#thou shall show no fear

[supermaks]

Seeing the mclarens fly to the top of the time sheets with every lap was criminal

rb20 still cant ride kerbs, home crowd, Max on stream 3.3 seconds after free practice being gay and suicidal, yall ... we might not make it. And if we do we might have to exercise our 2nd amendment right

[buddyhollyscurls]

me preparing to watch this next ep of fruba like if I'm going to fucking war

[frost-queen]

Witches road// part 2 (Fem!reader x Agatha Harkness)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic,@alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer, @slythetic , @p0nycurtis , @quailbagutte , @fantasticcroissantpandagarden, @lanfear-is-my-darkmistress

Summary: Summoning the witches road, you are met up with the first trial. Being close around Agatha once more breaks unfamiliar things out of you. Can you overcome your fears and get a sense of what is becoming of you. [Witches road series]

Gather sisters fire

Water, earth and air

You quirked your eyebrow intriguingly up when you entered the house. Hand sliding on the doorframe whilst entering. Making a loud hum sound, looking around. – “What?” – Agatha asked entering behind you. – “Nothing.” – you responded looking over your shoulder to her. – “It’s just not you.” – you gestured at the clean suburban lifestyle, something unlike her.

“Well I didn’t have it to the picking Y/n.” – Agatha responded annoyed. Chuckling amused, you walked to the living room. Seeing another witch already present. With wide eyes, she looked at you. – “Are my eyes deceiving me?” – she questioned. – “They are not.” – Agatha responded walking past her. Your familiar jumped on the sofa making Agatha hurry over.

“Uh-uh no pets on the couch.” – she started clapping her hands to scare him away. Your familiar hissed back in defence, making her pull her hands back. – “Fine then sit.” – she replied bothered. Jennifer’s gaze went from you to Agatha, keeping a close eye on it. Trying to find something subtle in her behaviour.

She got quickly disrupted when the other witches walked in. – “Let’s summon the road.” – Agatha said happily, clasping in her hands. You started humming the tune of the hymn, going towards her basement. – “Is… is she alright?” – Alice asked with a point at you.

Agatha waved it away, going after you. Down her basement you all came to stand in a circle. Agatha came standing beside you. You glanced down at her offering hand, humming in disagreement as you went around taking Jennifer’s hand. Agatha narrowed her eyes with a soft glare.

Your familiar meowed near her feet, startling her. Looking down at the black cat, she showed him her clawed hand. It made your familiar hiss back at her, hairs up straight. Agatha straightened her posture. A sudden thundering made her freak out. – “Let’s get a move on.”

She grabbed their hands, readying themselves to sing the witches ballad.

Seekest thou the road

To all that's foul and fair

Gather sisters fire

Water, earth and air

Darkest hour, wake thy power

Earthly and divine

Burn and brew with coven true

And glory shall be thine

Your gaze went upwards sensing the hauntingly arrival. Their presence carried by the screeching wind. Like a banshee’s cry sending a wave of crumbled leaves with them. The pressing hour of the witches road nearing. Only one chance to succeed for else the seven would devour her.

Your familiar jumped on your shoulder, laying his tail around your neck. Squeezing your newly sister’s hands, you sang along. The words you had carved in your head for centuries. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road. A pulsating force made you move your chest a bit back. Taken back by it’s intensity. The seven had entered the house. Having stepped over the boundaries.

Your gaze went to Agatha in front of you. Seeing her sing with fear in her eyes. Very well aware of the troubles waiting upstairs. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road.

The chanting became louder and louder. Overpowering the rumbling from upstairs. The ceiling shuddering with snippets of dust fluttering down. Squeezing their hands tight, you felt the primal force of a coven brewing down deep. Gaze fixating at Agatha with a hard stare. Maiden, mother, crone. An ominous sound seeped through the house.

Thundering with an ominous omen. A path one should not take. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road. Roared through the basement. Chanting loudly with every might from your lungs. Elevating with the brewing hymn. Looking up, you let the chanting fully consume you. To glory at the end.

Hands were released as all looked breathless at each other. For an eerie moment, everyone wondered if it worked. Emptiness. Whilst Agatha and the others were bickering. Knowing what was at her doorstep, you lowered yourself. Kneeling down to touch the cold ground. Your familiar jumped off your back, meowing soft.

You started to hum the hymn once more, brushing your hand over the ground. Closing your eyes briefly. When your hands felt roughness, you opened your eyes once more. Thundering rushed down the stairs as the teen appeared out of breath. – “Is that the door?” – he asked breathless. All looked at him before looking down at the ground. You were smiling wickedly at the door. Agatha immediately knelt down to pull the slots open.

“Help me!” – she yelled out with urgency. All came to her help. Revealing a set of steps. Stone and cold. You whistled brief as your familiar jumped on your shoulder. – “Down, down, down.” – you whispered taking the first step. Others quickly followed, going down. Letting the road consume them. Agatha closed the doors before the seven could claim her.

Following the glowing bouncing off the walls, you lead them down. A smile curling up when you met with the woods. Taking a deep breath, you let it consume your lungs. Letting it take over every breath of you. The teen came standing beside you, smiling excitingly at you. You smiled back at him as your black cat stuck his head out to him. The teen looked wonderous over to you.

With a simple nod of yours, you accepted. The teen reached out to scratch your cat behind the ear. – “May I ask you something Y/n?” – he dared to ask, lowering his hand. You hummed softly with a nod. – “How… why… why… were… you?” – he started, stumbling a bit over his words. Unsure how to phrase it. – “Buried?” – you responded knowing where he was going with it.

Staring off into the distance, your mind got pulled back a memory. Standing frozen as the teen tried to get a reaction out of you by waving his hand before you. – “Crawling all the way…” – you said numbly. Your cat meowed in your ear, making you shake your head awake.

Plastering on a smile, you looked back at the teen. Tapping his nose with a playful shrug. You then hummed loudly to hop after the others. – “Is… is she alright?” – Alice asked Jennifer lowly. Jennifer moved her gaze onto you. – “I’ve only heard rumours, but she was betrayed…” – Jennifer responded. – “By whom?” – Alice wanted to know. Jennifer only looked in Agatha’s direction as it said enough.

Alice nodded nervously as it made a bit more sense. Agatha came to a stop, turning round to everyone. – “We will be tested at every possible given.” – she explained. There were some uncertainties amongst the sisters. Unsure how they would be tested to find glory at the end. – “Shall we?” – Agatha exclaimed, clasping her hands together. She noticed your gaze was fixated on the ground. 

Staring lost at it, almost like in trance. Agatha chuckled nervously coming over to you. She came standing behind you, taking you by the shoulders. – “Y/n, let’s go.” – she whispered to you, her lips close to your cheek. You numbly rocked your body wobbly on your heel. – “Let’s go…” – she repeated tugging on your shoulder to follow her.

When Agatha turned around she noticed Mrs. Hart… uhum Sharon had taken off. It made her groan loud needing to search for her. All of you started to run, hearing screams. Screams filling the witches road like an embrace. Familiar and known. Your eyes widened seeing Mrs. Hart trying to pull her purse out of a puddle of mud. Slowly devouring her purse. Making it one with the earth.

You rushed over to her, grabbing her by the ankles, ready to pull along with Jennifer as your eyes fell on the mud puddle. Seeing how it was swallowing the purse whole. It made your whole heart empty, waiting for the beat to come out. – “Y/n! Y/n!” – Jennifer called out as you weren’t helping.

Agatha noticed the trauma reflecting deep in your eyes as it made her come to assist. Grabbing the ankle with your hands around it to assist in tugging. Mrs. Hart got pulled back, making you fall down. Blinking rapidly, you crawled on top of Agatha. A distant look in your eyes, as you held a stick against her throat. Pushing it slightly into her skin.

Cheeks trembling with fury as a part of you wanted to jab it through her throat. Agatha had moved her hands up, seeing you were miles away. A darkness deep in your eyes. – “Y/n.” – the teen spoke approaching you. – “Lower the stick…it’s alright…” – he said calmly, reassuring you. – “Y/n… it’s alright…” – he came kneeling beside you.

“Let Agatha go Y/n.” – he spoke softly reaching for your hand. Panting loud, your hand trembled. Once the teen moved his hand over yours, it seemed to steady. He slowly moved the stick away from Agatha’s throat. Taking your other hand to help you off Agatha and up your feet. Agatha touched her throat for a pinch.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” – you told the teen, not sure what overcame you. – “It’s alright.” – he responded with a soft smile. Your familiar came brushing against your leg, making you look down at him. Kneeling down, you picked him up, letting him snuggle against your chest.

The comfort of him brought you back to reality. Not sure what had overcome you. – “Has that always been there?” – Jennifer asked after some silence. Making you all look at the house in the distance. Agatha smirked coming nearer. All of you followed her towards the house. You remained in the back, feeling out of yourself. Like you had no idea who this person was.

This person that seemed to keep trying to crawl her way out. Been in the darkness for a very long time. Chained and shackled. The house was warningly welcoming.  Looking at the others, you saw there had been a change in appearances. It made you rub your hands nervously together. By the diner table, you stood holding the glass of wine up.

Mrs. Hart drank the wine in one breath, making you raise your brow at her. – “Shall we take the girl talk to the sofa?” – she said tipsy making you all return to the living room. You took a deep breath, feeling a shiver up your spine when Agatha stroke her finger up your arm.

“Do not drink it.” – she whispered to you with a witchy smile. It made you stare down your glass. Seeing the wine swirl around like blood. Glaring at her, you moved the glass up. – “I stray not from the path, I hold death’s hand in mine.” – you told her before emptying your glass down your throat. Down, down, down it went. Agatha’s gaze widened. With a beckoning look, you threw your glass against the ground.

Shattering into a dozen pieces. It made her jump back to avoid the shatters. The first symptoms appeared with Mrs. Hart. Her face all swollen, you could barely recognize her. Then it consumed the others. Taking each and one witch. Poison. The wine was poisoned. Your cat meowed soft at the first trial. Counting down till the hour of death. Waiting patiently at the door for unsuccess.

For the only wakening to keep death at bay was an antidote. Jennifer send everyone off. You went with Lilia and Agatha. Haunted by the hour of death and it’s testing. For a witch would be tested greatly.

The chime of a bell made you stop in your tracks. Lilia and Agatha continuing. Another bell chimed as it send a shiver down your spine. Feeling the room turn, you slowly turned around. An ominous sound grasping you when you stared down at an empty grave. A bell chiming twice.

A banshee’s cry carried by the wind as crumbled leaves fluttered over your feet. Down. Down. Down. The empty hole in the grave seemingly enlarging till the very crust of the earth. A gaping mouth ready to swallow you whole. Your body started to shock a bit. Feeling a cough come up. The bell chimed for a third time. Trying to hold in the coughs. A thickness in your throat.

Coughing loud, you coughed up earth. Dry earth, coughed out like powder. Seeping out of your mouth as it made you sink to your knees. Kneeling at the bed of the grave, the bellowing emptiness below. Down. Down. Down. Coughing more, the earth from your mouth fell in the empty grave.  

Feeling yourself choke on the earth and sand in your mouth. There seemed to be no end. Thy breathing woven to earth. Trying to grasp for air, you grasped your fingers down your throat. Body wobbling as you felt yourself nearly tip down the gaping mouth of your boundness. All that gravel. Chained and shackled.

