#ascension retreat

[kundalinifire111]

We would love to see you there!

[thehealingdance]

Amidst the craziness of society, Gaia is progressively shifting consciousness and ascending out of the 3D confusion into a New Vibrational Paradigm in the 5th Density, which we can experience here and now in all aspects of our lives. If you feel compelled to light a path through the darkness, then come join this groundbreaking unique event, to orientate with your divine destiny and support the Great Planetary Shift to 5D. What could be more important?

featuring:

Open & the team

Lex van Someren

Gong Master Huzy

Conscious dance with Aspasia

... and yours truly as one of the facilitators. :-)

Watch video here!

[k-nayee]

Fallen Hazbin Hotel i

wc: 3.3k a/n: this will be a slight au goes cause ngl i never really made it past episode 2💀

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The creation of your soul was unlike any other.

In the hallowed space where human souls were molded, Seraphim Sera worked beside the successor of Lucifer in the celestial sanctum dedicated to new life.

Though Emily had grown adept at forming souls over the eons, she still found herself studying Sera's technique with curiosity and deference.

This time, however, she noticed an unusual stillness in Sera. There was a hint of sorrow in her—deeper than any Emily had seen before.

The state of humanity weighed heavily on Sera's heart. It was something even the sacrifice of Jesus had not remedied.

Where she had hoped to see more unity and compassion, humanity continued to stumble.

Devoted to creation and guidance and yet here she was: moved to a grief that seemed to reach even her divine powers.

Without Sera's knowledge that sorrow imprinted itself on the soul she was forming.

As her fingertips hovered over the amorphous light, her unspoken worries and heartache transformed it, seeping into the essence she shaped.

You were different from the start—a rare blend of purity and compassion, a hope born from despair.

No other soul had quite the same resonance as yours. It was as if each fragment of light carried Sera's lingering wish for humanity's redemption.

Emily remained silent as she observed. For all the thousands of souls she had seen, none had been like this. She could sense Sera's guarded admiration as well.

Though Sera (ever the professional) did not show overt favoritism, there was a lingering gaze—a brief stillness, every time her eyes fell upon you.

And then, just as quickly, she'd retreat to her disciplined demeanor as though she could not allow herself the luxury of attachment.

Once your formation was complete, you were sent to Earth with no knowledge of the watchful presence behind your existence.

From the beginning the world proved to be harsh and unforgiving.

Abandoned as a child and abused by those who should have protected you, you were thrust into a life of struggle.

And yet in spite of it all no bitterness clouded your heart nor did hatred take root; instead you grew wise to life's difficulties, meeting each day with a kindness that was resolute.

Each act of goodwill, every kindness you extended, seemed to spark a subtle ripple effect—something that shaped the lives of others and sent positive changes flowing into places you couldn't see.

Having never grown hard or cynical to life, you were granted angelic ascension upon your death.

Upon your arrival Sera awaited you at the gates, a subtle smile softening her usually serious expression as she guided you to your new position before going off to her own responsibilities.

Life in Heaven felt nearly surreal.

Though the celestial realms were as awe-inspiring as they were vast, you felt a strange pang of loneliness among the hierarchy of angels—most of whom seemed untouched by the hardships you remembered from Earth.

Your days was spent in quiet work under higher-ranking overseers with often yourself as company in the towering halls of Heaven.

That was until you were summoned to Adam's chambers.

You had heard much about him from other angels beyond his legacy as the first man. He was someone who had a commanding presence—sharp wit.

But as you stood before him, despite his evident authority, he exuded an oddly modern charm—a confident, slightly arrogant air that might have been more suited to a CEO than an Archangel.

He looked you up and down, his piercing gaze sizing you up as if deciding whether he could work with you at all.

In those first weeks Adam had made his displeasure known. He rarely missed an opportunity to grumble about the favor he was doing for Sera.

You were a lower-ranking angel after all. And Adam made no secret of his annoyance over this fact. It was shown through your tasks.

They were menial at first: simple records and errand-like duties—which unbeknown to you, was actually ordered to test your resolve rather than develop skills.

He was meticulous and unyielding, a mentor who would not accept anything less than perfection and barely acknowledged your efforts even when they met his exacting standards.

But as the days weeks turned to months there were subtle changes. Sometimes he would sit back and watch you with a look that lingered a bit longer than he intended.

You'd catch him softening in brief moments when he thought you weren't watching with a slight curve of his mouth when you managed something especially well.

And over time his critiques mellowed into an almost playful teasing. The conversations once clipped and formal took on a different tone.

He would linger after giving you a task—recounting stories of the early days of humanity, speaking of his own creation and the burden of his role with a tone that almost resembled confession.

Then one day he invited you to walk with him in the gardens—an invitation that you knew wasn't extended to just anyone.

As you strolled among Heaven's flowering vines and ethereal fountains he casually asked about your Earthly experiences, or as he put it, the "domino effect" Sera mentioned in your file.

You told him of your life as a human and the trials you faced and the choice to meet the world with kindness despite its many hardships.

Then, for the first time ever, a full fledged smile graced his face. Its tenderness filled the stillness around you.

That unspoken bond grew. 

Even the other angels began to notice Adam's (in all his aloofness) distinct warmth that was reserved only for you.

He still carried himself with that familiar arrogance and exuded his usual authority, but his eyes softened when you were near.

His usual cutting words now had an underlying fondness that only the two of you fully understood.

You didn’t speak of it—didn’t dare name it. But when you were alone there was an undeniable closeness.

It went beyond his usual dismissive flirtations or occasional compliments. His hand would linger on yours a moment too long, his touch warm and grounding as he guided you through the grand halls.

You still felt the guarded edges around him even as he allowed this closeness. Almost as if he were keeping a part of himself hidden.

Though you yearned to know more, knowing the gentleness Adam has for you was reserved for no one else made up for it.

For now that was enough.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The revelation came upon you like a sudden storm.

It seemed ordinary enough—one of those rare quiet days where Heaven’s peace felt genuine and untouched by schemes or whispers of unrest.

You had been looking for Adam, searching the grand halls where he often spent his time in secluded contemplation or strategy.

Upon entering his quarters you stumbled upon a series of records and texts you hadn’t seen before—drawings, schematics, plans filled with the details of an endeavor you could hardly comprehend at first.

Shock locked you in place as your eyes darted over the pages, the full picture beginning to take shape.

Adam was planning to eradicate all of Hell in a brutal purge. His intentions scrawled out plainly with plans to make it a bi-annual devastation.

His motivations seemed focused—almost obsessive: he desire to destroy Lucifer for corrupting both his wives and damning humanity to sin.

The righteousness of it felt  sinister in a way that clashed with everything Heaven should represent.

It was the sound of footsteps that pulled you from your horrified trance. You look up, catching Adam’s steely gaze as he entered the room.

He stilled, his eyes narrowing as his lips twist into a brief condescending smile before disappearing just as quick. “Eavesdropping now are we?”

“What...is all of this?�� your voice shaky but resolute. There was no hiding your distress nor the raw betrayal evident in your tone.

He watched you carefully, his silence stretched painfully long with each passing second drawing his gaze sharper.

“It’s necessary,” he finally replied, each word precise and calculated. “You of all people should understand that.”

You shook your head with disbelief flashing in your eyes. “Necessary? Adam you’re talking about genocide. A-an endless cycle of destruction! How can you say this is the right thing?”

His expression darkened.

“This is for the greater good. Lucifer’s actions have damned humanity, cast shadows over Heaven itself.” Irritation seeped into his voice. “The world would be purer without his influence infecting it, without Hell festering beneath.”

The certainty in his tone left no room for negotiation and you felt the depth of the chasm between you.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I can’t be a part of this Adam. I...I won’t.”

He watched you as a flicker of something like disappointment shined in his eyes, though it quickly cooled to an unnerving calm.

“Perhaps you’re just not seeing the full picture,” his voice smoothed as if he were offering comfort. “Meet me at our usual spot. I’ll explain everything. Trust me.”

There was a note of gentleness in his words, a familiar echo of the kindness you’d come to know.

Against the shadow of doubt that churned in your chest, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to think that somehow there was something you’d misunderstood.

And so you went to the place that had become yours over the years—a quiet grove within Heaven’s gardens where the two of you spent your time together.

The serenity of it now felt almost mocking.

As you waited you searched for a sense of reassurance, for the feeling that this was all some awful misunderstanding.

That Adam would arrive, put a hand on your shoulder, and explain everything away.

But instead when Adam appeared, his presence felt cold—almost mechanical. There was no trace of the man who had once softened around you nor a lingering warmth in his gaze.

“Adam...” you began only for your words to die on your lips. He raised his hand, and suddenly you felt an unfamiliar pull.

It was as though gravity itself had turned against you. Your wings flared instinctively, but they were useless against the force drawing you downward.

Realization gripped you as you looked up; this wasn’t an explanation. This was a sentence.

Adam’s face was the last thing you saw before the Fall: a sharp tooth grin stretched across his lips.

He raised his hand in a mock salute, almost playful as if he were bidding farewell to an old friend rather than sending you into damnation.

That look—that chillingly gleeful expression was imprinted itself in your mind; searing a deep wound of betrayal that would never fully heal.

Your voice caught in your throat, eyes wide with disbelief as you fell. He hadn’t wavered. Didn't hesitate.

The one who had been your confidante, who had once looked at you with something like love, has casted you down without so much as a flicker of remorse.

Tears escaped and scattered into the wind around you. Just as Heaven faded from sight, darkness fully enveloped you and your world went black.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

You plummet from Heaven like a comet; a streak of searing light tearing through the thick red skies of Hell.

Your form was enveloped in flames as you crashed down with a force that made the very ground tremble.

The impact was like a small explosion—flames erupting, leaving a crater scorched and steaming as debris scattered for yards around.

Slowly you regained consciousness, faint prickles of pain tingling at the edges of your senses.

Your entire body felt heavy. Every inch of your body throbbed with the reminder that you’d been ̶b̶̶e̶̶t̶̶r̶̶a̶̶y̶̶e̶̶d̶ casted down by the very person you trusted most.

Suddenly, you feel warmth pressing against your cheek. You blink, finding yourself face-to-face with a strange malformed creature—a bird if you could call it that.

It had way too many eyes that blinked in eerie unison with a beak far too sharp as it pecked at your face.

You instinctively swat it away with more force than you intended. The creature squawked in protest before flapping its leathery wings and vanishing into the smoky distance.

Looking around you find yourself lying in the center of a deep crater as steam rose from the ground. For a second your mind struggled to reconcile where you were.

Then realization crept in slowly along with a numb sort of disbelief. Hell. You were in Hell.

As you shifted to sit up, soft murmurs above made you snap your head upwards. There on the edges of the crater stood  gathering figures— Hell denizens that drawn to the commotion.

Sinners and demons, the curious and wicked souls damned to this place, they all watched you in curiosity.

That is until they caught sight of the faint remaining glow of your halo and pure white wings.

Their gazes turned alarmed before they scattered away in screeches and shrieks, stumbling and tripping over each other in their desperation to flee in the mistaken belief that your arrival was the start of an unexpected purge.

The silence that followed was almost jarring, leaving you alone in the crater as the echoes of their hurried footsteps faded into the distance.

Your body screamed in protest as you slowly rose to your feet.

You try to open your wings in attempt to take flight, but the moment you flexed them, a searing pain flared down your back making you clamp your wings shut with a wince.

It seems flying wasn't an option right now.

With painstaking effort you hobbled toward the crater’s edge, eyes fixed on the steep walls.

Your teeth grit from the pain when you reach out and grasped a jagged piece of rock jutting from the crater wall.

'Okay,' a grim look of determination cross your face. 'Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.' 

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

With a weak but firm grip you grasped the edge of the crater, using every last ounce of strength to pull yourself up onto the cracked pavement.

A heaving gasp tore from your throat as you collapsed onto solid ground before scooting yourself away from the crater’s edge.

It had taken longer than you’d hoped, but you’d done it. You were out.

Lying back, you let your head fall against the pavement to stare up at the crimson-tinted sky above.

Clouds churned in dark ominous shades of red as a massive pentagram symbol loomed high above—it glowed sinisterly, slicing through the swirling clouds in sharp precise lines.

Hell’s “moon” hung beside it—a twisted scarred orb that looked as though it had been dragged from the depths of something far darker than night.

And even higher in the distance, just barely visible against the hellish skyline, was the faint shimmer of Heaven’s gate. A cruel and unreachable mirage.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long shuddering breath as you try to gather yourself before reluctantly forcing your exhausted body to move once more.

Just as you managed to stand a strange warmth flickered above your head. Your fingers reach up to touch your now sputtering halo.

The steady glow dimmed as it pulsed weakly—and before you could fully process it, the light extinguished altogether.

The once radiant halo fell and clattered to the ground with a hollow metallic ring.

You stared down at the cold dull metal lying lifelessly in the dust. Your legs buckled and you sank to your knees, reaching out with trembling fingers to pick it up.

The weight of it felt foreign now, devoid of the light and comfort it once radiated.

A sad hollow laugh bubbled up from your throat; a weak attempt to mask the sharp ache of loss.

“...and it was such a good reading light to use,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

The familiar warmth of Heaven was gone and replaced by an oppressive heat that clung to you as the air around filled with the bitter scent of sulfur.

The betrayal, the Fall, and now your halo—each piece hammered at your heart, leaving you grasping at the edges of your composure as the weight of this new reality pressed in on you.

Fortunately you didn’t have time to dwell on it for long. 

“Hello!” A voice cuts through the stillness.

Startled, you look up to see a young girl standing at the edge of the abandoned street, her bright eyes wide with wonder.

She was small, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she wore a frilly red dress that looked almost too pristine for a place like Hell

She moved before you could process her intentions, darting toward you with surprising speed.

You instinctively opened your arms, catching her as she flinged herself into your embrace with childlike trust.

Her weight was slight with a warmth to her that felt strangely comforting. She nestled against your side, tiny hands exploring your feathers as her eyes sparkled with awe.

“Oh wow!” she squealed, brushing her fingers lightly over the downy feathers of your wings that had unconsciously curled around her as if to shield her from the world. “Your wings are so pretty! They look kinda like my dad’s!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that a child was not only here in Hell but clinging to you like you were an old friend.

Her innocent curiosity and lack of fear threw you off guard. For a moment faint memories of the children you had in your human life resurfaced and a bittersweet warmth filled your chest.

“Who might you be little one?"

The girl looked up at you with a giggle, eyes wide with innocence. "My name's Charlie, Charlie Magne!"

You couldn't help but smile. She reminded you of them in a way—of the tenderness you’d once known.

"And why are you out here alone?” concern was heard in your words. It was dangerous even for a child who clearly belonged here.

“I just wanted to see if it was really an angel causing all the fuss. I overheard my dad talking about it and well...I got curious! So I snuck out and—bam! I found you!” She gave you a triumphant grin as if discovering you were her own special accomplishment.

“Your...dad?” you echo softly causing her to frantically nod.

“Charlotte!” A booming voice calls out sending a shiver down your spine. Charlie looked over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up even more.

“Oh! There he is!” she chirped. Wriggling out of your arms, she hops down and began waving enthusiastically in the direction of the voice. "Over here!”

You quickly got to your feet, bracing yourself as you saw him: Lucifer Morningstar—The King of Hell himself striding down the street with an air of authority.

His softened gaze was locked on Charlie as she ran to him. But the moment she pointed back at you and exclaimed, “Look Daddy! I made a new friend!” his expression shifted.

The smile he’d given her vanished and was replaced by something far darker. In a flash he was in front of you, his crimson eyes piercing through you like twin blades.

You barely blinked before you were slammed to the ground.

The impact stole the air from your lungs, you were left gasping as his weight pressed down on you, a foot planted firmly on your chest.

Charlie's pleads of Daddy stop! seemed distant, almost muffled as you struggled to catch your breath.

'Geez...What s up with this family and tackling?'

