#my mother's wedding

[waltermis]

😳😳

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The peach tree beams so red, How brilliant are its flowers!

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[rookanisstuff]

The Dellamortes

[gatoburr0]

The divine, one of a kind bride and the ugly ass groom.

[heyimkana]

AS PROMISED ON THE COMMENT I SAID~

How would Jinwoo meeting reader’s parents go?? ✨🫣

OKAY SO CONTINUATION FROM THIS

I feel like the first time Jinwoo met her parents was also the first time he ever looked nervous—like visibly nervous.

I’m talking about that man spending half an hour standing in front of his closet, trying to decide which outfit best conveyed: “I’m not a pervert, I swear. No, I don’t only think about slaughtering monsters to gain EXP. Yes, I’ve been using protection when I sleep with your daughter. And no, I never initiated it—your daughter did." <- last one is a lie obviously.

He ended up wearing black pants, a grey trench coat, and a black turtleneck… because that’s all he had in his wardrobe 💀

I’m talking about Jinwoo with sweaty palms. Jinwoo looking like this 😐 instead of this 😑 during the drive to her house, which was a remarkable improvement.

“You’ll be fine, jagi,” his girlfriend said, bumping her shoulder against his playfully as they walked through the gate. “You’re an S-Rank Hunter. A celebrity. Everyone’s going to love you.”

He didn’t respond right away. He barely looked like he was breathing. “I’m not nervous.”

“Never said you were.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Well, I’m not.”

“Okay,” she chuckled. “Just remember that I’m lucky to have you, not the other way around.”

Only then did he turn to look at her. Jinwoo grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m the one who’s lucky to have you,” he said softly, sincerely—and it melted her heart a little.

She squeezed his hand, smiling back. “Just be who you are. You’re easy to love.”

She warmed his heart, just like always.

“Yeah,” he mirrored her smile. He took a deep breath. Exhaled. “Your father’s never killed anyone before, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good. Okay, let’s go.”

By the time they entered the house, her parents were already standing by the door. Her mother had the brightest eyes, chirping out his name: “Oh, you’re finally here! You look even more handsome in person!”

She rushed to hug him, and Jinwoo was like 🧍🏻😶.

GF: “Mom, you’re crushing him.”

Mom (sighing contentedly as she pulled away): “It felt like hugging a very warm, very comforting rock.”

Dad: 🧍🏻

GF: “This is my mom. She’s super friendly, obviously. Sorry about that.”

Jinwoo, internally screaming what the hell is going on: “P–pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He offered his hand, but her mother reached out to squeeze his arm instead.

Mom: “Oh my, so this is what an S-Rank Hunter’s body feels like.”

GF (dying inside): “Can you not harass my boyfriend, please? And this is my dad.”

Dad (shaking his hand): “Firm grip. I like that.”

Jinwoo (swallowing hard): “Thank you, sir.”

Dad: “You haven’t been sleeping with my daughter, have you?”

GF: “DAD!”

Jinwoo: 😧

Beru whispered to Igris from the shadow realm: “Sir Igris, what potent force doth that man wield to make our mightiest liege tremble with fear?”

Igris, who had survived a marriage and insufferable in-laws: “You wouldn’t understand.”

But real talk—her mother immediately treated him like her own son. She offered him cookies (and wrapped extra for him to take home for his sister and mother). She even cooked his favorite dish for dinner. Jinwoo was nervous at first, yes, but he quickly felt at home. He smiled often—awkwardly, but sincerely—and he talked more that night than he ever had before.

Her father, though a bit strict and judgmental, wasn’t completely hostile. He kept sliding beers toward Jinwoo (probably hoping to get him drunk and extract the truth about everything lol), but since Jinwoo couldn’t get drunk, it was the dad who ended up wasted at the dining table 💀

Mom (grimacing at her husband drooling on the table): “Sorry. He’s not usually like this. I think he was nervous about meeting you.”

Jinwoo (blinking): “Me? Why?”

Mom (smiling tenderly): “Because you’re the Sung Jinwoo. Everyone knows your name, darling. It still feels unreal to me that you’re sitting in our living room.”

Jinwoo (a little bit awkward): “I’m just a normal guy, ma’am.”

Mom (gaze softening): “I see that now. A very normal, very sweet and charming man. Thank you for being with my daughter—for keeping watch over her when her dad couldn’t, and for taking care of her when I wasn’t there. I know she can be a handful sometimes, but I hope you’ll be patient and love her the way we do.”

