#its way rapier

[currentlyonstandbi]

i must be some kind of masochist

[pegasusknightsonly]

INT: tamas house. 2 am

tama: (blearily) dear fire emblem wiki, when did house galatea split off from house daphnel

fire emblem wiki: Ingrid can have trouble leveling up Strength

tama: yeah man. 35% as a pegasus knight. its terrible

fire emblem wiki: so she's the most natural fit for the pegasus knight line-

tama: (abruptly closes the tab)

[frantic-fiction]

Unexpected

Pic: @cheekylittlepupp (I love her posts)

Astarion x gn!Tav, Astarion x gn!reader

Summary: A night of seduction takes an unexpected turn, leaving Astarion to realize just how deep his feelings for Tav have developed.

Warnings: Astarion not knowing how to handle affection. Mild disassociation. Astarion has a lot of confusing feels.

Word count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Astarion sprawls across the blanket, his spine cracking against the stretch. A reflexive groan escapes him. His arms are crossed to cushion his head while the sun's heat seeps into his bones. The last time he felt this warm and relaxed was when his heart still beat in his chest. He feels like he could trance, in just a moment.

It still baffles him, the luck of it all. Being ripped right out of that bastard's chains, only to be dropped in the middle of nowhere with a tadpole in his head and a bunch of problematic weirdos for company. And Tav. Tav, who Astarion has yet to fully figure out. 

At first, he thought the naive little hero thing was all an act, but no, that was just Tav. And a sweet, naive person was exactly who he needed to keep his place in this group. He had already seduced them; now, he just needed to keep them on his side.

Astarion is pulled from his thoughts. He's not sure why until his ears twitch at the sound of boots scuffing on dirt. Pushing up on his elbows, Astarion looks up towards the tree line. 

Tav, slightly obscured by clouds of disturbed dust, is trudging up the west trail. Their body seems to have deflated, shoulders slumped, both hands gripping their pack straps as if the moment they let go, the heavy bag would pull them to the ground.

Tav looks exhausted, not the kind brought on by a poor night's rest or a long day's travel. But one that builds up slowly, from continuous tasks and responsibilities, with constant eyes looking for guidance in a time none could imagine experiencing. The suffocating feeling that claws its way under the skin, burying deep behind fake smiles and pleasantries.

Sitting up further, he watches Tav start to make their rounds. First to Gale, they pull a necklace out of their pocket before placing it in his palm. The wizard makes what's sure to be a subpar joke, and Tav's delicate laugh rings out—Astarion glares in annoyance. 

Tav says goodbye and moves over to Wyll. They unsheaths a polished rapier- a replacement for the one Wyll managed to break when they fought against a pack of minotaurs. It's ridiculous if you ask Astarion, but Tav tells him to keep his comments to himself and, as they say, "don't bite the hand that feeds." 

After a quick hello to Lae'zel, Tav's eyes find Astarion. They perk up a bit, a timid smile stretching their plump lips. Astarion is now fully on his feet, returning their smile with a smirk of his own.

"Hello, my sweet," Astarion says, moving behind Tav. "Let me," he pulls the straps off Tav's shoulders, letting the heavy pack fall into his arms. "Hells, my dear, you carried this all the way from town."

"It's not that heavy," they mumble, reaching for the bag.

Astarion swiftly pulls the pack from Tav's reach. "What did you get?" He quirks his brow and unlatches the pack to begin sifting through its contents.

Tav huffs something under their breath and crosses their arms, but makes no further attempt to reach for the bag. 

The pack is brimming with food, potions, arrows, daggers, and scrolls, all basic supplies. "Boring," Astarion says, tossing the bag to the side carelessly.

"If anything broke, it's coming from your gold pouch."

"Yes, yes, of course," Astarion says, waving his hand casually before turning up the charm. They look up at him with lidded eyes and a glaze over look . "Are you alright?" Astarion asks, his voice laced with played-up concern.

"Hmm... O-Oh, yeah, yes, I'm fine." Their eyes dart away, seeming to look for the next lie. "You know me; I'm always doing good."

Astarion glances around the camp, looking at the others. None seemed to be paying attention to the two of them. He steps forward and brushes a strand of hair behind Tav's ear, trailing his fingers down their neck.

"I've begun to know you very well, my sweet, and I can tell you are exhausted."

"I'll be fine," Tav catches his hand and starts to play with his fingers.

Astarion freezes, brow furrowing in confusion. They're just pulling slightly at his hand. An odd feeling settles in Astarion's stomach.

Why are they doing that?

They let go a moment later, and Astarion pulls his hand back quickly.

