#Octavian (oc)

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Octavian, fem!Reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Fem reader, mentioned she/her pronouns to reader, reader gets period/menstrual cycle, embarrassment, implied younger reader, blood (non-injury), hurt/comfort, slight infantilization

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was another commission! I've been on testosterone for a while that I forgot what having my period feels like, I felt almost like a confused cis man writing this LOL. There will be one for Vincent coming soon too!

You try to not freak out, but it's hard not to when you see the blood staining your undergarments when changing. You know what's going on, but it doesn't change anything by much. You feel gross, disgusted, angry, all sorts of emotions. Above everything, though, you feel embarrassed. Your stomach hurts so bad that you just want to crawl up in a ball and die.

There's a soft knock on the door, making you jump.

"(Y/n)?" he gently asks. "Are you okay in there? You've been in there for a while." His voice is soft as always, but also clearly worried.

"I'm fine!" you yelp. You cringe at how high-pitched your voice sounded. "I'll be out in a sec. Sorry." You squirt some soap on your hands to hopefully get rid of the smell of blood.

He takes a moment to respond. You can tell he's thinking.

"You don't sound fine," he murmurs. "Sweetheart, if there's something wrong, you know you can tell me."

The gentleness of his tone makes you feel guilty. "I'm okay, Papa, I promise."

He lingers at the door a few seconds longer, before finally sighing. "Alright. Well, come down soon. Breakfast is ready." The floorboards creak under him as he leaves you alone, but you notice he takes his time leaving, as if expecting you to change your mind.

You sigh heavily once he's gone, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

To avoid his enhanced sense of smell, you spray some of his perfume on yourself. It smells like cashmere and lavender.

After that, you cautiously make your way downstairs to where breakfast is waiting. As you step down from the stairs and enter the dining area, you see Octavian has pulled out your chair for you. He gently gestures with one hand for you to sit.

You smile shakily at him.

"There she is," he greets warmly, pressing a kiss to your temple once you sit. "Good morning."

"Mornin'," you mumble, face going hot. You don't really have an appetite with how bad your stomach feels right now, so you poke at your food rather than eat it.

He's still standing behind you. You can practically feel his eyes watching you with a worried intensity.

When you continue not to speak, he sighs.

"...what's wrong?"

You freeze, looking everywhere but at him nervously. He sees that. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?" he presses. His gaze burns into your skull. It's almost worse than if he were angry. You can tell just how concerned he is, and it just makes you feel even more awful.

"I have a stomach ache," you mutter. It isn't technically a lie. It does hurt. A lot.

His expression softens and he clicks his tongue in sympathy. He rests a cool palm on the small of your back. "Aw, darling... why didn't you say so sooner? I can make something much easier for that tummy ache of yours. How does soup sound, hmm?"

It's embarrassing being treated like such a baby in front of him, but his obvious attempts to console you are sweet nonetheless.

"I'm okay," you mutter. "I think I'm just... tired. I'm gonna go lay down." You just want to suffer with your cramps alone.

Octavian's brows furrow, and his expression falls slightly. "I can give you something for the pain, at least..." he murmurs. There's an uncharacteristic hint of desperation to his tone.

He doesn't want to let you out of his sight, it seems. That's usual behavior for him, but now it seems less out of pure lonely clinginess, and more out of fear. As if you're covered in injuries, and not just having bad cramps.

"Sure," you agree, hoping maybe that'll get him off your case.

He smiles, though his brows remain upturned with worry. "I'll be right back."

It doesn't take long for him to come back with medicine and tea. You manage to force both down despite the growing nausea accompanying the ache in your gut.

He keeps trying to press for answers, asking if you're sick. He asks multiple times what's wrong and seems nearly frantic. He goes so far as to put his hand against your forehead, checking if you have a fever. You do, which isn't helping. All you know is that you feel gross and terrible and just want to curl up in bed with your blanket.

"It's just a small stomach ache, Papa," you mutter. "I'm fine, I promise. You can leave me alone now..."

Octavian hesitates, then nods. "Okay... but if you need absolutely anything—anything—you'll call for me. Right?"

