#Infernal Ascension | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pursuitseternal · 5 months

Text

“Antics of the Newly Ascended:” ✨🩸What it must have been like right after the Rite for… everyone…

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.4K of “Ascension Puberty” and Smut

Summary: “I can’t yet speak its language…” Astarion doesn’t know all his powers, despite the title of Vampire Ascendant, despite having a Bride at his side. Suppose these manifest themselves surprisingly, even awkwardly… a bit of comedy and smut.

CW: awkward campmates, Vampires stuck on the ceiling, peacock-preening Ascendant Lords, Bride/Spawn Tav also learning what it means to be a vampire, and the hot smut that always delivers (oral sex, hand job, anal fingering, blood kink, dom and sub!Astarion)

Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist

The First Day…

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

A/N: Mostly, I consider this Astarion’s Ascension puberty, that awkward time he’s getting to know his “changing” body… and how it might surprise him sometimes. In my own play-thru, it strikes me that after the Rite, it’s just life as usual for everyone. I like to think there are some lingering feelings and learning curves… so here is some comedy and smut (a gift to @marimosalad because the double stimulation towards the end was her amazing idea 😘)

Not quite “The Rogue You Were” maybe a prequel

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

You had heard he had demanded his own room now at the Elfsong. Wyll had told you, his one good eye rolling in its socket with ire. “His Lordship demanded a separate chamber for him and his.. consort,” he had spat the word out with disgust in your direction, “one that befits his new status and power of Vampire Ascendant.” Wyll sneered, put out, jilted. That forever part of him that was a monster hunter and hero still unable to wrap his mind around what you did for love. “You best not keep him waiting, Consort.”

Someday, the Blade of Frontiers might understand. But not today, not one day into Astarion’s reign as Ascendant and your new immortal life at his side.

Now you creep outside his door, just one room over. The same he had stolen you away to last night… when you became his, when you died to be reborn his consort. He had pointedly refused to really call you spawn. And while the memories of that night were hazy, aside from the most glorious sex of your existence, you knew whatever was done was done.

You waited, your hearing even sharper now, heightened as vampire. From behind the door you hear groaning, grunts of effort, and sighs of exertion.

And you frown. Could he really be… taking care of himself… after everything you had done with him last night? Even now this evening, with you merely a wall away? Like you wouldn’t come running for pleasure if he called for you, with or without compelling?

You knock on the door. Hard. Furious. If your heart still beat, it would be racing in rage.

“Leave me,” he barks back.

“Astarion,” you hiss. And then you knock harder. “Let me in.”

Inside, you hear scrambling, boots scraping on wood. A messy hurry of activity punctuated by curses.

If you hadn’t been there yesterday, hadn’t felt the lives of so many flow into your beloved, hadn’t been spattered by Cazador’s blood yourself as the same Infernal ruins were carved in his flesh… you would scoff at the suggestion Astarion was at all changed.

You finally hear the door handle unlock, and riding the swell of your self-righteous anger, you burst in.

“After all I have done for you… all I did to get you that Ascension, all the times I spread my legs, you insist on…”

You freeze. The door behind you shuts by magic. And looking up beside you, you see why. “Astarion,” you begin, much quieter, trying to stifle a laugh, if only from the pure irritation that seethes on his sharp face, “why are you on the ceiling?”

He hangs upside down, that mess of silver curls near standing on their ends. His face is flushing, that newly reborn heart letting all that magnificent, ascendant blood rush to his head. He folds his arms and spreads his legs. As if he could be intimidating while being inverted.

“I told you this morning, my treasure, it will take some time to become acquainted with my new self.”

You scan the room, skin tingling at the memories of pleasure not one day ago. And yet, here he was being more ridiculous than ever before. “So… the private room isn’t just for mind-blowing sex now that you and I are joined for eternity…” you fight the smirk on your lips as his upside down glower deepens. “It’s so you have some privacy as you… practice.”

“Don’t you dare… tell the others,” he growls, pure irritation and annoyance seething in his voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” you chuckle, extending your arm above your head as you walk beneath him. “Need a hand, my beloved vampiric master?”

He pouts, grumbling, but reluctantly reaches to grab you. His fingers wrap into yours, that warm touch of his still shocking and foreign. You pull with all your might, feeling his body release from the ceiling, floating as you tug him down until his feet rest beside yours.

He’s fuming, chest rising and falling beneath that elegantly embroidered tunic he has taken to wearing.

You grin, reaching to stroke his cheek as his parlor resumes that pale luster you know and love. Cleaning your throat, you purr, “And this is where you say…”

“Take off your clothes, my beloved consort,” he smirks and sneers at once, jutting his face into yours until you feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Not until you say…” you pause, arching your brows.

You wait. His lips fluttering, eyes boring into yours with almost glowing red intensity.

“….thank you,” he finally grumbles. Barely audible.

You turn your head, cocking your ear in his direction. “I’m sorry, what was that, my lord?”

“Thank you,” he replies louder through gritted teeth.

You can’t help but have another giggle tickle your throat. “I have no doubts you’ll master your powers in time, and until then, I’ll be here for you, my love, to lend you a hand.”

He gives an annoyed sigh. “By the hells, if the others find out…” he hisses, mad at himself rather than you.

“I think I can keep my mouth shut around them, and busy doing other things around you…” you close the distance between you, small as it might be, raising on your toes to press your lips against his, despite the disdainful pout.

“Hmmm tempting, but I do find myself rather famished…” he pats you on the cheek.

You grin, tilting your neck and sweeping your hair, an offering to sate him as you always have. You hold your breath, his lips hovering over that favorite vein of his. But he merely plants a small pecking kiss. “Delicious as you are, I think I’m in need of something more… filling.”

“Food?” you balk, jaw dropping as he catches your hand and opens the door.

“All of man’s appetites and desires are mine again, and after two-hundred years of food like ash and wine like vinegar, it’s time I started tasting all life has to offer.”

He turns, his face grins in power, but there is something in his eyes. Giddy, almost childish in excitement, like waking to presents on your birthday. It lasts a flickering second before he turns his head. You follow, hand held in his warm grip, led back into the common rooms. The scent of roast pork and vegetables fills the air. He lets your hand drop, making quick strides to the serving table before carving himself a huge hunk of meat off the carcass and ladling a pile of potatoes on the side of his dish.

“Well,” Wyll comments as the vampire settles down in a seat, “never thought I’d see the day when a vampire joins the feast with more than a goblet of blood.”

“First time for everything Wyll,” he croons in reply, taking a hearty bite just for emphasis. He doesn’t even wait to swallow completely before he continues. “First time a vampire ascendant has feasted, or existed, at all, don’t you forget.”

“I doubt you’ll let us,” Karlach teases before taking a sip of ale as ripples of laughter break out.

A bit nervously.

You look at the food, your stomach more than hungry, but… You recall as you lick your lips and catch your new fang on your tongue by accident, it’s not just food you crave.

You hear your name from the group, Karlach again breaking the chatter, “Hurry up, dish yourself a plate and get moving soldier. It’s not the same without you!”

You pick up the knife and begin to carve, but nagging thoughts won’t shut up. Can you even eat this? Can you ever feel full again? Can it ever be the same again, now that you’ve binded yourself to immortality?

A hand rests on yours, Astarion moving your hand in his to finish cutting a slice of pork for your dish, spooning out a helping on the side of the rest. “Eat, my treasure,” he orders softly with that sly smile. “Things won’t be all that different for you now.” You look into his eyes. Sincerity, pride, a flicker of concern. “Things will be different for you than when I was a spawn. You are mine, your veins hold my blood, ascendant blood. And besides, if this doesn’t fill you to bursting, my dearest pet, I suppose I’ll just have to offer you something else in the privacy of our room later.”

You arch a brow, stomach growling at the promise. “I hope you mean more than your cock, Astarion.”

He just grins wider. Feral and sly. Then he places a hand at your back and brings you to the rest of your party. You can sense the relief among everyone else once you sit down on the little couch, Astarion settling so close beside you, your arms rub with every movement. But that is nothing new.

Everyone falls right back into that perfected camaraderie, the only thing missing in the inn is a campfire. The banter and the toasting and the storytelling of the day's events to those who remained behind.

Tonight was no different… and yet, everything was.

Your ears seem to hear every word in the room, more sensitive, more overwhelming. Your stomach gnaws on itself, the plate of food on your lap untouched yet. And then, there is the utterly unfamiliar sound beside you, the gnashing of Astarion’s teeth as he bites into his food with abandon. You watch from the corner of your eye. He can’t seem to shovel it in fast enough… like a man who hasn’t had a morsel to eat in two-hundred years. It’s so… strange. Watching his jaw work furiously, watching the juice of his meal trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Not unlike when he has fed on you, you laugh inwardly. You reach your thumb to clean it for him, and it makes him turn, cheeks full of food, eyes smiling. He takes your thumb in his hand, pressing the juice to your own lips. A silent command to suck. You close your eyes, savoring the brush of his warm touch, hiding your sight from having to observe the others watching you.

You part your lips and suck… stomach rolling in hunger, appetite thoroughly whet with just that drop on your tongue.

You feel his face press against your ear to whisper, “Different for you than it was for me, my treasure…”

You shake him off, too hungry for sensuality, digging into your meal and joining the banter slowly.

Astarion remains mostly silent, laughing to himself here and there. Other than him eating and drinking, he is right however, it isn’t all that different now, you observe. Not yet anyway.

Not until he has you alone in your rooms once more. Hands gripped hard into your hair, cock thrusting down your throat as you kneel before him. You gag and sputter, sucking greedily. Indulging him. Letting him feel that power he’s gained in his life for once. His wild smile as he watches you taking him in so well makes you practically drip on the floor from between your legs. He pants relentlessly, growling praises over you, his little love, his good girl, his greedy consort.

New words, new titles, same obsession.

Same fingers caressing your jaw as it works eagerly, same touch clawing into the back of your head.

Only now his cock pulses with his heart, his skin flushed, his cum warm when it inevitably trickles down the back of your throat.

You swallow, pursing your lips around his cock so he feels every little ripple of your cheeks, your throat. Astarion pants above you, and you can count every one of his heart beats through his shaft in your mouth. “Glorious little love,” he manages to speak, swallowing to wet his throat. “Claiming a kingdom is nothing compared to the sight of claiming you on your knees, darling…”

Two fingers slip under your chin, pressing firmly to release his cock from the wet of your mouth. “On your feet, my love,” he smirks. “Time to give your master all his tribute.”

“You are enjoying this far too much, Astarion,” you purse your lips, smiling faintly and tauntingly as you do stand. “I think you should allow me to choose how you receive your… what did you call it?” You plant your hands on the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the muscles moving under your touch as he reaches to grip into the swell of your ass.

“Tribute,” he purrs, squeezing that fullness commandingly in his palms.

“Oh yes, that,” you tease, devious twists to your lips as you give him a firm shove. But he holds tight, sending you both backwards into the bed. His chuckle rumbles in his chest beneath you. “Why doesn’t my lord make himself… comfortable,” you whisper into his pointed ear, watching it twitch as you run your tongue up its long edge.

“What do you have in mind to please me, my treasure?”

You press him down, clambering on his sprawled, flawless body beneath you, your hands closing around his wrists. His smile says it all as he lets you pin him, arms bent around his mess of silver locks. “You’re so… hot,” you moan, sliding yourself over his erection, feeling it jolting as your body slathers it in arousal.

“I know,” he tilts his head, flashing his fangs and grinding into your folds.

“No, I mean…” His eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion. “Yes,” you correct with a giggle. “You are heartbreakingly handsome, devastatingly beautiful, ruinous…”

“Better,” he preens with a feral grin. “But you meant my body, my skin, my newly beating heart…”

“It is… different,” you hum, nuzzling into his neck, caressing those two little circular scars that made him what he is. His pulse beats against you, a steady drumming that still startles you.

“Almost as different as the way you make me even harder, darling, now that the mere sight of you demands instant arousal…” His hips buck through your folds again, just to demonstrate. “Now… about your adulation and homage that’s long overdue to your lord and master…”

“Shh,” you press a finger to his thick, wicked, smirking lips. Slinking down, a toss of your hair over one shoulder, and you meet his crimson eyes, dilated wide and glazed with his lust. Gently, you sweep both your hands over the sinews of his thighs, bending his knees for him.

Or, at least he lets you…

He nestles into the bed, languorous, luxuriating atop the thick covers. You let him. You can feel the difference in his being—not the power, the beat of his heart or the tingle of untamed magic that dances erratically in his touch from time to time.

He’s free. Not a care in the world. No fear, no anxiety, not even a trace of suspicion that he might be caught and forced back into hell under Cazador. He has everything now. Even you. Especially you.

You hover there, arms propped up over his hips, the tip of his cock wavering against your breasts as you just observe him. His lips twitch into a smile. “It’s rude to keep your lover waiting, you know…” he purrs. You chuckle. That veneer of power, that rasp and roll in his voice, a performance to sway you.

Not that you need it.

But it will be fun cracking that veneer all the same. You let your hands roam his body, massaging and caressing the powerful muscles of his legs. Their every definition you know by heart now, the glide of his skin on yours a nightly comfort and pleasure for you both.

Your new eyes can count every beat of his heart in his veins, your ears can almost hear that rush of blood pumping, making him achingly hard for you. And it makes you lick your lips. You lap inside his left thigh, bringing a giggle to his throat. “Don’t think I’ll leave you hungry, my pet, but pleasure first.”

“Say please,” you taunt, grazing your new fangs over his skin. As he has done to you a thousand times before.

“What?” he drolls, raising his head a little, your hand flying to the hard planes of his belly to hold him down.