Jinwoo turned toward his girlfriend and smiled. “It’s always been her who takes care of me. She makes me feel like I’m home whenever I’m with her.”

His girlfriend turned flustered, but when Jinwoo took her hand beneath the table, she smiled softly at him.

Mom, eyes glistening: “I’m glad you two found each other.”

“Me too,” his girlfriend whispered, stroking her thumb across his knuckles.

Jinwoo took a breath and turned to her mother. “I’m here to properly ask for your permission, ma’am.”

“Permission?”

“I intend to marry your daughter.”

Her mother gasped, eyes wide. His girlfriend lifted her hand, showing off the diamond ring with a sheepish grin. “I said yes.”

“Oh my!” Mom looked ready to cry—then she slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Honey, wake up! Our daughter is getting married!”

Dad (completely drunk, slurring): “Married? She’s like… 19.”

GF: “I’m 25, Dad.”

“Still so young! What are you in such a rush for?” He then glared at Jinwoo. “You. Did you get my daughter pregnant?”

Jinwoo (turning pale): “No, sir—” He turned toward his girlfriend. “No, right?”

GF buried face in hands. Probably contemplated suicide.

Mom: “Oh my god, this is so exciting!!! I’m about to be a grandma!”

Girlfriend: “I’M NOT PREGNANT.”

[gaylittlebillionaires]

more pics of tobias menzies as hamlet in hamlet (2005) that everyone needs to see

[ghostinwinterfell]

“‘Jeyne?’ Robb grabbed the edge of the table and forced himself to stand. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘Grey Wind . . . ”

“It’s hurts so much . . . please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting . . . ”

(ASOS, Catelyn VII)

robb becoming a boy again and asking his mother for his wolf (instead of his wife) vs catelyn becoming a girl again and begging her husband to make it all go away. the horror of their last few moments turning them back into children, looking for comfort from someone who can no longer protect them.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

[selliho6530]

Just look how wonderful they are here!

Just look at the way Linda looks at Paul😍 (and Heather😌)

Cuties 😊

[moonselune]

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt. 15)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Matron!Minthara x Wife!reader

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight part nine part ten part eleven part twelve part thirteen part fourteen part sixteen

CW: Blood, gore

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Kyorlin adjusted his hold on Lythaera, his arms cradling her swaddled form tightly. Her small body was cocooned in dark fabric, preventing her from thrashing or trying to escape, but it didn’t stop her from wriggling in frustration. She glared at him with fiery defiance, her expression so much like her mother's that Kyorlin couldn’t help but smirk despite the situation.

“You can glare all you want, but you’re going to listen,” he said, his voice firm yet softened with an almost brotherly tone.

Lythaera grumbled, her lips pursed in a pout, but she stilled.

“Good,” Kyorlin said, adjusting her slightly as he began his tale. “Do you know why you’re so important, Lythaera?” He didn’t wait for her response. “It’s because of who we are—who you are. You’re descended from Liakyre, an aasimar, and a daughter of the goddess Eilistraee.”

At the mention of the name, Lythaera’s brow furrowed deeply. “Bad,” she said simply, her voice muffled slightly by the fabric.

Kyorlin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You only think she’s bad because that’s what Lolth and her priestesses have drilled into you. That’s what all of us were taught. But Eilistraee fights for our freedom, Lythaera. She doesn’t want us chained to the darkness.”

Lythaera squirmed at his words, her little face scrunching up in disapproval.

“No!” she declared vehemently, her voice rising. “Eilistraee betrayed Mother Lolth! She is an insult to all drow kind!”

Kyorlin sighed, rolling his eyes. “By the Abyss, you sound just like your mother.” He smirked a little at that. “She drilled that into you well, didn’t she?”

Lythaera gave him a triumphant glare, as much as her limited movements allowed.

“Fine,” Kyorlin said, shifting into a softer tone as he continued. “But let me tell you the real story—the one Lolth doesn’t want you to know.”

He began walking again, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the quiet tunnel.

“Liakyre was an aasimar, born of Eilistraee and a mortal man. She was a beacon of light, meant to unite drow and surface dwellers alike. But Lolth, ever the schemer, saw an opportunity. She seduced Liakyre with promises of power, twisting her into a weapon to use against her own mother.”

Lythaera tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

“Eilistraee tried to save her daughter, to bring her back to the light,” Kyorlin continued. “But Liakyre was too far gone. She led armies of drow to slaughter in Lolth’s name, spreading chaos and death. In the end, Eilistraee was forced to make an impossible decision. She killed her own daughter to stop her terror.”

“No,” Lythaera whispered, her voice small but defiant.