"Yes," you nod. "Of course."

Your words seem to reassure him at least partially, because he leans forward and kisses your hair before letting you be alone. "I love you. I'll either be in the kitchen or living room if you need me. Or just shout."

"I love you too," you murmur, and retreat upstairs to your bedroom.

...

A few hours pass, and you do end up falling asleep, the medicine not giving you much relief.

When you wake up, there's fresh blood on your sheets. Tears run down your face and you want to scream in pain and frustration, but you force yourself not to.

You scramble out of your bed, staring at the red spot on your bed sheets. There's no way Octavian won't notice this. No chance. Oh, god. You hate the idea of him knowing. The very idea makes you feel gross and humiliated, not to mention terrified.

Maybe you should just tell him and get it over with. Or maybe you should try hiding it from him instead. You don't want him to look at you differently.

There's a knock on your door. "(Y/n), sweetheart? I know you said you weren't hungry, but I made soup. May I come in?"

You panic when you hear his voice, trying to frantically hide your sheets. Unfortunately, the task is hard to accomplish without getting more blood everywhere and making more messes. A tiny bit gets on your hands and it makes your lip wobble with humiliation.

"No!" you cry out through tears. You internally curse; great, now he definitely knows something is wrong.

Octavian, despite having the utmost respect for privacy most of the time, bursts open the door in a panic.

You immediately turn around so you face away from him, frantically hiding your stained bedsheets behind you. It's futile.

He stares at you, seemingly baffled by your behavior. "Sweetheart, what's going on? Talk to me, please, you're scaring me." He pauses, taking in your shaking figure. "Why are you crying?" He looks ready to cry himself, which only increases tenfold when he smells it. His brow furrows and his gaze darkens. "...no."

"Wait, Papa, its not what you think, I—" you start, but he's already frantically searching you for injuries.

Octavian's eyes are wider than you've ever seen them as they scan you all over, hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

His look of panic somehow increases when he sees the blood on the sheets you're holding behind your back. "Oh my God," he whispers. His hands slide from your shoulders to cradle your face. He holds you in place and tilts your head from side to side, examining you closer. He's clearly looking for injuries.

Given that you're a vampire like him, you find it a bit more ridiculous that he's reacting in such a way.

Before he can have a full blown panic attack, you speak.

"Papa, it's just my period," you rasp. Your voice is scratchy from sleep and crying. "That's what's been wrong this morning. I... got it for the first time today."

Relief floods over him. The color slowly returns to his face and he relaxes entirely, nearly collapsing on you in his weak state of reprieve.

He holds you close to his chest, a soft sigh escaping him.

"I thought you were dying," he murmurs hoarsely.

"I can't, actually. Kind of part of the whole immortality thing," you awkwardly remind him.

He swallows thickly. "I suppose it's just instinct to fear the worst." He gently pulls away from the embrace and presses a kiss to your hair. You think you feel a tear fall onto your head. "Oh, my sweet girl. Why on earth didn't you tell me about this?"

"Umm, 'cause it was embarrassing?" you mutter.

"Embarrassing?" he repeats dumbfoundedly. "Now why would you think that?"

You fidget. "Well... because..."

He sighs after you trail off. "Well, I have not the slightest clue why you'd be embarrassed about something like this, but I'm just relieved. Is that why you were wearing my perfume earlier?"

"You noticed?" you squeak, feeling even more flustered.

"Of course I did. I thought about pointing it out, but I know you; I didn't want you thinking I was upset about it." He gently squeezes your hand. "Regardless. Come along, sweetheart, I think bathtime is in order. After that, I'll go into the town and get you some proper supplies, okay? Oh, and I'll wash your sheets and clothes."

You smile shakily. "Thanks for not being awkward about it."

"Nonsense, little love," he coos. "This is nothing to be awkward over. If I weren't still basking in relief that you aren't injured, I might be offended you think so little of me." A chuckle leaves his lips. "After we have everything taken care of, how about some cuddles with Papa by the fireplace? Tea, too."

"I'd love that," you murmur.