Body releasing gravity as you felt weightless. Tipping forwards, ready to meet your earthy bed. A sudden grip on your shoulder made you gasp awake. Blinking rapidly at the vast ground. No more cemetery. No more grave. Touching your mouth, it was clean of any earth. – “Y/n?” – Agatha asked concerned.

She came kneeling beside you as you teared up. Letting yourself fall against her chest, you cried soft. Agatha shushing you soothingly. She placed a sorrowful kiss at the top of your head.

Gaining your senses, you pushed yourself off her. Returning to Jennifer to assist her. She noticed the spooked expression on your face. – “You too?” – she asked, making you nod. One of the side-effects of the poison you weren’t keen on. Your black cat jumped on the counter, purring loudly as you stroke his back. – “Is it true?” -Jennifer asked making you look up at her. – “Did you truly get betrayed?” – she wanted to know.

“It's my whole heart. Weighed and measured inside.” – you responded as it sounded like a riddle to her. – “Deemed and delivered a crime.” – you went on, staring into the distance, still petting your familiar. Not wanting to engage in it further, you picked up your cat, moving away from Jennifer. Jennifer nodded respectfully. The others returned all with their ingredients for the antidote.

You held on close to your familiar, watching Jennifer brew the potion. Your cat jumped onto your shoulder when you held hands to change the potions colour. Needing it to be teal. With the teens blood it reached teal. Letting a fallen hair drop in. The hour of death at your shoulder, breathing down. Trying to outrun it. To escape the hour of death, you drank the potion.

“Hurry!” – Agatha shouted as the glass had broken. Sending a flood of water inside. Your cat jumped into your arms as you ran with it to the open oven. Jennifer crawled through it first. You followed with your cat as the others were behind you. Jennifer’s scream was loud when she went down the slide. Followed by laughter. Cackling with pleasure down the slide till your body bumped against hers. One by one, they went down the slide. All getting up but one. For Sharon was dead.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[avocad1s]

Trial By Combat - 2

Requested By: No One. Original Work.

CW: Impostor SAGAU, Mentions of Punishment, Angst,

Summary: Fontaine fears for your fate.

Note: You all really loved the first part and a lot of people wanted a continuation so I shall provide

If you haven’t finished the Fontaine Archon quest, please exit stage left.

Part One Part Three Part Four

Ever since the day of the duel, it has been raining nonstop in Fontaine.

It was as if the entire nation came to a standstill; many shops refused to open their doors, no trials were being held, and the Hydro Archon hadn't been seen since she falsely accused the Creator of Teyvat.

As doctors quickly carried you away with Clorinde following quickly behind, citizens waited impatiently for any news of your recovery, this sight of you bleeding profusely still plaguing their minds.

The Champion Duelist refused to leave your side even after doctors did everything they could, she sat in the chair waiting for the moment you open your eyes. She wonders what you will do once you do wake up, could you find it in your heart to forgive her? To forgive Fontaine entirely? Regardless what you decide, she is ready to accept it graciously.

Clorinde looks down at her gloved hands, the white cloth that was stained with your golden blood only a week ago. This was the second time she had struck down an innocent, was this the justice she was fighting for? Even if it meant painting the floor with her Creator’s blood? She lets out a sigh as she looks back at your sleeping form, the pattering of rain on the window doing nothing to ease the swirl of emotions within her chest.

-

Although everyone was praying for you to have a speedy recovery, there were some people who demanded answers from their Archon.

“She is supposed to be the God of Justice.”

“How could she not recognize the Creator themselves?”

Focalors refused to show her face in public, she had no answers for her actions, this wasn’t something she could lie about until everyone believed her. This was something that could have true consequences, she couldn’t even be angry if her fellow Archons came to stike her down due to her transgressions.

Only during the dark of night is when she went outside, even though Clorinde had been watching over you this entire time, she had to see how you were doing with her own eyes. Furina kneels by your bed and grasps your hand, she weeps out heartfelt apologies until she couldn’t any longer.

Suddenly she picks her head up, she wipes the wetness from her cheeks as she looks at your face.

“Your Grace?” She says softly, the exaggerated tone no where to be found.

Your hand moves slightly in hers and now she knows she wasn’t hallucinating, “are you awake?” Your eyes open slowly causing the Archon to cry even more as she stands to look at you better.

The door to the room opens as Clorinde and Neuvillette enter, their eyes just as wide as their Archons. The two rush to your side as you try to sit up in bed a rush of pain coursing through your body.

“You should be careful Your Grace,” Clorinde mutters, “we don’t want you to tear open your stitches.”

“Why am I here?” You manage to rasp out gazing at all of their faces. Neuvillette grabs the glass of water next to your bed handing it to you, the water was room temperature, but it was still refreshing to drink.

Furina, who was the most expressive out of the three furrows her eyebrows, “huh? What do you mean?”

“I should’ve died out there..” you mumble. Clorinde looks down in shame.

“I’m apologize Your Grace,” Furina says still holding your hand, “I am a fool, I should’ve recognized you the second you entered Fontaine but instead I…” she trails off.

You stare at her, the look on her face showing just how remorseful she felt, but you couldn’t forgive her. You couldn’t forgive any of them. Not yet at least.

“You gave me no chance to explain myself, I was guilty in your eyes the second I entered your nation.” You pull your hand out of hers causing her to frown slightly.

“I thought that something was amiss but-“

“Then why didn’t you come to my defense? You knew there was no way I could win but you still did nothing. You made no attempt to stop the fight.” You interrupt Neuvillette.

He stops mid-sentence, his nonchalant expression never changing as he fails to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry.”

You throw the blanket off your body, the cold air causing goosebumps to appear on your exposed legs.

“Your Grace it’s not a good idea to stand! Your wounds are still healing.”

You ignore Clorinde’s warnings as you stumble to your feet, your hand rests on your torso to ease the throbbing sensation in it.

“All of you leave, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.” You say coldly.

“Please allow us to help you back in bed.” Furina reaches out to place her hand on your shoulder.

“I can take care of myself, just get out.” You snap.

The Archon flinches slightly but she nods and sighs. Without any other objections, Clorinde and Neuvillette leave the room. Furina trails slowly behind them, as she reaches the threshold she looks back at you one last time before whispering, "I will return to see you in the morning, I hope that's okay."

Once the door clicks you turn your gaze to the window noticing that it was still raining, maybe even harder than before. You exhale as you sit on the windowsill resting your body against the glass as you watch the droplets race down onto the ledge outside.

‘Hmm, doesn't look like the rain is gonna stop anytime soon…’ you think to yourself.

-

© avocad1s 2023

Tagging: @bittersweetorpheus @esthelily

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Inconceivable (Princess Bride AU)

Part I: A Kissing Story

Westeros has been at peace for nearly a year, and a wedding has been planned to celebrate the anniversary. King Jacaerys will marry his aunt, the only surviving child of the Greens, and unite both Targaryen bloodlines at last. It is a fairy tale ending, but this is no ordinary fairy tale...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x sister!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Jacaerys x reader

Warnings: Angst, grief, forced marriage

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Nothing like watching an old classic movie to revive the writing inspiration, huh?

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

Part I: A Kissing Story

“The princess was raised in a great castle along the coast of a glimmering sea. Her favorite pastimes were riding her dragon and tormenting her older brother. His name was…” Aemond. His name was Aemond, but she couldn’t say that. She had not said it in what felt like a lifetime. Not even to their mother.

His name was Aerion. But she never called him that. Nothing gave the princess as much pleasure as ordering Aerion around. ‘Lēkia, help me brush my hair!’ she would say.

Aerion would reply, “as you wish.’ It was all he ever said to her.

One day, the princess called him into her chambers before they were to attend a ball. When he entered, she was sitting at her vanity, a necklace of sapphires set in gold laid before her. ‘Lēkia, help me with my necklace. The clasp is quite tricky.’

The clasp was not tricky, but he put it around her neck anyway, his hands lingering on her neck as they gazed into each other’s eyes through the mirror. ‘As you wish,’ Aerion said.

That day, the princess was amazed to discover that when her brother said ‘As you wish,’ what he meant was this: ‘I love you.’ And even more amazing was that night when she realized she truly loved him back.”

“Is this a kissing story?” Young Aegon’s voice shattered the spell she’d been under like a pane of glass. The young prince – her nephew – was tucked into his bed as he recovered from a mild fever.

She laughed. The boy was becoming a man now if he no longer had a taste for ‘kissing stories.’ Once, he had loved them. “I’m sorry, Aegon. I can tell another if you would prefer?”

Aegon sighed. “No, I think I just want to sleep, muña.”

“Then I shall let you sleep, trēsy.” She did not let her disappointment show until she had left her nephew’s bedchamber. She needed to tell the story, for it was the only way she could keep it alive, the only way she could remember.

So, as she returned to her rooms and was readied for bed by servants she did not trust, she silently told the story to herself.

“Aerion asked the crown for permission to marry his sister, but before they could say their vows, war befell the kingdom, and he was sent away to battle to protect their family.

‘I fear I’ll never see you again,’ the princess cried as they said their farewells.

‘Of course you will,’ he assured.

‘But what if something happens to you?’

‘Hear this now: I will always come for you.’

Through her tears, the princess asked, ‘How can you be sure?’

Aerion smiled, ‘This is true love; you think it happens every day?’

His assurance gave the princess enough bravery to watch him mount his dragon and fly away. But Aerion did not return from battle. His dragon was attacked in the Gullet by his enemies and felled. When the princess got the news that he was murdered, she went into her rooms and shut the door and for days she neither slept nor ate, swearing she would never love again.

Two years later, King’s Landing was filled as never before to hear the announcement of the great King Jacaerys’ bride-to-be.

‘My people,’ Jacaerys said, ‘three months from now, our realm will celebrate a year since peace was at last declared. On that sundown, I shall marry my dear aunt, our princess, to reunite our family and signal an end to the strife that threatened to consume us.’

The people cheered so loudly that the princess thought she might be struck deaf. But she was not, forcing her to hear every moment of their adoration. Her emptiness consumed her.

Although the law of the land gave Jacaerys the right to choose his bride, the princess did not love him. He had fought in the battle where her true love had been killed, and every time she looked at him, all she could see was a vision of her brother as he and his dragon fell into the sea.

Despite Jacaerys’ reassurance that she would grow to love him, the only joy she found was in telling her story to her little niece and nephews – the only other remaining members of her family and the only ones who would not glean the longing in her voice. For if the king or his council ever learned that she still loved her brother…”

The door thumped shut as the last of the servants left. She let out a heavy sigh, at last feeling as though she could breathe again as she finished her story, whispered into her pillow.

“She would never be allowed to tell the story again.”

-

Hundreds of miles away, a weather-worn ship rocked lazily in the docks of Lys. Its crew was scattered within the city, enjoying its many pleasures.

All but the captain.

The man known and feared throughout the world as the Dread Pirate Symeon sat alone in his quarters, silent as death. He pored over a map of the Narrow Sea, but his eye was drawn again and again to a single mark – the small three-headed dragon along the coast of Westeros—King’s Landing.

He ran a finger gloved in black leather over the mark, tapping it twice as he again pondered the words that had echoed in his mind since he heard them.

“King Jacaerys has announced his intention to marry his aunt upon the anniversary of his taking the throne and restoring peace to Westeros.”

