#or hes having the most ascending sleep known to man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brabblesblog · 6 months

Text

I hope you die screaming.

One-shot, angst/comfort, astarion/f!tav

After you refuse to help Astarion ascend, he leaves you with a venomous goodbye. Unfortunately the vampire has to come back to get his things.

The idea was to mix up the warding bond rings, Astarion’s final words if you refuse to help him, and Tav suffering and dying (not permanently!) in his absence.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

It had been a miserable few days of being alone in Baldur’s Gate, without most of his possessions, but Astarion was loathe to go back to the Elfsong. For one, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d be there to do. To grab his things and go? A possibility, but not what he would rather do. To get on his knees and ask you to take him back? What he really wanted to do, but the chance of you forgiving him was slim, and he couldn’t face that rejection. So he stayed near the tavern, torn between showing himself and walking away yet again, when the ring on his finger pulsed with a strange magic and the ward protecting him dissipated from his body.

He had known you were still protecting him through the paired rings even as he stormed out of Cazador’s palace. The soft, pleasant feeling of the ward had not disappeared at all, and it had proven quite useful once or twice when he inadvertently offended someone enough for them to attempt to stab him. He didn’t get a lot of injuries - only minor cuts and scrapes - so as much as he felt guilty he figured you would be more than capable of handling it. In any case, should you want, you could just take off the rings, he reasoned.

So when the ward fell away right now, he huffed a bit and took the ring off. You must’ve finally remembered he had the other one, and there was no longer any point protecting him, after everything.

After what he said.

He entered the tavern and sat in a corner, waiting for your group to come back. He’d decided to come get his things. Without the ward’s protection, he would need his potions and armor to survive solo.

Soon enough, the door burst open and Gale came stumbling in. The gore and blood on his robes was normal enough, but his expression wasn’t. The man looked ashen and pale, and he immediately ran to the stairs. “Shadowheart! Come here. Now!”

Before the vampire could even put down the goblet he was holding, Halsin came in, something bundled in his arms. The air that wafted through hit Astarion, and he almost choked on it: blood. Your blood. A lot of it. He watched with wide eyes as Halsin carried the bloody bundle in his arms. It was a body, that much was obvious, but they had wrapped it in blankets. The fabric was stained everywhere, but it pooled the most where the chest would be. Halsin dipped his head and gently placed a kiss on the head of the body, and as he did so the blanket covering the face fell away. Astarion’s heart, if he still had one, would have stopped as he saw the face underneath the blankets. Yours.

He immediately stood up, heading towards Halsin. The larger elf saw him and let him approach, his expression one of sorrow.

“Halsin? What- is she…” he closes the distance. Your eyes are closed, as if you were sleeping. He knows it, knows he can’t hear your heartbeat and can’t see you breathe, but he still reaches out to cup your cheek. Cold, as cold as his hands were. He chokes back a scream that threatens to bubble from his throat.

Halsin moves, slowly climbing the stairs. “Come, Astarion. I shall explain.” As he made his way to your bed, he talked. “She hasn’t been well since your departure, but that is to be expected. We had a fight with the Steel Watch. She was a little too slow, too tired, and they won.”

Astarion growls. “You should all have protected her! Did you all cower when-“

“No.” Halsin rounds on him, eyes glinting with what was almost like anger. “We all have our injuries. We all tried our best. We weren’t the ones who left her.”

He laid you down on your bed, grabbing a wet cloth to clean your wounds. Astarion gripped the elf’s wrist. “Why aren’t you using a scroll to revive her?!”

He sighed. “You might not remember, Astarion, but the scrolls were all in your bag when you left.”

Shit. He had forgotten. He quickly rummaged through it, finding one. He saw Shadowheart approach and asked her for some healing potions as well. While everyone was preparing, Halsin kept cleaning your body up. Astarion scowled and grabbed his own wet towel, gently trying to clean around the hole in your chest. He winced at the amount of blood he saw as he tried to peel off the bloody shirt, then paused as he realized it was his camp shirt. Biting back the urge to scream, he kept working.

Shadowheart came back with several bottles of the potion, and they got to work. Halsin used the scroll, and as he did the vampire began pouring the potions down your throat. It didn’t take long for him to hear your heart start to beat again, and he exhaled roughly as he poured more bottles, just to be sure. He watched the color flood back into your face as you healed, unable to stop some tears from falling.

A hand gripped his shoulder and he turned to see Gale. The wizard sighed. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said dryly. “Seems like you got your wish,” he said bitterly, gesturing to you.

Astarion bared his fangs and got up, ready to tear him from limb to limb. Halsin barely had enough time to stand between the two men. “There is no point to fighting each other. What’s done is done. And she’s doing better now.”

Gale sighed. He nodded at Halsin, then at Astarion. “I suppose the druid is right. You’ll still have some explaining to do, but it can wait.” He leaves to see Shadowheart to tend to his own injuries. After a moment, so does Halsin, squeezing Astarion’s hand in solidarity as he left.

Astarion continues his ministrations, weeping openly now that no one was here. He leaned forward, kissing your forehead. When you were clean, he puts you in your nightclothes, then wraps you up in his blankets. It doesn’t escape his notice that you’ve moved into his bed, his things still there, as though you were waiting for his return. He sleeps there that night, wraps himself around you, the sound of your soft breathing something he sorely missed.

You wake up a few hours later. Your head pounds, but when you open your eyes, it is blessedly dark. The last thing you remember was a steel watch monstrosity’s blade coming straight through you. You take a breath, nuzzling the blankets. They still smell like him, and you worry that soon the smell will fade. Then there would be nothing left of the man you loved. Well, other than his clothes-

Wait. His clothes. You run a hand down your chest, wincing at the movement. You realize you’re in your own camp clothes. It must’ve been torn in the fight, ruined by the gore. A soft cry escapes your lips. It felt all too much like losing him again. You whimper, helpless. Every movement was pain, but the most painful thing even now was your heart.

You suddenly realize you’re not alone on the bed. An arm sweeps across, wrapping securely around your waist. Someone nuzzles you, shushing your cries. In the darkness you can barely see, but the scent and the temperature of said arm hits you.

“As-Astarion?”

He swallows nervously. “Darling. I… I’m here.” He can see your face in the dark, eyes wide and afraid, and then a glimmer of hope as you realize who he is.

“You came back,” you manage to croak out. Your hand finds his, and he squeezes it tightly.

“I did. I-“ the happiness in your face stuns him. You should hate him. He doesn’t deserve to be welcomed back with such open arms.

“I was in the Elfsong to gather my things.” Before you could get the wrong idea and get hurt, he pushes on. “But I think I knew even as I walked in I’d be here to beg you to let me stay.”

“There’s no need to even ask, love.” Your hand moves to his hand, feeling for the ring. It isn’t there, and you feel a small pang of sadness. “You took it off.”

“Only today,” he says. “The wards fell. I thought you got rid of it, but your ring is still on your finger. I guess it just stopped working when you-“ he swallows past the lump in his thoat. “You- you know.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Noticing his distress, you move your other hand to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I got clumsy. I was… I wasn’t at my best.” You look away, embarrassed to admit how much you missed him.

“Darling. No,” he turns your cheek to meet his gaze. “I left you. I broke your heart. All because I was too afraid to see the right path to take. And I wished… I said terrible things. I would take it back, all of it back. I regretted it as soon as I left the dungeons. But I didn’t think you’d let me back in. If I stayed, maybe you’d be alright. You’d be-“

His words are broken by soft lips that press against his. It was tender, and he couldn’t help but lean into it, kissing back carefully and gently. More tears fell from him, and you thumbed them away. Pulling back, you offer him a kind smile. “I forgave you as you left, love. I get it. It’s just that I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too.” With those words Astarion finally breaks down, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He didn’t deserve such tenderness, such love, after what he did. He vowed to do better with your heart, to give what you deserve as well. Not for any other reason than that he wanted to.

He meets your eyes, and he finally lets the words that had been sitting in his chest for ages out. “I love you. I have loved you for a while, darling, I just didn’t know how. I’m not good at this, obviously. I choose the wrong words, do the wrong things, and you still let me back in.”

You chuckle a bit, hands carding through his hair. “That’s because I love you too, idiot.”

You’ve told him that for some time now, accepting that he couldn’t say the same yet. But every time you say it his heart still soars. He captures your lips in yet another kiss.

“Forgive me?”

“Of course. You’ll have to put your ring back on, though. Maybe when I’m more healed, on second thought.”

You bite your lip, frowning.

“Oh. And I might have ruined your camp shirt. Could you fix it for me? Please?”

He puts on a show of pouting and sighing. “If I must. What would you do without me, hm?”

You roll your eyes and tug him close to you. All too quickly, you drift off, finally having a good night’s rest. He watches your face become peaceful, noting the huge bags under your eyes.

Astarion holds you through the night, vowing to never leave your side ever again.

2K notes · View notes

zeldasnotes · 1 month

Text

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS 33

masterlist

• People with Sun in the 8th house or aspecting Pluto might have been saved from situations because of their fathers name. For example might be threathened then the people find who your father is and apologizes.

• If you ask someone whats the worst thing someone ever said to them it will probably be something related to their Chiron placement. Because A when people touch our Chiron wound we remember it forever and B for some damn reason people seem to always touch where you have your Chiron wound bc its kinda obvious to others.

• If you have 10th house placements you have a trademark after your name, whatever you do you easily become known for it. People want to put a label on you and the themes of the planet you have there is the label thats most easily put. So when you have 10th house planets its extra important to think before you act.

• If you have Lilith conjunct North Node you need to learn to do your own thing. Ive seen people with this who didnt reach their potential until they refused to stop trying to fit in and be ”normal” . You are a class of your own. People will respond to you differently when you act like Lilith. Example: A rapper in my country have this placement in Virgo and was treated bad by other rappers bc of a beef he had on the streets and bla bla. Anyways he knew he wouldnt get collabs bc of this so he made it ”his” thing to never have a feature on his songs and to never do interviews and be on other rappers tracks. After this people started respecting him more. He used his inability to fit in to make himself look even better.

• Venus/Neptune involve their love interest in their art. A lot of rappers with this might want to have their partner on their albumcover, in their music video, paint their partner etc. Dating a man with this placement feels like being his muse.

• Be careful when you have Venus in Leo in the Solar Return Chart because this one can really make you want to SPLURGE. Especially clothes, bags and stuff that makes you look good. 💰🛒🛍️💸

• Talking to someone with a Mercury/Pluto or Mercury/Nessus placement can feel like being interrogated. Constant checking if you are lying, asking extra questions to see if you change your story, detailed questions to see if your story is true. Can be very exhausting to be around bc of this (sorry).

• Every Aquarius Rising Ive met looked better in person than on pictures. There is a striking quality that the camera have a hard time capturing. Same with Virgo and Pisces Rising.

• People with Jupiter conjunct personal planets are funnier when they are not trying than when they try to be funny.

• Nanisca the role played by Viola Davis in the movie ”Woman King” reminds me of Sun conjunct Lilith.

• People with Ceres(1) conjunct personal planets seem to not like adornment.

• Aura(1488) conjunct Mercury might come across as sneaky.

• Venus in the 8th house or Venus aspecting Pluto attracts people who would normally not want them which is why they need to be extra careful. They might be super tall and attract someone who usually only go for short people or vice versa. But because of the intense magnetism that having a plutonian venus gives everyone wants a taste of you no matter if they really WANT you or not. Be wary of who you share your energy with.

• Venus Square MC might feel like their looks and social skills doesnt match the career they want or how they want the public to see them.

• Juno(3) or Venus Square Mars are the kind of people to have a huge difference in taste when it comes to who they want to sleep with and who they see as relationship material.

• If you have Lilith in the 7th house or Lilith conjunct Venus your ex's new partners might become obsessed with you or you become obsessed with your partners ex's.

• Dejanira(157) conjunct Ascendant is probably the scariest synastry aspect Ive ever experienced. Experienced it 2 times and both times I was Ascendant and he was Dejanira. Very scary attacks. I can even look at pictures of these people.

• Mars conjunct MC can mean a lot of people are scared of you. A very intimidating placement. In a mans chart it makes other men look up to him. Women with this placement seem too struggle with this placement a lot tho since people are more likely to want to challenge a woman who comes across as intimidating.

• Scorpio Moons seem to be very fascinated with psychopaths.

• Sag Moons might have had extremely carefree parents. Thats why these people can be so good on their own, they raised themselves. But its also why they flee from issues because they were never forced to stay and solve stuff like in a normal family.

• Cancer Risings can be really intimidating, especially the eyes. Ive mistaken so many Cancer Risings for being Scorpio Risings.

• Populus(8647) conjunct Mercury might be more popular among younger people.

• Lilith in a womans chart seem to show what archetype she finds empowering and might even want to be and in a mans chart an archetype he finds fascinating. Ex. Lilith 2nd/8th: the golddigger femme fatale, black widow. Lilith 4th house: The family matriarch, Evil Stepmom. Lilith 10th house: The boss, the businesswoman, cold bitch. Lilith 7th house: The homewrecker, femme fatale, beauty queen, homecoming queen, Mr steal yo girl. (Not always ofc and mostly this goes for when you are underdeveloped)

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #lilith #birth chart readings #ascendant #lilith aspects

994 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 5 months

Text

The Fallen

I blame @vecnuthy for this entirely. Seeing all their Sleep Token posts has completely intersected with Steddie and you get this.

***

Modern AU: Corroded Coffin makes it big. Like Metallica levels huge. Like every up and coming metal band is clamoring to open for them levels of fame. When this metal band, The Fallen comes on the scene and are dismissed as glam rock wannabes.

They are very theatrical. They are dressed in long coats with hoods and face masks. The guitarist, bassist, and drummer all have full Venetian masks of different colors. The bassist has one that looks like a starry night (but not Starry Night if you know what I mean). The Guitarist has a red devil’s mask, horns and all. The drummer is in a black death mask. The eyes of the mask are closed and it looks eerie as fuck. The most dramatic of the masks belong to the lead singer. He wears an opaque white lace mask with the mouth and chin cut out so he can sing.

Their outfits match their masks.

The lead singer, Abbadon, the fallen angel is in all in white with a splash of color on the lining of his coat. Sometimes it’s pink or baby blue, sometimes it one of the colors of bandmates, black or red or starry midnight blue. He wears high heeled boats and not always of the combat variety. Once he wore stilettos with a baby blue stripe up the side. It’s the outfit that gets made into dolls and merch the most. Most of the time he’s shirtless, but has been known to switch it up with lace or sheer tops.

The guitarist plays up the devil persona to a tee and calls himself Asmodeus, the demon of lust. Red leather and fetish gear. Thick red combat boots. His guitar is even blood red.

The bassist is called Astraeus, the titan of the night. While in certain light his clothes look black, but they are in fact a dark blue with bright stars, swirling galaxies, and glowing nebulae. His bass is of the night sky as well.

And finally the drummer, Azrael. Angel of death. Always in black. His drum kit is black with black metal fittings. Even his drumsticks are black.

Like I said, at first dismissed as wannabes but they are killing it. It’s clear that not only are they talented, their flare for the dramatic adds to their mystique. Soon they are the new rising stars of metal.