[shandoratheexplorer]

"Always, always you save me."

Art made by @acutecastle (thank you so, so much for this!!! I LOVE IT!)

As the others gather at the docks, their eyes turn skyward. The nautiloids above them, once terrible in their dominion, now spiral out of control, their monstrous forms colliding with the towers of Baldur’s Gate. A deafening cacophony of destruction fills the air as they plummet, their impact sending shockwaves through the city. Some disappear into the Chionthar below, the river swallowing their ruin whole. Astarion barely notices. "I—It’s gone...", he gasps, his voice wavering with disbelief. "The tadpole... I can’t feel it anymore." The words tremble on his lips as his mind races to process what it means. A slow smile spreads across his face, something fragile, something real—until his gaze finds Octavian. Octavian, who is already moving toward him, worry etched into every sharp line of his expression. The Paladin’s mismatched eyes search his face with an urgency that tightens Astarion’s throat. The vampire knows what’s coming next. He knows, and yet— Just one more time. Just a few more seconds. His chin tilts skyward, and he lets the evening sun caress his face. The glow of it, the gentle warmth against his skin, the way it bathes the world in gold—gods, how he will miss this. How he will long for it. He drinks it in, clings to the sensation as if he can will himself to withstand it. But the sun is a cruel lover. The warmth sours into fire, licking at his skin, searing through his flesh. He stumbles, the pain blooming across his body, but he refuses to move. "Astarion!" Octavian’s voice cuts through the agony, hands gripping his shoulders. "You have to get out of the sun!" But he can’t. Not yet. Because even as the fire tears at him, as his body weakens under the onslaught, he grieves. He grieves the one thing he loved most about this entire accursed tadpole business— Apart from finding his soulmate. His legs give out beneath him. He collapses, knees hitting the dock with a thud, the sun scorching his skin like a brand. He braces for the agony, for the light to consume him— And then, shadows envelop him. A rustle of feathers, the soft snap of wind against wings, and suddenly, the fire is gone. Astarion gasps as cool darkness swallows him whole, shielding him, saving him. The agony recedes, leaving behind only trembling exhaustion. Slowly, he lifts his head. Octavian’s wings stretch above them, crimson like the deepest velvet, silver filaments catching the dying light. Astarion’s breath stutters. Crimson meets pearl grey and sapphire blue. "Octavian..." His name is not just a name. It is a lifeline. A prayer. A love story written in blood and battle and a future that should have never been his to dream of. Astarion chuckles weakly, his voice fraying at the edges. "Always, always you save me." Octavian smiles down at him, something impossibly soft in his gaze. "If shelter is what you need, then shelter is what I will give you. Always, Starlight. Always." Astarion no longer has the strength to hesitate. He throws himself into Octavian’s arms, allowing the Paladin to gather him close, to wrap him in the warmth and safety of his wings, to become his shield against a world that has never been kind to creatures like him. His face presses into the cool metal of Octavian’s armor, and he exhales shakily, a whisper slipping from his lips like a sacred confession. "I love you." Octavian’s arms tighten around him, his voice steady, unshakable. "I love you too." And just like that, Astarion is home.

[blackberry-bloody]

Contains: drugging, implied past noncon touching, non human whumper, demon whumper, angel whumpee

Octavian’s fangs sunk into Mibium's neck. His venom sneaking into his bloodstream.

Slowly he felt his limbs start to tingle and eventually fall limp. His eyelids grew heavy and he was barely able to keep them open. He had to. He didn't like being asleep while Octavian was awake and had free reign over his body.

@emmettlab

[shandoratheexplorer]

why you gotta call me out like that?

IT'S ALL FOR THE PLOT!!!!!

[wabart]

big wet eyes

[bundleofboys]

Octavian the Winter Prince ❄️

[vilochkaaa]

this bro really doesn't know how to communicate with kids😔 (he's afraid of them himself)

[shandoratheexplorer]

This looks so much like my OC in his modern AU!

