#Ladies they pay homage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yueebby · 6 months ago

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𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

synopsis. period piece, forbidden love

contents. ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior (5k words of gojo pining), lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips

notes. inspired by the apothecary diaries and this post. loosely based off of ancient japan (this is basically its own world). this is the prologue to the series where everything can generally be read as a standalone ! (fic under the cut)

series masterlist

emperor!gojo who broke a hundred year tradition to take you as his only lover. despite your role as a concubine, everyone in the imperial palace knew he was going to make you his empress.

emperor!gojo who had not meant to fall in love with you, but you have managed to somehow charm him. a man that single handedly brought his own clan to power– weak in your hands. hushed whispers around the imperial palace call you a witch, but they never reach your ears. not as long as he is alive.

emperor!gojo shamelessly showering you with love. he pays no mind that it is highly frowned upon, he will have his hands on you every time you are in the same room.

emperor!gojo who is livid when there is an attempt on your life. his usual ocean eyes turned to blue flames like a wild animal. servants and clan elders alike scurry under his gaze. the assailant is taken care of by his own hands.

emperor!gojo who is forced to satiate the clan elders into submission by taking in another concubine from an influential clan. he insists to you that it is no more than a political formality. who are you to meddle into imperial affairs?

emperor!gojo who can’t help himself and ends up falling for another girl who his clan elders demand he must wed. she is much younger than you, beautiful and is well bred; a perfect match for the emperor.

emperor!gojo whose frequent visits to you come to an end, forcing you to move from his chambers and back to the consorts’ pavilion.

There was a time when you had everything. A place to call home in the Inner Court, a beautiful palace with anything you could have ever dreamed of. Servants, admirers, riches; you had it all. But what was most dear to you was your lover– a man so divine, many thought he was directly blessed by the hand of God. It was too good to be true. A woman of lowly birth like you, paid as homage for the sins of her clan against the new reigning family of Japan, becoming a concubine of the Heavenly Emperor.

You remembered it all too well.

His brilliant mind that once strategized the downfall of the previous imperial family, calculating its next move in a game of Go against you. You can still remember the shock on his face upon his first defeat. The way he would keep you from leaving to fulfill your other duties until he was satisfied, eyebrows furrowing as he struggled to keep up with you. No matter how hard he tried, you remained victorious. It drove him mad.

You remembered the stolen kisses while you made your rounds in the Inner Palace with your ladies in waiting. It took you quite a while to learn to tune out their giggles every time the Emperor dips you down to taste your lips in broad daylight. The grin that he wore after was enough to leave your legs weak.

Above all, you'll always remember how safe you felt in his strong, reassuring embrace. You’ve seen him train, and it was no wonder the Gojo clan rose to power so quickly as a result of one man. The way he wields the katana is unlike any man on the face of the earth. Those arms were your sanctuary. You can still vividly recall the attempt on your life, orchestrated by a traditionalist incensed by the Gojo clan's swift ascent to power. The emperor, outraged by the assassination plot, personally saw to the man's execution.

However, the damage was done and it caused great strain in the Imperial Palace.

To appease the old geezers that were forced out of power, Emperor Gojo had taken in another concubine from one of the Big Three families of Japan— a beautiful Zenin girl. Her flowing, silky hair and saccharine voice enchanted everyone in the Inner Palace, captivating the Emperor, most of all. She was younger than you, with perkier breasts and soft skin that was enough to capture the attention of any man.

You don’t blame her for taking the Emperor’s attention away. Though you would be a liar if you said it did not hurt you. Deep down, you cannot deny the agony that sears your soul, realizing that the only semblance of love you've ever tasted remains unrequited. With a heavy heart, you resign yourself to the bitter truth of your existence, knowing all too well the cruel confines of your place in this world.

You were merely a pawn, and the Emperor did not want you anymore.

That was made clear months later when you received a scroll from the Emperor’s advisor, a man you were once well acquainted with, Geto Suguru.

“What is this?” You asked him quietly, your heart silently begging the Heavens it was not what you had suspected it to be. The black haired man in front of you does not respond, and you feel something pierce into your heart. Despite being a part of the Emperor’s court, it was rare that you received letters directly.

Your suspicions were confirmed when your shaky hands finally opened the scroll to read the familiar kanji written by your beloved.

“The Emperor decrees the termination of your role as concubine." Geto spares you the trouble of deciphering the characters neatly written in ink. “In his mercy, you are to be moved as a servant in the Outer Court. You are to serve the Imperial Physician.”

What you remember most was the silence. The Emperor’s silence after the stressful months you had to endure alone. The silence shared between you and Geto when you were forced out of the Imperial Court. All that was left was the sound of your heart breaking and the wood creaking underneath Geto’s feet as he walked away. Satoru never bothered to see you off.

Seasons change and by the next spring, you’re busying your hands with collecting herbs for the Imperial Physician, a man by the name of Yaga Masamichi. He is a kind man, pitying you enough to fill your days with laborious tasks to prevent your mind from wandering to thoughts of the unfortunate turn your life has taken. He is even generous enough to supply you with a new wardrobe of clothing full of light fabrics, a luxury you thought you would lose in the Outer Palace. Though the initial humiliation has worn off with the passing of time, you are still constantly reminded of your fall from grace.

Looks by the mix of condolences and disgust are shared when you roam the walls of the Outer Palace. You hear whispers of how the Emperor is infatuated with his newer, shinier toy. It is enough for you to swallow the bile that makes its way up your throat.

“It is no wonder the Emperor tossed away a wildflower like her in exchange for a cherry blossom. He needed someone to rival his own greatness.” A particular comment stopped you in your tracks. Your grip tightens on the woven basket in your hand filled with medicinal herbs you had collected earlier that morning.

“Have some pity on her.” Another eunuch whispers. Your breath falters, but you continue your walk with your head held up. You’ve heard the rumors. The beautiful Zenin Himiko has charmed the Emperor enough that there are rumors of a royal marriage to come. It doesn’t help that the Emperor has remained monogamous to her since he had banished you from his court.

A comforting hand links itself with your arm, “Ignore them. I saw Yaga shooing away a crowd of suitors that were lined up for your hand.” Ieiri Shoko scoffs, secretly sending you a wink. She has been studying medicine under Yaga for nearly a decade, eagerly accepting you as a companion upon your arrival. You feel your cheeks heat up at her flattery. You know she’s just trying to make you feel better.

Although your beauty never faded, it seems as though you are no longer sought after in the marriage market. Not that it matters, considering the new life that you’re living. You’re now a personal servant to the Imperial Physician, leaving no time to worry about suitors and such. Your days are filled with good work— tending to Yaga’s cherished garden that he has sowed for decades rather than frivolous games and attending the Emperor. It may not be glorious compared to your former life, but it was the best a woman of your status could receive.

When you and Shoko return to Yaga’s estate, you’re surprised to see the somber look that has settled on his aging features. Shoko makes an offhand comment that he will age faster if he keeps scowling. She receives a scolding.

“Is something the matter?” You gently place down your basket full of herbs.

Yaga sighs, calloused hands rolling up a scroll with the Imperial Seal. “It appears the Emperor’s consort has fallen ill and His Majesty commands my presence in the Imperial Palace.”

The Royal Consort. The woman that dethroned you: Zenin Himiko.

“I understand.” You nod, maintaining your composure while two sets of eyes scrutinize you with keen observation. It was only natural the emperor wanted the best doctor in the country for his object of affection. “Shall I close up the shop while you journey into the Inner Palace?”

Yaga shakes his head, “That won’t be necessary. I will have Shoko act as my stand-in.” He remarks with a quick glance in her direction “You, on the other hand, will accompany me.”

Your eyes widen.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Typically, one of my apprentices would accompany me on such journeys. However, now that I have acquired a personal attendant,” He gestures towards you with a flick of his hand, “It shall no longer be necessary.” As he speaks, he runs his hand absentmindedly through his well trimmed beard, gaging your reaction.

"I—" Your words falter and fade away. "Yes, sir," you respond, inclining your head in deference, a stark reminder of your place. While you may have concealed it, you were seething with humiliation. Returning to the Imperial Palace after a year of exile to serve the woman who took your spot was mortifying beyond measure.

“Very well. Pack enough for one week’s time. I doubt the Emperor would have called me if this was a light ailment.” He says gruffly. “We leave at dawn.” His gaze shifted to the horizon outside.

1 YEAR AGO

“Your Grace,” You purr at the feeling of his large hands scratching your head.

The smile that rests on his face is almost ravenous. “Yes, my love?”

“I think—“ A soft sigh escapes your lips when he presses on your weak points. “I should g-go.”

His ministrations stop almost immediately.

“Go?” His eyes peer down at you in his lap. It is now that you realize the weight of his piercing gaze. “Have I commanded you to leave yet?”

“No, but—”

“Then you have nowhere else to be.” He huffs, unintentionally puffing his cheeks out. You stifle the giggle that nearly escapes from your lips. He vaguely resembles a pufferfish– or so you think. Though you’ve never seen the round creature with your very own eyes, you’ve heard that the delicacy was something only members of the aristocratic class would feast on.

Your mouth waters at the thought.

“What are you thinking about that could possibly be so important? Keep your eyes on me,” A strong hand squishes your cheeks together and firmly guides your face back upon him.

You should be embarrassed; ashamed at the intimate position His Majesty has trapped you in. The way your head is tucked away in his lap as he peers down at you, nothing to shield you away from him. It was incredibly scandalous, considering that you were an unmarried woman! But it seemed like the Emperor had taken no mind towards it. You would even dare to say that he was enjoying it, with the way his lips quirk upward at the sight of you squirming.

“Your Grace,” You repeat, determined to free yourself from his hold. His eyebrows furrow.

“Satoru,” He reminds you. You purse your lips. The position you hold in his court is simply not high enough to grant you the privilege of calling him by his given name.

“Your Grace,” You try again, the title rolling off of your tongue naturally. A man like him did not deserve any title less than.

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart. Indulge a man, won’t you?” He pouts down at you. As stubborn as ever, you don’t relent.

“I would be overstepping my boundaries as your consort to call you as such. That privilege is reserved for your future bride.” You take advantage of his guard let down to sit up and escape his hold. If he could have caught you, he made no effort.

“I am a simple man.” He follows you to your vanity. A giggle escapes your mouth. He is anything but. “I want my love to call me by my name.”

You turn around to cup his cheek. He eagerly leans into your touch, sighing happily at the contact.

“I wonder how Lord Kento and Geto would react to you like this.” You tease, a smile unknowingly painting itself on your lips.

Satoru’s face falls, features morphing into an appalled expression. You watch him close the distance between you through the mirror.

“Kento?” His voice had a dangerous lilt in it. You blink, unsure what spurred on the sudden tension in the room. “Since when were you so comfortable around him? He cannot satisfy you like I can.” He reminds you of the man’s castrated state as an eunuch. You wince.

“I have not gotten comfortable,” You’re careful to pick your words. Gojo’s possessiveness was something that was not easily tamed. “He simply provides good conversation while you are away.The palace is far too big and lonely while you’re away dealing with clan matters.”

The only response you get is a quiet grumble. “You’re lucky that you’re pretty.” His large hand creeps its way into your hair again, undoing the hairstyle your ladies in waiting had spent a copious amount of time on earlier that morning. Gojo carefully plucks the extravagant silver hairpin from your hair, the dangling pearls clicking softly at the sudden movement. His hands slowly make their way down to the kimono that you are wearing, hands ready to undo the obi.

Your hands softly hover his, “I fear that our roles have been reversed. Should it not be me who gets you unready, Your Grace?”

He chuckles and through the mirror you can see a smirk make his way to his lips, “I’d let you undress me any day. Just say the word, beloved.”

You roll your eyes, but allow him to continue. It was moments like these with the Emperor that led you on to believe that there was a semblance of love between the two of you.

How wrong you were.

PRESENT DAY

The sun has yet to meet the horizon when you arrive at the Inner Palace. The horse-drawn carriage that you and Yaga had taken is the only sound at the scene, clopping down the stone road and back to the Inner Court. You miss the serenity of the beautiful palace you once resided in, knowing that it will be bustling with life in just a few short hours.

In front of the large doors of the primary ceremonial hall where the Emperor spends most of his time, stands Lord Nanami, a counsellor to the Emperor himself. Time has only made his face sterner, but his neatly styled hair and blue and yellow dyed court attire remained the same. He waits patiently while you and Yaga make your way up the flight up stairs that lead up to the hall.

“I am glad to see you in good health, Yaga.” Nanami bows.

The man next to you promptly waves his politeness off, thanking him for his hospitality. You stand silently while the two men engage in conversation regally.

Lord Nanami sighs, “His Majesty has been plagued by stress lately. To say I am relieved by your presence would be an understatement.” His statement is a subtle reminder that you must harden your heart upon entering the palace walls. The meticulously built walls were no longer a sanctuary for you, rather, a painful testament that you were no longer wanted.

Yaga lets out a hearty laugh and it reveals a rare sight, Lord Nanami’s lips curving upwards by a slight. “I highly doubt the boy would be glad to see me. The appearance of the Imperial Physician is portentous.” He scratches his beard. You tilt your head in confusion at how he referred to the Emperor.

“I suppose, yet I am intrigued to find out how he will react upon seeing his object of affection flourishing anew despite the sting of frost.” Nanami audibly wonders. Even a fool could understand his eloquent comparison. The Emperor would be thrilled to see his consort in full bloom once again. You pray that the Heavens would grant you some mercy from witnessing such a scene.

“Youth,” Yaga shakes his head, chuckling to himself before regaining composure. “I mustn't keep the Emperor waiting. [Name], please gather the herbal ingredients to treat the young Consort as you seem fit. I shall confer with His Majesty and meet you in her chambers to declare a proper diagnosis.”

You bow, “Yes sir.”

While Yaga prepares to enter the doors where The Heavenly Emperor resides, your eyes couldn’t help but gaze longingly at the large bronze doors.

“You seem well,” Nanami addresses you for the first time in over a year. Your eyes trail from the Emperor’s door to the blonde man in front of you. “Allow me to guide you to our herbal stock.” Nanami offers you his arm as you start to make your way down the stairs.

You take it, lightly holding his arm. “Thank you, Lord Nanami. Time away from the Inner Palace has been like a breath of fresh air,” You respond, ensuring your voice carries no malice. You hear the large palace doors from behind you open, the metal creaking loudly in the quiet dawn.