“Say… please… my lord,” you smirk into his thigh, laughing to yourself as you mix submission into your demand.

“Eager to test your new powers as well? Can’t say I’m surprised…” he feigns a dramatic huff. “Alright pet, just this once. Give me my pleasure first…” he places a hand at the back of your neck, drawing you back between his legs, “…please.”

“Good boy,” you rasp before running your tongue up his shaft. You dip your lips over that seeping head of his, his groan of pleasure reverberating in his chest. Your hand, your mouth take him in deeply again, resuming a more delicate pressure, a gentler pace than he demanded of you before. It relaxes him, slowing his pleasure as you feel his skin heating all the more.

And you take full advantage of his ease.

You press a thumb over the tight little pursing of his ass. Instantly making him shake and groan. Both your hands play in tandem, drawing louder and louder hisses from his slack mouth as you beat his cock and circle that hole.

He squirms at the unexpected contact. A pant of need sounds from his mouth. You run your hand through your folds, covering your hand in your own slick, and he laughs knowing full well what you’re doing.

But that laughter melts once you sneak a finger and then two inside him, the delicious sound of his whimpers replacing any giggles. “Gods,” he mewls, “don’t you dare stop.” He manages to speak between the grunts you pull from his throat. Thrusting your fingers deeper inside him crooking and thrusting to make him catch his breath in pleasure. You feel his cock leaking seed down your fingers already, a whine escaping his clamped lips as you find that spot inside him. Cock jolting in your touch as you thrust into him again and again.

You lose no focus on that pulsing cock as well, your hand around his shaft sliding through the lingering spit and slick you’ve left dripping on his cock. His whole body shakes, and you can’t take your eyes off the way he’s coming undone. You’ve given up sucking him, your lips sore at any rate.

Instead, your hands work a magic on him, sweat beading on brow, fangs biting his own lips until they bleed. He clutches the bedding in his fists, and you watch as every vein in his arms strain to the surface with the exertion.

Hips buck in time with your fist around his cock, ass sinking back down on your fingers as he plummets back down each time. “More. I’d like more,” he groans hard, head wagging back and forth. You feel his muscles clenching around your fingers, and you slink another one inside, a louder whimper of approval is your praise. Words have failed him as he can do nothing now but ride the growing wave of pleasure you have sent washing over his oh-so-mighty and ascended form.

His balls tighten, cock shuddering in your fist as he struggles for breath. Every muscle, inside and out, goes rigid and spasms, your fingers covered as spurt after spurt of his cum erupts everywhere.

A hand flies to his face, palm over his mouth to hide the little pants he’s making as you squeeze out the last of his seed and slide your fingers out from inside.

“Is my lord… so… very… pleased?” you taunt, crawling to watch as he tries to regain composure, to salvage that dominating veneer of power.

Handsome face twitching, he can barely put two words together. “Obviously,” he manages to eke the word out. “That was…” he pauses to pant, body still shaking beneath you with the last tremors of his climax, “…amazing.” His arm comes to pull you into his chest, to press your supple, if cold to the touch, body into his embrace.

You hear it, the racing of his heart as you rest your head on his chest beside it. A slice of envy, of uncertainty, slices into your heart and twists your gut. And from the way his hand paws through your hair and down your back, you’re sure he’s readying himself for another round.

You swallow, hesitant, your thighs clenching as his hand begins to snake between them. He senses it, your unwitting reluctance. That familiar yet unfamiliar warm touch ghosting higher on your leg. “Darling,” he purrs into the top of your head, “something the matter?”

You shake your head even as your words scramble their own way out. “Last night,” you whisper almost inaudibly, “you said you would miss my warm flesh…”

“And…?” He lets the question hang in the air. Lets you speak the rest of it on your own tongue.

“Do you?” you mutter, unable to look into his face, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Not if it means I can plunder you for all your riches for all eternity, my treasure,” he croons, slowly rolling you on your back. Crushing you with his wiry frame until you wriggle against his every inch. “But, if you’re truly worried about how delicious you’ll feel…” he holds his wrist up to your mouth, “why don’t you break in those virgin fangs, my pet?”

“You mean?” you finally look up, the hunger in his eyes, the pride to see you licking your own new-formed sharpened teeth.

“I do indeed, my dark consort,” he smirks so wickedly, your own hunger for his blood and his body flames to life. It blinds you as you look into his eyes. “You’ll only need a taste,” he grins with a rakish tilt of his head, “I swear it.”

He presses the inside of his wrist to your lips, that warm skin brushing you with its softness. You can hear it, even in that small span of his wrist. Thump… thump… it makes your stomach flare, an empty pit, hungrier than you ever were for food.

And just for him.

You press your fangs into his skin. Hesitant.

A firm grip snakes behind the back of your neck, his laughter in your ear as he shoves you into his flesh harder.

Hard enough to pierce him, to let his blood flow on your tongue and tingle your mouth with its power. Rich and delicious, sweet and tanged with just the same flavor as his scent. You suck, greedily, a vague feeling you’ve tasted it before.

His other hand rubs up the back of your head, lacing his commanding touch through your hair, cradling you, keeping you feeding. His eyes flicker shut, tongue licking his lips before his mouth goes slack in his own pleasure.

He likes the way it feels, having you feast on him, drinking down his ascendant blood to pool in your belly.

“Can you feel it?” he murmurs, “my power flowing in your veins… my heart beating in your breast.” His hand ghosts down over your shoulder to cup firmly around that breast. “Your skin is flushing, your folds will swell even fuller the more you take me inside you…”

You release your mouth, a moan slithering from your sticky throat as his fingers pluck and play with your nipple.

“There is no one more worthy of this than you, my little love,” he slides his wrist from your lapping tongue, fingers clawing loosely around your throat to lift you against his own hungering lips. “You need not fear anything, I told you, not even the worry that your immortal flesh would ever repel me, my darling.”

You curl into his arms, letting his warmth seep through you, inside and out. His kiss dances slowly with your lips, his tongue licking all his blood from your fangs and lips. A hum of satisfaction rumbling in his throat, “Mmm… You taste… divine…”

“You mean… you taste divine, my love,” you laugh into his kiss. You place your hand against his neck, softly pushing him off of you.

“I do indeed,” he purrs, his knee shoving your thigh to the side, spreading you wider. “As do you, if I may?” His silver brow arches, wry and mischievous. You tilt your head, your neck already sore from last night, from where he sucked you dry. You hiss, delicious pain slicing through you, his fangs in your neck burying the same moment his cock sheaths into your folds.

Hip undulating slowly, he drinks noisily behind your ear. And you do feel on fire, burning as hot as him, the friction of his thrusts, the trickle of your blood down your neck… they scald you.

They make you feel alive in his arms, alive with him fucking between your thighs.

It’s enough to shatter you in a matter of moments, his lips barely off your bleeding neck before you clench and spam around his pulsing cock. Your voice tears from your throat in a scream. So much fuller and hotter than ever he felt inside your walls. Thicker. Heating you from within. The pressure drives you wild, your climax more intense than ever as you writhe beneath him, as stars cover your vision and pleasure steals your breath.

He laughs again, that tickled giggle to watch you panting to catch your breath, barely able to make a sound more than a whimper yourself. “That’s right, my pet, let them all hear you through these flimsy walls….”

You laugh, breathy and quick, wrapping your thighs tightly around his waist. “So quick to forget what I managed to reduce you to?” You steal a hand back to his clenching ass, returning your touch to that tight little hole.

He gasps, biting his lips as if to keep himself from crying out again. “Don’t you ever tell them,” he growls, smiling with that predacious gleam in the crimson of his eyes.

“I don’t need to,” you can’t help but laugh, letting the words already in your mind already make you smile. Even if they are his own… even if he just might make you pay deliciously for them for the rest of the night, “given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know…”

419 notes · View notes

loquaciousquark · 5 months

Text

Cazador's Ritual Runes, Translated

Inner: AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR [sic] Middle: WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE Outer: WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD [sic]

Mephistopheles can't spell for beans.

(Detailed analysis & conjecture regarding this text, the Rite of Profane Ascension, & Astarion's translated scars under the cut.)

The second ring was the easiest, as the characters are very similar to Latin letters and clearly read out "WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE." Characters were now known for C, E, F, H, I, L, O, R, T, and W. It wasn't clear yet if there were cases.

I was struggling with the first ring, though after decoding the second, I could get a likely "_M_LIF_ + _IM + _LOW + EM_OWR". Guessing the character for P, Y, and A based on context gave me "AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR", but I had doubts over the first characters for words two and three. I suspected they would be HIM and FLOW, but the H and F characters didn't match the H from the second ring's "THE" or the F from "AMPLIFY". Also, "empower" was misspelled, which made me pause.

Abandoning those for a moment, the third ring mapped well onto "WE _ATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE _OWER OF _LO_". Ruling out known letters which were not present, I could guess "WE GATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE POWER OF _LO_", but again the P from "POWER" was not the same as the P from "AMPLIFY" in the inner ring. However, it was very, very similar, and nothing else fit, so I committed, now suspecting there were capital versions of some letters included in the text.

At this point I went digging for resources. I found a copy of an Infernal alphabet on the Forgotten Realms wiki, and while it looks like the typeface Larian used is a bespoke creation for the game rather than a 1:1 copy of this alphabet, the letters for lowercase G, N, K, B, and D were nearly identical. Y (from AMPLIFY) also matched perfectly, confirming that earlier guess. This gave a clear "WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD."

This resulted in: AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

Looking at the wiki for capital letters, the only ones I could find which might reasonably fit the _IM missing character (assuming the Larian alphabet was based off this wiki typography) were A, B, H, O, T, V, and Y. Of those choices, only AIM, HIM, TIM, and VIM were words, and as cheesy as Cazador is, I couldn't imagine him saying AMPLIFY TIM FLOW EMPOWR. Given the alternatives, HIM was the only choice which made sense.

I went through the same process for _LOW, but this character seems unmatchable to me. By far it looks the most like the E from the Infernal alphabet, with maybe a capital Y being a distant second. However, ELOW and YLOW are certainly not words, and absent all other comparatives, the character in question does resemble a fancy F. Barring other languages, FLOW with a capital or unique F fits best.

AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

I did double-check the texts available in Cazador's mansion just to make sure this hadn't been translated elsewhere (after I'd done all the work, of course), and the only written text of relevance is from the Black Mass scroll you find near Vellioth's skull. It reads:

The Rite of Profane Ascension Oh, piteous dead! Oh, ravenous dead! Immortality is your gift, but darkness is your prison and hunger its gaoler. The Rite of Profane Ascension will release you. Walk in the sun. Suffer not from hunger. Grow your power beyond anything you imagined. A pact has been made with the Lord of Hellfire. Deliver unto him seven thousand souls, each bearing an Infernal mark, and you shall be free of your chains. You shall know true power. Deliver the souls. Speak the words. Ecce dominus, Has animas offero in sacrificio, Nunc volo potestatem quam pollicitus es mihi.

The Latin translates (as best I can tell with my incredibly weak Latin) to:

Behold [the] Lord, I offer these souls in sacrifice, I want the power thou hast promised me.

Which is interesting, but not clearly mapped to the Infernal above. Then I started wondering what relationship Astarion's scars have with all this, but thankfully, someone else has done the work here!

Astarion's scars have been transcribed and translated in a wonderfully detailed Reddit post by northpaw_s in 2020, but the salient points are that they appear to be in a mishmash of mangled Latin and Romance languages ("Infernal") and read:

Hoyc inferiu non iurare per igneu Naec virba loquor Eoai mundo muoat

Which appears to roughly translate to:

This soul swears no oath by fire Nor words does he speak In the realm of death

This makes sense if it's a fragment of a contract. I suspect the other spawn's scars are all identical to Astarion's for game mechanics/development reasons, but it'd be wild if they did have minor differences to complete the rest of the phrases! I know the scars don't show on their backs they way they do on Astarion's outside of the moment of the ritual, but it really does make me wonder if there's a complete text of the poem in some writer's documentation somewhere.

Anyway, what did you do with your Thursday night?

#astarion #cazador #no wonder the rite was so secretive mephistopheles didn't want anyone to know he's a terrible speller #baldur's gate 3 #plus a lot of talk about astarion's scars' meaning & the rite's text #puzzles! neat!#i don't know what to tag this so i'll be able to find it again #quark plays bg3 #quark rambles #each phrase is repeated three times on each ring by the by

341 notes · View notes

kirain · 1 month

Note

I saw a comment of yours about Ascended Astarion and I just wanted to say him sacrificing 7000 bloodthirsty vampires that can't control their bloodlust isn't a bad thing. If anything it's a mercy killing. People enjoy Ascended Astarion because it's cathartic for a lot of people who've suffered similar abuse. You lack empathy.

I think you may have the wrong person, because I've never commented on ascended Astarion. The only time I've come relatively close was when I discussed Neil Newbon's stance on him in the comments of a viral post, where a Tumblr user got mad at him for saying, "Meh. He's not for me." And even then, I made it abundantly clear that I don't have a problem with people who enjoy ascended Astarion. I was more so defending Neil for having a preference, which he's allowed to have. Is that what you're talking about? Because I haven't discussed ascended Astarion anywhere else. 😅

As for your comment ... what? First of all, an unconsensual sacrifice isn't a mercy killing, it's murder. They didn't want to die. Those innocent people—and yes, they are innocent; Cazador captured and enslaved them—don't simply die. As per the infernal contract, they go to hell. Specifically to Mephistopheles, the second most powerful and cruel archdevil in the hells. They will suffer for all eternity. That's not merciful. Personally, I'd rather be an undead spawn who has to drink rat blood every now and then.