I wish I knew who the artist was :(

I forever will imagine cas having wings tattooed on his back after the fall! IM A FIRM believer! He got them with the enochian tattoo! 👼

P.s: Credit to the artists and their amazing work! I'm not sure who they are got the pics on Pinterest (if you know comment

[nyxdreamweaver]

Things we need to post/talk about/create more in PJO fanart/fanfics:

Gothic!Hazel and viewing her as a 'kid-friendly' gothic heroine

Bianca & Hazel's possible bond if they met

Hazel in general (PLEASE TALK ABOUT HER MORE, I LOVE HER SO MUCH-)

The BG characters from both CJ and CHB (ex: Blanche, Gwendolyn, Pranjal, etc)

More Pjo ocs (YA'LL KEEP SHARING YOUR OCS THEY’RE COOL AS FUCK!!)

Me beating Rick's white ass/jkjk.....unless >:)

Horrifying dark sides of character's powers (Piper and Drew’s charm speak, Hazel's metal manipulation, Jason’s air manipulation, etc)

Fuck it, crazy rare pair ships you made up because free will (Claudia x Sadie, Bryce x Ethan, Octavian x Drew, etc)

[caroodraws]

My sweet boy Octavian <3 I'm in the middle of redesigning him but I like these a lot. He's a sweet little guy!!! First img is based on Buffoon with Lute by Frans Hals lol

[airenfolio]

Octavian for @wabart (I've been thinking abt his mask for days) From their fic Even as a Shadow

⟡ rbs appreciated! ⟡

[pineconepie]

NCould you write a short sequel if a reader who has recently been turned into a vampire tries to escape from Octavian?

TW: Blood-drinking (vampires), escape attempt, forced age regression/infantilization, injuries, restraints (mittens), platonic/parental yandere

...

Ever since you've been turned, Octavian treats you even more like a child.

Well, his baby, to be exact.

It's annoying, because it does seem like you're going through childhood again, because of your recent changes. Your canines fell out and began coming back in as pointed fangs, plus your nails grew much faster, sharper, and stronger than before.

And it hurt.

Constant headaches and random crying fits from growing pains made you needy. Octavian was always more than willing to pick you up, shushing you gently and rocking you as if you were a baby having a tantrum.

Even now, he cradles you on his hip in the middle of dinner.

Octavian keeps taking breaks to cut up your meat, wiping at your mouth, and occasionally spoon-feeding you despite the fact you insisted you can handle eating yourself.

The amount of doting attention he gives you is overwhelming, and you're only more irritated with the throbbing pain coursing through you.

Noticing your discomfort, he puts down the silverware and wipes away tears with a tender touch.

"Don't cry, my sweet," he coos. "Papa knows. Teething is hard. It'll be over soon." Octavian kisses your forehead before lifting you fully onto his lap, placing you sideways on top of him.

One gloved hand smooths back strands of sweaty hair as you bury your face into his crisp white dress shirt.

Not because you want to, but because you need the comfort. Even though your pride wants you to fight back, the rest of your mind needs this too much to care.

Gnawing lightly on his cravat, you sigh contentedly when he continues threading his fingers through your scalp in slow circles.

"Now, say, 'ahhhh.'" He holds a bloody piece of meat to your lips with a fork.

"I'm not eating that," you tell him. Frankly, you can't eat with the pain, even if you wanted to. The idea of swallowing anything right now makes you feel like hurling.

Octavian frowns. "Don't be fussy." His other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "You have to finish all of your food. I know you're going through a lot of pain, but it'll be so much worse if you don't eat. Would you like a tummy ache on top of the growing pains?"

For a moment, you plan to blindly agree, but then you realize something. He won't hurt you. He sees you as a child. Children sometimes refuse to listen.

What's going to happen if you deny his demand?

"No," you assert. "It hurts too much."

Octavian goes silent. His face falls before contorting into a mask of barely-restrained frustration.

He closes his eyes and exhales heavily through his nose. "(Y/n)..." He sets the fork down again and grips your shoulders with both hands. Opening them, he levels you with a stern glare. "You are going to eat your dinner, and you aren't getting up until every bite is finished. I will wait here all night if need be. Do you understand?"

"Fine! Then we'll be waiting here forever!" you snap.