Dustin is their biggest fan. He loves them. Eddie is offended at the highest level. How dare this little butthead like The Fallen. Dustin rolls his eyes.

“Dude, Corroded Coffin is still number one in my book,” he tells Eddie. “But you can’t deny that Abbadon is a beast on vocals.”

Eddie is forced to concede the point. Abbadon knows how to really get the through to the emotion of a song.

So when Dustin gets front row tickets to The Fallen’s concert in Indy, Eddie reluctantly joins the little twerp.

And the concert starts. First the drummer gets lowered into his seat on giant raven wings.

“Azrael!” the announcer calls out.

And the crowd goes wild.

The man slips out of the harness and wings ascend. Eddie cocks his head, yeah all right that’s kinda cool.

Azrael hits his drums and the bassist gets lowered on to the stage. All shimmering blues and purples, like actual stars, lands deftly on the stage and Azrael hits the high hat.

“Astraeus!”

The crowd is frantic now. Screaming and jumping up and down.

As soon as the wings are unstrapped and lifted away Astraeus riffs on his bass and the crowd eats it up.

Eddie likes this one. It’s unique.

Then Azrael starts up again as another man is lowered and it takes everything in Eddie’s power not to roll his eyes at this one. Red leather gear, horned mask, and fucking bat wings.

He stomps on the stage and really wails on his guitar. Eddie looks over to see that Dustin is absolutely eating it with the rest of them so he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“Asmodeus!”

Dustin is vibrating so hard that Eddie’s fears he might literally crawl out of his skin with excitement.

And then the entire stadium goes silent. Like stock still. Eddie is looking around him confused.

He looks back at the stage and there descends the absolute most devastatingly handsome man Eddie has ever seen and he hasn’t seen his face.

His arms are out stretched and his head is bowed. Once he lands air cannons shoot out white feathers out at the crowd and the wings ascend without this man.

“Abbadon!” the announcer screams for the final time.

“Indy!” he shouts into his mouthpiece.

And the crowd screams could deafen the most resilient of metal goer.

Abbadon starts singing and the crowd is losing their god damn minds. And yeah, yeah. Eddie is one of them.

They’ve got a stage presence that can’t be manufactured.

And then about half way through the concert he sees it. Abbadon turns his head just right and holy fuck, Eddie is losing his mind for a different reason. He manages to take a picture with his phone before Abbadon turns.

After the concert Eddie grills Dustin about the band all the way home. But the only thing the kid knows is how awesome the band is.

He gets to the hotel and starts watching every interview with The Fallen ever. And he pulls up one from about a year or so back where Abbadon is talking about the masks.

Abbadon pulls out a black mask and holds it up to the light. “See? You can tell that the eyes have mesh covering over them. They work the way two way mirrors do. Azrael can see out of them just fine, but you can’t see in.”

There are a lot of impressed nods, Eddie is definitely one of them. That’s certainly a neat trick.

“So what’s the reason for the masks at all?” the interviewer asks.

Abbadon looks at the members of his band and they all nod. He licks his lips.

“Because if we had been ourselves when we started on the scene,” he said, “we would have be called posers and we wouldn’t have even gotten this far.”

Eddie paused the video and took a deep breath.

Fuck.

Just then Jeff wanders into the hotel room and looks at the TV.

“Is that The Fallen?”

Eddie hums. “Yup.”

Jeff grabs a drink from the mini-fridge and makes his way over. “Oh hey is that poser interview?”

Eddie hums again.

“He can’t really be serious about that,” Jeff says with a huff. “No one in the metal scene would call anyone posers, not if they truly loved the music.”

“We would have,” Eddie says with a finality that brings Jeff up short.

“The fuck we would have, man,” Jeff snaps. “There’s no way.”

“We would have it was Steve Harrington’s band.”

Jeff’s eyes go wide. “There is no way that’s Steve Harrington.”

Eddie pulls out his phone and zooms in on Abbadon’s neck. He hands his phone to Jeff.

“Okay so the dude has moles on his neck,” he says handing the phone back, “lots of people have them.”

Eddie goes through his phone and pulls up a picture of Steve. He’s not in the exact same pose but it’s close enough. He hands the phone to Jeff again.

Jeff squints and then zooms in.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie drapes his hand over his mouth and purses his lips.

“Steve Harrington in a metal band,” Jeff says in awe. “All be damned.”

“When The Fallen came on the scene,” Eddie says dropping his hand so his talk, “we were outselling Metallica in records and ticket sales. If the rest of the band are preps like Steve we would have mocked them relentlessly.”

Jeff sits down hard on the sofa next to Eddie. “Shit.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands.

“We got to tell someone, man,” Jeff says. “This is huge!”

Eddie in his haste to look at Jeff accidentally hits the remote.

“Do you think you’ll ever do a reveal?” the interviewer asks.

Asmodeus leans over to speak in the microphone. “Ask us again in ten years if we’re still selling out crowds.”

Eddie fumbles it again, but manages to turn off the TV.

Jeff and he looks at each other.

“We can’t say shit, man,” Eddie hisses. “It would be like outing someone as gay or trans before they want to.”

Jeff slumps in his seat. “Fuck. Yeah. You’re right. Shit.”

They’re silent for a moment.

Eddie cocks his head to the side. “What I don’t get is how the kids don’t know.”

Jeff opens his mouth and then closes it. He shakes his head slowly. “Sorry but if I was Steve I wouldn’t tell them shit either.”

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Look,” Jeff says turning to face him, “they’re great kids. Brilliant D&D players, nerds, geeks, and dorks the lot of them. But I would not trust them with a secret that big.”

Eddie thought about all the time that they accidentally blurted out something that didn’t make sense out of context, but once you knew, holy shit was it a miracle these kids didn’t get into more trouble.

“Yeah okay.”

After a moment of silence Eddie looks over and frowns at Jeff. “What are you doing my hotel room anyway?”

Jeff holds up his beer. “Your beer was cold, I forgot to put mine in the fridge when we got in.”

“Asshole,” Eddie grouses, bumping Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff kisses his cheek. “You love me though.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Steve is in his dressing room after their last concert of the tour for their second album scrubbing the hell out of his face because that mask is prone to giving him the worst breakouts, when he notices the blue roses.

He gets a lot of flowers but never blue roses. He rinses off his face and walks over to the them.

There’s a note and he thinks he recognizes the handwriting. It’s short and sweet and absolutely terrifying.

“I know your secret, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’ll never tell.”

It’s not signed, but the ‘sweetheart’ gives it away.

He messages Robin.

“Get Eddie Munson in here right now!”

She protests that she doesn’t know where he is. But Steve knows he has to still be in the building and sure enough she finds Eddie waiting in the wings, looking smug as hell.

Her eyes go wide and cursing up a storm drags him into the dressing room.

She presses her back to the door.

“Who told?” she squeaks.

Eddie laughs. “No one, I swear.”

“Then how did you know?” Steve asks.

He hands Steve his phone with the picture he took at the concert. Robin wanders over to peak over Steve’s shoulder.

“So it’s a picture of his neck,” she murmurs.

But suddenly Steve gets it. “It’s my moles!”

Eddie nods, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t giggle.

“Shit!” Robin hisses. “Do you think anyone else figured it out?”

“I doubt it,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I’m just obsessive that way.”

“About moles?” Robin says with a frown.

“With Steve.”

Robin blinks. “Right I’m out of here.”

She closes the door behind her and they are left alone.

The night ends with Eddie in Steve’s bed asking him for The Fallen to join Corroded Coffin on their next tour next year and there is no way Steve could say no to that. His bandmates would kill him.

They go on tour and the hardest part is dodging rumors that Eddie is two timing Steve with Abbadon because when The Fallen and Corroded Coffin perform together they make out on stage.

Then for The Fallen’s ten anniversary they do a reveal and Dustin is livid.

Robin and Steve had been telling him for years that they were just low level PAs and not a famous rockstar and his equally mysterious manager.

They’re forgiven when Steve tells him that half the songs on the first album are about him and the rest of the kids.

***

This is just a rough draft. I might expand on it in full later.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar steve harrington

589 notes · View notes

rrking · 2 months

Text

Dances to Bauhaus Ascended Astarion picking up a couple of other 'brides' along the way has been living rent free in my head... Some NSFW my slimes😏 also I made up a LOT of shit I don't know my DnD m'kay

Imagine it, you are his consort, his undying love, his... Most treasured property. But you're becoming a little unruly for his tastes.

So long being with the same man whose mind is turning to ash before you has proven to be difficult. Your relationship is toxic. It's like he doesn't remember who you are. You're just 'his consort.'

Of course, you become defiant. Small things at first, like denying him kisses, refusing to sit on his lap in front of his court...

This dynamic is cute at first. He spends time chasing you.

It works for a while. Vampire brides are known to be tossed aside by their masters, eventually - Due to their insatiable, nymphomatic lust and utter devotion to the point of irritation. Basically, many are discarded by their masters when they are no longer 'fun' to deal with. I fully made this up lmao wtf... Astarion promised this wouldn't be so between the pair of you when you allowed him to turn you. How time changes a person.

His arrogant behaviour becomes so repulsive, you start declining his more serious advances - to prove a point. He wants to control you fully - But that isn't going to happen. He would not dare discard you, not the person who was by his side all these years. There is a level of obedience you are willing to show, since you are so devoted to him, but you will not be controlled like a porcelain dolly.

You're so old now you often forget what you're fighting about... Until he comes home one day with that THING. It's younger than you. So obedient, like a little lapdog. He demands their kisses all day, in front of you. This creature disgusts you and he is only doing himself absolutely dirty.

"Yes milord. No milord. Of course, milord." It's incessant whining for your husband whilst he fawns over it as it rests on it's knees makes your skin crawl.

This dynamic starts off as a bit of a competition, but once he recruits another one - it's on sight.

"Be more like your sister(s)/brother(s)..." Astarion tells you with that wicked smirk. They are no sibling of yours. They are your prey, and he can look forward to waking up to a severed head on his silken bed if he dares to take things further.

It is actually a long time before any sort of sexual intimacy is even introduced. But after being denied your body three nights and four mornings in a row, Astarion is fed up. The horny howling of that brat makes you seethe. He already ruined you for anybody else. How dare he go and besmirch another when you were already his to begin with.

This is only a temporary fix, however, since you are his favourite. The sex is nowhere near as good or as passionate as it is with you. He can't achieve absolute bliss like he does with you, and this new toy is fun until it wants cuddles... No. That's reserved specifically for the consort™️

He is not actually satisfied. He loves you, whether he cares to admit it or not. Unfortunately, the way your relationship appears is totally skewed, due to his inability to separate obsession from love and the total resentment you have grown into.

These other brides are merely toys. He will eventually grow tired of them. They serve one purpose. You do not. You are his dark consort. You get away with things they could only dream of.

When you do agree to sleep with him again, on your terms of course, you are sure to be as public as possible. You want the entire palace to know how you make him feel. Only you get those delicious moans out of him, his complete spend, his dangerous cravings for more. Best believe when he's balls deep in those brides - He's seeing your face.

The other brides look at you in absolute awe. Who is this beautiful holy being before them?

Astarion cannot be more pleased when you agree to intimacy again. Whilst he would love nothing more than to fuck you all day, he finds himself compromising - if it means he can keep his sweet consort.

However, when he acquires a third bride, this is when your murderous tendencies begin. You want to attract his attention, but you want to do it in front of the other brides. Killing his subjects, disobeying him and escaping punishment in front of those sorry excuses for playthings... Silly little things, but you begin to take enjoyment in killing after a while.

The other brides kneel and worship him, begging him not to take out his displeasure on them as you sit scowling on his lap. Astarion is becoming absolutely vexed by this behaviour. All he desired was for his consort to sit on his lap and accept some affection - So why are his lips kissing you so greedily all over your face and lips to receive nothing in return? The vampire growls lowly when your mouth doesn't move in reaction to his.

"Misery doesn't suit that pretty face of yours, my dear..." he snarls. There is still no reaction when he bites the fatty part of your lower lip, drawing blood... No moaning when he kisses your neck exactly how you like it. Not even pathetic namecalling or fighting back as he marks you. Just plain, spiteful silence.

The brides look on in disgust. Had one of them done that, he would have had them flogged. Punished in the worst way possible. When you notice their distaste for the situation, a grin blooms on your lips. Justice.

"Leave us," is the next command from his lips. Oh. It seems he wants to deal with you in private. His pets file out, huddling at the door to listen.

How they gasp and look between themselves in horror when you receive a chance to redeem yourself. On your knees, gazing up at him, caressing his thighs as you tell him, "you know that I would do anything for you, darling..."

Manipulating Astarion in these sorts of situations is surprisingly easy. He's whipped.

One thing that never fails to get him instahard is watching your mischief. (Usually.)

You had been feeling rather generous today, finding yourself sat on his desk as his mouth explored your other pair of lips beneath your skirts/your length beneath his cape. A scout comes running in, failing to knock first. The lustful visage on your face being seen was no bother to you - but something isn't right when Astarion merely lets it slide. What is he doing? Pathetic.

Disappearing into thin air, you reappear behind the spawn, frightening him out of his skin. In your hand is Astarion's dagger, from the belt of his own trousers.

Little minx. When did you pinch that?

"What is your name, darling?" you coo, a playful grin on your features as you circle him hungrily.

"E-Edgar... Milady/Milord..." is the reply.

"There's no need to be frightened of me." There is every reason. You're like death on legs. Astarion rolls his eyes, asking you to leave the poor thing alone. He was told earlier to come and report at this time - you were serving as a distraction.

Nonsense, you think. In one swift motion, the dagger is against the spawns throat from behind.

"Edgar, darling. Tell my husband why I should spare your life... Beg for it."

He babbles and bitches, struggling to come up with excuses beyond sheer foolishness. They're all so frightened of you. It's intoxicating. The way you can clear a room with just a look. How you can influence others to just get things done.

Of course, your man asks you once again to let go, let him be for god's sake. Y/N you're scaring the bitches

With a quick slice, scarlet blood paints the floor and your body, dressed in white. This poor spawn is holding his throat with dismay. He'll be fine. If not a little traumatised.

Licking the blood from the dagger, you can't help but bite your lip with a grin, offering the other side to your husband. This will remind him why he keeps you.

#bg3 #ascended!astarion #ascended astarion #ascendant astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #vampire brides

111 notes · View notes

ewanmitchelll · 4 months

Text

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (III): Ready For It?

Imagine Aemond is sent to seek for Dorne’s support just in the moment you ascend as Princess of Dorne. What's going to be?

Warnings: violence, drama, smut--fluff endings.

***

• Prelude.

If there is something the new Westerosi king detests is the bloody council. But what angers him more is the idea of losing a throne that, in his mind, is rightful his—even if his own father never acknowledged this.

“Lords”, the silver haired young man, in his fourth and twentieth year of life, shorter so the one occupied in the throne, “We have received concerning news that the one who unfortunately is my sister by blood, Rhaenyra, has been gathering support from the East. This can only mean that uncle Daemon’s strength has not dissipated as we were led to believe. As much as I loath to waste my time looking at your ugly faces, I pray some of you will come with a resolution.”

A man named H/N raises his hand, almost promptly. Aegon looks interested at the man.