Your dry thought is interrupted by the cold bite of metal on your throat. The sharp blade is pressed against the skin of your neck making you give a wide-eye stare up at the man towering over you.

His expression hard and unforgiving with an air of suspicion around him.

"Who sent you to the land of the Damned?" 

[wileycap]

Further Excerpts From The Fire Nation Royal Palace Servants' (Unofficial) Handbook

Or: More Revisions To Normal Protocol After The Ascension Of Agni's Exalted Flame, The Dragon Of The Sun, et cetera, Fire Lord Zuko

Part 1:

7. If His Majesty offers you advice regarding martial arts, camouflage, theatre, or any other subject which he is commonly known to be well-versed in, accept it gratefully. If His Majesty offers you advice on emotional matters, listen politely and then disregard it.

7.1. If His Majesty uses the phrase "silver sandwich", you are entitled to a longer lunch break. So you can take a longer bite out of your silver sandwich.

7.1.1. Please do not vandalize the handbook, even if you think it's funny.

7.1.2. Especially if you think it's funny, Chikao.

7.2. If you share something tragic with His Majesty, and he replies "that's rough, buddy", it means he empathizes with your situation.

7.2.1 Alright, maybe he did need to learn that it's not a great way to respond to tragedy. But "rough like the boulders that crushed my father?" was a bit much.

8. Prince Iroh has advised the servants not to reveal to His Majesty what the meat in turtleduck dumplings is. Apparently, he thinks the name comes from their shape. The dumplings are not shaped like turtleducks.

8.1. Now that His Majesty knows, be ready to recite the names of all the turtleducks in the palace at a moment's notice, and also to reassure His Majesty that they are all safe, accounted for, and uneaten.

9. His Majesty should be kept apprised of any "sightings" of the Blue Spirit. The Blue Spirit is an entirely fictional creature. However, his belief in it is entirely benign (and as far as eccentricities go, we've all seen worse) and likely something he will outgrow with age.

9.1. Do not lie about any "sightings". If His Majesty is told that the Blue Spirit was sighted near his window, he will be extremely distraught for the entire day. The Fire Lord has too many real assassins to worry about already. There is no need to add imaginary ones to the mix.

9.1.1. And whenever he is distraught, his footsteps are even quieter than they normally are. It is hard enough to keep track of his movements as it is.

10. While His Majesty has approved the "Kick Ozai Retreat" for servants who were mistreated by Ozai of the Fire Nation (titles rmvd, dishon.), it will never be organized. Please suggest other activities for the Servant Wellness Day.

10.1. Yes, that is because Avatar Aang found out.

10.1.1. Specifically because of the very heartfelt and very long speech he gave on the matter. And the fear that he might give one again.

10.1.2. And no, we can not "simply tell the Avatar to shut up." He is the Avatar. And he is also a 13-year-old boy. His dragonling eyes are very effective.

11. Princess Azula is at the stage of her treatment where she will take regular trips to the palace, dividing her time between her island and here. We're all terrified, but there's nothing we can do.

11.1. Lady Beifong has offered to act as protection, should the need arise. On an unrelated note, the kitchens will now be serving a number of delicacies from the State of Gaoling.

11.2. At the specific and undeniable request of Master Toph, The Blind Bandit, her titles and styles have been updated and they will be enforced effective immediately.

12. If Avatar Aang is seen on a rooftop with no apparent purpose, that means that Fire Lord Zuko is also on that rooftop. Get him down.

12.1. If Master Katara appears to be discreetly looking for someone, that usually means that one or all of His Majesty, Avatar Aang, Master Toph, the Honorable Tribesman Sokka, or the lemur Momo are in some kind of trouble. Assist her. Before one of those idiots gets themselves killed.

12.2. Do not vandalize the handbook, even if it's true. Also, please do not call our Fire Lord, the Avatar, Master Toph, or the Avatar's beloved pet an idiot.

13. Any senior officials who wish to challenge Fire Lord Zuko to an Agni Kai should be directed to the Fourth Scribe's office. They should also be told that there is a waitlist.

13.1. If the Honorable Tribesman Sokka wishes to challenge the Fire Lord to an Agni Kai again, he should be denied. No matter what he tells you, he has not developed Firebending abilities by means of "Spirit World shenanigans" or by Avatar Aang "just giving them to him, Energybending style, like best buddies do, you know."

13.1.1. The Matron has made it known that if the Honorable Tribesman Sokka offers to demonstrate his so-called "Firebending abilities" again, servants are allowed one free kick. The last time he did it, the stench from his blubber bombs lingered for three weeks.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! Can I request either a fic or headcanon of romanced Astarion and a good aligned, Human tav having a fight about him doing the Ascension ritual (Tav being against it, and trying to gently make him see reason), then Astarion gets incredibly angry and shouts something awful (maybe the 'I hope you die screaming' or the ' the problem with what cazador did is that he did it to me' when she says ascending will make him a new cazador). She's hurt and shocked and retreats from the fight. She starts leaving Astarion in camp etc. given she thinks he hates her and she also is angry at him for still thinking lives are expandable. Then one night he gets kidnapped by his siblings and when he wakes up in the kennels he is sure he lost her forever now, and never see her again cause why would she save him? Only for her to come and save him from Cazador. Sorry for the long request! Could it be from Astarion's pov as well? Thank you!

Hi! It has been a long time sice I wrote reader instead of OC Tiriel! And sorry for making you wait for so long!

It's Over

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

It's over.

Astarion's wrists bleed and he's been staring at the pool of blood for what feels like an eternity.

The tadpole took away his instant regeneration and now his torturers can enjoy the most peculiar spectacle ever.

Opening Astarion's wounds.

His skin is flayed, his face is covered in bruises. Pain is already numbed—the tadpole doesn't like its host being killed.

Maybe he can finally die?

A kick in the stomach forces him to vomit blood. Punishment. Yes, it's his punishment for tasting freedom. For breaking the rules.

The taste of love.

His siblings are watching the execution with undisguised gloating. Astarion is getting what he deserved. He never helped with their plans to escape—but it was him who slipped from their master's hands.

It was intended to be a lesson. Instead it's the best show they've seen in years.

A silver dagger is touching Astarion's face. He can feel the heat of the cursed metal. Marks left by silver are permanent.

It seems like his master is going to take the last thing Astairon owns.

His face.

Astarion silently weeps. His appearance is the only thing he has. His body, his face, his hands. The master needs them, doesn't he? Who will seduce the victims, if not the perfect- looking elf?

The master expects Astarion to beg.

He doesn't. The pathetic whimpers are stuck in his sore throat. He won't give them this pleasure.

Two months of freedom compensated two centuries of slavery. Astarion has self-dignity. He can say 'no'. He can stand for himself.

You taught him that.

The torture continues. And Astarion breaks down.

He screams. He yells. He begs.

The answer to his tears is evil laughter. They wanted a show—he is giving them one.

It lasts for hours. For days. And the two months of freedom fade from Astarion's memory.

It wasn't real. It never happened. It all was a feverish dream.

But Astarion knows it wasn't.

Your face, Your touches. Your love. 

The way you hugged him. The way you touched him. The way you supported him.

You were everything... and he betrayed you.

I hope you die screaming.

At first, you promised to help with the ritual, and he even dared dream about you by his side as he became a vampire overlord. But then, you started backing off. 

Bad idea. No one should make deals with devils. Who knows what Cazador promised in exchange for power.

Astarion cursed you, said every toxic word he had in mind. It was easy to hurt you—you were so vulnerable to him and he even felt sadistic pleasure in doing so.

He expected you to throw him away from the camp, but you just stopped talking to him. Left him alone with his thoughts and anger.

And then, his siblings came to take him.

Astarion was back in the dungeons. Beaten and humiliated without any hope of escape.

"Leave him," the master says. "We have things to prepare"

Astarion is finally left alone. He crawls in the darkest corner and curls there in the fetus position. He couldn't care less about his naked body.

He thinks about you.

He closes his eyes and tries to remember the moments you were together. Cuddles. Yes, cuddles. The thing he expected to like the least. Just two bodies intertwined with each other. No sex, no movements, no words. He could stay like that for hours wrapping around you like a weighted blanket and enjoying your warmth.

The treasure he lost.

Astarion smiles bitterly. You must be in someone's else's arms. Probably the wizard. Yes, you've chosen him because he will never hurt you. His body is warm and he doesn't harm your neck...

He enters the reverie hoping he will see you there.

The only thing he has. The only thing his master can’t take away.

"Oh for fuck sake!" he hears your voice. "What have they done to you?!"

Warm hands hug him and then he feels a cape wrapping his bare shoulders. "Gods, Astarion? Are you alright?"

"You ... You are back..." he mutters.

"Of course, I am!" you hug him. "We are in this together, remember?" you kiss him. “Drink!”

The scent of blood pierces his nostrils as you cut your wrist. He grazes in your skin and the divine essence gushes down his throat. 

You are here.

You are back.

You are real.

He pulls away feeling how his wounds slowly heal. “I am sorry,” he mutters.

You kiss his bruised lips. “Well, it did hurt. We need to find your clothes and weapons.”

**

Astarion collapses on the stone floor and weeps. He weeps two centuries taken away from him, his memory, his mind, his soul. His beating heart. He mourns his innocence, his body and his cries echo through the chambers.

Soft hands caress his shoulders. “I am here, I am here with you. You did the right thing.”

“It is all over, isn’t it?” he sniffs.

“Yes, love,” you kiss his cheek. “It’s over.”

--

Tag list

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[robot-roadtrip-rants]

My Headcanon for Why Emps Banned Religion

I have read none of the books with a heavy Emps focus but I have read a lot about them, including various excerpts, and obviously that's enough to qualify me for making headcanons about him. So here's my big theory:

The religion ban had nothing to do with Chaos, and everything to do with the Emperor himself.

Listen. Listen. We have three facts:

The Emperor is a 38,000-year-old psyker created to defend humanity against Chaos who has dealt directly with the gods. There is no way he doesn't understand how they work.

The Emperor made a deal with Chaos but failed to keep his end of the bargain. This bargain allowed him to create the primarchs, but it also empowered him personally.

The Emperor is the entity prophesied to become the Dark King, the fifth Chaos God.

I think the Emperor was trying to prevent his own ascension by banning religion.

Humanity has a fairly strong connection to the Warp; it's slowly evolving into a psyker species. A single, non-psyker human won't have much effect, but if billions and billions of humans believe the same thing, it will affect the Warp.

Now, pause for a moment and think about what it would be like to encounter the Emperor. I don't just mean walking up to the guy and shaking his hand, I mean just seeing him and being in his vicinity. You're gonna get knocked on your ass by the most intense Warp aura you will ever feel in your life. To put things in perspective, in one of the HH books, Lion makes an entire room of men kneel just by walking in the room. The Emperor is exponentially more powerful than any of the primarchs. The dude hangs out with blanks because they're just too weak to hurt him.

A lot of people are going to process that encounter as a religious experience.

Now, obviously the vast majority of the Imperium's population are never going to see the Emperor. But millions and millions of people will still go through this experience. We don't see much of this because the HH series takes place when the Emperor retreats to Terra to work on the Webway. Prior to that, he would have been a public figure--giving speeches, holding triumphs, leading armies, going to summits, etc etc etc. There would be a steady stream of people walking away shaken to the core because they decided to go to a big parade or whatever.

Now, add to that his utopian mission (the Imperium will unify the galaxy and create a golden age of humanity! yay!), the cult of personality, and the fact that some planets really would have greeted the Imperium's arrival with joy...

Look, someone's gonna start a new religion. Maybe multiple someones. And you had better believe it's gonna spread because "huh that there is some kind of divine being" is a pretty understandable response to Big E and his Slightly Less Big Sons.

Thing is, the Big E in question knows about the Dark King prophecy, knows how the warp works, and knows he's as much a Warp entity as he is human. If increasing number of humans believe that he's a god, all that belief is gonna pour into the Warp, and eventually it's gonna affect the very nature of his being. Him, who already has prophecies about a divine ascension floating around. GEE WOW COULD THESE THINGS BE RELATED, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN NEXT.

The Emperor really, really doesn't want to become a Chaos god. The Emperor is extremely anti-Chaos. So it is absolutely vital that no one starts worshipping him because the risk is too great, and too much is at stake.

The solution? Ban religion.

See, he can't just allow freedom of religion because statistically speaking, someone's gonna start worshipping him. And he can't start a state religion, because that associates his person with the official religion, and then he'll get turned into a saint or a minor god or something. For fucks sake, the Catherics still venerate St. Vladimir and they don't even know what Russia is! Yeah, official religion is straight out. Honestly, the big problem here is the whole tendency to worship giant miracle-working people with overwhelming Warp signatures. That's what really needs to be targeted. A vigorous program of rationality combined with a strict ban on religion will discourage both the practices and the thought processes that lead to Emperor worship. Humanity will learn to trust SCIENCE and FACTS rather than seeking comfort from silly old superstitions. That is definitely how human psychology works.

The downside of this policy is that he cannot acknowledge Chaos. Acknowledging that big spooky supernatural entities with godlike powers exist severely undermines the whole premise. But the aftershocks of Slaanesh's birth have mostly worn off by now, the Warp is pretty quiet these days, and frankly speaking there is so much Weird Shit in the Materium that the occasional daemon can be written off as wacky xenos hijinks. Plus, the general drive away from religion will also drive humanity away from Chaos worship. It's a bit of a gamble to deny Chaos, but all things considered it's a safe one.

So Emps bans religion and starts his totally-not-a-religious Crusade to unify the galaxy and find his sons. Everything is going great! Chaos has barely made a peep and rationality is blossoming on all the human planets. The way things are going, Emps might even get a head start on that Webway--

Uhhhhhhh. That's. That's a nice religion you invented there, newly-found son. You know it's gonna have to go in the trash, right? Atheism is kind of our thing.

what is this what are you writing about

LORGAR WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?

Yeah so Emps flips the fuck out. This is literally what he was trying to avoid, and it is the worst case scenario. Not only has an Emperor-worshipping religion sprung up, but one of his sons--y'know, the insanely charismatic monstrosities with crazy Warp signatures that he made--is the one who started it! This has to be stopped, and it has to be stopped HARD. Breaking Lorgar isn't enough. Emps has to break his religion.

And you know the rest.

************************************************************************

LINGERING QUESTIONS:

Q: If Emps was so hellbent on preventing a religion from springing up around him, why did he build a cult of personality?

A: He's an authoritarian dick, of course he's going to build a cult of personality. And of course he's going to convince himself that the cult of personality is necessary, and that it won't conflict with his anti-religion agenda. That's how authoritarian dicks think.

Q: Then why was he ready to become the Dark Lord in TEatD II?

A: Damage control. Emps didn't have the power to take on All Of Chaos Wearing Horus. So if he didn't ascend, he'd be consigning humanity to subservience at best to extremely hostile entities. But if he did ascend, then he might still be able protect humanity even as a horrifying Warp monstrosity. The Emperor will always choose the option that (he thinks) is best for humanity even at the cost of himself. But that's a whole other post.

LAST TIME: Emps has a really fucked up sense of time.

NEXT TIME: Why is the Emperor Like That?

[scarletpath]

About Cazador's Ritual

I got a little theory about Cazador's Ascension ritual. Before I start, I do apologize if this theory was spoken of before. I honestly didn't see any, so these are my own words and thoughts.

Anyways, there were things about the ritual that didn't sit well with me. That things didn't really add up. One of those things is why Cazador couldn't just nab another poor soul to take Astarion's place. And we see that it would work because if you Ascend Astarion, Cazador takes his place. So it got me thinking why Cazador needed Astarion and the 6 others to make the ritual work. What was so special about them?

It then hit me. Astarion plus 6 is 7. Seven unique spawn that Cazador needed to use and to gather the poor souls for a ritual created by Mephistopheles. The seven had to mean something significant to a ritual made by a demon. 7 deadly sins.