Second, if you feel that way about all those spawn, then you should keep the same energy for Astarion, because he's the same as them. The only difference is they haven't had a chance to live in the real world or learn to control their hunger. Now, I do agree setting thousands of spawn loose on the Sword Coast is a lot, and potentially dangerous for the living, but the Gur will keep an eye on them, as is their oath. If you let them go, you give them a choice. They're still slaves to their hunger, and they likely always will be, but they get to choose how to satisfy it. If they truly can't resist harming others, then the Gur (and paladins) will surely kill them; which sounds horrible, but at least they'll be spared a gruesome afterlife.

Cazador took their choice away, as he did with Astarion. If they deserve to die, if they don't deserve a chance to prove they can live peacefully in Faerûn, then the same goes for Astarion. That's part of what makes his ascension so hypocritical. He's no better than Cazador, in the sense that he takes their agency away and uses them for the exact same purpose. Those spawn even could've been Astarion. He just so happened to be the "lucky" one who had a parasite crawl into his head. He's special to the player because we know him, but he could've been any of his siblings. He is all 7,006 of those spawn.

I will admit I didn't ascend Astarion, as I personally think it's the worst path for him, but you have it backwards. I didn't deny him ascension because I lack empathy. I denied him ascension because all I have is empathy, and that extends to characters who aren't the main focus of the game. You do what makes you happy, but I don't think becoming the worst version of yourself is healing, and I care about Astarion (and the people around him) too much to watch him continue the cycle. Sebastian, Dalyria, Chessa, all the others trapped in the cages—they have names and they're victims, too. For me, the most cathartic moment of Astarion's quest was when he realised it and set them free.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #ascended astarion #neil newbon #tav #cazador szarr

195 notes · View notes

dark-and-kawaii · 5 months

Text

༺ 𝐹𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒽𝑜𝑜𝒹 ༻

Raphael & Being A Father

Summary: Just a few random Headcanons about Raphael being a father. Some can’t see him being a dad, but I on the other can. More specifically, a girl dad.

Notes: Please enjoy these headcanons xoxo

While he still holds himself in the highest regard, this little girl becomes a living extension of his pride. In the quiet moments when she's curled up on his chest, the Devil experiences a fond fondness he's unaccustomed to, a protective warmth that's both foreign and intoxicating. His narcissism, rather than being diluted, has found a new focus in the form of his child. He sees her not only as his progeny but as an extension of his greatness and power. He also sees her not just as his heir but as his greatest achievement, a testament to his own perceived perfection.

In the quiet moments when the screams of the damned are far below, he sits upon his chair, with his daughter curled atop his chest, and for once, the twisted smile that touches his lips is not borne of malevolence but of a father’s pride. He reads to her from ancient tomes of contracts, grooming her to be as formidable in mind as he is, ensuring his legacy will carry on through her.

As a father, Raphael is surprisingly indulgent. Every whim or desire his daughter expresses, he strives to fulfill, not solely out of love, but because in his eyes, she deserves the world due to her being his creation.

Raphael knew he was protective over you, but the protectiveness he had for his daughter surprised even himself. With the crown of Karsus in his possession and the future ruler of the Nine Hells just within his grasp, he is feared and revered. But with his daughter, a new narrative begins.

He is her guardian, her shield against the political machinations of the infernal court. Any devil, damned soul, or ambitious underling who dares to even glance in her direction with the wrong intention finds themselves facing torments unimaginable. His daughter will grow under his watchful eye, trained to navigate the treacherous politics of Hell, and any who pose a threat to her ascension are removed with ruthless efficiency.

When he can’t keep a close eye on her, Korilla is always there.

He has grand plans for his daughter, envisioning her as a true cambion princess who will help rule the Nine Hells beside him. He invests in her the knowledge of infernal magic and the cunning required to maintain power in a realm where betrayal is as common as brimstone.

The birth of his daughter was not foreseen in his grand scheme, but now that she exists, Raphael cannot imagine his House Of Hope without her. It helped that she was quite the silent baby, never fussing, and when she did you were there to help calm her little nerves.

Haarlep, ends up developing an unexpected fondness for the tiny heiress. Their role becomes that of an uncle almost, indulging her with whatever it is she wants. When Raphael is away, tending to the endless affairs of Hell, Haarlep steps in alongside you. Their mischievous nature can come out to play without any hesitation, the little child loves it. They teach her how to summon implings for her amusement, Haarlep loves when she yanks their tails.

In the absence of Raphael and you, Haarlep becomes the child's protector. They are surprisingly protective of her, a sentiment that has become a source of amusement to the other devils, who never thought they would see the day when an incubus would be so devoted to anyone other than their own pleasure. But Haarlep takes this duty seriously, understanding the importance of the heir he watches over considering this is Mephistopheles blood as well.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #tav #haarlep #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #raphael

357 notes · View notes

bg-brainrot · 4 months

Text

*spoilers for all of BG3 below!

Imagine, if you will, a Tav that wanted a romance with Astarion, truly. But was too kind, too honest, too much of a people pleaser to wind up with any companion at all.

They spent all of act 1 trying to be what everyone wanted them to be: helping Karlach fight the Paladin's of Tyr, giving Gale magic items as soon as he needed them, welcoming Shadowheart's faith regardless of how others may perceive it, providing Astarion with blood, going to the creche for Lae'zel, promising to help Wyll's father. When the time came for the tiefling party, they all wanted a piece of Tav, Tav had grown fond of Astarion. Tav, unable to disappoint anyone, decided to spend the night alone.

Come act 2, they continue to help their allies at every turn-- until push comes to shove. Throughout the Shadowlands, their soft, pliable attitude begins to harden. They convince Shadowheart to spare the Nightsong, they tell Lae'zel to defy her queen, they warn Astarion off of Ascension. They have no time for romance, but, try as they might, they can't forget the beautiful words of a particular vampire. They wonder if they should have rejected Astarion all those weeks ago...

By act 3, they're more confident. Though still not entirely convinced that they should be leading this group, they find it less difficult to push back against their ideas. They convince Gale to give up on the crown, they break Wyll out of his infernal pact, they make sure Karlach makes it to Avernus, they allow Shadowheart to make her choice and release her parents' souls, they encourage Lae'zel to lead her people to the Astral Plane. Most importantly, they stand up to Astarion, keeping him from Ascending and preserving their friendship. The world is saved, and their only regret is letting their relationship stay that of friends...

Fast forward to the rebuilding of Baldur's Gate.

Astarion and Tav haven't so much as shared a kiss, let alone a bed, but they are the closest of friends, sharing a room at the Elfsong together.

So close that when Astarion burns down Cazador's mansion, Tav is right there, holding the reserves of Alchemist's Fire for him.

After the mansion burns, the city puts the ashen land on auction. Astarion expresses that he'd love the chance to build upon its ashes-- For the sake of moving on and to rub it in his old master's face one more time. Tav loves the idea, always supporting their chaotic friend in all of his endeavors, never straying too far.

However, when Astarion goes to buy the plot of land, he quickly finds that someone else has already bought it. The source of all of their timid, people pleasing tendencies: Tav's controlling, domineering, land baron of a father.

Caught between their best friend and father, Tav has no clue what to do next. What they do know, is that their father won't be helping. At least not until they fulfill his request.

When Tav proposes a solution to their best, most handsome friend, they begin to find the lines between them blurring, begin to wonder how much their own pleasure is factoring into the decisions they've made...

Anyway, if you've ever been like, damn, I want to see an arranged marriage Astarion x Tav, wow, do I have the fic for you: The Consequences of Convenience

(Ty to everyone who voted on this trope, I'm so excited for it hehe)

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion fic

257 notes · View notes

meanbossart · 3 months

Note

I gotta ask this has been rattling in my brain for a while.

How did your DU drow react when Astarion asked him for help with the ritual? What were his thoughts? Or was he simply like stop it, no, we aren't doing that. OH, How did you picture your Astarion and DU Drow react after he "died" and was brought back? I know that we don't really get that much dialogue or reaction from the companions when that happens (Praying they add something later down the line in another patch)

Again thank you for sharing your beautiful art and fanfic with all of us its so refreshing to see!!! :)

OHOHOHO I'm glad you asked. I feel like that first question is very revealing of DU drow's character and It was a fun moment to ponder upon, because I think much of his behavior might lead one to believe he would be willing to go along with whatever Astarion wants, instead of pushing back at all, at least on the surface.

There's two factors at play here - first, DU drow knows of his heritage at that point, and thanks to the blank-slate treatment of the tadpole he's gotten a brand new perspective on it by the time he learns of the truth. Prior to losing his memories, accepting the fate that Bhaal had bestowed onto him felt like a choice and the best thing that ever happened to him in life, a confirmation that he was special and destined for greatness instead of just damned to the lowly existence he had endured so far. After his brain is scrambled however, DU drow got a taste of what true freedom feels like while unburdened by his upbringing; he's strong, he's powerful, he's self-sufficient, he enjoys the fruits of his labor without appreciating what got him here - he does not feel like he needs Bhaal, and the fact he ever did is laughable at best and violating at worse. This leads him to abhor the idea of depending on higher power to succeed instead of just raising oneself up by their own merits, or abiding by any mentality where you take orders from a source.

So when Astarion speaks of ascension, and especially after he learns of the source of that power (Infernal magic) he's disillusioned by it. While his memories are still hazy, the situation still feels awfully familiar to him. He doesn't think Astarion needs that higher power because he doesn't, either, and to take it would surrendering to fear and giving away even more of his autonomy than he already has.

And if that sounds a little self centered and like he's missing some of the point, it's because he is. While DU drow has fallen in love with Astarion by that stage in the story and wants what's best for him (he actually entertains the idea of him ascending up to a point - he wants him to be happy) he still has a difficult time empathizing with others. Ascending feels like a bad choice, but he can only justify that feeling from his own, narrow perspective.

(I mused on about characterization for too long again. So more under the cut - the sky is blue the sun is hot etc.)

Then there's the uglier, far more vulnerable and knee-jerk reaction to it. Now that Bhaal is no longer his purpose in life or the gift he once felt it to be, Astarion has taken it's place. Bhaal needed DU drow, in his eyes, much like Astarion does now. And as much as the vampire might have told him that his feelings on the matter changed (and that he was no longer manipulating DU drow for his own ends alone) he can't fathom a reason to be kept around unless he continues to be needed. He has slotted himself as Astarion's protector and devotee, and a vampire lord does not sound like they need much of either.

As much as he would never admit to it, DU drow does not know a life where he doesn't pledge himself, body and soul, to another purpose. He seems like he's happy to barrel through life directionless, but he needs something that anchors him or he has an inexplicable feeling that something terrible will happen. And honestly, maybe he's right - for a man who loves killing, he has a much easier time applying some strategy to that desire as long as he's doing it to some an specific end. Without Astarion, he probably feels like his choices are to either submit to his hedonism entirely or just lie down and die.

I don't need to spell out that this is pure codependency at it's finest.

So, when Astarion asks for help to complete the ritual he is conflicted. He wants to do whatever Astarion wants, but his brain is setting off alarm bells that, if he acquiesces, this will be the end for them and for him. And whatever comes after is a terrifying void of nothing. While he loves Astarion and ultimately does the right choice in pleading with him to give up on this power, his motivations are far from selfless or pure, as much as DU drow may not yet realize it.

This is why, after everything takes place, and specially once he severs his connection to Bhaal and his mind clears a little further, DU drow would go on to grapple with a lot of guilt for taking this opportunity away from Astarion, as I have touched on in the fic and will continue to do so. He's happy to feel like he has a reason to be kept around, but the inevitable hurdles that Astarion must continue to face as a spawn are obviously painful to witness. This is why he dives full force into trying to "fix" his vampirism instead, following that.

NOW, FOR THE NEXT AND HOPEFULLY FAR BRIEFER ANSWER TO YOUR OTHER QUESTION (spoiler alert, it's not brief at all, god damn it):

Yeah everyone just standing around in that scene feels little weird LOL not that it took away too much from how dope a cutscene it was (I probably watched it with the attentiveness of a sport's fan witnessing a footbal game turning in the last 10 minutes of a match) but If I were to embellish it instead of just going with something like "everyone is shell-shocked and paralyzed", I would say Shadowheart is the first to rush over to see if there's anything at all she can do to help, and probably the first (and only, in that moment) to break down crying. I think she very quickly composes herself after he's brought back, tells him he gave her the scare of a fucking lifetime and that he's the luckiest idiot in all of the realms - but that she's glad he's back. No hugs for him though LOL

Astarion is pretty much the opposite, that he would stand there in shock feels kind of apt to me. Like, holy shit, what just happened? Did one of the only good things in my life really just get taken away in the blink of an eye? Am I just cursed to have everything snatched away from my hand as soon as I'm growing comfortable with it? Yes, of course I am. What else did I expect. When DU drow pops back up he's probably like "Oh yeah I knew it'd be fine" (plus the little Twee comment, that was very funny to me.) and DU drow is similarly going "Oh definitely, it was my plan all along to be killed and then resurrected by an ominous house-keeper skeleton this whole time. Anyway, smooch for a dead man?"

This... Clearly very traumatic little incident is probably addressed by them only later. He gets a kiss and a hug at camp and a very stern "if you do that shit again I'm raising you back up just to kill you myself" from Astarion and Shadowheart's just down to drink in celebration and drown her trauma away for now lmao.

