#(Ascension) Don’t Ever Wonder | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blitzyn · 2 years

Text

unintended effect

dottore x m!reader

request : none

Synopsis: Meeting a new stranger at your shrine didn't go as well as you had expected it to.

cw -> non-con, blood and spit as lube, anal sex, public sex, sadist dottore, kitsune reader, crying, tail pulling, face slapping, non-con drug use, choking, yall get caught but dottore doesnt care lol, brief ear pulling, not proofread

wc -> 3.6k

a/n -> i need him so bad omg. anyways super sorry if its shit. spoilers for the end of the aranara quest!

"It's not often I get new visitors."

Dottore instinctively peered up to face the voice, spotting a figure cloaked within the shadows the night offered. He could faintly see the way they curled atop the statue he stood in front of.

"I'm not visiting." He spoke with unhidden confidence.

"So what brings you here, then?" They questioned. Truth be told, finding the shrine was an accident. Although he read about them, he was far too busy with Scaramouche's ascension to "godhood". But he'd amuse you for a while longer.

“I’m simply taking a stroll,” he answered, placing his hands behind his back.

“It is quite the night for a walk, isn’t it?” He could faintly see something swish within the air. "Our village is well known for its night."

That was strange. He would have thought it would be a tourist hotspot for the sunset or sunrise - not the night. There wasn't anything noteworthy that he could see.

"Not here, of course." He could hear the amusement in your voice when you saw him slightly tilt his head in confusion. "I haven’t done anything praiseworthy yet.”

He quietly watched as you jumped down the statue, finally able to see your features. He was a bit surprised to see that you were not a human and had fox attributes. Your five tails swayed behind you, so he was able to surmise that you were around five-hundred years old. He heard about kitsunes before, though the only one currently well-known was the Head Shrine Maiden: Yae Miko in Inazuma.

He must admit, your species mildly fascinated him for a time, although the interest very quickly died out throughout his time in the Akademiya. Now that one was standing before him, that interest may have been rekindled.

"I am the guardian of the village," you spoke, ever graceful in your movements. Though, he did wonder what exactly what you were guarding against. As far as he knew, his agents informed him of the famed Traveler who adventured with the Aranara and defeated something called the “Marana Avatar '' which was the source of all Withering Zones. The only formidable enemies he saw on his journey here were the Fungi that mindlessly hopped around.

“It’s not the most interesting thing in the world, I admit,” you turned around to collect the offerings gathered within the foot of the shrine. “Not much to protect.”

You quietly laughed to yourself. “My mother would have my head if she ever heard me say that.”

“How so?” he questioned, watching as you organized a few things.

“She passed away during the Cataclysm. This village was her pride and found joy in defending it. I was but a kit at the time, so she was mostly on her own while she fought.” You sighed, though you didn’t appear the least bit upset.

It wasn’t a very thrilling tale, but he was able to surmise that you thought so, too.

“Do you enjoy guarding the village against rogue mushrooms?” The way he spoke almost made it seem as if he were genuinely asking, but the small, condescending smile that adorned his face told you that he was teasing your profession.

You laughed. “Oh, Gods’ no. I would very much rather be somewhere else right now.”

“Then why haven’t you left? I don’t see any benefits in staying,” he said. “I’m confident your villagers will be able to defend themselves if the Fungi wander around.”

“The only thing keeping me anchored here are the children that offer me some of their candy every so often,” you explained, motioning to the small basket in your hands. “They look up to me.”

“They want to become avid Fungi hunters when they’re older?” He was beginning to enjoy speaking with you, even if there wasn’t much to talk about. Maybe it’s natural Kitsune charm?

You barked out yet another laugh. “I don’t see why, either. But, hey, free candy.”

Dottore uncovered an opportunity in your words. Various reports submitted to him reveal that children were far more likely to see the Aranara if they stumbled upon a dangerous situation. To ordinary humans, the Fungi posed a threat even to adults (as pathetic as that was), so if he managed to persuade you into leaving, one of the children could maybe encounter one of the fairies. But he was not opposed to taking you away by force, either. He would not let this chance slip by him - not after the majority of his agents stationed in Sumeru failed their mission.

“But other than that, what’s really stopping you?” Pride? A sense of responsibility? “It seems you’re not needed here.”

“Harsh.” You knew he was just saying it as it was. “Realistically? Mora. Ideally? The children.”

He hummed. “I am capable of providing you with sufficient housing and a generous amount of money.”

Your ears visibly perked up at his proposal. “But I do ask that you work for me in return.”

You looked off to the side, seemingly in thought before you looked back at him. “I’m no mercenary.”

“Maybe not, but don’t you crave a change of pace? To finally bask in what the rest of the world has to offer?” You were seriously tempted to accept his suggestion, but the chains of doubt wrapped around your wrists and pulled you back down to reality. You didn’t know if he was lying or not. While you were able to defend yourself just fine if anything were to go wrong, you preferred the safer option of just not letting it happen.

You shook your head in response. “That would be amazing, but I’ll have to decline your offer.”

He was confused. You complain, but you decide to stay? Where was the logic behind your words? Were you tied down by your mother’s legacy, perhaps? Maybe there was something else besides the weak reasons you so confidently spoke of.

A chill ran down your spine as he studied you. You were unable to see the majority of his face with his mask covering the top half of it, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell that he was unhappy with your answer.

While he wasn’t satisfied, he wasn’t left at a loss, either.

“Very well, then,” he said after a time. You smiled at his understanding, before turning on your heels to begin your trek towards the village. He watched your back for a moment before he felt his fingers slightly twitch. He managed to come up with a plan as soon as you declined; inject you with a type of drug that would make you pass out and tie you up in one of his laboratories. Simple, but effective.

He walked in your direction as his hand reached into one of his pockets to grab a syringe already full of the drug. He discreetly uncapped it before lunging towards you to tug your head forward and force the needle into the back of your neck. It was done before you could be given time to really process what just happened, but the sharp sting kept you grounded. You looked back in surprise and pressed onto the injection site in reflex while backing away from the man.

“What did you do?” Your voice was weak in shock, a pit of fear beginning to form within your chest. You heard the rustling of his clothes steadily grow louder, but you simply chalked it up as him on his way back to wherever he came from. He amusedly observed your ears flattening alongside the back of your head and how two of your tails wrapped around your legs while the others curled in a way that reminded him of a fearfully submissive dog.

“I gave you a dose of a simple knock-out drug,” he explained, leisurely striding closer to you. “It was originally for one of those forest fairies, if I ever got the chance to find one. They’re quite difficult to come across so I do hope using it on you is worth my time.”

He hummed and looked away in thought. He had heard they were relatively easy to befriend as long as you helped them out a little, so he hoped one didn’t show up right at this moment. Once he transported you to a well-hidden spot, he could create another drug and use it on a fairy. But he was slightly taken aback when he realized that you were still standing. It should’ve affected you by now.

It clearly had some type of effect on you, judging by the flushed look on your face. You were panting and your legs were trembling, it was a fight in and of itself just trying to keep yourself from falling over. There was a raging inferno within your body, and you felt like you were overheating. An arousing sensation arose in your abdomen. You quickly realized that this was no knock-out drug. At least not to you.

Dottore curiously moved so that he was face-to-face with you. He looked at the syringe in his hand to reconfirm the content that was once in it. He knew there was nothing wrong with it (after all, what use would having an aphrodisiac be?), so it was interesting to see the difference compared to his expected result and the current outcome. Your hands futilely tried to tug down your shirt now that he could see everything clearly since he was so close up, but you accidentally pressed them onto your aching cock, forcing a moan from your lips.

“Hm. This wasn’t what I expected.” He placed a hand on his chin as he began to circle you, inspecting your body. You were the one with the features of a predator, although you certainly felt like prey under his watchful gaze. You continued to display fear, as shown by your ears and tucked tails even though you so desperately tried to hide the lust that effortlessly overpowered your senses. He enjoyed seeing you this way.

He suddenly kicked your knees out from under you, forcing you to kneel as a pained expression briefly overcame your face. You had to hold back a groan when his hand found its way into your hair, fingers tightly curling around the strands to tug you around. He made you look up at him as he dug the sole of his foot onto your sensitive dick. You choked on a moan and ground your nails into his leg, weakly trying to pull him off of you.

“Aren’t you a pathetic little thing?” He pushed his foot harder, relishing in the noises you tried hard to keep from releasing. Shame squeezed your chest, making it difficult to breathe. But your mind was caught in a messy haze of arousal, confusion, anger, and fear. Each of their components only coerced you further into a stupified state, and you soon took the appearance of a babbling slut. You were fleetingly aware of the mortification when you began rutting your hips into the hard surface of his boot – just like the mutt in heat you were – but you’d be lying greatly if you said it didn’t feel relieving.

Your desperation only served to arouse Dottore as he felt his cock harden in his pants. He smiled, memorizing how quickly you were reduced into nothing but teary-eyed and stupid. Lightly palming himself, he thought of all the time he had left to spare. He might as well use some of it now.

You stifled a sob when he removed his foot, grunting when he kicked you onto your back. You were a bit disoriented due to the sudden change in positions, but as the fresh air of the night caressed the burning skin of your legs, an alarm rang through your head. It took you a moment to realize what he was about to do. Out of reflex, you attempted to sit up to try and stop him before he harshly pushed you back down from your chest.

“Fighting it will only make it worse,” he said, lining his cockhead against your asshole after spitting on it. “Relax, will you?”

“Wha–No…No..!”

You raised one of your feet in a last ditch effort to kick him away, but he simply held onto the underside of your knee and hiked it up on his shoulder. You squirmed futilely as he did the same to the other one, keeping you in place with a mating press. Now that he was finally towering over you, he used most of his body weight to force his cock deep into your hole.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the pure agony that came with it. With his hands occupied with pinning your arms down, he had the audacity to place his lips over yours to silence your scream. You struggled to free yourself from his grasp, though the tense of your body made you tighten around him. He let out a satisfied, shuddering sigh.

It felt like he tore you apart, a burning sensation that originated from your hole reverberated throughout your body, pulsing in rhythmic waves. You hiccuped pathetically as he pulled off of you, taking away some of the strain in your legs. He noticed that the slide out was smoother than he expected, peering down to where the two of you connected. His cock throbbed fervently when he noticed that it was coated in your blood.

You bit your lip hard when he leisurely thrusted back into you. Tears rolled off of the sides of your face as you turned away from him.

A sensation akin to electricity traveled up and down his spine. “Oh, don’t cry yet. We’ve only just begun.”

He finally began his pace, irritating whatever he tore, and using you however he liked. The pain was dizzying. He refused to allow you a moment of respite as he wallowed within your agonized whimpers and grunts, thrusting hard enough to fuck the air out of your lungs. Your lower half was on fire from the tearing, the muscle strain, and the sting when his pelvis slammed against your ass. You didn’t know if you were going to be able to walk after this.

You were terrified to feel the familiar feeling of lust pooling in your gut, mixing in with the burn in your asshole. Though the drug was still hard at work, amplifying your arousal far more than you would’ve liked. Your cock weeped precum, to which Dottore gathered on his fingertips after releasing one of your numb arms.

“Look at how much you want this.” His hand was shaky on account of his relentless thrusts, but despite that, you were given a clear view of your shame. “Perhaps you were made to be my whore instead, hm?”

He groaned. “Instead of staying here for something so… ngh – insignificant. You’ll be much better off as my cum-dumpster ready to serve me at a minute’s notice. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

You shook your head, sobbing slurred ‘no’s’ and pleading for something, anything, just not that. He almost couldn’t believe how intensely he’s getting off to such a sight, and he decided, at that moment, that you were going to be his new pet. His good little dog.

He suddenly leaned backwards a bit, avoiding the sloppy attack you made.

Though, he was going to have to train you first.

You were aiming for his neck, so it’s only fair he gets to return the favor, right?