“Yes,” Kyorlin said firmly. “And she grieved, Lythaera. She grieved deeply. But she didn’t give up. She turned her focus to Liakyre’s children—our ancestors. She wanted to lead them into the light, to free them from Lolth’s lies. But Lolth had other plans. She kept us in the dark, downtrodden, using us as pawns in her endless schemes.”

Lythaera shook her head, her tiny hands balled into fists against the swaddling.

“Any of Liakyre’s descendants who showed power, she hid,” Kyorlin said, his tone growing more intense. “She used them for her gain, ensuring they never realized their true potential. And then, your mother came along.”

At the mention of you, Lythaera stilled completely, her eyes wide.

“Your mother,” Kyorlin said, his voice softening, “was something Lolth couldn’t hide. Her power was too great, her will too strong. Lolth bound her to House Baenre to ensure her loyalty, to keep her in the cycle. And now she’s doing the same to you.”

“No,” Lythaera said again, but her voice wavered this time.

“Yes,” Kyorlin said, his voice steady. “But you, Lythaera—you’re going to break that cycle. Eilistraee is fighting for you, and so am I. And whether you believe it or not, you’ll see the truth soon enough.”

Lythaera’s lips trembled, but she didn’t say anything more. Kyorlin glanced down at her, his expression softening.

“You’re stronger than you know, little one,” he said quietly. “And I’ll make sure you live to realize it.”

As he continued down the tunnel, the crystalline spider hidden in Lythaera’s robes clicked softly, its presence a silent promise that her true family was coming for her—and that Lolth’s wrath was close behind.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The air in the Underdark is thick, heavy with the promise of violence. Every shadow seems alive, every faint sound echoing like a war drum in your ears. You move with purpose, your body still weary from the ordeal of giving birth mere hours ago, but your resolve burns brighter than the pain. Lolth’s presence lingers around you, an invisible shroud of power and rage, fuelling your every step. Minthara strides beside you, the sacred cocoon bound securely to her chest, its silken threads pulsing faintly with life.

She shifts uncomfortably, still adjusting to the weight and balance of carrying a newborn in such a way. In all this horror it is the one thing you manage to find amusing, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite the grim circumstances.

"Not so easy, is it?" you murmur, your tone teasing. "At least now you understand what carrying a child feels like."

Minthara huffs but says nothing, her focus sharp and her sword hand steady. Her other hand briefly touches the cocoon as if to reassure herself the baby is safe. She may not voice it, but her protective instincts have already wrapped around the child as tightly as the silk encasing her.

Ahead, the meeting point comes into view. Melinoe and Lesaonar wait in the shadows, their forms barely visible until you draw closer. Melinoe stands tall, her daggers sheathed but her posture radiating readiness. Lesaonar, as always, looks slightly out of place, his bow slung over his shoulder more for show than practicality.

As soon as they see you, Lesaonar's jaw drops. His gaze flickers between your face, still pale but determined, and Minthara’s chest, where the cocoon rests.

“Are you serious?” he exclaims, his voice carrying just a hint of a whine. “You just gave birth! I bet you don’t even have a name for her yet, and you’re out here?”

“Keep your voice down,” Minthara growls, her eyes narrowing. Though she doesn't answer him, it is true, neither of you had yet thought of a name for the babe. “Do you want to alert every Seldarine lackey in the Underdark?”

Lesaonar throws up his hands but lowers his voice, leaning closer.

“Fine, but you can’t expect me to pretend this is normal! A newborn strapped to your chest like some kind of battle talisman, and her,” he gestures to you, “barely able to stand, yet charging into battle!”

“I’m standing just fine,” you snap, your crimson eyes glinting dangerously. “And we don’t have the luxury of time, Lesaonar. Kyorlin has my daughter, and I will not let her be offered to that false goddess.”

Melinoe steps forward, her sharp eyes scanning you briefly before settling on the cocoon. Her expression softens, something akin to awe flickering across her features.

“That’s… sacred silk,” she murmurs. “The babe is blessed by Lolth herself.”

Minthara nods stiffly. “The healers believe she’ll break through the cocoon when she’s strong enough. Until then, she stays with me.”

Lesaonar pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two are insane. Absolutely insane. And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” you agree coldly and Lesaonar cannot help but shrink within himself, remembering what happened to the duegar when he last say you in this state. You press them, “What have you found?”

Melinoe takes over, her tone brisk. “We’ve tracked them. They’re heading to the surface, but the Seldarine forces are larger than we anticipated. They’re attacking in waves, clearly trying to stall us.”