“I must ask you to call me Kento,” He leads you down the stone steps. “We are old friends, it is strange to hear anything but.”

You focus on your steps down the stairs, only responding once your feet meet the solid ground, “I fear that our social statuses have changed since then. It would be the cause of a scandal should anyone hear I am calling the Imperial Counselor by his given name. Your admirers would have my head on a stick.”

“Your imagination is amusing as always, [Name].” He gives you a closed eyes smile. You huff.

“I am only speaking the truth!” You insist. He chuckles.

“It is quite refreshing to see both you and Yaga again. I’m not sure how long it has been since I have been at the imperial physician.”

You gape at his confession. “You mustn't skip your annual visits to the physician, Kento. It is in the best interest of your health!” You lightly scold him, lifting your hand to flick his forehead. It was a force of habit. “Perhaps if I have time after treating the Consort, I shall do a check up on you.”

Nanami clears his throat at your comment, the twinkle in his eyes dissipating as if your direct touch had burned him.

“I would rather not lose my head.” He mumbles, eyes scanning the courtyard around the two of you. You knit your eyebrows, confused.

Nanami leaves you to fulfill his duties once you arrive at the Royal Kitchens to retrieve all the necessary items to treat Consort Himiko. You are glad that he did not accompany you into the kitchens to prepare Consort Himiko’s herbal soup.

The memory of it still irks you.

“You’re late,” One of Consort Himiko’s ladies in waiting snaps just as you enter the kitchen. You look up to see a young girl, dressed in a light purple kimono. It must be Himiko’s signature, you note. It was strange to see someone outside of the Imperial family donning the color, but you suppose it was only a grand display of Himiko’s influence.

“You’re a lot more plain than I anticipated,” The other lady in waiting quirks an eyebrow, eyeing your appearance. You furrow your eyebrows, shocked by their rudeness.Their undying loyalty to their Lady was enough to fuel an unspoken hatred for you. Though you’re not sure that the two coincide, you don’t blame them.

The two are mixing a concoction that you don’t recognize to be used to treat the sick. The taller one adds some aromatics and herbs in and you see the other one unwrap a cloth to reveal a rare delicacy from the West. Cocoa, you believed they called it.

Then it hits you– the two are not making a medicinal soup for their Lady, rather they are making an aphrodisiac! The image that conjures in your head makes you blanch. Back in the Outer Palace, Shoko had shown you the effects of the stimulant (you shiver at the memory of her shoving a treat laced with it into your mouth). It was certainly a night to remember.

“How pathetic,” You mutter underneath your breath, quickly rushing to obtain the ingredients you needed without making conversation with the two girls.

Fortunately, they pay you no further attention for the time you’re in the kitchen.

“Please excuse me,” You bow upon entering the Emperor’s chambers. Despite the Consort’s Pavilion being similar in size to a small town, you remember spending most of your time in the Emperor’s chambers rather than your own. It was probably the same case with Consort Himiko. You slowly place the tray carrying broth and medicinal herbs to treat the Consort down on the circular wooden table in the middle of the room.

Out of curiosity, your eyes can’t help but soak in the Emperor’s room. Not much has changed since you’ve left. His Majesty’s preference for minimalist decorations have stayed the same, along with his natural musk that fills your nose. You feel your face heat up at your own thoughts. How could you think of such a thing when you are about to meet his new lover?

Your gaze moves to his bed, where Consort Himiko resides– only to find nothing.

“Huh?”

You observe his bed, silk sheets neatly made, seemingly untouched. The sounds of your sock clad feet patter on the wooden floor as you make your way to feel the bedsheets for any signs of warmth, but you are met with nothing.

“Don’t you know that entering the Emperor’s chambers can be punishable by death?” A deep voice from behind you causes you to jump in your spot.

Your guard is immediately raised, head whipping to the sound. In hindsight, you should have never agreed to accompany Yaga on his trip. It was a foolish idea all along, you think as all of the air in your lungs dissipates upon seeing your former lover.

Standing at the entrance of his own sleeping quarters is Gojo Satoru, his frame big enough to tower over the doorway. His arms are crossed over each other, electric blue eyes focused on nothing else but you. You press your thighs together tightly to avoid squirming anymore than you are. He has loosened his dark blue kimono to expose some of his hardened chest, a sight any woman in the nation would die to catch a glimpse. Even underneath all of the fabric, anyone can see his divinely sculpted physique.

“Your Grace,” You waste no time to dip your body deeply, praying that he will allow you to keep your head by sunset. “I apologize for the intrusion, I was under the pretense that Consort Himiko resided in your quarters–” Your voice loses itself in your throat when you see his shadow quickly encroaching.

“Himiko stays in her Pavilion,” He towers over you, eyes gazing down on you. “But one might suspect that you already knew that.”

Your eyes frantically meet his feet, desperate to salvage what was left of your dignity, “I assure you that I speak of the truth, Your Majesty.”

When he doesn’t respond, you slowly lift your head.

The flustered look on your face must have been amusing to him, as he makes his way closer to you, bending down to interrogate you further.

“Is that so?” He hums, enjoying every second of cornering you into his chambers. The back of your legs have met his bed, trapping you. You inhale sharply, trying to keep your breaths even, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on you.

He continues, “You’re awfully skittish for someone who was happily skipping around my territory in the arms of another man just earlier.” His predatory gaze seems to darken.

“Kento?” When his name leaves your lips, the man in front of you grits his teeth. You turn your head to the side, deliberately avoiding him. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, but I don’t see how Kento and I’s relationship is any of your concern,” He does not take your actions well, his gaze searing into you.

“It certainly is when the woman in question is you,” Gojo’s voice loses its feral lilt, distress flashing across his face. There’s a newfound desperation in it that chips away at your resolve. His hand raises to your face so slowly, as if he did not want to startle you.

“This is wrong. I– I saw a couple of servants earlier making aphrodisiacs, perhaps you could have unknowingly consumed them.” You tell him, frantic eyes meeting him. It is not unusual for couples to use aphrodisiacs, you know that after under Yaga. The Emperor must have mistaken the laced dessert for his usual.

He shakes his head, running a hand through his white hair.

“You are mistaken. This is solely your effect on me.” He promises. You could barely believe his words, stuck between feeling offended or shocked.

“How could you stand to be so cruel?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. There are no tears in your eyes this time. “I am not a courtesan you can buy for the night,” You snap, pointing a harsh finger to his chest.

“What do you mean?” He sounds breathless.

“Whatever do I mean?” You scoff, a dry laugh escaping your mouth. “For a year, all I have gotten is pity from the world, because you decided I was no longer entertaining. You could have at least banished me away yourself. Instead, you sent Suguru who couldn’t even look me in the eye! Don’t you know how humiliating that is?” With every word that left your lips, more venom seemed to drip. Anger was prickling you all over, taking control of the rational part of you.

Gojo seemed to be taken aback by your outburst. It was far too late to take anything back now. If you lose your head by nightfall, so be it.

You dig a deeper grave for yourself when you take advantage of his moment of weakness to flee. He’s quick to react, attempting to grip your wrist.

“Wait, [Name], beloved–” He uses that all too familiar term of endearment, but it doesn't deter you.

You accidentally bump into the circular wooden table placed in the middle of the room. What an awful place to keep it, watching in horror as the Consort’s medicine shatters on the floor. To add salt to the wound, a vase you recognize to be specially gifted to the Emperor from a foreign nation tips off too before you can catch it. The sound of porcelain shattering fills the room.

“[Name]! Are you alright?” You hear Gojo ask from behind you, but you run over the broken shards before he can catch you.

Had you bothered to pay closer attention, you would have noticed articles of your clothing and a couple of your missing belongings littered all over the room– creating a faux impression that you never really left the palace.

Days passed by after the incident, and luckily, your head was still attached to your body despite offending and nearly endangering the Emperor. Yaga’s disappointment when you had told him what happened was made evident when he sent you home early after hearing the events that transpired, insisting that he can handle the Consort on his own. Normally you would have argued, but you knew better than to inflict Yaga’s wrath.

“Now you’ve really done it,” Shoko whistles lowly, walking in from the front of Yaga’s shop.

You hide your face in your hands, “I made an absolute fool of myself, didn’t I?”

“A fool? No. A conspirator against the Emperor? Perhaps.” She dangles a scroll with a familiar seal on it. The Gojo Clan’s familiar emblem reflects off of the sunlight spilling into the room. Your heart drops.

“Oh, they’ll have my head.” You moan, hands instinctively lifting to shield your neck.

“Though I’m quite impressed that Yaga only sent you back here. He used to have worse punishments.” She shudders before impatiently unraveling the scroll. You watch her eyes gradually widen as they read the contents of the letter. The scroll falls from her hand.

You rush to it, desperate to read your fate.

To [Last Name] [First Name],

Greetings and prosperity unto you.

By the mandate of the heavens and the authority vested in Us, We hereby extend Our solemn words to you, [Last Name] [First Name], servant of the realm, in acknowledgement of your debt to the Empire.

In response to your unmeritorious deeds, The Emperor bestows upon you His imperial pardon from capital punishment. In consideration of your obligations and the harmony of the realm, it is hereby decreed that you shall serve as an indentured servant to the Imperial Household for a period commensurate with your debt. During this time, you shall labor faithfully and diligently under the supervision of Our Heavenly Emperor, performing duties essential to the welfare of the Empire.

By fulfilling your obligations with diligence and humility, you may yet earn favor and esteem in Our sight.

The Imperial Court

A loud gasp escapes your mouth.

You feel your legs weaken, your emotions running wild. Shoko’s eyes meet yours, mirroring your frantic gaze. In that moment, you are met with the same suffocating sense of hopelessness.

extra!

gojo was kicking his feet happily as he watched suguru draft out his letter to you. suguru thought it rather cruel, while the white haired male was too busy purring happily as he fantasized about having you back into his grasp.

previous chapter | next chapter [coming soon!]

#very ohshc esque with the way she is now indebted to him TT #ahh this entire series is so self indulgent im sorry #kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #yandere!gojo satoru #royal!au #jjk angst #gojo angst #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you

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bathylychnops · 7 months ago

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some inks idid theother day an scanned & colored digitally, first lady is NOT CATWOMAN she is Copycat from our supernormal game and iwantedthe design to pay homage to the 1960's eartha kitt catwoman...

Copycat currently has an ongoing legal battle with Copy-cat (not pictured) , over trying to sue eachother for. copyright infringement. Copycat's power is to duplicate herself and Copy-cat can mimic appearances

also drew martinnnnn hiii girl

#drawing #art #my art #supernormal #original character #murph an joanies supernormal #traditional art #supervillain oc #illustration

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princessoflalaland · 6 months ago

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✮✮✮Leon Kennedy Twitter Links✮✮✮

✮content: twt p*rn links. duh

✮a/n: first time doing one of these! it's been something i needed to do for @some-insomniac-writes, so thank @miybeii for reminding me

paying homage to his beloved small-boobed girl

he's so well trained

he missed you so much after saving Ashley

he needs this every morning/how he properly starts his day

his first taste with anal

becoming your pegging princess

literally my inspo for this post

he adores his lady

leon and chris type beat

sometimes, he gets shy

this is may or may not be to scale, but look at that recoil

in case you couldn't tell, he is madly in love with you

got his legs in the air

#there are a lot more than i originally anticipated #this was lowkey fun and easy to do #may make more in the future #twt links #leon twt links #what kind of tag should i put for this💀

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afewproblems · 1 year ago

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For Dio @flowercrowngods this is late but hopefully a decent little birthday gift! An homage to your beautiful yearning hours.

Steve wakes slowly, registering the hand in his hair first before anything else.

The second is that he's warm, tucked securely into Eddie side. He's talking to Robin, who sits on the recliner across the coffee table, gesturing emphatically in soft tones as he speaks.

They're in Steve's living room still, though it looks like almost everyone else has gone to bed at this point, giving up on their movie night.

The lights are off, the room instead is illuminated by the flickering television in the corner. A movie is playing, but Eddie and Robin pay little attention to it.

Eddie's hand comes up again to card through Steve's hair, so gently that Steve nearly moans at the touch.

They aren't together, but as Steve sinks even further into Eddie's side, he can let himself pretend.

Just for a moment.

He opens his eyes again to find Robin looking at him, she raises a single eyebrow at him before turning her attention back to Eddie --Steve knows they'll be discussing this later, but for now he's grateful she's kept his secret this time.

Steve lets himself drift for a bit, content to breathe in Eddie, the hint of cigarettes and weed that clings to his hair, the old spice deodorant he borrowed from Wayne. They way his voice rumbles slightly as he tries to stay quiet for Steve's sake, it all blends together, warm, nice, loved, safe.

Even if some small part knows he'll wake up alone the next day, that it isn't real, Steve can't help but hold onto this moment with shaking hands.

"I know you’re awake," Eddie hums lowly, drawing Steve out of his thoughts with a start.

Robin's seat is empty now, and the television is off. The only light now sifts through a crack in the window curtains, cutting a silver stream through the room.

"Penny for your thoughts Stevie?" He whispers, his eyes dart between Steve's own.

If only you knew.

Steve clears his throat and begins to sit up, only for Eddie's arm to curl around his shoulders firmly, keeping him in place.

"I think there's a discount if the thought, the uh feeling is mutual, ya know," Eddie says slowly, "like a two for one special".

Eddie winces slightly, looking as though he wants to bolt for the door, but Steve can't help the smile that slowly spreads over his face --even as a baffled laugh threatens to overtake him.

His chest aches with how much he loves this ridiculous man.

"Just kiss already," Robin calls out from the kitchen, making them both freeze where they sit.

His heart hammering in his throat he looks between the kitchen doorway and Eddie, his big brown eyes wide with panic.

All at once, the decision solidifies for Steve.

He takes a deep breath through his nose and releases it slowly through his mouth.

"You heard the lady," Steve hears himself say, but the words sound so far away now as Eddie turns in to face Steve better, as he flushes with an exasperated grin.

Eddie slowly leans in, and Steve lets himself drift once more, basking in the feeling of soft lips against his own and gentle hands in his hair.

#nothing says happy birthday like fluff right?#steddie kisses #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #afewproblems writes #platonic stobin #happy birthday dio

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months ago

Note

The worst opening ceremony ever

That’s because you’re looking at it all wrong. The opening ceremonies are incomparable, for a whole list of reasons:

The economic and financial situations, both in the country that’s hosting and for the entire world.