“We may have failed in bringing Dorne to our Kingdoms, sire, but they can be our allies. Their strength and wit will certainly be a plus to ours.” He carefully adds then. “Dragons will not be enough to win this war.”

Silence seems to reign over the Council Room as the king has all eyes on him, waiting whether he’s about to lazily throw his temper or if he’s buying the idea. It hardly surprises that he looks at his brother, lord Aemond, in look for advise.

“Well?”

“I can go there and do the diplomacy. It’s certainly easy, especially when I have Vhagar with me.”

The same lord H/N clears his throat and says:

“My lord prince, with all due respect, but Vhagar’s own sister was not enough to frighten the Dornish. It would do well to remember they bow to no one.”

Aemond clenches his jaw. Though he sees reason in the man’s speech, he does not like to be put in his place. But the Master of Coins carefully inserted an element few would have remembered.

“Perhaps we better have in mind that right now Dorne is… divided. The former prince H/N has been buried and his daughter, Lady Y/N, has succeeded him. But not many are willing to support her claim.”

Aegon scoffs, detesting the parallels. But Aemond eagerly says:

“I believe we can play this to advance, my king.”

The king, already impatient, waves his hand dismissively:

“Do what you can, Aemond. We need the Dornish.” He says unwillingly.

The Council is thus dismissed.

***

• The Dornish Throne.

You are sitting on the throne room, watching the view of Sunspear with preying eyes. Although the Dornish has long accepted that women are as capable to rule as any other man, a pretender has been trying to make the transition of power difficult for you.

Dressed in orange colors, with a dark veil covering your y/c hair, you wait for the arrival of your council. Having arrived earlier for this meeting, you are too preoccupied to let yourself sleep at peace.

This pretender attends by the name of Dorin and he is the illegitimate son of your uncle, who had been long dead and gone by the time the throne was passed to your father. He now claims that he has a better right than yours, specially considering that illegitimacy in Dorne is not an element to prevent succession.

What worries the council, who’s been loyal to you, is your sweet nature. Most of them have said that an evil will not grow if not cut before it’s rise. Diplomacy, you were told, is not helping your case.

Not intending to be underestimate, though, you know what should be done. You remember that your father, whenever he wanted to prevent a war, ended it before it started by using that sweet weapon most Dornish are known for.

So here’s your chance to assert yourself. You invite the said lord for a meeting. Despite the others desires to a public exhibition of force, you will remember him—as well as others—that sweet you may be, but you are viper nonetheless.

And vipers do not bow, do not bend, do not break to anyone.

***

• Dragons & Vipers.

Knew he was killer first time that I saw him. Wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted. But if he’s a ghost then I can be a phantom, holding him for ransom…

In the midst of this mess, it’s been spotted a shadow of a large dragon. Your men prepare for worst, unwilling to trust dragon riders as they did for centuries. Your orders, however, are: do not attack under no first sign of threat.

You are very familiar to the situation happening in King’s Landing not to suppose what would be the prince’s intentions. Against your council’s wishes, though, you opt to meet him right outside of Sunspear’s palace, after your people have been safely evacuated.

As Aemond flies, cockily so, he is surprised to meet you and you alone before the opens of Sunspear, waiting for him. Something about your posture gets him off guard: you transmit a sensation of peace, bearing a sweet demeanor, the remaining of innocence in your eyes that reminds him of Helaena… every inch goodness in such a regal person.

Dressed in typical Dornish robes, you feel the eyes of this silver prince, who looks less like a fire dragon than you’d have thought. As his gazes study you, you study his, noticing his rogue posture, the mischief in his semblance—every characteristic that warns you this is a troublesome prince.

Indeed, the impressions cannot be positive to you. The size of Vhagar frightens you, but this is a year where you’ve been taught in the hard way how to play a poker face.

Much to his frustrations, Aemond Targaryen cannot read you.

“Princess Y/N of Dorne”, he greets you respectfully, every inch a lord. “I pray to find you well this day.”

“My lord Aemond of House Targaryen”, you surprise him by already becoming familiar with his name. You flash him a smirk. “A pleasure to meet the kinslayer.”

The silver-haired male has the decency to blush upon hearing the sobriquet out of your lips.

You make me sound like a sinner, princess.

“Gods know there are more to this world than rumours unfairly spred.”

You still feign a courage your soul lacks by responding easily:

“Where there is smoke, there is flame. In your case, literally so, lord Aemond.”

The prince clenches his jaw, the only sign of his irritation.

“Then am I refused the right to present myself formally so?”

“No, not at all”, you smile at him in a sweet way that disconcerts him. “Why’d you assume this easily, sir?”

Aemond ignores your question. Formalities must be followed and had his brother not been in need of Dornish aid, his emotions might’ve had the best of him.

“Princess Y/N Martell, I am Lord Aemond of House Targaryen”, and here he bows rather theatrically, although his one good eye holds yours in such an intent gaze that your face flushes. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My brother, Aegon II of Westeros, to short his long titles, has sent me with the due purpose of linking our houses in an alliance.”

“I see”, it’s what you say. “Welcome to Sunspear, Dorne’s main seat for Dornish princes and princesses, Lord Aemond of House Targaryen. I invite you to follow me inside so we can have a supper together. You must certainly be tired after flying such a distance.”

Aemond takes the arm you offer him, eyeing you still. He doesn’t admit how easily you captivate him with that sweet nature and soft voice that make him forget the lady that waits for him back at Harrenhal, whose name has now been turned to dust.

But what do you know?

***

I see nothing better, I keep him forever Like a vendetta-ta… I-I-I see how this is gon' go.

The two of you dinner together this evening and the next one alone in your privy quarters, soon doing too all the following week. Aemond detests to feel he’s been in a different sort of cage, trapped by your naivety, when he forgets that, however good by nature you may be, you are still a viper and he’s in your nest.

“You look bored, lord”, you tell him, enjoying immensely his company.

For seven days he taught you how to improve your archery all the whilst he was impressed by your sharp mind: in all frankness, Aemond was surprised to find a ruler like you completely versed in politics and history—specially the Targaryen’s.

Few would dream to outwit this bad reputed prince.

And whenever you danced, the prince sensed a new jealousy growing in his heart, for he didn’t enjoy sharing his view with other men.

Here he is, therefore, in deadly silence where neither is aware of each other’s thoughts.

“Do I?”

You don’t seem affected by his apparently indifference to you.

“Yes. Like a snowflake, you find yourself understandably an outsider here, under a very heat sun.”

He scoffs at you, but in his playful eyes you see some shade of scorn.

“Am I being compared with a Stark? My princess, a dragon does not shy away from the fire.”

You know however sentimental you are that reason comes first hand followed by duty. Despite shining like the sun, your eyes are cold like the moon.

“You haven’t been burnt enough to call yourself a dragon, sire”, and here a smirk dances in your lips.

“Madame, I am not one to be toyed with”, he advises you dangerously.

But neither breaks the gaze. The spell is done… and the consequences? Unpredictably beginning to burn.

***

All the whilst Aemond hasn’t received a definitive answer for the support to Aegon’s cause, you come to discover some deep scars in your guest’s soul.

Although declining a play in the privy pools of Sunspear, he is there, watching you going with a light gown properly chosen for the moment. But his eyes are now attentive to your curves, his body aching with desire when noticing your breasts—and thanking perhaps the Gods for the indecency view that is, however, so innocently displayed.

“The waters do good to our noblemen”, you invite him, ignoring this rising in your feminine parts at how he looks at you. “Come and join me. I ask you. It certainly will heal your distrust in me.”

As you giggle, Aemond cannot help a smirk, but then he snorts defensively.

“I don’t distrust you, Madame princess. But I’ve been caged here for weeks.”

“We have never forbidden our lordship to depart”, you tell him, tilting your head for a moment before disappearing in diving. “Vhagar is being well looked after and so are you. Isn’t that true?”

Aemond doesn’t respond. He, however, eventually cedes to your arms of seduction and removes partly his clothes. When being aware of your stare, the prince struggles not to smirk.

“You must dive in naked”, you suggest, gently.

“By the Gods”, he snorted. “Are you playing with me, woman?”

You laugh away before diving again, giving the appearances of letting him have some privacy. Forgetting all decency and protocols, he soon dives in, chasing after you.

I know I'm gonna be with you. So l'lI take my time… Are you ready for it?

When being caught by him, the playful flirtation turns into something else.

“You don’t have to hide away from me”, you tell him, smiling at him.

“What is this suppose to mean?”, he asks in his typical husky voice

As you take away the thing that hides away the eye that was once removed, there installed a sapphire, you move your wrist to caress it. Aemond impedes your bold gesture by holding it.

“Don’t.”

You know he’s being serious, threatening even. But that is only because Aemond is frightened for being so exposed at you in this land where vipers are known for so long ago defeating his ancestors.

Is he destined to suffer the same fate?

“I am not your enemy”, you say softly. “Isn’t it why you’ve stayed?”

“You’ve been toying with me”, he presses you against the wall of the pool, holding your thighs up as he inserts in between.

“I have not”, you tell him honestly, so crudely open under his gaze, burning under his touch as his right hand raises to your right thigh all the whilst you feel his erection.

“I am a kinslayer, I have many names”, he then holds your neck, aroused as how easily he dominates such an innocent viper as you. “How can I see love in your eyes?”

“We are not meant to be enemies.”

“No”, he agrees, unable to look away from you. And just like that he inserts a finger in you, making you moan so loudly suddenly. “Ah, so wet for me!”

“Lord, I mus say…”, whatever you are about to tell him dies in hitched breaths.

Having the control over you as his fingers slide curiously in your feminine entrance, pumping slowly as to tease you, Aemond comes so close to your lips where his breath mixes to yours.

“Playing coy with me, aren’t you?” And then he realizes what you meant to say. “And yet here you are with me, a damsel. Isn’t it scandalous?”

But the way you moan sensually, unable to fight away such strong desires tempts him to take you on that moment. And when maybe he’s about to explore your body more, unwillingly so you pull him away from you.

“No, lord prince”, even though it’s so hateful to interrupt this delicious intercourse, you know for the sake of your reputation this must come to an end. “We are a free folk, that is true, but we are unbent, unbowed and unbroken. That should not be forgotten.”

He watches astonished and speechless as you pull an innocent mask again, leaving him where he is.

And just like that the dragon is defeated in his own trap.

Baby, let the games begin. Let the games begin. Are you ready for it?

• The End Game.

Aemond watches in growing frustration that, indeed, the Dornish ought to support King Aegon in exchange for his aid in removing lord H/N out of Princess Y/N’s rule, but you behave graciously as if that intimate moment never happened.

To worse all, he is prepared to sacrifice his duty for you.

“My lord, you’ve received your prize”, a councilor tells him the very next day he could not find you. “We’ve arranged a deal. What else do you want?”

“I want to know where the fuck is princess Y/N!”, the dragon lord says under his breath.

Probably the councilor sighs thinking another one you’ve made fool of, but because this time is no ordinary man, he’s careful with his words. Aware of Aemond’s reputation, he eventually gives in and tells where you are.

Dressed in comfortable robes, you are found at the library, actually interested in this love story—always a romantic—you’ve found. After defeating the pretender and restoring peace to your kingdom, you are fighting away melancholy for you think Aemond wanted to bed you and after all he got, he probably vanished.

“Y/N”, you hear his voice and don’t wait to turn quickly when seeing him coming to your direction. There is pain in him, but also anger. “You played with me.”

Leaving aside diplomatic masks, but remaining your true sweet self, you wring your hands and say:

“I had no intention to. But I had to leave you, lord.”

“Why?”, the prince asks, making sure there is some distance between you two.

“You are taken”, you respond, alluding to Alys Rivers. “I felt fooled and thought that I have been enough fooled this year. You see, Ser, I am not temperamental like my ancestors or most members of my family are. I understand what’s like to be underestimated and learned how to use this to my favor. Like a true viper, I surround, indeed, but am above all a master in poisoning. By that, I don’t mean literally poison, that too, but metaphorically too. I must stand for me.”

You hate how tears rise to your eyes in this moment, but despite the lack of emotion in the prince’s eyes, you continue your speech.

“I shall not bend my heart to a dragon who thinks so easily to conquer me; I will not break before your iron claws and certainly not I will let myself bow to your brother.” You pause. “I am Aegon’s equal, lord. Because that is how it works here. And my maiden hood will not be deflowered by no other than my husband.”

“So leave if you may”, you turn your back at him. “I will endure as many before me had.”

Many words cross this prince’s minds as you speak, but seeing none will suffice to restore the bond between you two, Aemond forces you to look at him and, when cupping your face with his fingers, he says:

“I am yours, Princess Y/N. I will not leave until you have me at your command. Be it as your will. But poets will certainly sing about a viper and her dragon. For you I sacrifice my duty.”

And just like that the game comes to an end. His lips clash against yours and as your mouth opens to welcome his, his tongue slides inside and a fervent kiss comes as a result.

***

In a secretive ceremony, you welcome Lord Aemond of House Targaryen as Prince Consort of Dorne. In unofficial terms, Dorne is incorporated to the Seven Kingdoms, a political decision already contemplated by the Dornish council in their own terms.

Now in your privy quarters, there is no need to play further games. Aemond is aroused just by the lustful gaze you cast as him, eager to help him get rid of his robes.

“Princess Y/N, is there something you aren’t telling me? You surely aren’t a maiden”, he teases you as you kiss his neck and let your hands explore his exposed skin, not taking long to take hold of his manhood.

“I read too much, lord, and heard too much”, you explain. “Though I’ve had my share of fun, I had brains to know where to stop.”

You let him slide your white robes, feeling yourself wet in turn as he eyes you with the eyes of a hunter. No sooner he carries you to bed and there he begins to play with you.

“My wife”, he murmurs as he takes each nipples into his hungry mouth, hands caressing your thighs and hips before releasing one to play with your feminine parts.

“Husband!”, you cry out his name in turn, hands playing with his hair, body burning in flames under his gentle touch.

It doesn’t take more before Aemond dominates you completely. And just as you lock your bodies is the moment where one is exposed to the other. Truthfully. Beautifully so.

“I love you, Y/Nickname”, he smiles as he holds you dear.

“I love you too, my prince”, you mewl under his touch, his devotion, which eclipse every insecurity that has been within your heart.

***

•Epilogue

According to the chronicler of Princess Y/N Martell, it’s been of common knowledge that her reign was one of the longest in Dorne, reaching out exactly fifty years of government.

This was marked by some good deeds:

• The defeat of any pretenders to Princess Y/N’s sovereignty.

• The defeat of some noble rebels of the House Dayne.

• The alliance with House Targaryen that resulted in the marriage with Lord Aemond Targaryen, now acknowledged as Prince Consort of House Martell.

• The retaining independence of Dorne and it’s rule house (which shall not change the surname to Targaryen after the birth of the children, at least not officially: it shall be more like Nymeros-Targaryen-Martell) after incorporating Dorne to the Seven Kingdoms, a deed no fire nor blood of Aegon I and his sisters could have done.