He stares at you intensely, seeming more upset than angry. "Fine. You know what? Then go upstairs, and when you're ready to stop acting out, come find me."

You huff and storm upstairs, slamming the door to his bedroom behind you.

It's been long enough that Octavian has your room decorated more... childishly. It still has the same Victorian-vibe about it, but there's toys scattered around the place, and a shelf full of storybooks that he's read to you hundreds of times during your stay so far.

He also got you plenty of new stuffed animals, filling up an entire wicker basket to the brim with them.

There's a mirror in the bathroom, and you briefly glance at it while passing by. Since turning into a vampire, you stopped having a reflection. Now looking at your image just shows the furniture behind where you stand.

You can't take this anymore. For so long, you've been putting off escaping, but no longer.

The window is locked and barred shut, but with your new strength, you should be able to pry them open without needing a key, especially with your newfound strength from turning.

There's some resistance as you first start yanking apart the iron rods.

With a grunt, you pull as hard as possible, gritting your teeth and snarling as they finally bend and pop from the wall, breaking the hinges on each side until falling backward. Panting from the excursion, you drop the pieces to the ground before pushing the window open.

It's sunny out, but you don't think twice about burning when stepping out the window, now on the rooftop.

From what you can see, you're on the second or third floor.

If you climb to the ground below, you should be free to escape.

There's a trellis next to the ledge of the building, thankfully. The vines wrapped around it don't provide much stability as you hold onto them, so you mostly rely on the wooden slats to make your way to the ground safely.

Once your feet hit soft grass, you book it to the forest, running faster than ever - quite literally, perhaps being a vampire has its strengths.

For a moment, you hesitate.

Where would you even go, now that you're a vampire? You were already considered odd before, but now? Even more so than ever. Now the people who called you a monster were technically correct, even if not at the time.

No. There's no going back now, not even as the sun feels like its sizzling your skin. You'd rather take your chances alone in this forest than spend one more second living with that man and his insanity.

...

"Sweetling, may I come in?" Octavian knocks gently.

No response.

"I understand you're frustrated with me, and I'm sorry." He speaks louder this time, just in case your voice can't be heard through the wood separating you both. "I know you're going through a lot of pain and discomfort lately, and I know that's why you've been moody. I'm not angry with you."

Still, no response.

He sighs. "I'm coming in." Turning the knob, Octavian pushes open the door and scans the room for you. At first he thinks maybe you're hiding somewhere. "My love, please come out. Papa said he isn't angry."

Something doesn't feel right.

That's when he notices the broken lock on the window, bent into an odd shape and laying on the floor uselessly. The bars previously bolted across are torn off their hinges and thrown aside. The glass panes are wide open.

Horror and dread instantly fill him to the brim.

You ran away.

"No!" Octavian sprints outside and scales the side of the building before gracefully jumping down onto the soil below.

Inhuman speed allows him to race across the grounds until reaching the end of the property, stopping once he reaches the iron fence encasing the area.

Beyond it, he can see faint imprints in the earth - footprints.

There's only one way you could've gone: the forest.

...

You can't believe you voluntarily put yourself in the same spot you were before meeting Octavian. Cautiously trekking through the thicket, you hold your arms in front of your face to block any branches that get in the way.

The wind howls eerily around you, echoing in your ears as you try not to trip over any rocks or roots in your path.

Just earlier that day you thought you couldn't be in any more pain or discomfort than you were. But now? Your insides feel like they're on fire. The heat radiating off your skin is unbearable.

If it weren't for adrenaline pumping through your veins, you'd collapse already.

How did you survive this when you were human? The sun was harsh, but nothing like this. You'd do anything for winter to return.

You can't take this any longer, and almost collapse into a nearby bush, its thorns biting into your skin, but you no longer care. Taking in shaky breaths, you curl up, shivering despite the burns scorching every inch of your body.

Whimpers tear out of your raw throat, your body begging to just give out already.

Something moves to your left.

The noise startles you out of your misery, causing you to freeze immediately upon hearing it.