Symeon stood so quickly that his chair toppled over, one leg splintering on impact. He did not give it a second glance before strapping a sackful of gold to his belt and storming off the ship.

One of his sailors had the misfortune to be making his way drunkenly back to the ship when the captain pulled him aside. “The ship is Marlow’s now,” he said, naming his first mate. “You will tell no one that you have seen me, or I will return and slit your throat. Understood?”

The sailor nodded, his blood sluggish with drink and fear. The captain released him, and he nearly stumbled into the sea.

When he regained his balance and looked back down the dock, the Dread Pirate Symeon was gone.

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Aziraphale's bibles

Have you ever noticed how many bibles Aziraphale has just lying about? So. Many. Bibles. Oodles of bibles! In S1 we only saw two, one on top of the desk that he used for checking the number of the beast in Revelations; and the other one on the desk surface, right behind his angel mug when he sat to read The Book (not that book, the other book, the one with the true prophecies).

In S2, we see no less than five bibles on his desk alone and more around the bookshop.

The first one is on the left, right under the little "For the Young: Hymns for Church and Home, with Forms of Services" book, which incidentally opens to: "So shall no wicked thing draw near, To do us harm or cause us fear." (This angel has no shame).

Then there are three more in the desk's middle compartments. One, with a green cover, is on the left slot, right above the tray with pens (this one is a New Testament only). The other two, both with black covers, are right behind the mug, where the RadioTimes watermark is. They look identical but they could be two volumes of the same edition or two different editions. We can probably assume one of these is supposed to be the one from S1. The desk in S1 didn't have compartments, it had drawers so there were no books in that area.

The last one is the on on top of the desk, on the right. This would be the same he used in S1 (although the bible itself is different)

On his right side, sometimes he has an easel where he displays a large book. This is not a bible itself, but an illustrated book of biblical motifs. Sometimes it is closed and sometimes it is open. He normally has it on the Adam and Eve page (cheeky!) but in Ep 2 he opened it to the Book of Job page instead.

There is yet another one in the shelf that Gabriel Jim is organizing

And there is one more in the first backroom (the one with the computer where he talks with Gabriel and Sandalphon). It is on a little table by the door of the private backroom (the one where he confers with Crowley in)

But there is a set of bibles that are even more important to him than any of the other ones. Although the show never mentioned it, the book tells us that in addition to his passion for prophecy books, he also loves and collects misprinted bibles*:

"And he had a complete set of the Infamous Bibles, individually named from errors in typesetting. These Bibles included the Unrighteous Bible, so called from a printer’s error which caused it to proclaim, in I Corinthians, “Know ye not that the unrighteous shall inherit the Kingdom of God?”; and the Wicked Bible, printed by Barker and Lucas in 1632, in which the word not was omitted from the seventh commandment, making it “Thou shalt commit Adultery.” There were the Discharge Bible, the Treacle Bible, the Standing Fishes Bible, the Charing Cross Bible and the rest. Aziraphale had them all. Even the very rarest, a Bible published in 1651 by the London publishing firm of Bilton and Scaggs."

This collection of bibles is hiding in plain sight and readily on hand. Just ask Jim!

The rest are right there on Aziraphale's desk. The tags are hard to read but I found, from right to left, The Treacle Bible, The Discharge Bible, The Unrighteous Bible, then three that I couldn't decipher, the Standing Fishes Bible and The Charing Cross Bible. One of those three is supposed to be the Buggre All This Bible, but none of the tags seemed to fit.

*All the bibles mentioned are real except for the Charing Cross Bible and the Buggre Alle This Bible which in the GO world was printed by Bilton and Scaggs, the publishing company that also printed The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. I have a whole post about Bilton and Scaggs if interested. Now, looking back to S1, as part of his restoring the world, Adam replaced Aziraphale's misprinted bibles with Just William books. Let that sink in... Adam moved Aziraphale's bibles from their righteous place. No wonder Crowley realized it right away. These are Aziraphale's bibles for Go- for Sat- for Somebody's sake!

Fortunately by S2 everything was back to normal.

[brabblesblog]

Ch 8: Thou hast ravished my heart with thine eyes.

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

The party is in full swing. Ban and Astarion’s relationship is redefined.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Ban stepped out of the bedroom, surprised to see the Ascendant right by the door. She had purposefully delayed joining the party, half hoping he’d be too occupied by then to notice her.

She didn’t realize how much she actually consumed his thoughts; didn’t realize that in her absence he hadn’t really found any meaning to the scheming, merely going through the motions.

He offered her his arm, taking a quick, appreciative look at her body. The halter top was a good choice - it showed off well-defined shoulders, and Astarion itched to sink his teeth into the belly of the muscle.

“They’re here,” he said as she linked arms with him. She took a deep breath and he finally realized that she was nervous.

He turned to her, determined. “Whatever happens, Ban, I’m not letting them touch a hair on your head. I promise.”

Astarion knew it to be true. This was one thing both sides of him could agree on - he would let the world burn to keep her safe, himself included if need be.

As they made their way to the ballroom, Ban noticed that he had prepared. He'd summoned more minions than ever before, and various combinations of werewolves, skeletons, and ghasts were stationed at regular intervals. For the first time, his display of power didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. She pressed closer to him, their sides touching as they walked.

They reached the double doors of the ballroom; she squeezed his arm, one final gesture of gratitude and fear. Astarion drank in the moment; he hadn’t felt needed, wanted, or even seen by her of late. Today, he was getting it all, and he found himself being more willing to let his guard down as a result.

“You’ll be okay.” There was no need for pet names, not when it was just him and the only person he’d ever cared about. “We get through this party, and I shall get my reward.”

She laughed, and he felt his heart swell.

“And after that?”

He looked away. He had ideas, but he didn’t think now was the right time to say them.

“We’ll have eternity to figure it out.” A wave of affection came over him, and before he could think too much, he pressed a little kiss to her cheek.

He squeezed her hand, their arms still interlinked. He opened the door, and the Ascendant and his consort entered the ballroom.

Ban spotted the leader of the coven instantly. Human, with cropped raven-black hair and broad, well-built shoulders. In another life, she might have been attracted to the sight. He had two elves with him, both ethereally beautiful and scantily dressed, each draped on an arm.

Compared to them, she was positively masculine. Ban sighed at the thought, brushing it off.

The vampire spotted them and turned, making a beeline for them. Ban felt Astarion straighten up, and so did she.

“Astarion.” The man offered his hand to the Ascendant, and Astarion took it in a quick grasp. He noticed to his displeasure that the other vampire was a good head taller than him.

“Vel Stedez.” Astarion inclined his head in acknowledgement, and then tilted it back so that he was able to look the taller man in the face without craning his neck. He’d always been a master at looking up at someone taller than him while still giving the impression that he was looking down at them, and it proved useful at this moment.

“This is Ban.”

She curtsied, and Vel gave her a bow in return.

“The daywalking consort. I have heard so much about you.” Vel gestured to the ladies beside him. “Enxisys and Miaxisys Flendror - my favoured spawn.”

Ban realized with dawning horror that the two elves were related - possibly even twins. She quickly masked it.

Astarion kissed each of their hands. “Charmed,” he murmured, and both girls tittered. They obviously liked what they saw, eyes hungrily taking in Astarion’s features. The Ascendant returned their gaze with equal, albeit manufactured, intensity, knowing how to play this role far too well.

Vel’s eyes were intense, a maroon so dark it was almost black. He stared at Ban, at the way her dress clung to her body. Her skin crawled at the sensation.

“A unique specimen, for sure,” he told the Ascendant. “I can see why you chased her all the way to Waterdeep.” He turned his gaze to Astarion, and its coldness reminded him so much of Cazador that his hands twitched and he had to stop himself from going for the other vampire’s throat.

“A word of advice, fledgling. That is exactly why you create spawn. Not brides.” He leveled another long, lecherous look at Ban, one that made no pretense about what he was staring at. “Spawn do not go off gallivanting, forcing you to chase after them like a lovesick pup.”

Vel took a step forward with sudden speed, grabbing Ban by the jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. She flinched, and Astarion bared his fangs, his control over his rage hanging by a thread.

“Do be careful, Vel,” he snarled. “It wouldn’t be wise to be rude to your host. Release her.”

Vel gave Astarion a glance, then pointedly ignored him in favor of Ban. “I would so enjoy you, gorgeous. I love it when they fight back, and I can tell you’d be feisty.” Astarion hissed and reached out for Vel’s arm, but before he could make contact, Vel dropped his hand. He eyed Ban head to toe once more, his tone turning rueful. “But alas, your lord has said I cannot borrow you. Such a shame,” he tutted.

Astarion couldn’t stop the exhale of relief that came out of him. He didn’t move, but all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her and take her away from this.

Instead, he tried to redirect. “I don’t like sharing my things,” he drawled, adopting a bored, dispassionate tone. Inside, he was becoming increasingly more panicked. Vel’s interest in Ban was greater than he’d anticipated and he was worried he might not be able to protect her as well as he’d planned. If he couldn’t keep his promise, she’d leave again. He’d never see her, never touch her, she’d never let him win her back. “I find doing so makes them less… pristine. Why, Vel - would you have allowed me to fuck these two lovely ladies, had I asked?”

Vel grinned widely, and Astarion’s heart dropped. In his panicked rush to find a response, he’d bungled it. Shit.

“I would!” The taller man clapped his hands together. “If you would be amenable to a swap after all, I would be most happy to-“

“No.” Astarion couldn’t completely hide the disgust in his tone. “A gracious offer, but as I previously mentioned - I am not looking to share what is mine.”

“So be it,” Vel said coolly, but his eyes shone with malice. ��Just a dance with your dear consort, then?” The word consort was said disdainfully, as though Vel thought of the idea of having one absurd.

Before Astarion could answer, Ban made the choice for him. She slipped her hand off Astarion’s arm and raised it, meeting Vel’s outstretched arm. The Ascendant was barely able to mask his fear and worry for her, but he nodded.

“Enxisys. Miaxisys. Keep the Ascendant entertained, will you?”

The twins moved to either side of Astarion. He linked arms with them reluctantly, not seeing much choice in the matter. As Vel took Ban to the dance floor, Astarion sat on his throne, a girl on each leg. He swallowed once, slipping himself into the role that must be played, then briefly reached out to Ban’s mind.

Be careful.

As Ban was swept across the room in a gentle waltz, she glanced over to see Astarion being fed grapes by the twins. She bit back a surge of jealousy, then turned her attention to Vel.

“So. Daywalking,” Vel said, leaning closer to speak above the din of the party, “How do you manage that?”

The truth wouldn’t hurt them. If anything, it could serve to show how powerful Astarion had become and thus discourage any nefarious plots by Vel.

“My Lord extends some of his gifts to me, as a boon,” she said automatically.

The vampire laughed. “And he did so, even when you were in Waterdeep? Don’t deny it. I have reports of you walking in the markets.” He shook his head. “I should have known Cazador’s spawn would be so feeble. The power of the ascension was wasted on him.”

Ban couldn’t help the growl that escaped her at his words.

Vel, emboldened by the idea of Astarion’s impotence, pulled Ban tighter to his body so that they were chest to chest.

“What would Astarion say, hm?” He forcefully pressed Ban against him, his hand moving down to grab her ass and squeeze tightly. The other hand slid to her hip.