Your eyes widened when you felt his hand wrap around your throat, holding you so tightly your head began to ring almost instantly. You felt like you were going to pass out. You could feel your eyes roll back under your eyelids as drool escaped the corners of your mouth. Everything began to sound muffled when you were suddenly forced back into reality.

Agony shot through your face as your head was abruptly tossed to the side. He had slapped you. Fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks, trying hard to process everything that you were feeling. Pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure… which was it?

You unknowingly shivered when Dottore pulled out of you, but you knew better than to assume he was finished with you. He flipped you onto your stomach, a small smirk present when you didn’t put up a fight. You were far too disoriented to do so. A wince crossed your face when the cold concrete floor touched your cock, although you made no move to adjust yourself.

He placed you on your hands and knees, manipulating your body so easily you could’ve been mistaken for a fuck doll. He pushed the tip of his dick inside your throbbing hole before separating your tails in half, taking three in one hand and two in the other. Your fur may have been thick, but it was nothing a (very) tight squeeze couldn’t handle. Once he found his grip, he yanked you backward as he thrusted forward, a loud slap echoing throughout the forest. The tip of his cock pressed against your prostate, and you couldn’t help but let out your loudest moan of the night.

His pace was as punishing as before, fucking you hard enough to make your ass burn. You tried your hardest to quiet your moans with a bite of your lip and a cover of your hand, but not even that was enough to silence your noises. The ache in your tails prompted you to fuck yourself back on his cock. He let out a small grin, though he decided against commenting on it when he noticed something moving in his peripheral.

It was only a moment later when your ears shot up and swiveled in the figure’s direction, eyes widening when you saw who it was. “G-Go… ah – go home..!”

“Oh, don’t make them leave now, they’ve only just arrived.” You barely registered the firm hand on your thigh. “Let’s give them a show.”

Your back was suddenly pressed up against his chest as the thigh he was holding was held up high enough for the person to see. The new angle allowed him to target your prostate with more accuracy, fanning the uncontrollable flame in your abdomen. You shook your head – to Dottore or the person, not even you were sure of. You weakly held onto his wrist when he reached around your body to jerk you off, digging your nails into his glove.

You tried your hardest to stop yourself from orgasming, you really did, but it persisted twice as intense until you were no longer able to hold it. Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as cum spurt out of your cock, back arching against him. You could’ve sworn you blacked out for a second. You tightened even further around him as he finally stilled, feeling uncomfortably warm as he came inside you with a deep groan. He held your thigh so tightly you were sure you’d have bruises.

You looked back over to the spot the person was at, but was relieved to know that they no longer stood there. The leg keeping you up burned in exhaustion from holding nearly all of your weight. You trembled due to your overwhelming emotions; shame, arousal, fear, anger, confusion, exhaustion.

You stared ahead, unmoving as he pulled out of you. You rested on your folded legs, head throbbing painfully. You winced when he yanked you to him by your hair, keeping you on your knees as you faced his softening cock.

“Good pets know to clean up their messes,” he said, relaxing his grip on you, but refusing to move his hand elsewhere. You swallowed nervously before reluctantly holding onto the base to place him in your mouth. “Though, bite me, and I’ll do more than just simply tearing out your teeth.”

You nodded. He smiled to himself. Good, he was getting somewhere with you.

An urge to hide away formed in your mind, but you willed it away with the fact that he wasn’t going to let you go. Not unless some miracle saved you. You ran your tongue over his cock, licking away the remnants of his cum and your blood. The salty, metallic taste raised goosebumps all over your body, and you had to stop yourself from throwing up.

Though, just as you got to the head, he suddenly grabbed you by the ears and pulled. You choked and gagged, completely caught off guard. He kept you there, watching amusedly as you drooled and sputtered over his dick. It wasn’t until he could feel your grip on his legs weakening did he allow you to push yourself off of him, coughing hard.

He composed himself while you had your fit, crossing his arms expectantly when you finally caught your breath.

“Hurry and fix your clothes. We’ll head towards the area I’m temporarily staying at where you’ll wait until the ship to Snezhnaya arrives.” You wiped your teary eyes and put the bottom half of your clothes back on. Your legs trembled as you got up, only able to take a few weak steps forward before you fell to your knees.

He sighed and swiftly made his way over to you, grabbing you by the arm to carry you bridle style. Everything hurt now that the entire ordeal was over (at the moment), and you watched with saddened eyes as the statue gradually shrunk the farther away you went. You blinked hard. You didn’t want to fall asleep in his arms, but the feeling was far too strong for you to resist. With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes and let your slumber take you.

cross posted on ao3

#il dottore #genshin impact #male reader insert #x male reader #male reader smut #dottore x male reader #dottore x reader #reader #reader insert #dottore x reader smut #reader smut #genshin impact smut #cw noncon #fox reader #sub reader #bottom reader

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brabblesblog · 8 months

Text

Ch 18: — and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.

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

Halsin's gift gets put to use.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Together with Halsin’s gift there was a leatherwork harness and a bottle of oil. Ban bit her lip, holding the items in her hands as Astarion stripped off the rest of his clothing.

“I did bathe in the hope you’d be agreeable to this,” he said excitedly, tossing his underwear onto the pile with the rest of his clothes. He scanned her face, saw her nervousness, and frowned.

“We don’t have to,” Astarion ventured, “If this isn’t something you want, then just say the word.”

“Have you ever done - what am I saying? Of course you have.” Ban fidgeted. “Is this… is this something you think you might like?” she asked instead.

His ears reddened again. “Yes. It could be enjoyable, in theory, but I haven’t done it with anyone I genuinely wanted. It will be as new for me as it is for you, in the ways that matter most.”

“Then why not bring it up before?” She looked at the wooden cock on the bed. It wasn’t too large, but Halsin had made the phallus curved.

“Ban.” Another look of impatience crossed Astarion’s features. “I know you’re flustered, but think a little. When in the last, gods, year, have we had time to consider things like this? Half the time we were trying to survive out there, and the other half we-”

Another sigh. “You know.”

She nodded. Fair enough. Ban set the bottle down, picking up the cock instead. She silently threaded it through the harness, careful not to scratch the protective coating on the wood, then looked back to her husband.

“I don’t know how to do this. Don’t be disappointed if I don’t perform well.” Ban held the cock gingerly in her hands, nervousness evident in her face.

“I have enough experience for the both of us, trust me,” Astarion said, eyes softening, “And it’s you. You never have to do anything as a performance to make me feel good. You just have to be you.”

Astarion’s pulse thrummed with excitement as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching Ban peel off her clothes and step into the harness, securing it around her hips. “Grab that chair, love, and bring it here.” He gestured in front of him.

She did as asked then sat down, fidgeting a little apprehensively. They faced each other, knees touching. The bottle of oil sat beside Astarion, unstoppered and ready for use.

He drew his legs up, the soles of his feet flat on the bed, offering his backside to her. He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows to watch her, torn between equal parts anticipation and worry.

Will she be alright, doing this for me? What if she doesn’t really want to do this-

That line of thought evaporated as firm, strong hands wrapped around each ass cheek, spreading him open.

“Pretty,” Ban crooned, her tone perfectly even. He was a perfect shade of pink, clean and begging to be fucked.

Astarion raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that all you’re going to s-”

His remark cut off in a choked moan as she leaned forward and her tongue made contact with his entrance. Her first lick was hesitant, but hearing his response gave her more courage. The next passes of her tongue were more insistent, tracing slow, drawn out circles.

“Gods, Ban. That’s wonderful, but ah- you could go faster.”

Astarion stared at Ban unblinkingly; the sight was one he thought he’d remember for the rest of eternity. His hands dug into the sheets, cock twitching in anticipation.

“I could,” she conceded, lifting her head to meet his gaze, “But do I want to?”

He looked delectable, spread open for her like this. His ears were the pinkest she’d ever seen them, his cock already beginning to moisten at the tip.

“Ban.” He glowered. “I thought you said you had no experience in this. You ought to let me lead.”

Even as the words left him he knew he was powerless. He’d do anything to feel her tongue again.

“No experience at all,” she agreed, “But when it comes to you? I’m a quick study. Now, stay still.” With that she leaned back in, tongue laving all over his entrance enthusiastically. She traced another slow, firm circle, then plunged her tongue inside.

The moan that escaped him was exquisite, high-pitched and dripping with need.

Ban smirked, her fingers digging into the flesh of his ass to spread his cheeks further apart. Pressing her face flush against his entrance, she thrust her tongue in and out before retreating to lavish him with languid laps. She could feel him trying to rock his hips against her mouth, and she pulled away.

“I’m warning you, Astarion. Behave.”

He whimpered, forcing himself to still. He watched his cock throb, watched the drop of precum glint with the movement.

She resumed her ministrations, her tongue slowly spreading him open. Satisfied, she drew back.

“Perfect,” she cooed at him, “You know that, don’t you?” She reached for the bottle of oil, pouring some onto her palm.

It took him a moment to register her words; he opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a strangled gasp as her oiled finger slowly slipped inside of him.

She was enjoying exploring a new part of his body, enjoyed even more how much he was enjoying it. The tightness and gentle suction tugging on her index finger was oddly arousing. She pressed carefully on, watching him intently for signs of distress. She could see his cockhead gleaming with precum, his thighs twitching, his chest heaving. He was so responsive, so beautiful.

His eyes locked onto her face “More,” Astarion gasped out, his voice heavy with need, “Please.”

She smiled softly at him, slowly adding a second finger. She gently stretched him, moving deeper with a slow, measured pace she knew would drive him near to madness.

“Faster,” he hissed, “I’m not some godsdamned virgin-”

The fingers inside him curled, and he lost what little coherence he had left. His face went blank in shock as he realized she’d found his spot, and then the pleasure of it overtook him. He moaned so desperately it was nearly a sob. His back arched as his head fell back and his grip on the sheets tightened so suddenly he nearly tore through them.

Ban couldn’t remember a time he’d ever looked more lovely. She curled her fingers again, pleased with the sight of him writhing under her touch, his cock twitching, sweat beginning to bead on his pearlescent skin. She paused for a moment, hesitating.

“Was that okay, Astarion? Tell me what you want.”

He lifted his head to look at her, nodding fervently, not trusting himself to speak.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready. Just keep… keep doing that for now.”

She nodded, giving him a soft kiss on his inner thigh. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

A quiet whimper was his only reply.

Her fingers resumed, working him open with a gentleness that set his heart ablaze with love. It took a little longer than it could have, but he wasn’t complaining. He savored the feel of her inside him, stretching him open, making sure he was ready and not in pain. Loving him.

Astarion enjoyed her exploration with a patience he didn’t normally possess, unwilling to hurry her along, no matter how eager he was for the next step. He could feel the tenderness in her touch, her concern for his pleasure, and that was everything. He relaxed further, his tightness slowly ebbing with the overwhelming buildup of pleasure and desire.

Finally, he was so keen to be filled he couldn’t stand it.

“Ban. It’s time.”

A soft chuckle escaped Ban as she drew her fingers out, kissing his thigh again. She watched as he reached for the prestidigitation scroll Halsin had included with his gift, casting it over her while she repositioned herself. She leaned back on the chair, feeling cleaner than she had since they’d left the palace, waiting until his eyes were on her. Pouring more oil into her palms, she made a show of generously spreading the oil over the shaft of the wooden cock, eyes locked onto his.

“Come ride me then, Astarion,” she crooned, her lips curving in a teasing smile.

He got up a little clumsily, cock bobbing as he straddled her lap. She grasped his hips, guiding him while he slowly lowered himself onto her.

As he sank down, his weight pressed the base of the wooden cock harder against her; she instinctively rolled her hips up to meet him, earning his grunt of pleasure.

Astarion settled, shifting a little to get comfortable. The cock spreading him felt pleasant, the feeling of being full almost too much, but oh so welcome. He rested his hands on her shoulders, meeting her gaze. His eyes were lust-blown, curls sweat-damp and glued to his forehead.

