#[ The Blind Nobleman ]

[stormylewirmy]

Ayreon at King Arthur's Castle what will he do what will he say

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 20: A Challenge

Prompt: Duel - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Aramis, Briardien (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning: 

It had meant to be a casual conversation about the expansion of business. That was, at least, how Aramis had planned to treat it. He still wasn’t entirely certain what he had said in the wake of the now furiously flying words that were crossing over the table he and his cohorts had opted to meet at. 

His was the business of transport of goods. This man’s, the sale of other goods. How they had ended up at a crossroads where Aramis, unseeing, recoiled from the strike of cloth across his face, was startling. It was a formal challenge. And he wondered for only a moment, if the man angrily and almost coldly challenging him to a duel had forgotten about his infirmity because he continually turned his head to track their voices.

“I wish to challenge you, Baron Xavalien!” The incensed man was still near to shouting, puffing himself up for the overblown nature of his issuance. Surely the Baron would step wisely back from this. 

“I accept.” The baron intoned, lowering his glasses down from where they perched to hide his pale, infirmed eyes. The red mark on his face was almost barely visible behind the fringe of blonde hair, and he lifted a hand to brush over that cheek. Not far from his side, the Baron’s right hand man stood, staring wordlessly. It was to a credit that he didn’t step forward to intervene on his master’s behalf.

“Of course, as one who cannot fight, I shall exercise my right for any such matter of combat.” Aramis continued. “Briardien?” There was the distinct sense that this was a formality, calling his name aloud. And this time, the man stepped forward, his expression a mask of glacial calm.

“Yes, my Lord?” None of this is what the man had expected when he made that challenge. Surely Aramis would understand his limitations and refuse. Apologize and make him a more lucrative offer. Something more beneficial. It was the only reason he’d challenged him. But instead, he watched as Aramis lowered his hand from his face and curled his knuckles against the tabletop in front of him, rapping it once.

“I name Briardien, as my champion.” Something hard had crept into Aramis voice, and the man paled, though the blind nobleman did not see it. “I am done for the evening, gentlemen.” There was something final about those words, a dismissal that the others didn’t miss. Without skipping a beat, Aramis stood, and within bare seconds, the cane he had entered with found its way once more into his hands, while his manservant stepped back again. 

“Fury bless you all.” Purposeful strides and the glide of his cane along the floor carried him from the room as the man who had challenged him, and indeed, the remaining circle at the table exchanged glances and furious whispered conversation. It seemed contrary to the rumors Alexandre had always spread, his younger brother wasn’t actually a man to be trifled with.

Now they just had to pray his manservant wasn't as capable as he looked, or they might be in trouble indeed.

[mistninja]

Apocalypse stories man...........

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Wrong Blind Date AU 💜

what if you meet the wrong love of your life?

He doesn’t know how the fuck he got here. At a very nice bar in a very nice restaurant.

Sitting alone.

Or well: he knows. It’s more that he can’t believe he let it happen.

Again.

Because Steve had finally (finally!) made sufficient enough threats logical arguments to curb Robin’s attempts—well-meaning, dingus, well meaning attempts!—to set him up with so-and-so’s cousin or whoever-the-fuck’s roommate. The blind dates had actually been his first successful method to ultimately shoot down, on the basis that they weren’t just fucking humiliating: they were goddamn degrading.

For reasons such as his current situation.

And of all the things Robin desired for him, they both knew she’d never knowingly cause him pain. So that left him working with awkward introductions at parties, sometimes at completely random places even, like too-weird-to-be-coincidence run-ins at the grocery store and shit, where Robin just so happened to be shopping when both her targets were there. It was borderline frightening, but. It was very Robin. And Steve adored her more than anything and struggled too much to stay mad at her—he’s definitely tried his damnedest, more than once—so. He knows her intentions come from the heart, regardless of how disastrously they pan out in reality.

Which is why Steve is allowing this once—and only once—because he’s not stupid, but. He appreciates the ingenuity.

And getting your girlfriend to make the blind date pitch was…technically honoring his rules.

So. He’s allowing this to slide once. Once. One time.

One. More. Time.

And he’s already got his justification, fucking iron clad too, to call it on sight. Failed attempt, the guy’s already twenty minutes late and that’s…that’s past fashionable, really, especially for a set up like this. He glances at his phone, just to see if he’s got anything from Chrissy as an update—Steve loves her, and Robin adores her, and that’s the only reason he’s not spending the minutes he waits, sipping stupidly-slow at the same tequila sunrise, plotting revenge against her for being so gullible, so willing to not merely enact Robin’s last-gasp efforts but to participate, actively, because apparently tonight’s ’perfect match, he’s so your type!’ was Chrissy’s suggestion—but there’s nothing. Just the last message from an hour ago reassuring him against backing out in the first place:

he’s tall, dark, handsome, 100% your type. maybe a little *theatrical*: you’ll LOVE him 💕

Steve didn’t, and still doesn’t, understand what she means by theatrical, and honestly he’s kinda wary for it—he doesn’t like playing games when it comes to romance: he’s too all-in, and too quickly, for any of that.

Which also means that, as much as he thinks it’s a fucking laughable sham to have agreed to this, and as much as he’d walked in knowing that, knowing he was entertaining the farce against his own will: it still…doesn’t sting, exactly. But it definitely squeezes uncomfortably in his chest for no good reason that he’s been fucking stood up and yeah, yeah, that means it’s time to—

He reaches for his drink and notices it’s empty. Just another sign, really, so he move to gesture the bartender over to pay but—

Someone’s got a better angle, actually gets the guy’s attention before Steve can even try—a someone sitting two empty chairs down who lifts his glass for another, then gestures the exact same way with an empty toward Steve’s sad glass of ice.

“On mine,” he tips his chin Steve’s direction before the bartender grabs Steve’s glass along with the stranger’s and makes for refills, then it’s just the stranger turning the whole of his body around on the stool to face…Steve.

“For the handsome nobleman,” and he says it with a stilted lilt that’s somehow not disingenuous, and it’s odd, to put it mildly, paired with a little bow of his head that definitely matches the affected voice but also definitely gives the stranger a perfect window to run his gaze up and down Steve’s seated frame—it’s a good move, Steve can’t even deny it, no matter how…weird.

But…also, there’s a warmth in it? Maybe in the gaze, something that’s not just heat, or maybe in the tone that’s not just putting on a show.

Something.

“In fact I do say the very handsome nobleman doth sit alone beyond comprehension,” the stranger seems to correct himself, and the way his lips curl, wider and then pull back a little, like he hesitates, like he’s maybe bolder than this in other situations but is reserving himself just a touch for here and now—and goddamn but this is pretty fucking bold already, whatever it actually is:

“And he deserves plentiful libations,” and Steve didn’t even notice the new drink on the counter until the stranger reaches, tips precariously on his stool, and slides the glass closer before nodding toward it, almost like another little bow: “in his tarrying.”

Steve stares wordless for a second because, outside of that weird fucking Renaissance Fair thing the kids dragged him to, he’s never heard anyone talk like that. So the setting’s all fucked up because this is Manhattan, at a not-particularly-inexpensive bistro type venue, definitely devoid of turkey legs.

Plus the guy in question doesn’t quite look the part—gorgeous curls to the shoulders, facial structure to kill a man, legs for days draped down the stool and dressed in shades of black top to bottom, from the button up in charcoal fucking silk, to the weirdly-suited boots that might have a steel toe hiding or might just be playing, the only color on him the pout of his lips and the slight flush visible in the low bar light brushed over his cheeks before he leans a little closer, eyes maybe the darkest thing about him and kinda goddamn mesmerizing for it, especially for how they somehow tiptoe along a fine line between almost disorienting focus on Steve and Steve alone, and something close to hesitant, or maybe more bashful when he clears his throat and asks:

“Perhaps this very handsome nobleman would also enjoy some company,” and his tone’s not even playing coy about being hopeful, before he full-on lays a palm to his chest in old-fashioned apology as his lashes flutter a little and he goes all self-deprecating, and genuine in it, as he adds in that same bashfulness:

“Even if only that of a humble bard, such as myself?”

And Steve’s not above being wholesale dumbstruck for a good second, like his hearing goes tunneled and his pulse echoes for the narrowing: this man is unreal.

Very…theatrical. One-hundred percent his type. Two-hundred percent, even. Jesus.

So Steve’s quiet for a second, but he’s not known for his charm because he can’t bounce back quicker than average, certainly quicker than risking that gorgeous face falling for the dashing for the hope painted open all over it, not a stroke of artifice in sight.

Steve’s not even trying when he fucking feels his own automatic walls start to slip as he leans, meets the man move for move so they can hear each other close as the bar starts to fill a little more:

“Only if I can get the next round,” and if Steve purrs it, it’s a reflex; if it darkens those already depthless eyes, well. He’s close enough to appreciate the swell of the pupil, the deepening of the flush on those cheeks.

If Steve’s heart jumps a little, there’s not a soul who can call him out for it; tree in the woods with no one to hear it fall.

But it does. It so does.

The man does an adorable little shimmy across the seats between them, taking the one closest to Steve and then doing a little scootching of even that to settle all the closer, and it shouldn’t be endearing, but Steve feels like he can bet on his ribs being sore by the end of whatever this is, or ends up being, just for the swelling beneath them already underway.

“If my request is being so highly honored, so as to join you,” the man takes a little bundle of his curls and drags them across the corner of his lips before tucking it back and…Steve has the immediate urge to have done it for him instead, what the hell, too fucking soon, man—

“Does his majesty have a name?”

It takes Steve a couple long seconds to register that the man means him, though it doesn’t escape Steve that the reference, while it took a while to land? Never for an instant felt like it did in high school, or even shortly after. It felt…warm.

“Steve,” he says with a smile, more twisting his palm than extending his hand to shake given their proximity; “and you, my,” Steve licks his lips then presses them tight around a grin before choosing his words: “very odd but very endearing bard, was it?”

“It was, indeed,” the man lights up near fluorescent; “I’m Eddie.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, or the way he takes Steve’s hand. But…Jesus.

It’s…a really good name.

“Then tell me, Eddie,” Steve doesn’t let go of the hand in his, their touches just slowly slide apart and it feels…like a loss but not a crushing one, Eddie’s still close enough to feel the heat of him.

“Unless I’m totally off, I think I know from exposure, not playing, that a bard’s a musician, yeah?” Or is it a storyteller, or maybe both, there’s a good fucking reason he never have in to playing the nerd game—

“Tell me what makes you introduce yourself like that right off the bat, then.”

And Eddie glows for the opening, the invitation, and the thing is? He doesn’t stop; he’s like a star unto himself, shining and bathing Steve in the glimmer as he talks about music, about growing up in a house of it, about it being tough sometimes but his mother took him to live with his uncle, the three of them and then it was easier and there was also more music, new music, and he tells Steve about bands he’s played in, joined and left, guitars he’s loved and lost, the whole shipping boxes he has piled with full notebooks of lyrics and ideas from years upon years; and then he pivots, or maybe that’s not even it, because what he really does is test the waters around where Steve thought the bard reference came from in the first place—the nerd game. Steve confesses he was a mostly an unwilling bystander but it was probably more because he didn’t get it, and honestly his reluctance was more for show than anything, he loved what his kids loved at the end of the day, what made them happy—which left Steve explaining the kids, explaining Robin, explaining his family in a way Steve hasn’t done in relationships that lasted months, let alone first conversations on very first dates.

He should be terrified. He isn’t.

He should be terrified of the isn’t. And…and yet.

“My turn for a question,” Eddie fills the first soft lull in conversation, one that stretches taffy-sweet and almost kinda giddy; Steve doesn’t even know what he’s feeling because he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt it before, like, ever—all he knows is that it’s kind of fucking fantastic, like something he already never wants to let go of. So of course he nods, welcomes Eddie’s turns for a question even if it doesn’t seem entirely necessary; the back-and-forths sliding so natural, so balanced.

“Why the choice of drink?”

Eddie nods at the glass almost empty in his hand while Steve squints and laughs a little.

“What?” Steve asks because he doesn’t understand, sure, but also because the unpredictability, alongside the sheer earnestness of this man is…it’s disarming in the best fucking way. Like maybe Steve’s falling but he never wants to stop and—

Too soon, too fucking soon even if that’s not what he meant, exactly; he thought it, and it’s too fucking soon—

“Everyone has a reason for ordering a drink,” Eddie explains with a grin that pops those delicious dimples; “habit, by which there’s a story of the first time you tried it,” he ticks off on his nimble looking fingers, the rings on them catching the lights; “spontaneity, by which there’s a tale of what inspired it,” and fuck, they’re so long, those fingers, Steve kinda wonders how many knuckles he could fit in his mouth; “memories, by which there’s something poking at them.”

Eddie pauses, takes Steve in, no doubt sees Steve hanging onto, damn near salivating over his every word even as he swallows and takes a breath to collect himself as discreetly as he’s capable; it just makes those dimples divot deeper.

“I could go on,” Eddie offers, a little sly in his smile, the knowing kind, but his tone is soft, like maybe Steve’s not the only one feeling…things. And maybe Eddie wants him to know it. Maybe so that he’s not alone. Maybe because they both fucking like it. Maybe—

“Habit,” Steve answers, unable to keep from smiling around the rim of his glass when he takes a sip. “I got sick on shots and swore off straight tequila, but I was always up for the, y’know, frou-frou drinks,” he swirls the maybe-two-swallows left for show: “so long as it tasted good I didn’t give a shit, y’know, and then a,” Steve pauses a second, wonders how best to describe that particular figure from his past before settling on:

“An old friend, told me once,” and then Steve pauses again, this time because he can feel the rush of heat to his cheeks because oh, shit, now he’s backed himself into having to say it—

“Oh, now you have to share,” Eddie coaxes, a singsong in his voice and a wide-eyed wonder to him, something like genuine investment in what comes next, what’s next in something solely about Steve, that almost soothes the embarrassment;

“Unless you’re displaying the answer with this,” and Eddie only just brushes the flat of his fingernail to Steve’s cheekbone, too quick to appreciate the shiver it sends down Steve’s spine, through his fucking veins, that’s not helped one bit by Eddie murmuring, a little sensual, but somehow also a little dazed, a little starry-eyed when he breathes out:

“Blush like the sunrise.”

And if he wasn’t already, fuck knows Steve is now.

He misses Eddie’s touch against it, too. Even so fleeting. Wishes he were bold enough, or foolish enough, to grab Eddie’s hand and let him feel what he’s doing, the heat in him. The way his blood rushes.

He’s not, because that’s fucking insane and way too much too soon, but.

Wanting doesn’t play by those rules.

“Almost,” Steve picks up the glass and swirls it again; “he said I was like sunshine,” Steve recalls with a little grin—it’s a softer memory now than it used to be. He laughs a little and downs the last of what’s left of his drink. “Think it was more because of a yellow sweater I wore way too much at the time, but,” and he places the empty down and so he doesn’t see it coming until it happens: Eddie’s hand. On his hand, on the glass.

“No.”

Steve looks up, barely breathes. Eddie has soft hands.

“No, I think it was more than that, Sunshine,” Eddie tells him, honest and certain and a little breathless and Steve’s of two equal minds: he’s never been so aroused. But he’s also never felt so seen.

And wanted.

“Another?” Eddie asks, but his eyes don’t leave Steve’s to look at their drinks, to be anywhere but in this moment, here with him.