• A golden age for the Dornish which arts, music, theater, chivalry and a love court rose in proeminente at your court without forgetting to sharp the reputation of holding a large and very disciplined army, now under the command of Lord Aemond Targaryen, now remembered as Aemond the Wise for his great contribution as Dornish consort, his participation in battles against the remaining usurpers such as Daemon Targaryen and his wife, Rhaenyra, amongst others.

• The union of Princess Y/N & Prince Aemond resulted in the birth of twelve children, some twins; they were said to have been partially like Lady Y/N, partially like Aemond, like children usually are, taking after their parents.

• Unusually for the day, the twelve children lived to adulthood. These are their names in the following order: Doran, Oberan, Aegon, Jaehaerys, Daenerys, Alysanne, Rhaella, Arthur, Gerold, Gwyn, Elia, Otto.

The chronicler, naturally, registered their lives too as it follows.

• Doran took as wife princess Jaehaera Targaryen, daughter of King Aegon II & the good queen Helaena. They had children of their own and in due time, Doran & Jaehaera became prince and princess of Dorne.

• Oberan opted to become a squire—and his life would be remarkably scandalous, with some saying he took after his royal uncle. Having plenty of mistresses, he produced, if we are to believe, ten illegitimate children. He is, as we are told, a good father to all of them, having recognized each as his. Apparently, he settled down by marrying—ah, scandalous as it is!—a granddaughter of Daemon Targaryen, a Velaryon lady we have no record of name. We also do not record Prince Aemond’s reaction to this fact.

• Aegon rose to become a great knight, serving King Jaehaerys II in due time by upholding no other than the legendary great sword Dawn, being the first of the royal Guard to be entitled as the Sword in the Morning. He was the epithet of honor and duty. Some still say he was his father’s favourite boy.

• Jaehaerys, a very common Targaryen name as one can perceive, chose to live his life religiously. Therefore he never married, although there had been a rumor he fathered an illegitimate child from an alleged liaison with a beautiful sept. Who knows?

• Daenerys, who inherited the charms and wits of her mother, captured her cousin’s heart. To the Dowager Queen’s delight, she saw her two grandchildren crowned overlords of Westeros. This is a fancy way to say that Daenerys Martell in due time became Queen consort of Westeros. She loves her husband as he loves her. Such a love story hasn’t been seen since the days of the first Jaehaerys and his good queen Alysanne.

• Alysanne. We know little of her. She married a Hightower cousin, and there she lives. Sometimes she and her husband are seen visiting Sunspear.

• Rhaella was very beautiful too, and some say she took after her father. She was very close to her parents and therefore married late, a nobleman of House Dayne named Stefon.

• Arthur was another of the Princess and Prince’s boys who was destined to be famed for his military skills. But, a free spirited himself, he declined the life serving at the King’s Guard: possibly, if we believe the gossipers, for fear of being eclipsed by his older brother. Whatever the case, he was given a seat at the Council, took the role that was once Ser Criston Cole’s and lived a good life. He married a younger sister to the lord Tytus Lannister.

• Gerold was renowned for his wit and therefore became a Maister in due time. He is currently in Winterfell. Some say, however, he is a lover to a sister to Lord Cregan Stark. Who knows? The man is too honored for that if I may leave my opinion here.

The ink is drying and my patience in writing is running thin. May the reader be told, however, that the youngest three (Gwyn, Elia and Otto) lived a good life like their eldest siblings. Gwyn married a Dornish nobleman of Starfall; Elia married a Targaryen cousin and Otto rose higher by surprising all and becoming the new lord of Harrenhal.

What a great time to be alive!

Signed: Chronicler Unnamed.

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #Taylor swift #Ready for It?#reputation

63 notes · View notes

jungkookschin · 11 days

Text

random drabble for older

Jungkook has always been a constant presence in your life, like the warmth of the sun on a chilly morning, filling you with comfort and energy with every encounter.

He’s very aware of the image you have of him in your cute little head, and he does everything he can to fulfill that image for you. He’s well aware of your little prince charming fantasies revolving around him, and truly, truly does everything to be your Prince Charming.

He’ll indulge you, always- to the extent where Mingyu and Taehyung constantly throw the term “sugar daddy” around- and of course Jungkook will roll his eyes, but he won’t deny it.

Jungkook has dropped thousands on you. He’s a single man in his 20’s with way too much money, anyways. So what was he supposed to do? Let all his money sit in his 401K to ensure that he’s financially secure for retirement (🙄) or buy you an unnecessarily expensive designer dress and observe how your face lights up?

Obviously he’ll choose the latter.

Even before he accepted that what he felt for you was more than “Oh yea, she’s just my mom’s best friend’s daughter I’ve known since we were little and I always take care of her and do whatever she wants”, he was always there.

During the first day of the first semester of your freshman year in college, he receives a call from your mother at around 6AM.

Jungkook is already up on his morning jog, and he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“What’s up, auntie?” he speaks into the phone, eyebrows furrowing in concern when he hears the alarm in your mother’s voice.

“Oh, Jungkook sweetie! Thank you so much for picking up! Uncle and I are out of town for a business meeting, and Y/N isn’t answering her phone! It’s her first day of college and I’m super concerned that she’s going to miss her first day of class! I told her not to choose a 7AM… anyways, can you stop by our place and check if she’s up?”

“I’m on my way,” he mumbles into the phone, already walking from the gym to his Mercedes.

He swiftly makes his way to your house, fully aware of the route as if it were his second nature. Your place holds a familiarity akin to his own, and he effortlessly inputs the garage code: 0809, your birthday, before ascending the stairs to your room.

As he expects, you’re snoozing off in your bed, clutching your Snorlax plushie with drool seeping from your mouth. You sleep with your eyes partially open, revealing the whites as if in need of some kind of exorcism.

He rolls his eyes, affectionately of course.

With utmost care, he nears your bed and gently shakes you. You emit a soft murmur, your eyes squeezing before you roll onto your side.

On cue, your alarm goes off Beep Beep Beep: and it’s the default Apple ringtone that triggers PTSD flashbacks from school.

Your hand instinctively reaches to silence the ringtone, yet you remain in deep slumber, as drowsy as Snorlax himself. Jungkook scoffs amusedly before he decides he’s had enough.

"Y/N," he calls out a bit louder, "Time to wake up!"

In your slumber, you flinch, murmuring, "Huh? Mommy?"

"It's me, Y/N. Wake up. Summer's over, and you've got school," he says, sighing as he settles onto the edge of your bed.

Startled, you jolt upright, scanning your surroundings as if you’ve never seen your bedroom before. "Jungkook?" you mumble sleepily, rubbing your eyes, and inexplicably, Jungkook feels a pang in his chest.

"It's 6:20, Y/N. You've got class in forty minutes."

You gasp as if you've just surfaced from underwater.

"Holy shit! I'm going to be late!" you exclaim, tossing aside the covers and scrambling out of bed, your energy suddenly pulsating with urgency.

You scramble to the restroom, shoving your toothbrush in your mouth before you start brushing violently. Jungkook approaches you, standing behind you while he fixes his hair in the mirror.

His eyes flicker towards you almost violently rubbing cleansing oil into your face and he can’t help but laugh. You’re probably the most unserious person in the history of the world. “Baby, chill. You’ll get there on time,” he comforts, placing a soothing hand on your shoulder.

“I know but I’m nervous, it’s my first day,” you mewl in return to which Jungkook gives you a comforting smile.

“I felt that way too- wait, is that my shirt?”

You pause, staring at his reflection in the mirror like a deer caught in headlights, “Sorry?” you squeak before running back into your bedroom like an escaped convict.

20 notes · View notes

deathlessathanasia · 5 months

Text

Occasionally, I've seen people express surprise that Hera did nothing to persecute Maia and Hermes, but I think it makes sense if we consider that:

Hera usually targets the mothers of Zeus's children when they are pregnant, but she almost certainly had no idea about Maia's pregnancy and Hermes' existence until Apollon brought him to Olympos. We know from the Homeric Hymns to Hermes that Maia was an Inconspicuous figure who kept away from the other gods "a shy goddess she. Ever she avoided the throng of the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy cave". We are also told that Zeus took care to keep his affair with Maia secret and only visited her when Hera was asleep: "… and there the Son of Cronos used to lie with the rich-tressed nymph at dead of night, while white-armed Hera lay bound in sweet sleep: and neither deathless god nor mortal man knew it.". The birth of Hermes was not the grand public event that the births of gods like Apollon and Artemis or Athena were. This also took place quite early in Zeus and Hera's marriage and I imagine that while he had cheated on her before, Hera was not yet as suspicious and able to figure out Zeus's dubious intentions as she would become in the future.

The children of Zeus whom Hera persecuted after birth were either the ones who did not ascend to Olympos until later in life like Dionysos and Herakles (and these two are her most consistent targets(, or, (less famously and only in some sources) those who never did at all, such as Epaphos, Aiakos and Lamia's children. She did try to prevent the birth of Leto's twins, but did nothing to them once they were born and, with one exception in the Fabulae of Hyginus, did nothing to persecute Leto after she gave birth. She was also angry about Athena's birth, but in that case she was affronted by Zeus having a child by himself, so quite a different situation than the others. In any case, Hermes joins the other Olympians and receives his honours as a baby, almost as soon as he becomes known to the other deities, and it seems that once a child of Zeus is officially admited among the gods Hera no longer opposes them even if she has hated them previously.

#greek mythology #hera #hermes #zeus #maia #greek gods #ramblings

18 notes · View notes

silversiren1101 · 9 months

Text

And So We Start Again

There, in the petrified boughs, of a willow tree that might never have grown so much as appeared exactly as it was, did her search finally come to an end. The thread between them, invisible yet unmistakable, like an insistent slight tug over where her heart lay, finally stilled, as if in anticipation. A held breath.

The cold granite plaza was empty save for this tree and the presence she felt resting within; a stark contrast for the others she'd passed through. They'd thronged with the residents here, those souls of fallen soldiers, of the victims of murders and suicides. Silence rarely graced the Garden Anima she'd come to realize, these stone walls and structures ringing with wailing grief and and howling rage as much as they did with song and laughter, colored by, at last, acceptance. This place was a refuge for bitterness and grief as much as it was for comfort and solace, she'd understood quickly after her search had began; and how that had twisted her heart with more confusion than not—that he was here.

It'd only hurried her steps. Each passing moment had been harder to contain the wall of tears pressing behind her eyes. She hadn't even officially declared her entry. Hadn't even asked for permission from the lord of the house, so to speak. She'd only followed that thread in her heart from where she'd appeared elsewhere in Pharasma's Court—Ascended at last—having barged into another's domain without so much as a thought for the consequences.

"Have you seen a—", she'd been asking the residents, to no avail, when Mrtyu had greeted her, a slight laugh to his voice as he'd assured her that none had seen the quarry of her search. She'd been fearful at first, preparing for a fight, even, in anticipation of his wrath at her intrusion, but it'd been no blade bared at her. How warm his smile had been, dark eyes so filled with passion where rose blossoms ringed them practically glowing with life from the vibrancy of their red—just as red as the gaping, ever bleeding wound across his stomach. She'd known Ushers to be strange, yet he'd defied anything she could ever have expected. He'd seemed filled with life and love even as much as he was marked permanently with his death, and none of the others she'd met had captured a fraction of his passion in their own stony demeanors. How relieving it'd been when he'd reached not for his greatsword, but for the basket of fruit at his side, pulling forth an orange she knew unmistakably to be of Wiscrani origin.

Death's Consort had accepted her apology at her intrusion as if it hadn't been needed at the slightest, speaking to her like an old friend as much as a colleague, and the orange she'd shared with him had tasted so much of home that it'd loosed some of those tears meant for her upcoming reunion. She'd known then as they'd talked, with his jovial and fiery spirit and kindness, that Mrtyu meant her (and him) only good will, and her sudden kinship and respect for him had surprised her more than his abrupt appearance had.

Especially when he'd clapped her so reassuringly on the shoulder as he bid her off on her search, "...a man after my own heart, that one...".

The tears had been harder to contain after that, remembering that Mrtyu, though Usher now, had been the first mortal to die with love on his lips. Of course he was here, knowing that. Mrtyu had welcomed him with a piece of fruit she knew he'd politely accepted, and then he'd slunk away to the most quiet corner of the Garden he could find to wait.

For her.

Twenty some years, he'd been sleeping in the tree she now stood before. Did time pass the same here as it did back home? Had it felt like an eternity? A blink of an eye? Exactly as it should've felt...? Certainly not a blink, something told her, because he was sleeping to pass the time, and oh did that realization make her choke on a sob.

The willow's curtain parted to reveal not silence within, but a facsimile of chirruping crickets and toads. It sounded so much like the environs of Citadel Darvhage once the sun began to set she could only smile even as her cheeks grew drenched with her silent tears. No, she was certain it was exactly the same—as he remembered it.

Yet, he was not here. She stopped, filled with a sudden panic and terror that there was no figure lying on a bough, peacefully asleep. There was no sign that there was anyone here, or that anyone had been here save Mrtyu given the red rose petals on the spongy garden soil here and there. Only by focusing on that insistent thread did she keep from falling apart, the line of it leading not to any branches or boughs but a hollow in the trunk she hadn't noticed before. Small. A squirrel could make a home in it, but anything else? Still, the thread led there, and so did the the Usher's fallen petals. Her boots settled into previously formed prints, where Death's Consort had also certainly come to peer inside to check on his solitary ward at times. Both beings beheld the same thing: inside the hollow lay a barely glowing mote of purple-tinged grey, like a self-contained ball of smoke.

Only then since ascending fully to her role as The Inevitable Paradox, did Minovae Arangeir find her lips pulling into a smile; warm, so filled with affection at how her prickly love had decided to while the years until she could come for him. Even more so, as, when she reached to retrieve and wake him, his dreams traveled from the first fingertip that grazed him to suffuse her thoughts like warm golden rays.

She laughed as much as she sobbed, sinking to her knees with him cradled in her hands. Reducing himself to a blob of quintessence and hiding himself in the most solitary place he could so no one could disturb him as she passed the twenty years just reliving their shared life again?

"Oh, Regill...", she gasped, her smile still strong as she choked around tears.

A part of her felt guilty for waking him, but she knew how incensed he'd be if she let him laze about in metaphorical bed when she was finally, finally here. Their shared promise of what they would do filled her heart and thoughts like song. It was time to wake. It was time to start again.

And so, without wasting a single second more, like a smoldering cinder in need of just a little fuel, she blew gently unto the soul that would be her Herald life and light and shape once more.

[The song that inspired this is I, Carrion (Icarian)]

#oc: minovae arangeir #regill derenge x minovae arangeir #wrath of the righteous #pwotr pals #pair: hellpair #hey so I cried like a baby writing this #actually had completely soaked cheeks and shirt by the end #regill derenge

28 notes · View notes

fangirlshrewt97 · 1 year

Text

A Dream Come True

You know, it’s been a minute since I wrote for RamBheem. And @umbrulla shared the most adorable/delightful drawing recently that really set my gears turning.

I originally envisioned this as a comedic drabble, but predictably perhaps, it became super mushy instead.

Warning: This is set in an A/B/O world, but its as family friendly as can be. Just didn’t want to blindside you...

Still, I hope you guys like it!