Ban’s grip on his waist tightened, holding him firmly in place. Slowly, methodically, she began to thrust, fucking him gently.

The mewl that escaped him was completely involuntary. He wanted more, needed more, and so he began to move his hips, angling himself into her thrusts. With every movement the cock inside him hit his spot; he pleasured himself on it eagerly, rocking back and forth. His untouched cock shone, twitching, begging for stimulation, the ache only adding to his pleasure. His gliding sped up, his heart racing, his arousal slowly approaching its peak.

Ban leaned forward to press her forehead against his. She could feel his breaths as he panted, desperately chasing his release.

“Close?” she murmured, her hands moving from his waist to his thighs, massaging lightly.

He nodded, his hips rocking faster; she closed the gap between them to kiss him.

He took her hand and placed it over his chest. “Feel,” he whispered, “For you. Only you.”

As delirious with lust as he was, the love he felt for her was even more overwhelming, each emotion feeding and intensifying the other in a dizzying spiral that left him breathless.

Ban felt the frantic beating of his heart as his hips rocked again and again. His rhythm slowly became erratic, and his eyes closed.

She considered how to heighten his pleasure further, then softly caressed the head of his cock.

Astarion whined, his body writhing at the bolt of pleasure that shot through him, the sensation almost pushing him over the edge.

“Not yet,” she warned, “You’ll have to beg me for it.” She ran her finger over his tip, spreading his precum in slow circles, but doing nothing more.

She could feel him throbbing, wonderfully hard and hot against her fingers; she knew it wouldn’t be long at all.

He attempted to glare at her, but only managed a pout. He gave up, expression changing to one of wanton, desperate need.

“Please, Ban. Let me come.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Ban captured his lips, wrapping her hand around his neglected, aching cock.

It did, indeed, not take long at all. She stroked him a few times and he plummeted over the edge into bliss. He shivered head to toe, lips opening in a noiseless gasp; his head flew back and he arched into her. His legs spasmed; she quickly steadied him with her free hand, gently holding his back as he came undone.

She continued stroking him, milking every drop of come until it was just shy of too much and he shuddered.

When he finally opened his eyes again, she lifted her stained hand to her mouth, sucking each finger methodically, gazing at him adoringly.

“You…” Astarion shook his head. He looked down; seeing both their bodies streaked with his spend sent another shiver of satisfaction racing through him. After such an intense experience, he didn’t quite have his vocabulary back yet. Instead he gave her a quick kiss.

He slowly raised himself up off the wooden cock, gingerly taking a seat on the bed. Ban stood, removing the harness before joining him.

The moment she was in bed he pulled her close.

“Would you want something for yourself too?” he asked. He would gladly reciprocate, but he was feeling exhausted.

She shook her head, smiling softly at him. “Tonight was for you and I enjoyed giving it to you. That’s enough for me.”

He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered, “It… it helped.”

He felt valued, knowing that she did this for his pleasure; that she cared enough to attempt it for him. She had been so gentle and attentive. It was exactly what he’d needed.

Ban hummed, her own eyes drifting shut. “I love you.”

As challenging as things had been, she was grateful to be here with him; to be trusted with this side of him. Being given that trust…it aided in assuaging her lingering doubts.

“I love you too,” he mumbled as he slipped into trance.

She stayed conscious for a few more moments more, her head on his chest, listening to his heart slow as he rested.

Forever, she mused, wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 4 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 17: Unearthed

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The air is stagnant, damp, and smells heavily of earthy soil. Your eyes creep open, only to find a darkness so impenetrable that you blink to make sure your eyes are indeed open. Your body is gripped by a sharp agony. Every muscle enflames with icy blistering that somehow feels like you’re on fire and freezing simultaneously.

You contort and twist in abject anguish as you jerk and writhe unnaturally. Your frame tries to collapse in on itself. Your knees, shoulders, and forehead thunk off of an unseen barrier with every concurrent wave of your ligaments and tendons contracting so vehemently, it's a wonder they don’t snap like overwrought twine.

This torture blanks out your ability to think. Everlasting pain and darkness are all you have ever known and will ever know forevermore.

When you’re sure your body is going to rip itself apart, and you can take no more, the throes subside. You’re gasping like a fish out of water, trying desperately to fill your lungs with precious air, but there is no reprieve. It doesn’t matter how much breath you draw; you cannot fill the void in your chest cavity.

You sag forward, your nose and forehead bouncing off the rigid blackness. A new feeling emerges — panic — and you toss your body around only for your shoulders, back, feet, and knees to smack against the invisible obstruction lurking in the gloom.

You are walled off on all sides. You can’t move. You’re trapped.

Where are you? How did you get here? Who the fuck are you?

You cry out, your voice rough and weak, like it hasn’t been used in some time, and you struggle to whimper out high-pitched screams. You flail, banging your fists against the obstacle. Something rains down on your face and into your open, shrieking mouth. You try to spit out the coarse and grainy material.

It tastes like rust and rot and necroses.

Dirt.

Your stomach drops, churns, and you dry heave between sobs, banging and clawing at the wood above your chest. Splinters spear under your fingernails, causing sharp, skewering pain, until your nails are ripped from their beds.

Balling your hands into fists, you batter at the slats of wood above you, flecks of dirt falling into your wild eyes, until your knuckles split and bleed.

“Let me out!” You yelp, in a voice that does not seem right to your ears, but is somehow so familiar. Tears roll down your cheeks, soil sticking and smudging to the wet trails, and you wail, a broken, distraught, cursed sound. “Please! Help me! Anyone!”

“I’m not dead!” You howl, but somehow, you know you are. Maybe it’s the inability to satisfy your need for air or the fact that your heart isn’t pounding against your ribs like a wild animal trying to break free from a too-small cage, but something tells you that you’re dead. “I’m not dead! I’m not dead… I’m not….”

You batter your fists against the wood again, harder, frantic, and desperate. The slats begin to give, moaning under the ferocity of your strikes. One splits, cracks, and with one more punch, it breaks apart.

Loose soil avalanches into your casket, amassing on you so quickly that, for a moment, you’re frozen. Your dead body still fights for the air it thinks it requires, and you inhale the earth, clogging your windpipe.

You weep as your fingers clamber, reaching for the planks above you, and you pull and push them with all your might until pounds of slurry dirt eclipse you completely.

Your arms swim through the loose, freshly moved terrain, but it is like swimming through a gelatinous marsh. The weight of it restricts your movement, making your ascent slow.

Foot after foot, you claw your way up to the surface, and when your hand bursts through the final layer, you bawl, a gush of relief and despair braided into the rasp of your voice. Your feet plant on what remains of your coffin, thrusting and kicking furiously, and you pull half of your body out.

Your hands plant, braced on your palms, stomach upending, and you regurgitate earth, blood, and death. Bile and acid burn your already raw throat. You purge every last drop of the clumpy clots of coagulated blood, strings of slimy mucous stretching and drooling from your mouth.

Head hanging limply, you gawk at your grimy hands. The skin is torn, bloodied, and ragged across your knuckles. The brisk air stings the sensitive, flame-red beds where your fingernails should be. Something in your brain twitches and tells you that these hands do not belong to you. You flex them, digging them into the vomit-saturated earth.

Something slams into your ribs, robbing you of the fresh air you’re gulping down and flinging you to your back. You bark out a wheeze of surprise, hacking, and choking.

“Open your eyes, my child.” Another recognizable voice, although less so than your own. “You shall bestow thy Master due respect when in my presence.”

Your eyes snap open completely out of your control, and you gaze upon a ghostly white figure looming over you like a dark cloud. He adorns a cloak of blood red and gold. His pointed face holds an air of rather bland curiosity, but more so, there’s a bitter contempt knitted in the impatient pinch of his brow.

You seethe with loathing, a hatred so intense that your lips peel back. “What have you done to me!?” You squawk through your threadbare larynx.

“Me?” The figure laughs nasally and arrogant. He smiles snake-like. “I’ve given you the greatest gift a degenerate like you could ever hope to receive. I’ve snatched you away from the mandibles of death. You will serve me until I have no use for you anymore, and then your vile soul will serve me still for eternity.”

“I will kill you for this!” You scream indignantly, scrambling to push yourself upright, but your muscles are exhausted.

“You died screaming, boy.” The man with raven, slicked-back hair sneers, slamming his cane across your forehead and ribs, making a squall erupt from your tight lips. “Your screams are succulent. Rest assured. I shall procure that sweet harmony when it suits me, but it does not suit me now. Dig.”

Dig?

You do not understand the instruction and frown, but the order lacerates through your psyche, skin, and bones, and you obey. Turning toward your grave, you crawl on your hands and knees and excavate the earth.

You growl and sob out of hate uncontrollably. Your fingers itch to gouge out the man’s vermillion glowing eyes, and your teeth long to rip his throat out, but your muscles are not your own any longer.

Your body, mind, and soul are his possessions now.

The staff clouts across your lower back, “Faster. We do not have all night.”

Even though your arms ache, your fingers and hands work faster, and handful by handful, you move earth until the wooden shackles of your coffin are staring back at you from the hole.

“Take something quickly.” The voice barks at you, but it is not the same voice as the man with black hair.

Your vision vibrates, tremors, and the hands knotted into the ground before you reform into your own as they reach into the abyss you dragged yourself from and wrap around a navy shroud, embroidered with silver, pointed stars, and delicate lace fringing.

You’ve seen this before, and it makes the strings of your heart snap, shattering under the strain of despair. You pull it from the wreckage, and when you sit back on your heels, the twisted metallic spindle of a cane butts under your chin, making your teeth clatter together.

When you look up, it is not Cazador that sneers at you spitefully; it is Astarion.

Another memory, you realize, as you look around at the iridescent environment that flickers and fluxes unsteadily. Your hands flex in the sullied fabric, and you bring it close to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut and whimpering at the realization of just how much suffering lingers camouflaged underneath his skin and beguiling grins.

“Stand, boy!” Astarion shouts harshly, thumping the staff on the ground. “I grow tired of watching thou rollick in the dirt.”

“Astarion,” you stammer. “Astarion, wake us up.”

He laughs, bitter as nightshade, a hollow sound that chills your bones as Woe slams across your shoulders, lurching you forward, and scraping your face on the cold earth. His eyes glow with infernal heat. “I said stand!”

Your body begins to obey, but you grit your teeth, and anger, wild and raw, riots in your obsolete heart. You find your voice, and a rattling roar arises from your throat.

Beads of sweat glisten in the sunlight on your forehead; rainbow dewdrops refract the light that’s bouncing off your pearlescent scales. Your lungs are too constricted to even scream as the remanent feeling of the weight of the earth continues to press in on you, and you thrash against the confines of your limbs.

“Illyria!” A warm hand cradles your cheek, but the name barely registers as your own, and you snarl, baring your teeth. “Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Your eyes surge open, casting off the weight of sleep like a projectile. You are draped with black, rumpled silken sheets that smell like brandy, rosemary, and lovemaking. Astarion is propped up on an elbow, as close as he can get to you without making you feel more claustrophobic. His eyes shine richly red, almost glowing in the glare of the sun streaming through the open double doors leading to the terrace.

Blinking rapidly, you try to dispel the mirage of him standing over you in that graveyard, gripping Woe, but the images of the memory still dance at the edge of your vision. Your chest heaves as if you had been running miles, and you stumble out of bed with all the grace of a newborn Gnoll trying to find its footing on a slippery bed of ice.

Astarion jumps out of bed but keeps his distance, giving you room to breathe. The kinship remains open and strong, and you can feel his heart galloping in your chest, the pricking in his palms and fingertips to hold you, and the guilt-ridden rumination harrowing him.