“You’re sure?” Steve makes himself ask it, doesn’t bother forcing himself to sound anything but pulling for one answer and one answer alone. “Don’t have somewhere better to be?”

“Wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Eddie does look away then, but down at their hands, strokes his thumb a little down where Steve’s wrist starts to curve. “And I’m struggling just now to think of anywhere better than right here.”

And then Eddie’s placing his fingers between Steve’s, just resting them in the middle spaces: they’d fit. So well.

They…will. They will fit fucking gloriously.

“My round, then,” though Steve’s lost count if they’re even, how many drinks they’ve actually had—not too many, he’s pleasantly buzzed at best and maybe more on the company than anything else if he’s honest, but he likewise doesn’t know how long they’re been there, sipping between baring their fucking souls in the most mundane ways that…

That Steve thinks have started to kindle something in him. Started to breathe life into a part of him he didn’t know was dormant, forgot he could feel until it started unfurling like this, deep in his chest.

“Need something to cut through the sugar,” he says idly, but he doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s breath catches when Steve tightens his fingers to catch Eddie’s before letting go, sliding the glass forward so the bartender can see and then he orders: “The Glenlivet 14,” he points; “neat,” then he glances at Eddie’s glass of melting ice—he’s been on Black Russians the whole time;

“Keeping at it, or something new?”

“You make a compelling argument for easing up the sweet,” Eddie cocks his head, taps his chin consideringly; “especially when you’re agreeing to remain as my company,” he shoots over a heated glance and a smile too big to be as wicked as Steve thinks Eddie might have aimed for but it doesn’t matter, it has the same bewitching, pulse-stuttering effect either way.

“Bulleit Rye, on the rocks,” Eddie taps his glass with a certain finality.

“A man after my own heart,” Steve comments with a nod; it’s a good order. He doesn’t think about the words themselves before they come out.

“And if I wanted to be?”

And then Steve thinks about the words with every goddamn cell in his body, like his blood repeats them and the electricity that works his brain as much as his heart is making little lightning storms around the comment, then the question, and then the implication because Steve…

Steve’s never wanted anything more. Steve’s never been offered anything even close and here’s this man? And he can’t be saying what Steve..thinks he has to be saying because what else can those words mean—

“Too quick?” Eddie pulls back the slightest bit and Steve misses him immediately; “I usually am, I’m so—“

Steve misses him, and will not have him doubting because Steve knows that feeling intimately, knows this man deserves none of it, and knows it’s anything but warranted when Steve’s heart, the one Eddie might want to be after, just took up leaping in his fucking chest like a goddamn gazelle.

So Steve doesn’t think, at all, when he grabs the hand Eddie placed on his a few minutes ago and cups it to his chest, the best proof he knows that can’t be overthought, or rationalized away.

Eddie’s eyes are confused, for a second, until he feels it.

And then: but, fuck.

Steve’s never watched a flower blossom all at once before but…that’s all he can think of with the slow crawl of a smile, the bright gleam of something like wonder in eyes that get impossibly wider, a chest that rises and falls heavy abd quick under the silk Steve wants to unbutton a little, see more of that milk-smooth throat save now that he’s looking, he can see enough to take note of Eddie’s pulse there: riotous.

It’s too good. It’s too much.

But Eddie feels it with his own hand. Steve sees it with his own eyes.

Here they are.

“That’s usually my line,” Steve finally exhales, tries to make it a joke between them, an understanding and maybe it works, maybe they’re both too distracted by the hinting promise of maybe never needing to have such a joke again:

“Not too quick.”

And Eddie stays there, riveted, beaming something blinding and Steve just…feels his own heartbeat. Under a hand that doesn’t seem inclined to want to move.

Not too quick.

Eddie blinks at him, almost like he’s waking up from something he wasn’t even aware he’d been sleeping through, or walking through half-dazed. Like he’s seeing something real for the very first time. His breaths are fast, a little shaky, and then he’s standing, pulling Steve’s hand from his chest up to Eddie’s mouth and kissing his knuckles, watching Steve every second as Steve’s own breath hitches, and then pulling away, but not letting go yet. Like he’s reluctant to.

“Let me hit the head real fast, throw some water on my face to make sure I’m not dreaming,” Eddie whispers to him, breathless still and looking almost like he’s trembling; “while he gets those poured,” he tips his head toward the bar where their drinks are still waiting their turn.

Then Eddie’s brining Steve’s hand to his lips again and whispering there, and yeah, the man’s shaking a little as he breathes, almost shy:

“Don’t go anywhere?”

As if it’s even a question.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve promises with all he’s got, because he thinks…it’s insanity, but he thinks maybe he walked so reluctantly into this bar however many hours ago and somehow, by some act of benevolent fate, he’s…found the man who’ll prove to be the love of his life?

Steve could not be moved for anything.

Eddie walks half-backward for how much he turns to look back at Steve, and Steve waves a few times, makes a few stupid faces just to see Eddie struggle not to giggle, and it’s…

He did say his chest was gonna be sore by the end of the night but, Jesus. He doesn’t know if he even has ribs left, or if they’re all broken, crushed to smithereens, for how full his chest feels. Nothing so common and simple as the bones of him could stand up to this and not be changed.

He smiles as he pulls his phone out—when was the last date he had where he didn’t look at his phone? Has he ever been on one before?—and he registers they’ve been sitting here, sharing themselves in a way that feels more like laying a foundation, deliberately, and that’s, that is…

Steve’s spent a very long time wishing for someone who’d want that, with him of all people. He was pretty sure he’d made his peace with never finding it. And then: here he is.

He bites his lower lip, lest his grin crack his face, when he thinks of texting Chrissy real quick and just…thanking her. Because, yeah.

Steve did, in fact, end up loving him.

Like…too-soon-but-for-real-pitter-patter-heart-skipping-beats shit.

So he thumbs open the chat and sees…unread messages.

He doesn’t full-on frown, too high on, just, everything, so he opens the texts before he can assume the worst of someone texting him during a date they, you know. Played a key role in setting up:

he may be running late for traffic, if you haven’t left please STAY I promise he is WORTH IT 🙏🏻💞

Steve’s not even sure Eddie was late, maybe they’d been sitting a few stools away for twenty minutes: it feels like a lifetime ago, now, and—

Then Steve sees the timestamp. Sent…like two hours ago.

He’d been at least two tequila sunrises in, with Eddie versus on his own, by then so, what was Chrissy even talking about—

He scrolls to the most recent message.

Seventeen minutes ago.

omg Steve I’m so sorry and *he* is so sorry, he’s absolutely cut up about this he’s still in traffic but he says he’s determined to try, he’s got flowers for you and everything he’s SUCH A GOOD GUY STEVE I swear I wouldn’t have done this if if I didn’t think he’d treat you like you deserve and this isn’t his fault, I even checked waze and it’s a mess but he understands if it’s too much and—

“Everything okay?”

Eddie’s already taken his seat, and is looking at Steve with polite interest, not leaning to see what’s on his screen like so many people do on instinct, but there’s actual concern underneath, and investment in it. Like whatever’s wrong, Eddie wants to help fix it.

Steve, reeling over the way the puzzle pieces are slotting into place—namely that, by all accounts, the earliest his intended date could have arrived was maybe ten minutes ago—looks up at Eddie, turns his phone screen-down on the bar and clears his throat, bites the bullet.

“This may seem like a,” Steve takes a deep breath, because he has to ask even if he is almost dead certain of the answer; “a kinda out-of-nowhere question but.”

And then Steve meets Eddie’s eyes square on, lets them wash over him and fucking hell: they steady him. Already, they’re an anchor for him in the worst of storms.

“Were you, by any chance, here for a blind date?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face cycle through maybe the five stages of…shock, more than grief given the context, he guesses, but they’re somehow closer to one another than Steve would’ve thought, definitely considering they only just met, though then he’s gotta consider that it feels like Eddie’s burrowed safe in his chest amidst all the blossoming joy, all the warm fullness like he lives there to be kept inside it always and also to maintain it, preserve it, as its sole cause and reason to be: but Eddie—Eddie looks at him with eyes that go wide, that fall with the rest of his face and then shutter a little, and that tears into Steve the hardest, to see something come up like barrier when Eddie’s the reason Steve feels so raw right now, and alive for it; he can’t let Eddie feel less than that, feel the need to pull back from that, from him—

Then he’s placid. Calm. Accepting.

But he deep wells in his eyes: they’re wet. They’re devastated, somehow.

And…no.

But before Steve can move, can speak: there’s a bright, colorful thing that stands out in his periphery—he catches it, flowers near the hostess stand—and his eyes flick to the person holding them, looking dismayed and definitely out of breath; attractive, brunet, weirdly familiar, and then he’s gesturing just so and…

Oh. Oh, that’s…

Steve made the comment two weeks ago, after the show he and Robin had gone to at the Gershwin, that he’d climb the lead like a goddamn tree. She’d groaned, pushed him into a nasty-ass wall that’d earned her the bill for dinner and drinks—but she’d had that look in her eye. And he’d ignored it but now—staring said lead, out of costume, still very handsome even while so fucking distraught, wilting more by the second as Steve tries not to stare too obviously, but then add in that Chrissy knowing half the standbys, that her being the reason they even got tickets, and Robin’s look—well.

“Theatrical” being…fucking literal, like a little clue, suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says it under his breath but there’s…way more disappointment than their objectively-brief encounter should merit as he processes, eyes already having followed Steve’s, and puts the pieces together: no matter how late, Steve’s very-probable blind date’s entered the building.

Which—if Eddie answers the question the way the resignation making its home on his face suggests he will—makes Eddie…

“No, sweetheart,” and Eddie’s gathering Steve’s hands slowly, gently, and his face is mostly lax and his mouth tries for a smile but it’s just this side of a grimace as his eyes, god, they’re so bright, like maybe if you can’t stare you won’t see the hurt but Steve doesn’t have to look long for it to burrow into his own chest and flay at his beating fucking heart.

“No, I wasn’t.”

And Eddie looks down at their hands, like he did before, and the tenor to the staring is wholly different, now, subdued and mournful, and Steve’s mind’s already made up but, if it hadn’t been?

The unthinkable reality of witnessing this beautiful man’s heartbreak would seal the deal entirely.

“You know what?” Steve grabs Eddie’s hands back, and squeezes them tight as he makes to stand:

“Neither am I.”

Eddie’s lips part, and his brow furrows, eyes cutting to the front entrance, to the flowers, to a man who isn’t him as if that man could ever somehow be preferable, be more…more anything—

“But,” Eddie tries to protest, confusion undergirding the heartbreak, holding it still. Like…like breathless waiting, held in a frightful uncertainty, like weighing hearts against feathers: some cosmic importance in the balance.

Steve honestly couldn’t agree more. He just already knows how this scale tilts.

“You wanna get out of here, continue this conversation at any of the hundreds of other bars nearby?” Steve says, buttoning his blazer and reaching out a hand, hoping it stays steady; praying Eddie will read his conviction, his certainty, his heart and want to reach back.

And all the slow-rotting sickness in his stomach trying to climb upward and puncture all the buoyant joyful wonder in him for for every second that ticks by without Eddie’s hand in his, it’s all wiped away, burned by the flame of wanting and then getting, of Eddie’s hand in his properly held and Steve was fucking right.

They fit together gloriously.

“It would be my heart’s-sworn honor, my liege,” Eddie breathes, like maybe he’s afraid to hope and Steve won’t have that; and he thinks he knows what Eddie’s saying, knows what the fanciful words mean but he needs to be sure, so he lifts a brow and waits until Eddie grins again so his dimples start to show and he huffs, relief in it:

“I’d fuckin’ love to.”

They down their drinks in one go, gather their things and leave double their bill, barely paying anything so much as a glance when they could look at each other and marvel instead. They walk out opposite the flowers, paying neither the blossoms nor their holder any mind. The thing blooming between them, in Steve’s chest all the bigger and full and brighter for every step he takes with Eddie’s hand in his: it’s so much more than anything with stems and leaves, that grows in the ground. Like Eddie’s glow is more than a star could even hope for. Like the sunshine that’s maybe not Steve at all, that’s really just this feeling, and the way that it grows—it’s beyond explaining. It’s held between their hands alone.

And maybe Steve will text Chrissy and explain, ask her to send his regrets to the theater guy. Tomorrow.

Then Eddie tugs him closer unexpectedly, his laughter all music as he brings Steve’s hand to his lips again, then to his chest where this time, Steve catches the wild gallop of his pulse as proof.

He doesn’t think either of them have a fucking clue where they’re headed. They have every option in front of them, and want nothing more than the touch of the other, and the promise it holds inside.

So Steve does the tugging, now; curls one hand around Eddie and draws him in, his hand caught between their chests so perfect and tastes the coffee liqueur beneath the rye on his tongue and thinks of nothing else, not texting, not set-ups, not waiting: because he’s here. Right here.

And Eddie’s heartbeat feels like home somehow already; the taste of him is nothing short of divine. They’re fully clothed on a New York street and this is the most intimate thing Steve’s maybe ever felt, after the most meaningful evening he’s maybe ever spent with anyone. At a bar. Drinking tequila and grenadine.

He starts laughing, right against Eddie’s lips, right into Eddie’s mouth, so maybe some of the joy will trickle down into his chest, inside his heart so he’ll know even just a fraction of the joy that’s making Steve feel not lighter than air, or dizzy with the speed of it all—but again, maybe for the very first time: real. Solid. Worth something this momentous.

And maybe—increasingly likely, even, as if that’s not the most incredible, unfathomable, heart-starting thought he’s ever entertained but he thinks maybe he might just actually have a shot here, or can even already say just a little bit that he’s—

Loved.

Fuck. Fuck.

Scratch maybe sending a text by tomorrow—he’ll process getting ahold of Chrissy (and that conniving girlfriend of hers) to invite them to the goddamn wedding.

Because right now? Steve’s kissing the man he’s gonna spend the rest of his life with, the man he’s going to live and die learning to love better with everything he is and ever could be: one hand pressed between both their chests, and it’s not too much because Eddie’s pressing them together tighter, body to body and hanging on like he’s trying to hold Steve’s heart in from the back of his ribs just in case; and it’s not too soon because it feels like every single goddamn thing he’s waited for his whole life, beating and clinging and gasping and melding into place finally, finally because it’s…everything. This is everything.

They are everything.

For @starryeyedjanai, who requested 'Wrong Number/Wrong Blind Date AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and incidentally also for @steddie-week for the Day Three prompt 'Long' (which is employed in a couple of abstract ways here)

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[synchodai]

When I say Tyland Lannister is my favorite character...

I am being 100% dead serious. Here is why I prefer this seemingly average nobleman over the many many many fan favorites in Fire and Blood.

Tyland Lannister is a second son in a story about second sons. Whether his feelings on this are as strong as Aemond's or Daemon's, we never know for sure in the books, but it's obvious that he's subservient to a mirror image of himself who only has more authority because of a few seconds separation between twins. It's a great display of both the arbitrariness and rigidity of succession.

His initial role in the Dance is as the master of coin for the greens. He's depicted as a typical Lannister: charming, comely, and cunning. He did what any savvy accountant would do and divided the crown's treasury amongst different allied regions for safe-keeping, ensuring that if King's Landing were sacked, their enemies wouldn't loot their coffers dry and they'd still have plenty of gold for their war efforts.