The country hosts

The creative and production teams involved in putting on the shows.

Geopolitical tensions and issues of the times

The athletes involved

You’re expecting 2008 production value in a 2024 world that’s dealing with different economic crises, two very significant wars with WW3 breakout potential, and a rising far-right/return to dictatorship. It’s incomparable.

You have to look at the opening ceremonies as their own standalone unit. And when you consider last night’s spectacle that way, it was actually a tremendous success:

Arson shut down most of the French trains and there were enormous fears of what it meant for the ceremony, but it went off without a hitch.

It rained the whole time, but all the performers still made good performances, no one was injured, and everyone made it.

Celine Dion made her first major public singing appearance while dealing with a huge medical condition. If you don’t know the significance of Celine Dion to the French or the song that she performed, then just be awed by her commitment to turn up, IN THE FREAKING RAIN, on TOP of the Eiffel Tower to perform. Who cares if she lip-synced? It was raining! She showed up anyway, with every right to demand the performance be relocated to the flat ground under cover.

The athletes all had a good time and were excited.

The cityscapes during the torch relay showed off Paris’s incredible architecture and skyline. Name any other city that can do that and have it be so meaningful.

The bells of Notre Dame rang for the first time in 5 years, they gave credit to all the workers and trades/crafts that have been restoring and repairing the cathedral, and gave an homage to the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

There was a lady in a croissant costume. A CROISSANT costume!

They had a choir of headless Marie Antoinettes accompanying a heavy metal band that was performing AT the very same prison she was held captive at.

They lit a piano on FIRE and floated it down the Seine while performing “Imagine.”

They acknowledged France’s bloody, violent history without it being preachy or sentimental. (Watch the LA 2028 ceremony ignore the US’s bloody history - I guarantee you it’ll highlight our melting pot culture but it won’t even touch on the oppression, slavery, Civil Rights era, or how indigenous peoples were treated, much like the London 2012 ceremony didn’t acknowledge Britain’s bloody history.)

They highlighted all the ways that French culture contributed to the global community; music, literature, love, fashion and Coco Chanel pink, Louis Vuitton, the Eiffel Tower, croissants, the minions, and French people’s contributions to modern sport (as well as foreign success in French sport).

The homage to Assassin’s Creed, the Phantom of the Opera, and other famous masked French figures in the torch relay and flag-bearers.

They had an opera singer dressed as the French flag singing the national anthem from a sloped rooftop over the stadium in the rain. I had literal chills, y’all. It can’t get more patriotic than that.

Organizers made statues of important French women to display during the ceremony and they’re DONATING all of them to Paris after the Olympics! I don’t know if you caught it, but the male-to-female representation in Paris’s statues is 4.5:1 (over 200 male statues, just 40ish female statues). It’s an incredible start towards gender equality in Parisian and French history that a lot of countries could take a note from.

Les Mis! Who doesn’t love a good musical interlude?! Especially one introducing a segment paying tribute to the French Revolution. (And I must admit, I’m now kinda expecting LA 2028 to have a Hamilton nod.)

The image of Assassin’s Creed with the dove wings behind her as she walked up.

All the athletes running together for the final torch relay - more chills! (Usually that doesn’t happen.)

Raising the Olympic cauldron by hot air balloon so everyone could see.

That amazing light show from the Eiffel Tower.

and so much more.

Yeah, the can-can line was sloppy and the audio quality was poor, the parade of nations took forever (they always take forever though) and no one understood the order they were coming in (because it wasn’t explained until *after* the ceremony that the upcoming hosts are also at the end) and there’s a ton people offended by the threesome and the drag queens on the grounds of religious morality (you can see my reaction to that criticism in the earlier post below), but overall, all things considered? Considering the entire 4-5 hour show, in the spectacle that is Paris, with a terrible weather forecast, in the unprecedented geopolitical times we’re in?

It was a kick-ass opening ceremony.

#olympics

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kckt88 · 1 month ago

Text

Scorched Hearts V.

Summary:

'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep, the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite' - William Shakespeare (Romeo & Juliet).

Aemond and Valaena arrive at Storms End and the dragons begin their dance with devestating concequnces for both the Blacks and Greens.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Secret Relationship, Funeral, Grief, Mild Threats, Mild Violence, Dragon Battle, Death.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5079

A.N - Don't hate me, things must be this way for a reason!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Valaena stood next to her brothers, Jace and Luke, her eyes fixed on the pyre where her little sister, Visenya, was being laid to rest.

The crackling flames illuminated Rhaenyra and Daemon as they stood at the head of the pyre, their hands joined in silent farewell to their daughter. All around them, heads were bowed in respect, the weight of grief heavy on the air.

Valaena could feel the cut on her palm sting as she pressed her hand to her stomach.

As she watched her mother and Daemon, Valaena wondered if what she was about to do was too cruel, to subject her mother to yet more pain.

But there really was no other way, Aemond was right there was only one way for them to be together now.

As the final words of mourning were whispered, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the sombre silence. Valaena furrowed her brow and turned, watching as Ser Erryk stepped forward.

He stopped behind Rhaenyra, reaching into his bag and pulling out a gleaming golden crown—that once belonged to King Viserys. He knelt, holding it up with reverence, his voice steady as he swore his loyalty.

“I swear to ward the Queen, with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife hold no lands and father no children.”

Daemon stepped forward, taking the crown from Ser Erryk’s hands. He turned to Rhaenyra, his face filled with fierce devotion.

With a deliberate motion, he placed the crown upon her head, then bent his knee before her, his voice ringing out loud and clear. “My queen.”

The words seemed to resonate through the gathered crowd, and Valaena, Jace, and Luke immediately bent their knees.

Soon, everyone in attendance followed suit, paying homage to Rhaenyra and acknowledging her as their Queen.

After the funeral, the gathering made their way back inside Dragonstone. The heavy doors of the hall closed behind them, and Daemon stepped forward, announcing Rhaenyra to the assembled lords and knights.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Rhaenyra, now wearing her father’s crown, approached the painted table with determination. “What is our standing?” she asked, her voice sharp and commanding.

Daemon stood beside her. “We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves much to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

Valaena stepped forward. “You already have declarations from Celtigar, Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon.”

Rhaenyra nodded, acknowledging her daughter’s support. “My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

Maester Gerardys spoke up. “Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace. With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightened. “Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to treat with him myself.”

As the discussions continued, Steffon Darklyn stepped forward. “What about Winterfell and Storm’s End?”

At the mention of Storm’s End, Valaena felt her stomach churn. She tried to steady herself, taking slow, deep breaths to keep from being overtaken by the wave of nausea. But the feeling of unease persisted.

Lord Bartimos stepped forward. “With House Stark, the rest of the North will follow. But perhaps an offer of marriage will convince Lord Stark to declare for the Queen.”

Rhaenyra turned to him, her brow furrowing. “Whose hand do you suggest I offer, my lord?”

Bartimos glanced towards Valaena. “Princess Valaena, Your Grace. She is your heir, and a match between her and Lord Stark would be most beneficial.”

Valaena’s hand instinctively went to the cut on her palm, a reminder of the bond she had forged with Aemond the night before.

She traced the mark lightly with her fingertips, remembering his words, his vow to her. Her heart raced in her chest, but she forced herself to take a deep breath.

"I will agree to the match, mother," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Rhaenyra studied her daughter, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. “Are you sure?”

Valaena nodded, her eyes flickering to the painted table. “Yes. I will do what I must in order to support my queen.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened with pride, and she gave a short nod before turning her attention to other matters.

“And our enemies?”

Daemon’s face darkened. “We have no friends among the Lannisters. Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.”

Valaena, still feeling sick, forced herself to refocus on the discussion. “Without the Lannisters, you are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.”

An older lord stepped forward, his voice blunt but respectful. “Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightened. “The Greens have dragons as well.”

Jace added, “Three adults.”

Daemon’s smirk returned. “We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your oldest children have Silverwing, Vermax, and Arrax. Baela has Moondancer.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war.”

“We need a place to gather,” Daemon replied, eyes gleaming with ambition. “A toehold large enough to house a sizable host. Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons. And we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

Just then, Ser Erryk stepped forward, interrupting the conversation. “Your Grace a ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Daemon charged past Rhaenyra, barking orders. “Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies.”

Rhaenyra followed him quickly, but Valaena remained behind, standing with Jace, Luke, and the other lords.

A wave of sickness washed over her once more, and she had to take several deep breaths to keep from vomiting.

As she steadied herself, she noticed Rhaenys watching her closely, a curious look on her face.

Valaena quickly turned her attention to Luke, who was fiddling with one of the dragon figurines on the painted table.

A heavy tension filled the room as Daemon and Rhaenyra returned, their expressions grim. Daemon was the first to speak, his voice laced with frustration. “The simple truth is this: we have more dragons than Aegon.”

Rhaenyra, however, looked unsettled as she added, “I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone.”

Valaena, standing with her brothers and the gathered lords, stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “Were terms delivered?”

Rhaenyra nodded, her face betraying no emotion. “If I acknowledge Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne, in exchange, he will confirm my possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to you, my trueborn daughter, upon my death. Jacaerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. My sons, Lucerys, Aegon, and Viserys, will also be given places of high honour at court. And the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.”

Valaena’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Everything Aemond had told her the night before was true.

The offer was generous, but the underlying manipulation was unmistakable. She glanced briefly at Daemon, whose face darkened with anger.

“It’s a farce,” Daemon scoffed, his voice cutting through the room. “Offering you that which you already possess, and I would rather feed all of our children to the dragons before I bend the knee to that drunken usurper cunt of a king-”

Rhaenyra ignored his biting tone, her gaze unwavering. “As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos? Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I sit the Iron Throne, no matter the cost?”

Before Lord Bartimos could respond, Daemon interjected, his voice sharp. “That’s your father talking.”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened. “My father is dead. And he chose me as his successor-to defend the realm, not cast it headlong into war.”

Daemon’s eyes flashed with fire. “Well, the enemy has already declared war. What are you going to do about it?”

Before the argument could escalate further, Valaena stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “That is enough. This back and forth is getting us nowhere. The most important thing now is for you to establish who your allies are.”

Just as the tension in the room seemed ready to boil over, a familiar voice broke through. “Quite right, Princess.”

All eyes turned to see Lord Corlys Velaryon, hobbling into the room, leaning on a wooden cane. His weathered face showed signs of recent illness, but his presence was commanding as ever.

Rhaenyra’s face softened with relief. “Lord Corlys, it brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

Corlys cast a glance at the painted table, surveying the situation. “Your declared allies? Too few to win a war for the throne.”

Rhaenyra remained steadfast. “We would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

Corlys raised a sceptical brow. “Hope is the fool’s ally.”

Rhaenyra’s voice grew resolute. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me, and soon terms will be delivered to Cregan Stark, offering him a marriage with Valaena in exchange for his support.”

At the mention of her name, Valaena stiffened, but she kept her expression neutral. She had already agreed to the match, but hearing it spoken aloud brought a fresh wave of dread.

Corlys nodded approvingly. “You have the full support of our fleet and house. But what would be more beneficial is a total blockade of the shipping lanes. If we seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

Lord Bartimos added, “When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King’s Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens’ surrender.”

Daemon’s eyes gleamed with ambition. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, you must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

Maester Gerardys stepped forward, nodding. “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

Jacaerys, always eager to prove himself, stepped forward. “Send us. We should bear those messages ourselves. Dragons fly faster than ravens.”

Rhaenyra considered her son’s words, then nodded in agreement. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north, to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will go to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn-”

Valaena remembering Aemond’s words, stepped forward and said “-I will fly south to Storm’s End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon.”

Rhaenyra smiled and nodded “We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And the cost of breaking them.”

Valaena stood before the mirror as she worked through the final braid in her dark hair, each strand meticulously woven to stay in place during the flight.

She dressed herself in her riding leathers, the familiar feel of the well-worn material bringing a small comfort amid the tension.

Fastening the chain that secured her red dragon-scale patterned cloak across her chest, she pulled on her gloves, the last barrier between her and the journey ahead.

With a slow breath, she let her eyes drift to her reflection. Her gaze settled on her stomach, her gloved hand hovering there as she closed her eyes, whispering a silent prayer that what she was about to do was right.

Her heart felt heavy with more than just the weight of her mission; it carried secrets, promises, and a growing sense of duty.

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. "It's time, Princess," a maid called softly from the hallway.

"I'm coming," Valaena replied. She took one final look around her chambers, a place of comfort and warmth, but now filled with uncertainty.

With a steadying breath, she turned and walked out, her footsteps echoing as she joined her mother and brothers on the balcony just off the grand hall.

Rhaenyra stood tall, her expression both resolute and weary.

As Valaena approached, her mother began to speak, her voice commanding yet tender. "It’s been said that as Targaryen’s, we are closer to gods than to men. And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms-we must answer to their gods."

Rhaenyra’s gaze swept across her children. "If you take this errand, you go as messengers not as warriors. You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now under the eyes of the Seven."

Two servants stepped forward, carrying an enormous holy book emblazoned with the seven-pointed star. Valaena, Jace, and Luke each placed their hands on the ancient tome.

"I swear it," they said in unison, their voices mingling with the heavy air of responsibility that lingered over them.

Rhaenyra handed Jace a rolled-up piece of parchment. "Cregan Stark is closer to your age than he is to mine. I would hope, that as men, you can find some common interest. But I do hope you get a sense of the man to whom I offer your sister’s hand." Jace accepted the scroll with a nod, replying, "Yes, Your Grace."

Next, Rhaenyra turned to Luke, giving him another scroll. "Lady Jeyne Arryn is our kin. I expect you to receive a warm welcome but be mindful of others seeking her favour."

Luke took the scroll from her, his young face serious. "Yes, mother—Your Grace."

Finally, Rhaenyra faced Valaena. "Storm's End is just a short flight from here. Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honoured to host a princess of the realm and her dragon."

Valaena accepted her own scroll, bowing her head. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Go to it, then," Rhaenyra said, her voice firm, but there was a softness in her eyes.

Valaena turned to leave, but something pulled her back. She spun around, quickly closing the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around her mother in a tight embrace.

"Avy jorrāelan, muña," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion (I love you mother).

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, returning the embrace. "You're squeezing me too tightly, sweet girl."

Valaena pulled back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Sorry," she murmured, trying to compose herself.

Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand on her daughter's cheek, searching her face. "Is everything alright?"