OH YEAH AND GALE WAS ALSO THERE. There was a whole Gale debacle in my playthrough but, the TL;DR, is that especially towards the end of the game he was Not in the best of terms with DU drow. Still, I obviously think he's an empathetic person and had his own "oh shit" moment. I'd say he takes this opportunity to try extending a very sincere hand out to him later that day, both for his courage in defying a god and dumb-luck - which DU drow completely passes on like an asshole and just gives him a cold-shoulder about, leaving feeling even more dejected than he already was and probably further cementing his choice to pursue the crown of Karsus later, despite DU drow's disapproval. Good job buddy!

Thank you so much for the ask and for your lovely compliments!!! Sorry for writing you a dang ESSAY 😬

#ask #du drow #DU drow lore #about time I start using a tag like that #bg3 spoilers

133 notes · View notes

galacticgraffiti · 8 months

Text

I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

Summary: Astarion changes after his Ascension, and while you hate what he has become, you cannot seem to love him less.

Pairing: Ascendant!Astarion x gn!reader Rating: Explicit (for a few nsfw lines and mature themes) Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: Reader is not described in detail, though there is one (1) line implying that they bottom when they have sex. TW: Angst, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, emotionally abusive situation, blood, biting, blood drinking, non-consensual drinking of blood, non-consensual... taking away of bodily autonomy (?)

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully. This is not smut, this is hella angsty and was - at least to me personally - somewhat emotionally taxing. Take care of yourself. If you have any questions, feel free to message me!

Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3

I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

You can’t remember what changed, exactly. It was something in his eyes, perhaps, something about the way he looks at you. The corner of his mouth not forming the half-smile you have gotten so used to, or even the possessive sneers he adopts sometimes.

It has been so long since he looked at you as anything more than his… pet. His pretty little consort, if he is in a good mood.

In the beginning, you didn’t realise that that was what you had become to him: A pet, a companion only because he did not want to be lonely after all these centuries. A trophy he could show off at his dinner parties. His own personal meal, ready whenever and wherever he wants - especially in front of hungry guests who know exactly they could never have you.

Hells, you even enjoyed the thought of it at first: To belong to him entirely - to be his and his alone. Forever.

His fangs have marked you hundreds and thousands of times through the years, and you have borne it willingly. Because you love him.

There is nothing else to say, really. Astarion has just… captured you. He is it for you. You knew it the moment you laid eyes on him, knew it the second he held a dagger to your throat only to apologise and join your mission moments after. You knew it when he bared his back to you, bearing the scars of years of abuse, and of… the Ritual.

Ah, yes. The Ritual.

It changed everything. It changed him. Seven thousand souls, sacrificed - killed - in the name of your love, and all you could think about was that he would finally be free. Sometimes, you think back to that moment, and you try not to feel ashamed that you did not even try to persuade him otherwise.

But you had never seen him as scared as he was the night you faced Cazador. And you had never seen him angrier, either. So when Astarion ripped Cazador from his coffin, when he stabbed and slashed and twisted his sword in the belly of his abuser, you… let him.

He deserved revenge. He deserved to kill him, to be free of him, to never be made to feel small and powerless again.

You liked it. You loved it, even: Loved him, free of torment, bloodied with his eyelids heavy from violence. Because you thought it meant his freedom.

And when Astarion turned to you, face smeared with warm blood, the infernal runes on his back glowing, and his eyes so big and full of bloodlust and fear, you could not say no. When he carved the runes into the back of his tormentor, savouring every scream of agony, you could not say no. You watched, and you loved Astarion all the more for every tear of pain he wrung from Cazador’s wretched body. And you let yourself forget it would not just be Cazador who would die for your love to be free.

The Ritual is by far not the only moment of weakness you have ever afforded yourself throug the years, but it is the one that has changed your life the most.

Seven thousand souls. All for the happiness of your love. All for him, for his freedom and his might, for him to live in the sun and never know hunger again. For him to be able to love you without fear.

Thing is- the Ritual never made him happy. It just made him other.

Astarion looks at you different after the ritual. He looks at you like… he owns you. You don’t realise it in the beginning, not for a long time. His words are sweet as ever, his hands gentle when he touches you. His fangs are sharp but his lips are soft, and he calls you his pretty little thing and his love. He calls you His, and you take it to be an affirmation of love, not one of ownership.

Eventually, though, you start to understand what he really means. It starts to sink in when you deny him, and he talks of still taking what he wants. When you disagree, and he does not hear you out. When your neck is covered in bruises, and you still don’t find it in yourself to deny him. Because even with the blood of seven thousand souls dripping from his hands, even with the way his eyes turn cold when he looks at you, even with the things he asks you to do and the kind words he used to have so many of growing few and far between, you cannot stop loving him.

And so you stay, through the cruelty and the ecstasy, through the nightly soirées and the everchanging guests of the palace, through the dark masses and the bloodlust. The joy of his kisses is enough to keep you chained in place without needing to lock you up.

You remember how he used to be: scared and alone, eager to manipulate if only to save himself, because no one else had ever looked out for him.

You remember what he became as you travelled together: kind and thoughtful, even though he kept pretending like he wasn’t. Sweet and caring, protective and assured. How much he overcame to love you, and surely that must be worth something, mustn't it?

When you look at the man that stands in front of you now, in all his glory, bathed in the light of his Ascension, you decide that he is still worth staying for. Every time.

You sit next to him, you offer your neck to him, your wrist, your thighs and your shoulders, wherever he can reach, though he does not hunger for your blood as he used to. But he likes showing off, and you are his favourite trophy.

You can’t say how long you have lived in Cazador’s palace. Years, maybe.

Astarion takes you to bed every night, to drink from you, to hold you. And that is the thing that keeps you here, with him, even after all this time: He still holds you like he cannot sleep without you, and you are always there when he wakes up from his nightmares, gasping for air, crying out the name of his tormentor, of his long-dead parents and friends. In the darkness of these nights, there is a humanity to him that you cannot find when you look into his eyes in the sunlight that he so craves.

You are not so foolish as to think you could save him. You gave up on that thought long ago, after he made you sit at his feet with your wrists still dripping in blood, just to let it flow down the stairs before his throne and tell the guests of his soirée that they could never have you - that they were not even allowed to lick your blood from the floor - because you were his and his alone.

No, you can’t save him anymore. A small sliver of your soul holds onto the hope that he might… get bored. That he will grow tired of the favours that people ask in exchange for gifts of gold and knowledge, that he will grow tired of sitting in the sun while you read to him. That he will get tired of you. That he will make you leave, because you are not strong enough to do it on your own.

And as Astarion stares at you from across the table, his fangs showing as he curls his upper lip in displeasure, you think that, maybe, you will be so lucky.

You are not.

Astarion’s hand grabs your jaw and tilts your head into the light of the candelabra.

“What’s that?” he asks, and he sounds so disgusted that you nearly start to cry from his words alone. For all the hope you had that he might let you go, you never wanted him to hate you.

“What is what, my love?” The nickname falls easily from your lips, years of habit and a tinge of truth. Your love. For all his mistakes, he is still that.

His finger traces your brow in a surprisingly gentle movement, and your breath catches. But the look in his eye is still one of revulsion and contempt. He pulls at you until you get up to follow him, stumbling through the halls of the manor to stop in front of the big mirror he usually keeps covered.

The mirror. One of the only things his ascension did not fix: Astarion still can’t see his own reflection. Sometimes, you wonder if he keeps you around just to ask for accounts of his beauty that he will never be able to see.

Dozens of portraits have been made in his honour, the artists killed so they would never surpass their masterpiece: Him. None of the portraits manage to capture his ethereal beauty, the cruel twist around his mouth or the pain that still lingers in his eyes. None of the artists understand him the way he would need to be understood to be painted the way he wants to be seen. The way he wants to see himself.

You have caught him on bad nights, standing in front of the empty mirror you see before you now, staring into the silver surface with flaming eyes like he could will himself to appear if he only wanted it enough. It has been years since then. Now, he only asks you to describe him to himself, when he is buried deep inside you, when his pale hands glow on your skin in the moonlight, and his fangs are sunk into the bruised flesh of your neck. You excel at it, because after all, one thing is still true: You love him. You understand him in ways nobody else ever could.

The mirror has been covered up for a long time, collecting dust as you assumed its supposed function.

Now, Astarion pulls at the velvet cover, and your mirror image is revealed to you. Astarion’s hand wraps around the nape of your neck as he pushes you closer to the silvery surface.

“What is that?” he asks again, so accusatorily that you shy away from your own reflection. You see nothing out of the ordinary: Your own face, his mirror absence behind you. Maybe your hair is a little messier than you would like, maybe the bruises on your neck more prominent than you would prefer. But you look just like you always do.

Astarion’s finger traces your brow again - and you realise what has him this riled up.

A faint wrinkle, barely visible, stretches across your forehead like a thin, twisted branch.

You worry too much, as Karlach would have put it. Gods, you haven't seen her in ages. You don't even know if she still lives.

“I-” you set on to explain, though you don’t know what exactly you could say to calm him. When Astarion is in this mood, there is little to do but wait it out. The storm always passes eventually; with sharp fangs slicing your skin or cold hands finding their way beneath your robes to watch you writhe and beg.

Astarion’s gaze now is colder than it has ever been, and it makes you shiver.

“You are ageing.” He spits the words at you like venom.

“Such is the nature of things, my love.” Your voice is dry with annoyance, but you cannot find it in you to care. What a useless thing for him to lose his mind over.

Astarion’s face glows with the beauty of an anger that is senseless as much as it is boundless. You can barely look at him when he twists you around until you are pressed up against the wall, his body so close to yours you can feel the coldness of his skin. Nothing hurts more than to look at him like this, his red eyes devoid of any affection. He didn't used to look at you like this in the beginning… did he? You can’t remember.

His words are poison, his fingers digging into your throat with every syllable he spits at you.

“No, no no. Not in the nature of me. Not in the nature of my world, the universe I have created.” He is aflame with an anger you have not seen in years. It tugs at your heart. All of a sudden, he looks almost as he did before the Ritual: passionate and full of emotion. It doesn't matter that it’s not affection that sets his eyes aflame. At least it’s not indifference.

Astarion wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking you up and down.

“This… this just won’t do,” he mumbles, tilting his head and eyeing you up and down.

To say your heart leaps in joy would be a lie. It leaps in terror. You know what happens to things Astarion has no use for anymore. They are discarded, and if they used to be alive, they are discarded dead.

He might make an exception for you, for his consort, his pet, his trophy. But he might not. These days you can never tell.

“I have waited too long,” he whispers, almost like he has forgotten you are even there. His iron grip on your neck loosens, and you twist around, trying to escape his grasp, not to have to look at him anymore. You can’t bear it. You close your eyes and breathe.

When you open your eyes and see how he looks at you, tears fill your eyes at the expression on his face.

There he is.

After all these years of hoping, of waiting and praying to every god, he is standing before you again: Your love, unchanged by the years, eternally beautiful as he already was before his Ascension. His eyes glow red and his fangs are sharp as ever, but his face is delicate and full of fear. You have not seen him like this in… forever.

“I have waited too long,” he says again, sadness dripping heavy from his eyes. “I… We have waited too long.”

His hand runs up your side, caressing your face, and the look in his eyes is so warm that for the first time in years, you don’t feel like you are freezing from the inside out. You bask in his affection.

“What did we wait for?” you whisper as Astarion buries his face in the crook of your neck, his soft lips warm on your chilly skin. He presses against you and you let him, even though the wall is cold and hard behind you, because this is all you have dreamed about for so long. A sign that he is still in there, that he is still capable of loving you the way he used to.

His lips move against the delicate skin of your throat when he answers.

“For you to be ready.”

Your head falls back as his nails rake down your back, and his thigh presses between your legs. Your fingers weave into his silver hair as your breath catches at the warmth in your chest.

“Ready for what?” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. The familiar sharpness of his fangs sinking into your skin is no surprise.

“To be mine.” Astarion’s words sear holes into your skin, deeper than his fangs ever could. “Forever.”

You let him push his fingers into your mouth without resistance, your lips parting easily as blood red eyes burn into yours. Astarion smiles a smile that is only fangs and cruelty.

By the time you feel the world flicker, your consciousness fading into darkness, it is already too late.

You are not only His. You have become His Creation. Forever.

Dive into Angstarion - become insane with me.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon02 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @darlingbravebelle @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @midnightdragonzero @thatweebitch @triangleshapewinner @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @fuckalrighty @meabravo @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @cometstail @beesherbsandivy @gub @codename-indigo @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion

#astarion #astarion bg3 #angst #astarion x reader #astarion x you #i cannot stress enough that this is not smut #bg3 #gala writes #angstarion

242 notes · View notes

dmbakura · 6 months

Note

I often see ascension fans say how much they don't care about 7000 spawn, and I can only imagine what's going on in Astarion's head, when their Tav looks him in the eyes and says "Actually, it's ok to hurt and exploit these people BECAUSE they are vampire spawn (the thing that you are). I, the person you love, think that since they are dead and potentially dangerous (just like you), they don't deserve happiness by default, they don't even deserve to live. Now let's be lovers forever."

I was thinking about this today actually and even made a thread somewhat related to it on twitter.

Like, indiscriminately killing a group of people is fucking BAD no matter how you slice it. It's an evil act and the game treats it as such for a reason. Blanket term deciding none of them can control themselves or should be denied a chance at life is so ridiculous to me too. Like OK, if you think that then I hope you stake Astarion himself too every time you have that first scene where he tries to bite you out of hunger. Why is he afforded grace to get his cravings under control and nobody else should be?

There's also a huge difference in the way the spawn ending treats this decision. Either killing them or sparing them is treated as an act of mercy (the only thing worse than this is leaving them in their cages to rot forever). Killing them makes it clear Astarion is not happy about this choice, nor the Gur or anyone else for that matter, and it's only done out of necessity. The spawn also just die instead of being sacrificed to Mephistopheles. Contrast this to the ascended ending where it's very much done of selfish intent to gain power, and the spawn's souls are lost to the Hells forever.