And of course, King's Landing gets sacked. Tyland is put in the black cells and ordered to be tortured by Rhaenyra to extract the gold's whereabouts. Winter is coming, people are starving and rioting, her army is dwindling, so she desperately needs that gold. Tyland is gelded, maimed, disfigured, and blinded but the torturers get nothing out of him.

Mind you, this man has been a rich, pampered bureaucrat all his life and he endured all that without breaking. When Aegon II releases Tyland from those cells, he has no fingernails, his eyes have been gouged out and/or sewn shut, this man who was once known for his good looks doesn't look human anymore — but he still manages to maintain his wits so much so that he plays an important role after the Dance.

Even with Rhaenyra dead, there are still armies raising their banners for her eldest surviving son, Aegon Trois. Tyland tells Adult Aegon to kill Child Aegon because obviously, the latter threatens the former's claim and Tyland's understandably angry over what his mom did. Aegon Dos is like, nah, I'll keep the boy hostage instead — that'll keep the armies at bay more than outright killing him.

So Tyland volunteers to go to Myr to hire sellswords for Aegon 2 since their armies are pretty much kaput after six years of this civil war. Tyland is blind at this point I remind you — there is a huge chance this man will never get to go home again. But he does it anyway, because even after years of fighting, he keeps his unwavering loyalty to the monarch he declared for.

Aegon II dies while Tyland is in Myr, and Tyland goes back to Westeros just in time to see Cregan Stark use his powers as the new Hand to marry Aegon III and Princess Jaehaera to unite the green and black sides. Cregan dusts off his hands, says my work here is done, warns the boy king not to trust anyone, then leaves for the North for everyone else to sort this mess out.

Now comes the part where Tyland shines as a character. He becomes the Hand of Aegon III and when you see his policies detailed in the book, it's clear that his goal is focused on repairs and renumerations. After what happened to him, he has every right to be spiteful and bitter against the blacks, but instead he "claimed a curious failure of memory, insisting that he could not recall who had been black and who had been green." He abolished the heavy taxes imposed on the smallfolk, sent out gold to lords whose holdings had been devastated during war, and set out to rebuild the Realm's granaries and fleet. Cleaning up is a tedious, unglamorous job — and because of his monstrous appearance and former allegiances, Tyland was looked upon with distrust.

And yet, while other regents grasped for power and tried taking advantage of the 13-year-old King Aegon III, Tyland seemed to be different. If he wanted power he could have married his twin brother's widow and convinced the boy-king to route more resources towards Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. But he didn't.

Instead, he genuinely seemed to be a father figure to Aegon III.

Tyland Lannister, blind and crippled, had always treated the king with deference, speaking to him gently, seeking to guide rather than command.

And for that, many lords saw him as a weak Hand. But Aegon, who cared for very little and never laughed and was always sullen, seemed to care for Tyland.

When the plague ravaged King's Landing, Tyland dutifully prioritized it over quashing the Ironborn raids at Lannisport. He was the last person to become afflicted with the Winter Fever, and the king sat by his Hand's side during his final hours. When the council starts discussing who should be the new Hand, Aegon (the boy who rarely ever speaks) says:

I would have Lord Rowan as my Hand. Ser Tyland thought well enough of him to offer him my sister’s hand in marriage, so I know he can be trusted.

This boy trusted Tyland, the man who only years ago wanted him dead.

So it's easy to imagine that this man saw Aegon III as the boy he was responsible for, as the son he could never have because of what the war had done to him. Tyland Lannister was a broken man who despite losing everything, his king and his brother and himself, kept a broken Realm and broken boy together when everyone else swarmed like vultures just trying to pick at carcasses.

What motivated this man's loyalty for a boy whose mother mutilated him? Did he regret pushing for the death of an innocent child and this was his penance? Did this man who gave everything for his cause think that this boy was something that could still give all that sacrifice and tragedy meaning? Was the mercy and kindness he afforded an apology for the horrifying trauma that scarred this boy — did he feel responsible for his mother's downfall and the failure to save his uncle? Did his disfigurement and blindness allow him to let go of the man he once was and become someone capable of seeing the folly of pride and power?

Here is his obituary in Fire and Blood:

Ser Tyland Lannister had never been beloved. After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, he had urged Aegon II to put her son Aegon to death as well, and certain blacks hated him for that. Yet after the death of Aegon II, he had remained to serve Aegon III, and certain greens hated him for that. Coming second from his mother’s womb, a few heartbeats after his twin brother, Jason, had denied him the glory of lordship and the gold of Casterly Rock, leaving him to make his own place in the world. Ser Tyland never married nor fathered children, so there were few to mourn him when he was carried off. The veil he wore to conceal his disfigured face gave rise to the tale that the visage underneath was monstrous and evil. Some called him craven for keeping Westeros out of the Daughters’ War and doing so little to curb the Greyjoys in the west. By moving three-quarters of the Crown’s gold from King’s Landing whilst Aegon II’s master of coin, Tyland Lannister had sown the seeds of Queen Rhaenyra’s downfall, a stroke of cunning that would in the end cost him his eyes, ears, and health, and cost the queen her throne and her very life. Yet it must be said that he served Rhaenyra’s son well and faithfully as Hand.

Tyland wasn't extraordinarily badass, noble, or even skilled. He was an excellent politician but no way the best. But I think that's what makes him compelling to me — that he's this down-to-earth depiction of a POW, a war veteran by all accounts, trying to pick up the pieces and slowly glue what remains of the Realm and himself back into something vaguely human.

We tell so many stories about the glory, the tragedy, and the losses of war. But I think it's important and beautiful to tell stories of those bravely and optimistically choosing to keep living in the aftermath as well.

[brynn-lear]

Note: these are all yandere characters I had back in 2022. I'm describing them very vaguely. I can't bring myself to spoil even minute details I find intruiging even though it's unlikely I'll make this webtoon-isekai-otome game concept come to life. Shoutout to mochi and harmony. I would've forgotten these men exist if it weren't for them lol

Yan!Butler: People kept mistaking your deceased brother's butler as a nobleman, especially with how you both appear to be best friends rather than master-servant. His butler is one of your greatest allies and critic; not once has he missed his chance to tease you in such “polite” yet convoluted ways. But you at least know his sharp tongue comes from a place of affection, and not from disdain as he would with other nobility. Your older brother took him under the family's care when his small village was brutally extinguished by unknown assailants. That butler thinks all other nobles deserve gruesome ends. There's not a single day where he does not feel paranoid. So when you feel as though the pavement you passed by in your private gardens had splotches of red… you turn a blind eye. You trust your brother and his allies. As long as you ignore that what he does is far beyond ensuring your brother's safety, you can go on sleeping peacefully at night.

Yan!Eccentric Immortal: You honestly thought it was so weird for a wandering pink-haired tourist to wear red shades and a short-sleeved shirt with tons of hibiscus printed on it, but whatever floats his boat. At least, that's what you thought at first before you struck a conversation with him out of pure boredom. No matter how… “modern” he looks, he was dejected enough at the time to confess that he came to see how his hometown looks— only to discover it is practically unrecognizable. He kept pointing to business shops, claiming some used to be parks, a small forest, his favorite bookstore, and a place his old buddy used to have a successful shoe factory on. And then it hit you. This man you're with… is one of your ancestor's mayor turned revolutionary best friend who struck a contract with the devil. There's one small problem... You're involved in said contract.

("Oh, so he's immortal, huh… no wonder he was burying his face in his mushroom hat when we were walking around in the museum. On one hand, impressive that he was the first man ever photographed, but he's also the first photobomber ever. He was just cleaning his shoes and got in the way…")

[More descriptions utc]

Yan!Crown Prince: He is your childhood friend crown prince, who was once a quiet and lonesome kid. You belonged to the very few children who properly befriended him, but in each playtime, he always clung to you tightly. The adult nobles in your life had always made it a point to remind you to be wary of his lineage. “The royal bloodline’s first love is their last— and such obsession reigns supreme.” There is also a legend of how the first king confessed to his tactician after the war. However, he dismembered & hid her limbs when he faced rejection. The royal family has been plagued with unrequited love and unhappy marriages since then, yet you don’t believe him capable of perverse and violent thoughts. He harbors a hopeless puppy-like “one-sided” affection on another childhood friend of yours (THE main female lead) but he takes it “like a champ”, you're sure of it!!! Plus, the prince has grown so mature and independent, always asking for your counsel on politics more than personal affairs. You haven't met a man who enjoyed his duties as much as he does. If anything, he has distanced himself from you… Right?

Yan!Doctor: As a child from a loving noble home, you had remained firm in your stance on committing acts of kindness. When an injured kid your age was starving outside your estate, you did not hesitate to order your brother's butler to fetch food and drinks. Since he was nameless and you weren't one to gloss over a book of baby names— you gave him one that sounds like a dog’s. Years later, you've fallen gravely ill. No physician across the continent could help you despite your philanthropist reputation. But there was one who had done the impossible. The doctor cured you in under a month, and when you tried to cover his services, he said everything was paid with “three glasses of milk and a box of biscuits.” Honestly, you should've remembered who he was sooner, considering how strange his name was. Despite such a grand revelation that he apparently owes you his life, there's unbridled hunger beyond his “kind” eyes. Something lonely and unhinged.

Yan!Ex-Hitman/Politician: There was a boy you've always seen each time you went to church. You see him every week that you both watched each other grow up. Apparently he came from a noble bloodline just like you, but despite being the eldest, his parents greatly favored his younger sibling. Deciding he had no talent to best him, the boy went to the monastery to practice the word of God instead. You always thought he was an ambitious and good-hearted person— especially since it's not exactly common for someone in their late twenties to aspire for the position of prime minister and appear so incredibly wholesome. On your quest to find someone to help you solve the mystery behind your older brother's death— you found out that the kind mint-eyed man who often carved wooden toys and sewed plushies for the orphans was the notorious hitman who killed plenty of corrupt nobles in his prime. Could he be behind your brother's death…?

[nightmaremonarch]

jojo’s bizarre fantasy au BECAUSE I LOVE PART 5 AUGHHHHHHHHH

i rewatched the entirety of part five in the span it took to make this. Details about the lore and characters below the cut ^_^

Ok. I will be separating this based on character… in an attempt to be more organized. Included will also be my friend’s description that she gave for each character upon seeing the drawing.

Giorno Giovanna — Race, half vampire. Stand name, Gaia. Unfortunately lost his silly victory rolls, which have been replaced with donut shaped curls. Has a dream of usurping the Crimson King and ending his oppressive reign.

Friend’s Description: “‘pink is still manly for this era guys trust’”

Trish Una — Race, human(?). Stand name, Spice. I like to think she tries to maintain an air of elegance and superiority, but she’s just a kid who doesn’t particularly want to be in the situation she’s in. The princess of an underground kingdom? No way. She just wants to be Trish.

Friend’s Description: “Noblelady”

Guido Mista — Race, human. Stand name, Coitus Cluster (good god the creative juices are NOT flowing). Best archer, like, ever. Probably enjoys animal furs but is too broke to get any. Stinky loser.

Friend’s Description: “Robin hood.”

Pannacotta Fugo — Race, elf. Stand name, Purple Death. Former nobleman and still dresses like it. Had to limit the holes in his clothes because he is, unfortunately, not immune to being sunburn.

Friend’s Description: “totally not a vampire”

Bruno Bucciarati — Race, human. Stand name, Strings of Fate. I love him. He’s the love of my life. I may or may not have put the most effort into his outfit. He’s so beautiful. No notes. Also, since zippers weren’t invented till like… mid 1800’s, rather than zippers, he uses strings!!! Tugs on ‘em the way you would a loose hem…

Friend’s Description: “Italian nobleman”

Leone Abbacchio — Race, drow. Stand name, Rewind. It takes the form of a snake!! Because Moody Blues had them.. neck thangs. I don’t know. Anyways. Abbacchio coulda been drippier, but at the time of drawing I was running low on brain power.

Friend’s Description: “TOTALLY NOT A VAMPIRE”

Narancia Ghirga — Race, human. Stand name, Pheonix. Due to the fact that airplanes did NOT exist prior to some point in the 1900’s, Narancia’s stand is a bird. Probably breathes fire and can detect carbon dioxide… cannot come back from the dead though. Sorry buddy. Also, his left eye is blind from his eye infection. Sorry again buddy.

Friend’s Description: “peasant working on a merchant ship”

AND FINALLY:

Diavolo — Race, Demon. The Crimson King. He took FOREVER to draw. Especially those tattoos. I tried to make his color scheme salvageable, but seeing as I was working with Diavolo’s actual color scheme… it is not the best. Diavolo used to have wings as well, but after an incident that prompted him to go underground, they’re gone. He hides in the body of a halfling named Vinegar Doppio… though they are two completely separate entities.

Friend’s Description: “Dante’s homosexual Inferno”

idk if ill elaborate more on this au. depends on the reception of this…!! this is all just for fun… goofs and gaffs… love u sorry for only posting wips for months before this

also in this au i think stands would be called spirits/be spirits ok that’s all fr now bye love u

[ivysangel]

…vampire!jason thoughts… you must provide them im desperate…. -🐞

(ik you probably expected #real smut, honestly i did too but this ended up turning into a whole bunch of lore/headcanons/whatever tf. i'm so sorry bae cw: talks of consuming blood)

you ask, you shall receive. i've been thinking about jason and dick as vampires in relation to each other, so this'll be a post about both of them just for the sake of comparisons. also, in my mind, this au takes place during the 19th century because i've conflated vampirism with the victorian era, and it's also no capes in regards to vigilantism bc vampires do love a good cape.

in this victorian era, vampire au dick would be either a nobleman or straight up royalty. he's got status, money, and a pretty face, and he uses them all to his advantage when it comes to feeding. you know in the originals or itwtv when they host an event that's actually a cover for them finding their next meal? yeah, he does that. he flirts with all of the ladies, plays into his charms, and sweeps women off their feet. and at the end of the night (sometimes even mid-ball), he coaxes them upstairs and ravishes them, sometimes in more ways than one.

i think for dick feeding is something he can have fun with, knowing that he holds such a high ranking in society that when bodies of people he's been seen with show up around town, people turn a blind eye. and even when someone does try to investigate, the wayne family checking account talks enough to shut down anything beyond a questioning.

in many pieces of media surrounding vampires, there are people who know about vampires and choose to feed them their blood. there's a bunch of lore that explores the idea that a vampire bite is almost orgasmic and kind of addictive, which is why some people are more than willing to put themselves in harm's way by either being employed by vampires or by straight up just throwing themselves into a vampires line of sight with open wounds.

with that being said, i think dick grayson likes the chase. i think that even if his father (bruce, who is also a vampire in this au because vampire families are just superior) has people on his payroll to provide blood for them, he's going to go out on his own to flirt a bit, get laid, and then have his fill.

which brings me to my next point; while feeding, like sex, is an intimate act, it's far from necessary for dick to need an emotional connection with a person he feeds off of or even a physical one. sex and feeding are related but not totally synonymous, and if he needs to just feed or just get his rocks off, he can. is it preferred? maybe not. i believe he does like the mess that comes with doing both at the same time.

ok so for jason, ugh so obsessed with him as a vampire because i think it's so in line with his canon story. in a lot of vampire lore, to become a vampire, you have to consume the blood of a vampire and either die or be on the brink of death, which is just so. it's so jason dying and being revived by the lazarus pit coded. and even the way he inevitable that he will spill blood post-revival in both this vampire au and his canon storyline…it's almost prophetic.