Astarion said he was one of the first. And what's the first Sin? Pride. Was one of the main reasons why Astarion was picked by Cazador was his very prideful nature? It makes a lot of sense when you look at Pale Petras. How he almost comically tries to imitate Astarion. He's Envy. Dalyria might be Sloth because she is quick to wanting to retreat and finish things. And cowardly perhaps.

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. How Cazador was obsessed with Astarion. Because he too was prideful, if not more. And this is why he couldn't just find an easy replacement, he needed to fine the perfect person who was just as prideful as Astarion. And this is why the ritual still worked if you Ascend Astarion, because Cazador also represented Pride.

So Pride was Cazador's downfall. Quite literally.

[sapphicdib]

Your cycle consumes itself. What have you become?

(ˡᵒʳᵉ ᵈᵘᵐᵖ ᵇᵉˡᵒʷ ᶜᵘᵗ)

SO THIS IS MY INV VS SAINT AU!! It started as a shitpost and uh. Spiralled. Out of control. And now it’s genuine lol.

Enot and Saint are basically mortal enemies, and Saint needs to get Enot OUT OF THE CYCLES in order to continue his work, because this damn horny bastard won’t stop hunting him down…for some reason. Isn’t ascension the greatest gift you can bestow upon the creatures suffering in this barren wasteland? At least Saint thinks that. Inv, on the other hand, does not.

Enot stumbles upon Pebbles while passing through the silent construct, trying to find food one day. He takes a liking to this half-dead pink toaster, bringing him scraps of fabric as blankets and lanterns, and the best part…talking to him. Inv, somehow, can talk to iterators. And despite Pebbles’ very limited ability to reply, he does appreciate the company, and slowly the cycles become less agonizing. Pebbles has a friend. However, when Saint finds him, his immediate reaction is to attempt to ascend him—and he is tackled by a very angry slugcat, hissing and spitting at him in defence of its friend.

When Saint attempts to ascend him, he misses, just barely clipping Enot’s tail and glitching him half-out of reality. He then realizes, to his horror, that his karma seems to be draining. Whatever the hell this thing is, it’s dangerous, and Saint retreats to restore his karma (and heal some of the nasty wounds Enot gave him).

Inv turns back to see Pebbles, staring at him in pure fear, before he simply whispers out a “Thank…you…”. And that’s when Inv makes it his mission to save Pebbles (and everyone else) from Saint.

This leads to Inv running around the map, hot on Saint’s heels, trying to get any and all the iterators to figure out a way to get off their damn strings and LIVE again! Most of them are collapsed or semi-collapsed, so it’ll be an uphill battle, but when a glitchy, teleporting slugcat with the ability to speak tells you to do something…you’d be kinda inclined to do it.

Anyways the reason Enot can’t be ascended is because he is happy to give in to every single one of the great taboos. Wrath, Lust, Friendship, Gluttony, and Self Preservation. He revels in them. And if he can help the others experience them, and become happy with living again, they’ll be immune too! Also he is ridiculously OP to the point of him basically just having DevTools active because I think it’s Funny. He can glitch-teleport and drains the karma of beings around him. He also talks super casually and I think it’s funny.

A little bit of their dynamic hehe:

“Hey, pal!”

“I would like you to stop calling me that, please. You may call me the Saint.”

“Ahah. Not happening.”

“You are incredibly disrespectful.”

“Hey man, I’m not the one calling myself a saint but then running around killing shit and acting like it’s a good thing.”

“You use such vulgar words. I ascend beings, freeing them from the torment of these endless cycles. It is my purpose.”

“Even the ones who don’t want to go? Bro, you don’t even ask. The last robot you almost merked was screaming “no wait�� at you, and you still think you’re in the right here? You’re not some kind of righteous saint, that’s called being a fuckin’ serial killer.”

“You do not understand what you are talking about!”

“Whoa, buddy! Are you gettin’ mad? Ain’t that…a lil taboo? PFFT look at your face!”

“I am not tolerating this any longer. Goodbye.”

That’s all I can think of rn! Send asks if you like!

[brabblesblog]

Ch 15: Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.

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

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

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

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Complications from the rescue collide with realizations about just how hard healing really is.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Astarion fell and she caught him in her arms. He looked impossibly small and frail, and - though the thought brought a small wave of guilt to Ban - still impossibly beautiful.

Ban’s giant form finally released her, shrinking her back down. She cradled Astarion tightly. Rhapsody protruded from his chest, jolting erratically with every beat of the heart it was buried in.

She braced against the stabbing, tearing pain. As he had felt her staking, she felt his.

“Astarion.” For a moment, she forgot where they were, forgot the danger, forgot Gale, forgot everything but him. For a moment…

…there was only red.

The ruby of his beautiful eyes, glassy with pain. The scarlet blooming from the wound on his chest, spreading across his shirt. The crimson haze of rage and the red-hot agony, swirling in her own breast.

The urge to rip Vel apart became overwhelming and Ban turned, fully intending to give in to it. Instead, the spawn descended upon him and secured for themselves the freedom that should always have been theirs.

Astarion winced; his body shuddered and he felt the familiar grasp of death, the viselike grip on his chest unyielding and so cold. He wanted to tell Ban he loved her. That knowing her had been a privilege. That his time with her, as short as it had been, had been the happiest he’d ever had, and he was grateful for it. That she was everything to him. That she should find love again, someday. That he would look for her, in whatever lay beyond the veil of his true death.

But he was the Ascendant, and his power slowly took hold, oblivion withdrawing its grasp, death retreating like the ebbing of the tide.

It wasn’t enough to heal a wound this grievous, no. But it might just keep him alive.

Astarion raised his hand, reaching for her cheek, calling her attention back to him. She pressed her face against it.

“You fucking idiot,” she hissed, “Why did you-”

He shook his head, shushing her. “It’s okay. Just… pull it out, love?”

They both looked down at the dagger.

She was unsure.

Vampires could regenerate and the Ascendant at an even faster rate, but Rhapsody was unique. Likely made specifically for the rite, it had given Astarion his scars, had cut into Cazador’s back and they hadn’t healed. Pulling it out could help his regeneration, but it could also cause more damage or even cause him to bleed out.

In this, every option was a gamble.

Her hand carefully grasped the hilt of the dagger. She could feel it twitching in time with Astarion’s failing heart, the beat now irregular and alarmingly fast.

“Don’t!” Gale shouted, rushing to her side. “There are potions in his pocket. I provided him with some. Stabilize him first. Then we bring him to my tower and we’ll do… something.” He inspected the wound, unsure what could be done, but he wouldn’t risk pulling the dagger out until they were somewhere safe at least.

Ban reached into Astarion’s pocket, fingers fumbling until she found the pouch. She pulled it out; took the bottle and uncapped it, tipping its contents into his open mouth.

Work. Please work.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut; she wanted to scream at him to stay awake. Stay with me, please. Don’t go. Not now. Not ever. Please. But his hand on her face stayed put.

Still here, he thought at her, his body responding a little to the potion. She felt her own pain ease slightly, mirroring his, and wordlessly pressed a kiss to his unresponsive lips.

Enxisys approached uneasily; Ban tightened her grip on Astarion, barely containing a protective snarl.

“We… we have a teleportation circle, if you need it,” Enxisys mumbled pensively; it was a far cry from her demeanor at the party.

Gale went to talk to her and the quiet murmur of their voices immediately receded from Ban’s attention.

She couldn’t think, simply did not have room in her mind for anything other than Astarion. She slipped her hands under him, lifting him up. He groaned softly; she shifted him in her arms so that his head lolled against her chest. The sound was so unlike him, so frail. She found herself desperately longing to hear one of his snide quips, his witty disdain, his laughter, hells, she’d even take the Ascendant’s anger. Anything but that broken sound. She glanced up, realizing Gale must have made travel arrangements. He gestured for her to bring Astarion.

Following Enxisys and Gale, Ban walked gingerly, trying to keep her gait as smooth as possible, not wanting to jostle Astarion. As they walked, he mumbled into her chest, words too soft and too incoherent for her to understand. She tried to soothe him, her mind touching his. I’ve got you. We’re headed to Gale’s. Just stay with me. Just a little bit more. They eventually reach the room with the teleportation circle and were teleported to Gale’s tower.

Ban rushed through Gale’s tower as fast as possible without causing Astarion additional pain. Finding the guest room, she very gently laid him down on the bed, sitting beside him and squeezing his hand as Gale came in with an armful of potions and bandages. He set Ban’s pack and their weapons down in the corner of the room.

Gale split the bottles into two groups.

“Idea,” he began, “Half of this is for Astarion to take the moment we pull the dagger out. The other half-”

Ban understood. “I take the other half to replenish my own blood as he feeds on me.”

Gale nodded. Theoretically, the blood would be more beneficial to Astarion’s healing than pouring all the potions down his throat.

Steeling herself, Ban grasped Rhapsody’s hilt again. Astarion’s eyes were shut, his breathing shallow from the pain. Gale uncapped the first half of the potions, then parted Astarion’s lips, ready to pour.

“This will hurt, love. I’m so sorry.” He moaned in response, and she took that as an affirmative. Cupping his cheek, she leaned down to kiss his clammy forehead before giving Gale a quick nod.

They moved as one. Ban pulled Rhapsody out with a sickening squelch; Astarion barely had enough time to let out a pained groan before Gale began administering bottle after bottle of the potion, occasionally rubbing Astarion’s throat to encourage him to swallow.

Tossing the dagger aside, she firmly pressed bandages against the wound, stemming the flow of blood. The sight of it made her mouth water, the smell of it suffused her senses. Ban shoved the hunger aside and looked up to see Gale pouring the last bottle into Astarion’s mouth.

Hurry.

The moment the bottle was empty it was replaced with Ban’s wrist pressing against Astarion’s parted lips. For one terrifying moment, he was unresponsive. His mouth remained slack, and her stomach rolled in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

“Astarion,” Ban murmured urgently, nudging his mouth. If he doesn’t respond soon, I’ll have to make a wound for him to drink from. That would at least get him started.

His eyes flickered open, barely, but he found enough strength to bare his fangs.

He drank.

Ban’s eyes did not leave his face as she began to take bottles from the other half of the healing potions, drinking whenever she started feeling a little faint. She dared not speak, couldn’t even think, entirely focused on his healing. Her eyes tracked his every swallow, every rise and fall of his chest, every twitch of his body. Eventually, she saw the color return to his skin, ears slowly turning pink at the tips, his breathing became less labored. His wound began to close, the bleeding under the bandages slowed and then ceased altogether. She was relieved beyond measure to see the pain slowly drain from his face, to feel it receding from him through their bond.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut, and for once he did not hold back when feeding from her. He swallowed over and over, savoring mouthful after mouthful, because it was given, freely and without demand for reciprocation.

Because it was her, her essence and her life and her love.

He didn’t stop drinking for a very long time.

Ban closed the door behind her silently. Inside, Astarion was asleep, having slipped into trance the moment he had filled his belly. The wound wasn’t completely healed yet, and he would be vulnerable for a day or two, but the worst was behind him.

She headed to Gale’s study, finding him poring over sheafs of papers. He looked up at her entrance and she smiled.

“Yes?” Gale shifted to face her.

“Astarion’s fine. He’s resting.” She leaned against the doorway, awkwardly shifting her weight to one foot. “We might have bled on your sheets. Sorry.”

Gale scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. You’re most welcome to stay here until he is better.”

“He probably won’t take long to recover.” Ban entered the room, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace. She kept her eyes on Gale. “Thank you, by the way. He’ll never say it, but he’s grateful, too.”

“I have the distinct impression he’s more inclined to gut me than to offer anything resembling appreciation.”

“He’s…” She watched Gale continue to work. “Well. Insecure.” Astarion would loathe her saying so, but what of it?

“We all know that. Even before he ascended we knew. He was just better at keeping it to himself back then.”

“Actually-” she began, then hesitated. Should she tell Gale, and by extension, the rest of their companions?

He perked up, curious.

“He’s trying,” she finally settled on saying. “It’s slow going, and it will take time. But he’s making an effort.”

“And what then, Ban, when he has you again?” Gale couldn’t help but ask. “What happens the day he no longer fears losing you, the day his patience runs out yet again?”

She tried to hide the flash of fear at the thought.

“I - he won’t.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Ban felt her temper rise. “I can’t. I can only trust that he won’t.”

Gale finally looked away from the papers he’d been grading to meet Ban’s eyes.

“Do you trust him?”

A valid question from her best friend, but a painful one. If he’d asked about her love, that would’ve been easy. She could’ve given an honest ‘Yes, of course. More than anything’ and been free of this uncomfortable conversation. But Gale had always been intelligent - and far too intuitive - and he saw right through her. Love was easy, but trust? She hadn’t been the most trusting or open person to start with, and then the Ascendant had crushed what little she’d managed to build. They’d made so much progress, and yet…

She wanted to say yes, but found that the word was stuck in her throat.

Astarion opened his eyes to see Ban sitting in an armchair beside his bed, asleep. He pushed himself up, disoriented. The room was unfamiliar. Then the memories came, and he placed a palm over his chest, finding unmarred flesh.

He reached for his wife.

“Love.”

She stirred and he took her hand, tugging gently.

“Come lie down with me.”

Ban did so, carefully settling her head on his shoulder, and as her arms wrapped around him, he was swathed in warmth and comfort. Her blood ran hot in his veins, her body wrapped around him, pliant and soothing. Astarion hadn’t felt loved like this in a while, and his body responded to it. His breathing quickened, her blood rushing to his cock.

“How are you feeling?” Ban asked quietly.

“Better, now that you’re here.” He tightened his grip on her, hands idly stroking her hair.

She trembled a little, the last of her emotional strength ebbing away as he held her. The hand wrapped around his torso tightened as she made an effort to not break down.

“I’m here, Ban.” Astarion leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “There isn’t anything to fear.”

She whimpered, and then she was on him, lips crashing against his with a fiery, desperate need.

Astarion grasped her hips, pulling her up, encouraging her to straddle him. Her weight settled on his cock and made him groan. His hips hitched up, pressing his length into her. He rutted helplessly, tilting his head back as she kissed a path down his neck. His cock felt the warmth of her mound through their clothes; he knew her wetness would be beginning to pool within. His hands scrabbled to undo the laces of her trousers.

“Fuck.” The word escaped from his lips in a guttural moan as he finally managed to untangle the knot his fumbling had made of her laces. His hands dove to her waistband to forcefully shove the trousers and drawers down and off. He glanced up to meet her gaze, seeing the lust he felt reflected in the dark pools of her eyes.

Ban sat up, splaying a hand against his chest for support. She playfully ground against his clothed cock, eliciting a gravelly moan from him. There was too much between them.

“Feel that?” he breathed when she rolled against his length again. His cock felt too hot, too tight, too hard. “Feel what you do to me, Ban.”

I love you. I need you. I want you.

He grabbed her ass, fingers digging in hard. He urged her upwards, trying to get her to scoot higher up - a lot higher.

She looked down, realizing what he wanted, huffed out a soft scoff, filled with relief and amusement in equal measure. “Really? Someone’s eager. And apparently feeling much better.”

“Well, you know. Near-death experiences and all that.” His eyes were half-lidded, lips curled into a smirk.

“I’m pretty sure I heard that line from Gale once,” she teased, and they both laughed.

Astarion fixed her with a sultry look, eyes filled with unbridled hunger.

“Sit on my face, darling.”

She obliged; the moment his mouth made contact with her was paradise. She gripped the headboard for support, hips involuntarily rolling, fucking his mouth.

Astarion eagerly lapped at her, tasting her slickness as his tongue flattened and spread her open. He worked at his trousers, freeing his cock. He didn’t touch himself yet, instead moving his hands back to Ban’s ass, pressing her tighter against his mouth. Her hips rolled in response, dragging herself against his tongue again; his own hips thrust up reflexively.

The need was exquisite, the ache in his cock almost tortuous. He could feel himself throbbing insistently, beads of precum forming at his tip. If he touched himself now, he would come immediately.