Valaena nodded quickly, though her body betrayed her as her hands trembled. "Everything is fine."

Rhaenyra frowned slightly. "You're shaking. If you do not wish to journey to Storm’s End—"

"I must go," Valaena interrupted, her voice firm. "I will do my duty to my queen."

Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, lingering for a moment as if to pass on strength through the gesture. Valaena gave a weak smile before stepping back.

She turned to Jace, hugging him tightly. "Naejot se hūra se arlī lēkia," she whispered, their bond unspoken yet ever strong (To the moon and back brother).

Jace squeezed her hand in return, his expression sombre. "And to you, sister."

Next, she approached Luke, pulling him into her arms. She removed one of the beaded bracelets she wore and fastened it around his wrist.

"Naejot gaomagon ao ȳgha," she said softly, her voice full of affection. (To keep you safe).

Luke glanced down at the bracelet, his eyes wide with surprise and gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered.

Valaena gave him one last smile before stepping away, her heart heavy as she looked at her mother one last time, committing her face to memory.

Then without another word, she turned and descended the steps leading to the caverns where Silverwing awaited her.

Her pulse quickened with each step she took, her heart pounding against her chest as the cool air of the caverns greeted her. The sound of Silverwing shifting in her lair echoed in the distance

Valaena approached Silverwing, her dragon’s presence filling the cavern with a sense of calm and strength.

She ran her hand along the familiar, warm silver scales, the ridges rough beneath her fingers. “Zȳha jēda,” she whispered softly (It’s time).

Silverwing responded with a determined trill, her eyes glinting in the dim light of the cavern.

Without hesitation, she lowered her massive shoulder, allowing Valaena to climb up and into the saddle.

The motion was second nature now strapping herself in, she tightened her grip on the reins, her heart steady but her mind swirling.

"Sōves," she commanded, her voice strong, and with that, Silverwing lumbered out of the cavern, the ground shaking slightly beneath the dragon’s weight. (Fly).

The cool sea air hit them as they emerged, Silverwing spreading her great wings wide and pushing off the rocky outcrop with a powerful beat.

The rush of air roared in Valaena’s ears as they ascended, circling high above Dragonstone. The island's jagged cliffs and the roiling seas below looked small from their height.

The dark clouds and distant thunder mirrored the tension she felt in her chest.

Soon, she was joined by Jace on Vermax and Luke on Arrax on either side of her, their dragons majestic as they cut through the skies.

They were soon followed by Rhaenys on Meleys. Together, the four dragons flew in formation, their powerful wings moving in synchronized rhythm, the sound like distant thunder.

Valaena cast a glance at Jace and Luke, their figures resolute upon their dragons. Her heart clenched.

Let them be victorious, let them be safe.

One by one, they began to break off. Rhaenys on Meleys peeled away first, banking sharply to the east to patrol the Gullet.

Then Jace and Luke turned their dragons north. Valaena’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, knowing how important his mission was.

Valaena turned in her saddle, watching her brothers until they became distant specks against the horizon.

She whispered another prayer under her breath, hoping they would succeed in their tasks—and return unharmed.

With a deep breath, she refocused her mind. There was still much to do. Her own destination awaited, and Lord Borros Baratheon would not be an easy man to sway.

Aemond’s words from the night before echoed in her mind, his voice a low hum as she remembered the plan.

"You can do this” she whispered to herself.

Silverwing responded, her wings beating faster as they adjusted their course southward.

Valaena leaned forward, her eyes fixed ahead, as Dragonstone disappeared behind her.

The rain fell in sheets as Silverwing descended toward Storm’s End, her massive wings slicing through the storm-laden sky.

Valaena’s heart pounded in her chest as the dragon landed with a heavy thud, the ground trembling beneath her. She dismounted quickly, her boots splashing in the mud.

As her feet touched the ground, she reached out, running her hand along Silverwing’s warm, familiar scales.

The heat radiating from her dragon comforted her, the low, contented rumble from Silverwing reminding her she wasn’t alone.

But then, a deeper, more menacing growl echoed across the courtyard. Valaena froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and she slowly turned, her breath catching in her throat.

Vhagar.

The monstrous dragon loomed behind the castle walls, her hulking form visible even through the sheets of rain. If Vhagar was here, that could only mean one thing—Aemond was here, and everything was going according to his plan.

Valaena swallowed hard, her stomach knotting with anticipation and dread. She steeled herself, pushing away the swirl of emotions clawing at her insides. She could not afford to falter now.

The knights of Storm’s End approached her, their armour clinking softly as they trudged through the rain.

“I am Princess Valaena Velaryon, and I have a message for Lord Borros Baratheon, on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

The knight studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Come. Lord Borros Baratheon waits in the Great Hall."

Valaena cast a final glance back at Silverwing, before following the knights into the castle. The courtyard blurred around her as the rain soaked through her cloak and riding leathers.

The heavy wooden doors of Storm’s End slammed shut behind them with a resounding thud.

Inside, the Great Hall was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the stone walls.

Lord Borros sat on his makeshift throne, his figure round and imposing, his eyes sharp as they landed on the drenched princess before him.

“Princess Valaena of House Velaryon,” a herald announced, and all eyes in the hall turned toward her.

Her gaze shifted toward the side of the hall, where Aemond stood, his posture relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back.

He was speaking with one of Borros’s daughters, a striking young woman with dark hair and sharp eyes, who seemed completely captivated by him.

Valaena’s stomach churned with jealousy and anger—how dare that Baratheon bitch look at Aemond in such a way, he was her husband, and she was carrying his child.

Valaena took a deep breath and ignored the urge to go over there and slit that bitch from ear to ear, for even daring to look at Aemond in such a manner.

“Lord Borros, I have brought you a message from my mother—the Queen,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing within her.

Borros chuckled, his voice booming through the hall. “Yet earlier today, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it—King or Queen? The House of the Dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it!” His laughter was coarse, echoing in the dim hall.

Valaena glanced at Aemond, who smirked at her with a tilt of his head, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Borros grew impatient. “Well, then. What’s your mother’s message?”

Valaena handed the scroll to one of the knights, who quickly passed it to Borros. The Lord of Storm’s End squinted at the parchment, frowning. He summoned a Maester to read the letter aloud.

As the Maester relayed Rhaenyra’s message, Valaena could feel Aemond’s eye burning into her, though she refused to look at him.

Her clothes were soaked through, and she stood in a small puddle of rainwater, feeling the weight of every gaze in the hall.

Once the Maester finished, Borros leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. “Remind me of my father’s oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids, which of my daughters will your brothers wed?”

Valaena hesitated before answering. “My lord, I am afraid that only two of my brothers are of age, and neither is free to marry. They are already betrothed.”

Borros frowned, clearly unsatisfied. “And what of you, Princess?”

Her breath caught in her throat. "Me, my lord?"

Borros leaned forward, his interest piqued. “I no longer have a wife. You are of age to marry and, if you are anything like your mother, I am sure you will give me many sons.”

Valaena’s heart hammered in her chest, and she risked a glance at Aemond. His jaw clenched tightly, and his hand now rested on the pommel of his sword, his face a mask of barely contained fury at the Lord audacity.

“My lord, I am not free to marry either,” Valaena said, her voice firm. “My brother flies north to offer my hand in marriage to Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell.”

The hall fell silent. Aemond’s eye narrowed, his grip on his sword tightening. The Baratheon girl beside him looked perplexed, but Aemond paid her no mind.

His rage was palpable, radiating from him like a storm, his wife had just declared she had been betrothed to that northern dog.

Aemond had to force himself to calm down, they had a plan, and he had to stick to it, he couldn't let his possessiveness over Valaena ruin what they had practised.

Borros scoffed. “Then you come with empty hands. Tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up at need.”

Valaena dipped her head in a polite bow. “I will take your answer to the Queen.”

As she turned to leave, the wind howled outside, and the storm raged even harder. But before she could take a step, Aemond’s voice cut through the hall like a blade. “Wait, my lady Strong.”

Valaena froze, her heart pounding.

“Did you really think you could fly about the realm, stealing my brother’s throne, without paying the cost?”

She turned to face him, her heart pounding. “I will not fight you,” she said. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

Aemond laughed, withdrawing a dagger from his belt and tossing it at her feet. “Fight would be little challenge. No, I want you to put out your eye. As payment for the one your bastard brother carved from my skull.”

Valaena’s voice was cold, unyielding. “It is not my debt to pay, besides I thought your claim of Vhagar was worth the loss of an eye, you yourself declared it was a fair exchange. Or is your hoary old bitch of a dragon no longer worth it?”

Aemond’s smirk faded. His face twisted with faux anger, her words cutting deep. “You dare speak of Vhagar that way?” he hissed. “You know nothing of what it means to command the largest dragon in the world-”

“Oh, I know a thing or two about dragons,” Valaena retorted. “Do you truly believe Vhagar could withstand a combined attack from Silverwing, Caraxes, and Meleys? She may be the largest, but even she is not invincible.”

Aemond simply stared at her, his expression unreadable as he processed her words.

"-You always seem so eager to remind everyone how large Vhagar is," said Vaelyssa, a sly smile playing on her lips. "-One might wonder if you're trying to overcompensate for other-smaller matters-"

Borros Baratheon’s other daughters who were huddled together beside their father clasped their hands to their mouths and let out a melodious giggle that echoed around the hall, the intent behind Valaena’s comment clear for all to understand.

Aemond charged toward her, picking up the dagger. “Give me your eye, or I will take it bastard!”

Before he could close the distance, Lord Borros quickly rose from his throne. “Not in my hall!” he roared.

Aemond came to a sudden halt, breathing heavily, his eye locked on Valaena.

“-The girl came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Princess Valaena back to her dragon. Now”

Valaena was then surrounded by guards and as she cast Aemond a look and she saw him nod sharply and mouth a single word—go.

She nodded back before she turned and followed the guards out into the storm and back to Silverwing.

Then without a word, Aemond stormed out of the hall, his boots echoing off the stone floor with each purposeful step.

Lord Borros called out after him, his voice reverberating through the chamber, "Prince Aemond, wait!"

Aemond didn’t stop. His jaw clenched as he pushed past the guards and courtiers that crowded the entrance of Storm’s End, his mind singularly focused.

He wasn’t interested in what Borros had to say. His thoughts were consumed by Valaena and their plan.

Valaena rushed through the storm, her boots slipping slightly on the rain-soaked stones as she reached Silverwing.

Her hands found the dragon’s warm, wet scales, and she pressed her palms against them, feeling the steady rhythm of her companion’s breath.

“Dokimarvose, Silverwing,” Valaena murmured urgently, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. “Lykirī se Rȳbās, tāemītsos naejot se kȳvanon.” (Focus, be calm and listen. Stick to the plan).

Silverwing let out a soft trill, her massive body shifting slightly as if to acknowledge the words. Valaena quickly climbed into the saddle, the leather straps slippery beneath her fingers. She fastened herself in, securing the reins tightly in her gloved hands.

With a deep breath, she shouted, “Sōves!” (Fly!)

Silverwing spread her wings and launched into the sky with powerful strokes, the wind and rain battering them as they ascended through the storm.

Valaena clenched her jaw against the force of the gale, her heart pounding in her chest. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the swirling clouds as they climbed higher and higher.

But then, a roar echoed through the storm, deep and earth-shaking. Valaena twisted in her saddle.

Through the thick clouds, she saw the hulking form of Vhagar chasing after them.

Tugging on the reins, she leaned hard to the left and shouted, “Aderī, Silverwing! Elēnās geptot!” (Quickly, bank left!)

Silverwing responded instantly, banking sharply to the left, her wings slicing through the rain. But Vhagar followed with terrifying persistence.

“Embrot!” Valaena shouted next, her voice straining against the wind. (Down!)

Silverwing tucked her wings tight against her body and dove sharply, cutting through the clouds like a blade.

The sudden dive gave them a burst of speed, and Vhagar, being as large as she was, couldn’t move as swiftly. Valaena glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see the growing distance between them.

The time had come to carry out Aemond’s plan, the only way they could be together, she just hoped her mother in time would understand why this had to happen.

Valaena tugged on the reins and commanded, “Pālegon!” (Turn!)

Silverwing arched through the air, twisting around to face Vhagar once more. The massive dragon loomed ahead, her wings spread wide, dark against the stormy sky.

Valaena braced herself, quickly hooking the spare strap from her saddle to her waist, making sure it was secure.

She reached for the chain that held her dragon-scaled cloak in place, tearing it from her shoulders and letting it fly off into the wind, the heavy fabric disappearing into the storm.

“Gīda, Silverwing” Valaena whispered, her voice calm despite the pounding of her heart. (Steady.)

Silverwing steadied her flight as they closed in on Vhagar, the two dragons hovering in the sky, locked in a face-off.

Rain poured down in torrents, streaking across Valaena’s face, but she ignored it, her eyes fixed on Aemond.

He was there, atop Vhagar, as he raised his voice and yelled, “Drakarys!”

The word reverberated through the air, and flames erupted from Vhagar’s massive jaws, a torrent of fire rushing toward them.

But Valaena was ready as she shouted with all her might, “Drakarys!”

Silverwing answered her call, unleashing a blaze of fire in return. The two dragons’ flames met in the air, clashing in a violent explosion of heat and light.

The storm around them was momentarily drowned out by the roar of the fire, illuminating the dark sky as the two mighty beasts faced each other

TBC

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen

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bardic-inspo · 2 months ago

Text

aeterna nostalgia

chapter one: as it was

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

🩸Full Chapter List (Coming Soon) 🩸BG3 Fic Masterlist

Series Summary:

Astarion’s carefully crafted empire is thrown into upheaval when his bride falls victim to a modify memory spell. Without any memory of her lover or her own vampirism, his dark consort is a threat to both herself and her sire.

Astarion must win back her trust and affections, all while hunting down whoever sought to break the most powerful bond in Faerûn.

Chapter CW: Blood kink, masturbation, minor character death, Astarion being racist/hateful towards gnomes

A/N: This fic incorporates vampire bride lore and headcanons. Special thanks for the wonderful @locallegume for beta reading.

Click here if you prefer to read on AO3

“Sometimes, however, the emotion may be close to what mortals classify as love. The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers. In these cases, the vampire might actually believe it is bestowing a gift when it turns the mortal into its bride - the gift of freedom from aging and death.”

-Van Richten’s Guide to Vampires

Come to me.