anyway, jason's approach to vampirism is quite different. i think he struggles with it no matter how long he's been one. he can't fully grasp that he's immortal; he looks in the mirror and sees that he hasn't aged a day and he feels sick. being a vampire for him feels like a curse and he only continues living because he's scared to die (again).

he doesn't stay anywhere too long, typically hopping from town to town in the middle of the night when less people are around. he believes himself to be out of place amongst normal people and he's paranoid that people can smell the iron on his breath when he talks to them so he makes it a point to have minimal interaction with people.

it's crippling, he drives himself mad with the solitude, but i feel like another reason why he continues to stay alive is to spite his creator, whoever that may be. he's most definitely got an agenda, in true jason fashion. i just don't know what it is yet.

he feeds only when he needs to but tries not to let the hunger get too intense because i do feel like when he loses control, he's the stefan salvitore type. a ripper. but he's pretty good about it and is almost polite when he's feeding? like he finds a victim and says i'm sorry before just absolutely tearing into their jugular.

i just really think he grapples with his own mortality, or lack thereof, and how it exists at the expense of others. so he is genuinely ashamed of who he is and what he's become. so, while blood drinking is something he needs to survive, it holds a lot of weight for him, which is why i think drinking blood and sex are pretty equal for him when it comes to intimacy level.

that brings me to my MAIN point (which isn't really a main point because it's being reduced to a small paragraph at the end of this post), all of that was background for this, eek. the act of drinking blood during sex is so. big. for him, it's eye-opening, life-changing. the amount of trust required on both ends for this to happen…at that point, it's basically end game for you two. and it's so funny because that's just a normal tuesday for dick.

anyway, i do have more thoughts and more lore, but this got really long, so i'll cut it off here

[averagewriter-inthedark]

A Golden Rose 🌼 | Alicent Hightower Headcanon

GOT/HOTD Masterlist

Alicent Hightower having a secret relationship with the daughter of Lord Tyrell would involve:

Becoming a lady-in-waiting to the young queen early on in her marriage to King Viserys after you were sent to King's Landing upon the request of his Grace. Leaving the Reach and your family for the capitol, where you would remain indefinity. You'd only been in the proximity to the royal couple once on the day of their wedding, though you never exchanged words. It came as a surprise when two years later at ten and seven the raven arrived to accompany the Queen as she nears the end of her term. Pending the birth of her second child.  

It was pretty much love at first sight for Alicent, who was drawn to your beauty and personality. The sharp wit and charm of a Tyrell, you had her a blushing mess nearly every day. Alicent requesting your company more often rather than all her ladies. Pretty much leaving them to the winds. You didn't mind. In fact, you relished in the attention. 

You clocked onto her affections early on, not blind to her lingering gazes, soft smiles, and how her eyes drew to you each time she entered a room. Walking closely beside you, while the other ladies trailed behind. It only took four months for you to confront her, as you developed strong feelings for the Queen and no longer had the strength to keep them hidden. "My Queen, forgive me for speaking freely, but I cannot go another day with us not saying what we so desperately want. I know what you feel for me, and I want you to know I feel the same." 

Yeah, she was a goner. Her heart soaring with happiness...and fear. Of course you two could not explore a relationship openly. She was married--to the damn King! And you were a lady-in-waiting expected to marry a nobleman or knight. If anyone found out about your relations, you'd be exiled or facing the sword. Alicent surely would face the King's wrath, and neither of you wanted to picture that. 

So, you both did what you had to do: you loved in secret. Behind closed doors and wondering eyes. Gifts of sentiments on namedays, brushing hands when passing teacups, seeking one out in a crowded room, walks in the garden. Anonymous notes of admiration, kisses at night when the Keep was asleep. Reading to each other in the library, picking flowers to put in the other's hair. Saving sweets from lunch and supper to share later on in your chambers. And on most nights, you'd run your fingers through Alicent's soft hair to lull her to sleep.

The love you shared blossomed like the golden rose that represented your house. Growing stronger by the years. You and Alicent had the biggest secret in all of Westeros. One you would go to war to protect. 

Viserys was always occupied with King duties and entertaining his council to see what his wife was up to. Otto kept a close eye, and you often felt his suspicious gaze on you at events, but never once did he comment. Though you'd never admit it to Alicent, you were grateful when he was dismissed as Hand. It was one less person you had to worry about. The maids and guards turned a blind eye, all except Criston Cole. Once he became Alicent's sworn protector, he followed you two like a dog on a leash. And when he did catch you two in a compromising position roughly a year after she had Aemond, Alicent made him swear on his life to be silent. 

Rhaenyra was....complicated. For one you knew of her friendship with Alicent prior to her marriage to the King, and the love they shared for each other. Admittedly, you were slightly jealous, but got over it once Alicent assured you she no longer harbored those affections for the Princess. Still, you were not Rhaenyra's biggest fan. Her behavior and comments toward Alicent had you fuming, but you remained calm in the presence of others. Once she finally married and had children you were pleased.

Speaking of children, you were close to Alicent's sons and daughter, despite hating Viserys for putting her through four pregnancies and treating her like a broodmare after what he did to Queen Aemma. The resentment towards the King only heightened when he seemed to forget about the children he sired, preferring Rhaenyra and her sons. Daeron was sent to Oldtown young, leaving the older three, who you helped Alicent raise.

As the children grew up, they were not blind to your relationship. Why their mother always broke fast with you and invited you to the table at supper. Why she asked for your opinion on certain things. How she ordered golden roses to be planted in the gardens of the Keep on your 19th nameday when you mentioned feeling homesick. The fact there was always your favorite pastries at banquets. And when she went to light a candle in the sept, you were right there with her. You were dressed in the finest silks compared to the other ladies-in-waiting. 

Where they confused in the beginning? of course they were. They didn't understand why their mother was more devoted to you than their father. Why Alicent's eyes sparked when looking at you, much like when she looked at them, instead of the King. But they never once spoke of it. Understanding there was a deep affection between the two of you that the realm would never accept. 

Yet when the dragons danced years later as the kingdom split between Greens and Blacks, the history books would write about the Hightower that bloomed with golden roses. Why Highgarden did not hesitate to raise their banners in support of King Aegon II Targaryen. Covering the southern lands that would further weaken Rhaenyra's defense. Making the Princess and her council realize their mistake of undermining the influence you had on the Alicent.

For a rose is so beautiful to the eye, one forgets about its thorns.

[stormylewirmy]

Final Experiment hyperfixation has gotten to bad that i made designs for characters that don't even matter as much in the story

I would had done a design for the villager who called Ayreon the devil spawn but i got lazy

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 19: Risks & Rewards

Prompt: Taken - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Aramis, Briardien (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning: Mention of a gunshot wound. Notes: Part 1; A Challenge, Part 2; Duel

The duel had gone exactly as he had expected it to. The manservant as his ear had described to him what was happening. The gunshot lodged in the shoulder of the man who had insulted him and struck his face at that meeting. And the way that Briardien was clutching his own side. 

He needed to be measured, and he would have to force himself to remain that way until they reached the confines of the manor. He went through the motions, stating his satisfaction. Could feel the set to his mouth when he told Briardien to get into the carriage. 

And it wasn’t until nearly two bells later, after Briardien had been treated, the grazing wound on his side treated and wound with bandages that Aramis finally found himself alone with his steward. He’d ordered the last servant out and it was only then that he let fingers lead him to the edge of the bed that Briar occupied as he sank down onto it. 

“You won.” His voice held a gravel to it that he didn’t dare attempt to correct lest he call attention to it. It was a single, simple thread of emotion he didn’t want to bear out in the light of day. Until with most, he had settled himself and then turned on the bed until he could face Briar properly, one of his gloved hands rising to brush against the man’s ribs well above where the bullet had gouged his side.

“Of course, my lord.” There was a smile in Briar’s voice, one that died as he lifted his eyes up to scan Aramis’ face. The mask he’d worn since the duel had slipped, and worry was etched in every feature, from the deep furrow above his brows to the downset of his mouth. 

“I knew it was a risk. If I’d thought they’d manage to shoot you at all, I never would have had you take it.” Aramis’ voice held no contrition to it, for this was just the way of things in the household. It was Briar’s purpose to endure the things that Aramis himself could not. It was what had enabled him to become so proficient a lord in so short a time. 

“But now no one can question your honor.”  Briardien murmured as he lay one of his own hands across Aramis covered fingers. The darker man’s fingers were trembling under the touch. The fact that any duel with pistols was risky was not something lost on either of them. A misfire. A lucky shot and he’d have been dead. 

Aramis took in a deep breath and shifted forward on the bed until he could lean in and press his forehead against Briar’s own. 

“No, no they cannot question my honor.” He repeated. “But I would rather my honor be tarnished than the alternative.” What he referred to hung in the air like a quiet curse he dare not speak into existence, lest he tempt the Fury’s favor with them. 

Briardien opened his mouth to speak, only to find Aramis’ lips against his own as his lord tipped his head. There was an edge of desperation in that kiss, in the way fingers curled against his side before trailing skin to rise and lay across his heart. 

“Rest, my Briar. For Halone’s mercy, the wound was shallow. I will be tended by another today. And you will sleep.” It was the same tone he had been given when he was told to get into the carriage. One hand lifted to brush across his mouth, wondering if his lips might be as bruised as they felt. 

“Yes, my Lord.” He answered as Aramis’ cane settled to the ground and he rose again, stepping away from the bed to find his way to the door and out of it. Some things, he could never speak aloud. Words that he could never say, for what they would change between them.

Admissions he would love most direly to make, but could not. Theirs was a precarious relationship in many ways. For as deadly as a bullet might be, in some ways, this was the greater risk taken in the House of Xavalien.

[hyperactively-me]

Hello hello do you have any thoughts of writing the reader in the king!ghost au getting kidnapped? Maybe graves or shepherd (if he's in the au) or just some random made up character was doing some operations with Simon and they decided to ditch Kastron, and abducted the reader to send her off to Simon's enemy? I think the reader could manage to run away by herself, or it is Simon who rescues her but she got some good intel while being held as a hostage.

Also, what do you think about the reader getting poisoned? I think the scenario could be like: there is a noble who wanted his daughter to be married to Simon, but Simon chose the reader instead, saying that brings more benefit to Kastron, and the noble is like okay so we get rid of her and then I can be the king's father in law🤔. So he bribed some of the maids in the kitchen+the queen's direct maids, and the reader ends up getting poisoned but didn't die due to the fast treatment of the royal doctor.

Or for a bit of more angst, the poisson was originally targeting Simon, but there had been some mistakes in the middle and it ended up in the reader's teacup.

I'm sorry if these aren't your preferences! Love your writings and your creativeness💕

alright, this work is about the second prompt in this ask!

(extras)

king!ghost x reader -- poison

warnings: attempted assassination, descriptions of physical reactions to being poisoned

You wake up each morning alongside Simon, surrounded by the tasks and responsibilities that comes with your status as the queen of Kastron— no easy job. As the rays of the sun filter through your ornate curtains, you find yourself reminiscing on your marriage with Simon.

Despite the trials that had marked the early days of your union, you and Simon had grown closer, forging a partnership and marriage that withstood your past qualms with each other. Now, you couldn't help but marvel at your blossoming love.

Your marriage was not without its challenges, particularly from a cunning nobleman, Lord Andrew, who had sought to secure his daughter's place as the queen of Kastron. He had tried diligently to get Simon to propose his daughter, forcing her to attend every event that would have the King present. However, when Simon had returned to Kastron with a bride in tow, choosing you over his daughter, the nobleman was furious.

Unbeknownst to you, the disgruntled nobleman had a sinister plan. He had envisioned a future where he would be the king's father-in-law, and to achieve this, he plotted to eliminate you from the equation. Lord Andrew was blinded by jealousy, greed, and the need for power.

His conniving plans led him to far, dark corners of the castle, where he bribed the maids in the kitchen to taint today's afternoon tea with poison. Lord Andrew's bribery extended to even your most trust attendants, who were lured in by the promises of money, power, and protection. So, that afternoon, one of the maids poured the vile of deadly poison into your teacup.

Little did the maids know that you would be having tea with Simon today.

You settle into your plush chair, sighing in relief as you lean back into the cushions. A few moments pass by and you're met with Simon entering the tea room.

"Afternoon, love," he greets, walking over and pressing a kiss to your cheek before sitting down in his own chair.

"Hey, Si! I'm glad you could make it so last minute," you respond, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you meet his warm gaze. The sunlight dances on the delicate porcelain of the tea set before you, casting a serene glow over the room.

"Wouldn't have missed it," he responds gruffly, a small smile quirking on the corner of his lips.

Suddenly, the doors to the tea room fly open, and you sigh contentedly when you see the maid carrying a tray with you and Simon's teacups.

"Ah, perfect timing," Simon remarks, his eyes brightening as the maid sets the tray down. "Could you make a second cup, please?"

You miss the way the maid's face pales when she sees Simon sitting across from you, swallowing thickly.

"Yes, of course, right away!" she squeaks.

You watch as she pours Simon the normal tea, her hands a little bit shaky. She sets one teacup in front of him, and the poisoned one in front of you. The aroma of freshly brewed tea fills the room, masking the poison hidden within the delicate porcelain.

The maid, knowing of the sinister plot she carries out, offers a polite yet patronizing curtsy. "Good afternoon, your majesties. Tea is served."

"Thank you," you acknowledge with a gracious smile, exchanging a brief glance with Simon. As the maid departs, you turn your attention back to Simon, making quiet conversation with him, letting your tea cool down.

Simon picks up his teacup, preferring his tea to be scalding when he drinks. He takes a few sips, savoring the taste on his tongue.

Your conversation flows freely, talking of what you both have planned for the rest of the day, from recent council meetings to other more trivial matters. The atmosphere is light and airy, seemingly untainted by the poison that threatens to slip between your lips any moment now.

"Y'know, love," Simon begins, swirling his tea absentmindedly, "I was thinkin' we maybe take a trip somewhere?"

You smile, the idea of a getaway appealing. "A trip sounds wonderful, Si. Any particular place in mind?"

After deeming your tea was cool enough for you to drink, you bring it up to your lips and take a sip.

He leans back in chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "There's a coastal town called Alordia, have you ever heard of it?"

You swallow another sip, nodding. "Yes, I used to go there as a child! It's been a while since I've been to the sea."

"I was thinkin' the air might do us some good," Simon says thoughtfully.

As Simon continues to share his plans for the trip, you suddenly feel a subtle wave of discomfort washing over you. At first, you dismiss it as a one off sensation, perhaps just lingering stress from the day. However, as the conversation continues, you start to notice an unusual bitterness lingering on your tongue.

As the minutes pass by, you begin to feel a strange heaviness settling in your limbs. You glance at Simon, who is still animatedly describing Alordia. Meeting your eyes, Simon takes a good look at your face, concern flickering in his eyes as he notices your demeanor.

"Are you alright, dove?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You muster a weak smile, swallowing thickly, attempting to push through the mounting weakness coursing through your veins.

"Mhm, just got a bit tired is all. Tea can make me sleepy sometimes."

Simon's brow furrows with concern as he continues to observe you closely, eyes flitting up and down your form. "You don't look well."