To think I almost lost this, almost lost it all. I’ll never waste another moment. Not one.

Instead, he focused on Ban, finding her clit and laving it with quick flicks of his tongue. Slipping two fingers inside her, he found her drenched and ready for him. His cock twitched violently, begging for something - anything - but he fought the urge to pleasure himself.

“Astarion,” she moaned, more than halfway gone in the throes of passion. She was barely aware, but enough to know he would need more. She leaned back to wrap a hand around his cock.

A low hum of pleasure greeted her the moment she touched him. His skin was hot, cock painfully hard and his tip glazed with precum. She stroked him slowly, languidly, making sure to linger at the head. He whined, the sound muffled by her folds; he began devouring her with increased fervor. She was close, her hips moving faster, grinding her clit against his worshipful mouth.

Astarion’s mind didn’t even exist for him; the pleasure between his legs and his need to make her come, his love for her, became his whole world. His fingers increased their pace inside her, tongue working in tandem to bring her to the edge. Her hand stilled as she lost the ability to focus, and eventually pulled away from his cock, but he didn't protest. There would be time for that later.

She loves me. That was all he really needed.

Ban whined, her thighs flexing hard on either side of his head. It only encouraged him; he stopped breathing entirely and just licked, fingers fucking her relentlessly. His own hips rolled, desperate for the friction that just a moment ago was there. The ache in his cock was immense, and he loved it.

He was pretty sure they’d ruined Gale’s sheets, between his injury and this, and that brought a vicious, petty wave of satisfaction.

Astarion looked up to meet Ban’s eyes. The gaze he leveled at her was well-practiced, seductive. Designed to make people come undone. His mouth made another pass, suckling, tongue flicking against her clit, and he took in the sight as her orgasm ripped through her.

She screamed his name, thighs spasming against his head with crushing strength, her weight pressing down on him as she rode out her climax. He mouthed at her throughout, eating her up like a starving man offered his favorite meal. He felt a gush of her slickness around his fingers and knowing he’d made her come that hard shot a jolt of electricity straight to his cock. His hips writhed and he moaned in delight.

Ban slowly came back to herself, slumping forward. The hand on Astarion’s chest kept her up, but just barely.

He waited until she began settling to resume breathing, pulling his mouth and fingers away. His face was coated; he licked his lips playfully.

“Good, love?”

She nodded, a little dazed. Offering him a small, almost shy smile, she moved lower down his body. For a moment, she hovered over him.

“Astarion?”

“Hm?” He tilted his head, excitement giving way to curiosity.

Her smile widened, and she took him in her hand, lining them up.

“I love you,” she purred as she sank down.

Those words, so rarely meant these long months, took his breath away. He’d had to ask, to demand, to beg for them; now they were freely given, and he nearly came then and there.

He felt her walls clench all around him as she began to ride him.

Her blood, filling his cock, his body. Her core, squeezing every drop of pleasure from him. Her, just her fucking him - no - making love to him.

Loved. I am loved.

He watched Ban ride him, every roll of her hips sending a great wave of pleasure through him. The waves built higher and higher, pushing him closer to ecstasy. He could feel her all around him, hot and tight and eager and wet just for him.

“Ride me harder, my love,” he crooned, his fingers digging into her thighs.

More, I want more. He began to thrust up into her as well, matching her rhythm.

Ban placed a hand over his chest, enjoying the desperate pounding of his heart. Her hips obeyed his request, transitioning from a soft roll to a rapid, punishing grind that made her legs burn.

Astarion felt himself approaching the edge, her walls dragging against and squeezing his cock with every roll of her hips. His eyes fell shut as he gave in to the sensations, lips parting, panting from sheer need. He wanted to make this last, but his body had been craving this release for far too long.

“Love-” he managed to say before his orgasm ripped through him. He whined, his nails clawing Ban’s thighs as his pleasure exploded. His hips lost their tempo, stuttering wildly. Astarion’s vision went white, and for a moment there was nothing but the sensation of spilling his seed inside his wife - of sweet, sweet release.

He eventually opened his eyes to see Ban smiling down at him. She rolled her hips one last time, making him squirm, cock oversensitive. She leaned down to kiss him, then pulled away, separating them.

Astarion didn’t let her go far; he tugged her to his chest, peppering her face with small, feathery kisses.

“Sorry,” she said, a little embarrassed about how aggressive she’d been.

“Whatever would you be apologizing for?”

“This. I got scared.” She shuddered, remembering the blood pooling, the dagger protruding from his chest.

He held her tighter. “I understand. You needed to be reminded of this. Of us. Of being alive.”

She nodded, burying her face in his chest. They were silent for a short while.

“That wasn’t the smartest idea, wasn’t it?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

“What wasn’t?”

“Waiting for the spawn to kill Vel,” he clarified. “I should have let you finish him, or ended him myself.”

It would have avoided his injury, at the very least.

Ban snorted. “Strategically, perhaps. I shouldn’t have turned my back on Vel, nor pulled you off of him. But you needed them to be the ones to do it.”

He considered this and found that he agreed. Outwardly, he tried to remain nonchalant. “Oh, no, darling. I just wanted to see the look on Vel’s face when his spawn tore him apart. A shame I missed it.”

“You do have a heart, you know? As much as you like denying it.”

Astarion stiffened, caught, but the tension broke and he laughed.

“Considering that it almost stopped again today, I suppose I have to admit that I do.”

She looked up at him and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He saw a slight sadness on her face.

“Something wrong?”

Ban’s face darkened, then just as quickly as the expression came, it disappeared.

“Just worried about you.”

There was a waver in her tone that told him it wasn’t the entire truth.

Astarion wished it wasn’t the case, but he was also aware that there was still something off with her. Ban today, in his arms, and the Ban before he ascended were not quite the same. With everything that had happened he feared she might never be the same, that she would forever be tarnished by his sins.

What would he do, then?

She had once been more open, vulnerable, much more willing to trust. And then he had ruined her.

He wasn’t surprised that all was not yet truly well between them - he knew better than most how hard it was to move past trauma - but a small seed of resentment remained. He had risked his life for her, nearly died in the process, and yet her reaction was, at best, muted.

How long must I keep proving myself?

[drmajalis]

I feel like talking about Kira Nerys.

She is definitely one of the all time greatest Star Trek characters, and an absolute triumph of character development and payoff. She was a terrorist, she is absolutely open and unapologetic over that fact. Her planet was under a brutal, genocidal imperialist occupation and she did whatever was necessary to frustrate the Cardassians and eventually expel them from Bajor. She starts the series with that initial, momentary victory- the Cardassians have retreated, the resistance- now Bajorian militia have captured Terok Nor, but she barely gets to enjoy it for the day before Bajor's new provisional government decides to invite Starfleet to run the space station, wanting to set up their slow, eventual ascension to the Federation. And she's PISSED. Her literal first scene is arguing with her superiors before reluctantly handing over the commander's office to newly arrived Benjamin Sisko, and while that resentment slowly fades as Sisko shows overwhelmingly that he wants to be the best advocate possible for Bajor, it remains even as he is revealed to be the Emissary, Bajor's literal messiah. Kira never ceases in her struggle to see Bajor truly independent and thriving, even when it comes into conflict with her own conflicted moral code, something she had to adopt while fighting the Cardassians, but is ill equipped to handle the nuances they now have to face. This even eventually leads her to rebel, if briefly, against her own government, because she eventually decides her allegiance is to the Bajorans she fought to liberate, not Bajor the planet, or political entity.

And then there's Kira's complicated, evolving relation to the former Cardassian occupiers. It's easy to understand why she would paint them all with the same brush, they were genocidal, unforgiving, claiming to do what they did in some deluded idea that they were "helping" Bajor. But very quickly events transpire that shake her previously black and white beliefs about them.

What can I even say about "Duet" that hasn't already been said? Being confronted with a Cardassian who was so traumatized by what he witnessed his own people doing to the Bajorans that he pretended to be the very Gul who ordered the killings just so he could beg the Bajorans to put him on trial and execute him! It's such a shocking reveal that it turns Kira from eagerly wanting to put him to the death, to weeping over his murder by the very kind of revenge obsessed Bajoran she started out as.

I still cry over Marritza's confession. And the worst thing was, he was absolutely right. He knew that if Cardassia didn't own up to the crimes they had committed that they would eventually be destroyed, and he was proven right as Gul Dukat's irredentist views led him to ally with the Dominion, which ended up nearly destroying Cardassia in the long run. She even finds it in her heart to welcome Ghemor as a surrogate father figure after the time spent thinking she might actually be his daughter, and fully accept that he was trying to atone both for his own actions and that of Cardassia's, eventually burying him on Bajor next to her own father. She also ends up being confronted with the consequences of her zealotry by Silarin Prin, just a humble, innocent servant who was horribly disfigured by a bombing of a prominent Gul that Kira was involved in. And yet, she's able to recognize that while what she did was not an absolute good, fully justified by what the Bajorans were subjected to, she doesn't denounce her old self and her activities. She doesn't forgive, or forget, and that goes for both her actions, and the Cardassians. That's why she was the perfect person to help the Cardassian resistance against the Dominion, because like Marritza said, to save Cardassia, they have to change, and admit that what they did was wrong. Even Garak, who is really never shown to be that remorseful over his past activities acknowledges this when Kira points out to Damar that his family being executed by the Dominion was no different from Cardassia executing the families of Bajoran freedom fighters. "Yeah, Damar, what kind of people give those orders?" Her character came full circle, and that's why it was perfect to end the series with her finally, fully taking over command of DS9.

She'll always be one of the greatest of all time.

[jooniperbonsai]

I'll Give You the Sun (jhs) | Part One

Pairing: SunDeity!Hoseok x MoonDeity!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Part One Length: 10.6k

Release Date: Fri, April 19, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, fantasy au, royalty, mythology

Summary: Fated to fulfill an ancient prophecy claiming he will ascend into a curse-breaking hero on the day of his kingdom’s first total solar eclipse, Hoseok is jaded and cynical over his lack of choice in becoming the king and god of the Solar Kingdom. He’s even less pleased that his coronation is to be shared with the future king of the Lunar Kingdom, whose clear obsession with power is already a sign of trouble ahead. 

But when the moon fully overtakes the sun and bathes everything in darkness, the ascension of gods and kings doesn’t seem to be all that the fates prophesied. With you now coming out of the shadows to claim your rightful title, the pressure is on for the two of you to break this curse together, before it completely destroys your two kingdoms. 

Warnings: Swearing, physical aggression, low self-esteem, implied emotional and physical abuse, dirty talk, grinding/thigh riding, dom! hoseok already making himself known

a/n: yayyyyy welcome to the new series! may sun deity hobi be as adored by you as he is by me. You can look forward to Part 2 where we meet our y/n very soon. -h

He can hear her shuffling down the hall. His mother. No doubt draped in the silky, long golden cape that shines as she passes by every sunny window. He doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s wearing it. That, or her crown, pointed at all sides in honor of the many ancestral deities who have served the stars before, whose power and strength created the very particles of the universe. He also doesn’t need to look to know she’s heading directly toward his chamber, seeking Hoseok out. 

He knows she is, because he was supposed to be in the Great Hall an hour ago to go over his coronation and is instead sitting out on his balcony, looking up at the moon high in the sky despite it being one in the afternoon.

“Hoseok,” his mother echos from his doorway, breathless and exasperated. 

“I know,” he calls back. He knows he’s due for a lecture, but because his mother is impatient, because the entire palace and kingdom and evidently the entire fucking universe is impatient for their prince to become a king, and with that title, a god, there’s no time for a lecture. 

He takes one last look up at the sky, the pebbled moon inching ever closer, and scowls before retreating back indoors.

If Hoseok had things his way, he would seek out whichever god before him who uttered his prophecy to ascend to the throne and burn him with all the power of the Sun he is so called the god of. Apollo, Ra, Helios, Tsohanoai, Sol, Tai Yang Xing Jun, whoever it was who caused this, who murmured his message before the fates, he is probably laughing at Hoseok as his mother clucks at him and pinches away invisible specks of lint from his pristine suit. 

“Your father wants to see you before we begin.”

“I thought the party was already under way,” he mutters, his mother cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“It is, which I now take it you are staunchly avoiding instead of simply losing track of time like I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt for.” 

“Eomma, you know I don’t want to do this. I have told you so for years. I don’t want to be king. I don’t want to be a god.”

“Yes, but the fates decided it so. They chose you over your sister, and this means whether there’s a party or not, it’s going to happen. You might as well enjoy the food and music and make the best of it.” With a sigh, she adjusts the heady gilded crown pinned to her head and strolls out of Hoseok’s chamber, leaving behind the faint note of her jasmine perfume. 

Hoseok knows he can’t hide here forever. He knows that once the total eclipse occurs in a matter of hours, he will be thrust into a life of duty. And not soon after he ascends, he also knows that he will be expected to begin courting someone. That is another matter entirely, one he is not going to even entertain today.

He’s not opposed to marriage or courting, not in the slightest. His elder sister married a few years ago, a marriage that gives structure and stability. Her husband clearly loves her, and Hoseok enjoys when he sees his brother-in-law when they visit during the summer months, when the days stretch into nights and for a little while, the state of things feels less cursed and oppressive. 

They often have long, decadent dinners in the back garden, surrounded by the low hum of the bees as they move from sunflower to sunflower (his mother’s favorite). The summer months are coming, which means soon Hoseok will feel a little bit more like himself. Why wouldn’t he want to spend time with someone, to enjoy strawberries straight from the garden and walk along the river with the one he courts? 

All of these things are exactly what he wants. 

Or he used to, anyway. He glances at the mirror above his vanity, his black hair already losing some of its hold despite only being styled a handful of hours ago. Normally, it doesn’t do that. Normally, once set into place, he appears as the precise and put-together person in the room. 

But today, he realizes, is not normal. 

In his lifetime, there has never been a total solar eclipse over his kingdom. Which is why in many ways, today is the beginning of the end, as today he will fulfill his destiny within the prophecy:

On the Eve of day, the day of night,

when the moon fully captures the sun’s light

over the House of the ones who worship the rays, 

will an alliance occur that pleases the fates:

Two kingdoms will gain what they most need

after long years of suffering from past gods’ greed.

From the cliffs off the shore where the sky hangs low, 

will come the fated one crowned with a moonlit halo.

And from the flowering valleys where the rolling hills run, 

will come the destined one crowned with the beams of the sun. 

The shadows shattering during the fifteenth hour

shall bestow these two souls with ultimate power.

The moon stepping forward with nothing to hide

is burdened not by the sin of pride

nor the sun is he plagued by the darkness above, 

but balanced with allegiance, passion, and love.

United these two the fates will regard

with the highest of honor among the stars. 

What was once divided now becomes one, 

with the all sacred moon and almighty sun. 

And together these two blessed by the heavens’ ring, 

will end the curse of the promised false king.

He can recite the entire thing by heart. It is a prophecy that echoes in his oldest memories, ones when he could scarcely understand the phrases coded within, but recognized the cadence of over time as it swirled into words he one day understood. It was read on his tenth birthday as he watched the red wax of his “10” candle slide down the pillar and onto the buttercream frosting of his cake, the red upon white almost looking like blood. It was read at weddings, graduations, all a reminder of the great hope that is to come. 

Even then he knew it to be less of its intended blessing and more of a curse dooming him to follow its guidelines, to be “balanced with allegiance, passion, and love”. Hoseok doesn’t deny that these are traits he has, but he isn’t entirely sure if these are traits he was destined to have, or if through the power of suggestion and pressure over the years, he has become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He looks back in the mirror, scooping a curl off of his face, memorizing the rich brown of his eyes, the even slant of his nose. He knows his ascension isn’t technically supposed to change him, at least not in the ways that are noticeable. All of the royal advisors and lesser gods on the council have assured him, reassured him, and if it’s even possible, over-assured him as such. 

Even his parents have dipped their toes into the conversation, despite always and forevermore being mortal.