Lesaonar crosses his arms. “We believe Kyorlin is offering Lythaera to Eilistraee. To appease her, to gain her favour.”

The words hang heavy in the air. You don’t reply immediately, but the way your fists clench speaks volumes.

“Then we don’t have time to waste,” you say finally, your voice low and full of menace. “We press forward.”

Minthara’s hand briefly brushes yours as you both step past Melinoe and Lesaonar. The bond between you, forged in blood and strengthened by shared purpose, is unshakable.

Moments later, as the cavern walls narrow and the echoes of distant footsteps reach your ears, the seldarine ambush springs. It begins as all chaos does—sudden and violent. Melinoe tenses, her blades drawn in an instant, and Lesaonar stumbles back, fumbling for his bow. From the shadows, a group of Seldarine extremists surges forward, their weapons gleaming in the faint light.

“Ambush!” Melinoe hisses, already disappearing into the darkness, her movements swift and silent.

Minthara steps in front of you instinctively, her blade raised, the silk cocoon swaying slightly with her movements. You call forth your magic, the air around you crackling with power as bolts of energy fly from your fingertips. The extremists rush toward you, their chants mingling with the clash of steel.

The cavern is alive with chaos as the battle rages. Minthara fights with a ferocity that borders on reckless considering what is attached to her, her longsword cleaving through enemy after enemy with sheer brute strength. Her strikes send enemies staggering backward, her presence alone forcing them to reconsider their approach. Each movement is a calculated offense, her aggression an unrelenting tide.

Melinoe, on the other hand, is a shadow slipping through the battlefield. Silent and swift, she darts between enemies, her twin daggers flashing as they find vulnerable necks and exposed arteries. Her movements are elegant, each kill precise and clean. She’s almost invisible in the gloom, a predator among prey.

You stand at the center, the eye of the storm, waves of magical energy radiating from you. Bolts of eldritch power streak through the air, cutting down foes before they can even reach you. Shields of dark energy deflect incoming attacks, but your focus is split. Melinoe stays close, circling you protectively, dispatching anyone who dares approach too close.

Lesaonar, meanwhile, cowers behind you, clutching a delicate-looking bow that’s clearly seen little use. He occasionally looses an arrow, though his aim leaves much to be desired.

“I’m a courtesan, not a warrior!” he complains, ducking as an arrow narrowly misses his head.

Melinoe glances at him over her shoulder, a sly smile on her lips even as she plunges a dagger into an enemy’s throat. “This is why I love you, husband. You’re so… pathetic.”

Lesaonar straightens indignantly, sputtering. “Pathetic? I just saved your life!”

Minthara, cutting down another enemy with a vicious swing, snorts loudly. “How? By hiding behind your sister and missing half your shots? Melinoe, I’ll never understand what you see in him.”

Lesaonar pouts, offended, and turns to you for support. “Sister! Tell them I’m not useless!”

You sigh, hurling another bolt of magic that sends an attacker flying.

“Lesaonar,” you say, your tone dry, “you are still lovingly pathetic. But Minthara and Melinoe can save their bickering after we’ve dealt with this.”

“Thank you!” Lesaonar says, relieved—until your words sink in. “Wait, what?”

Melinoe laughs softly, delivering a swift kick to an enemy’s knee before slashing his throat. “Even your sister thinks you’re pathetic, darling.”

Lesaonar groans but doesn’t have time to argue as the battle intensifies. Minthara shouts over the chaos, “Focus! Unless you want to be dragging your husband’s corpse back to the infirmary!”

Lesaonar’s eyes widen, and he ducks behind you again as another wave of enemies closes in. You roll your eyes but can’t help the faint smirk tugging at your lips as you unleash another spell. Despite the chaos, the banter provides a strange sense of normalcy, a reminder that even in the heat of battle, your peculiar family dynamic remains unchanged.

But as another wave of attackers begins to close in, you feel a surge of frustration at their persistence.

“Enough of this pointless rabble,” you mutter under your breath, clenching your fists. The air around you crackles with energy, and with a sharp gesture, you summon two towering driders from the shadows.

The first drider steps forward, its spider legs clicking ominously against the stone floor. Its twisted form is unmistakable: it was once the acolyte who betrayed you and Minthara on your wedding day, forever cursed for her insolence. The second drider emerges a moment later, and Minthara and Melinoe both freeze in shock.

“Valindra?” Melinoe’s voice is incredulous as she stares at the familiar face twisted into a monstrous form. “She was supposed to be on the front lines.”