///

Ram hums as he pats Hathrini's back, a steady beat that turns into a caress when she finally burps. He smiles as he feels her small nose twitching against his neck as she rubs her petal-soft cheeks against his scent gland. Caressing upwards, Ram rubs his thumb in a circular motion in the back of her skull.

He shifts her, so she is laying in the middle of both his arms, parallel to each other as he gently curls and uncurls his arms. The motion makes her lips twitch in a smile as her eyes blink slowly, halfway to falling asleep. Ram coos as her when she reaches up to grab at his hair.

"I think that's enough playing, my little talli." Ram tells her. He places her in his lap, jiggling one knee to rock her. When she yawns, he presses the side of his index finger to the bottom of her chin, closing her mouth for her. She blinks at him.

Ram kisses her hair, a dense layer of raven curls that immediately make obvious who her father is.

His heart feels so full nowadays, especially in the moments when his daughter is in his hands. The past few months, no, years, before her birth had been an unending series of trials and tribulations, miseries and unforgivable actions. But against all odds, for reasons he cannot fathom, yet is deeply indebted to, Ram has somehow managed to get a happy life. With a mate who adores him, and a daughter he loves beyond comprehension, with friends who are loyal to them, and their cause.

Of course, the fight is ongoing, and now more than before, Ram knows it is imperative that India be free.

Hathrini deserves to grow up in a land that is not being crushed under the heels of foreigners who think they have a right to it.

The baby mewls, turning to rub her face against his thigh, face scrunching at the feel of cloth in the way. Ram huffs. "Come now, amma, you have already had your dinner. Go to sleep."

He shifts her so she is laying pressed to his chest where his shirt is unbuttoned. At the feeling of warm skin beneath her, the baby settles.

Ram cups the back of her head as he tilts his head back. He is sitting up against the wall of their hut, on their old mattress and worn pallet. The village is quiet as everyone retires for the night, and from the shifting curtains by the doorway that are swaying with the breeze, he can make out the night shift sentries heading to the lookout post.

Ram and Bheem had had several discussions about whether to set up their home in the village or a little away, with Bheem saying Ram would feel more comfortable with the privacy they could get. But Ram had argued that Bheem's duties would be best fulfilled if he was near his people, and ultimately won him over.

Speaking of Bheem… Ram opened his eyes when he heard the patter of familiar footsteps cross over the threshold.

As always, Ram's heart skipped a beat as he drank in the sight of his mate. When Ram had first met Akthar, something inside him had woken up, and as they had spent those weeks together, that…thing, it had yearned. Yearned for this man who he could never be with, for so many reasons, not the least being his life was not his to give, but one pledged to a cause he could not fail. And yet. He had been weak, and selfish, and let himself have one night.

When the stars align, one night is all it takes isn’t it?

After ascending to pleasures he had never known, everything had been ripped away by the cruelest of circumstances. When he was given the “honour” of punishing the Alpha who had dared to stand up against the Britishers, it was also with the idea of adding another layer of humiliation for Bheem, being forced to kneel for an Omega. Ram had bled that day, but could not shed any tears, because he did not deserve it. He had been the one inflicting the whip, what right did he have to pain?

After everything though, Bheem had accepted him anyways. Not because he was with his child. He had accepted Ram.

Bheem carefully stowed away all his weapons before unwinding his turban. He stripped out of the rest of his clothes, removing his waist sash, kurta, and dhoti, leaving him in his brown loin-cloth.

At times Ram would pinch himself discreetly, just to ensure this was his life, and not a fantasy his brain conjured up as he lay dangling from shackles, awaiting a noose that would send him and his child to doom. Other times, he felt such a tidal wave of gratitude and love crash into him, he thought he would drown. And many times, he would feel pride, because that was his mate. So strong and broad, with a heart the size of the world, and a light that would never let Ram feel the cold, or solitude ever again.

Ram met his gaze with a fond smile, head still tilted against the wall. Bheem's answering smile felt bright enough to mimic the sun.

"And how are the two halves of my heart doing ?" Bheem asked as he walked over to them.

"You say two halves, yet your eyes are only glued to one of us." Ram teased, pointing out how Bheem had not taken his eyes off of Hathrini since he entered, save the one smile.

Bheem shrugged dismissively, getting on the bed and crawling over to the pair. The gold of his nose ring reflected the oil lamp's light. "Did she behave?"

"She always does. When she isn't trying to copy her father's roaring at the top of her lungs." Ram said wryly.

Bheem's eyes seemed to twinkle as he stopped scant inches from them, instead opting to lean forward to look at their baby. "She's amazing."

Ram took in the profile of this tiger of a man. So much ferocity and protectiveness within him, but looking at him now, he could be confused for a little kid. Ram bit his lip to curb the urge to throw his arms around Bheem. Hathrini would not appreciate the gesture.

"With who her father is, you expected different?"

Bheem's gaze flicked up to him. "Her dame is pretty extraordinary too."

Ram's cheeks reddened as he looked away. Bheem chose the worst times to be suave and charming.

Bheem chuckled, a deep, happy sound that settled into Ram's bones. He reached out one hand to cover Ram's on Hathrini's back. He peeled Ram’s hand away, sliding his own around the baby to carefully lift her. Ram jerked forward, a growl escaping him as Bheem giggled playfully, holding Hathrini close to his face.

"Bheem! I nearly had her down!" Ram complained as Hathrini blinked her eyes open, legs kicking when she realized who was holding her.

"But I haven't played with her in so long Rama!" Bheem replied as he shifted to lie down with his head on Ram's thigh, lifting the baby up as far as his arms would stretch before bringing her back down, and then lifting her again.

Hathrini gurgled happily, fists waving as she reached out for Bheem, only to be lifted into the air before she could grab his beard. Ram's smile twitched, at once adoring the sight of his mate and child playing, as he sighed at all his efforts for bedtime going to waste.

"You played with her two nights ago." Ram pointed out.

"Exactly. So long!" Bheem exclaimed as he brought his daughter close enough to rub his nose against hers in a motion that made her laugh delightedly.

"You're a menace." Ram said as he starting carding his fingers through Bheem's hair, his free hand laying on Bheem's shoulder.

Bheem winked at him as he turned, bringing Hathrini down to also lay her against Ram's thigh. He gave her his index finger which she grasped tightly, immediately bringing it to her mouth to suck on. "Such a strong grip."

Ram hummed, rubbing two knuckles against Hathrini's cheek. "Just like you."

Bheem pulled the fist holding his finger to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Hathrini gazed up at him wide-eyed, like he was the wonderful thing she had seen. Ram could understand.

"Her eyes are just like yours though. I'm glad." Bheem said as he brushed his thumb against her cheek. Ram’s cheeks flamed.

He tightened his grip on Bheem's hair, and when he looked at his mate, his figure blurred from the tears that had gathered at the corner of his eyes.

Bheem smiled kindly at him. Looking at their child, he cooed. "Looks like I tired her out."

Hathrini was fast asleep, sucking her thumb as she lay sprawled between them. Ram made to get up, but Bheem pressed his hand to his thigh. "I'll do it."

Bheem rolled out of bed, standing to receive the baby from Ram, and turned to place her inside the saree-cradle they had tied next to their bed. He gripped the saree about halfway down, gently shaking it so it started to rock on it's own. Once he were sure Hathrini was not going to wake up, he let go of the saree. He then went to the oil lamp, extinguishing the flame before finding his way back to their bed in the dark.

Ram waited where he was, eyes closed as the world around him fell dark. “Did you have dinner?”

Bheem hummed. “Yes, before we crossed the river. Gayathri Akka had packed some food for us.”

Ram nodded, covering his mouth as he yawned. He went to shift down the bed, only to instead find himself yanked towards Bheem.

“Bheem!” he hissed, but didn’t resist as his mate pulled him onto his lap.

Bheem made a noise of acknowledgement as he smushed his face into the curve of Ram's neck, inhaling deeply as arms wrapped around his waist in an iron grip. "Do you have any idea how good you smell right now?"

Ram sighed, wrapping his own arms around Bheem's shoulders as he buried his nose in Bheem's curls. "I smell like sweat and baby."

Bheem nipped at his jaw, making Ram jump. "You smell like campfire and sweet milk. Like dinner, and Hathrini, and us..."

"Bheema..." Ram whispered as Bheem held him closer.

"I want to roll in your scent, Bangaram. Let’s never be apart for so long again."

Ram squeezed his arms. Bheem’s trip had lasted two days. Missions would come that would keep them apart for longer. They both knew it was an impossible request, but Ram nevertheless wished he could grant it to his mate.

In the dark, Bheem tilted his head upwards, and Ram obliged by running his nose down Bheem's forehead to kiss Bheem's lips, pausing only to nip at the tip of Bheem's nose.

It was a soft exchange of kisses, the heat and desire banked in the background as they just relished in the presence of their mate in their arms after their brief separation. At some point they tipped over, Bheem ending in the space between Ram's legs as he peppered his face with kisses. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. The moon still stood high in the sky.

Desire started to make itself known when Bheem rolled their hips together, Ram bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut as he swallowed a whine. "Bheema..."

Just then, a quiet mewl broke through the lover’s haze. Ram turned towards the cradle.

Bheem's sigh was more felt than heard as he lifted his face to look at Ram. With their eyes adjusted to the dark, Ram reached up to tuck a stray curl back into place. "I'm sorry..."

Bheem leaned down to nip at Ram's lips. "Nothing to be sorry about, Rama.”

Ram rolled out from under Bheem to pull their daughter out of the cradle, trying to quiet her cries. “Hungry so soon, bangaram?”

Hathrini’s cries were hiccuping as she rubbed her face against Ram’s chest. “Yes, yes, hold on.”

Bheem had left the bed to grab the oil lamp. Ram shot him a smile in thanks as he settled back against the wall, shrugging off the shirt before bringing her up his suckle. He frowned as she didn’t latch, even switching sides.

“She’s not hungry?” Bheem asked.

Ram shook his head. Hathrini started to cry again, and Bheem ruffled her hair. That got her to stop enough to look up at them with teary eyes. Bheem blinked before his face split into a wide grin.

“Is that it, amma? You want to sleep with us?”

“What?” Ram asked, confused. Bheem took Hathrini from Ram, instead laying her in the middle of the bed.

“Come on, Rama, she just wants to sleep with her parents.” Bheem said as he laid down, left arm tucked under his head as he patted her tummy with his right.

Sleep with… Ram’s brows straightened. It had been two days since Bheem had spent the night with them. She had missed their combined scents.

Feeling his heart simultaneously beating rapidly and melting in his chest, Ram laid down in a mirror image of Bheem.

Hathrini’s sobs quietened as she noticed both her parents bracketing her. Ram smiled at her. “Was that all, my vajrala moota?” Ram asked her.

Hathrini babbled sleepily at him as her eyes fell shut. Bheem giggled on her other side, winking again at Ram.

“Looks like its bedtime for us all.” Ram shook his head in amusement as he settled more comfortably, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s hair. And after a second, he pressed one to Bheem’s as well.

"Good night Bheema."

"Good night my love."

///

@rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @fangirl-from-discord @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @jrntrtitties @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @stanleykubricks @m3gs1mps4a @tulodiscord @teddybat24 @sally-for-sally @ssabriel @jadebomani @stuckyandlarrystuff @veteran-fanperson @ohfuckoffpls @bheemaxrama @chaidrivenwhore @gifseafins @keyhunter04 @umbrulla

#rrr #rrr fanfic #rambheem #rambheem fanfic #ram x bheem #my fic #my writing

56 notes · View notes

anyisoleil · 5 months

Text

Love beyond disguise by anyelita (ao3)

in the cloak of night, Ladybug made her preparations. Clad in crimson attire and concealed by the inky darkness, she wasn't known as Marinette anymore but the defendor of the downtrodden's rights.

With agile moves, Ladybug avoided guards and went on with the first part of her mission: infiltrating the mansion in front of her. It was in the heart of the kingdom, and as it happened with the rest of the royals and most of the elite members of their society, the grand mansion of Baron André Bourgeois and his family stood as a testament to opulence and extravagance while behind its walls, silent injustices festered. The commoners suffered while those inside their manors truly reveled in their riches in a stark and cruel dichotomy. Ladybug reached a hand to her waist band for her grappling hook, which proved invaluable as she ascended to the only opening that she found. It was a balcony, who's owner had left open. As she entered the space connected to the balcony, she noticed it was Lady Chloe's room.

Lady Chloe was the Baron's daughter, and she was currently sleeping fitfully, her inner discontent being evident in her restless slumber.. The blonde's once-proud features were now contorted by her inner turmoil. Ladybug couldn't help but think that it maybe was the Bourgeois' wrong doings weighing heavily on Chloe's conscience.

Not having time to waste, Ladybug tiptoed across the ornate chamber, her graceful silhouette moving like a shadow against the moonlit tapestries. She wasn't surprised with the way the space reflected Chloe's pretentious nature, filled with lavish trinkets and elaborate fabrics.

Once out of the room, Ladybug walked down the long corridor and descended the stairs rapidly but silently. Glancing around, it wasn't difficult for her to know where to go next, since the flickering light of candles showed her where was the person she's looking for.

In his study adorned with gilded tapestries, trappings of wealth and influence, Baron André counted the vast sum of gold that had been ill-gotten through dubious means. His face, etched with greed, was partially hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit room.

Ladybug's features scrunched with disgust under her crimson mask as she saw the scene. Not standing it any longer, with a silent and determined resolve, she unshielded her sword and approached the man going completely unnoticed until she snatched the sack of gleaming coins from his grip.

The Baron, in a state of shock, turned to see the enigmatic figure that had invaded his study and his home. He swallowed hard, feeling the edge of her sword now pressed dangerously against his neck.

"Your wealth comes at the cost of your people's suffering, Baron André," Ladybug declared, her voice filled with unwavering determination.

Baron André stammered, his words faltering in the presence of this mysterious intruder. "Who... who are you?"

Without hesitation and charged with determination, she replied, "I am Ladybug, I am the voice of the people who have long suffered under the unjust rule of the nobility, and I stand for a better, fairer future for all... a future where justice reigns" she whispered the last, menacingly into his face as her eyes looked with his, cold as cutting ice.

Baron André whimpered, sinking into his expensive chair adorned with precious gems. If he was going to say something, he was stopped by another voice.

"W-what's happening here?" Chloe said, uttered in a startled tone and standing at the entrance of her father's study , Her voice echoed the confusion and horror that swirled in her mind. Her restless sleep had stirred her awake and an uneasy feeling carried her there.

Not worried in the least with the new presence, Ladybug didn't even flinched and she turn her attention to the blonde, her sword still in place "Your father's wealth is built on the tears of the less fortunate. It's time for justice to be served," She responded, her gaze unwavering.

Baron André panicked more, his voice trembling. "You cannot—"

Before he could utter another word, Ladybug gracefully leaped out of the window, landing on the lower rooftops with the sack of coins in her possession, and she ran to the direction she knew Tikki would be and they disappeared into the moonlit night.

As Chloe screams calling the guards, echoed in the mansion, the opulent study bore witness to the tension and realization that the royals unjust reign of wealth had come under threat, and Ladybug had emerged as the symbol of hope for the oppressed, determined to right the wrongs that had plagued the kingdom.

