Tumgik
#and then he can use the powers of that soul alongside his own
startistdoodles · 1 year
Note
I've a question about how Morpho Knight works. Does he accumulate power and abilities with each soul he absorbs, growing ever stronger, or is his power level dictated by what he uses to take form?
I don't think he necessarily gets stronger with every soul since he is already super powerful as is, but he can gain new abilities based on the soul he absorbs.
37 notes · View notes
chxrryhansen · 2 months
Text
౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘
Tumblr media
Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!
Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)
here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.
₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧
Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.
Until Fury resigned that was.
Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.
Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.
Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.
Not that you had a choice anyway.
Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.
A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.
Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.
The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.
They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.
From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.
You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.
He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.
He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.
They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.
But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.
"Get on your knees."
"Wh-What?"
"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.
You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.
Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.
There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.
He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."
You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.
Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.
His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.
You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.
His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.
Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.
"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.
He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.
He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.
"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."
Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.
You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.
He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.
Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.
"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."
His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.
"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.
Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.
Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.
"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.
He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.
Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”
You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.
Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.
"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.
"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."
"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.
Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."
and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.
"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"
"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.
The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.
"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.
"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”
Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.
The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.
“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”
“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.
"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."
Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.
"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.
His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.
"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.
"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.
“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.
He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.
Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.
Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.
But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.
Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.
People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.
You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.
1K notes · View notes
radiance1 · 4 months
Text
Master List
King of the Blob Ghosts - Mostly flavor text where Danny is the only king of the Blob ghosts. Au not tied in with Ghost King or Ghost Prince hc unless specified.
Goo Dragon - An au where Danny is a goo dragon made entirely of ectoplasm!
Blind King - Danny is blinded by the portal incident, gets adopted by blob ghosts, and then falls into DC and ices over an entire section of a city.
Infinity Prince and the Dark Escapee - Where Danny gets prince training and then has to hunt down Dark Danny because he escaped.(Small thanks to @starlightcat04 and @lauwftzee3542 for ze name)
Cat Familia - Where Danny gets turned into a cat by pissing off a wizard, and accidentally adopts various cats in Gotham!
Tempest - Danny owns a ship called Tempest that he created that he uses to sail through time. Then he accidentally jumps timestreams.
Moth - Where Danny is de-aged and is a moth boy.
Moth - But with Killer Moth.
Eastern Dragon - Danny is the ghost prince and can turn into an eastern dragon.
Cuddly Apocalypse - Teddy Bear Danny au meets one Dark Danny.
Interdimensional Mini Occult Detective - De-aged Tucker gets thrown to another dimension after getting caught lacking by the magical government branch he was looking into.
Herald of Seasons - Danny obtains the ability to guide the seasons when he was split off from .Phantom while still having Vortex's powers
Vortex's lil guy - Soulless Danny gets taken by Vortex and is his little guy.
??? - Phantom causes a ruckus in DC after getting into it and him and Danny fight or something.
Sold to the devil? Nah, sold to the bear - Constantine sells his soul to the Ghost Prince, and is then turned into a baby sitter by the Ghost King.
Demon and Wraith - Demon twins au where both of them are dancers.
Sun and Moon - Based on an older au where Danny and Vlad were deities.
Successor in training - Ghost King Danny except he isn't and Pariah is his mentor.
Just Monika - DDLC is installed on Tucker's PDA somehow and he dates Monika.
Subject M-0001 - Monika hacks into Mount Justice.
Subject Omega - Danny's most perfect clone protects the ruins of Amity Park.
Medic - Danny be a doctor in Gotham.
??? - Pariah Dark just disappears and it's left to Danny and Vlad to find him.
Eastern Dragon and Phoenix au - Mostly a cosmetic au, where Danny is an Eastern Dragon and Vlad is a Pheonix.
Ghost King/Ghost Prince and Duke of the Ghost Zone - Mostly just flavor text really, Danny is usually more Ghost Prince than King and Vlad is the Duke.
Phoenix King Vlad - Exactly as it says, Vlad is either one of or the king of phoenixes
Kawmi? - Where Vlad and Danny get transformed into magical jewelry that allows others to use their powers.
Fountain Dragon - Danny drops in the Wayne Manor Fountain.
Will of the Wisp - Where Danny gets turned into a tiny whisp because of one of his parents inventions.
??? - Jack gets thrown to the DC dimension alongside Danny and made a coffin for Danny to sleep in during ze day.
??? - The Ghost King gets summoned to DC and wages war, but the Ghost Prince stops said war and gets a date out of it.
Teddy Bear Danny - Another cosmetic au where Danny get turned into a stuffed teddy bear in his accident, he was holding onto one before it happened. He's also in ranges of 5-10 here.
Ghost King at birth, Farmer at heart - Mostly cosmetic au where Pariah Dark, if he weren't the ghost king, would be a farmer and he has an intense love for horses.
Farmer with quite the ghostly (and kingly) secret - Pariah Dark disguises himself as a human and moves into Smallville, has a hard time interacting with humans and humaning as a whole.
Life hanging by tape and sheer will - Where Tucker gets yeeted to the DC dimension.
Dream pals? Dream pals! - Younger Danny and pre-Batman Bruce meet each other through a dream, unfortunately when Danny experienced his accident that connection was shut down.
Bakery and a masquerading demon? - Vlad owns a bakery, Constantine is a regular who holds suspicions that Vlad may or may not be a demon.
Gift in the arms of tragedy - Danny becomes Vlad's ward after the Nasty Burger explosion, only to then become adopted when he was turned into an eight-year-old not even a week later.
??? - Danny and Vlad get turned into kids by Clockwork and placed in the DC dimension because Clockwork thought it was funny. Danny decides to use Vlad to not get adopted.
The key(s) to Doomsday - Danny gets de-aged by Clockwork when going to visit Pariah in the human world, gets summoned, and meets Raven.
Alicorn parole - Pariah gets released from his eternal rest with the sole condition that he's to be watched over by Clockwork. The Ancient of War then decides to combine two mythical beasts and shaped himself into an alicorn, Clockwork followed and then they met Billy Batson.
Ferret Danny - Danny is a ferret. That's it.
Witch - Sam is a witch.
Dead eyed Doctor - Danny, the son of Talia Al Ghul and Jack Fenton, trained under Vlad Masters and became a doctor.
Shadow Twin? Shadow Twin. - Danny dies and reincarnates as the son of Talia Al Ghul, the younger brother and twin of Damian Wayne and son of Batman. Only to then be killed immediately after because he was born with a birth defect, thus becoming a shadow creature that follows Damian around.
406 notes · View notes
heartmii · 5 months
Text
TOA 00
✮⋆˙apollo x male!reader
!warnings!: male reader but can be seen as gn, angst, mentions of blood.
✮⋆˙ this was honestly a fic idea i had for a while but since toa isn't really that popular, i figured it wouldn't do too well so instead here's a one-shot! Has been continued !
✮⋆˙ next
✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙✮⋆˙
"nonono.. beloved..." the god whispered as he dropped onto his knees beside your bloodied body. his hands trembling when he reached out to touch you.
your eyes were shut when he arrived at your spot. an opening deep in the forest behind his temple. after he'd set the sun and, his sister took her shift, he would then meet you here. here, where he learned of your body, and you learned his. here, where the whispers of intimacy stayed between two souls. here, where, apollo, the all-powerful god, submitted to a mortal and allowed his body to be used for love.
now, in the shadow of his love, was only grief. for as long as you love, grief will one day be in its place. a game of chance. it is said love is a fool's emotion as only a fool would jump into a game knowing the outcome would be a loss.
and perhaps, the god was the biggest fool of them all. loving a mortal promised nothing but loss, yet, when your eyes flickered open and connected with his, a fool was what he became once again.
his heart thumped against his chest. grief soon turned into hope. although your eyes were weak, and your skin was paling. you were alive. breathing. death had not claimed you, there was a chance you could live — a chance he could save you.