Astarion allows their connection to slacken. With each step she takes nearer to him, springy anticipation pulses through their bond. It’s not unlike the wag of a tail.

And the slow dawn of his smile behind the fan of his fingers isn’t so different from the sun peering between the clouds. The sight of his most precious pet stokes that same delectable warmth inside of him.

“My sweet sunlight,” he calls to her, “how was your trance?”

His voice echoes off the vaulted ceiling of the throne room. There’s enough space in the chamber to hold dozens, but there’s only seating for two. The lavish chair at Astarion’s left is vacant as it always is. And this morning, only one needy patriar comes to the Crimson Palace to pay its lord homage. Lord Ventris is stout for a human, with a face lined in age and a dark, well-manicured beard. His attention follows Astarion’s eyeline as the gilded doors at the head of the hall groan apart.

Finer company comes his way, following the red runner that crosses the checkerboard marble. Naomi’s shift sways just past her knees. The silk robe draped over her shoulders hardly offers any modesty; she didn’t bother to cinch it.

“I was well,” she answers primly, “until I woke without you.”

Astarion adores her in that shade of mauve. It wakes the faint trace of pink in her cheeks, the flush that only blooms after she’s fed. There’s hardly any hint of it now. Astarion’s smile fades.

Lord Ventris balks, scandalized by the sight of those lithe, lilac legs striding past him. “My lady!”

Naomi matches Astarion’s unflinching stare, a slight lift at the corner of her mouth. His heart skips to the soft sound of her bare feet climbing the dais.

“It’s nearly midday,” Ventris prattles on, “surely some shoes, at least slippers--”

“Are you worried I might step on something sharp?” Her voice is steel as she stops, her cheek only halfway turned.

“I-I’m merely expressing benign concern. Not many drow hold title here, so perhaps you’re uneducated on the typical decorum befitting your husband’s house. But--”

“You shouldn’t worry so much. This is my home. I know exactly where all the sharp things are.”

Astarion pats his thigh expectantly. Like a sword to a sheath, Naomi slides into her customary place in his lap. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh while she settles against him. Her smile curves against his collar.

To Ventris, he snaps, “Our house is the reason why you still have one. And I understand it’s a further favor you came here to ask. Do get on with it.”

“I-- “ he stammers, “of course, Lord Ancunín. As I was saying, you’ve invested greatly in the city’s revival, in the restoration of so many of our most prized institutions. I know you recognize the value of legacy, and its role in the renewed prosperity of the Gate. The preservation of its eldest, most distinguished lineages…”

Ventris speaks as he’s commanded, but Astarion doesn’t deem to listen. His head dips to the fine edge of Naomi’s ear, nosing past a stray wave of ivory hair hanging free of her bun. His arm winds her waist, clutching her close.

“Are you well now, darling? Now that I’ve remedied my wrongs?”

Naomi hums contentedly, eyes shut, head tucked into the crook of his neck. And yet, he’s acutely aware of the disquiet lurking at the fringes of her happiness, circling their safe haven like a mangy dog seeking scraps.

“I think not,” Astarion murmurs darkly. “You're hungry, aren’t you, sweet thing?” His fingers stroke beneath her chin and guide her gaze to his.

Even as the ascendant, he can’t curtail her hunger entirely. He can only see to it that she never feels it for more than a moment.

“Only as much as you allow me to be,” she says, batting her eyes open again. There’s a glimmer of laughter in them, among his favorite shade of cherry. He expected her eyes to change color when she turned, but he hadn’t expected she’d keep a tinge of her former violet. A lovely surprise.

You’re full of surprises, he’d told her once, when they were only just beginning. Aren’t you?

Astarion had known he was making a bride, and not simply a spawn, the night she knelt for him. He’d known they’d be bound for eternity. Aeterna Amantes. As it should be. As it was always meant to be.

As it will be. Forever.

But how was he to know how heady her delight would feel, when it fluttered like a hummingbird from her mind to his? How intoxicating her submission would taste, when he could witness the very moment her thoughts bent for him, feel her mind yield before her body gave way exactly the way he wanted?

Without compulsion. Without question. Without barriers. With a bond like theirs, nothing between them is secret and all of it is sacred.

Perhaps accounts of other such unions exist. But there’s never been a vampire ascendant before; there’s never been an ascendant bride, either. None of the crusted scrolls he inherited from Cazador could’ve warned him how utterly offensive her slightest discomfort would come to feel.

That he’d feel it exactly as his own discomfort.

“How could I sit idle while my precious treasure starves?” He implores her with a blooming pout. “What manner of husband would I be, hm?”

Ventris, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten his manners entirely. He dares a step towards the dais, volume rising with the red in his cheeks.

“...and so I ask you, Lord Ancunín, what manner of philanthropist makes donations to some Sharran sanctuary? Hasn’t this city seen enough fanatics? They say those cultists have a new compound, thanks to you! And the Upper City has a new, so-called theater in your so-called lady’s name! Well, sir, I see no lady here! And that should tell you what opinion I have of that den of debauchery she’s opened!”

Astarion arches a brow. Ventris’ lower lip quivers as he babbles on.

“And you build all of this while my own house remains half-ruined! It was a proud estate before that business with the brain. Curious how all of my neighbors managed to escape the worst of the debris. Curious how they’ve already rebuilt what was broken!”

Naomi raises her head, surveying Ventris lazily. Astarion hears her effortlessly, as if the words were said aloud. Were you going to kill him with or without me?

Astarion’s answer is honest, if not innocent at all. You’d be fed either way. It’s simply a happy accident.

“It’s quite simple, Ventris,” Astarion shrugs. “You’re not necessary. Your daughter will marry that sweetheart of hers that you hate so much, what’s remaining of your pride will be inherited by their heirs, and the world will be better for it. Without you and those gaudy pillars in the way of what should be a pretty sea view from the Upper City. A pity the mindflayers didn’t finish leveling your estate. Though, I suppose they made the job easier.”

“How dare you!” Ventris fumes, spittle flecking his beard. “I’ll have your name dragged through the streets! The city will know you spent coin on the Sharrans-- and that gods forsaken whorehouse--”

“You won’t. Besides, Grand Duke Ravengard already knows. He’ll suppress any slander because he knows every other patriar is in my pocket. After all, their own coffers are so pitifully empty these days. That’s why you’re here, Ventris. To beg.”

Ventris shrivels into his ill-fitted suit coat. Astarion’s free hand curls around the armrest of his throne.

“So I’ll say it a second time,” Astarion sneers, “There won’t be a third. Get on with it.”

“I--” Ventis stammers, cheeks purpled with indignation. “You won’t get away with--”

Naomi snaps her fingers. Violet light sparks between them. “On your knees.”

It’s not the kind of compulsion Astarion can wield, but a spell that works in the same vein. Ventris drops with a shrill cry, kneecaps crunching against the hard stone.

Naomi slinks from his lap. Astarion catches her hand as she goes, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. The faint, lingering thrum of her magic tingles pleasantly against his lips.

She stalks forward, predatory. As her hands slip from his, her robe slips from her shoulders, pooling like spilled wine at her heels. Ventris quivers, a little leaf buffeted by the wind, but he can’t flee. And he still can’t help himself from staring, ogling at what isn’t his.

Astarion’s grip on the armrest tightens to a chokehold.

Sunlight slices the room in brilliant rays, as righteous as any flaming sword. And in it, Naomi is scintillating. The sheer fabric of her shift seems more mist than material. His eyes burn across her supple shape, taking in the ripple through her breasts with every step, and the tease of her nipples, pushing pert against her nightgown.

Astarion wets his lips, letting a fang tug at the tender flesh. Anticipation thrums through him again, only now, it’s hot. Thick. Permeating.

His grip on the armest eases as he leans back in the chair.

Ventris’ mouth hangs open, a great gaping maw for such a middling, waste of a man. His wide eyes bore into the last sight he’ll see. And what a sight she is. Naomi tilts her head one way, then the other, peering down at her meal like a bird choosing a worm.

She’s careful, picking her vein. She’s not, when she claws a hand into his hair, lifts him from the floor by a fist of it, and rips into his throat.

Because she wants it to hurt.

Screams slap wet against the palace walls. Astarion’s head falls back in his chair, his eyes slitted. The ceiling swims in a blur above him. He can feel the blood flooding warm in Naomi’s mouth, the spray of it coating the back of her throat. The thickness of it, swelling stiff within his trousers.

He parts his buttons hastily, stroking his hardened length, scarcely feeling his own touch. It’s her tongue he feels instead. Surrounding him. Sucking so greedily. Taking, just as he taught her to.

Her cheeks hollow as she pulls for more, more. And of course, more is what she gets. Blood leaks sticky sweet down her chin. Astarion’s cock throbs with her every moan.

It's effortless now, to pretend it's her mouth around his girth and not his own hand. He doesn't even have to picture it. She lets him feel every pleasure that ever paints her pretty lips. Like they were his own.

She is his own. Naomi and all her tenderness belong to him. Every pleasure she takes, Astarion takes, too. And while she’s taking her fill, she feels the familiar fit of his cock in her mouth, pouring fresh heat into the body he made perfect forever. Into the woman he’s unmade an untold number of times.

His hips buck into empty air. A groan splits through his teeth. Naomi peels from her meal with a slick pop of lips, gasping with the raw edge of a growl. Astarion’s release spurts warm across his fingers. He slouches limp and boneless in his seat, relishing in the feel of her soaked within and without. Just as she should be.

He blinks blearily, chasing the breath he takes for pleasure and not for purpose. Slowly, the room steadies. He sits up, wincing as he tucks his sated, sensitive cock back into his trousers.

Naomi eases back, crouched over the corpse that was Ventris. Her chest heaves. She pants in tandem with Astarion. Not because she has to; her body echoes his own, reeling from the feel of his ascended heart thudding within his ribs.

When they’ve both come to their senses, Astarion comes to her.

“What memory kept you tranced so late, dear?” His voice is soft, even as he scolds. What could ever be sweeter than meeting again in the flesh?

“I missed you, too.”

Astarion raises his hand lazily, and she leans forward, still kneeling. One by one, his fingers slip between her plush lips, her tongue wicking away the spend still left on them. When they’re clean, he grips her chin and turns it aside so he can see the marks on her neck that made her his evermore.

Blood blooms in stains near the neckline of her shift. It reminds him of the flowers found in their courtyard garden. His eyes drip with the leak of her leftovers, roaming over her the fresh flush waking in her skin. What a lovely, murderous, and reverent thing she is. Pride flares like a lively hearth beneath his ribs, fed by the warmth billowing from her head into his.

She’s hungry no longer. And happy. An easy smile lifts his lips.

“Well?” He prompts, expectant.

“I was remembering our wedding hunt,” she answers dreamily, eyes-half lidded.

Astarion’s smirk widens, his fangs peering out. What a delicious memory to sink into. Savory enough to trance the day away.

There was the night they wed truly. After taking her fill of him, Naomi knelt, and Astarion had his fill of her. He bit her thrice, drained her dry, and bound her as his bride for all of time to follow. The papers that came later put her surname on record as Ancunín. But they didn’t make her his; she belonged to him already.

There was the party. Mostly, they hosted it for the patriars they intended to weave into their web of influence. They spared no expense for the lavish affair. He could think of no finer way to spend Cazador’s fortune than on his and his darling’s debut into Baldurian high society.

And then, there was the hunt.

Wordlessly, it slips into his mind from hers: not the extravagant soiree, but the party of unfortunate souls that stumbled into the palace drunk that very eve. They later woke to white, opalescent stone walls. Pearly bricks laid where Astarion had once shrieked and bled uncounted times beneath Godey’s blades.

But that night, not a speck of blood or dirt stained the corridors to the old kennels. Astarion still hasn’t settled on the chambers’ future use, but he rather likes them better this way, as a polished blank slate. The sheen is crisp enough, he can see his clear reflection every time he stalks those halls.

He sees his own stunning visage again in the play of Naomi’s memories. He sees the seven huddled, sniveling figures that awaited them there, and feels their spines shudder again. His mouth waters at the mere recollection of it.

“The last of you alive will live forever,” he told them cheerfully, before cutting them free of their bonds. “Run along now! Go on!”

And off they scampered, scrabbling over each other in their desperation to reach a destination forever out of reach. There’d be no escape. Not a living one, anyway.

Astarion had turned to his bride. So beautiful, sheathed in an ivory gown with the finest of shimmers, her long white hair plaited back, a sheer veil draped over it. A teardrop train of lace fanned from the flared edge of her skirts, and her eyes glowed with the promise of violence.

He lifted Naomi’s chin in a delicate grip. “Now, feast, my sweet.”

The memory smears, vivid red. Red, like the dripping trails down the walls. Red, like color she stained his pristine coat when their lips collided, a hungry mess of blood and adoration. Red, like the streaks across her wedding gown as Astarion tore through it. He swore he saw handprints at her skirts, in the brief blur before he ripped her free of them. Perhaps her victims gripped them for mercy.

Astarion’s grip on her hips was anything but merciful. Binding, perhaps. And liberating, all the same.

It was hours later, his body weak with bliss, Naomi bare and drifting towards trance in his arms, that he lifted her from his throne and brought them both to bed.

Presently, she muses, “It took me forever to find that fucking Harper. Could’ve been her that you made spawn instead of Zylar.”

Astarion smirks. Naomi drained all but one of their late-night guests that evening. Their final victim was a promising twenty-something human named Zylar with no surname, no family, and nothing but a fervent dedication to his duties as a Flaming Fist. Astarion took that dedication for his own. Now, Zylar will be young forever, live out all his small dreams of climbing the Fists’ ranks, and, most importantly, serve the interests of the Ancuníns above all else.

When Zylar rose as Astarion’s second spawn, gaping in horror at the blood-smeared walls that surrounded him, Astarion told him, “Clean it up. With your mouth, if it pleases you.”

Within the hour, the old kennels were spotless once more.

Now, he snaps his fingers at the cloaked shadow lurking at the edge of the audience hall. At once, Zylar peels from the perimeter, prowling towards the corpse at the heart of the room. There’s barely blood on the tiles at all, but Astarion’s sure there won’t be a speck of it left by the time they return here.

“Your lessers will see to the scraps, my dear,” he says, offering Naomi his arm. She takes it, rising to his side. “I have something to show you. A present.”