"I... I think I just need some air. Maybe a walk in the garden would do me good."

Simon, however, isn't convinced. He sets his teacup down, the worry deepening in his eyes. "No, something's not right."

"I think it's fine, really. I just need some fresh air," you say as you rise from your chair. Your heart is racing in your chest, and that unsettling weakness rushes to your legs. The moment you stand, you falter, catching yourself on the edge of the table.

Simon immediately stands, his chair scraping against the floor as he rushes to your side. "We're going to get the doctor," he says gruffly, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.

He knows you've been poisoned, but he doesn't tell you to prevent you from outright panicking. This happened once before, where you collapsed at the dinner table. Everyone had thought you been poisoned, but you were just sick with the flu. But now? You weren't sick at all, in fact, you looked bright and well-tempered when he walked in the tea room.

The room begins to blur, and you struggle to maintain consciousness as he starts to drag you out of the tea room.

Desperation fills your eyes as you reach out and grasp Simon's hand wrapped around your waist. "Wait, Si, I..." Your words falter as dizziness washes over you, making it harder to form coherent sentences. Your face feels heavy, each blink slower, each breath more shallow than the last.

"Just breathe," he tells you, trying to calm his own racing heart.

The moment he kicks down the tea room door, he's yelling at the guards to go tell the doctor that he's coming with you. Simon's free arm comes around the back of your legs, and he's lifting you off the ground in one motion. When he has you secure, he breaks off into a run. The world around you continues the blur, the sounds echoing painfully loud in your ears. You can feel the urgency in Simon's steps, a sick realization dawning upon you. Beads of sweat start to roll down your forehead, and everything feels too bright, too loud.

You don't fully register when the doors to the infirmary swing open, mind muddled from the effects of the poison. Simon bursts into the infirmary, calling for the doctor urgently.

"It's poison," Simon calls out, voice gruff and commanding.

Everything is muffled, barely registering his words, but the urgency in his voice cuts through the haze. The medical team springs into action as Simon places you gently on a bed. The room is a flurry of activity, and you catch glimpses of worried faces and the glint of medical instruments.

"Move!" the doctor calls out, carrying tray of vials.

Simon stands by, his eyes full of fear and determination. A nurse gently directs him to a corner of the room, where he can observe but not stand in the way. For once, he gives them space.

The frantic activity around you is a distant hum as consciousness slips away, leaving only fragmented images and sensations in the tips of your fingers.

In your haziness, you feel a cool sensation on your forehead as one nurse places a damp cloth over your heated skin.

Without hesitation, the doctor wrenches your mouth open, taking out the vials and pouring antidotes down your throat.

As the antidote slips down your throat and into your system, a shiver runs down your spine.

Simon watches every little movement, a hardened plea in his eyes for your recovery.

Time seems to stretch and fold upon itself. The medical team exchanges hurried whispers, their faces etched with both concern and concentration.

Simon remains rooted in his corner, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. The seconds tick by like an eternity. His gaze never wavers from you, holding his breath.

Finally, you start to cough, eyes fluttering as the blurriness of the room starts to fade.

A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the room. The antidote takes effect, and your vitals start to stabilize.

"Christ..." Simon mutters to himself, his shoulders sagging as the tension and adrenaline drains from his body. He strides over to your bedside, his eyes searching yours for signs of consciousness.

The doctor approaches Simon with a reassuring yet stressed smile. "She's going to be fine. We got to her just in time."

Your eyelids flutter, consciousness slowly returning to you. Simon takes your limp hand, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles. You blink a few times, the world gradually coming into focus. Simon's face swims into view, and you manage a weak smile.

"Hey there, dove. You alright?" he says, relief evident in his tone.

You nod lightly, your voice a mere whisper. "I think so."

The doctor turns to you, relief written on their face. "You gave us quite a scare, your majesty. You're responding well to the antidote. You'll need to rest for the next few days, and the effects of the poison won't fully subside for another 24 hours. No strenuous activities for the next week, at the very least."

Simon nods in understanding, his protective instincts kicking in.

You nod, still feeling the lingering effects of weakness. "Thank you... all of you."

Simon's grip on your hand tightens, eyes softening.

Once the doctor is finished with their debrief, the medical team withdraws, leaving you alone with Simon. He sits by your bedside, his gaze never leaving your face.

"I need to find out who did this," Simon says, his jaw set with determination.

"We will, together."

As the hours pass, Simon remains by your side, occasionally leaving only to return with a cup of water or a damp cloth. His concern is palpable, knee bouncing with anxiety and impatience.

. . .

It's been about a day since you've fallen victim to poison, now resting in your chambers. As you recover, Simon's protective presence becomes a constant.

Word of the attempted murder spreads throughout the kingdom, stirring anger and concern among the people.

As soon as investigation into the attempted poison went into motion, it was brought to a close. It was obvious enough to question the staff in the kitchen that day, and one loose lipped maid immediately broke down the minute she was brought into questioning, sobbing about how sorry she was, and how it was Lord Andrew who had put her up to it.

The news of Lord Andrew's involvement sends shockwaves through the kingdom. The castle buzzes with tension as the truth was unveiled, and the nobles whisper about the impending consequences.

Simon left no stone unturned, taking in nobles for questioning left and right, sparing no chance.

The once-respected Lord Andrew is now a pariah, and his name is synonymous with betrayal and greed. The court proceedings intensify, and the truth is laid bare for all to see.

During this time, you gradually regain your strength, but the trauma of the poisoning lingers. Simon is always hesitant to leave your side, but his need to seek justice intensified.

Simon much preferred to deal with Andrew himself, but he couldn't allow his personal feelings to cloud his pursuit of justice. Instead, he endures Kastron's legal system, relying on it to deal with Lord Andrew appropriately.

Simon, still fueled by anger and protectiveness, watches Lord Andrew with a steely gaze. As witnesses testify against Lord Andrew, the depth of his deceit is laid bare for all to witness. The kingdom demands justice.

The nobleman, now stripped of his titles and influence, stands in the court to answer for his transgression. The room falls silent as Simon addresses him, his voice strained with anger.

"Andrew, you attempted to poison my wife, the queen of Kastron. You sought to undermine the very foundation of this kingdom, to harm the person I hold most dear," Simon declares, his eyes ablaze. "Your greed and lust for power have cost you everything."

Andrew, standing before the court, attempts to justify his actions, desperation laced in his voice. He was on Simon's bad side, a place you could never find forgiveness. "Your majesty, I... I felt cornered, with no way to secure a future for my family. I just wanted to ensure my daughter's prosperity, her future."

Simon's gaze remains cold as ice, his anger tempered by a sense of duty. "Don't drag your family into the mess you made. Nothing excuses the treason you've committed. You put the entire kingdom at risk for your own personal gain. Attempting to murder the queen is an affront to Kastron herself."

The court watches in tense silence as Lord Andrew flounders, attempting to shift the blame, pleading for mercy.

Simon had his mind made up the second you started displaying symptoms.

He stands up from his seat, shoulders back and head held high as he addresses Lord Andrew with finality. "Andrew, for your betrayal and attempt to murder the queen, you are hereby stripped of your titles, lands, and any influence within Kastron. You are banished from the kingdom, and any attempt to return will be met with severe consequences. May this serve as a reminder that treachery against Kastron will not go unnoticed or unpunished."

The guards move forward to escort him away, and he glances back one last time at the court.

As the doors close behind Lord Andrew, the weight of the moment settles upon the room. The people of Kastron, witnessing the fall of a once-respected noble, murmur among themselves.

"A warning to you: let Andrew's fate be a lesson to those who let betrayal cross their minds. The consequences are severe."

. . .

In the aftermath, you and Simon spend days in your private chambers. He had also wasted no time replacing your staff, maids, and cooks in the kitchen he deemed unreliable. He went through each staff member that has ever come into direct contact with you, wasting no breath when it came to questioning their loyalty.

Simon, still seething with anger, finally allows himself a moment to relax, his facade softening as he returns to you in your chambers.

"You've held up well the past few days, darling," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "I hate that you had to go through that."

You offer him a tired but genuine smile. "We faced it together, Simon. And, he's gone now."

He nods, a profound gratitude in his eyes. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, especially like that. I love you, more than anything."

You reach out to gently touch his cheek. "Thank you for looking out for me. I love you."

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[taylor-titmouse]

The Dragon Double Feature Bundle (1+2) (18+) $8.00

This bundle collects both books in the Dragon Double Feature series, each containing two erotic tales of fantasy between dragons and their human paramours. They are self-contained stories intended for lovers of big beasts and big bodies. Each comes as a ZIP folder containing a DRM-free PDF and EPUB version of the book, plus an image gallery of high-res development art and illustrations, including Patreon exclusives.

The Dragon Double Feature

Deflowered by the Dragon Prince

It's Princess Eveline's wedding day, much as she wishes it wasn't. Betrothed from birth to a man twice her age, she'll take any excuse to get out of it. When the dragon Gundrid, claiming to be a prince himself, smashes his way into the wedding, Eveline seizes her opportunity for escape, even if it means sacrificing her virtue.

Features a plus sized protagonist, size difference, exhibitionism, fingering, public sex, and loss of virginity. Contains consensual non-consent.

The Musician and the Waterfall

Kenta is a blind musician in search of a spot to rest and wash on a hot summer's day of travel. After discovering a small waterfall just off the mountain path, he finds he's not alone as he bathes, though his host Lord Wakatake is far grander than the nobleman Kenta assumes him to be... and much less experienced.

Features a plus sized protagonist, casual nudity, intimate touching, and mutual oral sex.

18.6k words, 10 spot illustrations, 4 half-page illustrations.

The Dragon Double Feature 2

The Dragon and the Hermit Crab

Kenta has convinced the god Wakatake-no-Taki to take human shape and leave his pond to experience the world--but is he ready to experience a woman like the flirtatious innkeeper Mrs. Arakawa? And can he follow a man who loves as freely as he lives?

Features a plus size protagonist, an older woman, polyamory, dragon sex, and a threesome.

Devotion of the Dragon Prince

Happily married to the Princess Eveline, the Dragon Prince Gundrid will do anything to please his beloved wife. When their games of sex and pretend in his tower hit on her desire for children, Gundrid is determined to give her what she wants--even if it means changing himself.

Features a plus size love interest, size difference, dragon sex, chase and ravishment, and breeding kink. Contains consensual non-consent.

26.1k words, 12 spot illustrations, 6 half-page illustrations.

Get the bundle for $8!

[raeynbowboi]

Translating the Teen Titans to Faerun

A long time ago I did a post translating the Gaang from Avatar: the Last Airbender to the world and lore of DnD, making Katara a Cleric of Selune, Toph a blind-fighting Ranger, etc. While that was a good first foray into the idea, I wanted to explore the idea again with my favorite team of heroes: the Teen Titans. I've built all of them before, Raven more than anyone else. But today, we're not building the Teen Titans based on their powers. We're building them based on how they would fit into DnD lore as if they were natives of Faerun, born and raised in the setting. How would this change their backstories, or would it simply change their powers? Let's find out.

With a well-crafted team like the Teen Titans, we want to be sure each character stays true to their general party role, and the group works well together in a campaign. An all monk party isn't going to fare as well as a party with diverse roles and classes. So, while we won't get too hung up on this, it's worth thinking about. Robin is the leader, and specializes in stealth, infiltration, and investigation. Cyborg is the meat shield, gadgeteer, and primary doctor. Starfire is the flying warrior princess with laser powers and super strength. Raven is the scholarly wizard with powerful psionic powers from a dark origin and minimal healing powers. Lastly, Beast Boy is the goofball comedic wildcard shapeshifter. These basic ideas we want to keep in tack as much as possible, while filtering the team through the lore of Faerun.

ROBIN

DICK GRAYSON

Before moving to Jump City, Robin mentored under Batman, a master detective and vigilante crimefighter in the crime-infested major city of Gotham. In some Teen Titans media, the Titans are firmly located in San Francisco, California, but even in the cartoon, Jump City appears to be located in southern California. Gotham has influences of major American cities like Detroit and Chicago. Meanwhile, Superman's Metropolis is more closely based on New York City. There are three major cities in Faerun: Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, and Neverwinter. Of the three, Waterdeep seems the most like New York City as the biggest city in Faerun. Baldur's Gate started as a smuggler's den, mapping well onto Gotham. And that leaves Neverwinter to map onto Los Angeles/San Francisco. This would mean that Batman is a Baldurian nobleman, and that Robin moved from Baldur's Gate to Neverwinter to pursue his own career as an adventurer.

Robin is an ordinary human in every definition of the word. There's nothing special about his bloodline and his biology was not altered in any way. Robin is a Standard Human.

While Robin did begin his career as a performer in the Flying Grayson Circus Act, he's not really a performer anymore. Robin's true training came from being mentored by Bruce Wayne in Baldur's Gate, learning the tricks and tools of crime-fighting, investigation, martial arts, and stealth. We'll say his background is an Investigator for Insight and Investigation proficiency.

It really is worth pointing out that Robin became a villain twice while trying to chase Slade. When he lost to Kotaro, Robin disappeared to the other side of the world for weeks, possibly even a month or longer with little notice. When he broke his arm chasing Johnny Rancid, the entire team tackled him back into his chair thinking he was going to insist on hunting down Rancid in spite of his broken arm, and they were all surprised he was just grabbing the remote. Robin is textbook Chaotic Good.

CLASS

Battle Master Fighter: Fighters are trained warriors. They're soldiers, guards, knights, and faith militants. Battle Masters are experts in strategy and tactical combat. Their maneuvers allow them to command their party, crowd control enemies, or gain advantages in a fight. Robin is well-versed with a variety of tools and weapons, and puts tactics at the forefront of his fighting style. Way of Shadow Monk: while Robin is a skilled martial artist trained by the Grand Master and talking animals, monks possess a mystical, not quite magical power. Their ki is beyond human ability. And a major aspect of both Batman and Robin is the complete lack of supernatural powers. Shadow Monk is not a horrible way to build Robin. He is a martial artist who favors stealth and secrecy. But, it's not the most in-character option there is. Inquisitive Rogue: Rogues do not need to be ruthless cutpurses loyal to some lowly den of thieves. They are simply highly specialized experts in the areas of infiltration, stealth, espionage, forgery, and extraction. It just so happens many use these talents for criminal offenses. Inquisitive Rogues are skilled detectives and investigators. They can study an enemy for weaknesses to exploit, gaining advantage even in a 1v1 scenario and dealing extra damage. It's also worth remembering Robin was trained by Batman, a man often called the world's greatest detective.

Looking at Robin's abilities, backstory, and training, I would ultimately declare him to be an Inquisitive Rogue. They excel at sizing up enemies that are bigger and stronger than them, they're designed to be great detectives, and their littany of skills and talents sure sounds like our Boy Wonder. You could reasonably multiclass with Battle Master Fighter for the maneuvers. Or you could go straight Rogue and just take the Martial Adept feat to gain Maneuvers.

STARFIRE KORRIAND'R

Korriand'r is the princess of Tameran, a planet somewhere in the Vega system. Her race are proud warriors with emotion-heightened powers, including superstrength, flight, and starbolts. Tameraneans are similar to Kryptonians, except they aren't weak to Kryptonite, and they get their powers from emotion instead of the Earth's sun.