And that's another part of this, the question of whether Astarion loses his soul in the ascension ritual. Personally, I think the question of if he loses his soul *literally* is not all that useful of a discussion. It doesn't matter. What matters is the marked shift in his personality post ritual. You don't need to look in a dnd manual or do a deep vampire lore dive to see the Astarion that comes out on the other side of the ritual is not the same man at all. Whatever it did to him fucked with him immensely - psychologically, emotionally, whatever. I don't think you can just throw away 7000 lives and come out unscathed.

Oh and also I don't believe for one second that the ritual was something Mephistopheles just allowed Cazador to do out of the goodness of his heart or some shit. It's an INFERNAL CONTRACT. Devils always have an ulterior motive and you do not get into deals with them without losing more than you ever bargained for, so make of that what you will too.

#astarion #ascended astarion

175 notes · View notes

alexa-crowe · 8 months

Text

Oh, piteous dead! Oh, ravenous dead! Immortality is your gift, but darkness is your prison and hunger its gaoler. The Rite of Profane Ascension will release you. Walk in the sun. Suffer not from hunger. Grow your power beyond anything you imagined. A pact has been made with the Lord of Hellfire. Deliver unto him seven thousand souls, each bearing an Infernal mark, and you shall be free of your chains. You shall know true power. Deliver the souls. Speak the words. Ecce dominus, Has animas offero in sacrificio, Nunc colo potestatem quam pollicitus es mihi.

— Black Mass Scroll, retrieved from Vellioth’s remains

#bg3edit #gamingedit #dailygaming #vgedit #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #astarion #astarion ancunin #cazador #cazador szarr #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bgiii #baldur's gate iii #mine

208 notes · View notes

hexed-padlock · 8 months

Text

Hi. As requested by a few people, here’s a fic of my AU/Headcanon where Tav killed Strahd but keeps it a secret from the party. I’m planning a few different scenarios of the reveal, but here’s the first (and most serious). Next ones are gonna embody the original premise more. Couldn’t get this scene out of my head though. Also a bit of Astarion x Tav here.

Takes place as you meet Cazador, where he starts mocking Astarion.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Do the cattle not know you?”

They were below the Palace, facing Cazador as he readies the ritual for his Ascension. 200 years of torment and this is where it all ends. Here and now.

Astarion tenses, seconds from lunging. This was his tormentor, the bastard who robbed him of his freedom, the monster who destroyed thousands of lives. A vampire hundreds have tried and failed to kill.

The room grows colder as Cazador continues to humiliate, to mock, to belittle.

Astarion’s jaw clenches and-

Tav laughs, loud and mocking. They’ve barely reacted thus far, and the sudden noise catches everyone off guard. Their eyes glint, one natural and the other burning with fiery, infernal magic.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take you seriously anymore. You truly are pathetic.” Tav taunts, head tilting as a lazy smirk crawls onto their face.

Cazador’s own mocking grin turns down into a sharp frown as he finally turns his attention to Tav. “Just what makes you think you can speak to me that way? You’re nothing more than a lamb led to slaughter. Cattle to be consumed. An animal at best.”

“Are all vampires this delusional?” Tav voices the question to no one in particular. Cazador seethes, and the party tenses.

What was Tav doing? Were they insane?!

Astarion moves to grab Tav as they take a couple steps forward, but misses as they smoothly sidestep away from his grasp.

Tav pulls out a sword hilt from the pouch on their hip, testing it’s weight in their hand absentmindedly. The party never understood the significance of this old sword hilt. Sure, it was beautiful, made of an elegant platinum, but it has long since lost it’s blade. Dammon once offered to forge it a new blade but Tav politely declined.

“I’ve met another vampire before you. He was always prattling on and on about being all powerful, lord of the night… something something.” Tav pauses to shift the sword hilt to their left hand. Slowly, deliberately, Tav locks eyes with Cazador (pointedly ignoring their party). “He’s dead now, of course.”

For a moment, Cazador pauses, before the same mocking grin returns. “A spawn is hardly considered a vampire. Though perhaps to you, worm, you see no difference.” Cazador then begins speaking slowly, as if communicating with a child or an animal. The mocking grin grows. “Allow me to enlighten you-“

“I never said ‘spawn’,” Tav cuts off Cazador. “Maybe your old age is finally getting to you, leech.”

Tav shifts the sword hilt back to their dominant hand, subtly maneuvering the hilt into a proper grip. “Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name eludes me. Forgive me, but it’s been a few years. I think it starts with an S.”

All the while, the party is flabbergasted. Sure, they’ve seen Tav do some questionable things over the past few months such as walk straight into a goblin camp, lick some spider meat, and even taunt Mizora—but this is a new level of insane.

Astarion tries to get their partner to stop, because for the love of everything, shut up. He’s never seen Cazador this mad before. Sure, they’ve survived some pretty dangerous situations before, but taunting a vampire lord is madness. However, each time he tries to move or speak, his voice dies in his throat. He’s terrified, he’s rooted on the spot. He’s afraid of Cazador yes, but he’s even more afraid for Tav. The brilliant, shining light of his life. The one person who showed him kindness, love. He’s afraid of Cazador, but he’s more scared of losing them.

Before Astarion could try to intervene again, he feels Tav send a wave of reassurance through the tadpole. They glance back at him for a moment, narrowed eyes softening, before turning once more to face Cazador.

Tav hums for a couple seconds as they pause to think. “Samael? No. Maybe it was Seraph?” They huff for a bit as they make a show of wracking their mind for the name. “Aha! I remember now.”

They brace for combat and the Sunsword answers its wielders call.

Tav’s smirk turns into a cold sneer. Their eyes glow as the hilt in their hand erupts in a fiery plume, a blade of radiant light now burning in the darkness. “It was Strahd.”

————————

Idk… if anyone wants to be notified of a new fic in this AU/series you can let me know?

Anyway, next these will all be independent of each other. Each will be an alternate take on the reveal.

I haven’t written anything besides D&D backstories in literal years so please forgive me if this is rather rough. Always open to constructive criticism.

384 notes · View notes

digi-lov · 6 months

Text

EX-06 Infernal Ascension releases on Feb. 23 2024 in Japan, the worldwide is scheduled for June 2024.

With previous EX Sets Draconic Roar and Animal Colosseum drawing inspiration from Pendulum Progress versions 1 and 3, we might see some faces from Ver. 2 Armageddon Army (a name they probably didn't want to use again)

I think I saw some infos that this Set will include Ace DNA evolution, a new Mastemon, and Dominimon's card game debut.

What would you like to see in this set?

#digimon #digimon tcg #digimon card game #digisafe #digica #デジカ #digimon tcg news #ex6 #infernal ascension #Angemon #Devimon

58 notes · View notes

pursuitseternal · 7 months

Text

“Hold me…” a hurt/comfort nsfw update to Ascended Astarion x Reader fic: “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader |E| 3.8K Hurt/Comfort Smut

Summary: The nightmares still come, even with all that power and influence and Ascension. You are the one thing that can comfort him, to ground him and heal him. To restore him with your touch, your love.

CW: Trauma, self-hate, hurt, comfort, gentle sex, pull him out of his loathing and make that rogue feel something.

Read here if you like AO3

Throw yourself in his arms, darling…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

It begins the same every time… how he shakes, hands clenching in the sheets. Breathing going ragged. His muscles spasming on their own. An arm thrown to the side, his legs kicking the luxurious comforter from your bed. He contorts, the ghosts of his pain wracking his body beside you.

You slowly come to, feeling the jolts of him knocking you awake. It hasn’t been since he’s ascended that he’s had a nightmare. You’ve seen them, on the road, in his bedroll. You did you best then to soothe gently, hard to do with others around.

But this was his palace, this was your bed.

“Astarion,” you whisper, repeating his name louder as you watch his face grimace in his sleep, moans and grunts of anguish in his throat as he tosses and flails.

You reach for his shoulder, tense and cold. That small, soft contact lurches his body in his angonized sleep. Bolting and twisting he clambers on top of you. He roars above you, body rolling as his hands claw around your wrists. Legs tangling in your bedding.

Trapping you firmly under his naked body.

Panting. Snarling. Dripping in sweat.

His eyes are open, glowing as bright and scarlet as the day he took the power meant to kill him.

He snaps his jaws in your face, feral and bloodthirsty. His fangs glisten in the dim light, shining with his spit. “No,” he roars, “no, don’t touch me!” He bellows, “You won’t win, you can’t win. I’m free!”

You tremble under his strength, his eyes unfocused, staring past you, burrowed beneath him and pinned under his shaking body. You do the one thing that pops in your racing mind, something you would do under the stars before.

“Shhh,” you breathe quietly, “it’s okay. You’re okay, Astarion… shhhhh….”

He struggles a bit. Eyes blinking. Black pupils in the center of his glowing red orbs seeming to search your face.

And then, he sees you. His face softens in recognition, the creases of his face easing, his brows lifting from their ferocious furrow. He looks down at you under him, feeling how your frame shakes as your breath races.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you repeat one more time, looking right into his eyes, watching their glow fade. Watching them grow veiled with fear.

“I… I thought I was free of these,” he murmurs, voice quaking as he eases his hands from pinning your wrists. “Free of… him.”

He doesn’t need to say another word. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Astarion shivers, sliding off you to settle heavy back in his spot in the bed. You see him shudder, rolling his back to you, arms wrapping around himself tightly.

Then you hear a wet, shaking breath.

Pain clutches your heart, souring your stomach. Eyeing his body, you know better than to touch his back. Not on those literally Infernal scars. Carefully, you slide yourself up in the bed, resting your back against the carved wood of the headboard and the pile of pillows behind you. Angling your body away from his, you lightly brush your fingers into that mess of silver curls. Ever so slightly, you run through them. So soft, just enough to let him know you are there.

He shudders again, this time it’s a sob that comes from his mouth. Your hand feels it through his scalp, putting just a bit more pressure as you stroke into his hair. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t fight it. But he also doesn’t turn. You watch his fingers clawing around his own arm, pressing in so hard it could draw blood.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, carefully not to touch more than just the wisps of his hair that tickle beneath your single hand. “Breathe, my love. Breathe,” you softly score your fingers into his hair, firmer. Enough to reassure him of your presence.

Slowly, he begins to still. “He’s gone,” you continue to whisper, trying to carefully breach the boundary of his pain. “He is dead, and you, you live, my love…”

Your fingers stray into the soft and short hairs that run in front of his pointed ear. You hear him hiss, your finger barely grazing the skin of his cheek.

“Two-hundred years…” he begins, so soft, you have to lean over his head just to catch his feeble words.

“I know,” you try to soothe, your hands tenderly lift his head, sliding your legs beneath his temple, his cheek, praying that the softness of your body grounds him.

If he lets it…

You feel his muscles clench, his jaw biting into itself at the contact. But you hold still, waiting, watching… until he finally eases, body relaxing almost imperceptibly as he rests on your inner thigh. His breath is ragged and cold as it flutters over your skin. But at least he is breathing.

Hesitant, you run your fingers down his wet cheek, trailing a single finger over that firm cut of his jaw. Wiping away his tears.

“You can’t let this beat you, my love,” you whisper. “And you are not alone, you have more than your power to comfort you now…”

His jaw tweaks under your touch, his swallow loud and forced.

“He’s still won,” you hear him rasp, “not even my power, not even my love for you can erase those years… all the… horrible… horrible… things he did to me.” He trails off, turning his head to stare at the ceiling, his eyes distant, wet, brimming with anguish. “He might as well have won…”

You hold your breath, heart racing as you watch that spark of his power flickering. Your bond teems with his pain, twisting your own gut and heart and soul with the share of his burden.

“Cazador… is dead,” you whisper, the name alone makes his face screw tight, eyes shut and teeth bared as he rests in your lap. “And I… am… with you, every day to remind you of that fact, Astarion.”

“You’ve chosen nothing more than a life with a monster,” his lips move slowly, eyes still shut. “I saw myself… the greatest torture… he… could inflict… making me just like him.” You watch as his teeth bite into his own lip, the thin trickle of blood seeping down his cheek and chin.

Torment, torture, it paints his face, marring those handsome features like the scars that disfigure his back.

“You are nothing like him… you are more than him,” you begin to feel… indignant. Irritated. Not at your love. At the shadow that still insists to manifest over his shining flame of a soul. A soul he fought so hard to get back. “I am proof of that…”

“You are proof of my weakness, that I can’t face a future alone after all … all Cazador did to me…”

Now, you feel a growl in your throat. “Weakness?” You snip, carefully measuring your words, your breath. “I’m your… weakness? Sharing yourself is not weakness, forgoing loneliness is not weakness…”

You feel his shoulder shrug against your leg. “I do not deserve it. What does it matter…”

“Why shouldn’t you have a consort, a queen, a… someone to care about you, whether you live or die?” You swallow hard, biting your tongue. His apathy is consuming him alive. Eating his passion up from the inside out more than any parasite could.

“What does it matter…” he repeats again. “I’m nothing more than what he made me…”

That’s it. Something snaps inside you. Indignant. Not at him. For him. You shuffle from under him, and quickly climb on top. Hovering your body above him. Hands and knees keep you carefully from touching too much. But making well and truly certain he has to look at you. “And what about what… I… made you?” you try to soften your snarl. “What about what you made me, more than spawn. Giving me your blood… don’t you think you’ve done more than seal my fate?”