The happy hum in her head is a knowing one. They enter the ballroom, where the white marble tile swirls with gold, and a long, windowed wall overlooks the palace gardens. There waits her latest gift, shining radiant in the sunlight. Her smile is a fitting match for it.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

They’ve had three such marvels call this ballroom home in just as many years. She’s said the same of the other two as well. He’s inclined to agree. The grand piano shimmers, resplendent. All but the keys and its insides are coated in gold leaf. The lid is propped, shedding light on landscape painted on its underside: Baldur’s Gate, by view of the sea, vivid in the setting sun.

Astarion allows her to part from his arm and rush to the piano, as if it’s a lover she’s running towards, and not away from. His arm sways, empty at his side, in the wake of her momentum. The delicate stroke of her fingers down the keys plays the most delectable shiver down his own spine. A long, stuttering sigh leaves his lips.

Strange that, only three short years ago, she didn’t know what to do with the first piano he gifted her. He remembers, crystal clear, the timid trepidation that crept across her face, the hesitancy with which she reached and just barely brushed the keys.

“Little love,” he’d purred in her ear, “whatever could be the matter?”

“I-I don’t know how to play it,” she’d confessed, sheepishly retracting her fingers. He’d seen those same nimble hands curl the neck of a fiddle and flit effortlessly across a flute at least a hundred times over.

Astarion only grinned, letting his teeth graze the slant of her ear. “You’ll learn it. We’ve an eternity now, darling. You can take as much time as you wish and never run out of it.”

He never tires of taking his time with her. Taking her here, in the ballroom, even at the expense of their most expensive furnishings. No, this one won’t last any longer than the others, he decides as she saddles over the cushioned bench, her hands poised. He wets his lips, mulling over at least a dozen ways to put an arch in her back as she straightens tall.

But, in the interest of not breaking her gift so soon after it's been given…

He turns, like the perfect vision of restraint he is, and says, “Why don’t you play me something as pretty as you are?”

The instrument was made for her, and Naomi plays it as if it’s what she was always meant to do. What pours from the piano melts across his ears and leaves a saccharine taste on his tongue. It carries the tang of her magic with it, as all her music does. Tantalizing. Mesmerizing. Numbing, in its own way. Astarion could spend hours soaking in it. He’s spent so many mornings this way, warmed by the sun, staring out over the city he and his consort share, complicit with her in shared contentment.

Siren, some call her in whispers. They’re right to whisper. Astarion’s seen Naomi kill with one.

He stiffens to the sound of a throat clearing. It’s a cutting, and unwelcome intrusion. Claude, the rancid little gnome who tuts at him so expectantly, is eternally an intrusion.

It’s the carrot of vampirism Claude chases. It’s easy enough to dangle it, just out of reach. He served Cazador with a religious fervor. He serves Astarion with even more zeal. He’s mortal, still, and Astarion can’t think of a single good reason to turn a servant already so eagerly playing their role. The thought alone makes his stomach roil.

“My Lord,” the nasally wretch says, “they’re waiting for you in your office.”

Astarion scowls. For all the patriars they’ve killed, there’s still a bumper crop of them crowding into his office every other week. Wanting the favor of Baldur’s Gate’s best-loved benefactor. Unknowingly begging at the heels of the one and only Vampire Ascendant.

Such is the ignorant bliss of the cattle. He’s more than they know. But they know well enough to beg while they still can.

What they do know is that he’s a hero. A savior of the city. The holder of its purse strings, while his heroine lover pulls the strings of the city’s heart. All in service to the web of power and influence that will see him named Grand Duke by summer’s end.

“Shall I tell them you’ll reschedule?” Claude asks.

“No,” he relents with an exasperated groan. “You shall not.”

Naomi plays on as he passes, but he feels a tug in the back of his mind. A flicker of a familiar feeling: her hand leaving his, and his arm left loose with an empty grasp.

I won’t be but an hour, my sweet. And then, I think, it’s back to bed with you. I think you might never leave it.

Her answer floats about his mind like a dandelion buffeted by the wind. I think I died happy.

Happy, Astarion muses, already half a palace away from her. He pauses by the mirror in the corridor, adjusting his high collar before he makes for his office door and the waiting patriars. As you should be.

Astarion drums the richly polished oak with restless fingers, his chin situated in his other palm. From his seat at the table’s head, he has a prime view of today’s entertainment: a pair of bickering magistrates. They hold the table’s attention as they trade barbs, too ablaze in their own irritations to notice their host’s growing disinterest.

Do try to pay attention, dear, Naomi snickers in his head. We paid a hefty sum to get this little feud off the ground, after all.

Ostensibly, Lady Ancunín isn't interested in politics. Such manners bore her, and would detract from her management of the city’s finest theater. In reality, it's as if his little love never left his lap at all. She should be in this chair. He’s the one who's bored.

Naomi’s left the piano now, though it plays on without her. Her steps patter in the back of his mind as she takes to the footpath through their gardens, her music still wafting pleasantly with the scent of the roses. With their minds linked, she listens more closely to his meeting than he can bear to.

Astarion’s gaze drifts to the open windows, to the bustling Gate, throbbing with life. Ripe for the taking, all due to his careful tending. A breeze ruffles the curtains, carrying the salt of the sea with it.

It used to thrill him, to sit here, steeple his hands, and watch his empire be built brick by unwitting brick. He’s amassed enough influence to carry a current, even while sitting entirely still. There’s an inevitability to it all now that should please him. Instead, he feels the restless urge to pluck those bricks from the pile and dash all the heads in this room with them. To hear fresh screams instead of circular whining. But instead, he must endure their peevish--

Silence.

Abruptly, Astarion stiffens. The patriars prattle on unbothered, but beneath their noise, a stagnant quiet furls through his halls like a fast-moving fog, setting his hairs on end. Across the palace, the piano ceases playing. It’s not a remarkable change on its own; the magic expires after some time without Naomi’s touch.

That familiar, slipping sensation comes again: the feel of Naomi’s palm sliding from his and leaving it empty. His head feels empty as an echoing, vacant cathedral, only home to his own thoughts. His own mind.

Darling? The word reverberates inside his skull, making it no farther than it would if he said it aloud in this room without her. His nails claw the table’s edge.

Naomi? Answer me. He calls again, anger flaring, but it feels futile. Like banging his fists against stone.

Footsteps race down the corridor. His head turns for the door before the knob even moves. By the time it opens, he’s already standing. Every head in the room turns to Claude stammering frantically in the doorway.

“M-My lord, a visitor--”

Astarion grips his collar, storming from the room with the little wretch in tow.

“Lord Ancunín,” an old crone of a tiefling barks from the other end of the table, “what is the meaning of--”

Astarion slams the door on her inane protest, not even pausing to savor the flinch that passes through his captive audience.

“Where is your mistress?” Astarion growls.

“The throne room,” Calude answers meekly. “W-we think.”

“You think?!” Astarion releases his grip on Claude’s shirt, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants.

He doesn’t wait for Claude to elaborate. Astarion sheds his form and flies. Moments later, he materializes again before the great shut doors to his audience hall. A blue veil of magic simmers over them.

With a boiling vitriol, he rounds on the other elf kneeled near the doors. Strictly speaking, Emilia is his favorite of his lesser spawn. It isn’t the highest of praises; her only competition is Zylar, and her knack for magic makes her useful. And yet, he feels a dawning hatred for her as she crouches there, glowing hands outstretched in vain.

“What in the hells is this?” He shouts, the sound bounding like fitful thunder.

“A magical barrier, my Lord,” Emilia says, strained. “It’s elaborate, but I’ll have it down shortly.”

“Who cast this? Who’s in there with her?”

“We received a visitor at the front door. He said the gatekeep allowed him entry, that he was a scholar from Waterdeep here to inform you of something of great import. He didn’t give a name. We intended to turn him away, but Claude went to Lady Naomi to inform her, and the lady said she would see him in your absence. She awaited him here, but all the doors closed when he entered, and the barriers appeared at once.”

Astarion grits his teeth. “And the guards at the gate simply let him pass?”

“It seems so.”

How could that be?! Astarion snarls, his fist curling with flame. He hurls it at the barrier, but the firebolt only melts harmlessly against its surface, dissipating into useless smoke.

His bond with his bride can be turned like a faucet on either end, but neither of them can stem the drip of it entirely. Naomi would never wish for such separation. But even if she had, she could never hide from him fully.

And yet, he hadn’t even an inkling of this stranger’s arrival. The last he felt her, she’d been in the gardens raking her fingers through thorns, savoring the sting of the cuts, and thinking of his fangs.

“I believe Zylar is in there as well, my Lord.”

Astarion tenses, thoughts racing. Zylar never stays anywhere alone with Naomi if he can help it. Ever since the wedding hunt, he’s stayed terrified of her.

His mind blanks abruptly. The barrier dissipates, flecks of magic raining down from the doorway like sleet. The doors part. Through the narrow split, he sees Naomi as her knees buckle against the marble.

A cloaked figure looms over her, one hand outstretched, the other clutching a fluttering scroll. Red magic twists just above Naomi’s forehead, coiling on itself like a knotted vine. Astarion surges towards them.

Ascension made him swifter than anything he’s yet to encounter. Sharper. Stronger. But now that he’s near enough to see the spell reflecting in Naomi’s irises, near enough to see them washed in fear, his bones feel leaden. Slow.

Weak.

The spell flares into a blinding, burning orb. Bloody light scorches the room. Astarion feels the heat of it spear through his temples. Carving, like the tadpole used to. Cutting. His lips split around the pain, but it’s Naomi’s scream that pierces his ears.

The quiet that comes after lays against the room like a knife to a throat.

Naomi wavers where she kneels. Astarion skids across the floor, catching her before she can collapse. The light vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving the cloaked mage crumpled in a limp heap.

“Master!” Emilia gasps. “Master wait-- she might--”

“Shh,” Astarion coos, caressing a hand through Naomi’s hair and down her cheek. Blood leaks from the corners of her fluttering eyes, drying in dark trails. The magic burns a ruby outline around her body before it sinks beneath her skin.

“I’m here,” he rasps, pleading. “Come to me, darling. Come back to me.”

He holds a taut breath as her eyes open wider. Naomi blinks dazedly up at him, lips trembling, face glazed in confusion. Her gaze settles to his and sharpens.

“W-who are you?”

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean the world to me if you let me know you did in box at the end here. It's scary and exciting and invigorating to share a new story!

And HUGE thank you to so many Tumblr moots and discord friends who have supported me along the way in drafting this one. 💜

#the fic otherwise known as modify memory #astarion #ascended astarion #tavstarion #dark consort #astarion ancunin #lord astarion #vampire lord astarion #bg3 #naomi tavriel #aeterna nostalgia #my writing

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cedarxwing · 5 months ago

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My favorite details in Castle Lecter's set design

1. The Lecter family crest pays homage to the Hannibal book cover.

It references Milan's biscione, a snake devouring a man, which appears on the coat of arms of the Visconti and Sforza families (from which Hannibal is descended on his mother's side).

SIDE NOTE: One of Hannibal's favorite pastimes as the curator of the Palazzo Vecchio was reading about his ancestors:

Funnily enough, the Visconti-Sforza commissioned their own tarot decks in the 15th century, so Hannibal might've been studying those in the Palazzo library around the time he designed his Vitruvian Man tableau. Here's the original Visconti di Modrone Three of Swords vs an artist's reproduction:

2. Pheasant & Raven imagery

The Chiyoh/Abigail parallels are strong, but Chiyoh's symbolic prey animal is a pheasant instead of a deer! She uses pheasant quills as decoration for her dinner with Will, and there are some taxidermied pheasants in the hunting lodge we didn't get to see:

But my favorite detail is how she uses a pheasant bone to kill the Caged Man! Even a prey animal has sharp edges.

Meanwhile, ravens represent Hannibal's imposing presence haunting the estate. We see them on the Lecter family crest and taxidermied by the fireplace.

Doubled birds of prey motif... a nod to how Will is joining Hannibal as a predator?

All the hawk paintings could also just be referencing this single line in Hannibal Rising:

SIDE NOTE: Over in Florence, Hannibal is keeping in the bird theme with a feathered arm ham wing and a nest of green bean asps for his dinner with Sogliatto:

3. A Shrine for Mischa?

There's a deleted scene in the script where Will spots a Shinto shrine while snooping:

A small version of this shrine appears above the fireplace. It includes a pair of birds of paradise, the same flower Chiyoh leaves on Mischa's grave:

If you've read the books, Mischa's presence is also palpable in the deer heads watching over their dinner (not that we got to see them lol):

4. The way the painting above the fireplace is cut off makes it look like an oni glaring at them! Creepy!

Or maybe it's meant to look like Enma, the Buddhist King of Hell, who is depicted in the painting on the ceiling in the original production design (The Fever of Tairo no Kiyomori by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi, 1883):

It's actually this Rorschach of a landscape based on Old Plum by Kano Sansetsu (1646):

5. Japanese family crests (mon) on the curtains

The Secondo scene uses the weeping wisteria family crest (sagari fuji mon):

The name Murasaki means wisteria, so I assume this crest represents her. It's doubly fitting, since in real life, this is the Fujiwara crest, and Lady Murasaki's namesake (Murasaki Shikibu, author of the Tale of Genji) was a Fujiwara.

The original production design uses a princess tree family crest (kiri mon). Not sure if there was any symbolism to that choice, but they didn't go with it in the end.

#hannibal #hannibal meta #chiyoh #castle lecter

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harlowtales · 10 days ago

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A playdate goes wrong as Jack’s daughter goes missing ⚽️

18+ ONLY - ADULT THEMES

(Unedited)

“Daddy do I have to go to the game with you? I want to finish watching my show.” Patricia complained

“Don’t you want to play with Clover?” Jack said as he put her hair in two pigtails and laid out her clothes for her. You were off on a girls day with Jack’s mom, aunt, and Grandmother.

You were practicing leaving Jack completely on his own on his daddy daughter days as he was gone for days and weeks at a time and needed to bond as much as possible with Patricia or “P” as he affectionately called her. Patricia was a stubborn 4 year old and had many of Jack’s traits which included her already well developed negotiation skills.

“Ok daddy how about I finish my show and Duaney can drive me later to the game.” She tried which annoyed and impressed her dad at the same time.

“P” Jack said firmly “Clover is excited to meet you, now put this on or we’ll be late.” He held up her shirt to help her into it. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “When did you start rolling your eyes young lady?”

“Since now.” She retorted sassily. Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or chide her to mind her mouth and manners.

“I’m not the one P.” Jack said with a frown that had Patricia turn on the charm.