"I've got to talk with Shadowheart; if you'd like, you can feed on me tonight." Tav hesitates before quickly pecking his cheek and skipping off.

Astarion is left staring after them with this dreadful fluttering in his stomach. A hand absentmindedly touches his cheek. His mouth feels dry, and he swallows hard. 

Astarion has an idea brewing that would please Tav, and maybe he would even get another of those soft kisses.

Why would he care for another damn kiss? Gods, what is happening to him? Is it the damn tadpole?

It's nightfall when Astarion finds Tav again. They are sat on the ground, suffocated between a growing owlbear cub and a slobbery dog. Scratch's tail wags and the subtle movement of Tav's hands petting each animal's fur are the only movements. Tav's eyes are closed, and their face is relaxed.

"Should I grab the cleric?"

"No, I think the rogue will do just fine." 

Tav's eyes open, their face breaking into a bright smile. They sit up, displacing the animals who no longer consider Tav a suitable bed. 

"Time for dinner?" Tav wiggles their fingers at them, beckoning for assistance.

Astarion scoffs but grabs their wrists and pulls Tav to their feet. Tav stumbles forward a step and presses into him. He gets the urge to kiss them for no reason other than he wants to and almost leans down to do just that when Tav speaks.

"So… my tent or yours?"

Astarion blinks out of his thoughts. "Right, I think my tent tonight,” he offers his arm, which Tav takes. "This way, my dear."

Tav allows Astarion to escort them to his tent, where upon entrance, on a small table sits a platter containing a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese he nipped from Gale's pack, alongside a fresh vine of grapes he may or may not have gone all the way to the bloody town for. Tav mentioned it was their favorite fruit, and hearing the shocked gasp made that obnoxious trip at least worth it.

"What's all this for?"

"I was feeling a bit peckish tonight, so I decided to have a nice meal. I merely wanted to rub it in your face."

Tav rolls their eyes and punches him in the arm dropping to the ground. They pluck a grape from the vine, pop it in their mouth, and pierce the skin with their teeth. 

"Where did you even get all this?"

"If I told you the lengths I went," Astarion says, pulling out a bottle of wine and popping the cork. "I would have to kill you, Darling. I've got an image to keep."  He pours out a glass and passes it over.

Tav chuckles and thanks him and takes a sip. Astarion sits on a cushion beside Tav with his own glass, watching them slice the bread. It quiets long enough for Tav to finish the slice of bread with some cheese along with a couple of grapes. 

Astarion couldn't help but think how cute they looked, cheeks puffing slightly from too big of a bite. They swallow it with a mouth full of wine, a droplet falling down their chin. He wants to catch it with his thumb.

"But seriously, isn't this time reserved for your midnight snack?"

"Typically, but you looked so tired, my dear." Astarion places his goblet to the side and scoots closer to Tav. "I wanted to help you relax, help you sleep. You are always doing so much for everyone."

He plucks a grape and leans in, guiding it to their wine-stained lips. Lowering his voice, he whispers deep and low, "Let me help you."

Tav instinctually opens their mouth, letting the fruit fall in between their lips; their tongue catches Astarion's thumb briefly before his hand retreats. He cups their jaw, and traces over Tav's cheekbone.

 Every time he gets a chance to look, really look at Tav. Astarion can't help being captivated by their beauty. The shine of their hair, the softness of their face alway so warm and inviting, their nose scrunching up anytime he teases. So gorgeous. 

Tav's doe eyes flick down from his eyes to his mouth. Their tongue peaks out gently swiping across their bottom lip. 

Who kisses who is irrelevant. Only the feeling of their smooth lips gliding against his, the shaky exhale of breath, Tav's warm hands curling around his neck, fingers carding into his hair. 

Tav pulls away to breathe, running their nose against his. Astarion can't remember the last time a kiss left him wanting more. And having Tav rush back into the kiss as desperate as he feels sent unfamiliar shivers down his spine.

Astarion's hand presses against the small of their back, pulling Tav close to his chest. The other falls on their thigh, gripping gently like a lifeline. Astarion sighs low in his chest and runs his tongue against the seam of Tav's lips. They tentatively part, and Astarion chases the taste of grapes and bread.

Hells, he wishes to stay in the moment- in the softness of this kiss, the closeness of their bodies. His chest felt light, and the warmth of Tav's body under his hands is something he never wants to stop feeling. It feels as if nothing more needs to happen if either party deems it so.

But that wasn't how this worked. No one ever wanted a simple kiss. Astarion was never the innocent kiss that had you blushing the whole walk home. He was the sinful whisper and dirty looks. The pleasure before the end. Never this.

So Astarion begins the routine he's done a thousand times before.