You stare at your hands, remembering the way splinters pried your nails from your fingertips, how your knuckles cracked and popped, the skin splitting and bleeding. You grit your teeth, grasp the Weave, and summon flames that climb up your forearms like snakes. It’s tactile — the authority you wield over the element. It begs to serve you, and there is asylum in that power.

You take a deep breath, but unlike when you were alive, it does nothing to mollify your unease.

“Take deep breaths, Astarion,” you whisper, glancing at him.

With the connection open, he does not need any explanations. You can feel the shift in your psyche as he touches your mind with a little more intensity, though not uncomfortable, and imbues you with the sensations of his own body while he fills his lungs, deep and steady.

You close your eyes and let yourself settle into the rhythmic respirations. You don’t hear Astarion approach, except for the increasing thrum of his heartbeat, but if you focus, you can almost see yourself out of his eyes.

Holding your hand out, he takes it and pulls you into him, pressing your head and ear up against his chest to the regular beats of his heart. Your hands glide up his back and press firmly into him.

“I’m sorry.” It floats through your head as his fingers lace through your hair. He rocks you ever so subtly from side to side. “I forgot to withdraw the connection.”

“It’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t rescind it anyway.”

This gives him pause, but he just nods, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Next time he speaks, he uses his voice in a plush and gentle timbre. “Will you come back to bed? You must have questions.”

You nod, following him to the bed. Astarion leans against the velvet headboard and slips an arm behind your back, pulling you up against his chest. He smooths your hair behind your ear and leans his cheek on you.

“Well?” He asks expectantly.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” You glance up, meeting his eyes. “I know you don’t like discussing your past.”

He chuckles, cocking a brow at you. “I think we are a little past simply discussing it. No? I’m not entirely sure how much you saw, but...”

“Lived,” you gulp. “I relived it.”

“What?” He starts, an icy shock running through both of you. “What do you mean? Surely, you were not in there with me.”

“Thank you for not burying me.” You wince, recalling waking up to the smell of decomposition and musky earth. The taste of it grating against your tongue, sprinkling on your face. “Thank you.”

Astarion scans your memories and emotions, and you don’t bother trying to barricade them from him.

“Shit.” Astarion tears his fingers over his face and through his handsomely dishevelled hair. “Are you okay?”

Bringing your hand to his cheek, your eyes are drawn to the ring on your fingers. You smile, looking deeply into his eyes. “Are you?”

“Me?”

Astarion swallows hard. His eyes scramble side to side, as if he needs time to consider the question. Finally, he looks at you with a quivering gaze and speaks through your connection as if his throat is too tight to utter words, or perhaps - perhaps he just doesn’t want to admit it aloud.

“No.”

Pushing yourself up to lean on the headboard, you open your arm to him and pat your chest. Astarion’s stunned expression makes you sad. How often has he needed to be held but never said anything? When was the last time someone offered to comfort him?

He contemplates the offer, sliding down the bed slowly, and places his head on your chest, draping his arm across your waist.

Folding your arms around him, you kiss his forehead and lean your cheek against his head. He heaves a contented sigh as you brush your fingertips up and down his arm. You stay like this with him for some time, closing your eyes, and submerge yourself in the enchantment of the love permeating the harmony of the bond.

“If you tell anyone that you cuddled me, I will have to kill you,” he laughs relaxedly.

You roll your eyes as he glances up at you. “Oh, I doubt anyone would believe that I was bestowed the great honour of cuddling the fearsome Vampire Ascendant.”

“Fearsome, am I?” He giggles, trailing a hand up your thigh, making your breath hitch, stomach tightening in anticipation.

You shudder as Astarion ghosts his lips over your nipple, giving it just enough attention to stiffen and goosebumps to erupt over your skin. “A very formidable meal.”

“Ever the brat,” he chuckles, propping himself up on his elbow and tracing his fingers between your breasts. “Hungry, love?”

“In so many ways.”

“Shall we quench that thirst of yours?” Astarion kisses you. Your tongue demands entrance, and he gives it, tangling his fingers in your hair. He finds you fang, running his tongue over the tip, and you whimper as soon as the ferric honey greets your tastebuds.

Astarion’s fingers slip between your thighs, and you gasp as he spreads your lips and strokes through the silkiness there.

You whine when he breaks the kiss, stealing away the succulent snack of blood. “We will have to be cautious today. As much as I would adore staying sequestered away, keeping you naked and wet for an eternity, we must return home, and it would simply not do to have both of us stumbling like drunk fools through the streets.”

“It could be fun,” you muse. “We used to shamble drunk through the streets before.”

“Yes,” he smirks, toying with your sensitive flesh, making you arc your spine. “You were a terribly bad influence on me.”

You scoff, but it comes out as more of a moan as he rains slow, lingering kisses down your neck. “That’s a far-reaching supposition. I believe we were both already equipped with a broken moral compass.”

Astarion jerks back, feigning bewilderment theatrically. “Darling! You wound me. I was a virtual paragon of virtue until you came along and corrupted me with,” he motions toward your body with a crooked, beguiling grin, “all of this.”

You giggle, “Oh yes. I forgot how you prevented my wicked ways from harming all the unicorns, puppies, and bunnies."

“Mhm,” he groans darkly, sucking your nipple between his lips and swirling his tongue around the hard rosebud.

Your hands curl into the silken sheets. Astarion’s fingers tease your entrance and plunge deep into your channel. He peppers kisses down your stomach, driving your legs apart with his free hand. You cannot help but watch him — the way his muscles rise to the surface of his skin, flexing as he crawls down your body, the perfect curve of his lips. He is impossibly stunning, unimaginably powerful, and he belongs to you.

Astarion’s fangs drag down your inner thigh. “May I?” He growls, all gravel and saturated in carnal longing.

“Gods, yes.” You pant. “Take me how you want me, Astarion. I want you to take your pleasure from me.”

He twerks his fingers up, paying homage to the pad of flesh that sends you spiralling into toe-curling pleasure as his fangs snap into your skin. His thumb circles your clit, fingers pumping, and he draws from you greedily with a moan.

When you’re close to your climax, Astarion lips wrap around your clit, tongue fluttering and tracing the aching border. Astarion watches you melt into bliss through thick lashes, and you reach your hand out to him. He doesn’t hesitate to take it, interlocking your fingers, and you squeeze as the pleasure builds.

“Come, my wife.”

You’re pushed over the edge, thighs wrapping around his head in the profound rush of rapture. Astarion wraps one arm around you, pulling you snug to his chest, and you fold your arms around his neck. He takes you out to the terrace in the midday sun.

“What are we doing out here?” You murmur as he sets you on your feet, directs you to turn around, and places your hands on the railing.

“You said take you how I want you,” he purrs. His cock slides between your slick thighs, your arousal dripping. “I want to take you while we are bathed in the sun, where you agreed to marry me.”

He catches the shot of fear that runs through you and halts all movement. Astarion brushes your hair back from your shoulder and places a gentle kiss on it. “Tell me why you’re afraid, love. Is it too… public? If you are uncomfortable, we can go back inside.”

Honestly, the fact that you could be seen had not crossed your mind. You glance around quickly. The terrace is well hidden from the view of the streets, and if you’re being truthful, you don’t really care if anyone sees you.

“Your control won’t lapse, right?”

“Hm?” He quirks a brow at you, and you nod toward the fiery sphere of death aloft in the sky. Astarion kisses your cheek. “Ah, no. Extending you that gift is nearly an unconscious feat now."

You lean back into him, pressing your ass into him and arching your back. Astarion trails his fingers lightly down the delicate skin of your arm. Grabbing your hips, he positions you, fists his cock, and steers the blunt head through your seam to your entrance. He buries himself to the hilt, sliding in with no resistance. His breath hisses, and he nips your ear as he begins to fuck you. You push against his thrusts, his hips poisoning at a punishing pace.

“Take my cock, Illyria,” he groans. “Gods. Take all of me. Tell me how it feels when I make you mine, when I claim you.”

You whimper, grasping the railing to keep your knees from giving out. “Fucking perfect.”

Astarion’s hand snakes down your stomach. He hooks one of your legs on his forearm, allowing him to bury himself deeper with every snap of his hips. His fingertips delve between your lips and glide rapidly over your throbbing clit while he ruts into you, taking his pleasure however he wants it, and Gods, does it feel so fucking good to be stuffed full and stretched. You stop trying to stifle your moans and cry out lewdly, falling so deeply in your passion that nothing exists beyond his skin on yours.

Astarion’s wrist butts up against your lips. “Feed. Taste my bliss, my love.”

Opening your mouth, you sink your fangs into the branching veins and draw. His blood tastes different, spiced with desire, buttery, smooth, and Hells below, hot. Your eyes close against the overwhelming ecstasy as nerves blaze, and the spasms of your orgasm clench around Astarion.

His hips jitter in erratic thrusts, and he loses control as he chases his own climax. Astarion moans, guttural and ragged, as he comes, unravelling completely for you, emptying himself into you with each pulse.

Astarion chuckles, giving his wrist a jiggle in a request for you to unlatch. It’s easier this time to surrender the meal. He lets your leg down slowly, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace, his cock still nestled inside you. He uses a finger to guide your head to turn and kisses you passionately.

“Such a good girl,” he groans, nuzzling your cheek. You roll your hips teasingly.

“…Hmph.” Astarion grunts as his oversensitive head shifts inside you, and he grabs your hips to still you. He grins, fangs peeking out from his lips and glinting in the sun. “So needy.” He tuts.

You smile back, displaying your own fangs proudly.

“Those are utterly adorable, like a kitten," he taunts. You scoff and stick your tongue out at him. He chuckles with his nose in your hair. “I love you.”

There’s a twinge of pain in your head, sharp and stringent, forcing itself to be felt. Astarion winces nearly imperceptibly and covers it by kissing up the back of your neck.

He pushes along before you have time to question what the pain was. “I suppose we should return home and speak, hm?”

Illyria sits on the ottoman in front of him with her head hung low, shoulders slumped, fidgeting and picking at her fingers. Astarion notes her every glance and the way her eyes dart around. She’s assessing their surroundings, taking inventory of exits, and searching for places to hide from him. She was always good at taking appraisals of the battlefields they were about to shed blood upon, making sure everyone had an exit strategy should death come knocking.

Her guilt and fear radiate over the bond like a dark stain spreading through silk fabric. She is keeping her thoughts well-hidden from him, and he’s a little vexed about the barrier. Maybe he should never have taught her that was possible. He should have kept that secret guarded so he could read her like an open book.

He is the Ascendant, after all, and she is his, so why should he not have unfettered access to her most intimate thoughts? Why should he be left here, staring at her like an idiot, waiting for her to open her fucking mouth and tell him what she’s been keeping from him?

He owns her. He made her. She is his bride, his consort, his wife — his, his, his! She belongs to him, and thus, all her thoughts and feelings are his to sup on as he sees fit. Astarion feels the chill of Cania sweep through him like a polar gust with every whisper of the shade within him.

She’s made you soft and weak, dragging you down into the dirt you emerged from as a pathetic spawn, and she’s going to bury you once again. How long has she known? How long has she managed to make a godsdamned fool out of you?

He could force all her deceit from her lungs with a simple thought. He wants to compel her to tell him so eminently that it takes him substantial effort to govern himself.

No. No. No.

He should not be doing that to her. He should not yearn for it so feverishly. Is it truly him who wants to force her submission, or whatever ails him? Sometimes, he cannot tell what his inclination is or that of his sick mind.

Gods. It aches in every bone, as if ice crystals are forming within them and splintering them as his blood thickens in his veins. Astarion starts to feel himself fade as the monster in him begins to run free. Every muscle smoulders under his restraint. He wants to grab her, hurt her, and make her suffer as he is suffering.

If he must languish in the dark, he will plunge the world into darkness with him.

“Astarion. Look at me.”

Her touch is frosty against his sweaty skin, and he snarls at the unexpected contact, lashing out like a cornered animal. He grips her shoulders, feeling the bones grind together under his fingers and relishing in his strength.