Minthara’s eyes narrow. “She made it back months ago. Why is she—” Her gaze shifts to you. “What did you do?”

You glance at Valindra, her monstrous form looming over you, and shrug nonchalantly.

“She made a comment about Verona,” you say simply, referring to Valindra’s daughter, the head of your mistress’ guard. The latter the only ones trusted to hold down House Baenre in their absence. “I didn’t like it.”

Minthara stares at you, her expression torn between disbelief and amusement. “You cursed her into a drider over a comment?”

“Of course,” Melinoe murmurs, shaking her head with a smirk. “This kind of pettiness is usually beneath the Mistress, but when it comes to Verona…”

Minthara chuckles, despite herself, and raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re full of surprises.”

You turn and glare at them both, your crimson eyes flashing. “Do you two mind? We’re in the middle of a battle.”

“Don’t mind us,” Minthara says with a faint grin. “We’re just marveling at your ability to hold a grudge.”

Melinoe smirks. “It’s inspiring, really.”

You shake your head, ignoring their teasing as you stride forward. The driders loom behind you, their presence enough to send a ripple of fear through the enemy ranks. Whatever doubts or distractions linger are banished by the renewed urgency of the fight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The battlefield falls eerily silent in the aftermath of your summoned driders' rampage, their monstrous forms casting long, jagged shadows in the flickering light of glowing fungi. The air is thick with the scent of blood and the tang of magic, and yet you find no satisfaction in the victory. Your crimson eyes scan the ground, noting the shattered remains of enemy weapons and the lifeless forms of the Seldarine extremists. They had been reckless in their assault, and now you understand why.

“They targeted the mounts,” Minthara growls, stepping beside you. Her voice is low, almost a snarl, as she adjusts the silk sling cradling the newborn. “Ours and theirs. They wanted to slow us.”

Your gaze shifts to the remains of the spiders you rode in on, their legs curled inward in death. The extremists’ mounts are no better, their bodies strewn across the battlefield as if the attackers had slain their own to ensure you would be forced to continue on foot. Your fists clench at your sides, magic sparking along your fingers.

“This will cost us time,” Melinoe murmurs, returning from the shadows where she had been scouting. Her voice is calm, but her sharp eyes betray her concern. “If we wait for another scouting party to find us, we’ll lose hours. By foot, it’ll take half a day to reach the surface.”

“A half day?” you snap, your voice echoing through the cavern. “By then, Kyorlin will have done whatever twisted ritual he has planned. Lythaera…” You can’t finish the sentence, your rage surging at the thought of your daughter being offered up to Eilistraee.

Lesaonar shifts uncomfortably behind you. “Sister, calm yourself,” he says hesitantly, gesturing to the blood still staining your fresh robes. “You’re going to reopen your stitches from labor.”

You whirl on him, your eyes blazing. “Calm myself? You expect me to be calm when my daughter is in the hands of traitors? When we have no mounts and precious little time?”

Before Lesaonar can respond, your attention is drawn to a faint, pained groan nearby. One of the extremists is still alive, clutching at a bloodied wound as they murmur prayers to Eilistraee. In a few swift strides, you are upon them, your hand gripping the front of their armor as you drag them upright.

“Where is my daughter?” you demand, your voice a low growl that reverberates through the cavern. “Where is Kyorlin taking her?”

The extremist’s eyes are unfocused, their lips moving in a ceaseless prayer. “Eilistraee’s light… she will guide us… guide her…”

Your patience snaps. The raw power coursing through your veins surges outward as you hurl the extremist to the ground, a blast of magic tearing through their chest and silencing their prayers. The echo of the strike reverberates through the cavern, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

“Enough of this,” you hiss, your hands trembling with the lingering energy of your spell. The glow of your magic reflects in the widened eyes of your companions as they stare at you, their expressions shifting from frustration to astonishment.

“Behind you,” Minthara says softly, her voice tinged with awe.

You whirl around, magic sparking at your fingertips, but the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks. Emerging from the shadows is the crystalline matriarch, her massive, shimmering form radiating an otherworldly light. Her multifaceted eyes glint like prisms, and her eight legs move with deliberate grace. Behind her, two large crystalline spiders flank her, their chitin glistening like polished gems.

The sight is both awe-inspiring and deeply familiar. Memories flood your mind—of your youth, when you sought refuge in the crystalline caverns, earning the respect of the matriarch and her brood. Now, as she looms before you, it is clear her presence is no coincidence.