It’s not like you’re going to sprout a second head and start devouring the souls of mortals. You are just going to feel different. More powerful. Rightly so. You will be. 

And that’s what concerns him. Not the sprouting of another head or bloodthirst. 

How can things still be the same–how can he still be the same–if he is about to be given power? Not just any power either. This is enough power to end the long-standing drought that wiped out the southeast corner of the Solar Kingdom. A drought so severe that the only thing left in that part of the kingdom is abandoned homes and stories from the Elder gods that prove it was once a vivid place full of diverse life, with lush flora that bore plump, juicy fruits, art, and culture. 

The Elder gods have been around for, well, no one quite knows how long, including them. When asked, they often click their tongue, sipping whatever sparkly alcoholic concoction that fancies them that day before dismissing the curious soul who asks. After a while, time just rolls itself together. You mortals are so obsessed with it. Relax, take it all in. Hundreds, even thousands of years may have passed, but still we eat and drink and dance. 

And from all that eating and drinking and dancing came the many stories about the parts of the kingdom that Hoseok had never heard of, and some he is still sure don’t really exist. How on this planet were there once waterfalls that fell up instead of down, or vines that could bear grapes the size of his head? Over time, he has learned to take what the Elder gods say at face value; they are bored and ancient and looking for something to entertain them. The only reason he knows the southeast corner once had any of these things is because of the ruins. 

When he was young, he was taken there by the royal council and his parents to help him understand the weight of his place in all this, how crucial it was that he rise and grow to end the drought that forced thousands to become displaced and desperate. How better was he to understand the importance of the power he would one day be given than to see how selfishly wielding it only resulted in strife and suffering for all?

The drought is expanding, leeching more from his kingdom by the year. By his twenty ninth birthday, the Great Forest of Solaria, a region two hours south of the capital, known for its tall redwoods and cypresses, has had three sizable forest fires, forcing its people, including Hoseok’s best friend Namjoon, to flee north. Namjoon and his family have been living in the palace for almost a full year. 

But because of this curse, this reign of the nefarious king Mang Shin, who tore down Hoseok’s people and the land around it for his own selfish gain, because of his cruelty that angered the fates, the Solar Kingdom has been managing a worsening drought. How much longer before the capital city can no longer sustain any of its people, when it is no longer a refuge?

His kingdom is not the only one impacted by the cruelty of Mang Shin. The Lunar Kingdom to the northwest is half underwater after high tides that led to flooding. While the capital city of the Solar Kingdom has not directly suffered from the curse of Mang Shin, the Lunar Kingdom’s capital city has not been so lucky. 

A month ago, a large tidal wave capsized the northern end of the city, drowning thousands and destroying a major sea port that was essential to the booming trade industry of the north. From the rumors Hoseok heard, the crown prince was set to be in the district that morning on official business, but was running behind after spending a night out drinking and occupying the brothels in the southern corridor. He would have been washed away in the sea if he were on time. 

Which means all this, all that Hoseok has been procrastinating on attending, has stopped seven times in the short hallway over, would have been for nothing. There would be no end to this curse, only the slow suffering of his actual fate. 

No. The crown prince is in the Great Hall waiting for Hoseok to get his shit together and help restore balance to both kingdoms. A dual coronation. Two princes to become kings of their own kingdoms. The Lunar Kingdom exists as the Solar Kingdom exists. Both need each other now to ensure the longevity of the other. There’s no other destiny than this. 

He pauses in front of the door to his father’s study, grazes his knuckles against the wood of the door. He sighs. 

You have to do this. There’s no other way. 

And just as he thinks to turn, to run, to flee his home and this kingdom and go everywhere and nowhere all at once, the door to his father’s study opens. 

He expects to see the firm set frown of his father, to be given his final lecture and coronet before his father abdicates and Hoseok is the owner of the hefty, ornate crown he has come to despise.

He is not expecting to hear a soft feminine gasp that is very different to the sounds his father makes. Nor is he expecting to see you staring right back at him. 

You’re wearing a long navy gown flecked with what looks like stars shimmering in the glow of the study’s dim light. 

You should be wearing a tiara, or at least some kind of diadem like your mother, whom Hoseok saw this morning when he snuck into the kitchen after skipping the official breakfast. He should have been embarrassed, but she seemed even more so for being there and helping herself to custard cakes that were meant for today’s celebration. 

I won’t tell if you won't, she'd said, her voice tight, possibly from speaking between bites of the creamy custard. Her diadem encrusted with diamonds in the shape of what looked like the constellation Cygnus gleamed in the sunlight that leaked into the kitchen. 

She didn’t care that he hadn’t given your family a proper greeting, and she seemed unbothered by his unwashed and unshaved state. She looked at him like he was just a boy. So he didn’t say a word, just stole a cake for himself and locked himself in his chamber until his mother hunted down Namjoon to let him in and at least convince him to bathe. 

Even informally dressed, your mother wore her head adornment, which is why it is not only odd to see you striding out of his father’s study, but to also see you walking around without anything to signify you are more than just a palace advisor or lady of the court. 

Then again, you were always odd. While your families were not close by any means, their strained allyship and understanding of their dependency on one another meant that Hoseok’s family and your family had met a few times over the years, and each time he was in the vicinity of you, he couldn’t help but notice how out of place you were. 

While your brother commanded the attention of everyone in the room, demanded the world stopped to hear the new song he composed on guitar or rambled on and on about diplomacy and trade relations over a feast, you instead faded into the background of every place you entered, a shadow that cast itself behind the path of her brother’s radiant glow. 

So maybe not wearing a crown isn’t so unexpected when it comes to you. A crown is the opposite of a shadow. It demands everyone look at it, too. And even if you wanted to be looked at– which he assumes is not true given the fact that you’re practically shrinking away from Hoseok as he looks at you now– it doesn’t seem as though your brother would be willing to share the spotlight long enough to even give you the chance. 

He realizes he doesn’t even need to ask what you are doing in his father’s study, he already knows: you are doing what you always do when he sees you, what he suspects you do when he isn’t around too: you made yourself invisible. You often snuck off during your visits here to the library or the palace gardens, returning late in the day with dirt on your skirts or charcoal on your hands. He notices the object that confirms his suspicions: a sketchbook nestled between your fingertips that is staining your inner fingers black. 

“I was just–” you begin, eyes wide as you stammer. “Your father, he said I could be in here. I didn’t touch anything, I was drawing!” You hold the book out in front of you like a shield. 

Hoseok raises his hands up. “Hey, hey, relax. I’m not accusing you of anything!” Your eyes soften a little, but you still remain frozen in the doorway, the sketchbook acting as if it's made of steel, not paper. “Speaking of my father, have you seen him? He said he wants to talk to me before, y’know…the thing.” 

“The thing…” you repeat, finally lowering the book as you knit your brows together. You give him a puzzled look before answering. “Uh, I did. I was sketching him, actually. But he left to go to the Great Hall about ten minutes ago to deal with something urgent. But he said if I saw you to tell you to get your coronet on. It’s in here, on his desk.”

With a flurry, you twirl, heading back into the soft glow of the office behind you. As you turn, a puff of air leaves Hoseok’s chest as he sees the effect your dress has in the shifting light. It’s as if millions of stars are swirling around you, centering you as their moon in a night sky. 

Whoa. 

For a moment, he’s stunned, not entirely sure what he just saw. But then he remembers what he is supposed to be doing, and he follows you like a sailor follows the stars, letting you guide him into the cold room. 

Sure enough on his father’s desk is the coronet, a small box of pins to fasten it into place beside it, and a handwritten note from his father. 

Be extraordinary. 

Or be nothing at all, he finishes mentally. Hoseok’s father has spent all of his life uttering that phrase, placing his very soul behind the words that are supposed to be inspirational. He had learned it from a book at the university he attended when he was a young scholar, coming across it and deciding it suited his philosophy: excel beyond ordinary leadership and be a great ruler to his people. If not, what was the point in being a leader at all?  

This was a phrase that always unsettled Hoseok, because extraordinary measures mean one-upping himself in the process, and that is something his father seemed to push in his youth. Top marks in his class? He then needed to be the top of his class and on the student council. Developed a grant for young dancers to encourage a stronger relationship to the arts from a younger age? He must establish an entire foundation for performing arts within the next five years. Higher and higher he has always been forced to climb, until the clouds once above him are nothing more than wisps of air at his feet. 

And he’s afraid of heights. Of falling from this place where he is held so high in regard and duty he might as well live among the stars. 

He swallows a knot in his throat, taking the note with his father’s message and crumpling it in his fist. 

You, who have been curiously watching him this entire time, raise an eyebrow. Hoseok suddenly feels particularly defensive and on edge from his father’s notice. The king has written it on official letterhead, technically making it Royal business and not familial. It’s not a phrase of encouragement for him to be extraordinary, but an order. 

“What,” he snaps, and immediately regrets it as he watches your face cloud slightly before you regain composure. 

“It’s a pretty morbid saying, isn’t it?” you say thoughtfully after a moment, nodding your head to the balled up piece of paper in his hands. “This idea that if you aren’t always beating yourself then you’re not successful or good enough to rule. But it’s so damning. How can you win when part of you must always lose?” 

Hoseok inhales sharply, the words hitting him hard. But before he can even think to respond, you are scrambling. 

“Exactly,” he says darkly. He takes the coronet in hand. “The thing is, either way you spin this, it’s a loss.” 

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before stepping toward him, reaching for the box of hairpins. “I’m sorry,” you mumble and pluck a pin from the box, gesturing for Hoseok to bend down. 

He isn’t the tallest man in the kingdom by far, and you’re not much shorter, but next to you, he somehow feels huge. Do you have horrible posture or something? He glances over at you, but then he notices that while your head would rest above his shoulder if you moved closer, and your back is perfectly straight–straighter than even he has been trained to stand– it’s not your height that makes you feel so small. It’s everything else. You are a walking optical illusion. In his memories, he had always placed you as half his size, and he finally understands why: it lets you fly under the radar.  

He sighs, placing the coronet upon his head at last, turning over the idea of being under the radar in his mind. Something in him sours, a prick of jealousy flaring up at how you will inevitably spend the rest of the night after the coronation. “Not like you had any part in this. Soon this will all be over and you can go back to hiding in rooms with your sketch pads and books and be invisible to everyone again.”

You flinch at his words, the pin you have begun fastening to his head to steady the crown snags into his scalp. 

“Ouch! What the fuck was that?” Hoseok yelps, and you jolt back, tears brimming your eyes as if you were the one who was just stabbed in the head. 

“Oh, I get it. So you think this is the end of the world for you and the rest of us are just going to go about our merry way like the savior gods have solved all our problems.” Your voice is sharp, unlike anything he has ever heard come from you, and he can see the fury burning into your eyes as tears begin to spill. 

“Have you ever fucking thought about how the rest of us are going to cope with these changes? Yes, I understand the ascension is damnation in its own way, and that this awful fucking curse has plagued our kingdoms for centuries but you’re so selfishly focused on yourself when there are two of you who will share the burden. And the power. Yes, you are vain and self-absorbed but your drought will end. The forest fires will have paved the way for nutrient rich soil and things here will thrive better than they ever have. Your friend Namjoon? He can return to his community and rebuild. And you, Jung Hoseok, you will live on forever in the glory of all that you saved and your stupid ego will be smoothed over with godly power. Power that who knows what the hell you’ll do with. In another thousand years you too will be bored and sighing with the other Elder gods talking about the time you saved us all and embellishing your stories to bring new life into them. 

“And the rest of us? We will be doing all that work for you as you sit on your throne and watch us break our backs to continue to pay for what Mang Shin did. And then we will die. My own best friend died in the floods we had a month ago. And I will die, having only lived a life that is in service to another god. Mang Shin or you or my fucking awful brother–” 

You freeze, realizing your mistake. But Hoseok is seeing red at your accusation. 

“You think I’m just going to be like all those other lazy gods? I want to be nothing like them! Unlike them I care about my home, my people, and family! And you have the audacity to stand in my father’s office and claim that I won’t do the right thing? That I’m in this and moping because of my ego? Oh, fuck you, Y/N! You don’t know the first thing about me. When I walk out of this room and into the Great Hall, I am no longer me. I am the pawn they raised me to be in some game I never want to play. And you, you’re free.” He spits those words at you with a sneer. 

Your nostrils flare and you close the distance between you two. He can feel the heat of your body as you shove it against him, backing him into his father’s desk so he can’t escape. The soft flurry of your gown grazes the back of his left hand. 

“Free?” you say low, your voice dripping with disgust. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am not free. I am invisible. And not by choice, by necessity.” You reach down between you, grabbing one of his wrists and pinching your fingers around it. Then, you grab the other with the same motion and hold them both up to him. “One shackle for being born without the fates’ blessing. That would have been damning enough. An outcast compared to my brother. At least your sister was given some response from the fates upon her birth. Some gift.”

You tighten your hand around the other wrist, your nails digging small crescents into Hoseok’s skin. “The other for being born into a life where I will always be cleaning up the messes of a tyrannical ruler, be it a king who lived a millennia ago or my own brother or a beloved god like you.” 

Hoseok’s stomach drops as you hiss the last word out and he tugs at his wrists to try to free himself from you. He feels as though he’s going to explode. Who the hell do you believe yourself to be? Royalty or not, you know there are rules in place that forbid you both from touching, though those rules were mostly enforced during the time of puberty for the both of you, but there was never an official retraction. If he thinks about it, this is the first time the two of you have ever even touched. And it’s probably for the best. 

He feels like he’s burning under your gaze, a fire hotter than anything he’s ever known. Your fingertips digging into his skin, feel like needles and iron weights under him. In one moment you have gone from being small and frail to fierce and terrifying, the radiant glow of royalty your entire family wears breaks from you as your raw emotion unravels your smooth exterior. 

You are in this moment the furthest thing from invisible and Hoseok’s heart beating wildly as you shift even closer to him tells him so. But Hoseok has trained his entire life for combat, knows how to put mind over matter. So he focuses and with an exhale composes himself, a devilish smirk spreading across his face. 

Your brows knit together, but your hold remains firm. 

“My sister can hold her own. The fates knew that. She was not suited to be a ruler when she had much better skills with people and commerce. That, and they probably knew that she too would lead with some kind of bias.” He snorts. “But you, that really is a shame. Maybe the fates were wrong about you. Maybe they made a mistake in forgetting to give you a gift.” 

You gasp, and he jolts, releasing your hands from his wrists. “Don’t say that. You shouldn’t say that.” 

He knows he shouldn’t. To speak ill of the fates could lead to serious punishment. When born, everyone is visited by the fates during their first long slumber. For most people of good standing, the fates bless them with some type of gift, be it physical wealth, talent, status, or some other quality or characteristic that solidifies them in society.

While there is no set pattern in who the fates often deliver gifts to, in the last few generations, most blessings from the fates are given to those born into nobility. At least for Hoseok, everyone in his family as far back as his great grandfather was given a blessing. His mother had received the precise skill of archery, picking up a bow and arrow as early as seven years old and shooting the target nearly dead center. The only reason she was off was because the bow was too heavy for her. His father was given his intellect, leading to him being a great scholar and general. His sister was given a hand mirror embedded with large rubies. 

All the gifts are left in a pouch tied to the baby’s bassinet. If the gift is not physical, a small note is often attached with an explanation or hint for what will be fulfilled. Some larger gifts may just be laid next to the bassinet, but rarely is it larger than the size of one’s hand. 

For Hoseok, the fates’ gift was a scroll with the prophecy copied to it, along with a gold ring engraved with a sun that he is wearing now. Not too cryptic to interpret. His parents knew from the start who he was. 

Your family, however, is another story. From what Hoseok understands, when your older brother was born, he did not receive such a literal interpretation of the prophecy. Rather, his gift was a monocular that for years people thought was broken. It wasn’t until he once used it while stupidly looking up at the sun that your brother realized the monocular wasn’t broken. 

