
if you're a worm, then i'm a worm
is it that sweet (i guess so)
kiss me hard, kiss me good
k-i-s-s-i-n-g
phone sex with caleb
playing tic-tac-toe for my x and o's
post-baby lovemaking
Report
Return To Eden
Rotten Apple
Time for Takeoff
Violet Eyes
you can be my lover girl
got me playing with fire (and it's all I desire)
The Fish That Loved a Cat
21 Steps
birdie bully boxing
devastation salvation
Evermore - Elysium - dragon au
grassland au
grassland sylus forever in my heart
grinding on sylus
Little Parrot
love is all i feel, my dear
No Man's Land
omegaverse
Sylus bet
Sylus- Breeding dream
Sylus hurtcomfort
The Crow and the Kitten
The Dragon's Gifts
untitled sylus ruin
up all night playing kitty cards
xoxo
fall into your arms
I Do (I Do Not!)
my universe, my everything, my sunset
xavier potatoes
Delirium
Emergency Surgery
eyes closed, dreaming of each other
Surprise Dinner
zayne brainworm thats my fault but also lowkey nova's fault too (see discord chat)
zayne i want a baby
from osmanthus to snowdrop - 02 - first trimester and oh by the way
from osmanthus to snowdrop - 03 - second trimester and craving carrots (and more carrots)
from osmanthus to snowdrop - 04 - third trimester and
from osmanthus to snowdrop - 05 - you and me and baby make three
03 - love you more
Bride of the Dragon King
08 - Xavier - every time i look into those angel eyes
Thanks for tagging meeee @starmocha <333 It's my greatest hope that your WIPs continue to decrease instead of increase lol, but knowing how much I enable your brain worms.. hehe good luck
So this post that made me discover my toxic trait is thinking I can turn every small plot bunny I have into a fic oops
And because I know you guys are always cooking up something yummy, tagging (w/ no pressure, as always): @humanjarvis @rcvcgers @comatosebunny09 @leighsartworks216 @mythblossoms
I Dream of You // caleb + somno
in wolf's clothing
Out For Blood // sylus x you
[sylus' scales can change colour sometimes… // dragon!sylus]
II. high school series | you, 17, caleb 19
Sleepwalking // zayne x dawnbreaker x you
Reckless // sylus hurt/comfort
defusing a bomb.. with(out) the help of sylus
Dazed // fatally wounded sylus
[series of vignettes, you + dragon!sylus on your pillaging spree]
[you wake up one morning to find sylus more dragon than human]
From Under The Blood Moon
Where It Doesn't Hurt // zayne + PTSD
musician!mc x sylus
I. high school series | you, 15, caleb 17
5 times zayne is secretive about his feelings + the 1 time he’s very open about what he thinks of you (pre-relationship)
[5+1, caleb's hands]
"Do you miss her?" // snowcrow
III. high school series | you, 16, caleb 18
IV. high school series | you, 17, caleb 19
Magnetic // sylus x you
Birds of a Feather // sylus x shifter!mephisto x you
thank uuu @deepspacenova urs all look so interesting i’m seated!!
here are my monstrosities, some of them are literally incomprehensible rn so i left them out
sylus camera spy
caleb masquerade ball
spank 1 (this one was on the last one of these i did. i would like to do it soon. brat tamer caleb)
spank 2 (sequel)
a little greedier - sylus
imaginary friend - caleb
lactation. - ?
caleb cleaning fic
zombieboy (halloween fic) - caleb
winterbreak (winter fic, obviously) - zayne
no one taught them how or why - sylus
sylus predator prey
anhedonia - zayne
autistic reader x autistic zayne
erotomania (another one that has been here for a while. caleb)
sylus/caleb/mc triangle (this was one of my first ideas and i haven’t written it yet so it might not see the light of day lmao)
hate oral sex fem receiving (a wip as of like. 2 hours ago) - ?
no pressure ofc but i am interested if u wanna share!: @blessdunrest @lvl109 @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @peascribbles @mandalhoerian @poisonf0rest
Oh wow those are a lot of wips @peascribbles, how awesome 😎 I will send a couple of requests shortly, thought ideally I'd love to know about all of them (devil! Sylus, hello).