The matriarch’s towering form looms over you, her crystalline body shimmering faintly in the dim light of the cavern. Her multifaceted eyes glint like polished gems, reflecting your bloodstained, exhausted figure in sharp fragments. She steps closer, her long legs clicking softly against the stone floor, her movements deliberate and cautious.

You stand still, allowing her approach, your breath catching in your throat as she lowers her massive head toward you. One of her sharp yet delicate legs brushes against your arm, the touch oddly tender for such a fearsome creature. It’s as if she can sense your exhaustion, the deep ache in your body from giving birth just hours ago, and the raw, protective desperation that fuels you.

The matriarch chitters softly, the sound reverberating through the cavern. You’ve heard it before, long ago, when you sought refuge among her brood as a young drow. Her presence was a sanctuary then, and now, that same comfort washes over you. She knows. She understands.

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly, and place it against her crystalline surface.

“I need you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “She’s gone. I need her back.”

The matriarch lets out a low, resonant chitter, and her antennae twitch in what feels like acknowledgment. Without hesitation, she shifts her body lower, settling herself into a position that allows you to mount.

Minthara steps forward, the silk cocoon cradled protectively against her chest. She hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering between you and the matriarch. You nod, and she moves with careful precision, climbing onto the matriarch’s broad back beside you. She adjusts the cocoon, ensuring it is secure before placing a steadying hand on your arm.

“Are you sure about this?” Minthara asks, her voice low.

“I am,” you reply, though your voice wavers slightly.

Behind you, Melinoe and Lesaonar stand before the two smaller crystalline spiders that flank the matriarch. Both creatures are imposing, their jagged legs clicking as they shift impatiently.

“I don’t like this,” Lesaonar mutters, eyeing the spider nearest him with open apprehension. “These aren’t battle spiders. They’re…” He trails off, his face pale. These spiders were notoriously savage and Lesaoanar was not going to disregard that over convenience.

“They’re my allies,” you say sharply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “They won’t harm you.”

Melinoe steps forward without hesitation, her daggers still in hand. She places a hand on the spider’s smooth surface, her expression calm despite the obvious danger.

“If they’re with us, then I trust them,” she says simply. She climbs onto the spider’s back with practiced grace, casting a glance over her shoulder at Lesaonar. “Come on, darling,” she says, smirking. “It’s not so bad.”

Lesaonar groans but reluctantly approaches the other spider. “This is not what I signed up for,” he mutters, climbing onto the creature with far less elegance than his wife. He clings to its back, his knuckles white. “I’m a courtesan, not a spider rider.”

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a drow,” Minthara mutters under her breath, earning a sharp glare from Lesaonar.

“Enough,” you snap, your tone cutting through their bickering. “We don’t have time for this.”

With everyone mounted, you turn your gaze to the driders that loom nearby. Their grotesque forms shift in the shadows, their monstrous eyes fixed on you.

“Scout ahead,” you command, your voice cold and firm. “Deal with any Seldarine ambushes.”

The driders hiss in acknowledgment and skitter off into the darkness, their presence a chilling reminder of your power and wrath.

As the matriarch begins to move, her steps deliberate and purposeful, you feel a flicker of hope ignite within you. She isn’t wandering aimlessly. Her movements are precise, her path deliberate. She knows where Lythaera is.

The realization hits you like a tidal wave, and your throat tightens with emotion. Tears prick at your eyes as you lean forward, pressing your forehead against the matriarch’s smooth surface.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

You can’t stop yourself from leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her crystalline head. The matriarch chitters softly in response, her legs moving with unwavering determination.

Behind you, Melinoe and Lesaonar exchange a glance. Melinoe’s expression is soft, a rare show of vulnerability. Lesaonar, clinging tightly to his spider, mutters something about needing a drink when this is over.

Minthara rests a hand on your arm, her grip steady.

“We’ll get her back,” she says quietly.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The surface air is thick and stifling compared to the cool, damp depths of the Underdark. Kyorlin pauses at the cave's threshold, the harsh glow of the sun spilling into the entrance like molten gold, stark and unforgiving. The extremists gather around him, their expressions tense. They are drow, born to the dark, and while they have dedicated themselves to Eilistraee’s path, stepping into the light still feels unnatural—dangerous.

One of the extremists, a younger male with wide, wary eyes, swallows thickly before speaking.

“Our scouts reported… strange things.” His voice is low, uncertain. “They say we are being hunted. That driders stalk the tunnels behind us.”

Kyorlin turns to him sharply.

“Rumors,” he says, though there’s a hard edge to his voice. “Fearful whispers. Lolth’s filth may be chasing us, but they do not command driders.” He forces confidence into his tone, even if part of him wonders whether that’s a lie.