“Ok my daddy. I’ll be nice.” She said sweetly and planted a kiss on his forehead as she hung onto his neck for him to help her into her New Balance track pants and New Balance sneakers. Jack melted and a little smile creeped up on his face.

She had a complexion that was not as pale as Jack’s but not as brown as yours with gorgeous curls from both of you, 1 dimple, and hazel eyes, a compromise nature seemed to make between your brown eyes and Jack’s baby blues.

She had freckles on her nose like her dad and a lazy eye she wore glasses for like him. She was sassy, smart, and was already able to carry a tune, something you and Jack had butted heads on. You wanted her to go to college and he was always sneaking her off to the studio. “She has potential Y/N” he would argue and continued to take her to his sessions and beg her not to tell you. Patricia learned how to negotiate for extra screen time for her silence. Like his parents Jack and you limited her screen time to 2 hrs/day.

“If you play with Clover nicely I’ll give you an extra hour on your iPad ok?” Jack said knowing her currency to agree to almost anything except eating her vegetables.

NLE Choppa and Jack were in the same XXL Freshman class but hadn’t spoken much since they made the cover what seemed like a lifetime ago. Both their careers had taken off keeping them busy and on the road and both now were fathers.

NLE was playing in Kentucky and of course as all hip hop artists knew it was good manners to pay the King of Kentucky homage. Jack decided to invite NLE and his daughter Clover to a Louisville FC game so their daughter’s who were the same age could make friends.

NLE and Clover often made adorable daddy/daughter videos of them dancing but Jack kept things with Patricia less public as per his tendency to keep his private life private. Today Jack was sure would be all over social media and it was the rare time he was ok with it. Fans had been dying for a daddy/daughter moment.

In her first 4 years you and Jack made sure Patricia wasn’t in the public eye that much and family sightings by paparazzi were rare as the whole city protected you and respected your wishes. Louisville was a low key place so you and Jack had a fairly peaceful life…that is until 2 little girls joined forces.

Jack and Patricia headed to their box seats to mild cheers from fans who were expecting to see Jack as part owner but were thrilled to see Patricia. Cell phones came out immediately to snap a pic of her as she settled shyly on her daddy’s lap and hugged him around his neck drawing a collective awwww from the crowd. As Jack and Patricia were brought popcorn and drinks a buzz started in the venue and whispers.

NLE and Clover showed up dressed the same as they often did for appearances and events. Today they had on matching pink and white track suits. Clover had pink and white beads on the end of her braids to match her outfit that Patricia thought were really pretty. Clover shyly smiled at Patricia as she stuck to her daddy as well. Folks were used to Jack’s preppy and clean appearance so NLE looked like a rockstar to them as he was covered in tattoos and wore a stack of chunky gleaming chains with a full set of diamond grills when he laughed and smiled with Jack.

Both extremely handsome rappers were at the top of their game enjoying life to the fullest with Jack coming off a long hiatus about to once again dominate the charts, and NLE the fastest rising independent artist out with a streak of viral moments and hits. When the superstar showed up the media and fans went nuts at the unexpected appearance.

2 superstar dads on a playdate hit IG in minutes. Were they collabing? Was Jack performing at NLE’s show later that night? Were they working on a movie together? What was going on? Fans were losing their minds with chats exploding with speculation, and every girl made emergency plans to be ready for an any mention of an epic afterparty.

“What up playa?” NLE greeted Jack in a solid dap and a hug.

“Man you almost as tall as me.” Jack said sizing up the 6”2 rapper against his 6”3 frame and the 2 burst out laughing. It was too much for ladies in the venue watching the tall and handsome dads chat while their daughter’s hung onto them uncertain of what was happening. Clover was more used to the spotlight than Patricia who was already showing signs of being tired.

“Yo P.” Jack said lifting her little head off his shoulder and prying her hands off him to sit her down in the seat beside him and next to Clover. “Say hi to Clover.”

“Umm hi.” She offered quietly. This is one of many moments where Patricia was super shy in public. You and Jack had debates about giving her more opportunities to socialize but to say Jack was paranoid was an understatement.

“My name is Clover. I like your glasses.” Clover offered starting to warm up to her surroundings and her new friend. Patricia was in awe of Clover. Even as a 4yr old she was so glamorous to Patricia as she whipped out a phone from her little bedazzled designer purse to show Patricia pictures of her last outing with her dad where she got to dance with LA Laker cheerleaders. Jack was nervously eyeing the interaction and seeing Patricia in awe of Clover made him even more nervous. Clover was cute and he knew NLE was a good dad, but the 2 girls couldn’t be growing up more differently.

“I like your nails and your purse and your phone and your hair is pretty.” Patricia complimented all at once nervously trying to make a connection with Clover. The 2 girls giggled with their heads together as Clover showed Patricia pics and vids from her last run of adventures with her dad and silly videos they made together. “Your daddy is silly like my daddy.” Patricia giggled.

“Don’t worry bruh she got a phone but it’s parented protected like a MF. It’s a phone for kids so they feel grown but don’t have access to anything bad yuh feel me?” NLE told Jack in his thick Memphis drawl.

“I hear you fam. I kinda got Patricia bubble wrapped.” He joked but it was completely the case. If you had seen that phone he knew you would bug him to let Patricia have it. You grew up less sheltered than Jack and had responsibilities at a young age and felt it helped be who you were today, but up until Jack was in first grade he just came off a farm and had never played a video game.

His childhood in Louisville revolved around his large and close knit family. It wasn’t until his teens where he started to see more of the world and was in his later teens when he started drinking and “partaking in substances” as he put it. Even his run with that was short lived and he rarely did anything like that anymore.

You on the other hand were left at 16 to raise your two younger half-siblings. It was either that or foster care for them as your mom battled addiction and their father disappeared. You never knew who your dad was. Today because of Jack they were now stable and living close by and your mom was getting help. Jack had truly saved her life. He was your knight in shining armour you didn’t know you needed doing everything on your own. As you sipped on afternoon mimosas with your mother in law, you opened IG to find Patricia and Clover the hot topic of the platform.

“Babe…are you sure about this?” You frantically texted your bae. Jack had told you Patricia was going to the game but you didn’t know the NLE part which brought a whole other level of attention to the outing.

“We good baby. Just chill out and enjoy your day.” Jack texted back and put his phone back in his pocket.

“Clover has a phone??? Is it for kids? Where did NLE get that for her? HELLO??!” You texted to no response from your husband. He knew a barrage of questions would be coming. You were always pushing for Patricia not to be so sheltered. “OMG!! Look at my baby girl laughing and making friends!!!” Jack???! HELLOOOO??!” But he was clearly enjoying the game and not answering.

“Y/N what’s going on?” Maggie said looking over at you scrolling IG and texting like a mad woman.

“LOOK” you simply said tearing up and showed her what Hip Hop Central on Instagram just posted of Patricia and Clover now dancing to the music being played at halftime which was their dad’s music and falling all over each other giggling. The headline was “NLE and Jack Harlow Babysit”

“NLE and Clover wear matching outfits?? How adorable!” Maggie exclaimed “That’s Patricia? She just met Clover! She’s not shy right now! and excuse me you don’t babysit your own child.” Maggie said annoyed at the headline giving you your phone back and rolling her eyes. “She’ll be talking your ear off when y’all get back home.”

“How could he miss that the net was fucking open!!” Jack angrily exclaimed.

“Your daddy said a bad word.” Clover said to Patricia as both girls looked at Jack in a way that made him apologize to them.

“Calm down bruh.” NLE said to Jack who was now pouting at his team’s inevitable loss.

“I have to pee.” Clover said suddenly and jumped up to go to the bathroom.

“Me too.” Said Patricia who didn’t really have to pee until her friend said she had to go.

“I’ll take them” Katt said who was Jack’s assistant “Come on girls” she said and the 2 little girls followed her. As they went to the bathroom inside the boxed in area reserved for Jack, Katt waited for them while she faced the window watching the game. One of the staff who had their hands full left the door to the boxed in area open with the intention of coming back with more things to set up for lunch for the celebrity guests. Clover spotting the open door whispered to Patricia

“Wanna play hide and seek on our daddies?”

“Sure!” Patricia said up for anything Clover suggested.

Clover and Patricia snuck out the door and hid in the back of a golf cart used to get around the venue quickly that had a little canopy where you could put a little cooler for drinks. They hunkered down in the tight space. When the cart started moving they sat there quietly in hushed laughter. Their daddies would have to look all over for them and they thought that would be so fun!

Katt got an uneasy feeling and checked the small bathroom to find the girls gone. Her heart raced as she frantically texted Jack trying not to make a scene for the jumbotron to capture. Jack’s phone was in his pocket and he was preoccupied with shouting at the field over his losing team. Katt panicked and decided she had to tell him. She approached him as calmly as she could with all eyes watching and asked him and NLE to step inside the box.

“What’s going on?” They asked seeing the look on her face.

“The girls they…they were in the washroom and then…I don’t know how they disappeared.” She said wringing her hands and in tears.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!” Jack said angrily “Katt how did this happen?”

“Geezus where is my baby?” NLE panicked and seeing the door to the suite open he ran out with Jack and venue security close on his heels. “Wait let me call Clover.” He said but there was no answer. Immediately all venue security and police were notified and an amber alert went out on all attendees phones.

“Jack Harlow and Mr. Bryson Potts’s daughters are missing. I repeat, we have 2 missions children in the building. Please keep your eyes out and report to authorities immediately if you see these 2 little girls.” The announcer said and showed a picture of both girls on the jumbotron they had to take for security purposes when they arrived that day. “They are Patricia Harlow 4 years old, and Clover Potts 4 years old.”

Everyone in the venue held their breath as some joined the search party. The game came to a grinding halt with players joining the hunt for the 2 girls. You unknowingly were enjoying horse back riding with the women in your husband’s family on their family farm. Your phone was buzzing in your tight riding pants but you ignored it taking in the breathtaking Kentucky countryside.

The golf cart carrying its precious cargo came to a stop and the driver walked off. Patricia and Clover feeling they were no longer moving decided to poke their heads out. They thought they would pretty much be in the same spot as they had little concept of how big the venue was. They panicked once they didn’t recognize anything or anyone around them.

NLE remembered Clover had a tracker on her device. He checked his phone and picked up their location. “Found them!!” He announced “They on the other side but they’re running to somewhere. We have to catch up to them but they are in the building!” He led the search party in their direction.

“Are you lost?” A lady asked the two girls who were now running to find their dads and crying.

“Where’s my daddy?” Patricia said to the lady who instantly recognized her when she looked down and saw her face. “Patricia Harlow?”

Patricia nodded. “And who’s your friend?” The lady asked who was just making her way back to her seat when she spotted the two girls frantically looking around them. “That’s my bestie Clover.” Patricia said hugging Clover tight.

“Oh my god ok everyone is looking for you guys!!” The lady said as she called her husband who notified security. As Jack and NLE hadn’t yet caught up with them but were close.

“We got their location they are safe and being held in place.” They heard over walkie talkies. The fathers breathed a sigh of relief. Jack had never felt such dread in his life. They put the 2 dads and Jack’s security in a golf cart and speedily got them to where the lady was holding Clover and Patricia. When they saw each other they ran to one another. Jack scooped up Patricia and NLE scooped up Clover hugging and kissing the girls fighting fully crying.

“What were you thinking?” Jack asked Patricia sternly and she began to cry

“I wanted to play hide and seek daddy I’m so sorry!!” Clover bawled. “It’s ok princess don’t ever scare daddy like that again ok?” NLE said softly looking into her big brown eyes.

Bruh, where’d you get that phone for Clover? Imma need that.” Jack said holding Patricia close who was now drained and resting on him.

“Allow me boss” Duane said reaching out for Patricia “You want some ice cream girls?” He said reaching for Clover’s hand trying to calm the girls down and distract them.

“Tell me where you got Duane and I’ll tell you where I got the phone.” NLE said smiling. He was so impressed with how Duane was a part of the family.

“Thank you everyone. The whole building gets free ice cream on me for all your help.” Jack said and when they announced it everyone at the game cheered. The girls were carried out onto the field on the shoulders of a couple players and they waved to the crowd happy to see them safe. Boy would Patricia have a lot to tell you when you met up with them at home.

@ride4harlow @jackharlow502 @itsyagirljaz

#jack harlow #fanfic #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow fanfic #romance #dramatic #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x reader #soccer #Louisville #nle choppa #rapper #Spotify

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stealeroflemons · 4 months ago

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eah thing but make it FASHION aka met gala themed but I'm sunburnt and only half awake right now #30 (PART I)

SURPRISE! I'm alive and well. Mostly. I'm getting ready to leave for university so I am tireeeeed. Anyways. I know there was a lot of controversy around the met gala and that I'm extremely late in doing this, but I do want to make this post to still add some ever after high fun and to also have some fashion fun with the help of Pinterest. The theme is (with great consideration of your suggestions and of my own deliberation) "Hans Christian Dior: A Spellelebration of Fable-ous Fashion"

This mainly came from research on past met gala themed and how quite a few of them are themes after specific fashion houses or designers AND from the Thronecoming special (which is PEAK fashion in the series besides Way Too Wonderland and Spring Unsprung) where Cedar calls out Duchess for wearing a fake Hans Christian Dior dress! (note, I am trying to mainly use Christian Dior gowns/outfits for this because of the reference in Thronecoming also sorry for the blurriness)

Briar is THAT GIRL. She is flushed in hot pink looking gorgeous with about every inch of her glittering with body shimmer, glitter hairspray, and shiny shiny jewels. I like to think that instead of the gold detailing in the pictures it would be silver and that the closer embellishments would be rose detailing to honor her usual aesthetic and legacy

Faybelle is serving every bit of whimsy and darkness. Her accessories and the layers of her dress and even her hair seem to be alive with lightning crackling around. Her wings are extra pretty and equally terrifying with silver thorn adornments that are magically light enough to not weigh her down

Ashlynn's look was partially inspired by Lady Tremaine's silhouettes in the lie action Cinderella while still maintaining the color palette of her usual outfits. Her look combines the beauty of the enchanted forest and foliage and the classy, fine china patterns you'd see in a royal palace. She is absolutely radiant and of course while walking up the steps of the Met, she loses a slipper ;)

Duchess has taken a slightly different approach to her usual fluffy-tulle outfits and gone for more of a paper swan look. The sharp angles provide a dangerous look to her, contrasting the soft purple accents and the feather headpieces she wears. She seems to float on air and she walks through the crowds of people in her gown, a true picture of elegance and grace with a touch of darkness to her

The one and only Apple White is DRAMATIC. HUGE HAIR. BOLD RED MAKEUP. EXTREME DRESS SILHOUETTE. THE MOST ROYAL JEWELRY YOU CAN FIND. She looks like something out of an editorial magazine on royalty. This entire look is a more elevated look of her daily wear, and she wears it with grace and sophistication

Darling looks so DARLING! I do think the gold on the dress would be swapped out for silver and that the pearls would be more pink-y toned so it would match the jewels in your basic outfit (same with other accessories). She's sticking with the sort of rococo hair that she usually has because it's iconic let's be honest. I was debating on giving her a more armored look but for this I wanted to embrace her softer and delicate look

Rosabella looks like a French aristocrat from an old Hollywood movie in my mind for an event like this. Nevertheless any fur details are faux, after all our girl is still an animal activist (slay queen). I think the dusty gold-brown tone of the dress with the deep red accents and jewelry pays a nice homage to not only her day to day look but to Belle's iconic yellow dress. I also feel like her and Briar would contrast well because Briar is very bright and vibrant in her look and Rosabella is more muted and understated which I like a lot

anways I'll make a part 2 eventually, I have all the collages made I just need to create a post and write descriptions. But for now I'm gonna go back to packing and planning for uni and I'll get back to y'all when I can (and hopefully my fanfictions, who now haunt me in my dreams)

#eah #ever after high #briar beauty #faybelle thorn #Duchess swan #Apple white #Rosabella beauty #Darling charming #Ashlynn ella

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icycoldninja · 4 months ago

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*Tippy toes in a not-so-suspicious manner* “Hey god, it’s me again 🧍‍♂️👁️”

———————————————————————————

Can you write the DMC men + Sephi with a reader who has long hair like the Victorian ladies back then?