Rustling from the foliage. Crashing from leaves being crushed underfoot. Hushed breathing.

Then suddenly—

"(Y/N)! OH GOD–"

Arms snake around your waist and hoist you upwards into someone's arms. Octavian clutches you tightly against himself, his coldness being such a drastic relief to the flames searing your flesh.

"No," you weakly protest, too tired to fight him off.

You can feel his tears soaking into the top of your head. "What were you thinking?!" he cries. "This could've killed you!" Looking down, you see blisters forming along your exposed skin. With those sharp nails, Octavian quickly slashes his wrist, bringing it up to your lips. "Drink. Now."

If you didn't feel like death, you'd refuse, but your instincts kick in, driving you to latch onto the dripping wound and guzzle down his blood.

You feel less horrible physically, even if none of your injuries go away. He winces in pain, but looks more worried for you.

Octavian adjusts your weight in his grip and rushes back the way he came, faster than the human eye could process. You cling onto him and bury your face into the fabric of his clothing.

It feels good not having to deal with direct exposure to the light anymore.

In record time, he brings you inside, closing the door behind himself and hurrying upstairs.

The moment Octavian enters the master bath, he undresses you and puts you in the bathtub. You watch him frantically grab washcloths and bandages from the medicine cabinet.

His long brown hair frames his face, loose strands flying wildly thanks to him dashing through the wilderness earlier.

He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and gets to work cleaning your wounds with shaking hands.

"Why didn't you get hurt from the sun?" you quietly blurt.

Octavian sighs. "It affects all vampires differently. Some don't burn from it. Some only get moderately sun burnt, like me. And you..." His eyes narrow. "It could've killed you! Do you understand how dangerous this was? What if you were taken away from me?! I'd die!"

You avoid his gaze.

Octavian doesn't respond, simply continuing to wipe away bits of dried blood and dirt. After several minutes of silence, he finishes his work, wrapping your wounds, dressing you in pajamas and setting you down in bed.

As he tucks you in, you can see how absolutely heartbroken he seems. You wish you didn't feel guilty. You wish you hated him.

"I'm sorry," you grumble.

"I forgive you, but never do that again." He pulls something out of your wardrobe before sitting down on the edge of the mattress beside you. "Hold out your hands."

You hesitate, but obey.

Octavian gingerly loops the ribbons attached to mittens around your wrists, tying them securely shut so you won't be able to use your hands properly. The thick wool protects your fingers from being used, making it harder to pick things up and grip objects.

"These are staying on until I can fix that window and trust you again," he tells you matter-of-factly.

"Octavian..."

"You know that isn't how you address me, sweetheart."

"Papa," you murmur. Tears sting at the corner of your vision. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The bed creaks as he moves around to sit by your side.

He pulls you close, resting his chin atop your head. "I lost too much the first time. I refuse to let it happen again. Do you know how terrified I was at the idea of losing you?" A pause. "Never again. You're staying here with me. Safe. Always."

His hand takes hold of your palm within its mitten, squeezing affectionately.

"Now get some sleep, my precious. I'm not going anywhere."

[shandoratheexplorer]

Chapter 101: How to propose

The next chapter of Symphony of Shadow and Light is out y'all!!

And it features not one but two commissioned artpieces!

Piece done by @acutecastle

There he stands, his Paladin, though his tall frame is swaying as if he might collapse at any moment. His right hand pushes firmly against his chest, trying to slow the bleeding from the deep, vicious wounds Orin left in her final assault. But it's his left hand that reveals the winner of this deathly duel. Clutched in his grasp is Orin's severed head, her grotesque, spiked form reduced to a lifeless trophy. His fingers curled around one of the Slayer's twisted horns, holding onto it tightly as a grim declaration of his victory. Blood drips steadily from the head, pooling at his feet, while his own blood paints his torso in vivid streaks of crimson. The Paladin's face is pale, his expression a mixture of exhaustion, pain and the unyielding resolve Astarion has come to know and love. Despite his broken wings hanging limply from his back. Despite the sway in his stance. Despite everything. Octavian has won.