There are a few Alien species that Starfire could be:

Astral Elf: Space-faring elves that left the Feywild to explore the stars, Astral Elves have starlight in their eyes, and automatically know either Light, Dancing Lights, or Sacred Flame. Astral Elves can also teleport 30 ft as a bonus action a number of times equal to their proficiency bonus. Dragonborn: Contrary to popular belief, Dragonborn are not the result of a dragon and a bard doing the horizontal monster mash. Rather, they are aliens from the planet Abeir that crossed over to Toril during the Spellplague. Once the unpaid servants of Abeir's dragons, they overthrew their masters and made their own culture. They have a strong warrior culture, and value their clansmen and kin above all else, even faith. Dragonborn aren't always religious as the gods could not hear their prayers on Abeir, but Bahamut is a very popular god for worship in Dragonborn society, and other dragon deities do see worship in Dragonborn society. Githyanki: The Githyanki are the psionic warriors of the Gith race. Once the unpaid servants of the Illithid Empire, they freed themselves from servitude. However, in the aftermath, the Gith separated into two factions: the Githzarai and the Githyanki. The Githyanki serve the undying Lich Queen Vlaakith, hunt Mind Flayers, and ride Red Dragons. They also have a very "the strong eat the weak" mentality, and have extremely harsh policies on failture and usefulness.

While the Astral Elf looks the most like Starfire, I'm going with the race that seems the closest to Tameraneans. I'll be making Starfire a Gold Dragonborn. If the setting allows, you could absolutely make her a Crystal Dragonborn for Radiant energy, but not every setting is going to work for gem dragonborns, so I chose to stick to the classic varieties.

As for her background, Starfire is the Princess of Tameran which could make her work as a Noble. She is a highly skilled fighter which could make her a Soldier. She's also an alien from a far-away planet new to this earth and its strange customs, which could make her a Far Traveler. As being a princess is what shocks the Titans the most, it's what defines her more than the other two things. We'll call Starfire a Noble, but we'll swap out her History proficiency for Athletics, and keep her proficiency in Persuasion. She speaks Draconic as a Dragonborn, as well a language of her choice. We'll go with Gith for flavor, as it's another alien language. If you want a more core rulebook language, Deep Speech is the language of Aberrations. If both those languages feel too alien and you want a language she's more likely to encounter in a campaign, then the strong warrior cultures of Goliaths and Orcs could be nice choices for her, having her speak Giant or Orcish respectively. Because Tameraneans learn languages through lip contact, if you wanted to play up this aspect, you could have Starfire take the Linguist Feat once or twice to learn more languages, but this is entirely optional and mostly for flavor and roleplay.

Starfire always follows her heart. Even when told not to do something, she will do it if she believes it is right, which leans more Chaotic. However, Starfire can also usually be expected to keep her word, dislikes fighting unnecessarily, does not like lying, cheating or stealing. She was even willing to marry Glgrdsklechhh if it meant avoiding war, unaware it was a gambit for Blackfire to gain a powerful artifact in exchange for Starfire's hand in marriage. As such, I would say that Starfire is Neutral Good. She will always do whatever she feels is best in the moment. Whatever course of action she believes will do the most good for the most people.

CLASS

Like with her race, there are a few build options each of which translates Starfire to DnD's world and lore in different ways.

Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer: Being a dragonborn, the Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer translates nicely as her race's natural affinity for draconic magic, mirroring how all Tameraneans have starbolts. She gives up her melee warrior aspects to focus on her dragonborn magic, specializing in Fire magic. Light Domain Cleric: Cleric is a surprisingly good choice for what Starfire would be if raised in the world of DnD. Clerics aren't just healers, some join their faith militant, acting as the sword of their god's divine justice. Clerics can cast radiant spells like Guiding Bolt, Sunbeam, and Sunburst, they're decent frontline warriors, and they heal and support their friends. War is a better fit if she wishes to worship Bahamut, but Light lets Starfire make better use of radiant magic, and also gives her a few fire spells as a Cleric as well, letting her keep the heavy light and fire theme. She may worship Tamara, the Draconic Goddess of Light, Mercy, and Forgiveness. Oath of Devotion Paladin: She starts to really lose her Starbolts at this point, but she puts greater emphasis on her warrior spirit, and she still has radiant smites. Whereas the Cleric angle makes Starfire a better support for her friends and Sorcerer puts all the attention on her starbolts, the Paladin focuses on turning Starfire into a heavy-hitting tank that shakes off the hits her friends can't handle. She still gets some healing with her Healing Touch, and a few healing spells. Starfire fits the mold of fighting for beliefs, as her powers manifest through strong convictions such as righteous fury, boundless confidence, and the joy of flight.

While I was tempted to make Starfire a Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer as a good translation of her canon emotion-based powers native to her race, I had to remind myself that we are not just building Starfire. Dragonborn are not Tameraneans. While they have access to draconic magic and blood, draconic sorcery is not a universal thing across their race the way it is with Tameraneans. We are asking what would Starfire be if raised in Faerun? And I don't believe Starfire would be a Sorcerer. However, Cleric and Paladin is a much tighter race. Both gain their powers from convictions and beliefs, which reflects the way Tamaraneans like Starfire draw their power from strong emotions and beliefs. But which one you favor comes down to splitting hairs. Ultimately, I would chalk Starfire up as an Oath of Devotion Paladin. For starters, we are ignoring their canonical powers when picking a class. Paladins are great warriors, and the people of Tameran are a strong and proud warrior race. Dragonborn are not super religious with Dragonborn Clerics being rare, but Paladins are extremely common in Dragonborn society. Finally, their main stats of Strength and Charisma is very fitting and appropriate for Starfire. She is strong and very charming. While I favor Paladin, the divide between Paladins and Clerics is extremely narrow, and being a Light Domain Cleric is not a bad way to build Starfire. She'd have ample access to tons of radiant and fire spells, she'd be able to heal and support her friends, and nothing is stopping her from putting points into Strength as a Cleric and being a decent front-liner. If you want her to draw strength from her convictions, be effective in melee, and be a full spellcaster, then Cleric is an equally great choice. As I said, Paladin only barely squeaks past Cleric in my analysis, and in the first draft, I did originally settle on Cleric. Both work for Starfire, and thus, I'll leave a spell list for both. For her Paladin build, I had Starfire take Magic Initiate: Sorcerer to give her some ranged spell attack options. You could also do a dip into Sorcerer with a Paladin build as opposed to taking the Magic Initiate feat.

PALADIN SPELLS

Bold: Magic Initiate (Sorcerer) Orange: Oath Spells

C Firebolt, Light 1 Burning Hands, Cure Wounds, Protection from Evil & Good, Sanctuary, Searing Smite 2 Branding Smite, Lesser Restoration, Warding Bond, Zone of Truth 3 Blinding Smite, Beacon of Hope, Crusader's Mantle, Daylight, Dispel Magic, Revivify, Spirit Shroud 4 Death Ward, Freedom of Movement, Guardian of Faith, Staggering Smite 5 Banishing Smite, Circle of Power, Commune, Destructive Wave, Flame Strike

CLERIC SPELLS

Orange: Domain Spells

C Guidance, Light, Resistance, Sacred Flame, Spare the Dying, Thaumaturgy 1 Bless, Burning Hands, Guiding Bolt, Healing Word, Faerie Fire, Sanctuary, Shield of Faith 2 Aid, Flaming Sphere, Lesser Restoration, Prayer of Healing, Scorching Ray, Spiritual Weapon 3 Daylight, Fireball, Mass Healing Word, Remove Curse, Spirit Guardians, Spirit Shroud 4 Aura of Life, Banishment, Guardian of Faith, Wall of Fire 5 Commune, Dawn, Flame Strike, Greater Restoration, Holy Weapon, Scrying, Summon Celestial 6 Heal, Sunbeam 7 Divine Word, Fire Storm 8 Sunburst 9 Mass Heal

CYBORG VICTOR STONE

Victor "Vic" Stone is the son of famous cyberneticist Silas Stone that grew up in Detroit. Once a prolific high school athlete, Victor was horribly injured by an explosion at S.T.A.R. Labs caused by an invasion by Darkseid. With his cybernetics expertise, Silas saved Victor's life by infusing his son with the Mother Box.

Because Cyborg was born human but has since been infused with technology, we'll call Cyborg a Variant Human. Why is he not a Warforged? Becaues he was not built the way Grid was. Cyborg is not a robot, so he is not a warforged. He's also shown several times needing to eat and sleep in order to function, two things Warforged do not require. As a Variant Human, we'll give him +1 Strength and +1 Constitution. And we'll add on the Tough feat to increase his durability. Cyborg is the team meat shield, after all.

In terms of background, Cyborg was a high school athlete before the accident, so we'll call him an Athlete for Athletics and Acrobatics.

When Brother Blood steals Cyborg's blue prints, he becomes determined to stop Blood because it's his plans. His technology. He feels it is his responsibility. He similarly gets upset when any of his technology or gadgets is commandeered by villains. He puts his heart and soul into those inventions, and gets very upset when they're hurt or stolen. Cyborg is a lot more laid back than Robin as a leader, but still cares about getting the job done. I find it hard to really say whether he leans more Lawful or Chaotic. He has principles and sticks to them, but he's also left the team multiple times after a heated argument with Robin. I ultimately land on Neutral Good for Cyborg's alignment.

Now, how does his prosthetics come into it? Well, there's an item in DnD called the Prosthetic Limb, a common wondrous item that can replace lost limbs, doesn't require attunement, can be detached, but not against the user's will. But Cyborg's metal body clearly acts like armor, how do we incorporate this? We travel to Theros. Mythic Odysseys of Theros introduced an item called Molten Bronze Skin that comes in Breastplate, Half Plate, and Plate Armor variants. This item molds itself to the wearer's body, allowing them to easily wear clothes over the armor, and making it impossible for someone else to take off. This item does require attunement, but it accomplishes the same effect of giving Cyborg "built-in" armor, the way a Warforged would have.

CLASS

Artillerist Artificer: Artificers are gadgeteers and magical smiths that can defy logic with their inventions. Both Cyborg and his father are experts in cybernetics, metalworking, coding, and engineering. Cyborg built a car, a submarine, and then turned that submarine into a spaceship. The artillerist can make a tiny cannon they can carry with one hand that can fire a force ballista. Just try to say that's not Cyborg's sonic cannon. Champion Fighter: Cyborg is the tank of the party. It's his job to take the hits others wouldn't survive. In a low-tech fantasy world where Artificers don't belong, this version of Cyborg is a blacksmith who forged his own weapons and armor. The Champion is an athlete who prioritized physical strength over other aspects. When Cyborg isn't using his sonic cannon, he's throwing punches and lifting heavy weights, and he was a high school athlete until his accident. This is also a good multiclass option to get both sides of Cyborg: the tech and the muscle.

At minimum, Cyborg needs at least to be level 3 in Artificer to gain his Eldritch Cannon. After that, he can put as many levels into Artificer or Fighter as he wants. If he manages to become a level 11 Fighter, he'll get to make 3 weapon attacks then fire the Force Ballista as a bonus action, giving Cyborg 4 attacks at level 14. If you choose the Unarmed Fighting Style, Cyborg can wreck shop with his fists, making him an effective pugilist. Thanks to Action Surge, he can attack up to 6 times with just his action, and 7 times once you include his Eldritch Cannon. This makes him a pretty effective damage dealer, and the fighter levels would boost his Hit Points to make him a more effective tank. If you choose to take Artificer to level 9, his Force Ballista increases from 2d8 to 3d8. If you're okay with odd numbered levels and losing out on ASI, then Artificer 9/Fighter 11 could work. But for those who like getting ASI, then Artificer 4/Fighter 16 or Artificer 8/Fighter 12 may be more appealing. Just make sure to max out his Strength, and give him good Constitution and Intelligence, while dumping Dexterity. As an Artificer, we'll add Medicine and Perception to his skill list.

SPELLS

Blue: Artillerist Spells

C Light, Mending, Message, Shocking Grasp 1 Alarm, Cure Wounds, Identify, Shield, Thunderwave 2 Heat Metal, Scorching Ray, Shatter, Vortex Warp, Web 3 Fireball, Glyph of Warding, Haste, Tiny Servant, Wind Wall 4 Fabricate, Ice Storm, Mord's Private Sanctum, Summon Construct, Wall of Fire 5 Animate Objects, Cone of Cold, Creation, Greater Restoration, Wall of Force

This spell list was made for those who build Cyborg as a pure Artillerist Artificer, while those who build him as a Fighter multiclass will obviously have fewer spells.

RAVEN RAVEN ROTH

In her youth, Raven's mother Arella was lured into joining a cult that worshipped Trigon. She was chosen to be Trigon's bedmate, and afterwards, was approached by the Monks of Azar. They offered to shelter her and the child from Trigon, agreeing to raise the child in another dimension. A dimension named Azarath.

I believe the best translation of Raven's backstory is that Arella was lured into the cult of a powerful Fiend. Afterward, Arella was approached by Githzerai monks who offered to shelter both her and the unborn child with them in their home: the Chaotic Neutral Plane of Limbo. It would be here in the monasteries among stoic and scholarly Githzerai monks and wizards that Raven would learn to control her emotions, expand her mind, and hone her psionic powers. And one day, she would leave Limbo to return to the Prime Material Plane. This encompasses every part of Raven's backstory: being raised in another dimension, learning to control her emotions, honing her psychic powers.

As a half-demon, Raven translates nicely to Tiefling. Due to her empathy powers to manipulate other people's emotions, we'll go with a Fierna Tiefling. This will give her Friends, Charm Person, and Suggestion.

Having been raised in another plane, I would call Raven a Far Traveler. This grants her proficiency with Insight to get a reading for people's true feelings, and Perception to sense things around her, both of which can be flavored as her empathic powers and her extrasensory abilities. It also grants her proficiency with a Dragonchess Set, and she learns the Abyssal language.

When Robin becomes Slade's apprentice, Raven is the one to remind the team that he's a villain now, and they have to take him down. No matter how much the thought of it upsets her. When Cyborg leaves the team, Raven rationalizes that it's pointless to get upset and to focus on their duty as heroes. When Raven and Starfire switch bodies, Raven explains that she has to remain in control of herself to keep her powers from leaking out of her and destroying everything around her. When Trigon's prophecy comes to pass, Raven reveals that the reason she became a hero was that she wanted to do as much good as she could before the prophecy came to pass, hoping her good deeds would redeem her for the horrible destiny she knew she would one day fulfil. Raven is inarguably a perfect example of Lawful Good.

TRIGON

But what about Raven's father? After all, we're not importing Trigon into the setting, we're picking an existing DnD Fiend to be the stand-in for Trigon. Firstly, we have to settle whether Trigon is a Devil or a Demon, and I believe he is a Demon. He betrays Slade the first chance he gets once it's time to pay up on his side of the deal, and his very presence on Earth changes the entire planet. Demons in DnD are Chaotic Evil, untrustworthy to keep their word. They also have an impact on the world around them that corrupts everything to resemble the Abyss. And prolonged demonic presence only makes these changes worse. But which Demon Lord is her father?