Unfortunately, I don't have many wips at all because, if it's a one-shot, I generally get it done in day. I don't seem to be capable to do shorter series so the only ongoing wips I have are for full-blown novels.
A Thousand Generations
Er Cetera
That's it, that's the...list.
No pressure tags: @spacebarbarianweird (you can go for originals if you'd like!), @vixstarria and @amywritesthings.
Mine's an easy one. One of my favorite artists growing up (still is) was Sara Bareilles. Her "Blessed Unrest" album really struck a chord with me, especially these songs: Brave, Chasing the Sun, Manhattan and I Choose You. It spoke of longing, heartbreak, healing, and existing in a world that felt too fast-paced to feel like your own yet still left space for you to create a life for yourself. It felt like hope to me in a really dark place in my life :)
Soooooo, my username became an abbreviated version of that album!
No pressure tags (tell me the origin story of your username!): @deepspacenova @unknown-ends @borkunlimited @iraot @abyssyby @thechaoticarchivist & anyone else who'd like to join! :)
Thank you for the tags, @blessdunrest and @sometimeslwish !
My username is a spin off of my main account, @fromthechaoticmind , which is actually the name of a proper blog that I run / ran (we have and on and off do I have the energy relationship lol.) This name came about because I can barely have a coherent thought before it's interrupted by something totally off topic.
I wanted to create a side blog that was still connected to me, but also allowed for me to change up whatever my focus was at the time without the pressure of possibly creating another side blog. I also love looking back and seeing whatever my obsessions were at any given time so.... The Chaotic Archivist. 😁
No Pressure Tag: @cower-before-power , @abyssyby , @peascribbles , and anyone else that wants to join! (I believe I've done this before, so I'm trying to not double tag people 💖)
Pea is my name rearranged a bit, and -scribbles was provided by my brain while I was deciding on what to name this blog. None of the other handles I use around the internet felt right so I just came up with a new one!
No pressure tags; @themadlu, @dizzydaisychains, @borkunlimited
Thanks @peascribbles! Your username is so cute so you definitely nailed it 😄
My usual nickname on games, etc. is "TheMadLama" (play on my surname + llamas are cool + I won many a spitting distance competition in primary school 🤣 so llamas represent me + I can be quite mad sometimes).
This one is "TheMadLu" where I use part of my name rather than surname. Not sure why I went with that, I think my original nickname was already taken.
No pressure tags: @spacebarbarianweird, @vixstarria, @thelikesoffinn
I actually did it! I managed to write post 31 drabbles this month, ahhh. What a good challenge, forcing me to keep writing through my creative block and the hard times.
Thanks @thedrabblecollective for the wonderful prompts and the writers I met along the way (cheers for the encouragement @peascribbles, you're a star)! I'll write a little post to sum up my experience as a first timer, but for now, here's the last drabble! (I totally didn't write the last three in the last half an hour...no, definitely not.)
Also, spoilers, I guess? 🤣
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The flower set quietly in Reka's hand. Its petals glinted blood red in the setting sun and ascending moons, as if Iom were reaching out from someplace across matter and time, urging her to keep strong.
We understand so little of the cosmos, she thought wistfully, who knows you're not standing next to me right now.
Some comfort in the unknown, finally.
Reka didn't know how to cry, but Dusa was more open in her mourning. If Iom's wife hadn't just greeted them, she'd think Dusa was his spouse.
"A p-poppy? Pretty."
"They were his favourite. They'll keep him company."
Can your boss ever be your drinking buddy? I don't see why not.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"General, I didn't take you for a good drinking partner, but you may put my own brother to shame." Dusa spoke in a slurred confession, the euphoric dizziness creeping in after the tenth glass of red and fifth shot of something similar to whisky yet entirely different. "And I never thought I'd see you so...casual. Am I having a stroke?"