Instead, it provided a very important film over the lens that allowed him to stare for hours at the sun and not go blind. During the sporadic partial solar eclipses over the years that gave Hoseok chills down his spine, your brother was often on the cliff banks, gazing at the sun flares and embracing his future. 

A monocular meant for solar eclipses. What else could that mean but that he is a fated one? 

As for you, Hoseok heard that the evening of your birth a handful of years later came and went with no blessing. When your parents had woken to find nothing in the pouch or the areas around your bassinet, had asked every palace worker thrice to see if anyone had entered the nursery that evening and everyone had assured that no one had entered and the door that separated the bathroom between you and your brother’s rooms had remained locked, your brother sound asleep, there was nothing left to do but accept that for the first time in generations, your family had ended its line of fated ones with your brother. 

In a way, did it matter? Whether you are blessed or not if your brother is the one who will finally end the curse? Perhaps not. But either way, Hoseok can’t help but feel pissed at the fates today, and wants to poke at them a bit and let him know he isn’t happy with the gift they gave him. 

Sure, no one is supposed to insult them. There are many tales told to children about what happens to those who test their authority, cautionary lessons that warn them not to misbehave or they will suffer greatly. It is, after all, the result of Mang Shin’s own challenging and disrespecting the fates that caused all of this anyway. 

But right now Hoseok doesn't have a single fuck to give about what they decided anyone is destined for. How they “always choose wisely.” That doesn’t make sense to him. The fates can’t be perfect, can they? In all things. Including you. 

Especially you, he realizes. Because he would be foolish to write you off as a boring nobody, even if that is the mask you wear. 

“Why not? Why shouldn’t I be pissed at them and question them? If they have decided this is a burden I must shoulder forever, then let me have my doubts! I’m actually disgusted by the fact that no one has ever questioned my role in this. A savior of an entire kingdom! Me? The one who broke into the armory and stole fireworks to launch on my eighteenth birthday?” 

Which, had been an awful idea. The fireworks had been locked away because of their tendency to cause fires. And with that winter having much less snow than ever before, the farmland he had drunkenly lit those fireworks in was full of dead, dry brambles. The perfect kindling. 

His transgression cost the kingdom millions. He was lucky there was no wind that day to carry the fire across the creek the farm jutted up to. But the fire did enough damage to burn that entire farm’s crops for that year. 

You snort. “Yes, well I think your accidental arson doesn’t alter your favor with the fates.” You gesture for him to bend again to finally pin on his coronet. The angry steam trapped inside his chest is starting to lessen. In some way, it just feels good to have said it out loud. 

So he obeys and lets you change the subject as you work. “Why did you want the fireworks anyway?” 

Hoseok stills, wanting to avoid another stabbing. Your fingers are more nimble this time, sweeping gently through his scalp before securing the pins. As you make your adjustments, your pinky skims the shell of his ear. 

It’s that tenderness that prompts him to answer honestly. “I was sad, or rather mad that in an entire ballroom full of people celebrating, I had never felt so alone in my whole life. It didn’t feel like they were celebrating me, but this idea of us getting closer to the end of the suffering. Another year passing means another year closer to when we could more accurately predict the eclipse, if it was actually going to be a total one and pass directly above us. So my birthday became this symbol of hope I guess.” 

You hum in response, a quiet prompt asking him to continue. He feels your fingers adjusting the pins in the back, gentle, oh so gentle. His eyes fall closed, trying to focus instead on his story. 

“I should be happy about that, right? To be this symbol of hope for everyone. But I didn’t want that. I never wanted to become a symbol of something over being a person, and that seems to be what all this ever is. I had come to realize it at the time, and wanted to rebel, to do something for myself for my birthday instead of being in service to others. 

“So I broke into the armory while everyone was dancing, said I needed a moment to relieve myself. The guard was easily bribed by a strong glass of whisky I claimed wasn’t to my taste and the smell of the feast in the hall. I told him I would find the captain to have him guard his post while he went to enjoy the celebration.” 

He hears you chuckle, an infectious, feathery sound that piques his interest. He wonders how often you laugh at things. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you do so before. 

He smirks. “Yeah, he didn’t think twice about that. Why would the well-behaved, diplomatic prince try to break into the armory during his birthday celebration? Once he was out of sight I walked right in and grabbed what I was looking for. Ditched the ball, grabbed a bottle of whisky and went to drown my sorrows. The rest was history. I barely got to look up and enjoy the fireworks before I saw the fire begin. And by that point I was too drunk to walk straight to even know what to do. I couldn’t run fast enough to stomp it out and I didn’t have any water with me. So I just stood and watched it all burn before me.” 

Your fingers stroke the coronet in Hoseok’s hair and then he feels them fall, your fingertips combing through it, nails sometimes scraping against his scalp. It’s so soothing, grounding to him, and he inhales deeply as your hands weave around him, one side and then the other, as if you are guiding every hair, every part of him back into place. 

“That’s when I started to really wonder if the fates got it all wrong with me. Because I can cause so much damage so quickly if I’m not careful. And selfishly too. What I did, that was because I couldn’t let people see me as this symbol of something that I’m not even sure I represent And if I have power? What if I use it wrong?” 

“You’re right. I am vain and selfish to be complaining about this stuff when I’m lucky. I got to go on a bender and blow up a bunch of illegal arsenal and the most I got was a stern finger waggle because I’m a ‘fated one’. And once this is all over, I don’t know. I’m probably not going to be the king everyone thinks I’m going to be. And I’ll fight like hell but I’m terrified that I’m going to be different. That somehow the second I’m blessed with this power I’m going to wield it to hurt others, to be that same selfish asshole of a child that I was.” 

He feels your hand pause, and opens his eyes. Your eyes meet, and your hand falls from his head, returning into your orbit as you cross your arms in front of you. 

“But you didn’t mean for that to happen, Hoseok. None of that. I don’t think the fates are going to fault you for a mistake like that, and I don’t think they made the wrong choice for a human acting as a human. And even when you’re a god, I don’t know. You’ll probably make mistakes too, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be cruel.”

You sigh. “I’m sorry I said that about you. I…you’re not like him, Mang Shin. You aren’t going to be this lazy ruler or probably even a bad one. Because you care. Didn’t you repair the damage to the barn yourself?” 

He nods.   

“That really speaks more to your character than whatever air of diplomacy you think you need to have. And the same for your power that you’ll receive. The ascension doesn’t make you invincible, but it just amplifies the qualities you have. And you don’t have malice in you to burn down an entire farm.

“My brother however? I think if he was in your position, he would have argued the fire was the farm’s fault for not sprinkling the crops with a fire retardant or something. Or, if he wasn’t getting the attention he wanted, that might have made him so furious that he spread the fire beyond the farm on purpose. One time when we were younger, he received awful marks on an exam he admittedly did not study for, and when our tutor scolded him for it and wagged his finger in his direction, he bit the tip of his finger clean off. And he smiled as he did it.” 

Hoseok blanches. He has heard that your brother wasn’t the most savory of people, some of the people of the Solar kingdom having encountered him during the royal family’s visitations. Hoseok himself knows that he’s rude and narcissistic, often interrupting during their different conversations to talk about himself or scowl at the palace workers as they try to serve his meals. Particular, they always describe the Lunar Prince. He is not a bad man, just very particular. 

More like entitled, and borderline ruthless, Hoseok thinks to himself. 

“Your brother sounds very...particular,” he says instead of what he’s actually thinking.

You roll your eyes. “I hate that fucking word,” you mutter, uncrossing your arms and stepping back to look at Hoseok. You click your tongue once and then nod in approval. The coronet must be even. 

“What word would you use instead?” Hoseok whispers, taking a step toward you. 

This conversation feels private, and no matter how private his father’s study feels, he doesn’t want the physical distance between the two of you as you share more intimate thoughts. 

You hesitate. Your eyes flash to his, and then he can see the well of tears brimming up into your eyes once more. “Does it really matter anyway? A monster, a tyrant, an asshole. He’s going to be king, a god, regardless of how I describe him. And it would be treasonous, not to mention unwise, to question the decision of the fates. If he hears what I think, I’ll suffer worse. But everyone chooses to see something in him clearly that I do not, gifted him that monocular and wrote him into the prophecy to seal it. He is a fated one. And regardless of what you think or what I think, that’s how it’s going to be. I wasn’t gifted with anything. I’ll admit that I’m not looking forward to this transition and how messy it'll be. I spent most of my youth cleaning up his small messes and I’m sure I’ll be doing the big ones now. But I’m trying to make peace with it, I don’t have much of a choice.” 

A renewed anger boils in Hoseok. “So your way of handling and accepting all of this, the fact that your brother is about to receive hoards of untapped power that might teeter your kingdom into oblivion, is by being invisible? By throwing your life away? How is that supposed to be helpful?”

You jerk away, the small distance between you growing larger as your dress glitters in a spotlight, casting refractions of it onto the walls and bookshelves all around you. In every pocket of the dark room, there’s a part of you shifting yourself onto everything else, including Hoseok. He opens his palm where the refraction casts, almost as though he’s holding a part of your light in his hand. 

But just as soon as you’re in the light, you’re out of it, the refraction gone, and you into the shadows. 

He steps forward, tries to cross the distance once more, but the intimate moment of secrets is gone, and stops him in his tracks. He can tell he has struck a wound by the sharp laugh that blares from your chest. It sounds nothing like the one he heard before. 

“What am I supposed to do exactly? Go waltz in there and scream to the fates that he’s the wrong choice and we are all doomed? Demand he surrender his title and not accept this gift? Do you think anyone would even listen to me if I were to raise such doubt? I would be exiled before the eclipse reaches totality. 

“I’m no one Hoseok. Not to my kingdom, certainly not my parents or brother. I’m simply here to put as much of a wedge between the blows my brother deals and the people of my kingdom who will receive it. And as far as how I’ll handle it, I have two options: I can continue as I am now, cleaning up the mess. Or I can re-enter the shadows of life and marry the Duke of Nebula and leave the Lunar Kingdom forever.  Didn’t you say so yourself that I am free because of my position? That I am unburdened with the sense of duty that you are? Maybe you should think less about me and more about what you’re going to do after all this is over.” 

You turn away from him, the skirt of your dress rustling as you try to make your escape, to leave him without the last word. 

No, he thinks. Not like this. He has spent enough of his life not having the last word when it comes to matters about him. 

Fury licks through his veins. He feels heat rush through his face, the tips of his ears, the tingling part of his scalp you were touching mere minutes ago. No, this conversation isn’t over until he says it is. He stalks over to you as you reach for the door handle, grabbing your wrist in his palm, tugging it over your head as he shoves your back against the door, trapping you. 

You release the air in your chest with a huff, your other hand coming to fight him off. But he’s faster. Again, he’s trained his whole life to do this. He easily pins your other wrist above you. 

“So that’s it? Your two choices are to marry some old wrinkled Duke or stay as your brother’s punching bag.” 

He scoffs. You struggle against his hold. 

“That’s none of your business! Let go of me!” you growl, tugging, ragged breaths heaving your chest. 

“No,” Hoseok says. “I’m not done. If I’m going to walk out of here and take on the burdens of the world, then I’m going to at least spend the last moments of my mortal life ensuring you don’t waste yours. You have a choice in all of this freedom and you’re choosing wrong. The worst fucking things you can possibly choose. Consider it my first act of diplomacy as king.” 

You angle your head up to him, your brows furrowed. “Then please, your majesty, enlighten me as to what you would choose for me, since you feel so inclined to do so.” 

Your body is just as heated under Hoseok as he is now, a sheen of perspiration blooming in your décolletage. Both of you are boiling in your anger. Yet you take it a step further, widening your stance and looping one leg behind him to try and find the weak spot behind his knees. 

You succeed, his leg slipping and tangling itself in the skirt of your dress. Rather than break the hold he has on you, however, he falls forward, his forearms falling to either side of your head, his body now fully leaning into you.  

Under any other circumstance, Hoseok would immediately untangle himself, apologize, blush at the embarrassment of his body colliding with another, especially with it being taboo in the law. But this time he doesn’t. And as you struggle against him, he can feel your soft thigh brush against the front of his trousers, sending a lap of heat to his cock. It’s almost dizzying how hot it is in the study now. The room is kept at a cool temperature to ensure the books don’t warp from humidity. 

Which means the heat that is scorching through his veins is from the two of you creating it. He pulls a deep breath into his chest, trying to focus on finishing this conversation, on his frustration with you for being so careless with yourself. 

“If I was free like you, without the universe waiting for me outside my door, I wouldn’t be hiding in the cold shadows hoping no one noticed me. I would be out in the world, discovering all the things I’ve been denied.” 

He adjusts himself against you, and as he does so, his thigh lands between your legs, resting at the crook of where they meet. A sharp intake of breath crests from you, and your eyes meet, your gaze hard.

“Like what?” you ask. “What exactly would you be chasing instead of denying yourself?”

Hoseok smirks, knowing he’s trapped you in this conversation. He really has been trained well. “Pleasure,” he says, and your eyes widen.

“What?”

“You heard me, Y/N. Pleasure. You think you’re going to find that with the Duke of Nebula? He’s so ancient, I doubt he could even get it up. And even if he still can, god what a bore he would be. He’s sired enough children in his lifetime, and can't be expected to run around and play with or care for any of the ones you would give him. 

“So you would either be sitting around just the two of you for the rest of his life–gods hoping it wouldn’t be much longer–or you would be raising his children practically by yourself. They would have no status either, too far down on the family chain to have any standing. Which means you would rot in that place until you found another man to marry. And that would be your life. What a waste of your potential. You’re young, beautiful, intelligent, and throwing your life away.” 

He clicks his tongue. “Pleasure you wouldn’t find with him. Maybe even the next guy. So why sign yourself up for any of that when you don’t have to? When you can feel alive while you’re alive and feel good. Know ecstasy, your joints coming loose in your body, fuc–”

“I’m not a virgin, Hoseok. I know what pleasure feels like,” you spit. Hoseok’s eyes flash. He licks his lips. 

“Do you really?” he whispers. “Do you know how it feels to really fuck for the sake of pleasure, Y/N? Of letting someone else hold the reins of your undoing and pulling them so taught you think you’re going to snap, only to finally give you what you truly need and set you free over the edge?” 

You shiver underneath him, closing your eyes. Good, he thinks. You’re listening, separating yourself from the rule-bound life you shouldn’t be bound to. 

“What is it you really want, Y/N? What is it that you’re denying yourself of having? Of taking?” 

“Nothing,” you whimper. 

“Liar,” Hoseok grins. “You want so much more than this. You’re too much of a dreamer. Tell me, what do you want?” 

“It’s none of your business,” you pant, though he can feel it, your resistance of your hold slipping. 

“No, it’s not. But I’ll trade you. Your secret, your dreams for mine.” 

You meet his gaze again, and Hoseok sees the shimmer in your eyes, curiosity blooming as you fall foolishly into his trap.

“Fine,” you yield. His grin spreads even further. He knows he probably looks deranged, but he can’t help it. He’s come this far. If the world is ending after this, he wants to know he at least spent his last moments of humanity trying to help someone else hold onto theirs. 

“I want things that don’t matter. To be a mother someday. I want to write and sketch and sit in an open garden where I can stare at the sky from morning to night, counting all the stars over and over again and laughing when I lose count. I want laughter the most. For someone to pull it from me in the darkness. To bottle the feeling he gives me and fall asleep in his arms. I want to feel warm, like this, because it always feels so cold and lonely out here. And I’d miss home, but I want to leave it because it’s just as cold there during the summer winds than it is on the most mild winter days. And I want pleasure. Fuck, I need pleasure. I would divide up the universe for it. I want to feel alive as I do at this moment. Electricity, fire and ice all at once. I want to be taken and held, fucked, devoured as if I matter.” 

You drag your hips up, and Hoseok gasps as you move yourself against his thigh, against what is now his throbbing erection. 

He feels it too. Electricity. Fire. Ice. All at once. So he grinds his hips back down into you, giving you more pressure as he releases some of his. This is humanity, he thinks to himself. This is what I fear losing when I ascend. 