She yelped, her mind blanking in fear. She froze, her mind automatically searching for Astarion’s, but before she even made contact she could hear his voice.

“I’d like my wife back, if you don’t mind.” His tone was perfectly level, but his eyes were glinting with barely concealed rage. Enxisys and Miaxisys trailed just behind him, looking disconcerted - he had obviously eluded them in his rush to intervene.

Vel held still for a moment, considering defying Astarion. Then he laughed and with one final squeeze of Ban’s ass, let her go. “Of course.”

She was still frozen, eyes unable to meet Astarion’s. He quickly wrapped an arm around her waist. For a moment, he felt a thrum of energy and worried she’d inadvertently put the wards up in her panic, but he was too worried about her to care about it possibly hurting him. Thankfully, his hand settled against her without any resistance and he pulled her against his chest. He held her close, taking a moment to ensure she was alright. Then he glared at Vel.

Vel watched this with amusement. “Wife, Astarion? You really do give your creation too much power. If I may suggest a firmer ha-”

Long fingers wrapped around Vel’s throat, cutting off his words as his feet were lifted several inches off the ground, Astarion dangling the taller man by the neck with no visible effort.

“A firmer hand, you say?” Astarion drawled with sinister delight.

Vel’s face was a picture of confident arrogance, his smile tinged with faint amusement. He reached up to pry the hand from his neck, the arrogant smirk beginning to wane when his strongest effort had no effect whatsoever. Miaxisys and Enxisys gasped, both taking a half-step towards the Ascendant, freezing in place when he turned to give them a look that dared them to try. In the background, a cacophony of growls and hisses reverberated around the room, Astarion’s summons responding to their master’s fury.

A small, strangled noise escaped Vel - more humiliation and bafflement than actual suffocation - and Astarion fixed his gaze on him. “I did warn you not to be rude, Vel.” His hand tightened a fraction, fingernails digging into skin; Vel would have marks for at least a few hours after this encounter. “Now, apologize to my wife.”

Vel huffed in indignation, but the hand around his throat tightened further, and he choked out a quiet “My apologies, Ban,” his eyes burning with loathing… and just the slightest hint of fear.

“One more chance; violate our hospitality again, and you will return to Waterdeep in pieces.”

His countenance cooled almost instantly and he dropped Vel unceremoniously. As the other man caught himself, rubbing his bruised throat, Astarion rearranged his coat, features sliding into a veneer of calm politeness once again.

“Take your time, Vel. Miaxisys, Enxisys - a pleasure having you here.” He gave the spawn a small bow. “Please, enjoy the rest of the night.”

Before Vel could say anything damning, Astarion took Ban away, leading her into the thick of the crowd on the dance floor.

The moment they were in the middle of the crowd, Astarion wrapped both arms around her waist and held her. She buried her head against his chest. He tried to peer at her face.

“Are you okay?” he said, keeping his voice low.

Ban could smell the twins’ perfume on him, but it didn’t bother her. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze, and in that moment she felt as if the ascension had never happened at all - he was here in her moment of need. She nodded, hoping to reassure him.

“I’m fine. He got handsy, but that’s all.” She could see him scanning her face, trying to gauge the truth of her words. Seemingly satisfied, he exhaled.

Ban tapped her temple. Speak here.

I don’t think we’re rid of him yet, unfortunately, Astarion replied. However, with any luck, the other covens won’t want to interfere with a conflict like this. Territorial disputes are one thing - but interfering with someone else’s bride is another matter entirely. He cupped her cheek, his fingers shaking from the intensity of his anger. He hurt you. He made me break my promise. His eyes were soft for a moment more, and then they hardened at the thought of Vel Stedez attempting to take his treasure right under his nose. In the heart of his palace, no less.

That prick, he hissed into her mind. You’re mine. You will only ever be mine. His voice was rough, even over the bond, the wounded pride coming to play. I should have staked him where he stood.

Astarion, Ban murmured, and just his name was almost enough to snap him out of it. Is that all that matters to you? That he tried to take what’s yours?

She looked disappointed. She was hoping he was starting to understand what she wanted from him, and this sounded like a step backwards.

To her immense delight, the Ascendant shook his head, looking away. Possessing her was part of it, of course, but he was more worried about her than anything else. For now, that small gesture was all he had the bravery to manage; speaking the words would make it too real.

Ban knew all too well what that look meant, why Astarion suddenly looked off to the side - he was feeling a little too vulnerable. She decided to give him her understanding in terms that he'd be more willing to accept, knowing words were often difficult for him.

She cupped his face in both hands and before he could react, she kissed his lips. She tried to set the pace of the kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth, hoping he’d let her continue the dynamic they had earlier in the day.

He smiled into the kiss, returning it just as eagerly, his tongue finding its way into her mouth in return. When he pulled away, his eyes were shut, his breathing hard and fast. “Have I behaved well enough, now?” he whispered.

She slid her hands from his cheeks to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart.

He smiled wider at that. “For you,” he murmured. “It only races for you.”

His hands dropped to her ass, and he opened his eyes. Without a word, he slowly led her to his throne. He took a seat and pulled her to his lap, her skirt fanning out over his legs, covering them both. She scooted a little more towards his torso, settling her ass higher up on his thigh. She shifted her weight against his groin, watching his eyes widen and then narrow at her.

“Bad girl,” he growled, a hand coming up to grip her thigh in turn.

“I think we both know you’re not the one barking commands today, Astarion.”

He scowled, but it was soon replaced by an exaggerated sigh. Of course. “If you must,” he said resignedly, pretending that he didn’t feel the bolt of excitement that shot straight to his cock.

As they sat on the throne surveying the party, Ban slipped the hand closest to Astarion beneath her skirt, cupping him through his trousers. He couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way his body jerked up to meet her touch. He was already growing hard, and he felt the familiar urge to fuck her senseless roaring back to life.

“Pretty good party,” she drawled, “I see you managed well even without me.”

The hand on his cock squeezed, and she began to stroke along his now rock-hard length. He fought the urge to buck, one hand clutching the armrest in a viselike grip, the other fisted in Ban’s skirt.

“Ban-” he choked out. More, he thought desperately, longing for there to be nothing between her skin and his. He wanted this. No. He thought he needed this - this new, delicious feeling of letting go, of letting his pleasure take precedence.

She laughed softly, leaning back to whisper against his ear. Her breath tickled the edge, making him shiver. “Say please.”

Astarion considered denying her, but the urge to assert control didn’t stand a chance against the raging inferno of his desire for her. He relented. “Please.” His hips rolled a little, pressing his cock against her hand. The pleasure was immense, and he could feel himself throbbing with need.

“Mm. I think… you can do better than that.” She stopped touching him, drawing her hand away, and the loss of sensation nearly wrested an unbecoming whimper from him.

His cock twitched, straining against the fabric. He shifted his hips and adjusted himself, easing the pressure a little.

His next words were frantic. “Okay. Okay. Ban - please. I want you to touch me.”

She nodded, considering that enough. She found the buttons of his trousers, popping them open and letting him spring free. Astarion exhaled, swallowing down a whine as she wrapped her hand around his cock.

Ban huffed a laugh. “You’re so hard, Astarion, gods.”

Hidden under her skirt and her body covering them from prying eyes, she began to stroke him. She swiped her thumb across his tip, collecting the fresh precum and spreading it as she thumbed circles around his cockhead. She could feel his cock pulsing in her palm and it was a glorious thing, the way he responded to her touch. Try as he might to keep still, his hips still bucked subtly.

Astarion forced his eyes ahead. His grip on the armrest was now painfully tight, and part of him worried he’d crack the wood.

“I’m aching for you too, don’t worry,” Ban whispered, “Imagine, Astarion, if it was my heat taking you right now. Squeezing around you.” She leaned back to watch him struggle, and then licked the tip of his ear.

He couldn’t quite hold this moan in, and it escaped as a small, strangled noise. He desperately needed to rut harder, and he obliged himself a little, rolling his hips at a slightly different angle. He twitched in her grasp, and she smirked as she felt him throb.

“You want to come?” She asked, glancing over at him.

He nodded violently, hands trembling. He had been left wanting all day, since that first little tease, and he felt frenzied, wild, like he might die if he couldn’t have her soon.

“Please.” It grated on him somewhat to say it, but to his surprise and delight he realized he trusted her enough to play along - in fact, he was enjoying it.

“I think not. If you come here, you’ll stain your pretty clothes. Everyone will see. We can’t have that, can we?”

She stopped stroking his cock, and the loss made him ache. He knew she was right, but he was so delirious with need that he considered telling her fuck it and just bending her over in front of the whole party. If not for Vel and his prurient interest in Ban, he would likely do exactly that.

She considered their predicament for a moment, and then smiled. “We could slip away for a quick moment, if that’s what my lord wishes?”

Astarion nodded frantically. All too eager, he quickly reached in to tuck himself back into his trousers. As Ban stood, so did he, and he used her body to hide his raging erection from the crowd. They managed to sneak off to the hallway and into their bedroom; Astarion snapped the door shut.

“Fuck me,” he hissed, all pretense gone. But she only laughed.

“So impatient,” she teased.

He growled, a little of his usual arrogance coming through as he crowded her against a wall. His hands grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.

“I know you want to,” he said, in between kisses to her lips and throat. “I know you’re wet for me, darling, just as I ache for you. I know you want my come inside you. So how about I give it to you?”

Ban felt her core contract at his words, aching to be filled.

Astarion released her wrists to ruck her skirt up, but she stopped him.

“I didn’t say you could.”

For the first time, it didn’t even cross his mind to fight her, the usual sting of his pride being forced down entirely absent. In that moment, he realized why allowing her dominion over him felt so right. When she took control, she was fully present - there was no resignation or absence in her. She actively chose every kiss, every caress, every drop of pleasure she bestowed upon him. In this, he found a fierce joy; there was no room for arrogance or pride. Instead, there was only the throbbing need in his cock and her sheer closeness. He could smell her arousal mingling with his own, and the heady scent - one he thought he’d never get to enjoy again - almost drove him insane.

“Please, Ban,” he whimpered, and it was the easiest those words have ever left his lips. “I’m begging you. Fuck me. Ride me.” He ground against her, feeling her moist heat through his trousers.

Any further words were lost as she kissed him again, her hands lifting her skirt to reveal her glistening mound. He reached for her with his free hand, his thumb finding her clit and tracing circles around it without breaking the kiss. The other hand eagerly cupped her breast, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. He found her already soaking wet, her entrance slick and warm and so ready for him. His hips ground against her erratically, his cock absolutely begging for friction, rhythm be damned.

“Astarion,” she warned, “You don’t need to. Just let me give you pleasure for once. That’s it. Nothing else.”

He was uneasy about that. For two hundred years, sex had been a performance, sometimes a torturous one. There had been scores of cruel lovers, who had enjoyed bringing him to the brink and then refusing him relief. His body had responded against his will, and the need had always been fiery and desperate and painful, all the same. With her, especially before the ascension, he had slowly been learning to enjoy himself in the moment, learning to trust that she’d give him what he wanted - what he needed. However, that had been quite some time ago. Whenever they’d made love in the last few months, it had felt like she was going through the motions, and that had made him resort to his old tricks to elicit some kind of response.