Lem fixed her wide white hat and gave a lazy smile.
"People can't help surprising each other, it seems. Even though most of us follow the same blind instincts, over and over, little more than dogs."
"Why are we here, again?" Reka shouted in a desperate attempt to overcome the roaring gales.
"Day out!" Dusa replied, unfazed by the splashing of the waves and the monstrous swell of the sea. "You need the fresh air! Papa and I loved going on boat trips with our yacht, so I thought, why not take my new best friend on one!"
She scurried around to tie the sail - Reka was too busy panicking at the maelstrom beckoning in the distance to voice her concerns.
Why did I agree to this? Her ideas are always disasters in the making.
The woman lied in the narrow bed with her eyes glued to the window reflecting the flickering neon lights. She wished she could reach the switch to turn them off.
The hospital was quiet that night, the sky alight with blazing starshine and the second moon waving from the east.It felt like a home she once knew.
"It's beautiful, doctor," she croaked at the figure entering the room.
Ljiev followed her gaze. He turned the lights off with an exhale. A mercy he could show.
The cosmos peeked into the room, as a peaceful pressure crushed the woman's lungs.
"Goodness, you people are so narrow-minded, it's horrific."
Dusa's complaints fell on deaf ears. Iom and Reka were slumped against each other on the small settee, unfazed by the rush of shopping assistants and customers.
Dusa adjusted the straps of her dress.
"Crossed behind my back? Or shall I remove them completely?"
"Whatever works for you," Iom provided.
"People. I've had a more fun time shopping with my great-grandmama, who was completely blind and had Alzheimer's."
"What the heck is Alzheimer's?" Reka asked.
"No clue. Don't ask. Just make her pick something."
The plains stretched, immense and ancient, unhindered by bush, animal or human. They laid placid, entirely unaware of the catastrophe befalling their walkers, or perhaps simply uncaring.
Reka mimicked them, her back to the mossy dirt and eyes up towards the skies. She always felt so insignificant there, an ant amongst giants.
It was good.
Her father would shout at her from the house, get inside, love. You'll freeze out there - or boil, depending on the season. Her motherland didn't know half-measures.
Dreams of home were the cruellest. She'd wake squeezed within four walls, an ant amongst ants. Lost.
Almost thereeeeee. These three love their whiskey.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It took less than usual for the alcohol to kick in. Before Iom knew it, he was sitting on the rooftop of the military apartment building, legs dangling, throat coated in herbal concoctions and head buzzing like it hadn't in years.He raised the bottle of kjova to Dusa's face. "A toast! To the the unfortunate friendships we made along the way...hic!""Hey! You're so right, ah!" Dusa swung her legs, bending over the railing. Iom looked at Reka, sprawled on the floor."And to the great friends who make great alcohol.""Eh, wait till you see my workshop, Colonel."
"Oh, look at that, Dr Ljiev!" Dusa whispered conspiratorially pointing at the biggest arcade stall of the fun fair. Her hand pressed firmly on Ljiev's shoulder, warm and demanding in a way that clashed with her pleading tone.
"You lovebirds wanna give it a go?" A large woman emerged from the shadows and pointed at the rows of rifles and guns available.
"You're mistaken-"
"Yes!" Dusa trilled.
"Find the Stigandr, hit it, not the humans, and you win our top prize. But beware," the vendor smirked, "it ain't easy. Requires real tenacity."
Part of the Spelljammer challenge by @spacebarbarianweird!
Astarion is happy, truly happy, in the safety of his lover's affection. The troubles of the Underdark have no sway on his mood as he relishes simply existing with his Zélie.
Until a call for help takes them to the depths of the Astral Sea on a Spelljammer vessel, and he'll be damned if he lets his maddening hero face the dangers of interplanar space on her own.
TW: None, I think. Maybe a smidge of self-worth issues? And end-of-game spoilers.
Not beta read and minimal editing, sorry for any mistakes!