Graz'zt: Graz'zt is an interesting choice because he's actually had a relationship with a human: the witch Tasha. He is the Demon Prince of Lust and Pleasure. Graz'zt will take any opportunity to turn any moment that is sweet, beautiful, and tender into something perverse, degrading, and carnal. If anyone was going to sleep with Arella just to use her to make a kid he can manipulate, it would be Graz'zt. He's not as big as Trigon, but his personality does support that he'd play the waiting game. After all, he used to be a devil before he realized he would never rise high enough to stand beside Asmodeus, and defected to the Demon side. So unlike other Demons, Graz'zt is more clever and patient. It also means Tasha could be a DnD counterpart to Arella, and also gives Raven a grandmother: Baba Yaga. This places Raven in a very prolific magic bloodline of powerful female spellcasters. Before Demogorgon showed up, Graz'zt was contending with Orcus, the Demon Lord of Necromancy for supreme rulership of the Abyss, so he's no slouch in terms of power. He is a Large CR 24 Demon. Baphomet: Baphomet's strongest argument is that he resembles Trigon the most, with his cloven hooves and antlered head. However, Baphomet is more of a king of beasts and brutes, and his general behavior does not support Trigon's plot to conceive Raven. However, Baphomet's sphere of influence is brutality, aggression, rage, and conquest. Red Raven or Dark Raven literally embodies Raven's rage, and anger causes Raven's demonic powers to rise to the surface. Which is on point for Baphomet. The biggest point against Baphomet however is that he favors those with natural weapons such as claws and horns, as his followers should want to rampage and gore with their natural weapons. So a magical daughter like Raven doesn't really fit the bill. This could be her rebelling against his physical aggression mindset, but that's stretching to make it work. Trigon also doesn't care about fighting the Titans, using magic to distract them while he gathers his strength. Baphomet would take glee in the fight, something Trigon does not do. He is a Huge CR 23 Demon. Demogorgon: The Prince of Demons, Demogorgon is the most powerful of all the Demons in the Abyss. He's enormous, and an absolute world-ending level threat. But is he clever enough to plot to conceive Raven? Yes, but only partially. Demogorgon's two heads are basically his left brain and his right brain. One calculating and clever, the other feral and impulsive. The clever head could plan to use Raven as a portal, but the other head might be too impulsive and ruin the plan. He is a Huge CR 26 Demon.

Ultimately, I have to go with Graz'zt as Raven's father. He's not as powerful or as huge as Demogorgon, but he's more manipulative and cunning. He has the patience to wait for his plan to come to fruition, he's manipulative enough to use false love and affection to coerce people into obedience, and he's depraved enough to get a sick pleasure out of using, debasing, and defiling any amount of love shown to him. More importantly, half his brain isn't impulsively trying to undermine every single one of his schemes. While Demogoron is more of a world-ending 'we are so f*cked' threat, Graz'zt is still a Demon Lord. Just because he's prettier does not mean he's not still an enemy that even high level adventurers would struggle with. Graz'zt, after all, is a CR 24 Fiend. Certainly nothing to scoff at. That's only 2 CR below Demogorgon.

CLASS

Raven is clearly a practitioner of arcane magic, but the source of her magic is so muddled that she could be any one of the three main arcane casters.

Aberrant Mind Sorcerer: Raised in Limbo amongst the Githzerai, the Aberrant Mind works well for Raven's backstory. For sorcerers, magic is infused into their very being. They don't need to study or make a deal, they just have a well of magical power innately. How they get this well varies. Usually, it passes along bloodlines. But it can also be like a mutation. One could go to the Shadowfell for Spring Break and return as a Shadow Magic Sorcerer. One can be given a spark of magic by a willing benefactor, they could touch an object that imparts magic to them, or awaken the power in a moment of dire circumstances. They could be born during an eclipse, travel to another plane, or be exposed to the weave itself. Their magic is constantly bubbling up inside of them, and leaking out if they don't contain it. Their magic can be explosive and hard to control. All of which sounds remarkably similar to Raven's powers and the constant struggle she undergoes to contain and control these powers. With Revelation in Flesh, Raven can fly for 10 minutes at a time at the cost of a single Sorcery Point. There's also no limit to how often she can reuse this power, other than her sorcery point pool. Granting Raven something akin to limitless flight, though not exactly. Fiend Warlock: While Raven herself did not make a deal with Trigon, Arella did. Arella was in Trigon's cult. According to Xanathar's Guide to Everything, one way a warlock might be joined to a patron is that their patron has been a benefactor to their family for generations, meaning it is possible to inherit one's otherworldly pact from their parents. There's also something I like to call the Sleeping Beauty Rule. The princess didn't choose to have fairy godmothers, but the king and queen did. The Player's Handbook also highlights that it is entirely possible to stumble into a pact without realizing it, or to become a warlock by simply reading an esoteric tome or touching a sentient blade. As such, it is entirely possible for Raven to be an unwilling warlock of her father. In the show, Trigon says that he gave Raven her powers, and Raven herself says in The End Part III that now that Trigon has no need of her, she no longer has her powers. But this is false, as Raven still has her powers, and uses them to fight back against Trigon. However, this is sort of fuzzy on how this works. Did Trigon really give her those powers, but could not take them away from her, or was Trigon mistaken and was never the source of her power to begin with? There's also the issue that in DnD canon lore, while a warlock Patron can bestow powers, they can't necessarily take them away. And Sorcerers can also have their powers bestowed upon them, further blurring the lines on whether Raven's gifts are more of a sorcerous origin or an otherworldly pact. The w Enchantment Wizard: I've built Raven several times, and every time, she's a Wizard. Raven is the brains of the party. She's a utility spellcaster with a vast knowledge of arcane lore and history. She's a polyglot who speaks several ancient languages, and has a library's worth of creepy esoteric books of arcane lore and eldrtich knowledge in her bedroom. Every spell that deals Psychic damage is under the School of Enchantment, and the school is full of spells that manipulate the mind, the senses, and emotions, all things Raven has displayed the ability to control. But we're not building Raven based on how she behaves in the comics or show. We're building Raven based on DnD lore, and Raven's powers were not cultivated through study. Yes, she learned new spells from Malchior. Yes, she is a highly intelligent person. But scholarly study is not the source of her powers. She does not have a connection to the Weave or any other sort of magical energy in the DC Universe. There are metaphysical forces in DC Comics, such as The Green, The Red, The Black, and other such forces, none of which Raven herself is linked to in any way. As such, I cannot confidently label Raven as a Wizard in accordance with DnD's lore.

Ultimately, I have to go with an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer. Her magic is innate. She works to control and maintain it. And a lack of restraint leads to her magic flooding out of her and impacting the world around her if left uncontrolled. Raven is a Sorcerer. However, she is a good candidate for multiclassing if you so choose. The main reason Raven is said to have left Azarath was due to Trigon finding her, forcing Raven to flee. However, in some versions, it is Raven herself --driven by curiosity -- that seeks her father out. In so doing, alerting him to her location, and dooming Azarath in the process. Either way, the moment of Trigon finding her could be the moment her pact is sealed, multiclassing Raven into a Fiend Warlock. Thus, Raven can start out as a Sorcerer, and possibly dip a level or two into Warlock to boot. This is also a large part of why I didn't make Starfire a Sorcerer. The party doesn't need two sorcerers, and Sorcerer works much better for Raven than it does for Starfire. For my spell recommendation, I will be assuming Raven has 2 levels in Warlock, and 18 levels in Sorcerer. For her Sorcerer skills, we'll give Raven Arcana and History.

SPELLS

*Racial Spells Bold: Aberrant Mind Origin Spells Italics: Warlock Spells Purple: Sorcerer Spells

C Blade Ward, Eldritch Blast, Friends*, Mage Hand, Mending, Message, Mind Sliver, Mold Earth, Prestidigitation, Toll the Dead 1 Arms of Hadar, Catapult, Cause Fear, Charm Person*, Command, Dissonant Whispers, Hex, Shield 2 Calm Emotions, Detect Thoughts, Mind Spike, Suggestion*, Tasha's Mind Whip 3 Counterspell, Hunger of Hadar, Fly, Sending 4 Dimension Door, Evard's Black Tentacles, Raulothim's Psychic Lance, Summon Aberration 5 Bigby's Hand, Rary's Telepathic Bond, Synaptic Static, Telekinesis 6 Globe of Invulnerability 7 Plane Shift, Teleport 8 Demiplane 9 Time Stop or Psychic Scream

ELDRTICH INVOCATIONS

Agonizing Blast

Eldritch Sight

BEAST BOY GARFIELD LOGAN

Garfield Logan was born an ordinary human, but when he became sick as a child, his father injected him with a serum using the DnA of a green monkey. The serum saved Beast Boy's life, but he turned completely green as a result, and unlocked his shapeshifting powers. Beast Boy can turn into more than just garden variety zoo animals. He has turned into alien lifeforms, microorganisms, dinosaurs, and dragons. The Werebeast Form he got in the 2003 cartoon episode "The Beast Within" later became Comic Cannon when Beast Boy was captured by Lupus, a minor werewolf villain. Beast Boy's best skill lies in his wild card shenanigans, as he can do things like turn into a whale to make use of how quickly whales think to artificially inflate his intelligence. When the Borneo Rainforest faced extinction, Beast Boy and Swamp Thing worked together to restore the ecosystem. Swamp Thing provided the seeds and flora, and then Beast Boy dispersed himself into a swarm of insects to help pollinate and stimulate the regrowth of the rainforest. Raven even tells Swamp Thing that when Beast Boy does this, he risks losing small parts of himself should anything happen to his many insect forms, but he takes on these risks willingly for the benefit of nature. While Beast Boy's green skin and shapeshifting are a result of the monkey serum he was injected with, Beast Boy's actual ability to shapeshift comes from a metaphysical energy field in the DC Universe called The Red. Think of it like the Force but specifically for all animal life forces in the universe. A similar force called The Green caters to all plant life in the universe, and this power is wielded by characters like Swamp Thing and Poison Ivy.

In terms of his race, because Beast Boy was a normal human until he turned green, I'd have to chalk him up as a Variant Human. Because he's short and green, there is a primal urge to make him a Goblin, and it would be cute, but inaccurate. There's also an urge to make him one of the partially bestial races like Leonin, Hadozee, Satyr, Minotaur, or Yuan-Ti. Even Simic Hybrid has a valid excuse to be in consideration. However, because Beast Boy was born human, I have to go with such. We'll give him +1 Wisdom, +1 Dexterity, and the Charger feat to dash into melee range and get a free attack out of it.

Beast Boy has pretty much always been a hero, first being adopted by the Doom Patrol, and later joining the Teen Titans. Momento ran the Doom Patrol like a military outfit, and Beast Boy grew up respecting rank and following orders. As such, I'd call him a Soldier making him proficient in Athletics, but we'll substitute in Performance to replace Intimidation.

Beast Boy wants to do good, but he's also the Lancer to Robin's stoic serious Leader. Beast Boy is a goofball knucklehead who often shows little regard for the rules. Upon running into the Doom Patrol again, Momento chastises Beast Boy for prioritizing his team's safety over completing the mission. He's usually also the first to suggest bizarre plans or spout off ridiculous theories. As such, I would say Beast Boy is Chaotic Good. He'll do what's right, just in a very unorthodox way.

CLASS

Moon Druid: the most obvious choice, Druid is the only class in the game with access to Wildshape, the ability to shapeshift into animals. Although Beast Boy's powers were originally from genetic experiments gone wrong, his current lore makes Beast Boy connected to The Red, a metaphysical energy that links all animal life in the universe under the Parliament of Limbs. The Red is closely connected to The Green, which characters like Swamp Thing and Poison Ivy are connected to. Due to his connection to the energy of all living animals, Druid is fitting for Beast Boy. The Circle of the Moon is the most fitting option, granting Beast Boy Combat Wildshape. Lycan Blood Hunter: Before he was connected to the Red, Beast Boy's powers were a form of genetic mutation. Blood Hunters are the class that deal with altered DnA. While Beast Boy can't turn into every animal, his Lycan form is suitably animalistic and primal. It can also be a good option if you want to specifically play into the WereBeast form from the episode "The Beast Within". Because Beast Boy lacks supernatural powers beyond his shapeshifting, this version of Beast Boy sacrifices the variety of his wildshaping to keep him a strictly martial character. The Path of the Beast Barbarian also works, but Beast Boy only really has rage issues in "The Beast Within", and it is not otherwise a core aspect of his character, to the point that I didn't feel Barbarian was a good fit for his character. Valour Bard: If we ignore his powers entirely, then Beast Boy's role in the group is comedic relief and unexpected wildcard, which sounds like a Bard. Polymorph is on the Bard spell list, giving Beast Boy a backdoor method of wild shaping without being a druid. Through magical secrets, Bards can also pick up spells from other spell lists, letting Beast Boy pick up Druid spells like Web, Insect Plague, Summon Beast, Conjure Animals, and Guardian of Nature for the Primal Beast form. None of the subclasses jumped out to me for Beast Boy, but Valour Bards are great cheerleaders and sidekicks. Beast Boy has a chronic people pleaser mentality, and uses humor to lift his friends' spirits. Beast Master Ranger: Much like the Bard, this class option doesn't really fit Beast Boy, but it works as a variant build option that rather than being a full caster druid, Beast Boy protects his animal brethren as a mighty hunter. Tigers, Cheetahs, Lions, Gorillas, Elephants, and Rhinos are among his favorite animals to turn into, and would work well as Beasts of the Land. He also favors turning into a Hawk, Falcon, or Pterodactyl for a Beast of the Air. If you want a Beast of the Sea, he tends to favor Crocodiles, Sharks, Octopi, Whales, Swordfish, and Turtles.

While each of these offers interesting character angles, I obviously have to chalk up Beast Boy as a Circle of the Moon Druid. The Lycan Blood Hunter is a very close second choice, but lacks the connection to nature that Beast Boy (especially his Comic counterpart) definitely has. The bard was mostly thrown in to consider his personality, and it wasn't a terrible idea. He is funny, and would absolutely spam Vicious Mockery. A Beast Boy native to Faerun becoming a funny bard feels very organic to his character. But Druid feels just as organic, if not more-so. Finally, the Beast Master was pretty much thrown out as an extra idea, but not one I was taking seriously. Thematically, the idea of Beast Boy as a Lorax but for P.E.T.A. is interesting. Using his bond with animals to protect other animals. But the Druid was the clear winner. For his Druid skills, we'll give Beast Boy Animal Handling and Perception.

SPELLS

Because Beast Boy does not really have magical powers beyond his wildshaping, I put together his spell list by trying to focus on shapeshifting, summoning animal companions, and any other bodily augmentation spell I could find. Spells that change some aspect of a person's body or enhances their senses in some way. I steered clear of any spell that felt too plant-themed or elemental, as Beast Boy is more connected to beasts than he is to storms or the elements.

C Druidcraft, Guidance, Infestation, Primal Savagery 1 Absorb Elements, Animal Friendship, Beast Bond, Speak With Animals 2 Animal Messenger, Beast Sense, Darkvision, Enhance Ability, Enlarge/Reduce, Locate Animals and Plants, Summon Beast 3 Conjure Animals, Protection from Energy, Water Breathing 4 Charm Monster, Dominate Beast, Giant Insect, Guardian of Nature, Polymorph 5 Commune with Nature, Insect Plague 6 Primordial Ward 7 Draconic Transformation 8 Animal Shapes 9 Shapechange

I will say, more than anyone else, his spell list really surprised me. I've always avoided building Beast Boy and hated the idea of him being a druid because it meant giving him spells. But I am surprisingly content with the spell list I have devised for him. It puts all the correct emphasis where it should be: on making Beast Boy the master of body modification, as well as allowing him to channel The Red as well through his animal spells. I used to think Beast Boy didn't work flavor-wise as a Druid, and now I can't believe I ever thought to build him any other way.