Piece done by @fissart

His lips part, his throat hoarse and raw and the words slip free before he can think better of them. "Marry me." His voice is barely a whisper, a cracked, broken sound, but it rings through the silence like a bell. Astarion blinks, his breath catching, his mouth parting slightly as if he misheard and a choked, wet laugh breaks from him, the sound shaky, disbelieving, full of something both tender and utterly overwhelmed. "You're delirious", he breathes, his voice shaking as he grabs his discarded cloak again, swiping it over Tav's bloodied chest. But when he pulls the fabric away, there is no longer carnage, only smooth, pink scars where once there was ruin. The wounds are gone. The nightmare is finally over. His fingers tremble as the cloak slips from his grasp, forgotten as he cups Octavian's face instead, cradling him as though he might disappear again if he isn't held firmly in place. Octavian smiles, something soft, weary, but full of certainty, his fingers finally finding the strength to reach up, burying themselves in Astarion's silver curls while his other hand covers Astarion's own, pressing it against his cheek, grounding himself in his touch. "I don't want to die again without being married to you first", he whispers, voice still weak, still shaky, but steady in its conviction. Astarion inhales sharply, his crimson eyes widening slightly, his entire world narrowing to the man lying beneath him, battered but alive, so alive. Octavian's smile grows, his eyes holding nothing but love, nothing but absolute certainty. "Marry me", he whispers again. Astarion lets out another wet, broken chuckle, his body still shaking, his breath still uneven. Then—a very undignified sniff. He doesn't seem to care about the noise he just made. He doesn't seem to care how undone he looks, how much his emotions are laid bare. Just as long as Tav is fine. His smile wobbles, his chest trembles and he shakes his head just slightly, not in refusal, but in disbelief, in sheer, uncontainable affection. His eyes never leave Octavian's—because he needs to make sure. Make sure the light won't fade from them again. Make sure that this is real. He exhales a breathless, shaky laugh and whispers, "You're delirious", he says again, his voice a soft whisper full of love and affection. Then— He finally leans down to kiss him.

[blackberry-bloody]

for the bingo card, for mibium: break a rule?

-🪷

Thank you for the prompt!! This was a lot of fun!

This is also the first glimpse into Mibium's recovery arc y'all have seen so far!

Prompt from here

(also @emmettnet since it's your boy!)

CWs: conditioned whumpee, pet whump, angel whumpee, no caretaker/whumpee being their own caretaker, recovery, whumpee recovering from not being able to talk/make noise

He had been cooking lately, something entirely different than what he had been expected to provide for Tav. And he was finding he was decent at it. He liked finding new recipes and following the instructions. It gave him a sense of purpose, but on his terms this time. It felt like an act of defiance. He grinned to himself as he tilted the cutting board of food into the pot of boiling water.

Only to hiss in pain, jumping back as the water managed to splash onto his arm. He froze, dropping the board and what little was left on it to the floor with a loud clatter. His head whipped around, panicked. He was being far too loud! He'd made noise -!

And then he took a deep breath. He was safe now. He touched the burn mark on his neck with one hand, and ran his other over the fuzz of his buzzed hair. He was safe. He took another breath and knelt down to pick up the board and place it calmly in the sink. Then picking up the food and gently placing it in the trash. Lastly he turned down the heat, placing the lid on the pot.

He took a few steps back and wrapped his arms around himself. Taking one last deep breath in, he let it out with a shout. Cursing and shouting. But eventually it subsided and he allowed himself to laugh. Shakily at first, and then louder. Then full on belly laughs that practically shook the walls with joy. He was crying now. But he felt... Ok. Hesitantly he unwrapped himself and went to stir the food. He closed his eyes and held on to that feeling of safety. And then he began to hum. It was quiet at first, but then, as nothing happened he allowed himself to get louder. Humming then turned to singing as it echoed off the kitchen walls. He wasn't anywhere near his skill prior to his captivity. But that didn't matter to him. What mattered was that he was singing and laughing. He was living again.

[theloverstemperance]

[dogtown, 1:18am] pensive

for @raenef's claws 🐱🥰💖💕

[wabart]