This is mostly non-canon to Zélie and Astarion's story (I think).
@amywritesthings, in case you wanna check it out!
A year and a half has passed since the Netherbrain’s defeat. Zélie stayed in Faerun with Astarion, who’s now confined in the shadows due to his vampiric nature. They have settled in the Underdark, after concluding it was their duty to guide the 7,000 spawns towards a semi-functional society and a second chance at life. The lovers live in the magic tower near the sussur tree and have made it their own haven. A home, Zélie would say, but she is home to Astarion, and where they are matters not.
He just wants to keep falling into reverie with her warm body tangled in his, keeping his demons at bay, and welcome the day with her wild, owlbear-esque hair all over his face. To live in the comfort of each other’s embrace, as nauseatingly cliche as it sounds. Not that she would allow it on most days, his precious, maddening woman. They have responsibilities, she says. Obligations. To the hells with them, he thinks, as he walks with her towards whatever bothersome issue they need to attend to next.
So what happens when a message comes from a dear friend asking for their assistance in the cold void of the Outer Planes? Astarion knows. His steadfast hero will do what heroes are expected to do: run to the rescue, even if she’d rather not risk their lives again so soon after…well, everything. “You don’t have to come, Astarion, really. Actually, I think it more appropriate for you to stay here, now that we are making progress with your siblings.” As if. Aurelia and Leon can make themselves useful for once and hold the fort on their own. The pale elf is no hero and never will be, but his heart beats in her chest and her soul is his own, so he’d be damned if he doesn’t follow her into this new, gigantic mess. She (“We, Astarion”) already slayed a Netherbrain; what’s a lich queen in comparison.
Astarion examines the raiding ship that Lae’zel somehow managed to secure. The very thing that is going to sail them into the cold, deep astral sea. The technology is clearly Illithid—since he woke up inside that fleshy pod, he’s become familiar enough with their tentacled technology to recognise it when he sees it. But the Githianki’s influence is evident: the large, fan-shaped sails stand proud against the moonlit sky like a dragon’s wings, ready to take their riders towards their next conquest. The front of the ship has what he can only describe as teeth; fanged protrusions, not unlike his own, ready to swallow whole whatever unfortunate creatures they’ll meet. A silent but unavoidable promise of war echoes off the vessel. It makes Astarion antsy.
He has no issue with violence–he still revels in it at times, the need to own, to consume and not be consumed, so typical of his kind, exasperated by the horrors he suffered. But his bouts of spite and aggression have been fading since her.
He turns to look at Zélie only to find her staring at the ship with eyes so wide they mirror the moon perfectly. Her mouth is the slightest bit agape in wonder, the closer her stern face can get to a surprised expression. Perfect thing. Gods, over a year together (A year, five tendays and eight days.), barely leaving each other’s side even in dreams, and his little hero still leaves him speechless with the smallest quirk.
(The way she smiles at him when she thinks he isn’t looking makes him want to scream, weep, beg her for forgiveness—for all he has to his name is a used body—and ravage her for days. At the same time.)
You’re a gift, my love. Let me keep you.
Astarion isn’t worthy of her devotion and mercy, no angry huffs and puffs from her will convince him fully, but gods below he wants to be. He’ll do anything, become anything to keep her safe, happy, looking at him as if he were some miracle of the heavens.
(Do it. I dare you, he thinks to the silent gods, Try to take her from me. See what happens next.)
“Seen something you like, darling?” He jests in an airy tone, both because he likes to prattle and because her attention scalds him kindly, completely, like the sun never could. Insufferable woman, making him feel so alive.
Zélie flips her head towards him, frizzy curls bouncing wildly. “Oh Astarion, this ship! I know we’ve been on a mindflayer vessel before, but this is incredible!” She takes his hand in hers and he burns in the best way possible.
Precious thing, so enamoured by technology, human or otherwise. He pulls her into his arms so he can feel whole one last time before he has to share her with their friends. Astarion kisses her softly, a grin on his lips at her inexorable embarrassment. She is not one for public displays of affection—most of the time.