But he rediscovered a truth he’d always known before and had forgotten since his ascension. He could trust her. He didn’t have to perform for her. Ever. He merely had to be real.

“I want to,” he murmured, “I want to make you come. And then I want you to ride me.” He met her gaze. “Please let me.”

She nodded. Astarion smiled, and then fell to his knees in front of her. As his deft hands worked to undo his trousers and free his aching cock, he buried his face in her sex. His left hand spread her open and his tongue swiped at her engorged clit, then lapped at her entrance.

Delicious.

His right hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself fast and hard. He squeezed lightly as he did, his hips pistoning as he fucked his hand, desperately chasing his release.

Ban looked down to see him buried nose deep in her groin, tongue fucking her, his thumb rubbing her clit while he touched himself. His ass clenched with every frantic thrust. She threaded her fingers through his hair, but didn’t pull.

“Astarion. Don’t come like that. You know where I want it.” Where we both want it.

He backed off enough to meet her gaze, and the sight of his chin and mouth coated in her wetness made her groan.

“I know.” The smirks and the arrogance were gone; all that was left was Astarion and his blinding devotion to her. “I won’t come until you tell me to, and I’ll do it where you want me to.”

Absolute trust. It was entirely novel to the Ascendant, but it felt right.

Ban smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. “Good.”

With that, Astarion resumed his work, his lips wrapping around her clit. He sucked, his tongue flicking against her flesh. He let go of his cock to grip her hip, pressing her closer to him and urging her to fuck his mouth.

She obliged, hips gliding as she rubbed against his tongue and lips. He could feel his cock aching, begging for something - anything, but that didn’t matter much right now. All he could think about was how she tasted, how she ground herself against his face, how her hand fisted in his curls. He gently, carefully pressed a fang against her clit, dragging it along the surface, holding her hips still as she writhed with the sensation.

That alone almost brought her to her peak; she released her grip on Astarion's hair, covering her mouth to stifle her moans.

Astarion, sensing how close she was, flattened his tongue and continued to lap at her entrance and the bottom of her clit, while his thumb slid over the top, rubbing faster and faster. The twitching of his neglected cock was barely an afterthought; he knew his own release would soon follow.

Ban moaned his name as she rode the wave of her orgasm, her knees buckling. His name was a fervent prayer from her lips, a worshipful sound that never failed to go straight to Astarion’s cock. He held her up throughout, his tongue and thumb still working until she squirmed from overstimulation.

He gave her one last lick from entrance to clit and then pulled away, making a show of licking his fangs and lips as he met her gaze.

“May I?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yes, you may. I'd ride you, but I think we're too far gone for that. Fuck me. Take your pleasure from me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Astarion stood, hand pumping his cock as he lined himself up with Ban’s entrance. Without further delay, he buried himself to the hilt, sliding home with no resistance. She was slick and warm and perfect. He groaned, pressing their foreheads together; he had been dreaming of this for so long.

Ban could smell herself on his breath, and she leaned in to kiss him as he began to fuck her. This time, there was no performance from either of them. Astarion’s hips thrust of their own accord, and they did not roll like they usually did when he wanted to make her come. Instead he pumped in and out, hips pistoning at a punishing pace. He gripped her ass with both hands, pressing her closer to him, burying himself as deeply as he could with every thrust.

Their tongues tangled in a mess of breaths and moans, and Astarion could feel his balls tightening as he approached his climax. Good - so good, having her here, taking her, sinking my cock deep inside her heat, where it belongs, has always belonged. More, he thought, more and more forever because I want and need and miss you so much.

Ban placed a hand on his chest, feeling the roaring thunder of his heart, tongue finding a fang and pressing on it until she drew blood. He whined at the taste, eagerly lapping at it, and she smiled.

“Come for me, Astarion.”

Even in this, especially in this, the Ascendant obeyed without thought. Her command pushed him over the edge into an ecstasy beyond description. As he came, he moaned into her mouth, his hips spasming in jittery thrusts and grinds as he lost all control. He felt the overwhelming sensation of release as he emptied himself inside her, filling her with his come, and for the first time in months, he wasn’t coming into emptiness. There was warmth, and tightness, and closeness. There was her. It was so exquisite his eyes closed against the overwhelming joy and pleasure.

For several moments neither of them moved, clinging to one another while they caught their breath. As the world came back into focus he slowly pulled out of Ban, looking down and watching as his cock emerged, coated in his come and her wetness. She looked down as well, smiling.

“Won’t do to have that mess in your trousers for the rest of the night,” she teased, kneeling down to lick every inch of his cock clean. The sensation was intense, almost too much, and his hand gripped her shoulder tightly as she cleaned him.

She gave him one last, hard suck, earning her a loud groan, before standing back up. He fixed her with an unsteady, almost stunned gaze as he tucked himself back into his trousers and fixed his clothes.

“I want to try again, Ban.” The words slipped out earnestly and without hesitation. He had been considering how to broach this topic all day, vacillating between grand gestures and a long prepared speech. In the end, after all this, he felt this was the best way to do it. The way she always seemed to want him - sincere. Real.

Ban stared at him in shock, contemplating saying no. There was too much baggage, no matter how fantastic the sex was. But she could see that he was closer to his old self than he’d ever been. Not exactly the same - but almost. He’d protected her out of love, allowed her to take charge, trusted her to do right by him, and had now taken the next logical step.

He was handing her his heart, just as he had when he’d first confessed his feelings to her.

“If that’s what you want,” Ban murmured, caressing his cheek. His face was still damp with sweat and slick, and she traced some of the wetness on his lips. He parted them to suck her finger, a coy smile crossing his features.

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

He knew there was work to be done. There was still the party to attend to. There were things to make amends for and things to prove. He had to get over his pride and relearn letting his walls down, if only for her. It might prove impossible, but he intended to try.

But for now? This was enough.

[leucisticpuffin]

coirë | a stirring

“Thou callest this season beautiful,” he said one morning, watching shadows shift through the canvas as an attendant cleared the doorway of snow. “Forgive me, but I cannot see it.” “But thou hast seen it not,” protested Findekáno, setting aside his mortar and pestle. (The skill of preparing medicines he had picked up in the fearful days of the last winter, needing desperately to be useful, and yet unable to look at the wound wrought by his own hand.) “Not everywhere is so grey! Come, Russandol; I shall show thee why we name it so.”

Read the whole story on AO3

[topazadine]

How to Avoid Purple Prose

This is one of the easiest criticisms to throw at someone: "Purple prose, almost unreadable, horrible, make it simpler."

The problem is that some critics don't understand the difference between elegant prose and purple prose. It's easy to sneer that someone has purple prose because they added a few extra adjectives if you're being very uncharitable. I see this a lot from pretentious first-year college students who believe that one Creative Writing class makes them a master.

However, there is a time and place for elegant, beautiful, ornate prose ... and times where it's just stupid and pretentious.

As with everything in writing, we need balance. That balance will look a little different to everyone, but many writing critics don't have the skills necessary to understand what each piece's balance point is. Hence, they accuse everything of being purple prose when it's not.

But purple prose is, unfortunately, very real, and we can all fall into its clutches. Let's look at what makes purple prose so terrible and what we can do instead.

Why is purple prose so bad?

Purple prose increases the cognitive load on your reader. It makes them work much harder to understand what you're saying because it hides important details in a wall of mostly irrelevant text.

You want to show off how cool you are and you forget that other people are meant to read this for their own enjoyment. It's self-important and disrespectful to the reader. Focusing on your ego and your need for praise will, paradoxically, wreck your writing.

Clear writing is good writing. People reading for entertainment (ie, people reading fiction outside of school) do not want to devote all of their brainpower to your work; they've got a million other, way more important things to focus on.

Your work is entertainment, and so it needs to be entertaining. Books that force you to translate them into Normal Human English are not entertainment - they are torture.

So what is purple prose, exactly?

It's easier to look at an example and dissect it. Here's an example from one of the most derided books of all time, Irene Iddesleigh by Amanda McKittrick Ros:

Arose the seeming deadly creature to that standard of joy and gladness which should mark his noble path! Endow him with the dewdrops of affection; cast from him the pangs of the dull past, and stamp them for ever beneath the waves of troubled waters; brighten his life as thou wouldst that of a faded flower; and when the hottest ray of that heavenly orb shall shoot its cheerful charge against the window panes of Dunfern Mansion, the worthy owner can receive it with true and profound thankfulness. Three weeks had scarcely passed ere Sir John was made the recipient of another invitation to Dilworth Castle. This second effusion of cordiality required neither anxious thought nor prolonged decision how to act, knowing as he did that it would again serve to bring his present thoughts into practice by affording him another opportunity of sharing in the loving looks of one for whom he feared there dwelt a strong inclination on his part to advance his affection.

What the fuck is this saying? Basically, that Sir John is happy that he's being invited back to Dilworth Castle, and he accepted the invitation immediately. Ok. We didn't need all that shit.

Hallmarks of purple prose

This isn't an exhaustive list, but it'll give you an idea.

Long, complex, yet insubstantial sentences. With purple prose, every single sentence has multiple clauses and goes on for three or four lines. But somehow it says absolutely nothing. That example from Irene Iddesleigh has a sentence that is SEVEN LINES LONG. And tells us nothing whatsoever. No action. Purple prose is annoying because no one's doing anything - they're just talking about doing things. Half of the above paragraph has no action in it whatsoever. The next part just tells us that he accepted the invitation because he's excited. That's it.

Excessive description. With purple prose, someone may take a full page to describe a room in excruciating detail before anyone even talks or does anything. You do not need to explain every facet of a place.

Double-describing things. In the above passage, Ros explains exactly how Sir John feels five different ways before she even tells us what he is excited about. If you describe something twice in a row, you are doing too much.

Explaining every facet of a human's state. Tell us once and then use action to support the point. Over-reliance on unique words. It's fine to use one or two highbrow words in a passage. English is such a fun language because we have so many synonyms for damn near everything. However, when every other word needs a reader to crack out a thesaurus, you have a problem.

Too many adjectives and adverbs. With purple prose, every single thing needs an adjective, and every action has an adverb. This is overwhelming and annoying; there's just too many details. Sometimes a table is just a table. Sometimes someone just does something. Too many metaphors and similes. This is a common issue with purple prose because it can't just tell you how someone feels: it has to define it in 10000 different ways. It's easy to get lost in a tangle of metaphors and have no idea what's actually going on.

Essentially, purple prose is too much of a good thing. Everything is set to 100 and there's no way for the reader to remember all of that.

What purple prose is not

To fix purple prose, we need to understand the difference between purple prose and good, normal, nice prose.

A few unique words sprinkled in here or there. If you've got one word per page that someone may need to look up, you don't have purple prose. The problem with purple prose isn't necessarily the vocabulary itself; it's the density.

Pretty prose that serves a purpose. If you have plenty of action and dialogue, you likely do not have purple prose.

Small instances of alliteration. People whine that using alliteration at all is a big no-no, but that is not true. It can add a certain melody to your writing, as long as you use it sparingly.

One or two long sentences per page. We want to use a variety of sentence structures, which will naturally mean some of our sentences are longer than others. If you intersperse some long lines with shorter ones, then you are doing just fine.