"apollo." even on your deathbed, his name would roll off your tongue like honey. he was worshipped, and his name was said many times a day by mortals wishing for his blessings or his wisdom.
but, your call for him was different. when you called for him it wasn't for him as a god, there was no expectation behind your words, no secret goal. if you did expect anything, if there was a goal, it was nothing more than simply just the presence of apollo. you would say his name gently as if you didn't want to scare him off, a reminder he could let his guard down around you.
there's a difference in being valued for what you could give versus being valued for who you were. something apollo could not comprehend until he met you. "what is it, beloved?" he murmured, his attempt to be gentle with you in your fragile state as his cheek leaned into the hand you had outstretched towards him.
your thumb rubbed circles against his skin. "I've been waiting for you." apollo swallowed down a sob. he could hear it in your voice, how hard it was for you to speak full sentences. broken breaths in between each of your words.
quickly, he answered before you could speak again. "i know, love, i know. it was my father's doing. he dispatched hermes to distract me... he knew i was coming to see you..." he let out a shaky breath, "my father punished you to punish me."
zeus's cruelty was nothing new to apollo. his father had been cruel to him his whole life. it was the whole reason he began the revolt against him alongside hera and poseidon in the first place. to be liberated from his father's tyranny.
they'd been found out, of course. hera had already received her punishment. she was to be suspended into the sky wrapped in chains. all of olympus winced as she cried through the night but no one dared to help her out of fear of their "mighty" king.
he wasn't supposed to hurt you. never in a thousand years would apollo have done any of this with the knowledge that you could be caught in the crossfire between him and his father. this wasn't how their game went. zeus had never gone after his lovers before. but dammit, he should've known better. he should've known his father would make sure to break him down. come for his every weakness. now, because of his carelessness, you are a pinch close to death. practically drowning in your own blood and only being able to use the tree stump behind you for support to stay upright.
the longer apollo's eyes stayed on your struggling figure, the foggier they became. "oh, im so, so, sorry." he choked out, the sob he swallowed down earlier forcing its way back up his throat. "this is all my fault."
he felt your thumb swipe at tears he wasn't aware he'd been shedding. how could you still be so gentle with him after he had put you in this situation? so attentive even though you were the one who needed the most attention?
And your eyes, they bore into his with the same amount of warmth as always. "hey.. its okay...we'll be okay." you mustered up a smile and, for a second, apollo believed your words, that everything would be okay. because your superpower was making him - everyone - feel like everything would be okay.
reality hit him with a strangled cough coming from you. he jumped, immediately, blinking away the rest of his tears as his hands helped to support you, your blood coating him. his breath quickened. every second you were falling further into the embrace of death. he was wasting time moping instead of helping.
apollo trembled as he went to press a hand over your wound. "let me heal you."
"no," you denied. it was all you could say with the little bit of strength you had left.
a helpless cry left apollo's lips, his tears flowing once again. your answer did not surprise him. in fact, he expected it. in all of your meetings with apollo, you never failed to mention that you cherished the value of a mortal life. to value which is rare, and what is more rare than a mortal life with the only promise that it would one day end.
apollo was a god. he was never born to die but born to continue living and changing as time allowed. life meant little to him, he'd taken many lives without much thought just as much as he created lives.
that was normal in the life of a god but, you were not a god. only a man. a fact that was being painfully made apparent more so now than ever.
power coursed through apollo's body and, yet, he could not get himself to use it. you were just a man. a man who got a god to submit to your will. you taught him the value in life, the value in you. in turn, he could not disregard your wishes as he could anyone else. he hated it. apollo hated how he loved you so much, he couldn't be selfish. how even when you were slipping through his fingers, he stopped himself from healing you because he knew you would be unhappy if he did, and he would be dammed if he was the reason for your unhappiness.
it was childish to believe that at the doors of death would you change your mind, abandon your humanity, and beg him to save you. "is this really what you want..." he asked. a plead, his last attempt to bargain with you.
you didn't answer his question. he preferred that. it left room to wonder, pretend there was a chance at something else. instead, you reached behind his head, pushing it forward until it gently bumped against your own. you didn't speak at first, opting to admire the face of your lover one last time.
“you're so beautiful..." you breathed out through your staggered breath.
apollo scowled at your words. Not finding the humor in your inappropriate timing for a compliment. “really? that's what you have to say right now." he frowned, his lips jutting into a familiar pout.
“it's true," you hummed, bumping noses with him.
he allowed you to indulge in your affections, scrunching his nose in response. a pointless attempt at gaining some type of normalcy within the situation. yet, the reality loomed over him. he could not shake it off as easily as you. “you’re dying and your last words to me are going to be something I hear from everyone.”
your laugh was music to his ears. soft, like your voice, but full of joy. the type of laugh that could light up a room and have even the gloomiest laugh along with you. he needed to savor it. to imprint the sound in his mind for the days he needs the encouragement to keep going. you found laughter even in a moment like this.
"it's only a matter of truth," you said, eyes flickering to his lips followed by a tilt of your head. when your lips brush, you murmur against his lips. "besides, wouldn't you miss hearing it from me the most?"
his stomach flutters at your words. of course he'd miss hearing your praise. not just for his beauty, but for anything. he held you in the highest regard, like you were a god yourself. but, it was easier to pretend he didn't care, and instead leave those words unspoken.
he settled for angling his lips to meet yours and disregarding your previous question. "you're being ridiculous." apollo mumbles, ignoring his aching heart.
then there is only silence as the two of you lean in to close the gap between you. like a magnet pulling you forward. when your lips touch, there's an immediate desire. your teeth smacking against each other, your hand pulling apollo's head in closer, deepening the heated kiss as much as you could. he didn't expect to feel droplets on his cheeks. you had cried. the realization made him want to weep.
you had nothing to lose, so you gave it your all. one last time.
the pull away was hesitant, and even then, your lips still ghosted one another's. forehead's touching, your eyes met. "i love you," you declared as if it was the first time you had confessed.
"i love you too." a silent goodbye hidden behind the desperation of his words.
you sighed contently as your expression softened and your eyes shut with a smile. apollo wanted to speak, to yell at you to keep your eyes open. keeping them on him until you couldnt anymore instead, he chose not to speak. the look on your face didn't let him.
you were happy. happy to accept your fate. you showed no signs of regret, no anger, no guilt, nothing that would keep you on this earth any moment longer. dying happily. who was apollo to take that from you?
his cries and begs would only put stress on you. you didn't deserve that. your death had to be just as beautiful as your birth.
so, apollo continued to sit there, watching your breath. how after a few seconds, it would begin to slow down, and the little tufts of warm air he felt against his cheek gently came to a stop. the cool air of nature taking its place.
your body was heavy against his. cold too. he didn't care, he would hold you until you were warm again. soon, as the hours went by, he would have to bring upon another day. a day that you would not get to be apart of.
until then, he would hold you under the moonlight one last time
they were caught. after making it onto the ship and successfully snagging caligua’s stupid sandals, they were taken by surprise by a horse. It was ridiculous. as piper laid out cold on the steed’s back, apollo made conversation about his demise. It was a nerve racking walk to the emperor’s throne room. caligua wasn’t merciful and apollo wasn’t sure of the whereabouts of meg and jason.
as a god, he thought he saw everything. but as lester, the surprises were never ending.
they made it to caligua’s throne, apollo’s eyes immediately scanning how many enemies were in the room. he wasn’t shocked to see the loyal attendants of caligua, nor was he shocked to see meg and jason trapped beside him.
but when his eyes settled onto the person beside caligua’s throne, apollo wanted to throw up. his heart thumping against his chest making him lose his breath. It was you. how was this possible? you died in his arms. In Ancient Greece.
reading the shock on his face, you dared to give him the smile he loved most as you stood behind the enemy. with a tilt of your head and a wave, you greeted him, “hello apollo, long time no see.”