(Part of the reason he prefers it when it’s just the two of them, so he can worship her properly in the temple of their home.)
Fuck.
He is getting hard just thinking about it. He needs to distract himself or else he’ll end up with a wet patch on his trousers that Lae’zel will ridicule until the end of days.
Jealous prick. Green suits her.
The pale elf grips Zélie tighter, his familiar hardness pressing into her stomach, and her already wide eyes become impossibly larger, paler. (He so wishes he had a reflection in times like these.)
“I stand by my point, my sweet. Size does matter, it seems.” Astarion winks at her and the woman’s flustered expression turns unamused. Oh, he so adores riling her up, his fierce hero.
It seems he has underestimated the effect he’s had on her since they met—he can’t believe it’s almost as deep as the one she had on him—because suddenly she presses into him, burying a hand into one of her coat’s pockets so she can grab his length without being seen. Astarion hisses under his breath with poorly concealed pleasure. It’s his eyes that widen and darken now.
“You, cheeky, little pup,” he murmurs, rattles, heat spreading through him so that he would surely combust if he weren’t a cold corpse.
“Mhm. I guess you do have a point, my dear,” Zélie says, face still unamused as she looks at him and gives him a gentle squeeze to emphasise her statement.
(It takes all of his self-control not to buck his hips into her hand.)
“Although size doesn’t mean quality. Both are necessary. What good would such a huge ship do to us if it couldn’t sail properly, don’t you think?” She whispers the last few words in his sensitive ear and Astarion almost whines, the desire pooling in his underwear threatening to stain the fabric.
If it were anyone else touching him like she does, Astarion would rip their throat and limbs out or die in the attempt. But it’s his Zélie and, gods and hells, he wants her, this, all of it, desperately. Her hands are so gentle to him, always, as if he would break should she press a little harder. He thought it was her relative inexperience at first, or worse, pity. The idea that she could be so tender with someone like him purely because she wanted to was unfathomable; now, he has no interest in living without it.
Only she can come to him unannounced. She can do anything she wants with him.
(He trusts her more than he trusts himself.)
“T’chaki, you two never cease to be revolting,” a cutting voice calls out from behind them. Ah, right. Lae’zel is here. And a few dozen other Gith warriors loyal to Orpheus, all looking equally disgusted.
Astarion scowls at them while his love-addled brain quickly sobers up at their most untimely appearance (Thank you very much, Lae’zel.)
Only then, he notices the strangeness of his predicament: it’s his usually stony Zélie who’s all but moulding their bodies into one, it’s her smaller frame in his arms and her fingers caressing his still-hard length.
Oh? You’re more worried about this journey than you let on, aren’t you, darling?
He recognises the signs from their last life-threatening adventure, her need to have him close to her so she could keep him safe. Impossible thing, always shielding him so fiercely, he is starting to consider his centuries of captivity as a due price for having her to himself.
(A mortal human protecting a vampire should be laughable, but she saved him in every possible way already.)
Astarion snarls in warning at the burdensome company that ruined what could be the last moment of private intimacy with his person in a long while. “With all due respect, Lae’zel dear, go fuck off for a bit, would you?”
Lae’zel’s warriors look just about ready to use him as a practice target (They can try.) when the woman in his embrace clears her throat, “It’s all right, Lae’zel. We’re revising last-minute arrangements for the journey. We’ll board in a moment, thank you.”
The Gith does not look happy, but she and Zélie share a close friendship (And a stick up both their backsides, Astarion used to think.), so she listens to her and heads to the ship with her crew, cursing some pretty mild threats. Small mercies.
“Oh,” Finally alone, Zélie realises she is still gripping Astarion’s length, colour draining from her face in mortification. “I’m so sorry Astarion, I got carried away,” she tries to move her hand away but he grabs her wrist, keeping her in place.