Any adjectives or adverbs. Sometimes you do need precision because you want to paint a picture. It's okay to have an ornately carved wooden table, or a red glowing candle, or dappled snowflakes fluttering from the sky. The issue is when every single noun has an adjective and every single verb has an adverb.

Description. There are people who genuinely believe you shouldn't explain anything and that everything should read like a movie script. That's dumb. It's fine to have glowing descriptions of things as long as they aren't overtaking the action and dialogue.

You'll notice a theme here: good prose has balance. It uses long sentences and short sentences; it allows for complex vocabulary without losing the point. There is proportionate description, action, and dialogue. There's a bit of wordplay, but that's not the primary focus of the scene.

Options to fix purple prose

If I were in charge of fixing Irene Iddesleigh into something humans would actually read, I would first down a full bottle of whisky. Then I'd do something like this.

Three weeks had scarcely passed ere Sir John received a sacred gift: a second invitation to Dilworth Castle. The very sun seemed to shine with fiercer glory as he regarded the succinct missive, penned on cream paper in soft-shining violet ink. He vacillated not; before he knew his own thoughts, he had rummaged in his drawer for the tools of love. With shaking hand, he dashed off his eager agreement, adding a flourishing signature below the ten lines of text. This he handed to his butler, who gave a smile adorned with sly glee. All who met him must see the fascination stamped on his face, Sir John was sure. Gone were the pangs of a dull past, washed away with the dewdrops of affection - so fleeting, yet essential to his sustained happiness. His very essence had bloomed like a faded flower reintroduced to the nourishing soil, ready to be plucked by that worthy maiden's delicate hand.

I've tried to replicate Ros's more late-Victorian style here, which does mean it's more purple than I, personally, would do. However, it retains the spirit of her thoughts and preserves some of her more interesting similes. They're more connected now into a larger metaphor of Sir John being like a sad, drooping flower that has now perked up and forgotten how miserable he was.

I also added more concrete details about where he is, what the invitation looks like, and what he does with it instead of just rambling on about how happy he is about being noticed by Irene-sempai.

Now, if I were doing this in a more modern style, I might write something like this:

Sir John looked up from his book when the butler entered, holding a small envelope with a weighty wax seal. Assuming it just another demand from his parents, he waved his old caretaker away, but the butler shook his head and came forward, smiling now. "You might wish to read it first, my lord." "Probably some gala nonsense." Frowning, he picked up his penknife and accepted the letter, then paused. Dust motes, floating in the golden sunlight, appeared like fairies encircling a script he had already come to love. There could be no mistaking that handwriting: painstakingly delicate cursive, with elegant whirls as underline. Nor had he ever seen anyone else use violet ink for their messages. It could only be her. Did he dare? Of course. Sir John pried off the wax seal of Dilworth Castle - a lion encircling a lamb - and scanned the invitation with jittering eyes that made the letters dance. An invitation, only three weeks after the last: his chest felt full of flowers, his eyes turning dewy by the morning sun. How could he ever refuse? "Get me my finest paper," Sir John demanded of the butler waiting at a respectful distance. "And good blue ink. The nice Mont-Blanc fountain pen - none of that gel nonsense."

How to prevent purple prose

Why do the above passages work better? Why are they more enjoyable to read? Here's why.

Use shorter sentences. One of the fastest ways to fix purple prose is just to chunk up your sentences better. It's hard to create super ornate and overwrought sentences in under two lines, so forcing yourself to keep every sentence less than three lines will naturally cut out a lot of the bullshit.

Ask yourself what you are really trying to show. What should a reader get out of this sentence? What information are you sharing with them? Then explain that.

Run your text through a grade estimator. It sucks, I know, but if we want to have highly engaging content, we do need to dumb it down just a bit. If you're writing above like a 9th grade level, you know you might be too purply. A lot of this does come from sentence structure, so fixing your syntax can help drop the grade level.

Keep weird words to a minimum. I give myself a goal to only use one strange and archaic word per page. Sometimes two if I really need it. But I space them out throughout the text and use ample context clues so someone shouldn't have to go look it up if they're reading carefully.

Put action first, then description. Tell us what to focus on before you elaborate with flowery metaphors. Both the fixed passages give us the details upfront. The second one starts with an action and adds some tension so we don't quite know what's happening before the big reveal, while the first one tells us immediately and then expands on it (a more Victorian thing).

Focus on small movements to tell a bigger story. Things like someone's hands shaking or their eyes watering will explain their emotional state without you having to tell us.

Include sensory details. In the fixed passages, we see dust motes dancing in the air, we see the colorful ink, we feel its weight. This is much more engaging without being purply.

Keep metaphors to a minimum. Metaphors work when they are interspersed with more action-oriented text; otherwise, it's not even clear what you're trying to describe. Pick a strong one and stick with it rather than cramming a bunch in at once.

Use dialogue. Dialogue is more engaging and allows you to tell us things without just stating it outright in the text.

If you'd like to read more of my work, consider buying my book!

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

However, there's a problem: Orrinir Relickim, a rough and tough fellow pupil who just can't seem to leave Uileac alone.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution.

Be sure to preorder Pride Before a Fall, arriving January 1, 2025!

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I've also created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

Enjoy!

[scenteddelusion5]

A Daring Creature -Part 2

Zestial x angel fem reader

Note: The chapters of 'A Daring Creature' are a lot shorter than the multi-chapter fic I've written for Vox and the reason for that is because writing old english is a lot more exhausting and I don't want to make you wait too long. Hope you understand!

Warning: inacurate middle English and attempted (sexual is implied) assault (It doesn't go far)

Word count: 1458

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Zestial had barely knocked on her bedroom door, when the door opened revealing Y/n. She wore a simple dress with her hair put up, every single one of her angel features were noticeable.

"I'm ready to go!" She made a little jump of excitement.

"Nay, thou art not." Zestial held up his old, black coat. "Putteth it on. I doth not wisheth for everyone to knoweth I am housing an angel."

"Fine." She took the coat and used it to cover her angelic wings. "Happy?"

Zestial grabbed the hood and pulled it over her halo. "Yes."

The two made it down the stairs and out the front door. Y/n was hopping around, being able to take in hell for the first time.

"Where are we going first?" She asked, staring at the growing city in the distance.

"We art just going to doth a few tasks, nothing special." As Zestial was walking around, the demons around disappeared from the streets out of fear. "Keepeth quiet and doth not interact with aught."

"Don't worry, I can handle myself."

Zestial didn't answer but the silence made his scepticism clear.

He was looking at her prancing around with wonder. It was a strange sight, seeing someone so mesmerised at the horrid streets of hell like it was wonderland. Although if he went to heaven, he too would be intrigued by the underworld. Maybe even visit, like Y/n had done.

She was prancing from one side of the sidewalk to the other. At some point she looked into the show window of an abandoned store, they had run off when Zestial came into view.

"Where is everyone?" She asked. "It's says that it's open but no one's inside."

"It doest not matter." He walked past her. "Keepeth walking, it is unbecoming to beest late."

When she noticed she was a bit too far behind, she ran up to him. "You haven't actually told me yet where we're going."

"First, we art going to visiteth an old friend. Then thee stayeth there while I wend to a meeting." Zestial took a sharp turn to the side entrance of a building.

"So you are leaving me inside again?"

"If it be true thee maketh not trouble-" He knocked on the door.- "I shall taketh thee to where ever thee wanteth to wend this afternoon."

"Fine."

The door opened, revealing a tall woman with white hair pulled up to look like horns. Her red eyes looked Y/n up and down. The glare made a shiver go down the angel's spine.

"Zestial, it's good to see you." The woman stepped aside to let him and Y/n inside. "I see you brought a friend. What can I do for you?"

"Carmilla, I am afraid I has't to asketh thee for a favour." Zestial put his hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Can thee host Y/n in thy home here during the overlord meeting?" He pulled down her hood, when Y/n was about to pull it down. "I hadst to bringeth her out and I didst not wanteth to headeth all the way back to my manner to receiveth her afterwards."

"Who is she?" Carmilla questioned. "It isn't like you to pick up charity cases."

"Thou art as attentive as ever," Zestial admitted, "Y/n is an angel." He ripped of the cloak revealing her glowing halo and majestic wings.

"I take it you want to keep this under wraps." She inspected the angel in front of her once more. "As long as she doesn't cause any trouble."

"Doth not worry, she shall not."

Carmilla had Y/n showed to common room where she was to stay. The two overlords had been gone for half an hour when Y/n started to get bored. No one was around, she had no one to talk to like at Zestial's home and there were no activities she could possibly come up with without making a mess. Y/n realised she ended up in a worse situation than if she had stayed back.

How she wanted to explore hell already... Maybe she could. It couldn't be that bad and if something happened she could just run back to Zetial's or Carmilla's home.

The angel's eyes landed on an open window. It was very high up but the only one that was open. She took of her cloak and folded it up in her arms. Finally being able to stretch his wings. Y/n spread time wide, jumped up and made her way through the window.

The angel landed in an alley. She quickly looked around, making sure no one had seen her and then covered herself with the cloak again.

Y/n recognized the street as the one she walked with Zestial on with. If she was careful with her turns, she could probably find her way back, besides Carmilla's home was very recognizable.

Walking through the street was very different than when she was with Zestial. Demons roamed the street, yelling fighting or just minding their business. Looking too her left, she recognized the shop she had seen earlier. Now it was filled with demons.

After a few turns, she seemed to have caught the interests of a group of denizens. A big, muscular, shark demon seemed to be the one in charge while smaller demons of all kinds followed him around.

"And what's a girlie like you doing out here?" The shark demon smirked, showing off his sharp teeth. "Don't you know I'm in charge around these parts?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just exploring, I will get out of your way." Y/n smiled awkwardly and tried to step around the group.

"Where do you think you're going? I'm not just letting you go." The demon stepped in front of her again.

"Yeah!" One of the other demons yelled.

"So, what are you going to give us?"

The group started to get uncomfortably close. Some started even pulling at her cloak.

"Leave me alone! Stop it!" Y/n looked around in horror in the hopes of finding help but everyone ignored it. She had to remember, she was in hell now and this was normal here.

Just as she lost hope, someone intruded.

"Leave the girl alone fuckers!" The demon had white hair all over his body, had six arms, and had one white and one black eye. "Or I'll fucking kill you!" He held up two guns.

"Then do it, cowardly SLUT!" One yelled.

As soon as he heard it bullets went flying, some of them barely missed her.

"You alright?" He held out a hand. "The name's Angel Dust."

"Y/n", she smiled, "does stuff like this happen often here?"

"Yeah, you'll learn how to defend yourself." Angel put the guns away and quickly fixed his hair. "Which way were you going, love?"

"I don't really know. I was just looking around, exploring."

"Then I have to show you the best places to party. Come on!"

Zestial was sitting through a painfully long meeting. The overlords of the newer VVV-group were picking fights with the others. There was an especially strong tension between Vox and Alastor. Subjects that normally took two minutes to discuss, took now ten.

Zestial decided to stay out of most of it, they weren't worth his time and the headaches that would be caused by arguing with them. He wondered what Y/n was doing, knowing her, she was probably bored out of her mind, dramatically laying down on the couch in woeful self-pity. He smiled at the thought.

"What has you smiling so, Zestial?" Alastor asked, putting everyone's attention on the spider demon.

"Doth thee knoweth the declaring curiosity hath killed the cat?" Zestial asked.