He stops that thought there, buries it under the mountain of stability and refinement he’s been trained to put in its place.  

“Fuck,” you hiss. 

Hoseok releases your wrists, looking at your blown out pupils. He expects you to move away, but as your arms fall from over your head, they find hold on his biceps, steadying yourself as you move with each other. 

“You owe me yours,” you say breathlessly and Hoseok laughs, his voice light and airy in his chest. 

“You just want to know my dirty thoughts,” he teases and you dig your nails into his biceps, pinching him in warning. 

More. I need more. Before all of this is gone.

He laughs again at the challenge. “Okay, okay, fine. If I dream of freedom like you, I dream of excitement. Sailing away to cities we know nothing of, learning about the people there. Dancing different dances in the street and eating foods I never would have thought I would taste. Losing days to pleasure instead of deciding what treaty needs to be signed, what law approved. Lazy mornings where I lick every inch of my lover.” 

Hoseok leans in then and as if he is pulling you into his dream, licks a long strip down your neck, the salty dampness thrusting his hips sharper into yours. You moan. 

Something in him shifts, a desperate need to hear it again. So he lathes his tongue along your neck and collarbone, sucking sharply on the skin after. 

“Shit,” you rasp. 

“Yes. That’s it. This is what you are missing out on, Y/N, pleasure.” He ruts against you. “I bet under those skirts you’re absolutely dripping, aren’t you? Isn’t this what you want?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then take it honey. Give yourself what you want.” He pulls back slightly, enough to keep his thigh firmly for you to use, and he sees the lust in your heavy eyelids, welcoming more of him into your orbit. He dips his head again, this time his tongue exploring the cleft between your breasts that peeks out over your dress. He hears you sigh, and hums in satisfaction. 

He feels alive, not like those dinners with his family or sunsets in summer. This is different, a type of freedom he has never experienced before. Yes, he’s fucked people, he’s had fantastic sex in scandalous places, has known the thrumming of his pulse under his skin as he worked his body over another. But that was sex, and the two of you are still clothed, just exploring each other’s bodies. 

It dawns on him. Is this what freedom is supposed to feel like? 

He chases after the feeling, addicted now, teeth grazing along your breasts as you shiver below him, your hands leaving his biceps to pull through his hair, to cup the back of his neck to keep him steady. 

“It could always be like this, if you wanted. Those sweet sighs, long days where you lie back and stare at the clouds and stars while coming undone on my mouth.” He presses back and you let him rise, where he fixes his gaze on your mouth. 

You lick your lips, drawing him forward. 

“We could forget the whole world and just be free,” he says, his lips resting mere millimeters away from yours. 

And just as he moves in to claim them, Hoseok feels your hand on his chest, shoving him back. He recoils, pulling himself away to see your incredulous stare. 

“We can’t just forget the whole world,” you say, and Hoseok takes a deep inhale, feeling the natural cold of the study quickly overtaking the heat in his body. 

What happened? Weren’t you both on the same page?

“Why,” he asks. “Why not for a little while?”

“Why? Hoseok, look around us. What are we doing?” 

He obeys, the gray walls of the study a dull reminder of reality. He looks back at you. 

“I thought we were giving each other what we wanted,” he argues. “I thought you were finally understanding how much better things can be if you don’t keep pretending you don’t matter. Because you do.” 

He takes a step forward again but you push him back again, harder. 

Your face falls. “But I don’t.” You take a deep breath, pushing off the door and adjusting your dress. “Because what you are describing isn’t real. You said so yourself. It’s a dream. When we walk through those doors, you will be seated on the dais, waiting for the sun and moon to converge and to take your rightful place as a leader. And I will be standing in the crowd, watching you and my brother ascend and break this curse. I will not have the power to divide the universe for pleasure or anything else. I will go back to my kingdom, stare out at the cliff’s edge. Marry someone, maybe not the Duke, but someone and I’ll try to be happy. To live within my means. This is what the fates decided.” 

Another jolt of reality slaps against him. 

“Fuck the fates!” Hoseok roars, slamming his fist into the nearby bookshelf, toppling a few onto the floor. “Stop giving them this much power over us! To decide everything, to rip away the things we want!”

“Stop trying to assume you know what I want!” You yell back. “You don’t! You don’t know me! Stop trying to blame the fates for the world we live in! This is it! This is what we have. And we can’t play pretend that it could ever be any different. There are too many factors, too many risks. You said so yourself you care too much about your people to not do anything, so this feverish, desperate attempt at divorcing yourself from your reality needs to end.

“I’m sorry I fed into it even for a moment. I should have known better. I know it’s scary! I know this is fucking awful. A half an hour ago you were ready to dig your own grave over the reality of things. But that doesn’t mean we just…run from it!” 

“I’m not running! Gods, I’m sorry I just wanted to find some other way to make our bleak reality feel better. So that when I walk into the Great Hall and stand before your monstrous brother, as I let my entire world shift beneath me, I could have something to ground me from what is to come. Do you feel it, too? That feeling of hope that things could be different? Of feeling alive? There’s hope in these dreams we have and–”

“And they’re dreams, Hoseok! They aren’t real!” 

He feels like he’s been flayed open and then dragged through a pile of glass. He can see you drawing the curtain on yourself, going back into that hiding spot that he only just coaxed you from. 

You scoff. “What, you fucking me in a field will somehow fix all of this? Suddenly I will be healed and you won’t become an immortal god slated to stop the end of the world as we know it?” 

Hoseok sucks in a breath. His cheeks heat with embarrassment. Why did he let it go this far?

No, no you were just as much a part of this as him. “You didn’t seem to mind the idea of me fucking you a few minutes ago as you grinded against my thigh,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“Don’t try and act like you didn’t want this too.” 

“Stop! Stop assuming you know what I want!” 

“Stop pretending that no one could ever understand what you want! Stop denying yourself of a life you could be living!”

Your hands clench into fists, and you close your eyes, drawing breath in and out. 

“You know what Hoseok? I feel bad for you. Truly, I do. This is going to be a long road ahead and I know you feel like you don’t have a choice. But that doesn’t mean you get to choose for me. We are both imprisoned by something greater than us. Damned to be pawns in the universe’s game. But you need to get it through your head. This is fate. Like it or not. It’s time we stop dreaming about things that will never be real.”

His stomach sours, the music echoing down the hallway flooding his ears with an awful tinny ring. Somewhere inside me, the steady mountain of rock he’s steeled himself under cracks.

“Don’t say that.” 

You are looking down, though he can hear from the shakiness in your voice you’re on the verge of crying again. “Dreaming is nice, isn’t it? It’s a break from reality. A moment we get to feel alive. But at some point, we have to wake up.” 

“Stop.” He feels the fight leave him as the words lance from his throat, all the heaviness of the world that he’s been fated to carry bursting from him, toppling pillar after pillar, rock after rock among him. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “This is just how it is. You have to be extraordinary. I have to be invisible.”

That goddamn phrase is like pouring acid on his open wounds. You’re doing this on purpose, he realizes. Adding to his agony and he doesn’t know why. 

“Fuck you,” he spits, a knot forming in his throat as he tries to hold back his tears. “Fucking get out of my sight.” 

You reach for the door handle, turning it and opening it a crack. 

Bright light bursts forward, almost knocking Hoseok down. He can no longer see your face in the shock of it, just the glimmer of your gown as it captures the beams of the sun, using the very thing he will soon rule to blind him.  

“I know you think you’re not worthy of this. Or that you can’t do it. But you can. I was there on your birthday. Maybe I was too good of a shadow or you were too drunk to remember. But you saw me as you snuck out, begged me not to say anything. So I didn’t. And I watched the fireworks from the window. Saw the spark that caught the fire. And Hoseok,” he can hear a smile in your voice. “At no point did I ever stop thinking it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” 

If there were any more rocks left in the mountain, they’ve now buried Hoseok alive under them. The fury and fight left extinguishes. With his eyes finally adjusting to the brightness, he watches you walk out of the dark study, toward the Great Hall, never looking back.

The rage that licks at him starts to fall away, the dullness of the room now more familiar and steadying.

After a few moments, he composes himself, sliding the mask of allegiance, passion, and love back into place over his crumpled spirit. You are right. This is just how it is.  

When he steps into the light, a flicker of something on the wall catches his eye, and he realizes it’s a refraction of light like the ones you caused in the study. But you’re nowhere to be found in the hallway. Puzzled, he looks down at himself, his chest tightening at the realization. 

The glitter of your dress has transferred onto him, a large concentration of it along his crotch, but it’s everywhere, even in his hair. In a flurry, he tries to brush it off, to not draw suspicion from other party goers about you two humping like wild animals in his father’s study. But he realizes it’s useless. 

You’ve left your mark on him and he can’t get rid of it. As he catches his glimmering reflection in the window, Hoseok can’t help but think that he looks like he’s covered in stars. 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[thehealingdance]

THe retreat ended a month ago today. And what a retreat that was. A retreat and a half! It took me two weeks to recover - physically, emotionally, mentally, and yes, energetically as well.

Tune into the incredibly powerful enegery for some transformational shifts in your life!

[guerillas-of-history]

🟢 Martyr Izz El-Din Al-Qassam Brigades:

—

In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful

"And do not consider those who have been killed in the cause of Allah as dead; rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision."

O sons of our struggling Palestinian people...

O masses of our Arab and Islamic nation:

The Martyr Izz El-Din Al-Qassam Brigades exalts the ascension of the great martyr leader Yahya Sinwar "Abu Ibrahim", leader of the Islamic Resistance Movement Hamas, who ascended, advancing and not retreating, in the most honorable of battles in defense of the blessed Al-Aqsa Mosque and our people and their legitimate rights. It is a source of pride for our movement to present leaders before soldiers, and for its leaders to lead the convoy of martyrs of our people who gave their lives and blood for the sake of Allah and on the path to liberating Palestine, and for its leader to be martyred among his fighting brothers, a hero engaged in combat with the invaders who thought that Gaza could be an easy prey for their cowardly army.

The journey of our leader, Abu Ibrahim, was an honorable jihadist journey, during which he was from the founding generation of the Islamic Resistance Movement, Hamas, and its military and security apparatuses. He sacrificed the prime of his youth as a prisoner in the occupation’s prisons for more than twenty years before he was released with his head held high in the “Loyalty of the Free" deal. Once he was released from prison, he insisted on continuing the journey of jihad, refusing to rest. He supervised the movement’s military work in the three regions and had an important role in the path of unifying the resistance fronts on the road to Al-Quds. Then he headed the Movement in Gaza, and his leadership period constituted a qualitative shift in its advocacy, political and military journey that culminated in Al-Aqsa Flood and in the path of national relations and joint resistance work. He later led the movement at home and abroad following the martyrdom of the great leader Ismail Haniyeh.

When the resistance factions, with Hamas at the forefront, decided to enter this major, decisive battle in the history of the Palestinian people's struggle and our nation's journey, they knew the price of liberation was very high, a price all nations paid before freeing themselves from their occupiers. They were ready to lead the ranks of the sacrificers, offering both leaders and soldiers, refusing to submit to the enemy or remain silent about its oppression and theft of our people's legitimate rights. Our jihad will not cease until Palestine is liberated, the last zionist is expelled, and all our legitimate rights are restored. The greatest proof is that after a year of the Al-Aqsa Flood battle, our people have neither broken nor surrendered, despite the immense costs and the brutal genocidal crimes of the zionist entity.

This criminal enemy is delusional if it thinks that by assassinating the great leaders of the resistance such as Sinwar, Haniyeh, Nasrallah, Al-Arouri and others, it can extinguish the flame of the resistance or push it to retreat. Rather, it will continue and escalate until the legitimate goals of our people are achieved. Martyrdom is the highest thing our leaders desire, and their blood will be a beacon that lights the path to liberation and a fire that burns the aggressors. Our leaders have left behind hundreds of thousands of fighters from our people and our nation who are determined to confront the zionist occupation until Palestine and Al-Aqsa Mosque are cleansed of its filth and it is swept away from our land, Allah willing.

Indeed, it is a jihad of victory or martyrdom.

Martyr Izz El-Din Al-Qassam Brigades - Palestine

Friday 15 Rabi' al-Thani 1446 AH corresponding to 18/10/2024 AD

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 9 / The Snake

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 2.7K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary/Setting: Based on the prologue/premise from my OneShot “A Midwinter Carol.” / Astarion and the OC broke up after his ascension. She left Baldur’s Gate for fifteen years, only to return just recently. Following the events of “A Midwinter Carol,” Ascended Astarion has been convinced to pursue a new beginning. Will he be able to change who he has become, with the help of his ex-lover or will he ultimately fall victim to himself?

Preview:

He’s covered in the evidence of his wrongdoings. Hells, he can’t speak to Ani like this, with blood literally on his hands, drenched in the crimson color of all his past mistakes. 

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

-----

Astarion’s pulse begins to thrum in his ears the moment he sees Eirianwen — or rather, unknowingly sees Delilah, shapeshifted into the appearance of Eirianwen — dart from view, away from the doorframe. His hands and face are caked in slowly drying, scarlet smears of the now-dead Edmund’s blood, but he doesn’t notice. He leaves the partially decapitated head of the foreign spawn, its skull smashed in and ichor spilling out, abandoned on the office floor with the rest of the corpse. 

The immortal elf scrambles forward, out of the office, and desperately calls after the woman he thinks to be his beloved sorceress as she sprints down the marble-floored hallway. There is a split second when Astarion notices the woman's pause and it causes his heart to flutter in brief relief. But then she turns to look at him, and the unmistakable hatred on her visage cuts through the Ascendant like one of her ice knives. Her cold, unforgiving gaze snuffs out the final embers of hope he held in his chest. 

This wasn’t the first instance Ani thought him a monster. He didn’t know what felt worse, her disappointment the first time or her hatred this second time. 

His stomach drops when the woman misty steps away, toward the dungeon, and quickly retreats down into its depths. She abandons Astarion on the upper level of the Palace, his voice still echoing after her. 

Another nice, simple plan burning up in flames from another loss of control. He’s left standing in the charred ashes of his own actions once again. 

Astarion’s heart hammers in his chest, threatening to break through the marbled surface of his skin as he quickly considers all his options. Finally, the Vampire Lord decides that regardless of if he currently wants to face Ani or not, he has no choice. The poison may still be in her system, and if he does not follow the sorceress, the rings will not continue shielding her. 

He refuses to be responsible for that, too. 

With no more than a quickly barked order at his spawn to stay behind, the Ascendant morphs into a cloud of smoke and reanimates in front of the dungeon entrance. He moves to rip the door open with a bloodied, shaking hand, but then suddenly pauses, restless fingers clinging onto a cold, heavy brass knob. 

Ani is going to want to leave. He knows her well enough to know this. Fifteen years later, and this feels eerily similar to the situation that had finally caused her to walk out of the Palace, never to return. 

Though last time, the dead spawn had been his own. Not a foreign one. 

Astarion knows he cannot react in the same manner he had back then, because it will simply drive the sorceress  away. The more he tightens his grip, the faster she slips through his fingers – that was always the way with Ani. He loathed it.

He cannot afford to lose her again. He doesn’t want to lose her again. 

With his hand still clutching the knob, Astarion closes his eyes, bows his head, and steels himself. He sucks in a deep breath in and holds it for a moment or two before his lungs slowly release the unneeded air. When his lids flutter open, the Ascendant notices his disastrous, intimidating reflection in the perfectly polished floor beneath him.

A madman stares back. 

He’s covered in the evidence of his wrongdoings.

Hells, he can’t speak to Ani like this, with blood literally on his hands, drenched in the crimson color of all his past mistakes. 

The Vampire Lord pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and hastily swipes it across his face and limbs, aiming to quickly clean himself. His fingers tremble as he works, causing his normally nimble hands to fumble, as he removes what debris he can from his flesh. 

It’s not enough, but it will have to do. 

He’s wasted too much time already. 