418 notes · View notes
nyoomerr · 2 months
Text
i've spoken about this in a couple discord chats already but the idea of a binggeyuan frieren au is so so tasty and yet there is no fucking way i am ever going to attempt it bc i just KNOW it would be sad in order to be good
the idea of bingge traveling alongside frail mortal shen yuan for some years, watching the way sy interacts with the world, letting sy coax him into using his immense power to help save some group of people (or beasts, or whatever strikes sy's fancy). bingge goes along mostly for amusement - life gets quite boring, when you're as old and powerful as he is - and at the end of everything he goes his own way without thinking twice.
later - much, much later - bingge thinks that things have gotten quite boring again, and he wants to go find the little mortal that had amused him for some years.
the little mortal is dead.
bingge is furious, of course. he hasn't allowed anyone to deny him anything for centuries now, and he hasn't had to actually deal with a mortal's death in nearly as long for the way he surrounds himself with other powerful demons and cultivators. the solution is simple, though: bingge will simply resurrect shen yuan.
but since shen yuan has been dead for years at this point, there is no body to easily restore, and in this au there wouldn't be so many convenient resurrection tools in this universe to begin with. it would turn into the whole frieren-esque adventure, perhaps with bingge picking up a kid that shen yuan had been mentoring before his death - perhaps one of bingge's own neglected kids, in fact, that shen yuan had picked up in part bc he missed bingge.
and as bingge adventures onwards towards a miracle resurrection tool, he'll occasionally run into situations that could easily be solved through pure power and callousness, and he... won't. he'll think about the way sy would scold him for being cruel, and he'll sulk and throw tantrums but in the end he'll avoid whatever the easy but cruel option was. the journey will take far longer for bingge than it necessarily would have to, because the goal of the journey has put sy at the front of his mind and now he can't stop thinking about all the stupid ""lessons"" sy had tried to give him.
and this is why i could not write this au: the most fitting ending i can think of for this au would be that the only way to resurrect shen yuan would be through some horrific sacrifice of hundreds of other innocent lives, and bingge would choose not to do it.
it would make him furious - it would drive him to the edge of qi deviation, to the edge of declaring some stupid pointless war just so he can work out his anger and get those innocent souls to resurrect shen yuan anyway. but he wouldn't. this whole slow adventure has reminded him bit by bit of just why he'd spent so long following that foolish little mortal shen yuan around, of the way that living a kinder life had felt so relaxing after years of constantly being ready to spill blood at a moment's notice.
shen yuan would be so disappointed in bingge if he choose that method of resurrection, and so bingge can't do it. bingge would be unsatisfied with that method of resurrection, just because he'd know sy would dislike it.
shen yuan stays dead, but his memory haunts bingge for the rest of his nearly immortal life, and bingge ever so slowly shapes himself into what that memory was.
225 notes · View notes
soap-ify · 18 days
Text
some vampire!reader x vampire hunters!141 thoughts that are refusing to leave my mind. pardon me this is unedited and i'm sleepy as fuck. feminine terms used on reader.
cw — they basically kidnap you.
“i dinnae think there’s any more of those creatures left here!”
“shut your whining, johnny.”
ghost and soap had been bickering back and forth, serving nothing more than to worsen the headache blooming in price’s head. at least gaz was silent, observant as ever. price pretended to ignore the amused grin that adorned gaz’s lips very much clearly.
the appearances of vampires around the front of the woods had significantly started to lessen due to these vampire hunters who actually gave a fuck about their job, dedicated in clearing out the parts so the civilians could sleep peacefully at night.
though at the same time, it meant that finding a vampire was as hard as digging up some treasure. it was infuriating, in all honesty, especially for price. these mindless patrols were fucking up with his head, the lack of activity making him more irritated.
plus the rest three just seemed too immersed in some banter to even care. though eventually, a soft rustle from the bushes caused them all to fall quiet due to price’s hand gesturing to them to stop, observant pair of eyes carefully looking around.
“there’s something here.” commanding as ever, price took the initiative of stepping forward, his pistol clutched in his hands.
the four of them discreetly stepped through the bush, coming across you. you, who were standing there wide eyed, hands trembling in pure fear, taking a step back from the hunters in front of you.
weird. you were supposed to bare your fangs, to attack them and try to suck their blood for your life. but no, you were acting more like a poor trapped bunny, not a vampire.
“price.” ghost grumbled and stopped price by holding his shoulders, pulling him back slightly. this masked man was terrifying observant, eyes boring deep within your skin, as if unpeeling every layer of you to grasp the poor soul within, for the sake of his own amusement perhaps?
he could see you salivating, unable to hold in the drool that glistened pathetically under the moonlight, yet not making any moves whatsoever. “you thinkin’ what i’m thinkin’, simon?” gaz nudged ghost slightly, those dark eyes looking at you a bit more kindly, almost interested.
“look at the wee lass, captain.” soap could barely hold in a snicker, already putting his gun back into the holster. he couldn’t care less, in all honesty. what were you going to do, bite him?
price had oddly became the quietest, his stare making you try to shuffle away uneasily. though before you could even try to move a little, his hand shot out and grabbes you by the shoulder, dragging you over to him and the rest, ignoring your hisses.
“don’t think she’s like other of those bloodthirsty fuckers.” price huffed out curiously, his other hand forcing your mouth open, thumb running over your fangs. weak. what had you been feeding on to lack the power others like you possessed?
“how ‘bout we take her home, cap’n?” gaz mumbled and took out a pack of cigarette from his pocket, drawing one out.
“i agree with him.” ghost mumbled, taking a step forward, towering over you. a shadow eager to destroy. “we can study her like that, y’know.”
his words made you sweat coldly, throat tightening up, unable to utter a single form of protest while price dragged you almost effortlessly, making you walk alongside them until you reached a jeep parked beside one of the many trees.
“c’mon, hen.” soap eagerly opened the door, giving you a push inside. “ye’re comin’ with us.”
finally some activity for all four of them.
338 notes · View notes
bardic-inspo · 22 days
Text
Tumblr media
Blood in the Mortar
Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav
Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)
Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus
Summary:
“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.
Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.
Tumblr media
“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”
-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1
Tumblr media
Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.
A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”
Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.
This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.
No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.
Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.
This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.
There’s only one human here who’s just human.
Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”
“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”
Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.
His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.
Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”
“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”
“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.
“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.
“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”
“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”
“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.
He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.
“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”
Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.
His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.
“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”
Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.
He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.
Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?
Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.
His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.
I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?
Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.
But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.
She’s not wrong.
If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?
A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.
“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”
“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”
Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”
The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”
"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."
His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.
Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.
"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."
“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”
“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.
“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”
Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”
A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”
Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--
No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--
Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.
It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--
It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.
He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”
Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”
“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”
Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”
A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.
Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”
Tumblr media
The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.
Only one remains.
Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.
The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.
It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.
It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.
At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.
“Good morning,” she says brightly.
Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.
“You.”
“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”
Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.
Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.
She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”
Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.
“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”
Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.
“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.
“I need not fear anything.”
Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.
“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”
“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.
Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.
The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.
“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.
“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”
She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.
Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.
“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.
Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”
The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.
“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.
She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.
Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”
And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.
His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.
Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.
Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.
“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”
Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”
Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.
“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”
The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.
He hasn’t yet.
One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.
When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.
In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.
Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.
To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.
“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”
Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.
“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”
Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.
“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”
Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.
Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.
So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.
Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.
He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.
“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”
“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”
Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”
Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.
“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”
Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.
“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”
Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.
Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”
Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.
“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”
Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.
“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”
“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.
Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.
Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.
It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.
One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.
Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.
Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.
“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.
Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.
And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.
Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.
Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.
Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.
Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.
But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.
Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.
Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.
Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.
“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.
Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.
Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.
“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.
“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.
He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.
Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.
But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.
He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.
“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”
For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.
“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.
The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.
Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”
“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.
His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.
It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.
So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.
Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.
But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.
He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.
He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.
Or--
A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.
The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--
Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.
So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.
But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.
He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.
If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.
He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.
Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.
“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.
His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.
Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.
Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.
Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.
“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.
She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.
A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.
Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.
His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.
“There.”
She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.
Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.
Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.
You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.
Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.
Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.
It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.
His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”
“Please,” she starts to say.
But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.
“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.
“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”
Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.
And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.
It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.
Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.
He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.
Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.
“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.
Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.
“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.
He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.
“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.
“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”
Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.
When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.
Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.
He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--
Mine, mine, mine.
Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.
Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.
Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”
Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.
“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”
“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.
A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.
The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.
“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”
“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.
“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.
“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.
“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”
“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”
“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”
Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.
“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”
His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.
Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.
“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”
Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”
“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”
And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.
Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.
Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.
The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.
A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.
She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.
The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.
“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”
And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.
It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.
“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.
“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.
Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.
Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”
Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.
Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”
His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.
Tumblr media
170 notes · View notes
hotvintagepoll · 4 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Propaganda
María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.