The extremists shift uneasily. Kyorlin knows they feel it too—the growing weight of bloodshed, the echoes of slaughter in the distance. The presence of something monstrous closing in. But they cannot falter now.

He exhales and turns to the still-unconscious form of Lythaera, cradled between two of the extremists. She is their future. Eilistraee’s chosen. He kneels beside her and murmurs an incantation, weaving protective wards over her pale skin. A soft silver glow spreads over her, sinking into her flesh. It should shield her from the worst of the sun’s wrath—enough to let her stand beneath it as she was meant to. With a final glance at his followers, Kyorlin nods.

“Step forward,” he commands. One by one, they move, emerging from the cave’s mouth into the blinding light.

The moment Lythaera’s body touches the sun, she screams.

A raw, agonized sound tears from her throat as her skin begins to sear. She thrashes, breaking from the extremists holding her, and collapses onto the ground. Smoke rises from her exposed skin, and blistering burns bloom across her arms and face.

The wards—his protection—are failing.

“No—no, no, no—” Kyorlin moves swiftly, reaching for her as she convulses, her cries turning hoarse.

The extremists drag her toward the shade of a nearby outcropping, their voices panicked.

“It’s Lolth,” Kyorlin hisses, his hands shaking as he hovers over Lythaera. He clenches his jaw. “She’s punishing her for embracing the light. For choosing Eilistraee.”

The extremists murmur in horror, their eyes darting between Lythaera’s trembling form and the bright, cursed sky above.

But Lythaera doesn’t hear Kyorlin’s words. She chokes on a sob, curling in on herself, her body wracked with pain.

“I—I'm on fire!” she gasps. “Fire!"

The words cut through the group like a blade, hearts breaking for the girl, their resolve beginning to waver. And then, a new sound—high-pitched, sharp, frantic.

A small, crystalline spider scuttles from the folds of Lythaera’s robe, its iridescent body catching the cruel sunlight. It chitters in distress, its delicate legs twitching as it presses itself against Lythaera’s burned skin. Kyorlin recoils. His heart stutters.

Lolth’s spawn.

His hands clench into fists, his breath coming in ragged, furious bursts. He lunges, hand raised, ready to crush the wretched creature beneath his palm—

But his fingers never connect. The crystalline spider moves faster than his eye can track, darting out of reach and vanishing back into Lythaera’s clothing.

“Damn it,” Kyorlin snarls. “We've been tracked this entire time, which means they are close. We need to move now!”

The extremists scramble into motion, hefting Lythaera’s barely-conscious form between them. Kyorlin grips the hilt of his sword, his eyes flashing with rage and something else—something dangerously close to fear. Behind them, deep in the tunnels they left behind, the shadows stir with movement. And Kyorlin knows: whatever is coming for them is nearly here.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn. I promised another chapter and here it is. Poor lythaera... but seems she isn't as powerless as Minthara thinks if you are picking up what I'm putting down...

Hope you guys enjoyed it, please let me know in the comments and I cherish and adore every single like and interaction. Love you all! Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[lulublack90]

Prompt 11 - Fake Date

@wolfstarmicrofic May 11, word count 875

“Eugh, my mum keeps asking who I’m bringing to my cousin's wedding!” Remus groaned as he checked the new message on his phone. “She’s getting worse. Ever since Oscar and I broke up it’s all she cares about.” He shook his head and put on a high-pitched voice, imitating Hope. “Reemuss,” He elongated his name like Hope did with her lilting accent. “Remus, why don’t you have a nice boy to bring to Gwen’s wedding? You should go find yourself someone, Remus.” He grimaced. “Like it’s so easy. She met dad in the middle of a forest when that guy jumped out of the trees at her and dad came to her rescue. Knowing my luck, the would be murderer would fall for me.” He leaned his head back and cursed the heavens. 

Sirius had sat there patiently listening to Remus grouse. He snatched Remus’s phone from his lap and typed a quick message to Hope. 

“There,” He said. “Now you have a date.” He grinned mischievously. Remus paled. 

“What did you do?” He picked up his phone and gasped. “Sirius! What the actual?!” His phone pinged as Hope started gushing about how happy she was and how much she’d always loved Sirius. He had to put his phone on silent to shut it up. Sirius had messaged Hope telling her that he was bringing Sirius as his date. Sirius who he’d had a crush on for years and told his mother every little thing about it. Oh gods, this was going to be a disaster. 