TERRA TARA MARKOV

Terra is yet another princess, this time the illegitimate daughter of King Viktor Markov of Markovia. In the Comics, she made her living as a mercenary and criminal, taking odd jobs to get by, while in the show, Terra is a wandering homeless teen. In the comics, Tara was already working for Deathstroke before she met the Titans, while in the show, Terra met the Titans before she met Slade. This is to say, Terra has two completely different personalities. Comics Tara is a villain through-and-through, while Show Terra is a misguided hero turned villain turned reformed villain. Because the other characters are mostly going by their show counterparts, I'll mostly be looking at the Comics version of Tara only to answer any questions about her backstory we don't have from the show. The most important detail from the comics is that Tara's half-brother, Geo-Force (Prince Brion Markov), also has geokinetic powers. However, these powers are not signs of a magical bloodline, as neither King Viktor nor King Gregor Markov had these same powers. Their powers came about from the experiments of Helga Jace, the royal scientist of Markovia. Later, Brion's wife, Denise Howard, exposed herself to the same energies, turning her into Geode. Both Denise and Tara suffered from mental instability after the experiment, suggesting that the source of their powers had a debilitating effect on their mental states. Tara hated pretty much everyone and everything, while Denise desired to kill her own husband. In the comics, Tara was at one point part of the Black Lantern Corp, which raise their members as zombies to harness the power of death and hatred. This zombie Tara then sought revenge on the Teen Titans. I won't be covering this, but thought it was neat trivia.

We're going to stick mainly to the show's lore, so we'll call Terra a Variant Human since her powers are a result of scientific experimentation. We'll give her +1 Dexterity, +1 Wisdom and the Actor feat so she can pretend to be somebody else.

For her background, Terra is a wandering homeless kid. We'll call her an Outlander for Athletics and Survival. However, if you want to play more into Tara's backstory, then Criminal, Spy, Urban Bounty Hunter, and Haunted One could also work.

Show Terra's alignment seems to me to be True Neutral. She joins the Titans because it's offered. She works with Slade because he's an option. It never feels like her betrayal is personal until after Beast Boy turns his back on her. Up until then, she's hesitant and guilty about it. Terra looks out for Terra. That to me says True Neutral. Terra never seems to care that much about helping people or stopping villains. It was always more about just wanting to belong and to have a home. No strong convictions to be a hero or a villain. Which explains why The Girl Who Might Be Terra in Things Change is just an ordinary school girl. Not some great hero or wicked villain. If you're going by Comics Tara, that's straight up Chaotic Evil. The girl hated everyone and everything, and wanted a horizontal relationship with a middle-aged man. Comics Tara was just really unstable. I mean, she saw a Jerricho-possessed Deathstroke freeing the Titans, and instead of talking to him or trying to figure out what was going on, she just pushed the Big Red Button and brought the building down on herself in an attempt to take everyone with her.

CLASS

Terra's class is tricky because unlike Starfire with her light and fire theme, or Raven's psionics and general magic, there's not really a clean and simple class for Earth-based spells. Druids are connected to nature, and Sorcerers and Wizards have pretty wide elemental coverage, but there's not a clear and clean answer like with the other titans. So, let's look at our options:

Wild Magic Sorcerer: While there was a Stone Sorcerer, this subclass never made it past Unearthed Arcana, so we can't really count it. In the show, Terra has poor control over her powers, often causing side effects accidentally. The possibility that the source of her powers also warped her mind in the comics also fits, as wild magic is the pure chaos of the feywild. Sorcerers sometimes get their powers from being exposed to a source of magical energy, visiting other planes, or being born during cosmic events. And the Wild Magic Sorcerer often causes chaos and problems at the table because of the random side effects of their magic, such that a lot of tables hate playing with the subclass because of just how detrimental it can be to have around. Which seems really fitting for Terra. Swarmkeeper Ranger: Like Toph, Terra in the show is an outdoorsy girl who prefers roughing it in the great outdoors. This rough and tumble lifestyle translates well to being a Ranger. The Swarmkeeper can be aided by a swarm of just about anything, and nowhere does it say it has to be sentient. So, Terra could be a ranger aided by a swarm of rocks or sand fighting alongside her. It's certainly an interesting and flavorful option. Rangers get a few earthy spells, but not a ton of them. However, you could always ask your DM to homebrew a rule that would let Ranger Terra pick up some more earthen-based spells from the Druid spell list. Mutant Blood Hunter: If we ignore Terra's powers completely to focus more on where they come from, Terra makes for an interesting Blood Hunter. Her powers are a result of scientific experimentation. Mutants literally alter themselves to fight, fitting that genetic experiment angle nicely. The only difference is that this version of Terra has learned to do it herself. It's not a bad choice. Assassin Rogue: Like the Blood Hunter, the Rogue is being considered without her geokinetic powers in mind. Rather, I'm looking at the Rogue because of how rogues are often infiltrators, spies, and thieves. I chose the Assassin as they have the ability to create a false identity, which is very fitting for Terra and the Judas Contract. Whispers Bard: This one is being suggested mostly for the worldbuilding implications. Bards from the College of Whispers work as spies and saboteurs, infiltrating parties and guilds disguised as other kinds of bards, then selling their cohort's secrets back to whatever spy network they serve. They literally pull off a Judas Contract as a Subclass. And with their Magical Secrets, a Whispers Bard Terra can pick up the few spells that actually let her throw rocks.

If we were just building Terra based on her powers, Wild Magic could have been a decent fit thematically. However, the purpose of this post is to ask ourselves 'what would the Teen Titans be if they were born and raised in Faerun?' And being exposed to the crazy magic of the Feywild just doesn't feel right for Terra. Whispers Bard creates an interesting angle for roleplay, but it caters more to players wanting to play more into her Comic Book Tara counterpart. The willing traitor. Whispers works great for a villainous version of Terra, but not for Show Terra. Blood Hunter and Assassin Rogue are decent ideas, but Terra isn't much of a scientist, and again, Assassin caters much more to Comics Tara than Show Terra. Ultimately, I have to go with the Swarmkeeper Ranger for Terra. As a girl roughing it in the great outdoors, sleeping in caves, and taking care of herself, becoming a ranger seems like a natural extension of the lifestyle she was already leading by the time she met the Titans. And if we're asking what the characters would become if raised in Faerun, that's a pretty cut and dry answer. Terra would have naturally gravitated toward the life of a roaming Ranger, aided by swarms of rocks and sand. Terra Markov is a Swarmkeeper Ranger. For her Ranger skills, we'll give Terra Perception and Stealth. If you want to give her Deception, swap one of the background skills she gets from Outlander, then pick up the dropped skill from the Ranger skill list.

SPELLS

While we decided to make Terra a Swarmkeeper Ranger, it does sacrifice a lot of her Earth-based abilties. However, if you have an open-minded DM, Terra does get a few spells from both Primal Awareness and the Swarmkeeper Subclass that don't quite fit the theme, and a cool DM might be okay with letting you make a few substitutions for Terra's spell list, pulling more Earth-based spells from the Druid and Wizard spell list as an exchange for the excess spells than the base Ranger class gives her. But even without homebrewing in more Earth magic, Terra still gets a few stone-based spells, and Wrath of Nature can let Terra chuck rocks at enemies every turn as a bonus action so long as she maintains concentration on the spell. So even a pure Swarmkeeper Ranger will still get some earthen flavor as Terra. And you could also reflavor spells, such as treating Web like quicksand to keep Terra's earthen flavor.

Italics: Primal Awareness Spells Bold: Swarmkeeper Spells Pink: DM Approved Earth Spells (Homebrew)

C Mage Hand (Mold Earth) 1 Ensnaring Strike, Faerie Fire, Hunter's Mark, Speak With Animals (Catapult, Earth Tremor) 2 Barkskin, Beast Sense, Pass Without Trace, Web (Earthbind, Max's Earthen Grasp) 3 Conjure Barrage, Gaseous Form, Meld Into Stone, Speak With Plants (Erupting Earth, Wall of Sand) 4 Arcane Eye, Locate Creature, Stoneskin, Summon Elemental (Stone Shape) 5 Commune With Nature, Conjure Volley, Insect Plague, Swift Quiver, Wrath of Nature (Transmute Rock, Wall of Stone)

Conclusion

I felt this was an interesting thought experiment. Some characters like Robin and Cyborg changed very little from the last time I built them, while Raven and Beast Boy stayed what I expected but offered new insights into how they fit into the lore of the world. Starfire and Terra had the biggest changes, but those changes I feel are for the better, at least for this post. At least now, you could play a campaign with the Teen Titans while also being completely faithful to DnD lore.

[thecreaturecodex]

Zap Kraken

Image © Turtle Rock Studios

[Sponsored by Soluman Blevins. The second of the Evolve monsters I've done, other than the warpwraith. Mechanically, the Kraken is interesting, but design wise, it's a little drab. Because it's just a Cthulhu. The lightning bolt wings are a cool touch, but otherwise, it's very much a Cthulhu. And in a game that already has Cthulhu and his star-spawn, I wanted to differentiate it a bit. So I tied it to one of my favorite one-shot weirdo monsters from the 3e era.]

Zap Kraken CR 16 CE Aberration This immense creature has a roughly dinosaur-like body and the head of a colossal cephalopod. A vertical maw stretches between its beard of tentacles, and two large jointed appendages grow from its back and crackle with electricity. Its long tail is segmented like the vertebral column of a great beast.

Zap krakens are rare aberrant creatures that use electrical energy for both offense and mobility. Although they are enormous, they fly with surprising grace by manipulating electricity, essentially creating wings of lightning that hold them aloft. They are remarkably stealthy for their size, and can sneak up on prey from above before dropping to melee or merely blasting away with channeled lightning bolts.

Zap krakens are territorial, and maintain their territory by creating banshee mines, so called for the shriek of their explosions. These mines home in on creatures that get too close, and the zap kraken can also visit them to see what it has seen, similar to a prying eyes spell. Although zap krakens typically view other creatures as prey first and foremost, they have a mutual fondness for zeugalaks. Both species have tentacled maws and an affinity for electricity, and sages speculate that they are related to each other. A zap kraken often views zeugalaks the way a nobleman views their prized hunting hounds, using them to flush out prey or occupy melee combatants. 

Zap Kraken CR 16 XP 76,800 CE Gargantuan aberration Init +7; Senses blindsense 120 ft., darkvision 60 ft., Perception +17

Defense AC 30, touch 14, flat-footed 22 (-4 size, +7 Dex, +1 dodge, +16 natural) hp 225 (18d8+144) Fort +14, Ref +13, Will +15 DR 10/magic; Immune cold, electricity; SR 26

Offense Speed 50 ft., fly 100 ft. (good) Melee 2 claws +18 (2d6+8), tentacles +17 (4d4+8), 2 wings +16 (2d6+4 plus 1d6 electricity) Space 20 ft.; Reach 20 ft. (30 ft. with tentacles) Special Attacks banshee mines, lightning strike, shock pulse

Statistics Str 26, Dex 24, Con 28, Int 11, Wis 19, Cha 19 Base Atk +16; CMB +28; CMD 46 Feats Blind-fight, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Flyby Attack, Hover (B), Mobility, Multiattack, Stand Still, Weapon Focus (claw) Skills Acrobatics +20 (+28 when jumping), Fly +21, Intimidate +17, Perception +17, Stealth +16, Survival +17; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth Languages Aklo

Ecology Environment warm hills Organization solitary or band (1 plus 1-4 zeugalaks) Treasure standard

Special Abilities Banshee Mines (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can create up to three animated mines. Treat these as the eyes generated by the prying eyes spell, only when a creature approaches within 30 feet of them (all creatures or of a type set by the zap kraken on creation), they fly towards that creature and explode. Treat this as a ranged touch attack using the zap kraken’s modifiers (+19 for a typical specimen). If it hits, the creature struck takes 4d6 points of electricity damage and 4d6 points of sonic damage. Whether the mine hits or not, it explodes, dealing this damage in a 5 foot radius (Reflex DC 23 halves). A zap kraken knows when one of its mines has detonated as long as it is within 1 mile of the mine. A zap kraken can create up to nine mines a day, but can have a maximum of three in existence at a time. The save DC is Charisma based. Lightning Strike (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can call down a bolt of lightning within 160 feet. It fills a column 60 feet high with a 20 foot radius, dealing 16d8 points of electricity damage to all creatures in the area (Reflex DC 23 halves). A zap kraken can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. The save DC is Charisma based. Shock Wave (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can release an electrical pulse in a 60 foot radius centered on its body. All creatures in the area take 16d4 points of electricity damage and are pushed back 10 feet. A successful DC 27 Reflex save halves the damage and resists the knockback effect. A zap kraken can use this ability every other round. The save DC is Constitution based.  Tentacles (Ex) The tentacles of a zap kraken are treated as a single primary natural weapon

[gold-rhine]

For the nsfw ask game 👀 Diluc, Xiao, and Thoma. Mirror sex, overstimulation, and knife play. 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

warnings nsfw

I've already written Xiao mirror sex in the actual fic, so i'm leaving that out. and tbh i'd be hesitant to do knife play with him bc xiao has such a fraught relationship with violence and pain, wouldn't want to risk triggering him. only nice things for the baby bird.

so that leaves overstim, which i'd do with good ol' reliable bullet vibe up the ass. now, for some subs, i'd leave them tied and alone until they scream for you, but not xiao. first of all, he's such a good boy for you, he wouldn't even think of removing the vibe against your order. he will curse and pretend he hates it, but he'd never disobey. second, watching him break down is so fun. he'd turn away in embarrassment, try to hold still and hide his struggles, and not tying his hands pays off, bc he first starts gripping at the sheets, and then clawing at them. he doesn't give up after first orgasm, grunts quietly and tenses up, thighs clenching together. but when you gently run your hand over his spine, he'd break immediately, turns around with a whimper, melts in your arms, coming again and again

now, both thoma and diluc would be fun with both of the remaining prompts, but i'm gonna go with knife play for diluc. unlike xiao, he doesn't have history of torture and thousand of years of viewing himself as a corrupted weapon. instead, he is bottling his emotions during the day and pretending to be stoic and calm, and only letting these bottled up emotions out in a literal burst of fire during the fights. knife play can be a tie to this, that sense of danger that sparks up his body, allowing to access emotions more easily, but without actual violence. and, as a bonus, cutting up these expensive but ugly nobleman clothes? mwah. getting rid of that ugly necktie first. the ruby is pretty, but the tie itself is gotta go. he has so many useless straps and belts on him too. the dangly bits on the shoulders, little chains all over the place. so much to have fun with

thoma with mirror sex is just a treat, a bowl of ripe peaches when not one of them is bruised or going bad, just uncomplicated indulgent pleasure, messy and delicious. i'd order my sweet dear thoma to first jerk off in front of the mirror, on his knees naked, half-closed blinds throwing sunlight on him in golden spots, the rest in warm shadows, and then to prepare his hole, and he'd do everything obediently, with a lovely blush while fingering himself in full view. and then fuck him on all fours, while he watches himself, sweaty and heated, cock leaking and coming before permission and then having to lick it from the floor, looking up shamefully to see himself do it and getting painfully hard all over again. mwah