With a single sharp inhale, Astarion rips the heavy dungeon door open and descends down the cobblestone steps. He unknowingly walks into the viper’s nest. 

*

Delilah is facing the damp, stone wall of the dungeon as she prepares herself for Astarion’s entry. She knows without a doubt that he will follow her here; his obsession with Eirianwen seems to compel him far beyond what any potion or spell ever could. 

When the shapeshifter hears the creak of the dungeon door, her hand instinctively wraps around the dagger. Ancient arcane magic flickers from the hilt of the God Killer, emitting a warm buzz of energy that tingles at her fingertips and electrifies her entire body with potential. The vision of Edmund’s mangled corpse won’t leave her mind; she suddenly bursts into tears. 

She thinks a part of her might have actually been fantasizing about living an immortal life with Edmund. The possibility of such a future had been there, at least, until the Ascendant violently ripped that opportunity, like so many others, from her hands.

Astarion deserves to die just as violently as Edmund had. He deserves worse, but Delilah will settle for this. 

“Ani…” Astarion calls as he approaches the woman, his voice a soft coo, much like someone might speak to a frightened child. 

The Vampire Lord comes a few steps closer, his boots squeaking across wet stone as he moves painstakingly slowly, unsure what else to do but make his way toward Eirianwen and try, somehow, to smooth things over. He thinks perhaps he should calm her just enough that he is able to coax her back upstairs, away from this space that holds horrible memories for them both. They’d both nearly died here at one point or another; a tremor runs up Astarion’s spine as the memories assault his brain. 

He needs to get Ani back upstairs, back into the space that holds far better memories of lovemaking in the bedchamber and waltzing in the great hall. Back into the space that remembers the sounds of their laughter rather than the sounds of their screams. 

Eirianwen isn’t responding to him; the pitiful noise of her crying ricocheting off the walls causes his stomach to twist in knots as he inches closer. His fingers continue to tremble with nerves; he clenches them into balled fists. 

“Ani, darling…” Astarion murmurs as he reaches his hand toward the woman. He thinks he might have to grovel, to convince her to come back upstairs, but the sounds of her tears have completely dissolved whatever might have remained of his pride just before he entered the dungeon. 

The moment his hand brushes against hers, Delilah recoils in revulsion and then strikes in rage. She spins and sweeps the blade in an arc with an uninhibited scream, slicing into flesh, aiming for the Ascendant’s heart.. With the floodgates of wrath open, the woman is a sharp contrast to her normally calculated self and her strike is uncharacteristically haphazard. The blade pierces itself halfway into Astarion’s shoulder with a squelch, startling a yelp of shock from the elf as arcane magic snaps through his system like lightning crackling through the night sky. 

The pain is intense. 

“Eirianwen—” Astarion hisses, a sharp swallow of breath preventing him from saying anything further as his hands wrap around the blade’s hilt. Warm blood trickles in tendrils down his skin. He feels the woman using all her strength to fight back against him, almost as if she is wholly intent on forcing the dagger deeper into his body. 

At first, the Vampire Lord thinks Eirianwen is just terrified and acting in misguided defense. But then he looks down, and his heart shatters.

She is brandishing the God Killer, he realizes, as another thrust of the blade releases a second snapping, azure ripple of arcania which severely dampens his Ascendant strength. His sweating palms lose their grip on the dagger; it slips forward, burying itself to the hilt. 

Eirianwen was the only other being to know the location of the Jaithiman Dagger; they’d found it during renovations to the Palace. When it was discovered, Astarion suspected the weapon was what Cazador had accused him of stealing years ago. Someone had been smart enough to hide it from his predecessor… it just hadn’t been Astarion; he hadn’t even known it existed back then. 

But that meant Eirianwen came to the dungeon and grabbed the blade intentionally. She planned this. This wasn’t simply a rushed act of fear, this was murderous intent. 

She wants him dead. 

The Ascendant's eyes widen in terror as he realizes he’s watched a similar scene play out before, the night that Gale, Faerun’s newest god, showed him a vision of his own future. 

But no, this couldn’t be happening, could it? He’d done differently, he’d chosen differently— he’d tried to talk to Ani, ask her for help—

No, no, no. 

There is still time, he can still fix this. 

Astarion rapidly steps backwards, both increasing his distance from the woman and swiftly removing the blade from his own chest. The trickle of blood from the wound turns into a river running down his doublet, drenching the embroidered finery in crimson. He immediately raises both shaking hands and splays the fingers apart with sweaty, open palms facing the woman in a sign of truce. 

She’s still staring at him with such cold-hearted hatred. He cannot stand it. His heart is cantering in his chest and echoing in his ears as he warily watches the woman approach. 

“Ani– please, put the dagger down,” the elf begs; his voice cracks at the end, and he cannot even be bothered to try and cover the mixture of emotions causing his steely constitution to falter. In a final, desperate plea, he whispers, his throat suddenly dry and voice wavering on every syllable, “meleth e-guilen, just— gods, please—“

There is a minute pause in the woman’s advancement as Delilah processes the incredible idiocy of the bastard before her. Astarion thinks it is Eirianwen that just stabbed him, and yet he still called her the love of his life in their native tongue.

So much power, wasted on this spineless man, made possible only with the help of that stupid sorceress sleeping upstairs. 

Gods, she loathes them both; she’ll happily send them both to hell. 

Delilah screams and surges forward again, brandishing the blade as she aims to slash a line in the flesh of Astarion’s face. Let the real Eirianwen find him on the floor, his visage destroyed beyond recognition, as retribution for what he did to Edmund. 

The Vampire Lord gasps and dodges just enough to narrowly outmaneuver the knife as it aims for his cheek. He isn’t quite quick enough to avoid the weapon making contact with his ear. 

The searing, white-hot pain that instantly surges through Astarion’s ear is almost incomprehensible. An anguished scream is forced from the elf’s throat as he reflexively crouches and clasps his hand over the wound. His shocked mind is reeling as he tries to process what is happening. 

His single source of comfort has turned to chaos. 

Delilah uses Astarion’s distraction to shoot a powerful dome of thunder from her palm, sending the Vampire Lord crashing into the unforgiving stone wall, the back of his silver-haired head cracking into cobblestone. Astarion grunts as he falls to the floor, his vision blurring from the concussive force with which he hit the wall. 

The elf scrambles to his feet, his body still recovering from the blast as his ears ring and blood drains from multiple wounds on his head. Everything moves in slow motion as the woman charges forward again, the dagger suspended over her head with a two-handed grip. Astarion lifts his hand to cast something against her, or perhaps strike her, but his fingers shake with effort as he tries to override his consuming desire to protect the woman that wants to kill him. 

He can’t do it. His love for her will be the death of him. 

If Eirianwen is truly so set on taking his life, then perhaps he is the monster he swore he would never become. If she truly hates him this much, perhaps he deserves it. 

He thinks he understands; he hates himself, too. 

Astarion slams his eyes shut as he waits for the blade’s impact and hopes beyond hope this horrible vision is just one of his many nightmares. He thinks he is going to have to hurt Eirianwen to stop this, and the thought alone makes him consider death, instead. 

Death might be easier than this. 

Astarion hears the dagger slicing through air before blood rushes into his ears again, effectively deafening him as his body prepares for further damage. But the pain never comes. 

When the elf’s eyes snap open, he instantly furrows his brows in confusion. The weapon is lodged into a giant, frozen barricade as fractals of ice shoot about the room. Eirianwen is separated from him by a thick wall of ice. 

When Astarion turns to search for the source of his shield, he peers through the crystalline partition and spots — gods below —  Eirianwen bolting down the dungeon steps, flanked by his two spawns. A sudden wave of realization floods the Vampire Lord’s system in a blend of relief and rage. When his head snaps back to Delilah, she is already tearing the dagger from ice with a frustrated growl. 

He thinks to attack Delilah, but as soon as the weapon is in hand, the shapeshifter disappears from sight. Four sets of eyes try to trace her whereabouts, but the only indication of Delilah’s path is the resounding slam of the secret exit hidden at the end of the corridor. 

The two half-orc spawn move to chase after the shapeshifter, but immediately stop when Astarion barks a gruff, “Leave her; I guarantee she’s already gone.” 

His hand comes to cover the wound still gaping from his shoulder as he groans and leans against the dungeon wall for support. His limbs suddenly feel like lead and his bones ache; there’s a sharp pounding in his head and warm trickles of blood leak from more places than he can count. 

The real Eirianwen dispels the ice barrier with a flick of her wrist and slowly approaches the Ascendant, her eyebrows stitched together as she attempts to process what she just witnessed. 

The sorceress lifts her hand to cast a healing spell, but when she finally catches sight of the blackened veins branching up her arm, she freezes. Her wide eyes flicker from her hand to Astarion’s face, silently asking him thousands of questions with a single worried look. 

Astarion winces and sucks in another breath as he presses his hand harder into his own shoulder, aiming to stop the blood still dribbling from the wound. His gaze flits between Eirianwen’s honey-colored eyes, searching for any of the hatred he’d found in the duplicate pair on the shapeshifter. Something within the Ascendant calms when he doesn’t find a trace of loathing on her face. The breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in slowly escapes him. 

He swallows, and his free hand comes toward the woman’s marred, blackened one. His fingers beckon her as he murmurs, “Good to see you awake. Let’s get you fed and cleaned up, Ani… and then… well, suffice to say we have quite a lot to talk about.” 

Eirianwen blinks but says nothing. Her mind is working to fill in the gaps; the last thing she remembers is Astarion kneeling in front of her at the auction. And gods, she feels as if she’s terribly ill. There is a flicker of hesitation behind her eyes, but then the sorceress flexes her fingers outward and accepts the offered hand. 

Astarion quickly notices the weakness in her grip, but his heart still jumps at the contact. He offers a reassuring squeeze to Ani before guiding her back toward the steps that lead up to the Palace. His thumb is clasped over hers, the digits binding the two elves together as they ascend.

The palm of his hand pressed flush against Ani’s is an exceptionally chaste form of skin upon skin, and yet the elf’s entire body feels as if it’s aflame. 

Astarion is holding his breath again. 

-----

Tags: @anukulee

[phantompanties]

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Volo x Fem!Reader

Summary: this is an excerpt from chapter 26 of my long slow burn Legends Arceus fic called "I Got Sent Back In Time And All I Got Was This Lousy Arc Phone". At this point in the story it's during the reader's banishment from Jubilife Village, and currently her mental state is suffering due to the danger and betrayal she's faced thus far. Volo is not a good person and this whole thing isn't out of love, but out of hunger for power. A narcissistic god complex power fantasy. It nearly borders on noncon so if that's not your thing, please don't read and be safe. Its on brand for this blog so I thought id post it :3

Tags: male masturbation, power fantasy, excerpt of a bigger fic, blowjob, dacryphilia, corruption kink, none of this actually happens its just a sick bastard's fantasy, noncon if you squint, volo is a BASTARD a BAD PERSON an EVIL LITTLE WEASEL

Now that everyone had retired for the night, Volo was actually glad Adaman offered you his tent. If you were sleeping in his tent, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself from acting on his impulses.

He remembered the other night when you fell asleep crying, desperately trying to keep quiet so as not to rouse his attention. Your mental state was so vulnerable… and Volo enjoyed it. He felt like a Glameow toying with a defenceless little Pichu before devouring it. The best part? The little Pichu had no idea she was being toyed with. If he was being honest, he grew to love how sweetly naive you were. At first, he found you to just be dumb, thinking that your recklessly rushing into danger for the sake of the Galaxy Team was you having a stupid death wish. But as you grew more and more scarred and broken, latching onto any stranger who showed you positive attention, he found it intoxicating the way he swayed you to his whim. Even though he was sure Arceus must have warned you not to associate with him if what you told him about being led astray was anything to go off of, you ignored it, choosing to leap into his arms when the world fell into ruin. Volo knew that he had you wrapped around his finger, and it was a high he couldn’t get enough of. If Adaman hadn’t been here to suggest you sleep in his tent that night, Volo would have had great difficulty holding himself back. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to do what he wanted to do, oh no. The way your big sweet eyes gazed up at him like he was some kind of saviour made him crazy, like he wanted to tear you apart and devour you whole. It was the fact that if he acted, it would ruin his credibility amongst the insects that swarmed you two. Adaman was clearly protective of you, even going so far as to declare you his honourary sister. Despite his teasing a few nights prior, Volo knew Adaman held trust in him not to harm you. If he weren’t here, Volo would have pounced. Volo saw the way you flushed whenever he’d smile at you, how flustered you’d get when he called you his favourite customer. Surely you felt something for him, even if it was the slightest infatuation.

Volo couldn’t help his mind from racing as he tossed and turned in his bedroll. The more he thought of your innocent watery eyes, the more uncomfortable he felt in his trousers. He groaned, pushing the covers off of him. When he sat up, what caught his eye was the mannequin in the corner dressed in his latest project. It was very nearly complete, only needing hemming on the pants and the golden fabric details to be sewn to the white toga itself. Volo had slaved away at this particular project for years, only able to work on it between visits to the retreat. It was an outfit based on the depictions of clothes ancient Celestica priests would wear way back before the genocide. Volo let his mind wander to when he’d finally don the outfit at the Temple of Sinnoh, where he’d use the power of the Seer of Time and The Seer of Space to overthrow Arceus. You’d be there, of course. He wants you to be there to witness his ascension. He wondered then if you’d oppose him or worship him at his feet. Certainly, you’d worship him, right? You were going against Arceus’s will by choosing him after all. Oh, how delicious would it be to take you at Arceus’s altar? Forcing the detestable god to watch as he taints its strongest soldier right in front of its eyes?

Volo palmed the bulge straining his smallclothes, imagining just how he’d ruin you up there on the peak of Mt. Coronet. He imagined your innocent watery eyes gazing up at him from the floor as he fished his cock from his trousers, spitting into his palm to lubricate it. Would you know just what to do, or would you have to be guided like the servant of divinity you were? Fuck, the thought of him guiding you as you used your mouth on him made him twitch. He imagined himself gripping your hair, forcing his cock into your mouth. Would you gag? He hoped so. He wanted you to struggle to take him as he used you for his pleasure. He fisted his cock, imagining himself fucking your mouth while tears helplessly poured from your eyes and spit dribbled down your chin as you tried so desperately to please him, the man who will become your new god. Arceus will weep as it witnesses Volo breaking its chosen hero, and Volo will laugh in its face. In his mind, your throat bulged every time Volo thrusted into your mouth. He remembered how pitiful you looked the day he found you sobbing by the riverbank, and by Arceus did he wish that he could make you look that way. He caressed his balls with his other hand as his hips thrust into his fist.

“Take it, (y/n)...” he mumbles. “Worship me at my altar while Arceus watches… know who you will belong to…!”

When he came close, he imagined himself releasing deep into your throat, not pulling out until he was spent. It was the next thought that sent him over the edge. You’d pull off him, trying desperately to catch your breath with your pink tongue hanging out of your mouth. “Th-thank you… Lord Volo…” you’d pant, wiping the spit that dribbled from your mouth. Volo grunted, biting his hand to muffle the sound of pure ecstasy as he came into his fist.

When Volo came down from his high, breathing heavily, he shuddered in delight as he found he quite enjoyed where his mind went.

Oh yes, faller of the rift… Arceus’s chosen one… Volo will break you.

[shirecorn]

Love the implication that Sunset returns to the equestria, becomes a full fledged goddess/alicorn, then goes back through the portal to be a "normal" human after a while. Between that and the "read your mind and know the color of your heart" thing I could see her being the alicorn who understands the mortal perspective the most after ascension, even if that doesn't necessarily mean she can connect/interact with them like twilight can.

I think sunset probably spends most of her time in the human realm. Most alicorns have years and years to come to grips with their godhood before it fully sets in. She feels just a few minutes of that power and retreats. Because apparently in equestria girls when you get a lot of power at once and you aren't full of good vibes you get insta-evil. its a scary place to be