“It’ll be fine, Remus. I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend for the day, and then we’ll mysteriously break up, none of them will be the wiser, and it'll make your mum happy.” Remus groaned into his hands. 

They travelled to Wales the day before the wedding and stayed at Remus’s parents house. Lyall greeted them at the door but then disappeared into his study. He was happy in there and Remus was happy he was in there, to be honest. They’d never quite seemed to quite understand each other and this way was easier, much to Hope’s annoyance. 

Hope, on the other hand, wrapped them both in her arms and cooed over Sirius.

“I knew you’d end up together. You’re perfect for each other.” Sirius lapped it up. The only problem they had was Hope put them in Remus’s old bedroom. They hadn’t thought of that when they’d agreed to stay there. There wasn’t even another spare room. 

“It’ll be fun,” Sirius beamed. “Like being back at school.” 

“We never shared a bed. That was you and James,” Remus reminded him. 

“Well, better late than never then, I guess,” Sirius responded. So that was how Remus found himself in bed with Sirius. 

Thankfully, morning came quickly and then it was time for the wedding. 

Everybody made a fuss about Sirius.

“He’s so handsome Remus,” His grandmother had declared when he’d introduced him. “You ought to put a ring on his finger, so he doesn’t get away,” She’d said loudly. Remus went beet red. 

“Nain, you can’t just yell that out!” He hushed her. 

“And why not? I want to see some great grand kids before I pop my clogs, and you aren’t getting any younger,”

“Oh my god,” He didn’t know how to handle her apart from with a gin and tonic and the bar wasn’t open yet. 

“Don’t you worry, Mrs Howell, I’ll make an honest man out of him.” Sirius said, linking her arm with his and leading her away to her table. He turned and winked at Remus. Remus wished he could turn invisible. 

By the end of the wedding, Sirius had won over all of Remus’s family and all of the grooms. In fact, more people knew who Sirius was at the wedding than knew who Remus was. 

Remus was glad when they were on their way back to his parents house. It had been a long day. “So,” Sirius asked him. “When are you going to pop the question? Your Nain’s promised me her engagement ring.” He grinned, fighting back a laugh at Remus. 

“Oh, haha, Sirius,” Remus rolled his eyes and said no more about the subject. 

That night, much to Remus’s surprise, Sirius snuggled under his arm and rested his head on Remus’s chest. 

“I had fun today.” Sirius told him with a sleepy voice. “Your family is really nice, and I might just steal your Nain. She was brilliant.” He turned his head to look at Remus. “Thank you for letting me come.” He said quietly. 

“You invited yourself. I had nothing to do with it.” Remus huffed. 

He closed his eyes hoping Sirius would take the hint. But instead, Sirius pushed up and kissed him. Remus’s eyes shot open, and he stared at Sirius. 

“I was serious about that ring, Moony. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there.” Remus didn’t know what to say, so he dragged Sirius’s face back to his and kissed him deeper than their first. He melted as Sirius kissed him back. “Took you long enough,” Sirius murmured against his lips. Remus had never been happier. He made a note to send a bottle of champagne to his cousin, because without her this might never have happened.   

[thewales-family]

The official portraits published by Kensington Palace this year (2024)

📷 : The Prince and Princess of Wales, Millie Pilkington, Matt Porteous and Will Warr/Kensington Palace.

[abyssal-ilk]

trespasser wedding with sera and my viv/bastien kid (who has been named luciana and nicknamed lucia/lucy/luce!! inspired by @kitkaedatidler who suggested lucienne 🫶!) hits so different with the added tension of lucia being bastien's bastard. in what i have for her so far in terms of lore, bastien's son and lucia's half-brother, laurent, raises lucia's status as a recognized bastard/potential heir as it was bastien's wish before he died, and it causes. so many interpersonal issues for lucia. namely with the fact that since lucia is both inquisitor and has the blood of such a prestigious family, there is a constant pressure from other noble families of orlais to try and form alliances through marriage. lucia has no interest in becoming any more involved in orlesian politics than she already is, has no interest in marrying or having children with any of them, and it is a massive strain on her when she's already struggling with everything going on with the inquisition, solas, and the anchor actively trying to kill her.

sera's solution is to, of course, marry her. no bigger way to flip the finger to the entire court of orlais than to have the inquisitor marry an elven fereldan woman who fucks over nobles on a daily basis.

[deathandnonexistentialdread]

these cards have very high security

[currentlyonstandbi]

i'm sure it's been said a thousand times by others already but i'm never going to not be thinking about the fact that there's been two people in alex's life who loved him (and who he loved in return) that died in order for him to be born .