“You don’t have to apologise, love. I know I’m simply irresistible!” His attempt to lighten her mood is met with a sceptic glance. Silly, precious thing, always caring for his well-being. Let me help you. “Truthfully, my sweet,” his next words are the truest ones he’s ever uttered, “you know I’m yours.”
Zélie raises an eyebrow, “you are your own person, Astarion. We went through this, multiple times in fact.”
He laughs, “To you, with you, darling, it doesn’t matter. As you can clearly see,” he squeezes her hand around his dripping cock.
His stubborn woman studies him carefully, searching for any of his masks and finding none. “Very well,” she concedes. She turns to her left as noises filter from the ship. “Last chance, Astarion. If you want to remain in the Underdark, you must tell me now. Lord knows how long this expedition will last, and I reckon your siblings would benefit greatly from you being there to—”
That’s what it is, then. She worries for him still; and it still unravels him.
Let me care for you, idiot.
“Hush, you,” Astarion places a finger on her lips to shush her, “I am where I belong.”
(Something inside him tears at the thought of being separated from Zélie. Of her alone in the face of danger.)
His hero’s stance softens, finally relaxed. Her relief makes her look so much younger. “Oh, well, in that case,” she leans into him and kisses him. Truly, fearlessly, savouring all of him. Astarion barely suppresses a noise of surprise before responding in kind, fangs grazing her lips, never hurting her (Never.), devouring her.
Zélie quietly moans into him. Astounding, how she is still pleasured by such a simple act when they have been entangled into way more complex scenarios during the last year. (As if he were not close to coming already.) If the Gith are watching, he’ll gauge their eyes out.
A tremble of the earth signals that the ship is ready for departure. Zélie detaches from him and this time he does whine at her loss. She gives one last gentle squeeze to his length, making him narrow his eyes at her. The cool night air flows between them.
“The moment we are alone, I will bury myself into your perfect little body so deeply they will have to pry me from you, love.”
(There’s no holier sight than her tender ecstasy as she shatters around him.)
He expects her embarrassment but not her smirk, “Careful. Promises must be kept, Astarion.”
She pecks him on the lips again, fully extricating herself from him to climb the steps to the main deck.
Cheeky, maddening pup.
Yes, Astarion decides, he will make her shout his name so loud Vlaakith herself will hear.
The Astral Sea is not what Astarion expected. Not that he expected much of anything since he didn’t really want to come here in the first place.
Zélie is leaning against the taffrail in front of him, a multitude of celestial bodies surrounding them. She is so eager to examine every part of the vessel that she stepped onto the outer deck the moment the ship slowed down to pick up some more crew members (As if they weren’t cramped enough already.)
“Don’t you find it uncanny, Astarion? This works very much like a regular ship, and yet it doesn’t. The Astral Sea functions like any material sea, until it doesn’t. And those strange helms—”
“A pinnacle of technology, taken from the Ghaik and immensely improved by the Githianki so that our empire may conquer and prosper,” comments Lae’zel. Her queen’s betrayal hasn’t quelled the admiration for her own people; if anything, she seems more determined than ever to see a worthy leader at the helm of Gith society. “With a spelljamming brig such as this, you can travel anywhere, anytime. Time passes differently in the Astral Plane. Open a gate into one of many material planes to plunder and pillage to your heart’s content!”
Gods, intense as always I see. Good.
A formidable trait in war; fearsome in a foe, welcome in an ally.
(So Lae’zel can protect Zélie on the battlefield while he keeps her safe from the shadows.)
Zélie’s attention shifts to the mechanism supporting the sails as she speaks, “The travelling part sounds delightful, Lae’zel. The plundering and pillaging less so, for my tastes.”
The Gith begins a rant about the istik’s inherent weak nature. She even dares to say his Zélie should have chosen her as a partner, back when she proposed, so her martial skills would not have been dulled by the puny vampire.
Excuse me?!