It had been a year since that pivotal event that had marked the beginning of her unwavering cause to defend the rights of the downtrodden. The memories of that moment still held a profound place in Ladybug's heart, a constant reminder of the injustices in their kingdom and the commitment she had made to the people who yearned for a brighter, more equitable future.

Now, in the bustling heart of the kingdom, Ladybug crouched on the edge of a tiled roof, her crimson attire blending with the fading light of dusk. Below her, a crowded street stretched, its narrow cobblestone thoroughfare flanked by timber-framed houses and a throng of townsfolk going about their business.

With a flash of determination, Ladybug leaped from her perch, her lithe form gliding through the air. Her trajectory took her high above the street, soaring gracefully between the ancient buildings. As she approached Viscount Cash's imposing carriage at the far end of the street, she seized a taut rope, deftly swinging herself toward her target with the agility of an acrobat.

Having finished collecting the tax payments, the Viscount, arrogant and oblivious to the impending danger, was about to step into his carriage, his ornate attire and ostentatious demeanor drawing the ire of the commoners. His entourage, a group of soldiers, stood at the ready, their swords gleaming menacingly in the fading light.

Ladybug landed with a resounding thud on the roof of the carriage, her masked visage framed by the setting sun. She wasted no time and with the clinking of metal, unsheathed her sword. In a dazzling display of skill and speed, she engaged in a swift and daring fight with the Viscount's guards.

The soldiers expressions of surprise turned into determination as they confronted the masked heroine.

Blows were exchanged, acrobatics unfolded, and the clashing of steel filled the air. Ladybug's fearless resolve was matched only by the loyalty of the viscount's soldiers, who sought to protect their oppressive master. The street became a battleground, the commoners and merchants frozen in astonishment at the unfolding spectacle.

With each deft maneuver and calculated strike, Ladybug fought valiantly against the odds, disarming the soldiers one by one and awakening the fury of the people that were tired of the unfair ruling they had withstood for too long.

Inspired by Ladybug's courage and determination, the people began to join the fray. They picked up objects from the street—stones, sticks, even a few discarded vegetables—and hurled them at the remaining soldiers, creating chaos and confusion.

In the midst of the intense skirmish, the commoners clearly couldn't stand by any longer. Everyone grabbed anything they had at hand, ready to aid Ladybug in her fight. One courageous soul wielded a broom, using it as an improvised staff to trip the soldiers and knock their weapons from their hands.

A vendor seized a wooden cart handle, swinging it with surprising dexterity to parry the soldiers' strikes and create an opening for Ladybug. A third, quick-thinking individual hurled spoiled vegetables from a nearby vendor's stall, using the surprise tactic to momentarily disrupt the soldiers formation.

The people's actions were filled with a burning desire for justice. They showed their resolve to stand up, using whatever means they had at hand. With their support and Ladybug's skill, the soldiers, disoriented and outnumbered, found themselves at a disadvantage.

Rapidly, Ladybug found herself surrounded by the last two of Viscount Cash's soldiers that were still standing, their swords drawn and their faces etched with grim determination.

With a whirlwind of movement, Ladybug launched into the fight. Her sword became a blur of swift strikes, each blow aimed with precision. She deftly parried one soldier's attack, then spun to block the other's incoming strike, her agility reminiscent of a masterful dancer.

The two soldiers fought in tandem, trying to overpower her with their combined strength. Their coordinated attacks forced Ladybug to stay on the move, gracefully shifting and weaving between their strikes. Her crimson attire flowed with her movements, reflecting her unwavering resolve.

As the battle raged on, Ladybug's superior skill became apparent. With a brilliant display of swordsmanship, she deflected one soldier's blow and countered with a precise strike, leaving him crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The second soldier, now realizing the futility of the fight, attempted a desperate lunge. Ladybug, however, was ready. With a swift and precise movement, she disarmed him and sent his sword clattering to the cobblestones as she left him unconscious with one last blow, a testament to her unmatched skill.

As Ladybug stood victorious, the street erupted with a chorus of triumphant cheers. The people, couldn't contain their elation any longer.

Their voices rose in unison, a cacophony of jubilation, gratitude, and hope. People clapped, cheered, and jumped, the sound of their feet hitting the cobblestones being downed by the celebration, their faces lit with joy. Some even lifted their children onto their shoulders to give them a better view of the masked heroine.

Amidst the jubilation, Ladybug acknowledged the people's support with a nod, her mask concealing her identity but not her unwavering commitment to justice. The cheers of the commoners echoed through the street, a resounding declaration that they would no longer bow to the royals abuse.

But there was still a matter to attend, thought Ladybug, facing now the man who the soldiers were guarding.

Viscount Cash, his haughty demeanor finally shattered, stood at the door of his ornate carriage in one last desperate attempt to stop Ladybug and the people. He had watched in shock as Ladybug, the masked heroine of the oppressed, had defeated his soldiers and taken control of the situation. Although he had more soldiers with him this occasion, considering it wasn't the first time this had happened, it was as if no amount of soldiers of their kingdom could stop her. Not, also, when the support she received from the people was growing with tremendous pace.

With sweat glistening on his brow and his fine clothes disheveled, the Viscount's voice quivered as he spoke, "You can't do this! You don't understand the consequences. The kingdom needs this gold for its prosperity!"

The people immediately yelled at him in discontent and were about to attack him but Ladybug, lifting her free hand up, signaled for them to stop. However, it didn't restraint some of them from throwing spoiled fruits and vegetables at the Viscount, someone even managing to splash him right on the face. To this, the whole street erupted in laughter and mocking remarks.

With a smirk on her red tinted lips, Ladybug's unwavering gaze met the Viscount's. She replied loudly and with conviction, "Prosperity at the expense of the people is no prosperity at all! The gold rightfully belongs to those who have suffered under your unjust taxation!"

The crowd roared euphoric in support to her words and Ladybug lifted her sword once more, the gleaming blade catching the fading light of day. Her resolve was undeniable and with the sharp edge of her weapon now pressing against the Viscount's throat, she ordered with unwavering voice,, "Move away from the gold, Viscount, or face the consequences."

Viscount Cash, his trembling figure more apparent than ever, hastily complied with her command. He stepped away from the door of his carriage, his eyes reflecting a mixture of fear, defeat, and frustration all while he was sure that the people's immediate shout of joy, echoed in the entire kingdom.

With resoluteness, Ladybug grabbed the ill-gotten sack of gold from the carriage. And now with the coins in her possession, the Viscount's power over the situation crumbled.

With a flourish, Ladybug unfurled the sack, and like a beneficent storm, she threw the coins into the air, returning tp the commoners their stolen wealth.

The people, weighed down by the burden of unfair taxation and the whims of the rich and powerful, became a sea of outstretched hands. Their eyes glistened with hope as they scrambled to collect the money that rained down upon them. The sheer contrast between their need and the ostentatious wealth of Viscount Cash and those like him, was stark and palpable.

The scene unfolded with an intensity that could be felt in the very stones of the street. Children laughed and cheered, elderly citizens wept with gratitude, and those who had long endured the unfairness of the aristocracy saw justice in the chaos, shining brighter than ever.

As the last coin descended, Ladybug looked one last time at Viscount Cash, who stood stunned and powerless, his authority unraveled before his eyes. Turning away from him, her voice was a clarion call, quieting the joyful cheers of the onlookers.

"This is but a fraction of what has been taken from you unjustly!" she declared, her words resonating with the collective desire for change. "Remember, together we can reclaim what is rightfully yours!"

And in the midst of that street, a roar of rebellion grew louder and stronger than what it already was, inspired by Ladybug's act of defiance. The balance of power was shifting, and the streets of the kingdom would never be the same again.

Right at that moment, on the highest part of the kingdom, where the castle was erected majestically, exuding an air of regal authority, a different contest brewed within.

Prince Adrien's fury flared, and he felt a profound sense of betrayal by his own father. He clenched his fists, his eyes blazing with frustration. "You can't be serious, father! I'm in a relationship with Kagami, and I love her!"

King Gabriel, his demeanor firm, spoke with a tone of authority. "Adrien, your personal feelings cannot outweigh your duty as a prince. Marrying Kagami, the daughter of a samurai, will not bring real benefits to the kingdom, it won't appease our people. It is the commoner I have chosen who can help bridge the gap between us and the people" he added, his expression twisting into an ugly one as he considered "If there is someone to blame is that.. Ladybug" he almost spat "She has sown the seeds of discontent in our kingdom"

Adrien's anger flared, but he remained silent. Ladybug's actions had opened his eyes to the stark realities of their kingdom, revealing the struggles of the commoners and the injustices they faced. She had given them a voice, but he still lacked the courage to confront his father, to bridge the ever-widening gap between his newfound awareness and the constraints of his royal duty. In silence, his thoughts weighed drowned by the heavy burden of conflicting loyalties and the uncertain path ahead.

"But this girl you shall marry, her family is well appreciated by the people. With your union, Ladybug's attempts will be finally quenched. And i heard your future wife is beautiful, so you should be grateful" Gabriel added matter-of-factly.

Adrien's frustration mounted, and he felt as though he were being scolded like a petulant child. His jaw clenched, and his voice wavered with indignation as he responded, "Father, you're treating me like a spoiled... like a wayward child! I can't believe you'd make such a decision without considering my feelings or the woman I love. The people matter to me, and it hurts me to think that you believe they do not. There must be another way, a solution that doesn't involve me giving up my own happiness. Maybe if you would just change..."

King Gabriel, however, remained resolute, his expression unyielding. "This is me changing" he said with severity "This marriage is the clear reflection of my desire for there to be reconciliation with our people, but you most understand also, you are not just anyone, Adrien. You are the prince, and your duty is to your people, their benefit, and the harmony of our kingdom. The decision has been made," he stated firmly, leaving no room for further discussion.

Frustration and disappointment etched deeply into Adrien's features as he turned and stormed off from the opulent chamber, heading towards his own quarters. His footsteps echoed in the grand hallways, each step a painful reminder of the ever-widening chasm between his desires and his duty, and a future that now seemed irrevocably altered

Read more at https://archiveofourown.org/works/51278098/chapters/129561820

Ao3 link

#ao3 fanfic #miraculous lb #marinette dupain cheng #mlb marinette #ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug #ao3fic #fanfic #ao3 adrienette #Ladybug tales #Miraculous ladybug tales #miraculous #miraculous au #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #adrien agreste #miraculous world #miraculous fanart #archive of our own

10 notes · View notes

brabblesblog · 4 months

Text

Ch 1: Whither is thy beloved gone?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

A small scene at breakfast that sets up the situation in the Palace for the past six months.

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

Ban opened her eyes to yet another dawn; a shaft of sunlight peeked through the gap between vermilion curtains, shining on her face. Her hand moved, reaching for the empty space beside her before she stopped herself. There was no need to check - there never was, not for months now.

She made her way out of the gigantic four-poster bed she and her lord sleep in. Her silken robe awaited her, draped over the luxurious couch, and she slipped it on wordlessly. The servants all murmured soft greetings as she passed them on her way to breakfast, but Ban paid them no mind. The days and nights all blended for her, days of meetings and nights of wheedling their way into the high society of Baldur’s Gate. And sex, of course, but even that had become stale to her now. Not that her partner wasn’t a consummate lover - far from it - but the souring of the love she has for him tainted even the most pleasurable of moments.

The doors to the dining room were held open for her, and as she walked in, he looked up. He shot her a wry grin and crossed the room, taking her hand and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Every morning he did this; it would have made her swoon six months ago.

When he was different. When he was the man she’d loved.

“I had to rise early, love,” he began, as if he didn’t do so every damn morning. “Preparations for renovating the… basement area are finally underway, and I did not want them missing any single detail of what I have planned for it.”

The basement area. The dungeons. He couldn't even bring himself to say the word; he refused any reminder of his past self. If he had his way, people would think he sprang into existence some six months ago. She allowed him to lead her to the ridiculously large table. As always, he was seated at the head and she to his right.

He offered her a tart, which she waved off; it wasn’t as if she could actually enjoy it. Mortal food had been tasteless since she’d turned. Instead she reached for the bottle of blood on the table, warmed just before it was served.

“I’m surprised you even bothered with touching the dungeons,” she said, smiling placidly as her use of the word was rewarded with a glare.

“The basement,” he hissed, “is the most neglected part of the house. It is- never mind.” As expected, Astarion refused any mention of what the basement used to be. “Besides. The artisan guilds are clamoring for space to rent, and as you suggested, I entertained their request.”

It was Ban’s turn to roll her eyes. Astarion was right - she had asked him to focus his attention on not just the patriars, but also the artisan guilds, a calculated decision designed to win more people to their side, to sink their claws deeper into the heart of the city. It made sense to not only win over the very cream of the crop, but also the people slightly below it. At worst, it would be a waste of time and of negligible resources. At best, it would help curtail the surprising resistance the Ascendant had been encountering in his efforts to win over the nobility.

The Szarrs had been a well-known family with noble roots, and so Cazador had the name to match his wealth and status. Astarion Ancunín, however, had no such privilege. Thus, when he’d emerged as the successor to Cazador’s estate, there had been more than a few raised eyebrows. Added to that, Astarion hadn’t had to plan anything in two centuries, so the task of ingratiating them with the city’s gentry had mostly fallen to Ban. Well, the planning and scheming, anyway. The Ascendant acted as the face, charming and manipulating his way through the meetings and parties, while his consort laid out their strategy, playing the perfect lady-wife and hostess.

Plans for a future she'd never desired, but sought for his sake anyway, ambitions and schemes that were all too similar to what her father had groomed her for. It had all come back to her with a distressing effortlessness, the machinations as natural as breathing. She hadn’t seen fit to let Astarion know this, not now. Before the rite, there had been the potential of so much time together that she hadn’t felt any urgency to share the circumstances of her early life with him. After the rite, things had just been... different.

“If it’s for the artisan guilds, then do it,” Ban said, pouring the warmed blood into her glass, taking a sip. “Gods know you need all the support you can get from them, especially considering how tenuous your position has remained with the patriars.”

Astarion scoffed, but didn’t reply to her taunt. Instead he took a long, slow bite of his tart and made an exaggerated gesture of delight, reminding her exactly what she’d been missing out on.

“Well, my treasure, it worked. There will be a ball held a tenday from now, with all the guilds attending.” Pride at managing to pull that off without her aid or knowledge tinged his voice.

Ban narrowed her eyes. All the guilds? Generally she would consider that a significant success, but the fact that she may have to face her family there gave her pause. She took a long pull from her goblet at the thought.

“All the guilds…” she repeated, for a moment not bothering to mask her feelings, her horror bleeding through.

“You’re now reduced to parroting what I say? Pet, I didn’t take you to be so dull,” Astarion sneered, taking the opportunity to strike. He wasn’t stupid; he’d always been aware that things had changed between him and his consort.

It had been a whirlwind of events since he’d ascended. At first, there’d been an overwhelming sense of power, of endless possibilities. He had everything - power, freedom, riches. He had her by his side. The following days had been battle after battle as they’d slowly approached the Netherbrain. There hadn’t been time to reexamine their relationship, other than to realize it was failing. Hells, there had barely been time for him to explore his new abilities.