Maureen O’Hara (The Parent Trap, The Quiet Man)—They called her the Queen of Technicolor. That right there should help introduce people to the fiery, wonderful, stunning Maureen O’Hara. She was from Ireland, born in 1920, and started in theater at the age of ten. At 15, she was winning drama awards, including one for her performance as Portia in the Merchant of Venice. At 16, she was the youngest pupil to graduate from the Guildhall School of Music. By 18, she transitioned to film, starting off with a bang alongside Charles Laughton in Hitchcock’s Jamaica Inn, and proceeded to work steadily up through the early 1970s. She was in adventures and comedies and romances, spent a lot of time in westerns giving merry hell to John Wayne (and less merry hell to the indomitable John Ford — she held her own even when he was verbally abusive and demeaning to her). She was in The Quiet Man, which was the first American-made film entirely filmed in a foreign country. She helped make American Christmas what it is with Miracle on 34th Street. She played a lineup of headstrong, forthright women second only, perhaps, to Katharine Hepburn. She was married three times, lived for a while with a boyfriend in Mexico, sued for custody of her daughter in the 1950s, AND sued a magazine for libel in the same era. After mostly retiring from acting, she edited a magazine. She eventually sold the magazine to spend more time with her grandson, but even then ran a ladies fashion store. She was an outspoken, brilliant, passionate lady, with amazing red hair, a career to envy, and — well — that face!
This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]
María Félix:
Tumblr media
She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.
"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz
María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.
Tumblr media
Maureen O'Hara:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I thought she was one of the most beautiful women in the world when I was a kid and I have yet to really change my mind. Always loved her temper and her red hair. Plus she was kind of a MILF in The Parent Trap
Tumblr media
Haughty, red hair, hot.
I would have to give up my passport if I didn't submit Maureen O'Hara but also have you seen her? Not only did she look like that (she was called the Queen of Technicolor, though she wasn't a big fan of that sobriquet), she was also very funny and tough as nails. She faced off against Walt Disney in a contract dispute and the legend goes that when someone mentioned her at his deathbed, he sat up and said 'That bitch!'. Her comment on that story is "At least he didn't think of me and say, 'That wimp'." She struggled to get serious roles for a time, saying ""Hollywood would never allow my talent to triumph over my face," so she plays the sexy princess/pirate/harem girl in a LOT of early movies that she referred to as "Tits and Sand" films, she being the tits in question. She also turned down so many leading men and studio bosses (Errol Flynn and Howard Hughes are among her rejects) that there were rumours spread that she was a lesbian. Many egos were battered it seems. I'm including the infamous Lady Godiva scene in the photo propaganda for the sheer Moment of it [link] . It was a bit of a flop critically, but it was one of Clint Eastwood's first film appearances and she said he told her later that he was very glad of the money at the time.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
She was a very proud Irish woman and when she went for her American citizenship they insisted on referring to her as British (the timeline of Irish independence is a bit wibbly wobbly, we won't get into it here). She refused to accept American citizenship under that condition and argued her way through every level of US immigration she could find, supposedly saying "I'm not responsible for your antiquated records here in Washington", until a judge finally gave up and said "Give her what she wants, just get her out of here". This made her the first ever person seeking US citizenship to be proclaimed Irish on the record!
Tumblr media
The hair. The accent. The figure. The acting chops. The perfection.
Tumblr media
138 notes · View notes
dollfaced-erin · 2 months
Note
can i request something about jing yuan being domestic with your dc!reader and yanqing 🥹 like maybe he comes home to his seemingly empty house and he reminisces on the many years he spent alone after the hcq fell apart + reader fell into a deep slumber until he spots you both in the garden, with yanqing asleep on your lap/shoulder and you basking in the silence and jing yuan realizes that even though things will never go back to the way they were before, he'd be more than glad to start anew with you and cherish all the time he has with you (+ yanqing who you've both taken under your wing!!)
A/n : -
HELP THIS IS TOO SWEET ? I CANNOT BRAIN ?!?! i have finally finished my exams and is now a free woman for a month WEEHEE ! i'll do my best with catching on withthe requests and the current storyline ! have you guys played penacony ? i only played a bit and whoa was it BEAUTIFUL ?! btw, Dan Jia was subjected to her shell before Dan Feng's molting rebirth, and cracked not long after Dan Heng was exiled from the xianzhou.
Taglist : -
Tumblr media
Day by day passed, and he felt as if not one of them held a single significant meaning to his soul. He had long died in the past, though his body lived on in a shell immortal to time and corrosion…
He had long felt joyous emotions before those dreaded days approached. The days…where he had lost his comrades…one by one without a shred of mercy from any deity with powers no matter how much he begged, cried, broke at the demise of his loved ones.
What use was a large house when there was no one to brighten it up...? To him, it was merely a structure, might even be considered a store where he keeps all valuables and merely comes to rest before leaving, day after day.
He couldn't bare to remember the pain he felt deep in his heart when he heard of the news of the passing of his friend. In a long, arduous and almost fruitless battle against the Denizens of Abundance, his friend had sacrificed herself in summoning the deity…The Hunter of Worlds…Lan. Being struck down by one of the divine arrows raining from the sky, all that was left was mere droplets of blood…and a tuft of her soft lavender hair.
He couldn't dare think about the betrayal he felt in his heart, etching deep within his being when he realized the sins his friends had committed. An arrogant man…colluding with the proud dragon in creating a life of he deceased, even sacrificing their mutual beloved in the process.
He didn't ever endure nights without nightmares, where his own companion was infected with life beyond death, tainted with the curse of immortality from the flesh of an emanator of abundance. The pain of the sounds of bones cracking and flesh tearing to recreate the man in his younger ages time and time again, before he fled the lands to a planet barren of life…
He couldn't forget the feeling of burden on his shoulders, watching as his legendary mentor be reduced to a mind insane in plagued with rampaging mara that caused her to commit crimes beyond her comprehension, reducing her title from the General to a mere felon that had escaped in the night where the moon was high and full above their heads, pale like the color of her hair.
He could never forget the burden he felt slumped on his shoulders, a full world on him as he upheld the position of his mentor, and sentenced his own friend to molten rebirth, listening to the cries of the dragon who yearned for the body of his sister, injured and subdued due to his own stupid and selfish actions.
He couldn't ignore the searing sensation he felt in his chest when he brought the limp body of the woman he loved, who had grown alongside him, who had been with them through thick and thin in the shadows, back to her shell to heal and reform anew.
As he trudged through the silent halls of his home, feeling somewhat empty, his tired golden eyes wandered around. He looked at the beautiful ornaments and art that decorated the house, that was until he noticed an open door on his right, the sliding door that led to the courtyard of his manor.
He was a little confused at first, before his golden eyes shone with remembrance and a tugging at his heart that led him to walk towards that opening. He didn't know what he'd see there, but he had a feeling he knew.
The general of the Luofu leaned against the doorframe as he admired the sight before him.
A sight he would give anything to protect. A sight that he would never forsake or take for granted with every fiber of his being. A sight that he would never dare forget no matter how much Mara would strike him in his future years...
He knew deep in his heart that she would be different when she was reborn…and the same goes for her brother. Perhaps they would lead new lives, lives that would never intersect with his ever again.
He thought he was ready to forget her in his memories, but that would be as if deleting a piece in the complicated puzzled. Incomplete.
That was until her shell broke again, where the Pearl Keepers immediately contacted the Seat of Divine Foresight…
"This…cant be." Jing Yuan gasped softly as he knelt before the body that was hatched from its shell.
Upon normal circumstances and past experience, the body cracked from the Vidyadhara pearl would conceive a new individual, where the waters would wash away their past and their sins as they carried new names and led new lives…
But this wasn't it…
Before him was a young woman instead of a child, bare and naked in front of him, eyes closed and unmoving. He reached a hand, and felt that her body was deathly cold, but he felt warmth from her nose as she inhaled and exhaled softly.
She had the same horns…the same skin tone…the same feel…the same size…!
It was her…Dan Jia. Dan Jia had been reborn in a shell similar to her past, almost similar to Dan Heng who had intentionally underwent Molten Rebirth and attained his younger form, not being reborn as a full grown adult !
"This must've been the result of the lacking process of the Transmutation Arcanum…" One of the Preceptors noted. "Before his demise, Imbibator Lunae Dan Feng had already announced his heir, a girl in the future named Bailu."
The egg was still small, not yet of its time…
"An abomination, lacking the Dragon Heart…" another elder said, shaking his head. "The heart was already ripped out of Saltator Lunae Dan Jia, so why is she still retaining the form of her former self ?"
Little did Jing Yuan know that they had messed up the Molten Rebirth, resulting in a flaw in Dan Feng's incarnation, and automatically jeopardizing the rebirth of Dan Jia. Those two were still connected, even in near death…
"Bring her to the jurisdiction of the Ten-Lords Commission." Jing Yuan said sternly, holding Dan Jia's reformed body in his arms to preserve her modesty, as if he hadn't let loose the tears he had been keeping in for so long.