The Radio demon's smile widened. "Only if the cat got caught but if you don't want to tell us then so be it."

He wasn't sure why he had reacted that way. It's true that Zestial was worried about people finding out he was harbouring an angel but this seemed to be an overreaction. Why was he so overprotective of the girl? Had he already grown fond of her? No, he shouldn't be. The spider demon only needed her for his own agenda, that's the only reason he's protecting her.

The meeting took another two hours, when it was finally finished. Zestial and Carmilla swiftly made their way to her mansion. Zestial entered the common room, shocked to find it empty.

"Y/n, where art thou?" He asked, maybe she was hiding somewhere or she made up another ridiculous activity. "Y/n!"

He didn't get an answer. The two overlords started searching around the room. When there was no sign of her, they looked around the rest of the mansion, still nothing.

Zestial looked up, seeing the open window. She wouldn't have.. No! She would, she definitely would.

"That insolent angel."

Part 3

Masterlist/Request guidelines

[usagiumiko3]

hey guys🌌💕 i’ve been diving into emily brontë’s "the night is darkening round me" and while reading I made some connections between some poems and the lnds characters. here are some of my picks that I think resonate the best.

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» the prisoner «

in the dungeon-crypts, idly did i stray,

reckless of the lives wasting there away;

'draw the ponderous bars! open, warder stern!'

he dared not say me nay - the hingers harshly turn.

'our guests are darkly lodged,' i whisper'd, gazing through

the vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue;

(this was when glad spring laughed in awaking pride;)

'aye, darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide.

then, god forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;

i scoffed, as chill chains on the damp flag-stones rung:

'confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear,

that we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?'

the captive raised her face, it was as soft and mild

as sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child;

it was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair,

pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

the captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;

'i have been struck,' she said, 'and i am suffering now;

yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong,

and, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long.'

hoarse laughed the jailer grim: 'shall i be won to hear;

dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that i shall grant thy prayer?

or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans?

ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

'my master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind,

but hard as hardest flint, the soul that lurks behind;

and i am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see

than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me.'

about her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,

'my friend,' she gently said, 'you have not heard me mourn;

when you my kindred's lives, my lost life, can restore,

then may i weep and sue, - but never, friend, before!

(.....)

'oh, dreadful is the check - intense the agony -

when the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;

when the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again,

the soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.

'yet i would lose no sting, would wish no torture less,

the more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;

and robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,

if it but herald death, the vision is divine!'

she ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go -

we had no further power to work the captive woe:

her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given

a sentence, unapproved, and overruled by heaven.

» ‘no coward soul is mine’ «

no coward soul is mine

no trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere

i see heaven's glories shine

and faith shines equal arming me from fear

o god within my breast

almighty ever-present deity

life, that in me hast rest

as i undying life, have power in thee

vain are the thousand creeds

that move men's hearts, unutterably vain,

worthless as withered weeds

or idlest froth amid the boundless main

to waken doubt in one

holding so fast by thy infinity

so surely anchored on

the steadfast rock of immortality

with wide-embracing love

thy spirit animates eternal years

pervades and broods above,

changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

though earth and moon were gone

and suns and universes ceased to be

and thou wert left alone

every existence would exist in thee

there is not room for death

nor atom that his might could render void

since thou art being and breath

and what thou art may never be destroyed

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» remembrance «

cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee,

far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!

have i forgot, my only love, to love thee,

severed at last by time's all-severing wave?

now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover

over the mountains, on that northern shore,

resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover

thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

cold in the earth - and fifteen wild decembers,

from those brown hills, have melted into spring:

faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers

after such years of change and suffering!

sweet love of youth, forgive, if i forget thee,

while the world's tide is bearing me along;

other desires and other hopes beset me,

hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

no later light has lightened up my heaven,

no second morn has ever shone for me;

all my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,

all my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

but, when the days of golden dreams had perished,

and even despair was powerless to destroy;

then did i learn how existence could be cherished,

strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

then did i check the tears of useless passion -

weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

down to that tomb already more than mine.

and, even yet, i dare not let it languish,

dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

how could i seek the empty world again?

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» stars «

ah! why, because the dazzling sun

restored our earth to joy,

have you departed, every one,

and left a desert sky?

all through the night, your glorious eyes

were gazing down in mine,

and with a full heart's thankful sighs,

i blessed that watch divine.

i was at peace, and drank your beams

as they were life to me;

and revelled in my changeful dreams,

like petrel on the sea.

thought followed thought, star followed star,

through boundless regions, on;

while one sweet influence, near and far,

thrilled through, and proved us one!

why did the morning dawn to break

so great, so pure, a spell;

and scorch with fire, the tranquil cheek,

where your cool radiance fell?

blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,

his fierce beams struck my brow;

the soul of nature, sprang, elate,

but mine sank sad and low!

my lids closed down, yet through their veil,

i saw him, blazing, still,

and steep in gold the misty dale,

and flash upon the hill.

i turned me to the pillow, then,

to call back night, and see

your worlds of solemn light, again,

throb with my heart, and me!

it would not do - the pillow glowed,

and glowed both roof and floor;

and birds sang loudly in the wood,

and fresh winds shook the door;

the curtains waved, the wakened flies

were murmuring round my room,

imprisoned there, till i should rise,

and give them leave to roam.

oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;

oh, night and stars return!

and hide me from the hostile light,

that does not warm, but burn;

that drains the blood of suffering men;

drinks tears, instead of dew;

let me sleep through his blinding reign,

and only wake with you!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» anticipation «

how beautiful the earth is still,

to thee - how full of happiness!

how little fraught with real ill,

or unreal phantoms of distress!

how spring can bring thee glory, yet,

and summer win thee to forget

december's sullen time!

why dost thou hold the treasure fast,

of youth's delight, when youth is past,

and thou art near thy prime?

when those who were thy own compeers,

equals in fortune and in years,

have seen their morning melt in tears,

to clouded, smileless day;

blest, had they died untried and young,

before their hearts went wandering wrong,

poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,

a weak and helpless prey!

‘because, i hoped while they enjoyed,

and, by fulfilment, hope destroyed;

as children hope, with trustful breast,

i waited bliss - and cherished rest.

a thoughtful spirit taught me, soon,

that we must long till life be done;

that every phase of earthly joy

must always fade, and always cloy:

‘this i foresaw - and would not chase

the fleeting treacheries;

but, with firm foot and tranquil face,

held backward from that tempting race,

gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,

to the enduring seas -

there cast my anchor of desire

deep in unknown eternity;

nor ever let my spirit tire,

with looking for what is to be!

'it is hope's spell that glorifies,

like youth, to my maturer eyes,

all nature's million mysteries,

the fearful and the fair -

hope soothes me in the griefs i know;

she lulls my pain for others' woe,

and makes me strong to undergo

what i am born to bear.

'glad comforter! will i not brave,

unawed, the darkness of the grave?

nay, smile to hear death's billows rave -

sustained, my guide, by thee?

the more unjust seems present fate,

the more my spirit swells elate,

strong, in thy strength, to anticipate

rewarding destiny!'

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘time stands before the door of death,

upbraiding bitterly;

and conscience, with exhaustless breath,

pours black reproach on me:

‘and though i've said that conscience lies,

and time should fate condemn;

still, sad repentance clouds my eyes,

and makes me yield to them!'

‘then art thou glad to seek repose?

art glad to leave the sea,

and anchor all thy weary woes

in calm eternity?

'nothing regrets to see thee go -

not one voice sobs "farewell",

and where thy heart has suffered so,

canst thou desire to dwell?'

‘alas! the countless links are strong

that bind us to our clay;

the loving spirit lingers long,

and would not pass away!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» ‘the night is darkening round me’ «

the night is darkening round me

the wild winds coldly blow

but a tyrant spell has bound me

and i cannot cannot go

the giant trees are bending

their bare boughs weighed with snow and

the storm is fast descending

and yet i cannot go

clouds beyond clouds above me

wastes beyond wastes below

but nothing drear can move me

i will not cannot go

- - -

i'll come when thou art saddest

laid alone in the darkened room

when the mad day's mirth has vanished

and the smile of joy is banished

from evening's chilly gloom

i'll come when the heart's [real feeling

has entire unbiased sway

and my influence o'er thee stealing

grief deepening joy congealing

shall bear thy soul away

listen 'tis just the hour

the awful time for thee

dost thou not feel upon thy soul

a flood of strange sensations roll

forerunners of a sterner power

heralds of me

- - -

i would have touched the heavenly key

that spoke alike of bliss and thee

i would have woke the entrancing song

but its words died upon my tongue

and then i knew that hallowed strain

could never speak of joy again

and then i felt

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» death «

death! that struck when i was most confiding

in my certain faith of joy to be -

strike again, time's withered branch dividing

from the fresh root of eternity!

leaves, upon time's branch, were growing brightly,

full of sap, and full of silver dew;

birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;

daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;

guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;

but, within its parent's kindly bosom,

flowed for ever life's restoring tide.

little mourned i for the parted gladness,

for the vacant nest and silent song -

hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;

whispering, 'winter will not linger long!'

and, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,

spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;

wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,

lavished glory on that second may!

high it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;

sin was scared to distance with its shine;

love, and its own life, had power to keep it

from all wrong - from every blight but thine!

cruel death! the young leaves droop and languish;

evening's gentle air may still restore -

no! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -

time, for me, must never blossom more!

strike it down, that other boughs may flourish

where that perished sapling used to be;

thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish

that from which it sprung - eternity.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» faith and despondency «

‘the winter wind is loud and wild,

come close to me, my darling child;

forsake thy books, and mateless play;

and, while the night is gathering grey,

we'll talk its pensive hours away; -

‘iernë, round our sheltered hall

november's gusts unheeded call;

not one faint breath can enter here

enough to wave my daughter's hair,

and i am glad to watch the blaze

glance from her eyes, with mimic rays;

to feel her cheek so softly pressed,

in happy quiet on my breast.

‘but, yet, even this tranquillity

brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;

and, in the red fire's cheerful glow,

i think of deep glens, blocked with snow;

i dream of moor, and misty hill,

where evening closes dark and chill;

for, lone, among the mountains cold,

lie those that i have loved of old.

and my heart aches, in hopeless pain

exhausted with repinings vain,

that i shall greet them ne'er again!'

» honour's martyr «

the moon is full this winter night;

the stars are clear, though few;

and every window glistens bright,

with leaves of frozen dew.

the sweet moon through your lattice gleams

and lights your room like day;

and there you pass, in happy dreams,

the peaceful hours away!

while i, with effort hardly quelling

the anguish in my breast,

wander about the silent dwelling,

and cannot think of rest.

the old clock in the gloomy hall

ticks on, from hour to hour;

and every time its measured call

seems lingering slow and slower:

and oh, how slow that keen-eyed star

has tracked the chilly grey!

what, watching yet! how very far

the morning lies away!

without your chamber door i stand;

love, are you slumbering still?

my cold heart, underneath my hand,

has almost ceased to thrill.

bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs,

and drowns the turret bell,

whose sad note, undistinguished, dies

unheard, like my farewell!

tomorrow, scorn will blight my name,

and hate will trample me,

will load me with a coward's shame -

a traitor's perjury.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» the old stoic «

riches i hold in light esteem;

and love i laugh to scorn;

and lust of fame was but a dream

that vanished with the morn:

and if i pray, the only prayer

that moves my lips for me

is, 'leave the heart that now i bear,

and give me liberty!'

yes, as my swift days near their goal,

‘tis all that i implore;

in life and death, a chainless soul,

with courage to endure.