“Open your eyes, my love.” She whines through gritted teeth.

Time seems tacky, the seconds and minutes sticking to his skin. It slips away with the same tangibility that he can feel himself departing from his body. Gods, what will he do to her? He cannot allow himself to be swallowed.

Astarion. Astarion. Astarion. He chants to himself.

This is why she’s kept this from him, why she fears him. He is a wretched, ugly thing now. Isn’t he? The Rite may have given him safety and power, but it alienated him from everyone and everything he ever cared about.

But if he gives in to whatever is inside of him, he will disappear, along with all his inadequacies.

She needs me, he reminds himself. She needs him, Astarion.

The pungent bouquet of her blood hits his nose first, then he feels her wrist push against his lips. His eyes snap open as his tongue laps at the elixir of her essence. His heart beats fast in his chest as he watches her eyes flicker just as his do. They fade, but she is fire, and her flame burns brighter, rebelling against that which threatens to choke her.

Astarion jerks back, relinquishing his hold on her, and scrambles to close the connection. It cannot have her. It can have him, but he will not allow it to infect her as well. Had he known, Gods, had he known that was possible, he would never have let their minds meld.

She hugs him… She hugs him?

Though she is cold as death, she is warm like the sun, melting the ice solidifying in his veins and heating the arctic whirlwind threatening to propel him away.

“Did I hurt you?” He murmurs, but what he really wants to ask is, did I fail you again?

“You did not fail me,” she answers his innermost thoughts.

Shit. He did not realize he had let his control slip, and his thoughts rove freely across their connection.

“Are you okay now?” She looks up at him with those eyes — those cracked, piebald eyes that never cease to wrest the air from his lungs. They are like an antidote to the chaos, and he is calm.

“I’m me,” he nods.

She moves away from him, taking her seat back on the ottoman. “I kept it from you.”

“Yes,” he nods. Sitting beside her, he lets his finger graze over the engagement ring her eyes are anchored to. “I’ve gathered that much. You had a good reason to hide it from me. Why tell me now, then?”

She rotates the ring on her finger. “Do you actually want to marry me?”

“More than anything,” he whispers softly. Astarion brings her eyes to his and lets his feelings flow as freely as he can through the union they share. Her eyes widen, and tears well. Not exactly the reaction he was looking for, but she is not crying due to him.

Astarion sits back on the settee. She is quiet again, lost in the thoughts she’s hiding from him.

“Come here, my treasure.” Astarion extends his arms, wrapping them around her when she settles in his lap with her head against his chest. His thumb wipes away the teardrop creeping out of the corner of her eye. “You had your reasons for keeping it from me, but I would rather like to know why I am, shall we call it, unstable?”

She sighs, easing herself back to look into his eyes. “Mephistopheles created the Vampire Ascendant contract so that he could imbue a willing vessel with part of his violent nature to rid himself of it. The vessel was never supposed to have a soul, and thus, yours has been damaged — fragmented.” She takes a moment to consider him, watch his eyes, and feel her way through the bond, but in truth, he just feels empty.

Numb.

Illyria continues, “That entity, for lack of a better word, is infecting you like a virus. It will eventually... Hells, Astarion,” a sob erupts from her lips. “It will consume you eventually.”

“HA! Ha-ha-ha.” She flinches. Astarion rolls his eyes. Gods. When will his decisions not turn out to be a disaster? He sighs. “How long do I have to live as me?”

“We’re going to save you, Astarion,” she concludes. Her eyes are alight with glittering determination. “You’re just really not going to like what we have to do.”

“Oh Hells. I am going to regret asking this, but whatever would that be?”

“We need to steal your contract back from Mephistopheles.” Her voice does not even waver.

Now he understands why she didn’t want to tell him. She knew he would never allow her to do something so fucking stupid. The anger is creeping back up, tingling from his toes to the tips of his ears.

“Absolutely not.” Astarion shakes his head and takes on a brusque, commanding tone. “There is no way in the Hells I am letting you go on that little suicide mission. I have lived a long life. If it’s coming to an end, let me spend what time I have remaining with you.”

“I’m going!” She shouts at him, jumping off his lap and baring her adorable little fangs. “You are welcome to lay here and let yourself die, but I will not. I am going to find a way into the Hells, to Cania, and I’m getting that contract back.”

“The Hells you are!” He flies out of his seat, pacing. The psychosis in his mind is wide awake now. Wide awake and raging. He must regain control of himself. He must not let his emotions blow him over. Astarion takes a deep breath and says, “No. It’s too dangerous. I will not have my wife gallivanting around the Hells. It’s not happening, Illyria.”

“What are you going to do, Astarion?” She challenges, all the sharpness of her draconic ancestry ablaze in her timbre. “Compel me?”

He wracks his hand over his face, resting it on the back of his neck with narrowed eyes. “If I must. I told you; I will always do what is necessary to protect you.”

“Is that really how you want to start our engagement, our marriage?”

“No,” he growls. He’s losing control of himself. He can feel the authority he has being slowly funnelled away again. “I do not wish to compel you, but if you force my hand...”

It feels like thorny vines of icicles are crawling up his spine, humming the haunting song of Cania through his bloodstream. The serenade of frozen wastelands, glaciers, and abyssal crags swoons through him.

It’s enchanting.

Kill her before she destroys you. You are nothing without me and your power. I warned you the enchantress seeks to undo and lay waste to all that you’ve become. She is your greatest weakness, your only weakness, the last reminder of the pathetic spawn you were that keeps you attached to this soul. She must be vanquished.

His heart twists at the thought, corkscrewing in his chest. Are these his soulless thoughts? Mephistopheles thoughts? A combination of both? How does one tell the difference? His power surges, and the furniture all begins to tremor, thunking on the floors and fluttering in the air, staggering this way and that.

Astarion tries to shut it out, tries to regain control, but it hurts.

Pain is something he is well accustomed to. He would not have survived under Cazador without building a tolerance for pain, but this is somehow different. It is not merely pain; it is temptation, alluring in its seraphic oath of asylum, salvation, and shelter.

You do not have to feel; it hums. You do not have to suffer so.

His lips pull back, baring his fangs. He yearns to allow himself to be washed away in the black quintessence of nonexistence, where he can lay weightless, carefree, and safe.

Safe from the world that broke him and laughed as he suffered. Safe from the eyes that view him as nothing more than a monster. Safe from the fear, judgement, and revulsion he saw in his friend’s faces. It promises endless safety for all the parts of him that are still soft, vulnerable, and weak.

He craves it.

Her voice breaks him from his spiral. “Like you are trying to force my hand to live eternity without you?”

This catches him off guard, and he pivots. “What?”

Rivulets of tears roll down her cheeks. His heart palpates in his chest; a steak molded from sorrow drives through their combined heartbeat. She is terrified that he really will force her to watch him perish slowly, eaten away by the cancerous malignancy nested in his soul. Yet, her determination soars on the steel wings of a dragon, and her eyes are a flaring pyre of obstinacy.

There will be no talking her out of this; no amount of reasoning with her will suffice. She stares at him with an inflexibility that makes the parts of his remaining soul gasp. She had been so weak and small when she returned, her fire all but snuffed out by death, but now here she is blazing like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Stupid, stubborn woman.

“You’re not just asking me to sit back and watch you be emptied until there’s nothing left of you but a shell with your face. You’re asking me to watch you cease to exist and then go on living without you for eternity. I cannot do it, Astarion. I cannot fathom a world without you in it, and if I have a chance to save you, I’m going to take it, no matter how slim the odds are.”

“You wish to rob me of this power?” He howls indignantly. He cannot go back to being enfeebled by the sun and insatiable hunger. He cannot go back to having to prostrate himself to get anywhere. “You wish to undo the Ascension and turn me back into that spineless swine of a spawn I once was?”

He will not go back — even for her.

He can feel his eyes flashing manically. The winds of Cania howl in his ears, wild glaciers flow through his veins, and icebergs accumulate in the crevasses of his mind. Melanoid gloom froths around the edges of his sight, always creeping closer, closer, closer.

He is being frozen and buried alive in his own body, and he cannot dig himself out quickly enough.

He is going to lose.

“Run.” He growls at her.

“What?”

“I cannot hold it,” he grunts, doubling over. By the Gods, it hurts worse than any pain that's ever split his skin or cracked his bones. It avalanches over him, dragging him back down into the dark, dank coffin, and he does not know if he has the strength to crawl out of his grave again. “Run!”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going, and I appreciate each of you! ❤️

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Should she run or hold her ground and have a showdown with the soulless part of him that wants nothing more than to destroy her?

Will Astarion be able to pry himself out?

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts #astarion baldurs gate #astarion ancunin #soft ascended astarion

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amatorygirls · 5 months

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GtN and HtN spoilers!! CW: talk of not having control over your body

just randomly thought of this now so excuse my incoherentness or possible ignorance or if anyone has said this before (this is also my first ever tumblr post so sorry for formatting errors), but i was looking at fanart of cytherea the first and just loving it. i realized there’s just something so baroque about her, and i think that’s on purpose. because she’s of the 7th house yes, the emperor’s joy and all that, but also because she’s a woman, and also because she’s dying. she’s expected to be beautiful because of her affiliation and her gender, all while she’s decaying from a disease that she was doomed to be born with and could never escape until it ultimately killed her. wilting away infront of everyone. and the ENTIRE time, she was given roses. roses, the pinnacle of beauty. every single rose she was given had a meaning, a life. and every single rose died. inevitably, wilting away infront of her. reminding her of her own fragile, ‘beautiful’ self. and even after she was dead, she was laid to rest drowned in roses that were modified to stay perpetually fresh, along with her body (i think) ((which of course john would do, after reading nona i’m not surprised)). not even eternally asleep could she catch a break. i think tamsyn muir was saying something here about how the ‘ideal woman is a dead one’. she is silent, still, and malleable. that’s what she pretended to be in canaan house. but i don’t think she ever could truly be. she was too angry. too enraged. also the fact that she became a lyctor in hopes she could be cured but just ended up suffering in a stagnant state of sickness for thousands of years, the fact that she was purposely given this disease. the fact that john LIED. lied to everyone. lied to HER. before her life, during her life, and after her life, things were done to her body without her informed consent. her cancer being almost prophetic, her unknowing improper lyctoral ascension, and the possesion of her empty shell of a body. (also it being used as a medium for pyrrha and wake is a whole other thing) she IS the rage of not having control over your own body. i think, ultimatley, that’s what her character is about. i mean, i’m pretty sure harrow stabbing The Sword™️ INSIDE her unwilling corpse was probably a metaphor or something…

“we take so much. i’m so sorry.”

(again i just thought of this thirty minutes ago so feel free to add anything 🙏) ((i also wonder how this parallels dulcinea and her life but it’s 1 am and i don’t feel like thinking anymore. but i think we’ll learn more about her in alecto.))

the art that inspired this was a beautiful cytherea and harrow drawing by pygmypouter on tumblr!

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a-dragons-journal · 7 months

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Humanity and the Lack Thereof

This essay was co-written between Rani and Viridian; Viridian's text is in green and bracketed.

Humanity is an interesting thing.

I am otherkin. I am nonhuman, a dragon-in-human-skin, draconic to my core. I feel phantom wings and tail, the instinctive knowledge of how to breathe fire even though I don’t understand how it works, a bones-deep longing and homesickness for the sky, numerous instincts and urges tied to being something other than human. Many who are like me reject humanity entirely, don’t feel human at all. And yet, I am also human, deeply and truly. I am just as human as I am dragon - I like my human body, I love the things I can do with it (hands, dexterous hands, are a wonderful thing), I overall enjoy my human life. I am nonhuman, but I am not not human.