His eyes were red rimmed as he embraced the body of his beloved, tears still trickling down as the aftermath of him crying in joy, knowing he wasn't quite alone in this life.
That...was the first change that had happened through his dark days.
Though his life was slightly troubled with bidding off an old friend formed anew, wishing off the young teen a happier life, away from the mistakes of his former incarnation.
The teen too wished him happier and brighter days. He wished he could say the same for himself, and the universe seemed to be smiling upon him after the challenges life had thrown to his shoulders.
Everyday seemed to be better now, routine, even. Ever since Dan Jia was released from the Ten-Lords Commission, a room was built for her, in tribute to the sleeping dragon that never stirred awake. She was hovering between life and death, with no actual signs of waking up, but also no signs of succumbing to death. She was just...in a dormant state.
"Perhaps the shock of suddenly taking away her heart had really hit her with the blow she didn't expect..." One of the judges said, looking at the young woman's body that rested in a room similar to a display room one would find in a museum, housing only the most valuable and precious items.
Which...was partially true.
Jing Yuan looked around the large room. It had red pillars holding it up, and banners with celestial wordings scribed into them, giving a light golden shine. The path from the door was carpeted with a precious red fabric, leading it up to a small platform, a couple steps high.
And there...lay a large glass box, with beautiful ice flowers filling it's depths, illuminating the dark room with a calming shade of blue, a lighter color of the horns of the individual resting in the coffin.
This...was a beautiful box, Jing Yuan thought as he reached a hand in, and gathered silky locks of (h/c) in his hand, bringing it close to his lips as he kissed it.
Everyday...he would go to work, then stay with (Y/n) for a while, talking to her about everyday, having lunch or dinner by her side as he basked in the peaceful silence. Then he would return home for the day, and the cycle would repeat.
That was until one fateful night, where he had heard knocking.
As he groggily trudged his way to the door, he was aware of his surroundings. Who was it bothering him such late into the night...?
And there he saw it...a young child crying softly in its bassinet, little arms reaching out towards whoever had stumbled upon him.
Jing Yuan's heart melted, wrenching in guilt and sorrow as he bent down and collected the little child in his arms. The little infant soon stilled, finding the beating of Jing Yuan's heart in his chest soothing and comforting and lulling the young child to sleep.
He honestly didn't know how to deal with the child, even after days of exhausting his resources to find the boy's parents.
"I don't know what to do, Dan Jia." Jing Yuan sighed as he leaned against the coffin, closing his eyes as he pondered about his choices and decisions.
"I know if it were you...you'd find it in both mind and heart to bring the child in, adopting him..." Jing Yuan said, trailing off before the idea actually struck him in the chord.
"Adopting...him...?" He repeated softly and wondered to himself as memories came back flooding to him. During the days where his own master brought him in to train him as a child.
His...very own retainer. Just as he was for Jingliu...
But would he be able to do it...?
He'd just have to give it a try. Besides, there were people around him that were able to help him, like the Foxian servants that lingered in his manor. Perhaps he could also task them with taking care of the child.
"But...what should I name him then ?" He wondered again, lifting his head off the edge of the beautiful box of eternity and looking at the young slumbering woman inside, the very definition of elegance and grace with traits of altruism and devotion.
"I wish he would have the same poise and patience you do. And at a young age...I will teach him the ropes of becoming my retainer, destined for greatness of someone with position and power. I would teach him to never abuse his power, to be kind and honest like you..."
He reached a hand in, stroking her cold cheek that was still soft to the touch, thinking of possible elements he wanted to name the young boy as. Something...something special...
Something like (Y/n) and the ice flowers around her. Something that connected both of them. Something they had in common. Something only he would know the reason behind.
Then it hit him. The general smiled warmly as he gazed at the sleeping dragon, a brilliant idea coming to mind.
"It's official." He said lovingly, smiling warmly. "I'll name him Yanqing. Yan...after your elegance, and Qing after our matching high-ranking official titles."
Thus was born the child of frost, named Yanqing. The son he raised by his own, keeping Dan Jia's principles close to his heart to raise a young man that had inherited both their traits.
He smiled warmly, crossing over his arms with a chuckle leaving his lips as he watched (Y/n) lean against the ancient tree that sprouted tall and high in the middle of the courtyard, her horns perched on her head shining with the light that passed through the shade provided by the tree's thick canopy of leaves. She was sleeping, her beautiful eyes closed as she rested against the tree, a young child curled up on her lap.
Yanqing had laid his head on (Y/n)'s lap, probably exhausted from another full day of training and mastering the art of ice with (Y/n) and the power to control his swords with his mind. His blonde locks fell and covered his forehead as he snuggled close to (Y/n), a hand of the dragon lady lovingly placed on his shoulder as he rested on her lap.
Another hand of (Y/n)'s was perched on Mimi's thick and luscious mane. Mimi was curled on (Y/n)'s other side, finding solace in the young woman's cold presence from the smoldering heat. The proud feline placed its head on its paws, large head nuzzled into the side of (Y/n)'s thigh, purring softly as it lounged around with the duo.
Right...he wasn't alone anymore. All those years of loneliness and darkness were gone, left behind him.
These two before him...were his light in the darkness.
He smiled warmly at the duo before him.
Jing Yuan knew that he was happy in his past, where the High Cloud Quintet were prime in their era. But he would do anything to live in this moment, gazing at his beloved who held his child close, caring for him like her own kin.
Though things would never return to as they were, he was more than glad to tread on his future days with the woman he loved and the child he raised.
"I love you." The white-haired man whispered as he kissed (Y/n)'s forehead as he caressed Yanqing's golden hair.
"I love you both so much."
134 notes · View notes
bet-on-me-13 · 1 year
Text
Immortal Danny meets his Families Reincarnations after years
So, Immortal Danny had to suffer through the deaths of his friends and family. For some reason, they never became Ghosts in the Zone, but he has kept looking for them in the Zone for centuries.
Then, one day, Clockwork come to him and explains that his Friends have all been Reincarnated. Due to them having died peaceful deaths, there weren't enough emotions to be turned into Ghosts, instead their souls were Reincarnated due to the amount of Ectoplasm in their bodies.
Danny goes to the Universe where they were Reincarnated, and finds that they all ended up reincarnating in a similar time-frame and location, and all ended up meeting eachother again.
His family and friends Reincarnated as the Bat Family
Bruce is actually the reincarnation of Jack Fenton, and while he is still a much better driver than before, Alfred prefers life thank you very much. He uses his Tech Know-How to build all his Bat-Gear. Hall also freakishly strong, and he isn't a Meta, so he has always been a little confused about that. His lingering guilt at being a bad dad in his past life leads him to be as great a dad as he can in this one.
Maddie Fenton is now Selena Kyle, using her natural athletic expertise and genius level technical know-how to steal artifacts from museums better than her canon counterpart ever could. She has always felt a connection to Batman for some reason, and flirted constantly.
Jazz became Barbra Gordan, and she is just as much a psychologist in this life as the last, but she uses it for Crime solving instead. I'm just going to say that she was officially adopted without Comissioner Gordans knowledge. He is not happy when he finds out that his daughter is legally shared by him and bruce.
Sam became Cassandra Cain, who for some reason has new Plant Powers reminiscent of Poison Ivy. Her soul is still technically that of the "Daughter of Undergrowth", so she gets her plant powers even in death. She now considers Poison Ivy her new sister for some reason. She is also still a Vegan.
Tucker is now Duke Thomas, who is confused as to why he seemingly has Egyptian Magic alongside his own Meta Abilities all of a sudden. He also has a talent for Coding and Hacking that could rival every other member of their family.
Tim used to be Wes, who befriended Danny after a while in his old life. He uses his smarts to figure out Batman is Bruce Wayne, and becomes the second Robin.
Dick was Dash, who mellowed out and became a good friend to Danny a while after the end of the series. In his new life, he is much kinder to everybody around him, as a remnant of his guilt for being so mean in his past life. It's alsowwhy he became a Cop.
Jason is undecided. Maybe he is still a friend to Danny, but he met him when he died and Danny found him while wandering. He considered him a little brother before he was resurrected and lost his memories. Or maybe he was another of Danny's friends, idk.