Then, just as quickly, the brain had been defeated and they were finally alone together. Just the two of them and Cazador’s palace. My palace, he reminded himself. Not his.

They were finally, truly together, the Absolute vanquished at last - it should have been a wondrous time. They should have been happy in each other’s arms, at the start of their shared eternity. But she’d become cold after the rite, a chill that had yet to thaw. She flinched from his touches, from his lips. Her smiles never met her eyes, and all she did was help him lay out plans for his dominion. At night, she yielded to his every desire. Every night he made love to her, as he had been doing since the first night after his ascension. She only played her role, saying the right words, moaning the right way, but he sensed the absence there. None of it ever reached her.

At first, he’d attempted to take whatever emotions she’d shown at face value. She’d seemed to like planning their conquest of Baldur’s Gate, seemed to have taken to heart the words he’d so casually thrown out during their journey, so he’d acted just as enthusiastic about it. She’d seemed to react positively whenever he’d asked for suggestions regarding their schemes; he not being well suited to formulating detailed plans and her proving knowledgeable, he tended to follow her advice. Initially these things had seemed to at least elicit a response in her that wasn't hollowness. As time passed, however, even they had seemed to lose their luster, the emptiness in her eyes becoming more and more prominent.

He had never seen her in silks or in anything expensive throughout their time fighting the Absolute. The moment he’d gotten access to Cazador’s wealth, he’d bought her everything he’d wanted to give her before: gowns, shoes, jewelry. All she had to do was glance at an item once, and it was hers. But the emptiness only grew.

He’d attempted to convince himself he couldn’t understand how they had ended up this way, but truthfully it was that he couldn't admit to himself what he knew the root cause to be. That initial confusion had slowly turned into resentment. Deep down, he knew where he’d gone wrong, of course, but really, was leaving the palace such a big deal?

That had been their first major argument. Astarion had come back from a meeting one day to find Ban gone, the servants explaining she’d left the palace to walk around the city. He had refrained from going after her, but he had been worried. What if someone took the Ascendant’s consort as a hostage? What if she roamed too far, and somehow the extension of his powers failed? Then what? The image of her burning in the sun had filled him with an impotent, all-consuming fury. He had told her not to wander!

When she had finally gotten home, her hands full of pastries she had bought for him, he had flown into a fit of rage.

“How dare you sneak off like that, Ban! Without asking! Without me knowing!”

Ban had flinched. She’d held up the pastries. “I bought them to surprise-”

He’d almost shoved them out of her hands, but had stopped himself. Barely. “Have I not told you, pet, not to stray too far? What if you were hurt? What if you burned in the sun?” His eyes had glinted then, the fires of worry mixing with anger.

“You are mine, and I do not like not knowing where my things are.”

She had tried to argue about having the freedom to go where she pleased, but he’d shut her down the moment she’d begun.

“Do I not buy you everything you wish for? Anything you ask? You merely have to give voice to what you desire, and I shall have it procured for you. But you do not leave. Not without my express permission.”

It had only gone downhill from there.

Astarion snapped back from his reverie when he noticed Ban had ignored his verbal barb. He watched her, realizing this was the first genuine shred of emotion he’d seen from her in weeks. Something was bothering her about having the artisan guilds over for a party, and it piqued his interest. His concern too, of course. But he would never admit that. Even to himself.

He sat up straighter, aiming his words carefully. Precisely.

“My little love,” he cooed, “What… exactly is the issue with our soon-to-be guests? I had assumed you would love to have them over, considering it was your idea to reach out to them and form alliances in the first place.”

Ban froze. Her eyes widened as Astarion asked her this question. While he had yet to compel her to do anything, there was no evidence that he couldn't. Perhaps he already had, and she was unaware. Compulsion was the thing she was most terrified of, because the moment he started - the moment he considered it necessary to keep her - would be the moment she’d lose what little of herself she had left.

So she decided to be honest.

“I never told you where I came from, did I?” she said.

He shook his head. “I doubt you had humbler origins than I did, but no. You have not.”

Ban laughed bitterly and braced herself, pouring out another glass of blood.

“I came from one of the guild’s artisan families.”

His eyebrows rose, surprised and rather pleased, despite himself. They hadn’t had an actual conversation that wasn’t about Baldur’s Gate, its people, or their schemes in weeks. He reined in the venom he’d been wielding so often these days, letting his curiosity take over for the time being.

“Which one? Ca-” he bit his lip, “My former master knew a lot of these guilds. They helped maintain the palace and procured items for him. I have never heard of your family name, nor seen it.”

She laughed again, a real one this time, and his eyebrows rose even further, intrigued.

“We dealt in ornate mirrors.” That explained it. Of course Cazador would not have bothered with that.

The Ascendant huffed in response. “Ironic. Well. You’ll be glad to know I have yet to speak to any mirror-makers. I hadn’t decided on what type of mirror I want for our bedroom, or how grandiose it should be. Shall I ask your family?”

The last sentence was less a taunt and more a genuine question. She seemed to dread seeing them, but if she wanted them here - for whatever reason at all - he would be more than happy to oblige her.

In truth, all he really wanted was her happiness, to bask in the glow of her smile again. He just seemed to have lost sight of how to inspire it ever since he became this version of himself.

Ban took it the wrong way, of course, and visibly stiffened.

“I do not want to see them. I-” her voice cut off, hesitant, “I left years ago. They probably don't even know if I’m alive.”

The Ascendant felt an odd twinge in his chest, a familiar but long-forgotten sensation. None of it was visible on his face, however. He smirked. “Very well, pet.”

Astarion leaned over, fingers tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Crimson eyes bored into Ban with an intensity that only seemed to unnerve her. “And don’t fret about them. The only family you’ll ever need is me.”

Ban had to look away. She couldn’t stare into those eyes and listen to that voice talk about her family. She had always envisioned this conversation to be one where she’d spill all her secrets to him, and he’d hold her, stroke her hair and tell her everything would be alright. That he understood and loved her anyway. But that time had passed, and so had that man she’d loved. What remained of him was a pale specter.

She had often asked herself if he was even the same man. She’d observed him, and with Gale’s assistance had studied books on the matter. In the end she had come to one painful conclusion: he was Astarion. His worst traits turned up and his greatest strengths diminished, but it was undoubtedly him.

There had been one night when he’d seemed like his old self. One night in the past five months that had given her some small glimmer of hope that he hadn’t completely changed.

She had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of weeping. Astarion had been lying beside her, arms taut, hands clenched into fists, sweat soaking into the sheets. His face a rictus of pain, his cries a mix of unintelligible words and whimpers. She’d instinctively rushed to hold him; he’d woken up at her touch and his eyes had found hers.

They were his eyes.

“You’re okay, you’re here,” she had crooned, the same words she had repeated in the old days. They’d come back like no time had passed; as if he wasn’t what he was now. Like he was just her Astarion.

He had leaned into her touch, head resting on her chest.

“I’m sorry to wake you, darling,” he’d said; his use of her old nickname had almost made her sob. “He… I saw him again. I’d thought this would be over.”

She’d kissed his forehead then, holding him close. His conscious mind may have tried to deny it, but it seemed like his subconscious was still haunted by Cazador. He had clung to her for dear life that night; she had tried to stay awake, to stop time, so that perhaps he would stay that version of himself forever. But in the end, sleep had won, and as she’d drifted off she had heard him say something which she’d attributed to her own imagination.

“Thank you for still being here,” she’d thought he’d whispered against her chest, “I love you.”

They were spoken with such tenderness that she had doubted it was real. In the morning, he’d been gone from her side, already eating breakfast. He’d acted like nothing had happened in the night, and so she’d had her hopes dashed away; fleeting as they were she had still yearned for it to be real, wishing it had lasted longer than those few moments he was in her arms.

Ever since then, she had attempted to catch any glimpse of her Astarion in the Ascendant. There occasionally seemed to be some hint of him, but it was always too quick, too subtle, and after so many months she’d all but given up. Gone were the days when she’d known which of his honeyed words were lies and which were truth; it felt as though she was back in those days in the Grove when she couldn't read him. Even now, as her lord called himself her family, she found herself wincing internally.

On the outside, she offered him a smile.

“Thank you, Astarion. That means a lot.”

The Ascendant smiled, a toothy grin that would have looked at home in a shark’s maw.

“Of course! And we shall be a bigger family, if only you’ll let me-"

“No,” Ban said, and she was firm. This was another argument they’d constantly waged. He wanted to create an army of spawn, claiming that they would keep her company and serve her and their ambitions. He had promised to procure his spawn ethically, from willing subjects, but she had said no, refusing to doom anyone else to the same fate.

His eyes hardened, fingers twitching on her chin, but he let go. She released the breath she had been holding, worried that this would be when he’d hit the end of his rope and force her obedience.

He exhaled. “Fine. You’ll come around, once you’re alone and bored for a decade or so more.”

Astarion pushed away his breakfast. This hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted it to, and to be frank? Every day since that argument about her leaving the house and having her freedom had gone the same way: to barely veiled insults and chilly indifference. He hated it. He hated what they’d become.

At night when he made love to her, he imagined they were back in that clearing where it all began. At dawn, he watched her sleep and pretended they were back in the Shadow-Cursed lands. Fruitless reminiscing, but it was all he had to hold onto. Memories, each holding the ghost of their love, leaving him to wish it back to life.

He brushed those thoughts away. They were the thoughts of a much weaker man, and he was anything but.

But then why did his newly beating heart ache so much whenever they did this venomous song and dance?

319 notes · View notes

jackdoe · 11 months

Text

Beast Boy Headcanon/Vignette

He's going to outlive everyone.

Gar thinks its rather typical of his luck that he watches all his friends grow old and leave him. Dick goes peacefully in his sleep at the respectable age of 81. Vic manages to live for a good 112 years, but prosthetics can only push a lifespan so long, and ultimately he's human under all that metal. Star lives to the venerable age of 155. But Gar can always see it coming, he can tell his friends are slowing down for years hence, forgetting things. It's all part of life, a force he's intimately familiar with.

But Raven? Raven hurts.

They have a good run, not as long as some, but they make it work for 30 years, have a few kids and help shape the future of heroes. But when her time comes, Gar is inconsolable.

It's important to note that she never technically died, in truth she ascended, becoming a being of pure cosmic good. Overcoming her demonic heritage and trans-substantiating into a goddess of healing and light, but it hurts all the same, and Gar is never quite the same again. He sits and waits for his number to come up.

It never does.

He reaches his 100th birthday, than 150, than 211? Maybe. Gar stops keeping track after a while. He can tell he's getting older based on what he sees in the mirror, but it's slow. Whatever age he is, he looks middle aged at best. Just his luck, of course he'd be immortal to some degree, one last way for the universe to punish ol' Gar.

He decides to wander the world. It doesn't look anything like when he was a kid, old Nations that seemed indomitable have long since collapsed. New Nations now fight to be heard and bargain for their place in the world. Metropolis and Gotham decided to bite the bullet and become one city, after flirting for years they realize they're stronger together, and it becomes the new capital of Delmarva, one of those new Nations. It's actually nice now, if you can believe it.

Gar visits New York most often while he wanders, It was where he first met Raven, and it never ceases to amaze. That's where he first comes face to face with a Ravenist, a new (well New when he first meets them) Religious movement, that worships the "Bright Daughter" as they call her.

Gar can see the appeal. A story of redemption, a woman fated to be a destroyer instead turning from the dark to walk her own path and eventually, ascending to godliness? You could definitely make a religion out of that. It's just weird when you knew them personally.

He's maybe 600 now, give or take. Gar stays in contact with the Ravanists for decades, giving them first hand accounts of time before the Great Collapse, of the age of Superheroes. He leaves out his relationship with Raven, it would make things too complicated, and he's not comfortable with them potentially working him into their religious doctrine. He's just happy to know that Raven is remembered as a hero.

Then one day, he dreams of her, which is a regular occurrence for Gar, but this time it's different. This time it's really her, he can feel it. From then on, he can feel her just on the edges of his perception, a presents all around him and within him, pushing him to help and to find joy in the world. Maybe those Ravenists were on to something?

It's the 31st millennium, he's starting to show some real age now. His hair had long ago fallen out, but that's alright, Gar actually thinks he pulls off the bald look rather well. He has wandered the Earth for 1000 years now, giving wisdom and a helping hand where ever he goes. Most people don't really know him. They tell stories, of course, of the Green Man, a shape-shifter and trickster. He's become a bit of a legend of his own. But something pulls him away from the Earth, the home he's known all this time, up and away into the stars. To a planet far away from Sol, a deserted world, parched and lifeless.

Gar doesn't question it, Raven works in mysterious ways, and she's always nudged him in the right direction. He can feel himself slowing down, forgetting things, it feels like this might be his last journey. He's not sure if he'll ever come back to Earth.

One last time, he walks around the globe and says good by to the place where they met.

After 1115 years, Garfield Logan dies. Although it's important to note that he doesn't technically die. Upon the crack soil of a deserted planet, Gar meditates and reaches enlightenment. And one last time, he changes shape, letting go of his consciousness and disseminating his form across an entire world.

There, hanging in a distant corner of space is an entirely green planet. Now full of new life. An oddity to the rest of Known Space, as the planet has no plant life to speak of, no fungus or molds, but an entire ecosystem of animals. All in various shades of green from chartreuse to sage. A fully working environment, each life form living and breathing and growing in sync. a wild world.

One last trick.

The sun rises on an alien beach, the new day buzzing with life and possibility. In the rays of light one might think they see two figures walking along, hand in hand, leaving no foot prints behind in the gray sands. One a vibrant purple and the other and dark green. As the sun rises the figures disappear from view, perhaps they are a trick of the light?

Light blankets the new world, watched over and tended by two spirits of life, Planet Rae.

#Beast boy #the changeling #Garfield Logan #raven #rachel roth #raven roth #bbrae #teen titans #new teen titans #dc comics

51 notes · View notes

fireliit · 9 months

Text

LOGAN, THIRTY-ONE, CST; SHE/THEY. | if you’re hearing COMING HOME by BRIDGES playing, you have to know KAREEM SALAAM (HE/HIM; CIS MAN) is near by! the THIRTY-SEVEN year old MUSEUM CURATOR has been in denver for, like, SIX MONTHS. they’re known to be quite FICKLE, but being FREE-THINKING seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble YAHYA ABDUL-MATEEN II. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those PERFECTIONISM THAT IS ALWAYS BEING FINE-TUNED AND REWORKED LIKE A MOLD OF CLAY, A GLASS OF CURATED WINE WHILE READING CLIVE BELL FOR THE THOUSANDTH TIME, FRENCH PRESS COFFEE WITH A SPLASH OF CONDENSED MILK vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the CHERRY CREEK long enough!