“I’ll let you know, Lae’zel, that I can keep our dear leader on her toes just fine,” the elf interjects. Astarion is about to add a snarky remark (He was chosen after all.), but Zélie speaks first, “Oh Lae’zel, I would have just been an impediment and you know it. I would have slowed down all the conquering and deadly fighting you enjoy so much. Besides,” she turns to Astarion, a playful glint in her eyes. If he weren’t so attuned to her, he’d miss it.
(He wonders how many silent gestures he has missed at the start of their travels.)
“I am where I am meant to be,” she concluded. The tips of his ears definitely do not blush at those words.
(She’ll be the end of him and he wouldn’t have it any other way.)
Astarion shoots his darling a winning smile, which morphs into a cocky grin as he looks at Lae’zel.
There. Don’t be sour, you heard what she said.
Lae’zel is unimpressed. “T’chk. Suit yourself, Zel. Your loss.”
She marches off towards the helm of the brig when Zélie interrupts her, “Wait. You mentioned that time here passes differently, but how so?”
The Gith sighs, “Ignorants. It’s not the time itself, but its effects. They come to an almost complete halt; no hunger, no ageing—you’ll see when you won’t recall the last time you ate.”
“Oh”. Oh.
No ageing is almost as good as—
Immortality.
Astarion has heard about the Astral plane before, but it seemed so out of his reach he never bothered to learn more. He pickpocketed a book or two about it from some of his liaisons, but they were confiscated immediately and he was handed to Godey for his insolence. It’s not as if Cazador ever had any interest in entertaining his spawn’s curiosity.
Time is of no consequence to him, but to know that Zélie’s limited lifespan (Because of course the impossible woman had to be human, of all things.) could also be endlessly extended—
Astarion faces her, her eyes already on him, lit up with the same realisation. He doesn’t dare to hope it’s going to be that simple, but gods, if anyone deserves eternal life is her. And he deserves some happiness without such a dreadfully finite time limit, he fucking does.
He sees how Lae’zel looks at him, then Zélie, and sighs loudly. She stomps off, shouting, “Boarding is about to be complete. I suggest you two get inside soon enough, if you don’t want to end your dull lives swept away by the astral winds.”
Astarion nods as she passes by him—her people-reading’s skills have improved enormously since they met. The moment she is out of earshot, he speaks, “Darling, did you—”
“I don’t know—” Zélie says, at the same time.
The elf lets out a shrill, small laugh, “You first, my sweet.”
She smiles, a “I don’t know what to think, Astarion. Being immune to the effects of time, it all seems so impossible, so…”
He knows what she is thinking, that it’s unnatural, that it’s not how things, people, are supposed to be. When he thought ascending was the right choice for them, when he failed to convince her to embrace becoming his eternal bride, she recoiled, attached to her mortality.
She doesn’t understand.
He would outlive her even if he were not a vampire because he is an elf and she, holy as she is, is human. There is no facet of reality where she won’t leave him behind and go where he can’t follow—
“I think we should try,” Zélie stands taller, back straight, like a general making an important call, “After we help your siblings and all the others settle down. Who knows, maybe we can even get our own astral skiff. Do you think dogs will be fine here? I wouldn’t want to leave Scratch behind.”
She talks faster, excited, and Astarion’s breath catches, head spinning even though he doesn’t need air. He darts forward to cage her between himself and the taffrail, causing her to let out the most adorable little breath.
(Perfect.)
Zélie composes herself again, “And if we can travel between material planes, there may be a chance to find mine…to find my family. Even if just to tell them I’m well and to introduce you to them.”
Astarion feels like he’s falling, so he catches himself with centuries-old sarcasm. “To—what? Love, you can’t be serious. Introducing a vampire spawn to your oh-so-proper family is a moronic thing to do, even for an impossible woman such as yourself.”
They would scorn you my sweet.
She speaks of her family, her planet, sometimes. The image of stern faces, so similar to hers, twisted in fear—or worse, disgust—at the monster their precious Zélie is in love with leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He isn’t fond of children, but even he wouldn’t want his daughter to have anything to do with something like him.