Alfred used to be Mr Lancer, and he has always had a weird talent for dealing with chaotic and freakishly strong teenagers. He also has a Love for helping children down on their luck.
Steph could have been Star, who rekindled her friendship with Danny after a few years as well. I honestly just like the idea of Danny's bullies becoming his friends after getting their life together.
I don't know about many of the others
This could then go 2 ways
Option 1:
When Danny discovers that his Family has all Reincarnated, he decides to Reincarnate as well to be with them again. With the help of Clockwork, he becomes Damian Al Ghul, born only a little time after his other family and friends.
He makes it so that he will slowly regain his memories and powers over his lifetime until he hits the age of 14, the age he was when he died.
The other Batfamily Members are confused, because Damian all of a sudden called a Family Meeting, and began telling them a story about how they were all the reincarnations of the mortal friends and family of the Ghost King. And that he is the Ghost King as well.
And it makes sense for some reason, they have all had vivid dreams of past lives, or skills and abilities that they don't remember picking up.
They slowly accept his story and the story continues from there.
Option 2:
Danny just goes directly to them after figuring it out, and the Batclan is suddenly visited by the God King of the Afterlife shouting about how he finally found his family.
Danny is just happy to be there, while the others are looking at bruce like "Oh my god, his Adoption Addiction has gotten so strong that the souls of the dead are being adopted by him"
And Danny is meeting his new brother Damian.
Or, Bonus Option
Danny goes to meet with them, then Damian walks in and pulls him aside. Tells him to ask for Clockwork to Reincarnate him, and pushes him through a portal.
A combination where Danny meets them, and then after he meets them goes back in time and Reincarnates himself as Damian.
559 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Villain: The Knights of St. Kazvarin
There's pious and selfless devotion, and then there's whatever these weirdos have going on
Riding forth from their brooding fortress-abbey to do the will of a long dead holy man, these inscrutable warriors have long been the subject of rumour and suspicion. It's not an undeserved reputation, as apart from looting tombs for ancient relics or ominously observing the goings on of the common folk these forboding knights are most often acting as the hired muscle for unscrupulous nobles who have no regard for the legality or virtue of the orders they enforce.
Far more than mercenaries with a patina of piousness, the Knights use these contracts to fund a secret and sinister endeavour that they have undertaken for centuries.
Adventure Hooks:
While delving through a dungeon the party follow a trail of slain monsters to a gravely injured knight and his thoroughly overwhelmed young squire. The boy will introduce them as Tilaen and Ser Darrik respectively and ask for their aid in tending to his master's injuries, before the dour Knight chides him for speaking on his behalf and tells the party to be about their way. Ser Darrik wants no help from "the faithless" and is willing to use the last of his strength to get violent about it. If cooler heads prevail, the party will learn that the two were after a rare manuscript hidden somewhere within the dungeon, and the offer of collaboration might be explored. If the party don't help, they'll find the squire waiting for them at the dungeon's entrance, requesting their help to bury his master and guide him back to their order's abbey. It's only after a few days of travelling together will realize that Squire Tilaen is muchabused by his sect, and that steering the boy away or outright adopting him might be the real kindness.
Acting as a stern and imposing shadow to whatever asshole noble or callous merchant the party have recently pissed off, the towering and always helmed Ser Gelceiras has "Bossfight" written all over him. However when the adventure's final confrontation looms the party find him cleaning off his massive axe, his employer's head in a bloodsoaked bag waiting to be delivered to them. "We got what we wanted from him" he rumbles as he exits, " you can have what's left. no hard feelings."
Just a new threat encroaches on the settlement, a mace wielding bruiser in burnished armour rides up and pledges to fight alongside the party in its defence. Ser Portia's skill as a fighter is sorely needed, perhaps enough to overlook whatever agenda it is that drew her to the settlement in the first place. Shortly after the final battle is fought and the dust clears, the party will realize Portia is nowhere to be seen... having escaped sometime during the aftermath after inexplicably kidnapping one of the locals.
Background: Before he was a sacred corpse, Saint Kazvarin was a necromancer of great talent, having dedicated his life to the study of thanatology and the many loopholes around death. This earned him great renown and wealth in his day, amazing the masses with seances while charging the powerful dearly for cut-rate resurrections. He amassed generous patrons and fanatical followers, only to have it all fall apart when the Raven Queen took an interest.
Kazvarin had and constructed his own bootleg afterlife, a place where his most loyal followers would rest forever in glory before being called back in time of greatest need. Atleast that was the sales pitch, in reality the "saint" had stopped just short of lichdom delving into the shadow to create a demiplane where his own soul would reside undeminished after death, sustained by the faith of his followers as the realm hollowed them out.
Such villainy inevitably created it's own downfall in the form of a young woman who's family were taken in and exploited by Kazvarin's cult. Though her name was not recorded by history, she was marked by the Duskmaven for greatness when she swore to tear down the saint who would conquer death, years later succeeding along with some allies in not only killing the necromancer but cursing him with a most ironic fate. Denying him the afterlife he had so meticulously constructed, the raven queen cursed Kazvarin with reincarnation, forcing his soul to live out a new life where it would forget all he knew and be remade.
It would have been a perfect punishment had the Saint's followers not been so fanatical. Though their organization had been shattered by their "benevolent" leader's apparent assassination, the most loyal of his inner circle poured through his research, finding the spells nessisary to seek out his soul in its new vessel. Thereafter they engaged in a grim hunt, crossing the realms to ritually sacrifice the youth their leader had grown into and pulling free his undigested soul. This is the cycle Kazvarin's followers have been following for generations, spending decades hunting for signs of their leader's return before using murder and necromancy to forcibly deincarnate him. Thereafter Kazvarin has a few months or years to act freely before he is swallowed back up by the tide of souls and the hunt begins again
Future Adventures:
Though they begin as a comparatively minor oddity, the knights become a true threat to the campaign as soon as they figure out who Kazvarin's current incarnation is and manage to wrest his soul out. Ideally this should be someone the party knows, to make it all the more tragic that they were sacrificed to bring about the villain's return.
Though it is much deminished, Kazvarin's demiplane (called the Howling Basilica) still traps the souls of those who have sworn their lives to him, acting as a vault from which he can pull rank upon rank of shadow-maddened spirits to his bidding. His most loyal retainers are allowed to keep their skills and individuality while being deprived of their will, meaning he has a backlog of highly skilled Knights just waiting for new bodies to possess no matter how many times the party defeat them on the field. What's worse is that the saint still remembers how to manipulate people with the offer of offbrand immortality, and will likely begin reaching out to powerful individuals shorty after his return.
Art 1
Art 2
118 notes · View notes
muzzleroars · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
Michael, the Ruined Prince
Michael, having used all of his power to seek out God, had failed as the Prince of Heaven. He had abandoned his people, absent for centuries on a fruitless search filled with unheard, increasingly desperate prayers and an unrelenting, bone-deep exhaustion that is now permanent. His grief grew day by day, and an angel in isolation begins to wither, to warp – they must be with one another lest they twist into their extremes, retreating into their divine purpose until it becomes self-destructive parody. And Michael had already been scarred long ago by his role in banishing Lucifer, by God’s own ever-mounting wrath that ate away at the mercy he was meant to feel alongside it. Michael had already been insular, something had already pulled at the seams of his soul, and now centuries of failure consume him. He would return to Heaven with nothing for his people. Nothing for the siblings he swore to protect.
So his final thought in a deeply troubled mind urged him to try one last time. That if he could not find God, then he must bring God to himself. He must sin, he must beg for punishment, and then God will come to deliver it onto him. Just as He once did to Lucifer. It disgusted him, to think he had to debase himself to be as the sinners he held nothing but vile contempt for ever since he couldn’t cope with the guilt of the first fallen angels. But his prayers have failed, his days of weeping have failed, he moved Heaven, Earth, and all of Hell to come up with empty hands. Less than that. Not even a feeling. So Michael, even as a Cherub who could not, did everything he could to replicate his memories of when he had witnessed God Himself tear the light from His angels. Michael had seen it every time, it was he that had to bind any fallen angel that survived it to their place in Hell. He knew, implicitly, what the ritual was even if God seemed to enact it in one beautiful, elegant motion. And he did just that. Imperfect pantomiming, flawed execution, but the same ritual as best as Michael could copy it. All to himself.