Viridian, who is watching “over my shoulder” as I write this, is a vampire. She is a fictive, from one of the Vampire: the Masquerade games that I play in, wherein vampires are typically considered to be… on the boundary line between “human” and “nonhuman.” Many vampires cling to their humanity and adamantly consider themselves human; I would go so far as to say this is the norm. Those who do not often become monstrous indeed, though often they do not.

[ I do not consider myself human. I am Kindred, vampire, Cainite. I am part of humanity, as a general populace - but I do not like being called human.

[ I think part of it is that being human is often put in direct opposition to being vampire as a personal identifier. Those who adamantly insist they are “still human” often mean as opposed to being a vampire instead. Being no longer human is, as Rani wrote, often considered a sign of becoming a monster instead.

[ But I worked hard for my Embrace, my being turned into a vampire. I worked to earn the right to call myself Kindred for nearly a decade. And yes, perhaps some of it is that I was taught by my original sire that the Embrace was an ascension above humanity, and that still colors my feelings on my own vampirism even if I acknowledge that he was wrong to consider us inherently above humans. But much of it is that being called human feels like a denial of my vampirism, a rejection of it, and for me that is not empowering - it is denying and rejecting something deeply important to me. Kindred is who I am. Human was only ever circumstantially true, a circumstance of birth - Kindred was something I actively sought out, pursued, chose. ]

Which is interesting, because to a certain extent, “human” is only circumstantially true for me, too. If I hadn’t been born human, I sincerely doubt I would identify as one in the same way that I identify as a dragon despite not being born into a dragon body. I could be wrong, of course - I have no way to prove it either way - but I suspect that if I am correct about reincarnation and I end up in another body after this one, I will not have the same “spillover” of humanity that I do of draconity from my dragon life.

And yet, I am human, and I actively dislike it when people try to strip that from me. Part of that, admittedly, is that the handful that try to see me as only dragon, and reject that I am human, are usually doing it because they’re violently misanthropic individuals, so it’s soured the whole thing for me because the reason they’re rejecting my humanity is so they can try to get me to shit-talk the rest of humanity with them. (If I have to hear one more dragon legitimately, whole-heartedly say that they think humanity should be extincted, I’m going to lose it.) But part of it is that my humanity is important to me, just as important as my draconity. I am both. I’ve written whole essays on this topic.

[ In that way, perhaps we’re not so different after all. I dislike being called human because it feels like a rejection of who I am, who I chose to be; you dislike being called not-human because it is a rejection of who you are. ]

Maybe so. Funny how different societal circumstances can yield opposite results from the same kind of pressures.

I think that part of the discrepancy between us is also that I’m a very physical person. Frankly, I am a chemical creature; I enjoy physicality, I enjoy affectionate touch, I enjoy the physical pleasures life has to offer. I enjoy food. I enjoy sexual pleasure. I enjoy the exhilaration of getting my heart going and my instincts fired up in a self-defense class. I live, I live, I live! is ever a cry of joy in my heart. And a lot of that ties into my animality! I am a dragon animal, yes, but I am also a human animal, and both of these things must be satisfied! The dragon yearns for the wind and the view when I climb up to a height, for the fire of battle I can get out of a sparring match; the human yearns for the taste of sun-warm berries right off the bush, for the warm press of bodies when I hug and cuddle with loved ones. Both of them love a good nap in the sun. I am a physical creature, I am an animal, and my animal-ness connects me to my body and thus to my humanity, rather than separating me from it.

[ Meanwhile, none of this has ever been true for me. Yes, of course I enjoy certain delicacies; I miss my brother’s cookies periodically, it’s true. But I’ve never loved these things the way Rani does. It’s not that I dislike the pleasures of life, but I’ve just… never really cared. It wasn’t much of a loss when I was Embraced, to trade food and sunlight and heartbeat for immortality and knowledge and power. It was almost convenient to not have to deal with the maintenance a living body requires - no excretion of waste, no inconvenient aches or pains or stomach cramps, a frankly much more manageable frequency of requiring sustenance. My body is just a tool, and the Embrace made it more efficient in most ways. And now, after twenty-three years of being dead, being in a living body again is overwhelming in some ways and just downright unpleasant in others. Even most of the physical matters Rani actively enjoys are either overwhelming or uninteresting for me. I am happy to leave the care and maintenance of the body to them. It’s not necessarily that I actively had a disconnect from my human body, originally, so much as that I didn’t have an active connection to it to make me identify with it, and thus my being “human” was, as I said, only ever circumstantial. My becoming Kindred overrode it, and I prefer to leave it that way.

[ Ironic, that the one whose nonhumanity is so human-shaped should be the one to reject humanity, but here we are. ]

Here we are.

#otherkin #dragonkin #plurality #fictive #rani talks #caldwell #journaling #community writings #essay as promised

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the-apology-dance · 11 months

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The Years Aziraphale Did The Apology Dance….

DID I JUST FIGURE SOMETHING OUT ACCIDENTALLY…..

So I love overthinking and bothering myself even MORE so I was thinking of when Aziraphale says the specific years he did the “I Was Wrong” Dance:

1650. 1793. 1941.

Curiosity got the better of me and I thought “I wonder what those are as verses in the Bible…”

WELL OH BOY-

Ezekiel (16:50) : “And they were haughty, and committed abomination before me: therefore I took them away as I saw good.”

(17:93) “-or, to have a house of gold or you go to heaven-but we would not even believe in your ascension unless you return with a book that we can read! "Say, "May my Lord be exalted in His glory, am I other than a man appointed as a messenger?"

John (19:41) “At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid.”

I thought nothing of this until I decided to look up 2023. The year Aziraphale left and the beginning of 2024.

(20:23-20:24)”I only know that in every city the Holy Spirit warns me that prison and hardships are facing me. I don’t care about my own life. The most important thing is that I finish my work. I want to finish the work that the Lord Jesus gave me to do—to tell people the Good News about God’s grace.”

This is The End and The Beginning of a new era. Aziraphale is going to heaven to finish what he started…Don’t forget this is labeled “The Apology Dance”. What’s the last thing Aziraphale says to Crowley? He FORGIVES him. Even if Crowley is unforgivable, forgiveness is one of the things Aziraphale is best at.

NEIL ARE YOU SERIOUS-

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens spoilers #aziraphale #neil gaiman #micheal sheen #scripture #also fuck the metatron #seriously #i’m not crying you’re crying #how did i miss this #biblical scripture #good omens meta #good omens thoughts #crying screaming sobbing #time period #im 😭😭😭😭😭

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chittychittyyangyang · 1 year

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I could be way off base, but I have been thinking about this since she said this and trying to figure out what moral? At the time, the best they could figure would be to follow Alyx’s path, but not make the mistakes she made. We now know not only was the story changed from what Jaune was there for, but Alyx wasn’t like the girl who’s in the story.

If there is some “moral” to be learned here, I did wonder if it was to respect and understand different people. Because that’s something up until this current chapter NONE of our main cast have done. RW.BY have been operating out of a story with people as a means to an end. They aren’t really people in their own right, just a way to progress forward. They never really ask anything about the Afterans, outside of asking Curious about ascension, and it’s not like they are a reliable source of information since they seem to have the ability to influence Afteran’s will and only will answer what is asked.

Jaune mentioned that Alyx was cruel and didn’t think the rules applied to her, and while they’ve not been cruel about it we’ve not seen anyone from Remnant treat the Afterans like actual people until (R)WBY listens to the Paper Pleasers. @professorspork spoke about Blake caring about the Paper Pleasers and speaking up for them, and it’s really the first time any of them think about the lives of the people there and not just getting home… Not that Jaune or Ruby agree that they are people.

Just because it’s a fairy-tale to them doesn’t mean it’s not real to the people there. It doesn’t mean they don’t have full lives, even if the visitors of Remnant don’t understand or agree with their culture. Ever After has shown Blake specifically that her culture is very important to her, and if there is some moral to be gained by Blake in this “story” is that understanding different cultures only enhances everyone and leads to greater cooperation. Almost like that’s a goal of hers...

#ccyy talks #I also have thoughts about the rules in ever after #and that it is kinda like therapy island like we all joked about #but like all intervention they only really work if you put in the work #the bees got what they wanted not because ever after really forced it on them but that they wanted it #cause jaune refused to look at himself or penny weiss did nothing while watching the fall of her home and ruby didn't even see summer #after ever doesn't seem to put things in front of you unless on some level you do want it addressed #doesn't mean you're ready or capable to confront it #I'm not even sure I made my point really clear I am just avoiding my internship and school work oops #blake

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catt-wall-d-writer · 20 days

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Astarion - Ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone [1/2]

Tw: loving relationship turned toxic, angst, possible act3 spoilers

I primarily wrote this as a vent piece since I had, in an unfortunate chain of events, Ascended Astarion on my Durge resisting playthrough. So I decided to give my Tav and Astarion some deeper lore. There will be part two soon enough, but if you have any wishes let me know

It seemed like yesterday that we spoke first of Ascension. Like it was merely a day ago, when the weak rays of sunlight in the Shadow Cursed Lands speckled against our skin as we prepared for the long trek to Wyrm’s Rock.

The journey felt daunting but manageable then, as long as we were together.

But it’s been so long… I can barely recognise the face I wake up next to every day.

At first I thought to indulge him, so every time we spoke of Ascension I would naively smile and nod, supporting his fight for freedom. I thought to let him down slowly, support his freedom of making a choice… Then later on, I tried hinting that it might not be the safest option. Oh what a fool I was. It was already too late. He has set his mind on becoming free… whatever that meant for him.

At the time I thought he just wanted revenge, to slay Cazador in cold blood, slowly and painfully, the bastard deserved an eternity of torture, but his existence alone brought so much suffering that it was best to end him.

But not like this.

I know it’s not my place to say, I should even be happy for him, he’s gotten his revenge and he has become undefeatable. Absolute.

But this just isn’t him.

I wonder this time where he's gone Wonder if he's gone to stay

These thoughts plague me, haunting every quiet moment. His gaze now seemed all knowing, piercing me as if he was looking right through me. I felt fully bare before him. But unlike before, he never asked if I was alright. He just looks at me and carries on.

His touch has gotten rough, his words sharp and cruel.

“My pet” he calls me, and like a fool, I glance at him and I don’t know if it is the radiance of the sun or if it is that last fading bit of hope glinting in my eyes.

“Yes, my love?” I answer, like a lovesick puppy.

“It truly is a pity that you resisted the Dread Lord’s calling… we could’ve been indestructible now, but look at you, clinging to your righteousness” he says, his disappointment seeping into each word.

I barely speak up in response, my throat swelling with the intense feeling of despair that has been brewing in me ever since he has Ascended “I…I resisted because I wanted to protect you…from myself”

“Oh please, I don’t need any protecting now, every other being pales in comparison to the power of a True Vampire Ascendant” he says nonchalantly, just showing me how much this new form has corrupted him.

Days blur together. I don’t remember the last time I talked to him, last time I heard his contagious laughter. Who is this man who grips me so roughly, who kisses me with a forced, mechanical passion?

I shift in bed, inadvertently bumping into him.

“Can’t sleep?” he says, his tone void of emotion.

“Mhm” is all I say, my eyes meeting his deep crimson ones. They glow in the dim light, scrutinizing me with a cold, detached curiosity.

“Sunrise isn’t far away” he says, as if a sanguine being like him would need to lie in bed and rest.

“Mhm” I repeat, unable to grasp the point of his words. He’s no longer capable of caring, and he’s shown me that time and time again.

“Say…pet…” he starts slowly, and I feel him shift on the bed behind me, his chest flush against my backside “It’s been so long since you’ve invited me to…drink from you shall we say…” He says and I already feel his breath against my neck.

At least that part didn’t change, he still asks first.

“I must admit, I am feeling a bit…. Peckish” he continues since I didn’t reply, and I can almost feel his heart thrumming in his chest as he struggles to hold himself back.