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘and rest is sweet, when laurelled fame

will crown the soldier's crest;

but, a brave heart, with a tarnished name,

would rather fight than rest.'

'well, thou hast fought for many a year,

hast fought thy whole life through,

hast humbled falsehood, trampled fear;

what is there left to do?'

‘tis true, this arm has hotly striven,

has dared what few would dare;

much have i done, and freely given,

but little learnt to bear!’

[supermaks]

Haas bro tears in my eyes

[coallise]

My Deer Overlord

An idea of how the overlords ended up stopping Alastor from taking them all out and invite him into the fold.

Zestial sighed as he looked over the current overlords. There were only four of them left that the so called ‘radio demon' hadn't made disappear.

“We need a plan to deal with him,” Carmilla said, “maybe if we pulled all our resources together?”

“Marque and Isabella tried that and they had twice the resources we all have combined.” Zeezi complained.

“Well, does anyone have a better idea?” Carmilla said, taking a deep breath. She had her daughters hide, the demon was going after overlords and powerful targets and she wanted to keep the target off of their backs.

Zestial raised a hand, “I do, but I hesitate to offer it.”

“Tell us,” Carmilla urged. She wanted to spend time with her daughters again without fearing he would go after them.

Zestial coughed and turned to Rosie, “I believe thou might be able to get close. Offer him a meal or such. Information shows he is a cannibal and he only attacks women when they attack first.”

Rosie gulped, “you want me to try and charm the most dangerous sinner we've seen yet?”

“Please, maybe even offer him a spot as an overlord? Have him sign this,” Zestial handed over a contract that said those who sign can not directly harm the others. Zestial had already signed it. “Felt it was appropriate to bring back the pack.”

The gathered overlords looked it over before signing it. Rosie held it close to her chest and went searching for him.

“Well hello, what is a lovely woman like you doing in this part of town?” A man in a red overcoat and microphone staff bowed, holding out his hand. Rosie put her hand in his and he kissed it.

“Just looking for a rascal that was running around,” Rosie smiled. He had a big grin and the look of a cannibal. She felt safe with one of her own.

“Oh, who is this rascal?” 

“The radio demon, I heard we had the same taste and wished to dine with him,” Rosie flashed him her sharp teeth. The man pondered something before locking their arms together.

“Oh what the hay! Lead the way, ma’am. The name's Alastor,” he smiled and Rosie felt panic.

“It's Rosie, darling,” she said. They started walking to the colony together.

“The cannibal overlord?” A bit of radio static could be heard.

“The very same. Behave yourself and you won't end up on the menu,” Rosie gripped his arm tighter. The other cannibals waved and greeted Rosie happily, a few stopped them to ask for advice before they could go on their way to the bistro.

“Quite the popular lady,” Alastor said, pulling Rosie's chair out for her.

“We're a tight knit bunch in the colony. You have to be in this world,” Rosie ordered her meal before putting her elbows on the table and head on her fists, “shall we continue with pleasantries or shall we get down to business?”

“And what kind of business are you offering?”

“I want you to keep my colony out of your murder rampages. I would be delighted if you dropped some of the bodies here, but my first priority is their safety.”

Alastor hummed and swirled his glass of blood, “I suppose I can agree with that. Provided that no one harms me here either.”

“You reek of death, dear, they will see you as one of their own. If you make regular visits, even more so.” Rosie waved off before offering her hand, “so, a deal? You leave my cannibal’s alone and you can freely come and go?”

“Hmm, the ones that are ‘yours’ only count as being in here? Is it every cannibal?” Alastor asked.

“Other than a few exceptions, mine consist of those with a winning smile and black eyes,” Rosie waved to show almost everyone in that area fit the description, “thou I suppose we can just say that polite cannibals are mine.”

Alastor hummed before shaking her hand, the area flashed with Rosie's ink black magic.

“Now that is settled, the other overlords wanted me to offer you a seat,” Rosie smiled as the waiter came with their food.

“Oh, I’m not interested in being an overlord, I just enjoy the chaos,” Alastor waved off, taking a bite of his spaghetti. Rosie leaned over to wipe the sauce off his chin, noticing how stiff his right side seemed to be.

“Shame, the overlords you haven’t killed are the ones that are tough to piss off. Tell me, are you afraid of spiders, Alastor?” Rosie asked, taking a neat bite of food.

“Not particularly,” he said.

“How about spiders as big as people? Ones that, when they die, spew acid? How about ones where a small bite paralyzes you. Those are the ones under Zestial’s command,” Rosie took a long drink of her blood, “then there is Carmilla. The angelic weapons dealer who has connections with all layers of hell. Do you want to risk her ire either?”

“Hmm, and the others?” Alastor hummed, twirling his spaghetti on his fork.

“Well, you know me, I have the colony on my side. Zeezi is much the same, she has her, I believe they call themselves kaijus.”

Alastor hummed and took a few bites of his food, “pray tell, if I did accept the generous offer, what is in it for me?”

“Well, we have an overlord pack where none of us can directly hurt another overlord and their family, also we get together monthly to decide what goes on in the pentagon. Sometimes Lucifer and his wife join in,” Rosie took out the pack and showed him. He carefully scanned it and memorized the signatures. “Would you prefer one of them to take advantage of you being injured? I am sure Zestial has already begun weaving a web.”

Alastor touched his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the smiling woman, “you are an observant one, Rosie.”

“I need to be,” Rosie said. “Are you signing or should I tell the others you refused?”

Alastor looked at the paper before taking one of the feathers off of Rosie’s hat, pricking his finger and then signing the paper with his blood.

“You are so dramatic! I love it!” Rosie laughed, the pack disappeared, probably went back to Zestial. The two continued to chat between themselves until they had to leave. Alastor promising he would host their next dinner together.

[walkswithmyfather]

“Mathew 8:27 But the men marvelled, saying, What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him!

“There is absolutely nothing that can stand in the way of Jesus.

No enemy has the power He simply casts out demons.

No teacher or skeptic can stump him with a question.

No disease can withstand his call for healing.

Not even nature can baffle or threaten him.

He is not just a man

He is God's Son

He is Immanuel

God with us.

Until we go home to Him it is only then we will fully understand who He is. We can be secure that He will care for us and bring us to his home

Fear is not just being troubled with circumstances it also is the uncertainty about what will ultimately happen to us.

Jesus shows his disciples that their safety, their destiny, is under his command and nothing can withstand his grace offered to bless his disciples

Isaiah 43:2 When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

There are sometimes times in our lives when we have been hit by blow after blow, and we feel depleted and also defeated. During these occasions, it is easy to lose all hope. The good news is God does not want us to live out our daily existence discouraged or hopeless so He has given us His word as a source of blessing and encouragement.

Deuteronomy 20:4 For the Lord your God is he that goeth with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to save you.

One of the most encouraging thoughts for you to know is that even when things seem the worst God is in control. He easily overcomes what feels impossible to us.

Every time we struggled with feelings of loss and defeat we have to remind ourselves so our hope can be restored.

1 Corinthians 15:57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 John 5:4 For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.

God does not want us to be overcome by feelings of defeat and despair in spite of the crushing blows we receive. He has given us His powerful word full of encouragement and hope to strengthen us instead.

His will for us is that we live our lives in victory.

We all have battles that we fight every day . It might not be a physical war against other human beings, but rather our struggles may be against our own thought patterns, bad habits or weaknesses.

Sometimes these situations and circumstances that we face that are out of our control. When this occurs read Deuteronomy 20:4 this verse can fill us with hope and courage.

It reminds us that it is the Lord who goes with us to fight for us against our enemies whoever or whatever that may be. God not only fights for us but he also gives us the victory.

2 Samuel 22:18 He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them that hated me: for they were too strong for me.

Heavenly Father

Please act with Your strong power to still the storms in the hearts of those we love. Give them peace and calm and lead them to know that Jesus is their source of help. We ask You to replace our sadness with joy, defeat with victory, and weariness with praise. Help us when we feel defeated, weary or sad to focus on Your blessings in our life rather than on my circumstances. Remind us to praise You the Father at all times so we may obtain life and hope. We ask that You bring all things to our memory that concern You and Your plans in my life. Please increase our hope as we focus on Your Word. Help us to not be conformed to this world but transformed by the renewing of our mind. Strengthen and renew us in our innermost being. Destroy the fiery darts of the enemy that attempt to pierce our souls. May we always hear Your voice and obey Your will. Father, help us to overcome today fears. Thank you for the ones in our life that Love us. We praise You and Love You Lord in all circumstances. In Jesus’ name we pray

Amen.”

(Via)

[clonememesfrikyeah]

Captain Fordo under his helmet during the battle of Coriscant: “Thou shall show no fear, in the mighty eyes of the force I shall hold my post. This is where I make my stand. *huffs* I will not abandon my post. I am my perimeter, and my perimeter is me. Shit. Shit! I am my perimeter and my perimeter is me!”

[daemon-in-my-head]

I saw your post about the memories being gone forever but there’s a dialogue between the Dark Urge and Withers

Dark Urge: My old memories and past self - I can never get them back?

Withers: If thou couldst recall in full every barbarity thou hadst committed, every tragedy thou hadst authored... wouldst thou truly want to?

Dark Urge: It is a dishonour to my victims to not recall their names.

Withers: All their names are written. One day, if thou truly wishest, I will show thee, and we shall remember them together.

So Withers can restore Durge’s memories to a degree. Perhaps if Durge really wanted to Withers could restore even more. I have hope that the love Durge had for Gortash isn’t lost to the sands of time

Alright Anon first up, I love the idea that there's still this sliver of hope for Durge out there. Durge needs all the hope they can get.

But imma be honest, I don't think Withers means remember as in "congratulations your memories are back" but more like "these are the people you killed, the sins you committed, remember them and be sure to never do this again."

"All there names are written. And, if thou truly wishest, I will show thee, and we shall remember them together."

Considering its the scribe of the dead saying this, I do think he just has a list of names ready to show Durge if there should ever be a need for it. And while Jergal is a god and could probably restore Durge, memories and all inclusive, I don't think he ever would.

Because why would he risk that? Jergal is lawful neutral in 5, used to be lawful evil in previous editions. He's just here to clean up the dead threes mess and definitely not because he likes it.

Restoring Durges memories would be a gamble at best and utter foolishness at worst. Because they wouldn't just regain memories of Gortash, but also of the cult programming, the inherent fear and devotion to Bhaal, their original plans, yada yada. It could put all the "work" Jergal/Withers put into Durge in jeopardy.

Buuuuuuut this isn't to say that memories of Gortash are 100% lost. The human brain is weird and we tie smells and taste and all sorts of stuff to memories, so it's very well possible Durge gets handed a bit of steel and he has the faint memory or idea of someone who did the same once. Or they walk around the Gate and this one spot just feels particularly wonderful or dreadful or what have you.

It's just the "real" picturesque memories that are not available any longer, but certain emotions are still very much there from what it seems ig (and I suppose a revival by yours truly puts a halt to the memory loss, dizzy spells and all that fun stuff)