Full profile under the cut! APPLICABLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: brief mentions of death by helicopter accident and natural causes

STATS Full Name: Kareem Arash Salaam Nickname(s): None Occupation: Museum curator at Denver Art Museum Age: Thirty-seven Date of Birth: July 22nd, 1986 Ethnicity/Race: Black, West Indian, African-Caribbean Gender & Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Orientation: Bisexual Height: 193 cm / 6’3” Tattoo(s): None Piercing(s): None Birthplace: New Orleans, Louisiana, USA Current Residence: Denver, Colorado Languages: English (fluent), French (fluent) Social Class: Upper middle class Notable Family Members: Jahmal Salaam (father, deceased), Abigail Salaam (mother), Hamaad Salaam (paternal grandfather, deceased) Traits: Honorable, creative, free-thinking, philosophical, inventive, fickle, snooty and petty MBTI: ISTP - The Virtuoso Eanneatype: Type 3 - The Achiever Moral Alignment: True Neutral Temperament: Phlegmatic Intelligence Type: Spatial, existential Astrology: Cancer sun, Aquarius moon, Capricorn ascending Habits: Glancing at watch, tapping his foot, rubbing chin, tunes boring people out, over-organized, snores when sleeping, turns almost everything into a project, raising eyebrows, often stands with hands behind his back Hobbies: Metalcrafting, wood-working, resin molding, anything art-related, visiting wineries, art journaling, visiting restaurants and giving scorching reviews on social media, reading Likes: Charcuterie boards, cured meats, philosophical debate, questioning existence and other people's poor choices, candles, pastries Dislikes: The fog, cake that's too sweet, flying on airplanes, people trying to give him nicknames, being cold, clutter BIOGRAPHY His father was a hero. That’s what others would tell Kareem when they recounted how his father died in a helicopter accident as an EMSA pilot during a vicious hurricane.

But Kareem wasn't ever interested in chasing after his father's legacy, in flying that close to the sun, keeping his feet planted firmly on the ground from a young age.

As the result of his father passing and his mother being away from home a lot working, he was raised primarily by a no-nonsense paternal grandfather starting from the age of seven. His grandfather instilled in him high values and expectations and, as a result, Kareem always has held himself to high standards and views the world with a critical gaze.

Through his observations from his youth, Kareem adopted his own code of conduct. He doesn’t just hold himself to this code, but also the people around him, and as a result, he has alienated more people than not. This suits Kareem just fine as he preferred to have a smaller, curated circle of friends.

Incredibly cutthroat and unafraid to sever ties, Kareem spent most of his time exploring the world through nature, philosophy, and art. Often found with a book in hand, in a lot of ways, George Dickie, Walter Kaufmann, and Ted Cohen were his most steady companions growing up.

While he finds plenty of faults in people and the world around him, Kareem also has a fascination with the beauty of the imperfections that exist in every corner, leading him to follow a passion for the arts. Graduating from high school in his hometown of New Orleans, Kareem went on to get his bachelor’s in Museum Studies from New York Univeristy.

It is during this time that he meets Kassandra Yung, his first love. After a period of pining, the two of them began to date, only calling it quits upon graduation. Kassandra was going back to her home, and Kareem needed to move onto graduate school, and the two of them split after deciding not to try and make the relationship work long distance. For awhile, they still exchanged letters until contact dwindled.

Career-focused, Kareem went to John Hopkins University for his graduate studies, and after he had completed the program, he served his internship at the Dallas Museum of Art.

Kareem spent the better part of the next decade hopping around the southern United States and leaving his footprint in various museums with his hand-picked exhibits. During this time, it wasn’t only art pieces that he left behind, but also broken hearts. Never settling down for long.

Kareem dabbles in creating art pieces of his own every now and then, preferring woodworking and metal crafting to any other art styles, but he mostly loves to pick art pieces to hang not just in his home, but in local museums as a museum curator.

After the passing of his grandfather last year, Kareem decided to spread his wings and relocate to Denver, Colorado to help nurture the vibrantly growing art scene there.

Throughout all of his moves, Kareem never once has taken flight, traveling cross-country by car with a moving van following behind him. Accommodating to the cooler weather has been difficult for him and he dreads the upcoming summer, but it is a price he is willing to pay for the rich culture that he has found in Denver, specifically in the River North Art District where he works.

#chq;intro #► — no artist tolerates reality / kareem salaam

11 notes · View notes

pinkiepiebones · 1 year

Note

Zombie can I get a hc about some band ghoul interactions with each other? Who's closest with who, who would bite who if they had teeth, etc

You send this prompt on 3 December 2022 and I'm only just now writing AND it's not even a proper prompt fill I am sorry!!!! -

The one the fans like to call Dew is regarded by those in the upper echelons of the clergy as the most monstrous of the ghouls. Of course, ghouls are not summoned to be monstrous- they're free labour that just happen to have the countenance of mouthless, black-eyed gargoyles. But this one in the band, the one with the gnarled horns covered in sharp scales, the one that continues to shape-shift for itself a perpetually grinning mouth of needle-thin sharp teeth... That one's a creep.

Special was lounging on the ceiling of the library, his back against the fading fresco donated by Hieronymus Bosch during the reign of Papa Recalcitrant the Eighth (how did they allow that name to go on for eight Papas, Special had wondered). Somewhere in the forest of blackened bookcases, each shelf sagging with the literal and metaphorical weight of the knowledge painstakingly inked and hastily scribbled and even embroidered into the pages of the books the cradled, somewhere in the dense sea of arcane and profane knowledge, Special's human, Papa Emeritus the Fourth, wondered, looking for a specific book.

"Lemme order it off Amazon," Special had offered, holding his beloved phone up in his talons.

"Amazon does not carry the twelf-century litanies I'm looking for, Spesh," the Papa had countered as he geared up for the perilous library journey.

Many hours had past and the nameless ghoul known to all as Special was bored out of his skull. He had stayed on the ceiling to keep an eye out for the Papa's signal fire- they both agreed that if the Papa- Copia, we'll refer to him as his given name from now on- that if Copia had become too lost or too entranced or bewitched or otherwise indisposed by the library, he would light the nearest bookcase on fire to say to Special "fly down and save me, love." And yes, this would be far faster than Copia attempting to send a coherent text message.

So Special stretched- a learned habit, as he had no muscles to grow sore- and sat up to glance down at the literary labyrinth.

He looked up- er, down- and saw the nameless ghoul called Dew looking up at him.

/WHAT ARE YOU DOING/ Dew said- well, not quite 'said,' as ghouls don't possess the equipment to speak; they project their thoughts telepathically to the intended recipient, although it has been known to cause severe unpleasant reactions in humans. But 'said' is less for me to type.

Special shrugged. "I'm waiting for Copia and scrolling through tumblr," he replied- well, not quite 'replied,' as Special is a ghoul and thus also communicates telepathically; however, his telepathy happens to hit the human brain in the exact same way auditory stimuli does, thus earning him the nickname of Special. But, again, 'replied' is easier for me to type.

The ghoul called Dew spread it's ghastly wings, shaped to resemble tattered, decaying old appendages (all ghouls come with wing-like growths; some ghouls decide to alter the texture and appearance of them to resemble the wings of a bat or a bird or even the fins of a fish. Not Dew, though) and silently ascended to join it's sibling on the ceiling.

"What about you," Special asked, almost setting his phone beside him before remembering the problem of gravity and instead using his tail to firmly grasp it, "what brings you up here?"

/CAN'T SLEEP/

"We're ghouls, man, we don't sleep."

/YES. I LIED./ Dew willed it's wings away from sight and sat like Special, crossing it's legs and leaning back on the palms of it's grey talons. /I HAVE NO REASON TO BE HERE/

"And yet, here you are."

/HERE I AM./

The two fire ghouls sat in a silence that was only broken by the occasional rustle of fabric as Special, glamoured to appear human and wearing actual clothes, fidgeted to find a more comfortable position.

/SPECIAL/ Dew said suddenly. Special sat up straighter and turned his glamoured green eyes to his always-grinning sibling. "Yeah?"

/I AM GLAD YOU ARE HERE AND THAT YOU TEACH US IN THE BAND HOW TO APPEAR HUMAN./ It turned it's head and with no flourish it was wearing the glamour of it's band attire, black eyes replaced with wide lenses, twisted horns replaced with small and tasteful ones. Dew had created the full image of the stage-worn helmet (the helmets are quite real and not glamoured, created by Archbishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis to amplify a ghoul's innate shapeshifting powers).

Dew smiled and said- well, here it's more like 'projected it's telepathy through a series of rudimentary vocal chords in order to mimic the resonance of auditory speech- "I don't think we thank you enough for what you do. I know I don't, anyway."

The other ghoul smiled with perfectly imperfect teeth and ran a hand through his short messy hair. "Aww, well, you're welcome, and, uhhhhhh, and thanks for that." He gave Dew a gentle, sibling-like shoulder punch. "You're a good kid. You're a weirdo who licks too many things, but you're a good kid."

Dew nodded and reverted itself back to it's original ghoul form.

The two sat in silence again, watching smoke rise and curl around their hair and horns.

/THE LIBRARY IS ON FIRE AGAIN/ Dew mused.

Special nodded, then said "oh shit, that's Copia. I gotta run, bud!" He stood and hopped off the ceiling, wings emerging from his back (and effectively ruining another shirt), and swooped down to find his human.

Dew chuckled. /YOU ARE A GOOD KID TOO, SPESH./

#spooky ideas #microfic #ghost bc #special ghoul #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost

18 notes · View notes

ask-the-achs · 9 months

Text

*the machine sputters on yet again*

@splatoonfan88 (here we go.)

MAI VS GAROU

Don't try us. We will make you regret it "Hero"

----------------------------------------------------------

RULES NO VÖLUNDR OR BLESSING FOR MAI AS THAT IS OUTSIDE HELP! ALSO GAROU DOSENT GET COSMIC FEAR MODE AS HE NEEDS HELP TO GET THE POWER!

Mai's bio

Age:unsure, but is with her being around during the roman Empire, which means she might be 2000? But her being older then Bhudda makes her 2500

Hight:5' 8" claims to have some size changing properties.

Bio:the divine daughter of Yahweh, who embodies kindness, compassion, protection, and justice. With the powers of love, life, and unity. She rules the underworld, Valkyrie, and goddesses. The mistress of Unity, she seeks to reunite demons, humans, and angels in harmony. Guided by the wisdom of Athena, Aphrodite, and Persephone, she aims to create a future filled with love, understanding, and unity.she is many people's guardian angel. Now, of course, she became well known after she ascended after doing many heroic deeds like fighting demons and defeating monsters. Now of course she has immense fighting capabilities.

Weapons:any kind of scepter and the Murarasa blade.

Abilities:can copy any ability if she knows how it works. Can automatically get a boost in speed if needed through magic or her own skills(only works if she's in danger and isn't perfect. She can automatically counter most physical attacks. Can automatically reflect most projectiles. Teleportation (range is unknown but is inferior to Sunblood's Deku's or Tsugu's). Summoning (mostly used to get allies to her but no putside help so shell just get her gear). Godly strength (hurt Zues, who is the strongest God of her universe overpowered Cherub who shook his planet with a storm scared Loki and Set with her power. Apparently, she is strong enough to overpower Thor and steal his hammer. The hammer is 20 feet long and is strong enough to shake the earth, and according to Sunblood, it destroys a moon. Thor is also strong enough to break said hammer, meaning he might be stronger than it. She can swing the thing harder then he can and she threw it hard enough to hurt Thor who withstood LuBu's sky eater attack that split apart clouds without a devine weapon.) Godly speed (outspeed Kaito who can block and deflect an attack from every angle at such insane speed the god was leaving after images everywhere. Can dodge Zues's milliseconds and Picosecond punches can react to the Femtosecond) godly durability(can take a hit from Paradox who shook his home planet which is in fact a sleeping eldritch goddess the size of Jupiter one of the few beings who can take more then 3 hits from Shiva and took a blow from Sunblood which pulverized Olympus treated a blow from Sebek who could quote 'split the oceans' as no big deal.) Seems to possess some form of empathy and is resistant to most mental attacks. While not the brightest, she is still a cunning foe and knows the strongest healing spells of her world.

Weaknesses:A little too forgiving will leave a fight if she believes the opponent is too scared to fight back or can't fight back. Anything that is like Zues will cause her to fly into a rage. She becomes very predictable if she's mad. Can't get Völundr or her blessings. (So no eyes of the Lord or divine spear) often will revive her opponent and will keep doing so until she believes she redeemed them. Almost lost 2 fights because she got outsmarted.

Garou info:

Height: 5 foot 10

Weight: 145lbs

Weapons: Bare Hands

Bio:When he was a child, he was unpopular and can be seen reading a book, one day he played heroes with a popular kid named Tacchan and impersonated the role of the monster, when he was kicked in the face by Tacchan he called the teacher but other children defended Tacchan by saying to her that that's how the game worked. He later watched an episode of the Justice Man TV and was extremely irritated by the fact of all the monsters losing to him, he asked to his father when there would be a villain that could defeat Justice Man but he was denied by saying to him that all the monsters in the end will die because they are monsters. Unable to accept the fact he decided to become the strongest monster and never lose, and to change the scenario.

Strengths: Is currently the most powerful Villain that Saitama has ever faced, demigod strength (Can lift several tons with total ease, Defeated Metal Bat although he stated that if he let Metal Bat hit him he’d have lost, Punched holes in Senior Centipede, Defeated Black Sperm with a single punch, Sent Pig God flying with an elbow, Broke Puri Puri Prisoners arm, Gets even stronger in his Awakened forms which allowed him to karate chop a 80ft monster from half starting from the head down. Mind you HE WAS IN SPACE AT THE START AND MADE IT BACK TO EARTH outdid his old master Bang and Bomb Bang is capable of over powering dragon level enemieswho in his world can destroy multiple states he also and can easily destroy meteorite peices with little issue) Demi-Godlike durability (Is one of the very few characters that can take a punch from Saitama and survive, Shrugs off being shot, Survived a fight with Watchdog Man who is one of the strongest heros in universe, Survived a beating from Bang who could mess up several Dragon level momsters scaling to the dark matter thieves these shmucks must have been continent level but if you high ball and compare to Boros they might be moon level), Massively hypersonic speed (Can keep up with Saitama, Dodged Metal Bat’s attacks, Speed blitzed the likes of Puri Puri Prisoner and even Flashy Flash, Deflected hundreds of Death Gatling’s bullets with ease in a dark allyway and even kept up with Platinum Sperm [okay thats three Sperm monsters. Japan WTF? Their fight ment they went 4 times the speed of light]), Extreme healing factor/regeneration(can regrow limbs with little issue.) Is a martial arts master (Was Bang’s top student before turning to villainy), Possesses reactive evolution (Allows him to adapt his body to overcome challenging opponents he can also "Absorb" fighting styles which is just a fancy way of saying he can copy fighting styles.), His Fear Aura can paralyse most opponents in terror, Can judge his opponents moves via observing slight muscle movements, Can fly in his Awakened forms(and even do things like sprout extra limbs and even combined all his techniques into a fighting style is based on fast strong movements and strikes the other is to make him so damn quick and strong that he creates a whirlwind pressure sharp enough to cut people apart) resistant to fire acid and psychic attacks in his monster form. Can fight while asleep.

Weaknesses: His overconfidence can hinder him, Never actually tries to kill his opponents, His reactive evolution and awakened forms can wear off if the fight lasts too long. Can be overwhelmed even if he's copying someone else's moves or speed. Until he started using his strongest attacks he struggled with non humanoid and animalistic enemies.

9 notes · View notes