But only God and the high Seraphim can sever an angel from their light.
His soul was rent from his body. His light was torn to shreds by his inexperienced hands. The agony that it screeched resounded all the way back to Heaven in unintelligible, muted whispers of nauseous grief no one could understand. Michael felt himself die, but it was incomplete. He was left in a corpse, a body destroyed and succumbing to all it meant but with him still inside of it. God did not come, and Michael was trapped a ruined body, bereft of a soul, of his light, giving way to rot and deterioration yet fully functional. He could do nothing but take this as a sign from God, one that he will not be punished no matter his crime for being such a loyal servant. Even as his body falls apart, as plants begin to burst from his remains, he believes himself to be blessed – see how he grows God’s garden. See how his crown remains pristine. He adorns his exposed bones with gems and finery, ostensibly as thanks to God for keeping him alive, keeping him sinless when he had so despised his impending fall from grace. But. Michael is, in the back of his mind, highly aware of what he’s become. He knows he is rotting, he knows he is in a dead body, he knows, somewhere, God had nothing to do with it. It was just a mistake, it was just his own foolishness with catastrophic consequence. He is more noxious than a fallen angel now, a botch job shambling numbly back to Heaven when he feels the death of Gabriel.
Upon his return, he largely attempts to hide the rot of his body, at least from the citizenry – he cannot hide it from Raphael or Uriel, nor does he try. To Michael, it proves his devotion, it shows God’s still present love for him, and it is a testimony to how he cannot fall, that he can never lose his place in Heaven. Raphael begs for him to be healed, Uriel pleads reason to him, but neither had ever been as strong as Michael and ultimately, he is their leader. No matter the state he returns in, he is the Prince of the Archangels and truthfully...they both fear him now. He is not the Michael they loved, not the one that had been quiet and stoic yet still loving in return. The Michael that would have done anything for them, that never wanted to lose another like he lost Lucifer. He commands them now to join him in binding Gabriel, his tangible grief the only thing that seems to be left of who he had once been.
Internally, Michael sees their fear, he feels the crushing guilt of Gabriel’s fall, he is violently ill with one true look at himself. He had gone wrong a long, long time ago, when he lost Lucifer, and now all of that was being made manifest, but he can’t face it. As flesh falls away, he covers it more and more with jewels as if that could hide the decay he can feel spreading night and day, the only thing he feels now. He must retreat into his purpose, he must not allow such devastating failure to be his legacy. So he turns on Gabriel. Gabriel, whose light had been severed. Who walks freely in an abandoned Hell. Who still has a living, breathing body. Michael’s vitriol toward the damned hones in on Gabriel, consumed with being sure he is left nailed to the lowest pit in Hell for his treachery. All the love he once had turns to hatred and in it, the other three can see that Michael has been left shattered, that nothing in him truly believes God made him this way. God’s most loyal, left to rot.
Additional information:
Michael now always exudes the Odor of Sanctity, but there is a distinct undertone of mold to it
The opalescent webbing that runs through his body is the angelic brain - normally it is iridescent and transparent with a strange glow, but Michael's is opaque and dull
Michael now prefers walking, something noted as unusual when he returned to Heaven, but it's simply due to the fact that his body has been left entirely numb and so it's difficult to maneuver in the air properly
He is very protective of his crown and dragon-skin bag, as they seem to be the only things left uncorrupted on him
342 notes · View notes
Text
Alright I’m on my Yugioh shit, but I think what Pegasus did to Seto Kaiba was waaaay more personal than any other Yugioh villain.
None of my thoughts are organized, but I’ll try to get it out in some kind of way that makes sense.
Let me first start by saying that Seto Kaiba is a minor through the whole series. This is important to his character, almost more than the others, because it is exactly what he’s trying to erase about himself.
Kaiba dresses himself up in outfits that accent his masculine features similar to how an adult will. His shoulder pads make his shoulders seem broader. His coat goes inward to give a very triangular shape to his torso. He’s got belts everywhere (and while yes, this is just the style of Yugioh, I believe it cannot be completely written off as just that).
At the base of it, Kaiba wants to be seen as an adult. He NEEDS to be. He runs a company and is in near constant threat of being taken advantage of by others. We see this many times throughout the show, especially by Pegasus.
Now, to connect things once again. Kaiba is a minor who was thrust into adulthood far too early, yet, he engages in child-like activities. Duel Monsters, while used for their ancient shadow games, is still just a game. A game Kaiba is OBSESSED with, to the point he becomes the face of the Blue Eyes White Dragon.
(Which is his symbol of power and autonomy over others, which further proves why he so badly hates the ancient talk, but that’s another essay)
Pegasus is the created (re-created, technically) of Duel Monsters. He made the paintings, the cards, the rules. He shows in many tournaments (assumed based off episode 2) and given how much Kaiba has won? I’m guessing they met before becoming business partners.
In short, it makes sense that Pegasus would be an important figure to Kaiba. Maybe an idol, an inspiration, or whatever it might be. Kaiba saw Pegasus and saw a man who’s game kept him alive through his years with Gozaburo, who gave him a connection to his own brother.
Pegasus is powerful. Pegasus has full control of his own actions. He is everything Kaiba wants and changed KaibaCorp. to be.
A little ways down the line, Pegasus becomes his business partner. Kaiba gets to work a littler closer with him. We never see what exactly that entailed besides letting Kaiba use the Blue Eyes (and other cards) without copyright issues and Pegasus using the holographic stages, but even that is a significant exchange.
(Makes me wonder if things hadn’t turned out the way they did, would Kaiba and Duke Devlin view him the same way?)
Then, Pegasus starts Duelist Kingdom. He uses Kaibams vulnerability to his advantage and steps in to take over. He kidnaps Mokuba, then takes his soul and shows it off like a trophy.
Pegasus has not just betrayed Kaiba’s trust, but he turned into a real person for Kaiba. It shows him that, just like everyone else, Pegasus is greedy and selfish. He takes what Kaiba worked so hard for, what he loves, just because he can. And he does so with the same smiles and teasing as before.
It’s beyond disappointment. This is heating your favorite person side with your abusers. This is a childhood hero watching you get kicked and laughing as he kicks you alongside them.
So, naturally, Kaiba won’t forgive him. We see in Battle City how bruised Kaiba’s ego is. He’s mad at Yugi, he’s mad at Izushi, no one is saved from his ire. Even Mokuba gets the short stick every so often. He is compensating BIG TIME and it’s directly connected to how things went over last season.
Might I add that Duelist Kingdom takes place less than a year after Kaiba took over KaibaCorp? This is a still pretty fresh CEO with some very big trauma that he simply has not dig into yet.
I think in a world where Pegasus was not so disillusioned by his own desperation to revive Cecelia, he would’ve been a good mentor to Kaiba. They both have a love for games, for the visual experience (painting and holograms) and they’re both very particular. Honestly, their traits would work relatively well, all things considered.
But it didn’t and we see Kaiba go through cycle after cycle of trying to get better and stumbling every step of the way.
Anyway, that’s my TedTalk. As a Pegasus enjoyed and Kaiba analysis, I found this topic very fascinating.
76 notes · View notes
irradiatedsnakes · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
POKEMOB!!!! ive been thinking abt this nonstop for like, weeks. check it out, though! lots of little guys! reigen's special move where he chucks his nacli at the foe as hard as possible! teru's furfrou's matching wig! other stuff! this post has 18 images
@skypiea helped SO much with pokemon choices for this also!
see under the cut for full teams and further explanation!!! please check it out
mob - ralts & espurr. later, silvally. mob isn't a trainer, and his pokemon don't fight. they're just little guys. type:null was originally toichiro's (who used various pokemon alongside the human claw grunts), mob met it in aftermath of the divine tree once everything in the domination arc was over. (it still doesn't battle or anything. big fancy lapdog full of love.)
ritsu - unovan braviary, bisharp, and alakazam. going along with his student council status & top-of-the-line grades, ritsu's a skilled trainer with some powerful pokemon. braviary and bisharp were his most used pokemon early on- they're sort of representative of his student council thing (note braviary's unobtainable psychic type form)- but abra was his first pokemon, a counterpart to mob's ralts. it only evolved first during ritsu and the esper kids' attempted escape of the 7th division claw building.