She takes very good care of her hair like massaging her scalp to stimulate blood flow, washes her hair carefully, oiling the ends and occasionally trimming it, hair serums, etc

And the reason is that when she was young with her mother, she complimented how beautiful and lovely her hair must be when she gets older and how long it’ll be. That imprinted in her mind and in order to pay homage to her mother, who now had passed away tragically due to a devil-attacking incident, it’s also a way to remember her as sometimes when she looks into the mirror, she would always see her mom in herself mainly due to her long hair and how she looks almost like a carbon copy of her mother

But it can be a hassle, taking care of it due to how long it is and how much time to care for it. In some fights, her hair would get caught up in something or a demon trying to grip her hair, resulting in her almost getting caught several times no matter how much she tied her hair up

She knows she needs to cut it because it can be a life or death situation, but she’s also really reluctant because other than her hair, she doesn’t have anything that can physically remind her of her dead mom

Ok, please enjoy!

DMC boys + Sephiroth x Reader with very long hair headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante thinks your hair is very beautiful and has laid his grubby hands on it more than once, though he only did this without your permission one time.

-He doesn't really care how you maintain your hair because he is a dude who doesn't understand haircare, but he is interested in all the shiny tonics you have.

-He watched you perform your haircare routine once, and only managed to get through half of it. How anyone has the patience to do all that is beyond him.

-When he heard why you want to keep your hair so long, his heart really reached out to you. He missed his mom too, so he knows what that yearning feels like.

-He doesn't want you to feel like you have to cut your hair, but it's getting in the way of your missions, and if you don't find a way to keep it tied up and out of the way, it will put you at risk.

-He finally came up with a solution, and that solution was to tie your hair up with regular hair ties, then wrap it in nylon cord to keep it from coming undone. While it looks ugly, it's functional and doesn't really damage your hair.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil thought your extremely long hair was rather impractical, but said nothing.

-Your cabinet full of hair supplies was annoying, but Vergil kept his mouth shut.

-The mounds of hair you leave on the floor was absolutely infuriating, but Vergil kept these thoughts to himself.

-Your reasons for keeping your hair so long resonated within him, because he knew what it was like to miss your mother that badly. If he was born a girl, he would have done the same.

-He understood you were saddened about having to cut your hair, but if you didn't, you would be at risk during missions.

-He assured you that even if you cut your hair, you still looked a lot like your mother, and that you don't need hair to keep her memory alive. She was in your heart, and always would be.

-Besides, you didn't even get it cut that much, just up to your hips, so not much had changed.

□ Nero □

-Nero thought your hair was really nice, and really wanted to touch it.

-How you took care of it was a mystery, and while you did offer to show him, he declined since he wasn't really interested.

-You do make a mess; hair accumulates on nearly every surface, specifically the bed and couch.

-Being someone who never knew his mom, Nero understands why you are so adamant on retaining your hair.

-He didn't want you to cut it either, but this was a matter of practicality and safety. You should, or you risk getting injured because demons will use it as leverage.

-With a lot of help from Nico, Nero managed to get you a specially engineered hair tie that keeps your hair secure and free of damage while you fight. Hooray, now you don't need to cut it!

● V ●

-V thought your hair was very beautiful, silky smooth, and impossibly shiny.

-He wanted so badly to touch it, but knew better than to, because in doing so, he might make it dirty.

-Watched you perform your hair routine and was dazzled by the sheer amount of stuff you do with it, and how long it takes.

-He wanted to help you, but had no idea what he was doing and didn't want to ruin your hair, so he resigned himself to just watching.

-He knew you didn't want to cut your hair because you cherished the fact that you looked like your mother. He didn't want you to cut your hair either, he thought it was very beautiful.

-But perhaps you could compromise and just trim it to your waist? That way it would still be very long, but easier to manage.

♡ Sephiroth ♡

-Now, Sephiroth is different from the rest of these chumps.

-He understands haircare and takes it more seriously than young women on TikTok.

-He helps you through everything you need to do, even sharing some of his own tips.

-Visitors think you live with Bigfoot given the amount of hair littering your floors and other surfaces.

-Being a Momma's boy, Sephiroth knows that your memories of your mom are precious to you, so under no circumstances will he allow you to cut your hair.

-If he can manage, then so shall you. He will help you any way he can.

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honeybeefae · 1 year ago

Text

Coronation Day (Eris Vanserra x Reader)

Eris Week Day Two: High Lord

Summary// The day of Eris's coronation is finally here and while everyone is getting ready you realize your mate is nowhere to be found. After searching everywhere you finally find him in the gardens and you see a side of him that he rarely ever shows.

(I’m sorry that these are so short but I hope you guys are still liking them! This fic was one of my favorites to write and I think it’s just the detail and imagery that really ties it in. I also love writing about vulnerable Eris so it has definitely been fun for me! <3 Thank you guys for reading!)

(I also had pictured what the dress, crown, and shoes looked like so here are the references but of course I want you all to picture what you like! It is you, after all :))

Your Dress / Crown / Shoes / Eris's Outfit (but gold instead of silver) / Garden Gates

(Also I listened to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift while writing!)

@erisweek2023

WARNINGS: None

You look up at the grand clock as the seamstress puts the final touches on your gown, your stomach in knots as you look over yourself in the mirror. It was Eris’s coronation day and everything had to be perfect, including you. The gown was exquisite, the exact dress you would expect from a High Lord’s mate, and your hair and makeup enhanced your entire aura into royalty.

The gown was the color of golden leaves with large sleeves and beaded foliage around the top to pay homage to your court. It swept the floor and had a grand trail, almost like a wedding dress, while the crown that was atop your head matched perfectly to Eris’s.

“There, my lady, you are perfect.” The seamstress beamed in the mirror as she stepped back, taking in the entire outfit as you matched her smile with your own. “I have never seen a more beautiful and deserving woman to be our Lady of Autumn than you.”

“You are too kind, Cressida.” You blush, stepping off the pedestal and testing out your specially made-heels. “All this beauty is truly owed to you. I was but a blank canvas to your brilliant mind.”

“Now it is you who is being too kind, my lady.” She bows while she gathers her things and walks towards the door. “I will see you at the coronation!”

“I’ll be the one on the throne!” You laugh, waving to her before turning to your handmaidens with a nervous sigh. They all gush over your outfit, their voices intermingling into a crescendo before you shush them. “Have you heard from Eris?”

“Well…about that…” Luci begins, her mouth twisting down as she looks to the others who immediately look to the ground.

“What? What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, my lady, it’s just-” Luci tries to explain before Nikolet steps forward, finally caving.

“No one has seen him since this morning!” She confessed, her hands wringing together in front of her. “He was getting ready and when the seamstress came to check on everything he had vanished. They didn’t want to tell you since you were also in the middle of-”

“They didn’t want to tell me that my mate was missing…on his coronation day?!” You raise an eyebrow, trying to control your anger as the girls sheepishly nod. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I will go find him, just finish getting ready.”

“But my lady-” Luci tries to interject but you hold out a hand, silencing her.

“He is my mate. Wherever he has run off to and why he has run off is nobody’s business but our own. Now please, get ready. I will see you all there.” You urge, shooing them, before picking up your skirts and walking out the door.

The castle is bustling with activity while you try to find him. People were running around making sure everything was in its place, that the flowers were set and the food was prepared. You try to look neutral as you pass everyone, barely acknowledging their bows and awes of beauty as you search everywhere. You weaved and waded through the crowds of fellow court members, peeking through the doors of rooms and studies until you stopped at the grand entrance doors.

Where on Earth could he be?

You bite your lip, looking side to side, before you catch a glimpse of sunlight coming in from the window above. As you turn to see its path, noting how it hits the painting of the garden so beautifully, you get an idea.

The pace of your steps picks up as you hold your skirts tightly and all but run through the kitchen, apologizing to the staff as you almost run into the cake. They shout out, wondering where you are off to in such a hurry, but you ignore them as you push through the back doors and glide down the outdoor steps.

Leaves rustle above you as the autumn air greets you like a lover, wrapping around your bare shoulders in a soft caress while your heels click against the cobblestone walkway. The trees grow thicker as you make your way to the very back of the estate, to your and Eris’s small garden of Eden.

Tall stone walls and oak trees guard it from prying eyes, secluding it for everyone except the two of you as you slow your pace and walk through the iron gate. Autumn leaves cover most of the pathway leading to the small bench at the back of the garden where you spot Eris with his head in his hands, the tree above rustling and whispering things you think only he can hear.

“Eris?” You say softly, smiling softly when he raises his head to look at you. He looks beautiful in his dark red suit, golden embellishments lining the wrists and collar, with a white shirt and dark pants to match. His hair was styled neatly, as always, but what stood out to you the most was his pained, troubled eyes. “Oh, Eris.”

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” He says, watching as you walk over to him and crouch in front of him. Your dress rustles against the ground but you don’t pay any attention, all of your focus is on him. “A true Lady of Autumn.”

“What’s wrong, love?” You ask, grasping his hands in yours. “Cold feet already?”

He gives you a small smile and your heart flips. “You could say that…though it is very hard for me to get cold.” Eris chuckles though his voice falls flat at the end as he looks down, frowning. “What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t lead an entire court?”

“You can do this. If anyone can, you can, Eris.” You squeeze his hands tightly, bending down until you catch his gaze. “I have never had as much confidence in anyone leading as I do with you. This court has been through so much and you are going to bring it back to life.”

“This court has been through so much because of my father,” He scowled, standing abruptly while you sighed and stood with him. He began to pace back and forth as he continued his rant. “My father almost ruined this court and I know what the people think of him…what they probably think of me. I am my father’s son and what if, what if I become him? What if that is my destiny?”

The air stood still as he stopped in his tracks, looking at you with fear and sadness and doubt and vulnerability. You had only seen him like this once before when your mating bond had snapped. He hated to show weakness, especially when it came to his family, and your heart broke at his confession.

“What if I am no better than my father? A monster’s prodigy?”

You walk to him slowly and cup his face, caressing his cheek with your thumb as you pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck. Eris immediately crumbles at your touch and pulls you as close as he can, burying his face in your neck as your hands run down his back soothingly.

Something wet falls against your shoulder but you don’t draw attention to it nor to the shuddering of his shoulders. You just hold him as tight as you can while you whisper your truth into his ear.

“Eris Vanserra, I want you to listen to me.” You begin gently. “You are more than your father’s legacy. You are the creator of your own story, the holder of the pen, and right now is the first chapter of it. You have more kindness, bravery, and leadership in your pinky finger than your father ever had.”

His shoulder slowly came to a stop as you continued, pulling back so that you could press your forehead against his and look into his eyes. “My love, I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Because do you know what I see?” You ask, placing a finger under his chin when he tries to look away. “I see a man who is brilliant. A man who is loyal to his court and saved them from war. A man who may hide behind a mask but cares more than he cares to admit.”

“I see my mate, my handsome soon-to-be High Lord.” You smile, kissing his cheek. “The mere fact that you are afraid tells me, tells everyone, just how worthy you will be for this crown. You will do amazing things for this court, for all of Pyrthian. I have never had more confidence in anything in my life.”

“Y/N…” Eris trails off, lost for words, but you shush him with a finger to his lips.

“And if you happen to falter just remember I will be right by your side ready to set you straight.” You grin, giggling when he nods in agreement. “But seriously, you are going to be a wonderful High Lord.”

Eris takes a deep breath and whispers, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have been given you?”

“You could do to remind me more often…” You trail off teasingly. “Perhaps tonight after your coronation?”

He smirked and tried to give you a kiss but you cheekily turn at the last second, letting his lips land on your cheek and smiling when he let out a huff of frustration. You grab his hand and begin to walk out of the garden, turning back to him and saying, “Now, now, High Lord, we mustn’t keep everyone waiting. Come, let’s start this journey together.”

The two of you walk back into the Forest House, smiling and laughing, while everyone looks on in confusion. You arrive quickly at the doors of the grand hall where you can hear everyone talking, wondering what was taking so long. The advisors look worn out as they get in their places, just glad that Eris has been found, while you turn to look at him adoringly.

“Ready?” You ask.

Rays of sun shone through the windows again, catching him in just the right light to give him an ethereal glow that highlighted his amber eyes and cheekbones. “As long as you are by my side.”

“Always.” You promise, kissing him tenderly before pulling away as the doors open. “Let’s go get your crown.”

As the doors open the applause nearly deafens you, everyone cheering and smiling as the two of you walk into the room and down the aisle. At the end sits two thrones of equal size, both of your crowns sitting on the cushions as you walk hand in hand towards your destiny.

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