He stares at you, wet crimson eyes blinking, the little muscles of his face beginning to twitch. Good. That was something more than apathy. Something you could work with. “You are not his creature anymore, Astarion,” you murmur in his face, letting your hair fall in rivulets down from your shoulders. “You are mine…. Forever…. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A slight glow begins in his face, just a twitch of his lip in that usually insufferable corner. “I suppose…” he finally breathes.

“You are mine, and no amount of imaginary dreams can rob you from me, no matter how real they are.” Something creeps up your thighs, feather-light as hands ghost up to the curve of your ass. He is touching you, and you smile. You honey your tone, letting his fingers bring you slowly to rest on his body. “You may have been his for two-hundred years, my love… but you are mine now, for the rest of eternity.” Those hands press ever-so-slightly harder as you wiggle on his lap.

“You won’t ever let me forget it, will you, darling?” he purrs. Faintly, but it’s there.

“No, my love,” you smirk, voice soft and sultry, more than usual. Teasing the same tones you long to hear from him. “Not as long as I have been made yours… forever…” you growl the word, the way it has been forever branded in your immortal memory.

You see that corner of his mouth lift a little higher, his head lilting against the bed. “If you insist, darling…” he replies, more honeyed, more silken.

“I most certainly do, my love,” you purr, a toss of your hair, letting it fall softly down your back. Licking your lips, you give a slight roll of your hips on his lap, hoping to feel a burgeoning of hardness beneath you. It’s slight, the beginning of an erection, enough to make your core ignite, to make you swallow hard, needing to comfort your lover. “Allow me, darling…” you breath, soft and gentle.

But his brows furrow, head cocking with a spike of suspicion. “Allow you to do what, exactly?” he replies, voice edged with something sharp.

You smile, a bit confused. But undeterred. Carefully proceeding with every little step, every little touch. “Allow me to console you… to… show you I love you… Will you allow me to… pleasure you?”

The question hangs in the air longer than you thought it would. His face is unmoving, you begin to worry, to slide off his body in case it’s too much.

But his hands hold you in place, pressing faintly on your hips to resist even the slightest movement off him. “What would you like for me to do with you, Astarion?” you whisper, so softly, anxious over breaking into his thoughts.

“I…” he begins. “I’ve never been asked that…”

Your brows crease, you smile a bit, perhaps a bit darkly. “Even with me? I’m sure I have…”

“I mean, I always knew you cared deeply for me… for giving to me… giving into me, but…” he breathes, a heavy sigh that seems to ease every muscle beneath you. “To hear it in so many words…” You hear him swallow, breath and tears catching in his throat. “I want you to make love to me, my treasure. Make me feel… everything… with you.”

Something hardens between your folds, and by the growing smirk and ever increasing glow of crimson in his eyes, you know he wants this.

Wants you.

“Yes,” you sigh, “I’ll give you everything, and then some.”

He laughs, just a few times, but it melts your heart, that tear-streaked sticky chuckle.

“Will you give me a taste, darling?” he croons, that voice back with its full force to make you molten and quick between your thighs.

“My lips?” you tease gently, “my blood… my nether regions?”

“All of it,” he growls, hand almost clawing at the back of your neck, bearing you down towards his simpering mouth. His kiss is salty from tears, but just as ferocious as ever… the little nicks of his fangs inside your lip, the deep delve of his tongue into the furthest reaches of your mouth… Even as the seducer, you melt into his body, losing yourself in the workings of his kiss. Your hips lifted off of his belly, you feel the twitching of his cock against you with every lick of his tongue over the small cuts on your lips. He’s humming, low in his throat, at the taste of you. Feasting on your desire and your blood all at once.

You let him, keeping your mouth open and returning the favor, until you feel his lips beginning to stray. Beginning to catch your chin, your cheek and jaw. Until his hand knots into the strands of your hair and pulls your neck to his fangs. You cry out, his name pleading in your voice, begging for more and for him to be gentle all at once.

His bite is hungry, as ravenous as when he first pleaded for your blood… only a little of it… to feed your hungry rogue. Astarion sucks and laps, starved for your power, your love, your consolation that is balm for his soul. Little moans escape you, each time his breath rattles in your ear, heavy and hungry.

You let him drink, feeling the flow of your blood in his body tightening your bond, your desire. Your essence filling his insides… you want the same. Crave the same. Him inside you.

But you dig deep to be patient, to follow his desires, his hunger. And with a final lick, he pulls from your neck. Your well-fed vampire, eyes almost sleepy from a full belly, glassy from the pulsing desire that prods into your belly. “Darling,” he purrs, throat slick with your blood, “won’t you put that mouth of yours to use?”

You smile, feeling his hand taking his own cock in his fist, dragging it over your belly. A hint, none too subtle. Licking your lips, you place a kiss on that conceited smirk first, pulling away quickly, lest you lose yourself in that perfect kiss again. Instead, you nuzzle the cut of his jaw, a soft press, almost reverent, over the bite marks in his neck. You feel his jaw clenching, his breath catching. “I love these,” you whisper just beneath the bottom of his ear. He shudders at your voice’s tickle. “I love everything that made you who you are, that made me find you in my path….”

A loud groan sounds from the throat beneath your lips. “And?” he prods, another little noise as you trail your lips to his shoulder, to the wiry strength that could snap you in two. “What else do you love?”

“I love that stroking your vanity gets you just as hard as my touch…”

He laughs, long and low. “Choose the right words, and you might find out just how hard you can make me for you, darling…”

Your hands race down both those arms, gasping his hands in yours to place them in your hair. “I love your strength, that you can crush your enemy in a second… so powerful, none can resist you…”

“Mmm,” he moans loudly, fingers clawing in your hair, riding the rise and fall of your head as you trail caresses over the expanse of his chest. You stop at his belly, even as his hands in your hair will for you to continue that downward trek. But you pause, letting your tongue lick over those cold and hard ridges. Salty from his sweat, clenching at the agonizing pace you seem to set. You claw your nails down his sides, feeling his hips flexing as you dig in, slowly sliding to settle yourself between his thighs at last.

You softly run your hands over that panting plane of his stomach. His fingers stray from your hair, wrapping around his cock, his straining length, trying to bring your mouth to it. His breathing is hard, quick. And you give him a placating lick from base to velvety, seeping head. “Shhh,” you smile up at him, tenderly taking his hand from his own cock, giving it a slight kiss, and placing it back into your hair. “Let me take care of you,” you whisper.

Uncertainty flashes in his eyes, his belly clenching and sending his cock jerking against your face.

“Let me pleasure you, entirely. Trust me to know you, my love, to read your body for what you want. Use that silken voice of yours, if you like, but…” you lick your lips, taking his cock in one hand, cradling his balls in another, “…I need you to trust me, and you… can… trust me, lover.”

His eyes still look down at you, lidded and veiled in suspicion, but his fingers ease their grip, letting you settle your mouth to lick as you please. You linger your mouth to run the full, long length of him. That silken skin, hard and throbbing underneath, he pulses with every lick, every swirl. Slowly, gradually, you nibble your way to his head, hearing him sigh as you finally lick away that bitter seed already leaking from the tip. It twitches, dancing, responding in time to every wet attention you lavish on him.

His hands slowly sweep from your head, teasing down your neck, thumb tracing over the top of your ear. Palm lifting and stroking you over and over again. He paws you, pets you… his breathing steadier, heavier. And then you take him deep, or as much of him as you can into your mouth and down your throat. Stifling a groan, he thrusts into your mouth, but you anticipate it, carefully moving with it so as not to gag. You bob up and down, lapping your tongue in circles, attentive to each sensitive spot you have come to know and worship on his cock.

He moans as you suck, as you pop off his head loudly. Loud enough to make him laugh quietly. Relaxed and pleasured. “What else do you love about me, my sweet?” You raise a brow, waiting so as to tease him. His hips raise, his ass clenches, jerking his aching and prominent erection in your face. “Anything in particular?”

You give a dramatic sigh, meeting his eye, holding his gaze as you slide your tongue from base to tip again. “Always the rogue, Astarion, so proud of your weapon…”

“Good enough a weapon that you long for it to destroy you…” his smirk widens fiercely, “…nightly.”

You laugh, holding that sensitive head in your mouth, making him feel the vibrations of your voice.

“Well…” he prods, another clenching thrust into your mouth, “aren’t you going to woo me with that mouth as well?” You laugh again, louder, wrapping your giggling lips around the whole circumference of him. “What do you insist on adoring most about my cock, darling?”

“Hmmmm,” you give another long and sultry hum as you let him slide from your mouth, “I love how hard you get when you see me… when you taste me…” You stray your fingers to wrap one at a time around him, giving his length a few hard strokes in your grip. “I love every vein, every ridge and rise that tickles my tongue when I take you…”

He gives a moan, his cock twitching, thickening…

“I love the way your balls tighten just as your body gets ready to fill me with your cum…” You murmur, giving his balls a gentle tug, as hard and tight as they are. He is ready, prodded towards his climax, driven by your pleasure and praise.

“Mmm, what else?” he rasps, ravenous for more. Hungry for your adoration.

But you raise above him, letting go of his cock, crawling up to cage him from above. His eyes are wide, his breathing ragged as he licks his lips for more.

“There is much more, but mostly I crave the way your cum drips from me for hours, days after you fuck me…”

“How could I refuse such a need, my love?” That purr, that smirk and canting brow, all of him makes your folds just aching for that relief of him buried deep inside you.

You fall into his kiss, your tongue and lips beginning to ache from all their use, but you don’t mind. Not as you settle your hips lower, the press of his cock at your entrance makes your breath catch hard and painful in your throat. “You make me so wet, you know,” you moan, sinking onto his cock with another heavy, damp sigh. “All because you are mine,” and with that, you slam your cunt on him, making your body take him so deep, you can’t fit any more.

He groans, hands clawing at your hips, he simply lets you, swivel and ride him. Eyes sharp and watching everything about you… you can see them darting, so quick, he doesn’t want to miss anything. Not the little bites you make on your lips, the way your breasts swing with each undulating slam you make on his lap, the way he can see himself entering you sweet, dripping, honeyed cunt with the way you rise up so high.

You splay your hands on his chest, and one of his hands comes to hold yours, lacing his fingers in between yours. His grip is tight, like a drowning man clinging to the only thing that will save him.

You.

You can feel him growing thick and hard inside you again. His breathing rasping and ragged. His hips trying to buck into you, even as he lets you ride his cock at your pace.

“Say it again,” he growls, eyes closed, head straining back into the mattress. “Say it again,” he cries louder.

“You’re mine…” you moan, his hand pushing your body down, his cock pulsing and thrusting hard into you as he comes.

So wet, so thick, so loud as he groans with his orgasm, you tumble into yours even as he still writhes and thrusts beneath you. His hand fisting in your hair pulls you down, making you collapse on his chest.

Breathless. Both of you pant. Sopping in sweat. But he won’t let you catch your air, not when his lips press yours, his breath rushing into your mouth, your lungs. His arms cling to you tightly, his embrace is like iron, keeping you clutched with your mouth fastened to his.

Like he would hold you thus for eternity.

Because that’s how long you have now. Eternity. Forever with your ascended master. Your rogue until the end of time.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Read the rest of “The Rogue You Were:”

Part 1: Welcome me…

Part 2: Cleanse me…

Part 3: Surprise me…

247 notes · View notes

astarions-carrion · 10 months

Text

****ASTARION SPOILERS****

God I LOVE Astarion. Larian was genius for this like, yes, we were lured in for the same reason he was damned in the first place: his looks. He can't control that he's beautiful-he just is. It’s been both his boon and his curse—it’s kept him alive and made him successful among Cazadors spawn, but it’s also what placed him within Cazador’s grasp in the first place.

It’s been used to shackle him for 200 years. We as the player can see that and become the monster in Cazador's place by assisting in binding him forever more to his trauma via ascension. He must embody a new role, but he’s bound all the same.

We played our parts well, falling for his looks, indulging in his games. We get to decide if we meet him genuinely as he meets us after he confesses and his trauma is further revealed. Will we continue to use him to satisfy our whims and attraction? Or will we see him for who he desperately wants to be? With ascension, his greatest 'triumph' is forever defined by his worst trauma. All because we want a piece of him...we want spicy, powerful, wrathful Astarion. We decide his sarcastic quips are worth more than the shreds of his humanity. Instead of nurturing his softness and safety—we indulge in the parts of him that are a farce: namely the violence, the revenge, the sardonic cruelty he used to mask his pain and avoid further harm. Because of that greed we choose to invest in, we leave ascended Astarion with nothing left to give, except for his body and this profane power-what he was running from when we found him.

We may not gouge infernal into his back, but we leave our own cruel marks on him. Carving his very soul from his body. The few bits Cazador didn’t take, the pieces he manage to hide away under a selfish facade. The shards of himself that he was JUST beginning to grasp at—happiness, love, hope—we help rend from him fully. Truly leaving him a husk, a tool, seeking to satisfy Cazador’s own whim still; only now with Astarion at the helm.

It’s tragic, it’s heartbreaking. It positions Astarion as a mirror. He may not see his own reflection, but through him you can see yours. A cruel lover that creates a merciless god.