I simply turn to face him and a single tear runs down my cheek as a stray ray of sun, peeks through the curtain, shining onto his beautiful pale face. The very same face, its smile a distant memory.

Ain't no sunshine when he's gone. Only darkness every day.

I bury the memories and I give in, placing my palm on the side of his face, pulling him closer and he takes the opportunity to bury his fangs into my neck. As always, I wince a little at first, it just that he doesn’t even attempt to show concern for me or to comfort me. He takes and takes…

It's not warm when he's away.

It gets to me, I can’t say it doesn’t, yet I try to find comfort in it - even his cold cruel words can be twisted into something that can resemble kindness.

He greedily slurps my blood and I can feel my vision blurring. Is this it? Is this how I’ll end? At the hands of my lover- turned monster?

As if sensing my despair, he suddenly halts. Without warning, he grips my neck with a vice-like hold and leans in, his breath hot and menacing against my ear. “My sweet pet,” he growls, his voice a groggy rumble, “All mine….and oh so eager to serve…”

I sigh.

And I know, I know, I know, I know

“I know what’s going through that pretty head of yours, pet” he says as he drags his fingers along my throat “I will not tolerate it” he warns me.

Have I no right to the sanctity of my own thoughts anymore? Is there no place left for me? Not just in his cold, dead heart, but anywhere?

It’s not too late to answer the calling of the Dread Lord

Hey, I oughta leave that thing alone.

It would do me no good, becoming nothing more than a tool for senseless slaughter in the name of some god.

And yet, that might be the only way to make him see me as an equal. As a true partner. Not a toy, not a pet, not something to be owned and used.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #my fic #fanfic #bg3 durge #astarion x durge #angst #video games #ascended astarion #dark urge

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emrystheedgedancer · 2 years

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“Idealism should have a cost”

This is from Brandon’s chapter annotations of the Well of Ascension. It’s for chapter 38, the chapter where Elend officially and finally gets deposed from the throne.

And I just love this. Elend Venture is one of my favorite characters in fiction because of this idea. Idealism has a cost. Honesty has a cost. And Elend learns that the most brutal way he can and then is STILL a good man after.

I think in fiction there’s a tendency to make fun of good men. Most people I know tend to be more interested in the Kaz Brekkers or Darklings or Phantoms or Snapes instead of the Mals, Raouls, and Harrys. There’s nothing wrong with that but I do wonder if it’s because most writers don’t bother to give their good men interesting things to do and challenging ways to develop like Brandon does. They tend to put their heroes in challenging situations to learn some lesson but rarely ever show much of a change inside. They don’t test their morals at their core, they only show how those morals are applied to the world.

Elend is a brilliant character because he shows what it is to truly have your morals tested. That last part in chapter 38, where only Elend and one other person in the room know that the law says they can change their vote- it’s so good. Many men would have lied. Elend knows that lying will keep him his throne. But he doesn’t. And because of his honesty and idealism he has to sacrifice what he knows is best and what he wants.

I just appreciate the attention that Brandon pays to good men rather than having flat good men and interesting grey men or villains as so many others do. Elend is a good man. Kaladin is a good man. But they are also flawed men, who still have to learn and grow and sacrifice. Kaladin sacrifices for his idealism all the time.

I just really love Elend Venture okay

#elend venture #mistborn era 1 #mistborn #cosmere #brandon sanderson

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glorianamultistan · 2 years

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Requested by @ledosbunnyboy - Hi was wondering if I could request a Juyeon x male reader with corruption kink? Juyeon is a thief who went into a castle to steal some treasure but prince reader asks if he can take him to cuz he hates the Royal lifestyle and cuz he’s abt to be made king and Juyeon agrees and snatches him away. They just live pretty domestically until reader asks Juyeon to teach him abt sex and they do the nasty. Mostly Juyeon guiding Reader thru the motions and some muscle worship (Juyeon receiving). It’d be kinda based off “The Stealer”. If u don’t wanna write it it’s okay 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 have a nice day/night 🫶🏽

I don't own the pic

Juyeon × male reader Pt. 1

(ps:- I am so excited about this because Juyeon is one of my ults! This turned out to be longer than I expected but I assure you, it is worth it. I might write a second part if yall like it)

Part 2

Contents - SMUT, a bit of life crisis, protective violence

Y/n was never satisfied in the position he was forced to be in, and neither was he ever mentally or physically ready for the throne. His ascension was undisputed, as the first in line to the throne, he was always treasured and pampered like a god because that was what he was supposed to be, the head of the empire, the centre of every and all lifecycle in it and their protector.

For a guy who never went out of the palace, to be thrown suddenly into the foremost castle of the capital for training was a traumatic experience. But, while he used to train with weapons in the morning, he sneaked into the kitchen of the castle to learn to cook secretly with the help of the head chef.

In the main palace, doing this was an impossibility due to the presence of the king and the queen who had every line drawn in stones, but here, y/n was the highest-ranking royal, so he was able to change a few things.

After 7-8 months of training, he was supposed to move to the very frontlines of the empire and do a border tour before the coronation but, just after 2 months of training it was clear to most of the high-ranked warriors that the crown prince was not ready. He was too naive to attack, too clumsy in the armour, too depressed to have the will to do better and was becoming weaker as the days went by because of this burden.

On the other hand, y/n was already a great cook, well-versed even in local medicinal plants and soups. The head chef was very proud of the young prince for being such a diligent learner.

Y/n realised soon into the training that he never wanted to finish the process, that would mean going to the borders and coronation and he was in his own words "just incapable of taking care of the whole empire." His younger sister would do a better job than him, she was already an admiral of a victorious fleet which out mastered many neighbouring nations. Her character was even stronger than the current king.

But for that to happen, y/n would have to die. How can he leave end this life when he has so much to do, so many wishes to fulfil, yet he knew he cannot go on like this too.

One night during the eleventh hour when y/n was reading a cookbook describing the ways teas can be healing, he heard a scratchy sound outside his chamber. As his positioning in the castle was supposed to be very strategic, he knew the dungeons close by had treasury for the castle.

Was it a test? Were the officials trying to test whether the crown prince would go head-on into such a situation without notifying others? After all, he was supposed to become an expert in warfare, a persona y/n was disgusted by.

He slowly mustered up his courage and went to the treasury with a cat-like movement.

Due to it being only candle-lit, there was a lot of darkness down the stairs and before he could reach the bottom, he slipped.

Y/n ended up in the treasury with a sprained ankle and was in so much pain that he actually started to cry but stopped when he heard a sound. "Oh, look what we have here. A royal insignia... You must be the crown prince, my pleasure to meet you, your royal highness." The guy was taller than y/n, clad in skin-tight black attire, he looked as if another royal just walked in front of y/n.

"Are you a gentleman?" Y/n absent-mindedly uttered and got a hearty laugh as a reply. "Name's Juyeon sir, I am just a passerby, who thought why not take some treasure to my friends, you must have heard of them, the famous bandits called TBZ."

Something is wrong, this guy's voice and presence should scream danger but for y/n it is as if he was engulfed in a warmth that not even his family ever provided him. TBZ have vandalised many of the castles protecting major ports, obviously, y/n heard of them.

"I see you are not well, you look sick my prince, I will just take my portion and silently leave, you should get better soldiers, by the way, they did not even hear me sneaking in."

"Why are you not afraid of me? I am the heir to the throne, you are one of the most wanted criminals, yet you talk as if we can not harm each other. Why such bravado?" Y/n merely whispered it all as he began feeling pain in his leg again and hissed while lightly touching his ankle.

Juyeon came closer to the prince and softly bent to look at y/n's leg. "You have sprained it, you were crying a few moments ago, and you look so pale and unaccustomed to the surroundings, the weapons you carry and the way you talk too. Do you think I will be scared of you, my prince? I will leave, you should pull the bell if you want."

"Wait!" Y/n screamed as he tried to get up but he hit something in the dark and fell again. "Wait..." he whimpered, "Take me with you."

'What!? Take you with me? Why? Where? Do I look that kind to you?" "No, please listen, take me with you, out of here, I know your gang has routes around other kingdoms too, please, I don't want to go on like this, please, help me." Y/n tearfully whispered these words as if a prayer for salvation.

"Are you sure about it? You are the next king, what about this empire? I don't want my people to be hunted for kidnapping the crown prince."

"Yes, just, help me cross the border, I will be fine." "Okay."

Juyeon picked up the prince and carried him out of the castle on his back, then with the help of his friends outside he covered y/n up and they left for the kingdom in the East of the empire.

~time skip~

After a week's journey, Juyeon realised that y/n was never let out in the real world, so he had no social inhibition and often was a target of weirdos praying on his naivete. Y/n was so curious about everything that Juyeon had to conform to the rest of the members of his gang that he did not mean any harm as y/n really just want to know things for the sake of it.

Y/n on the other hand was fascinated and now that his leg healed completely thanks to the medicinal balms Juyeon gave him, he roamed around in the foreign land freely looking at the people in the market with awe and talking to the spic merchants and florists.

Y/n and Juyeon lived outside a city in a forest area, this base was supposed to be safe and was well connected to the main routes to the city and port. Since Juyeon brought the prince, he was given the responsibility to look over him which in reality was to look after him.

One day y/n asked Juyeon to bring some vegetables and berries and other food items promising nothing will go to waste as he was tired of just bread and soup. And that was the day Juyeon decided that if anytime y/n was to leave him, the first thing he will miss would be the food made by him. Even though y/n was clumsy all around, in the kitchen he was a magician, weeks went by as Juyeon would return from the city to meals only his moans while eating could describe, rest of the members when they came to check upon them found it all too domestic and started referring y/n as the house-husband and homemaker.

Through this time Juyeon began to understand y/n more and more and wanted to protect the prince even from minor scratches he had while cooking or just randomly stumbling and falling. He would never want to see the prince as he saw him in the treasury again. This y/n was healthier, happier and livelier than anything he ever experienced, this was the prince he was blessed with, his prince.

"My prince." He suddenly uttered as y/n was sitting beside him on the same sofa, trying to understand how to weave something, while Juyeon was admiring him.

"Yes?" "What?" "You said my prince, you tell what." "I did?" "Yes, Juyeon, you just said it and after such a long time."

Juyeon liked y/n. It was made clear to everyone on the day he almost killed a gang of three middle-aged warriors who tried to have their way with y/n when the prince got lost in the market and got separated from Juyeon. Only one hand was able to rip the veil off the face of the prince he always wore to hide his identity, in that very moment, the very hand got cut and fell off with the now mythologized remark heard by the child whom y/n was trying to save from the three men, "move one step closer to him and next will be that leg."

It was a blood bath and if y/n wouldn't have cried to stop Juyeon for the sake of the child who would be traumatised beyond help seeing it all, Juyeon would have killed those three men.

Since then, that child frequented their home and they got to know that he was the only one left in the family as those loan sharks killed his parents for money. Y/n asked his name, but the child did not know so he named the child Ruka. Now, Ruka was referred to by the city people as y/n and Juyeon's child and this provided him security too. Nobody dared to touch people related to the TBZ.

After all of this fiasco y/n got pretty scared and they started sleeping in the master bedroom together, when Ruka was not with any one of his friends, he joined them too.

One morning y/n got up to an embarrassing hard-on as he had a very sensual dream about Juyeon. And before he could leave the bed, Juyeon hugged him from the back and whispered "you moaned my name with such passion and are now leaving me alone in the bed like this."

It was too much for the virgin prince to handle, the voice, the bare chest, the breath at the back of his neck.

"Ju-juyeon, what are you saying? Let me go please." Rather than doing that Juyeon moved his hands in y/n's shirt and whispered again. "Remember when you said you wanted to learn about sex and I said you were not ready? Let me teach you now, my prince." His hand flicked y/n's left nipple while speaking, making y/n moan.

Curiosity to know about his body and pleasure Juyeon came over y/n and the next thing he knew, he was being guided to touch the bare abs of the same person he has liked for so long.