reigen - murkrow, greavard, thievul, and nacli. reigen's not a trainer, his pokemon are both pets and assist him with work. with the exception of nacli, dark and ghost types are his specialty (psychic-adjacent types, but Not actual psychic types). his murkrow imitates him constantly. greavard is uu-chan, of course, but this time he doesn't get eaten by dimple (uu-chan is still feeding on reigen's soul). one of nacli's possible abilities in the games is "purifying salt", which cuts damage from ghost moves. reigen's nacli, of course, has sturdy. and to quote kite, re: thievul: "Reigen: would an untrustworthy guy have THIS [sends out the thief pokemon]"
teru - furfrou (shiny), zoroark (maybe shiny i cant decide. burple), and togepi (later togekiss). before his encounter with mob in season 1, teru didn't actually use his pokemon in battle often- they're rare, flashy, and/or powerful, but they were lackeys and status symbols just as much as his underlings at black vinegar were. his relationship with his pokemon improved after he started to work on his humility, leading to the evolution of his togepi.
shou - morpeko, latias, and (mega) blaziken. he's a super tough trainer, and he cares about his pokemon So much. he rides his latias like she's a surfboard
serizawa - swoobat & bewear. serizawa didn't really have pokemon growing up after his self-imposed isolation- the stufful he had as a kid was taken care of by his mother once that happened. he met his woobat a while after joining claw, and it evolved sometime after the world domination arc. bewear isn't entirely his- but after the world domination arc, he reconnected with it and takes care of it some of the time. the rest of the time it's serimama's gigantic housebear
tome - two (later three which become a single magneton) magnemite, orbeetle, eventually elgyem. i think magnemite just fits her vibes... plus it's a bit ufo-y, innit. she HAD to have a bug, and i mean..look at orbeetle's gmax form! and it has the telepathy ability! unfortunately, despite her best efforts, orbeetle's telepathy ability hasn't proved useful for finding human telepaths. she caught elgyem on new years, on the way back down to the car. tome can hold her own in battle, but training for battle isn't something she's focused on.
dimple - is a yamask! his big powerful form is cofagrigus, obvs. his mask is usually blank save for the cheek spots, since he has no memory of his life as a human. the mask does change to fit the (LOL) and psycho helmet cult as well. he places his mask on someone's face to possess them like any other yamask, to others it just appears as the regular red cheeks, but to folks who can see spirits they see the mask. when possessing someone, his expressions will show on the mask as well.
whew, i think that's everything i wanted to talk about. thanks for reading!
885 notes · View notes
kevinisghoulish · 23 days
Text
I've come up with a new Billy Batson headcanon, this time about how to merge the Billy IS Marvel and the Marvel and Billy are separate entities together,
Basically, what if they could BOTH control BOTH forms, the demi god and twelve year old boy bodies, like Billy by default can control his own body (duh), but say he passes out, or is under stress or brain fog etc can't do something in a critical moment to call upon Shazam or anything, and Marvel can just, swap "souls" with him to like say Shazam or deal with the situation as best as he can (while also being able to use the powers of his demi god form because this is Marvel taking control of the body), and vice versa for Marvel's body for Billy, (ex. Billy Really REALLY wants to mess around with magic "please please PLEASE MARVEL I PROMISE I WON'T BREAK ANYTHING PLEASEEEE" type stuff mostly),
Picture this,
It's a sunny day in Fawcett City, the birds are chirping and the sun is warm, the wind is nice but not chilly, but it's not so good of a day for our beloved kid hero Billy Batson, who, unfortunately, got caught up by bullies that just won't stop messing with him, so he had to dip, unfortunately (once again), he is being pursued, Billy, on the run darts his eyes for any escape routes he knows on the streets of Fawcett City, none come up as he is more or less running in central square of the city, huffing and puffing, he tries to cast a small spell to help out, but the bullies catch up and start teasing him and tossing Billy around, laughing at his struggle, Billy is tired, and he can't cast a minor agility spell without causing himself to be revealed as a magic user, and he can't call upon shazam, what does he do?! What CAN he do?? His body is getting bruised and the bullies aren't stopping and he can't think of a way out, fighting back won't help there's too many of them so what can h-
'Billy, let me take over.' Marvel's voice boomed in Billy's mind, he took a shaky breath, the bullies weren't hitting as much, he could concentrate enough to do this,
"Okay." Billy responded, and his eyes reinvigorated into a far more electric blue than usual in an instant,
Marvel's strength and agility came alongside his new gained control of Billy's body, and so with a swiftness granted by the god's, he ducked and dodged the incoming blows from the bullies, confusing them just enough to punch them (albeit holding back to the point that it might as well be considered a tap by his standards), and soon enough escaping with the speed of mercury blurring him out of view,
Marvel sighed, using magic to heal the bruised small body of Billy that he had control over for the time being,
"I'm such a weakling.." Billy sighed in shame,
Confused but patient, Marvel asked for clarification, "And why do you think that?",
"Because you always come to save me! You save me all the time! It feels like I'm useless without you, even if small things like just saving myself from a bunch of run of the mill bullies I still need your help! It's so frustrating!" Billy spoke, his voice suggesting him gritting his teeth in frustration,
Marvel pondered on how to answer, humming deep in thought on how to arrange his words,
"Billy, it isn't that you yourself are useless, it is that you are still a child, a child isn't as strong as an adult or a god for that matter, you are a mortal that is just now starting to learn magic, you are someone who should be protected and cared for, you're not useless, you're talented and wonderful and very kind, it's just that the current circumstances aren't favourable.."
Marvel waited in case Billy had anything to add, but the silence was thick and full of sorrow from the other end,
"I'm the champion of magic, I'm the wizards champion, but YOU'RE also his champion, YOU'RE also the champion of magic, you're still learning, you're still growing and your magic is getting better by the day! What I'm trying to say is, it is not yet your time to be so strong, let yourself be a child, Billy, and let me take care of all the stuff grown ups should, alright? If you don't like that, we can deal with it all together like before, what do you say?"
"Together.. I want to help out as much as I can, I want to do things together."
Marvel smiled, and subconsciously he slowly gave Billy back control of his body, Billy sighed, a small, nervous, but at the same time determined smile took hold on his face, "I'll get stronger soon enough, but before then, let's kick butt together!"
"Yes, let's,"
"Ready?"
"Whenever you are."
"SHAZAM!"
121 notes · View notes
Note
I LOVE YOUR VEES HEADCANONS AND ANALYSIS SO MUCH! THANKS FOR SHARING YOUR IDEAS THEY ARE SO GOOD! WOULD LOVE A VELVETTE CRUMB :3
THANKS FOR LIKING THEM ILYSM <3
Okay, so I mentioned earlier that I thought she became an Overlord so quickly after her death because Vox reached out to her after sensing her power. However, I was a fool back then. While writing her into my fanfiction, I reflected on that idea and now think it was quite the opposite.
Tumblr media
Velvette found herself in Hell and immediately felt at home. She did her research, learned about this man running a media company, and decided she wanted to meet him. She was so determined to have an appointment with him, Vox allowed it because she kept harassing Voxtek employees, and that made him curious. Honestly, he probably hoped to get her soul. But Velvette had a different idea—she basically demanded he give her a job.
You obviously have no idea how to run social media, old man. Give me a chance, and I'll make you so much money you'll choke on it.
Tumblr media
She definitely made an impression with her resume, and Vox hired her to run the social media department. He likes to think that he made her, but in truth, he merely provided an opportunity she expertly exploited to climb higher on the corpses of her competition. Absolute girlboss. It must have been challenging to establish herself alongside two grandiose men, but her intense energy and charm won them over.
She transformed the social media department into her own company within Voxtek and also launched her own fashion brand.
Also, I like to imagine that her company looks like a darker and more twisted version of Stefanie's company from BoJack Horseman, very #Girlboss #SelfMade #GirlPower yet with an undercurrent of terror.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
She honestly despises this whole #ItGirl aesthetic so he hijacked it and twisted to her liking.
Also, aside from doing the official business, she's responsible for a large part of Vee's intelligence. Valentino gathers information about his establishment's clients, Vox has his surveillance cameras, while Velvette follows trends and collects gossips from Hell's socialites during fashion events and manages multiple influencers who sold their souls to her, and now she can use them to target different demographics.
Other posts with Velvette headcanons:
Life and death | Silly Vees | Silly Vees 2.0 | Velvette's sexuality | Domestic Vees
95 notes · View notes