#My Tav is a Drow and will happily help lead the spawn into the underdark to forge new lives as neighbors with the Miconoid colony #astarion #astarion spoilers #bg3 spoilers #I hope y’all are ready for my to post constantly about this man #you best believe he’s healing in my play through tho

151 notes · View notes

red-dead-sakharine · 7 months

Text

Baldur's Gate 3 masterlist

◀️ Back to the Master-masterlist

▶️ Varvain Masterlist

- Raphael -

▶️ Fanfiction- & imagine masterlist ▶️ Screenshot & lore masterlist ▶️ Reblog- & discussions masterlist ▶️ Patch 5 stuff masterlist

🔞 NSFW sub-blog

Raphael head mod and hair color sliders Outfit mod highlight (reblog) Mod list

🔊 Sound bite: Good night, little mouse 🔊 Sound bite: Raphael inviting you to dinner 🔊 Sound bite: Andrew about Raphael checking Tav out 📽️ A. Wincott Interview by Bflattned 📽️ Karlach-exclusive Raphael dialogue 1 📽️ Learning magic from the devil

Poll: Preferred "Raphael x ?" pairing

🔽 gif sets 🔽 Haarlep 🔽 other bg3 stuff (below the divider)

gif sets

I cannot die. Not here! For those who have walked through the fires of hell Out for vengeance Raphael, broken and bloodied Unhinged Durge Raphael (patch 5 epilogue) Death stares Raphael, after you gave him a peck on the cheek Raphael in bed, after you signed his contract Something wicket this way comes Raphael x Haarlep sfw gifs Beaten Raphael needs your help Nom nom nom Bring your devil to the circus Devil smoochies (Raphael x Haarlep) Sell your soul for a song (Raphael/Alfira) Raphael when presented with the crown Hubris: The Fallen Prince The evil steeple Touch the devil Raphael's hair blowing in the wind Raphael, thinking about you Cambion hugs (feat. @/mslanna) Raphael hugs (human Raphael) Hand gestures Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Little mouse (/w voice clip) Pain Bard Raphael composing a ballad (w/ Gortash) Smiling devil Taking a bath Raphael's ascension Underdog Raphael peeking A toast to the future archdevil supreme! Cuddles with the devil Slaughter the mouse Tie up the devil Sunrise Throat grab kiss Claim the devil The lick Moon remind me of your grace (Raphael/Alfira) Dance with the devil - Part 1 Dance with the devil - Part 2 Dance with the devil - Part 3 (The Kiss) Dance rolls (with poll) Bail out the devil He likes the sound of his own voice Trust me more Bridging the Styx Patch 6 Devil smoochies - Part 1 Patch 6 Devil smoochies - Part 2 Come, cheers (or turnip) I need to dance! Little mouse

Positive affirmations

@/cherriesandsulfur gif highlight

- Haarlep -

Haarlep 00 (infernal harness translation) Haarlep 01 (patch 4 tail animations!) Haarlep 02 (Lounging - the head mod is here!) Haarlep 03 (Haarlep in the sun...) Haarlep 04 (Looking at you seductively) Haarlep 05 (Looking at you seductively, animated!) Haarlep 06 (The Haarlep-slide) Haarlep 07 (The Haarlep-turn) Haarlep 08 (The Haarlep lick)

- Various other bg3 posts -

Marcus' wings Tav: Zachariah

Art highlight

Varvain & Raphael semi-sfw commission by @/bonesartblog Varvain & Raphael writing a song commission by @/bonesartblog He only sleeps with himself by @/bonesartblog Raphael portrait by @/morkorney Raphael's deal by @/calqmity Tickles cover by @/octarinecat

A list of Raphael bloggers of all kinds

Asks

Lazy search link "Your DD2 pawn looks like Raphael"

New avatar poll (closed. Results: Varvain)

#red dead sakharine #masterlist #index #gif set list #raphael the cambion #raphael baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #rds #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3

109 notes · View notes

portaltothevoid · 4 months

Text

you're losing me part xii

ao3 link

warnings: blood, ceremonial palm slicing, summoning ritual based off a real invoking ritual, google translated latin, secondo being a softie, angst

word count: 5.2k

The feeling of your shoulder being gently shook pulled you from a restful sleep that was cut too soon, making you groan as you rolled over onto your stomach.

“You can’t keep hiding from everyone forever, amore,” Copia’s soft-spoken voice sounded.

“I'm not hiding. I'm sleeping,” you mumbled into your pillow.

You felt the covers be pulled off of you, which elicited another groan of discontent from you. “We need to make an appearance at breakfast, you especially.”

“Says who?”

“Sister Imperator…” there was a slight hesitation in his voice when he said her name. You rolled your eyes, which were thankfully obscured by the pillow. “But I say you need to eat. You need your energy for the summoning ritual.”

“Aren’t you supposed to fast before?” You turned your head to face him, raising an eyebrow.

“Eh, well, usually, but it’s not a requirement. I think given your, um, status with The Infernals you’ll be able to cut some corners.”

“You know what also gives you energy? Sleep,” you stressed as you took the pillow out from under you and put it over your head.

After an exasperated huff, the bed dipped beside you and you felt the feather light touch of fingers tracing patterns on your bare back. “This will be over soon… but you’re going to step into a very prominent role. It’s best to start now, dispel the rumors…” his voice trailed off as he started to trace your birthmark resembling Lilith’s sigil.

“Fine. Alright,” you said begrudgingly as you tossed the pillow aside and rolled out of bed. This movement disguised the zap you felt when he touched the mark with his bare fingertips, which made you flinch away from him.

Copia was visiting with Cannoli when you finally emerged fully clad in your habit and veil. It didn’t go unnoticed the way he looked you up and down, biting his bottom lip just enough for it to be apparent. “Come on, don’t want to be any later than we already are,” you said almost patronizingly as you glided towards the door. He shook his head as he closed the cage and followed.

Swiss was beaming at you as soon as you opened the door. He bowed theatrically, holding out his arm for you to lead the way. You giggled quietly as you passed and, of course, you couldn’t help patting him on the head as you did so. Is a formal escort really necessary? It’s just breakfast… you thought to him.

Formality per request of Lady Lilith, he responded with a shrug.

“Of course it is,” you grumbled audibly. Copia gave you a look like he missed something and you just shook your head, making off like it was nothing. Instinct made you feel a need to keep your cards close.

As you rounded the corner of the hall leading to the cafeteria, he took your hand in his. It did provide you with some sense of comfort, but your stomach dropped the moment you were in front of the door, frozen in place.

Giving your hand a squeeze, he reassured you with “It’s going to be okay, cara. The only ones you have to deal with will be the ones at our table, hm?”

You could feel your shoulders tense as you quickly shook your head. “No, I can’t… I can’t deal with everyone’s eyes on me right now. I just…”

His shoulders slumped from the weight of his sympathy towards your stress. He moved to stand in front of you, his hand titled your head down as he kissed you softly on the top of it. “Amore mio, I’m afraid this is something you’re going to have to get used to. After the ascension, everyone will hold you in high regard. All eyes will be on you, eh, so what?” He waved his hand dismissively at that thought. “It’s not like you haven’t been through this before. You go in there–”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you cut him off, your voice sharp.

“You’ve gone in there before with your head held high when everyone was whispering about what Terzo was doing behind your back. Really, this is no different.”

Never mind being anxious, now you were pissed. You didn’t even have to close your eyes to adjust them; your anger alone darkened your eyes blacker than his leather gloves. Before Copia could back away from you, you swatted his arm so he was no longer touching you. The instant you stepped away from him, Swiss was holding the door open. Your head was held high as you strode into the dining hall. As you passed through the threshold, you made sure your eyes returned to normal.

Swiss, could you please get me a plate of… whatever? You asked the ghoul following confidently behind you. Just make sure there’s those tater tots, I don’t care what else.

Comin’ right up, Your Eminence, he nodded before darting over to the food.

Every single eye was on you as you made your way to the head clergy table. A hush fell over everyone when you didn’t even hesitate to sit in what was still Terzo’s seat at the center of the table.

Sister Imperator cleared her throat as she leaned over, speaking in a hushed tone, “You should sit in your usual seat. Copia will take that one in Terzo’s absence.”

Slowly, you turned your head towards her. Since it was now becoming second nature to you with every time you revealed the Infernal part of you, with a rapid blink, your eyes went dark as you regarded her with a curt smile. “No, Sister, I think I will stay right here.” Your eyebrows raised, asking her to challenge you in this state. She knew better. With human-looking eyes, you turned to see Copia almost at the table. It wasn’t lost on you that him and his… mother… exchanged a cautious look with each other.

As Copia sat down in the seat next to you, your former usual seat, Swiss returned, gently placing your food in front of you. “Thank you, Swiss,” you said to him so that everyone could hear.

“Of course, Your Eminence,” he responded. Heads within earshot turned, some having never heard a ghoul speak before or knew that they even could.

“Eh, Ghoul, would you mind–” Copia started to ask before you interrupted him again.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tutted. “You do not get to command my Ghouls. Swiss, would you be so kind as to get the Cardinal a plate as well?” You smiled at Swiss, but it faded as you turned your attention back to Copia. “And given your impending status update, you might do well to also learn their nicknames.”

The ghoul nodded and set off as Copia turned to you, “What’s gotten into you? My intention was not to upset you!” he hissed.

“Oh, really? Then, what, pray tell, was your intention? That was a low fucking blow and you know it,” you berated. “Besides, you said it yourself. I better get used to all eyes on me, might as well give them all something to look at.”

“It’s not time yet… you aren’t—”

“I don’t give a fuck about timing. The first ritual is happening later today. The others soon to follow. They don’t know exactly what’s going on. This will just keep their minds occupied for the time being. Let them talk about me instead of whose bed I’m in for once.” Copia’s comment just before you entered the dining hall set off something inside you. It transmuted your anxiety to a defensive determination. He was right in the sense of all eyes being on you. While the last time you held up a confident façade due to a sense of duty, this time it was you who held the power – whether everyone knew it or not. This wasn’t about saving face for the sake of the papacy.

The relationship Copia had with Sister Imperator was clear to you now. A rift was forming right before your eyes. The more you felt backed into a corner, the more you bared your teeth.

“No one can know about Terzo yet,” he responded, his jaw clenched.

“And they don’t. He’s away, doing the last Meliora shows. That’s all they know. They know something is up with me. With how my relationship with him was… it makes sense. They don’t know the details. It’s fine.” You rolled your eyes with a dismissive wave of your own.

After that, Copia let it go. Swiss returned with his food soon thereafter. After a mumbled thanks, the ghoul stood at the end of the table. Just as you were finishing your food, popping one last tater tot in your mouth, Secondo passed behind you.

“I’d like to see you in my office –no rush– when you’re done. We can go over the ritual and get you up to speed.”

“I’m done,” you said, quickly blotting your mouth with a napkin.

As you stood, Secondo helped pull your chair out for you. “Perfetto,” he nodded with a slight hint of a tight-lipped smile on his face. His eyes darted between you and Copia, who wouldn’t look up from his plate. The tension at the table was palpable. “Andiamo.” Secondo motioned you forward and you left without a single glance back.

Sister Imperator pursed her lips as she watched you leave with Secondo. “You told her, didn’t you?” She said bluntly, only turning to glare at Copia when the door to the cafeteria shut.

“She made it clear they ended things. I didn’t want to keep her in the dark like he did,” Copia mumbled. His shoulders slumped. He was acting like a guilty dog with its tail between its legs.

“Oh, C, come on. You know full well that can’t just end overnight. She is going to choose you, right?”

“Sì.”

“Then for the love of all things unholy, stop sulking and start acting victorious. Thanks to the help of this little prophecy we have all the pieces falling neatly into place now.”

Your one on one interactions with Secondo had always been brief; however, despite their brevity, you always saw a softness in his eyes when it came to you. As your role with the Emeritus brothers became more and more prominent overtime, he regarded you with respect being the one who was almost able to tame Terzo. As that relationship went on, he made sure to extend his sympathy towards your situation. He often would make it known to you whenever you needed advice or to talk, he was always willing to lend an ear. You never could figure out why he always presented himself to be so gruff and closed off, when to you he always felt like the older brother you never knew you needed.

Secondo shuffled papers on his desk, getting things ready. Your shoulders finally returned to a more comfortable posture as they dropped away from your ears. You allowed yourself to relax just a little now that you were away from Copia and Imperator. “Have you ever seen an invoking ritual, cara?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But I’ve heard stories from Terzo.”

“Hm. Well, I know you haven’t fasted, but have you been celibate in at least the last twenty-four hours?”

“Um… no…”

He let out a chuckle, warmth of the tone strong enough to heat the cool bite of his office. “Honestly, I don’t think that will be a problem for you. The purpose of that is to keep the mind clear for the Magus. This, however, isn’t our typical Ghoul summoning…”

“Because it’s for me?”

He nodded, humming in agreement. “Primo and I will be doing the grunt-work of the ritual. He’ll be the one reciting the incantations and wearing the necessary tools and I will work on opening the doorway between realms.” His eyes scanned over what appeared to be notes. The more he divulged about the first ritual, the more you felt a calming comfort settle over you with the knowledge that Primo and Secondo were spearheading this. “Essentially you’ll be in a trance-like state, calling out to your Ghoul, as you lay within the magic circle. When you see them and they speak to you and you both agree to bond, that is when they will materialize in the triangle.” He set the papers down and looked directly at you now. The importance of the tasks at hand hardening his features to emphasize the seriousness of it all. “From there, you will ceremoniously form a blood bond with your Ghoul and the first ritual of ascension will be completed.”

You nodded. “They make it sound so… taxing.”

“It can be, depending on the person. I doubt it will be for you.”

You tried to bite back a huge smile. Currently, all the Ghouls respected you, looked up to you, and were connected to you, but to have a Ghoul of your very own, one that was bound to you… You could feel the excitement starting to bubble up inside you. “So, when do we do this?”

“We begin at dusk, but you have some preparations that have to be done beforehand.”

“Such as?”

“Such as cleansing with asafoetida oil. Lighting a candle, nothing fancy. A chime candle will work as an offering to ask Lilith to send you a protector, one who will watch over you, and become attuned to you.” Again, you nod, but your eyes are staring off into nothing. Regardless of your excitement, there was nothing you could do to keep your thoughts from drifting back to Terzo. “You seemed worried, cara. I can assure you, I’ve heard of your natural magical abilities, this will be a walk in the–”

You cut him off. “It’s not about the ritual. Do you know about Terzo? What’s going to happen?”