"You can touch me, baby, my dear prince, I am all yours." And so y/n did, his hands were moving on their own as he touched every curve and admired every ridge of Juyeons bare upper body. The muscles he admired from afar as Juyeon walked semi-naked around the house, were divine to touch, this must be the holy grail, this knowledge and body must be godly.

Slowly, Juyeon was on top of y/n kissing, licking and biting as if claiming his reward finally, the real treasure he found in that castle was this person and all the love and warmth he got from him.

As he began eating y/n out, the prince was a crying moaning mess, so much pleasure, he did not know what to do, his tongue failed him and only broken syllables of Juyeon's name were echoing through the bedroom. Then he came for the first time and his scream was enough to make Juyeon too come back to reality as he was so engrossed in eating the other out he forgot to look up. And the sigh was heaven to behold, y/n looked like salvation, the answer to his own prayer in that treasury. This was the liberation they both needed.

As Juyeon inserted himself in y/n and as he picked up his pace, he made sure to wrap the other up around him tightly to hold him, suck his nipples, and kiss his lips in such desperation that after they were done and Juyeon finally came for the first and y/n for the nth time. Both were sure that their bodies had no boundaries from each other, just one vast sweaty mass heaving and kissing as if itself.

"You did so well my prince, so good for me. I will never let you go." Ple-ase, d-dont let me go. I love you, so much, you are my god, how... how will I live without you?"

With such declarations, they left the bed together to have a warm bath. That evening when the members found out about what had happened due to y/n's loose shirt and him proudly wearing the marks Juyeon left, all anyone would ask was a date for marriage.

P.S.:- If you liked it, you can support me by buying me a coffee; link's on my page.

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rynnthefangirl · 2 months

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In regard to JL&J vs. A&V, I wonder if the fandom animosity has anything to do with Viserys II being the absolute worst.

He forces his daughter to marry his rapist son and then steals his niece’s throne, using Rhaenyra as evidence to why women shouldn’t rule.

In contrast we have dashing Prince Jace who dies fighting for his mother’s claim and goes down in history as one of the greatest kings Westeros never had. George’s own words btw.

No one can say Westeros was better off with Daemyra’s son on the throne instead of Jace and most of us can agree that Rhaenyra’s definitely cursing Viserys II from the grave.

The ideal ending was King Jacaerys I Targaryen, the tragedy is that we end up with King Viserys II Targaryen.

Boy oh boy, you activated my Viserys II and Aegon III defense protocol.

First, to be clear I 100% agree King Jacaerys I would have been amazing, and (along with Queen Baela) one of the best monarchs Westeros would have ever seen. Westeros was robbed, and FUCK the Greens for that.

But Viserys II the absolute worst? Not even close.

First, the Daena issue. Viserys gets a lot of shit for this, but let’s look at the reality. He has just spent 14 years trying to protect the realm from the follies of his nephews, Daeron the Warmonger and Baelor the Religious Zealot. Now he has two options. Option 1. Let Daena take the throne. Daena was said to idolize her brother Daeron (the violent war monger who got 50,000 men killed to stroke his ego), and likely sympathized with the anti-Dornish (read: racist) faction at court forming since Daeron’s failed conquest. Viserys’ own great grandchild is half Dornish, and the peace with Dorne was hard won — does Westeros need a Queen who may threaten to break that peace? How many more will die if Daena decides to avenge her brother? Daena also has been locked in isolation for 10 years— while obviously she should not be punished for that (and I cannot stress this enough, FUCK Baelor), you do have to wonder what kind of effect that may have on her psychology. Now I love Daena, I truly truly do, but there were a lot of red flags as to what kind of Queen she would be. Had Elaena been next in line (and her competence that we later see been known to Viserys), I think it could have been a different story.

Option 2. Take the throne himself. Viserys II is arguably the most competent statesman House Targaryen ever produced. He has buckets of experience running the realm, and truly put the good and prosperity of westeros above all else: above his ego, above his vanity, above his ambition. I don’t believe for one second that Viserys is some devoted male primogeniture advocate that believes women shouldn’t rule: but I think he (correctly) saw that he was more suited to the throne than Daena was. The major downside of Viserys is that his son and heir is awful. BUT Aegon’s flaws would have appeared to be excess lust and gluttony, something he was already indulging in as a prince, and theoretically would not have been so bad for the Realm as a whole if he had just sat back and let the council do the ruling for him, as Viserys likely expected he would. Like Robert Baratheon. And after Aegon, the next in line is Daeron, who at the point of Viserys’ ascension had already been shown to be smart, kind, capable, honorable, wise— all the makings of a great king. Viserys probably figured the realm could tolerate a decade or so of Aegon fucking around while the small council and Hand ruled, to be followed up by an ideal heir, Daeron. This is also all assuming that Viserys was not planning to disinherit Aegon and make Daeron his immediate heir; he may have simply died (or been poisoned) before he had the chance. By contrast, Daena has no true born children yet, so there is no telling how good or bad her heir might be. Would Viserys flip the coin on if her son would be Maegor come again, or go the way he knew had a competent heir one generation down?

I hate to see another Targaryen woman screwed out of her birth right, but please understand how vastly different this was to what Aegon II and the Greens did. This was not just “oh women shouldn’t rule, male primogeniture is great, fuck my mother Rhaenyra” or “oh I’m a greedy asshole who wants the throne and will screw over my own family to get it”. Viserys is simply a practical man who deals with reality the way that it is, not the way that he wishes it to be.

I also think it is worth considering another thing— from what we know about Viserys II, he deeply loved and was utterly loyal to his brother Aegon. I think it’s fair to say his love would extend to his brothers children. He served Daeron and Baelor faithfully… and they both died young, struck down after their personal follies were amplified to a horrifying extent by the absolute power they wielded. Perhaps Viserys worried that power would drive Daena to a similar fate as her brothers, and felt that he was protecting Aegon’s beloved daughter from herself. Now is that incredibly patronizing? Yes. But it may not have been entirely incorrect, and would be coming from a place of love and good intentions.

At the end of the day, Jace is amazing, but he never had to face the same difficult choices that Viserys II and Aegon III did. He was in a war where the goal was simple : win, and protect your family. But what do you do when forced to choose between your mother’s legacy (not her life, her legacy) and peace for your people? When the choice is ego and pride over safety and stability? When to preserve the future, you must let go of the past? Jace died at 15, before he ever had to face such decisions. At age 13, Viserys stood his ground against the Kingsguard, holding out against a secret seige for 18 days and using his courage and wit to undo all of Unwin Peake’s schemes. No part of me doubts that 15 year old Viserys would have jumped on his dragon and rushed to save a little sibling from the the Battle of the Gullet, dying for his family. Jace and Viserys simply cannot he compared. Jace is forever 15, forever flawless and forever brave and forever our perfect would be king. He will never make a mistake. Viserys had to grow up and realize that not everything is as black and white as sending Sandoq the Shadow to protect your lady wife. It’s kind of like what Maekar said to Duncan after Baelor Breakspear died: anytime anything went wrong, people would say “Baelor would not have let this happen, but the Hedge Knight killed him”. Would Baelor have been a phenomenal king? Absolutely. But it’s hardly fair to assume he could and would have fixed any issue that ever went wrong in Valarr’s (or as it would be, Aerys’) reign.

Now— the Naerys issue. I am not going to defend this one as I defended him ascending the throne over Daena. I love Viserys as a character, and rarely do I love characters because I think they are wholly good. Viserys doomed his own goddamn daughter to life of misery and endless marital rape. That cannot be denied. In truth, Viserys II is much the same as Jaehaerys I. Both great men, great kings… and absolutely godawful fathers.

I will offer some context about it though. Because Viserys did not marry 36 year old Aegon to 33 year old Naerys. He married 18 year old Aegon to 15 year old Naerys (and as to the age thing, this was a normal time for Westerosi women to marry, and Viserys in particular is going to have a messed up view on the matter considering that he was married at 12 and seemed to have developed a kind of fucked up Stockholm-esque love for 19 year old Larra). Now, the accounts make it seem like the extent of Aegon’s awfulness did not become truly apparent until he got a bit older, and the mistakes he made were written off by court and realm as the follies of youth. I think one of Viserys’ biggest mistakes and worst characteristics is that he allowed himself to get so caught up in his duty to his brother and realm, that he utterly neglected his own children. They weren’t living in a massive war as he and his brother did in their childhood, so what guidance did they truly need? I think he felt that Aegon had the lust and gluttony that many spoiled rich kids would have, and that time and stern discipline would set him straight. I don’t think he was paying enough attention to see that Aegon was a burgeoning sociopath. Viserys probably thought that sweet, dutiful Naerys would be a good influence on Aegon, and help shape him into a better person. I think it also was a politically motivated match, some classic oldest son-oldest daughter incest to show the realm that the loss of the dragons did not mean House Targaryen was abandoning its ancient customs.

Again, I truly am not trying to say Viserys was in the right here. He should have cared for his children enough to see how fucked up Aegon was and that he was putting his daughter in an incredibly dangerous situation. If Naerys hated her father and cursed his name and never forgave him, she would be so fucking right to do so. But Viserys in truth reminds me a bit of Maekar— I think he was (either through negligence or stubborn willfullness) ignorant (at that point) to his sons true depravity. Maekar thought Aerion (clear born psychopath, broke Tanselle’s fingers, tried to kill Duncan, threatened to castrate his little brother, threw a cat down a well, drank wildfire, Aerion) was a promising young man who just needed a shove in the right direction— until Aerion’s monstrosity got his Uncle Baelor killed. In the same way, I think Viserys saw Aegon as lazy and gluttonous and lustful… but someone who could still be put on the right path. Then by the time it became clear that that wasn’t the case, and he doomed his daughter to marriage to a rapist sociopath, it was too late. Divorce does not exist in Westeros.

The tragedy was not King Viserys II. The tragedy was King Daeron I, King Baelor I, and King Aegon IV. The worst thing Aegon III and Viserys II did was fathering these absolute fuckfaces. But their sons being the absolute worst does not make them the absolute worst. Even the best most noble and amazing person can be cursed with a psycho as a son. Aegon V, lord protector of smallfolk, had none other than Mad King Aerys himself as a grandson. Had Jace ascended the throne, I promise at some point that corruption and rot will rear its ugly head— whether in his sons, grandsons, great-grandsons, etc. Not because it’s endemic to House Targaryen, but because it’s endemic to humanity and having absolute power be inherited to every first born son no matter what is a terrible idea.

At the end of the day, I stan and love ALL of Rhaenrya’s children. Jace, Luke, Joff, Aegon, Viserys— every single one. I won’t deny Viserys is the worst of them, but he also lived the longest, and as such of course is going to have more fucked up shit to his name than literal children who died fighting a war. My original post was calling out Aegon and Viserys “fans” who shit on the Velaryon boys, and I stand by that. I’ll go to war for the Velaryon boys. But I’ll go to war for Daemyra’s boys too, the broken kids who had to pick up the pieces of their broken realm in the wake of the most catastrophic war westeros ever saw, who never asked or wanted any of it. They did their best.

Edit: I’m now realizing this may have come across as aggressive overkill considering that it is genuinely very fair to criticize Viserys. Apologies Anon😅 I’m just really passionate about him and Aegon III (they are my favorite Targs) and this gave me an excuse to talk about a lot of the thoughts I’ve been meaning to make posts about.

#aegon iii targaryen #viserys ii targaryen #donning my armor grabbing my sword whenever anyone talks shit about any of Rhaenrya’s boys #that being said yes fuck Viserys for doing that to naerys #she cried on their wedding day and he still made her go through it #like ignorance is not an excuse pay attention to your fucking kids #but context is important and he is not the ‘absolute worst’#like said that when Aegon II Daeron I Baelor I Aegon IV Aerys II Maegor all exist???#he was low key right about Daena though

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