Zélie exhales in offence, “Of course I want you to meet them, ridiculous elf. I have nothing to hide. I am proud of you, all of you, infinitely, and I know they would be too. You complete me, and for that they would welcome you with open arms.” She stares him down in challenge.
Astarion studies her expression as he presses his forehead to hers. He seeks for unwillingness, for embellishments of the truth—because lying is a sin to her— and finds none.
You mean this. Gods.
“Yes, love. We can bring the pest. We can even ask Halsin for the owlbear if you’d like. We will travel through every single material plane if we need to. Anything,” he kisses her parted lips, “Anything,” pecks her cheeks, “Anything,” her forehead, “Anything,” her nose, “Anything you want.” His grip on her tightens.
She smiles at his onslaught, “All right, all right. We’ll find out how to make it work. For a while!” Zélie points her index finger at him in mock sternness, “I don’t think an unchanging eternity wandering the Astral Sea is something we should limit ourselves to, even if I want to. What purpose would it serve?”
“Purpose?” Astarion snarls the word as if it personally offended him, “We are purpose enough, stubborn woman.” He lifts her up and she clings to him on instinct. He strides inside the ship, ignoring the disapproving looks of the Giths.
“Astarion! What are you doing?!”
He whispers, fangs grazing her ear, “I’m finding a private space on this overcrowded thing, darling, so I can fully demonstrate how purposeful I can be.”
Zélie pales and flushes at the same time, and Astarion can feel himself basically purring at the thought of what he’s going to do to her—
“I’m glad you learnt to keep your promises, Astarion,” she murmurs, the outline of a smile into his neck.
Oh, this was a joy to read! You immersed me completely into the world you built. It was great to be immersed in Astarion's headspace here, his love and devotion has such a depth to it that might never be expressed fully in words. I fell in love with Zélie here too - both of them really - their relationship is the picture of a strong, healthy, and supportive one.
I've got some favourite lines I wanted to mention, but I'll have to come back and chuck 'em in, the app won't let me open the full fic again...
Here we go!
This one made me laugh out loud. The entire scene with its sneaky touching and banter was perfect; you captured how intimacy can be lighthearted and even a little silly after a certain point in a relationship - while still being heated!
There were so many little moments like this, but I adore the pure honesty between them. No pretenses - their relationship has very much matured past those games.
How did I miss this! Gosh, thank you so so much for the super kind words. I'm so happy if you found this piece interesting, given it's post-game and in a more unfamiliar setting.
Zélie is an experiment with a lawful good character inspired by some ethical deontology where lying and killing are bad in themselves, so it's always wrong to do so, even to people like Cazador or Vlaakith. It opens for nice discussions with Astarion 🤣
Yeah, long-term relationships are sweet and romantic but in a silly and dumb way. The spark is still there, but they are not the thing that keeps you together. And you get to know even the most embarrassing sides of the other person. It's wholesome in its own way.
I'm catching up, slowly. Life's been a bit intense at the moment. General Lem is one of my favourites.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
General Lem scrutinised the man before her with the acuity of a bird of prey. For all his excess height, Colonel Iom Kubo shrank like a toddler caught stealing candy.
How can humans win this war, she mused, when we cower under our own gaze.
"General," he greeted, straightening himself.
Lem smiled, quite fond of Kubo. He believed in the cause and was ready to make the right choice when needed, unlike her own children. Those two crumbled into dust at the first obstacle.
They are better off dead, after all. They were not suited for the fight of life.
Dusa's laughter travelled across the training range, a sound so shrill that made even the robotic Stigandr shrivel in pain.
"I cannot believe what I've just witnessed," Iom's voice was all harsh disappointment as he stared at Reka. She tried to avert her gaze but his frustration was palpable enough to muffle Dusa's hiccups.
"You missed five enemies. Out of five." Iom began counting.
"Enemies that I built," Reka muttered.
"Exactly, Zjiem. You built them. Yet you can't beat them."
He lifted a second finger, "Dropped the gun. Almost killed Kol with a headshot. You are a living, breathing liability."