Usually he kept a mask of indifference on. You knew full well it was a mask, but you noted how his eyes shimmered with a flash of worry, in spite of the way he rolled his eyes with a huff. “Sister has been on a strict need-to-know-basis policy lately and has deemed that I do not need to know.”

“They’re revoking his title and they’re doing it publicly,” you blurted out. “After his final show, we’ll be without a Papa.”

His face dropped. He’d rarely admit it, but he did care deeply about his brothers. “That’s going to destroy him…” He sighed, running a hand over his head. “I knew his time as Papa was coming to an end soon. I was able to pass down the torch to him, but this time… is there even anyone lined up to be the next Papa?”

“Not officially, but Sister has her eyes on who it will be. They’re going to ‘elect’ someone to fill in. I think she just needs Nihil’s approval. I’m guessing the change will be to get the people used to him, see how he does. Then they can make it a grandiose spectacle for when he ‘ascends.’” You pursed your lips.

“And you aren’t happy about this… Why is that?”

“Have you ever had to make a choice that was the exact opposite of what you want, but you know what you want doesn’t matter in the slightest towards the big picture?” His eyes closed for a moment, before he looked at you. In the few years you’ve known him, you couldn’t ever recall seeing him look sad. As you inhaled a shuddering breath, you looked away from him. All you wanted was for someone to empathize with you, to just acknowledge everything you were going through right now was, for lack of a better term, hell.

“Satanas doesn’t give–”

“Please, don’t say He gives the toughest battles to his bravest soliders.”

“But He does, cara. You are being put to the test. This task, this… burden… It takes immense strength to carry its weight and they deemed you worthy of it.”

“Well, they’re wrong, because I’m not.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you shifted uncomfortably, avoiding having to look at the former Papa in front of you.

“Now you sound like il mio fratellino,” he laughed softly. “I know you are. Copia, no matter how unhappy you might be with him right now, he knows you are. He’s always known. And Terzo. He’d be the first in line to tell the world how you were not only born for this, but why you deserve this.”

“But why do I have to sacrifice everything? Why can’t I just be… happy? Is that too much to ask?”

“Tours last a long time, as you know, cara mia,” he winked, which you couldn’t help but chuckle at. “Believe it or not, there are ways to keep things in these halls a secret if both parties are willing.”

Although it was rare, the times you seeked counsel from Secondo, it was always just what you needed to hear. It took a while for him to warm up to you, but when he did, he treated you as he would his own: with a kind and caring heart. It was there, just buried under layers of dirt that his emotionally stunted father and the politics of the Ministry piled on top of it. When you finally looked up at him and saw the smirk that lifted his once stoic features. “Prophecies don’t come with fine print, only blanket statements. There’s nothing that says you can’t have it all. You just have to be very clever and cunning about it. Besides, what’s the point of praising and practicing carnal desire if we don’t acknowledge its importance and act on it every now and again?” He smirked knowingly at you, before adding in a playful, but stern tone, “And, so we’re clear, as far as I’m concerned, the only thing we’ve discussed here is tonight’s ritual.”

Ghouls stood guard outside the doors of the church. As they opened the doors for you, you could feel their infectious excitement radiating off them.

As you confidently made your way to the pulpit, Secondo was rolling out a carpet in its center. Primo had just finished lighting the plethora of black candles that lit up the whole church.

“Ah, the woman of the hour has arrived!” Primo greeted with a giant smile.

You flashed him a smile of your own as you walked over to inspect the carpet Secondo was now placing candelabras on in specially marked spots. “Magic circle?” you inquired.

“Sì. Its proper name is The Magical Circle of King Solomon,” he nodded. You walked around it, admiring the intricate writings and arcane symbols inside the circle.

Primo moved to the massive cedar chest that was always tucked against the wall. You’d noticed it before, but never thought much of it. Now you understood its importance was for rituals such as these. Out of it, he grabbed two white robes, handing one to Secondo. After they each put it on over their suits, Primo put on a sort of leather apron with an ornate six pointed star on it.

“What’s that?” you whispered to Secondo.

“The Hexagram of Solomon. If something goes wrong and an unruly spirit is conjured instead, it helps make it more obedient. Next will be the hazel wand and the sword,” he informed you with a hushed tone. “The metal disc he has in his hand, the lamens of the spirits, has the sigil we created for the Ghouls on one side and the pentagram of Solomon on the back.”

The doors opened, you turned to see Copia walking down the aisle with a brass box and Sister Imperator at his side. Like a lifeline, you focused on the excitement you could still sense from the Ghouls. Nothing was going to distract you. “Copia is bringing us the brass vessel. Inside is a special incense we made, used only for Ghoul summoning. He’s going to put in on the triangle that I placed at the top of the circle. This is where your Ghoul will materialize,” he informed as he put a hand on the small of your back to guide you to the top of the circle, near the triangle. “Come now, since this is going to be your Ghoul, you must seal the vessel and consecrate the incense.”

Primo was busy wrapping what looked like the skin of a cat around his waist, almost like a belt. He looked in time to see your curious and skeptical look. “This represents the lion skin. It enhances our magic. It’s not an actual lion, of course,” he chuckled. “A sibling found a cat who had been hit by a car. She tried to save it, bringing it to the infirmary, but it didn’t make it. It might have met an untimely end, but we made use of it so its death was not in vain.”

You nodded, turning your attention to Secondo and Copia in front of you. Copia held out a small ceremonial dagger. For a beat or two, your eyes looked between Copia’s and the dagger in his hand. “Oh. Of course. Sealing and consecrating with blood,” you said nervously as you took the dagger.

“Just puncture the tip of your finger. Let the drops fall onto the incense,” Copia instructed as he opened the brass vessel. You knew by the gentleness of his voice, he was treading with the utmost caution around you.

You did as he said, letting drops of your blood fall into the vessel. “Perfetto,” he complimented as he lit the incense and put the lid back on. “Now, draw the elements of the Ghouls on the lid.”

Giving your finger a squeeze to draw out more blood, you bent down and drew each symbol that represented the types of powers and abilities each Ghoul possessed: earth, water, fire, air, and quintessence.

Secondo held his hand out, indicating you move to the table in front of the triangle. “Now, the offerings to the elements. All you have to do is say ‘I present [whatever the offering is] to the element of…’ while raising the object above your head. The water has been blessed for this.”

“I present soil to the element of Earth,” you said in a commanding tone as you held a bowl of soil up. “I present this blessed unholy water to the element of Water. I present this flame to the element of Fire,” you said as you set fire to twigs and leaves in a small cauldron. Carefully, you rose it above you before gently setting it back down. Next, you grabbed incense, lit it and let the smoke billow above you for a brief moment. “I present this smoke to the element of Air.” With the final offering, you took a deep breath to keep your serious demeanor. “I present this cannabis bud to the element of Quintessence.” You bowed at the altar of elements before you returned to stand near the magic circle.

Secondo was holding a small water basin. Even though he was retired, it was his duty as a former Papa to rub the unholy water onto your temples while saying a prayer of protection to Lilith and Lucifer. Next, he anointed you with oil by drawing the grucifix on your forehead. The scent of the oil with its blend of earthy, sweet, and spicy notes, reminiscent of dragon’s blood, provided you with a familiar comfort

In the meantime, Primo had placed a black box near the triangle as well as two jars, one filled with sulfur and one of asafoetida, he later informed you. They were mainly precautionary measures should things go awry for whatever reason. He opened a necklace box and held it out to Secondo who took the necklace out. It was gold and had an intricate ring on it.

After saying a prayer with it clasped between his hands, he placed it around your neck. “This will protect you. Are you ready?” Secondo asked softly. When you nodded, he directed you to sit in the center of the circle. Copia bowed his head and gave you a nod as he passed by to sit next to Sister Imperator in the first pew behind you.

For the first time, Sister Imperator spoke up. “And now it’s time. The sun has set. I’m happy it’s you three that are here to perform and oversee this summoning. With Terzo away, things will go smoothly, I’m sure.”

That bitch. You started to turn your head to glare at her, but quickly snapped your head forward when you decided against it. You had to let it go. You knew where she stood and there was nothing you could do to change it. After a deep breath, your attention returned to the ritual.

“Cominciamo (let’s begin),” Secondo said after clearing his throat. Him and Primo moved to stand either side of you just outside the circle. This was the part where you would enter the trance-like state. To do this, you focused on the smell of the incense wafting towards you and the incantations Primo and Secondo were reciting. You had already prayed to Lilith to bestow you with a Ghoul that would know your needs, be attuned to your emotions, understand you, fight for you, protect you… You repeated the mantra you created over and over in your head until the sounds of your world faded away.

Opening your eyes, you saw a black mist hovering over the triangle. Slowly it morphed into an outline of a humanoid shape. You could see its talon-like nails, the horns protruding out of its head, and its tail swishing. The tension started to leave your body the more the Ghoul materialized.

A smile of pure happiness broke out on your face. “Hello, my Ghoul.” You got up to stand in front of it. Actually, stand in front of him. He was becoming less of an apparition and you could clearly see his features.

When you held out your hand, the Ghoul cocked his head to the side curiously. “Your hand,” you said. With a nod, he took your hand in his. In that instant, you felt his whole essence. It was as if he had been with you your entire life and perhaps he had always been watching over you. You could sense his abilities and the energy that swirled around you. “You’re a quintessence Ghoul, aren’t you?” you realized happily. He nodded.

The Ghoul, still holding your hand, bent down on one knee and bowed his head. “Lady Lilith has sent me to serve you, Your Eminence. Our souls have always been tethered. Should you choose to bond to me, they will become tethered on the mortal plane.” For the first time, he looked up at you and into your pitch black eyes.

“Yes. I will be bound to you.”

With that, your whole body jolted as you returned to it. You were still in a sitting position. Secondo and Primo’s voices faded in until they stopped as a flash of light lit up the whole church.

Immediately, you ran to the Ghoul that was curled in the fetal position around the brass vessel. You moved it out of the way and cradled his head, taking it in your lap as you soothingly rubbed his arm. “Does anyone have anything to cover him up?” you asked.

Secondo rushed to get a robe that was hanging in a closet near the pulpit. Primo was then standing over you with the dagger in his hand. “You must complete the bond. Blood is binding on this plane.”

You nodded as you took the knife. “In a moment, he needs to adjust.” Primo eyed you curiously as you said that. This truly was unlike any Ghoul summoning he had ever experienced. Never had one been completed so quickly.

When Secondo returned, you took the black robe and helped put it on your Ghoul. Once he wrapped himself in it, he sat up.

“Ready?” you asked. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this happy, this complete.

He nodded, slowly standing up with your gentle assistance. Naturally, you led him over the Elemental Altar. Of course you would know exactly where to go to do the blood binding, yet everyone still watched with their mouths slightly agape.

You guided your Ghoul to one end of the small table. Stand there, you instructed. Quickly you glided to your side of the table. You’re going to copy me, okay? You told him as you sliced your palm with the dagger. Palm down, you held your hand out over the table, passing him the dagger. He repeated your actions, slicing the opposite hand you did and set down the knife when he was done. Holding out his hand, with his palm down, you both then circled your hand over the offerings, letting your blood drip over them.

Do you wish to bond with me? You asked him formally.

I do. He responded. You noticed him trying to fight the smile that wanted to tug at the corners of his mouth. Do you wish to bond with me? He asked you.

I do. Once you smiled, so did he. With that your hands joined together.

Secondo had walked over with a black and red braided satin tie. “Did you ask…” he started to ask you very quietly. You nodded. “Right. Va bene. The Ministry of Satan hereby acknowledges this woman and Ghoul to be bonded until her soul no longer resides on this mortal plane,” he said as he tied the tie over your joined hands. When he was finished, he raised both of your now tied hands to the sky. “Ita sit, ita est (so be it, so it is)!” he exclaimed.

Once you were untied, you ran over to your Ghoul and embraced him in a strong hug, which he returned. Both of your bodies swayed together for a few moments. “Come on, let’s go get your outfit fitted and you can meet the other Ghouls,” you said as you started to lead him by the hand out of the church. “Don’t wait up for me,” you called to Copia over your shoulder.

The doors to the church opened and the Ghouls that were on guard duty tackled their newest addition. “Brother!!” Swiss cried out as he saw your Ghoul and crushed him in a giant hug. Clearly they had a bond of their own. You were glowing, beaming with happiness. Together, you were brought to the Ghoul’s quarters, which was commonly referred to as the Ghoul Den.

Swiss led you both to the fitting room for new Ghouls. Once he was dressed in his black pants and black button down shirt and handed his silver mask, you went back to their common area where all the Ghouls were crowded in.

“Everyone,” you addressed all the Ghouls, “my apologies for this being my first visit to see you all, but I would love it, for those of you that haven’t yet, if you could give our newest Ghoul a warm welcome. I present to you, Phantom.”

taglist: @beelzebzb @bitchywitchygardener @calitmediondell @copias-juicebox @copiasprincipessa @da-rulah @deetz-ghuleh @discountdemonwarehouse @fishwithtitz @ghostfangirlsweden @ivycasket @justa19 @ladyrevealedofcloak @lurancyvenom @popiaswife @sodoswitchimage @water-ghoulette @zombiesnips-blog

part xi | part xiii

#the band ghost #you’re losing me #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iii x reader #the band ghost fic #copia x reader #copia x female reader #ghost the band #ghost bc #the band ghost fanfiction

63 notes · View notes