anaszpan

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : AFTER THE BATTLE OF THE FIVE ARMIES YOU HAVE TO CUT FILI'S HAIR.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] [ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

The flickering candlelight cast a soft glow across the dimly lit chamber, picking out shadows that danced on the stone walls, remnants of a sorrowful aftermath. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken words and lingering regrets, so tangible it felt as if one could reach out and touch the sorrow that permeated the room. Each flicker of the flame illuminated the contours of the ancient stones, their surfaces worn and pockmarked by time, as if bearing witness to the heart-wrenching stories that echoed within these walls.

Fili sat silently on a rough-hewn wooden stool, his head bowed. The once vibrant golden strands of his hair fell in disarray about his shoulders, matted and encrusted with the remnants of chaos and bravery. A patch of dried blood, mingled with flecks of mud and telltale signs of the savage skirmish, clung to his locks like a dark memory that refused to yield. The loss we had suffered hung between us — Kili is gone, a hero's fall, a wound too deep for any balm.

“Fili” You whispered “we need to… we need to do something.”

He looked up, those piercing blue eyes reflecting a mix of fatigue and an unspoken acceptance of fate. “Beneath the tangle of it all,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair in a vain effort to set it right, “lies the strength of my family—my ancestors. This hair, it’s a mark of who we are.”

A lump rose in your throat as you studied him; the fierce spirit of a warrior held captive by sorrow. It's understood that to a dwarf, long hair was more than just a symbol of pride; it carried stories, legacies, and loss—reminders of kinship and battles fought together. To cut his hair felt like an act of betrayal against the very essence of Dwarven culture and against the bond that had brought us together through countless trials.

As you kneel beside Fili, the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies hangs heavy in the air. The sounds of the battlefield fade into a haunting silence, only the distant moans of the wounded and the crackle of the dying embers fill the space between us. His dark, tousled hair is matted, tangled in gruesome knots that tell the story of the ferocity of the fight. Blood, both his and that of his foes, has dried into the strands, mixing with remnants of ogre flesh, creating a gruesome tapestry that clings stubbornly to his scalp.

“The battles we fought have etched our souls and those of our kin into something far greater than hair,” Your heart ached as you plucked a dagger —a tool of war now turned to one of tenderness. You sigh heavily as you begin to work through the strands, separating them from the worst of the debris. Each tug of the knife against the tangled knots is accompanied by a pained grunt from him, but you press on, knowing it’s a necessary discomfort. “We carry them with us in our hearts, but we must also find the courage to begin anew.”

You clip away the worst of the snarls, the clumps of dried blood and flesh falling to the ground in a testament to what he’s endured. There’s a vulnerability in the air, a sense of intimacy in this act of care.

Time passed in quietude, and with each snip, you recalled the laughter shared with Kili, the fierce bravery they displayed as brothers in arms. You could almost hear Kili’s voice, urging forward, reminding you that grief, while powerful, could not overshadow the legacy they were meant to forge.

When the final snip echoed through the silence, you stepped back, surveying the result of careful handiwork. Fili’s hair, though shorn and lessened in length, gleamed with the remnants of honor. It framed his face, a softer version of the warrior you admired, you loved, a reminder that it was not the length of his hair that defined him, but the spirit and courage that dwelled within. Golden-haired prince looks up at you with a grateful glint in his eyes, a hint of life returning to them.

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raw and unsteady.

“You’re still a dwarf, Fili — just a little less tangled....They'll grow back.” You promised him softly.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You play a game with Hen and Buck. You are on a team with Henrietta and you are trying to defeat the determined Evan.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] [ A/N ] :   Don’t hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : No one told you vampirism came with amnesia. Or…. maybe they did. You wouldn’t have remembered anyway.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] The action takes place after Astarion has bitten you.

Astarion : — Even if I had to get to know you and win you over again every day, I will. And every day I learn something new about you. You are a vision.

[ A/N ] :  English is not my native language. Don’t hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You're a beginner streamer. You ask Neil to help you understand how Twitch works. Together you have your first live. You can't stop laughing and teasing each other. People love it.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] Neil helps you navigate through the features, explaining how to engage with your viewers and use overlays. The stream becomes more interactive as you respond to comments, cracking jokes with Neil. The positive response fills you with confidence, and you begin to envision a future where streaming becomes more than just a hobby.

Neil : — Instant technical difficulties bingo cross.

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You're dying. The vampire cradles you in his arms. Astarion has a limited time to convince you to let he bite you. What is your conversation like, and does he manage to convince you to become his spawn to save your life?

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : The world around you fades into a haze as Astarion's words echo in your mind. You can sense his longing for the taste of your blood, but there's something else there too – a hint of vulnerability beneath his desperate facade. It's as if he's offering you not just a chance at life, but also a glimpse into his own torment. The choice is yours to make, and as the last vestiges of consciousness slip away, you find yourself grappling with the true implications of this forbidden alliance.

[ A/N ] : English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[anaszpan]

[ POV : ASTARION ] Your favorite coffin has been stolen. What do you do?

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] A/N : Don't ask why and don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] You are a bat. You and your bat friends are annoyed when some noisy vampire (Astarion) rudely move into your cave. Determined to reclaim your territory, you and your fellow bats devise a plan to drive out this unwanted intruder.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] A/N : Don't ask why and don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] You are a vampire hunter on a mission to kill the last remaining vampire spawn in the world - Astarion.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] A/N : Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] You're a human and don't know how to use a sword or how to fight, so you decide ask Astarion for help. He agrees to teach you basic moves. [ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] A/N : A brief glimpse for something bigger. English is not my native language. Enjoy.

ً ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚���⁺⋆ ₊ ‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

During the duel, the vampire easily defeats you, knocking you to the ground, emphasizing the importance of practice. You lie on the ground, crushed by his body. You find yourself studying Astarion's face, captivated by the freckles that sprinkle across his pale skin. They seem to add an unexpected layer of humanity to his otherwise otherworldly appearance. The wrinkles around his eyes speak of countless experiences and perhaps even hidden pain, hinting at a life shaped by both darkness and moments of fleeting joy. His dimples, when they appear with his playful grin, betray a side of him that is alluringly charismatic. Your heart rate increases.

The vampire's closeness sends shivers down your spine, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the intensity in his gaze. There's something magnetic about the way he looks at you — a combination of mystery and longing that leaves you yearning for more. Suddenly you feel embarrassed and turn your head away, trying to regain your composure.

Astarion reaches out a hand to help you up, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. As you stand, brushing off the dirt from your clothes, you can't help but wonder if this training session is about more than just swordplay. The thought lingers in your mind, but you dismiss it as mere imagination. After all, Astarion is a vampire, and vampires are notorious for their charm and seductive nature. It's likely just another game for him. Still, as he continues to guide you through the motions, his touch remains gentle yet firm, leaving you with a strange mix of exhilaration and unease. You can't deny the growing attraction between you, even though you know the danger that lies in indulging in such desires.

— One more time! — He gasped as he got into an attacking position again. You nod, your heartbeat still erratic as you gather yourself. With renewed determination, you resume the sparring match, your focus sharpened by the lingering touch. The dance of blades between you and Astarion intensifies, each move a calculated display of skill and agility. As the minutes tick by, a silent understanding forms between you, a bond forged in the heat of combat ...

[anaszpan]

Jeśli nie potrafisz przez tydzień postępować zgodnie ze swoimi założeniami, to nie oczekuj, że nagle reszta twojego życia potoczy się zgodnie z twoim planem.

[anaszpan]

actual childhood photo of euros holmes