His mouth leaves Tav's lips, trailing hot, wet kisses down the column of their throat. Tav releases the softest whimper when he bites at the flesh of their shoulder. Their fingers tighten in his hair. He grunts.

Astarion no longer feels quite present; it is more like he is simply observing the scene as a third party. Just finish the task. 

His agile fingers snake up their waist, pulling their shirt from their pants and caressing the smooth skin underneath. Astarion begins to unbutton their top when Tav grabs his hand.

"Wait." They say out of breath.

Astarion focuses back in, eyes taking in the look of Tav's flushed face and kiss swollen lips. They look flustered, and he's suddenly confused about why they stopped him.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I was…" They trail off, looking away then back again. "Could… we not do this tonight?"

That wasn't what he thought they’d say and it has Astarion momentarily at a loss for words. What does he do now? Tav's looking at him, and he's still frozen. No one has asked him not to have sex before.

"Yes, of course. Would you like me to pack this food and escort you back to your tent?" He sounds robotic to his ears and cringes. 

"No."

Astarion's brow furrows. Do they want his tent? Okay, he can work with this. Let them have his tent for the night; he'll be fine. And it's a nice thing to do since they don't want sex. He can still win favor. Right?

"That will not be a problem, my dear. I was going to be out late hunting anyway- probably until morning. You're welcome to sleep here. Rest well."

Astarion moves to leave- flee more like when Tav grabs his wrist.

"Wait," Their voice is so tiny.

Astarion turns back to Tav. They won't meet his eyes and are playing with his fingers again. Is this something people do? Or just Tav?

"Would you hold me?" A subtle blush began to bloom across their cheeks.

"I can't sleep; I keep having nightmares. I keep waking up trapped in my body." Tav released his hand to hug themselves. "I just don't want to sleep alone again."

Tav. Fearless, reckless, heroic Tav. Who killed more goblins and helped more people than any hero he could think of. To see them look so small, so vulnerable. And ask him. Him. To hold them, protect them from the monsters that torment their sleep. 

His mind is ricocheting around. Who was this person before him? So kind, so beautiful, so trusting of him, who deserves none of it.

Astarion has been quiet for too long. He knows this when he sees hope drain from Tav's wide eyes. They are looking for a way to leave.

"Okay," Astarion croaks, nodding before clearing his throat and repeating the word more confidently.

Tav beams at him. "Okay."

They stay rooted in place, awkwardly staring at each other. Tav bites their lip, tugging it between their teeth. Astarion feels like he's been plunged into the deep end. Every physical encounter he's partaken in was sexual and one he quickly left feeling used and disgusted.

This was new territory; did Tav want him to initiate? How did he initiate this without sex?

Astarion looks down when he feels a tug at his arm. "Um, would it be okay if we laid down?"

Astarion nods rigidly, his tongue cemented in his mouth. He moves to his bedroll and lays back. Astarion's body felt like a wood plank, he couldn't seem to relax. Tav sees this of course, because they seem to alway notice him. 

Everything Astarion wished to keep buried, all his dirty secrets, he kept behind the facade he perfected over the centuries. Tav seemed to see through everything. Read him in a way no other had.

"Astarion," he looks up, Tav's kneeling beside him, eyes full of concern. "If you're uncomfortable, I can-"

Astarion snaps back to himself. He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbow. A flirtatious smirk automatically stretches his lips.

"Me? Uncomfortable? Pfft, Darling, to have you pressed against me all night," Astarion reaches out to pull Tav's arm hard enough to have them stumble onto his chest with a small yelp. 

His voice drops to a husky whisper. "I don't think there's anything I'd like more."

Astarion chuckles at how reactive Tav always is to him. Their hands are splayed against his chest, face inches from his. 

They open their mouths to speak, but Astarion cuts them off with a kiss long enough to leave Tav chasing him for another.

"Though I will admit, having you so close, it's going to be very difficult to keep my hands to myself."

"I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself. I want you to hold me." Tav speaks plainly as they adjust til they are pressed against his side.

Their head is in the space between his collar and jaw. Astarion takes a deep breath. The smell of pine, rosewater, and something distinctly Tav hits his nose. The scent alone acts like a cool drink of water during a searing summer day, calming his anxiety. 

Tav grips the front of his shirt loosely and tangles their legs with his. Astarion was initially unsure what to do with his hands, hovering them slightly over the contours of Tav's body. But he adjusts quickly enough, and pulls them tighter against his chest, chasing the addictive warmth of their body.

This was strange, unfamiliar, but…nice. Tav's nose brushed against his neck, and the heat of their mumbled words fans over his skin. Astarion hums in question.

"Thank you," Tav repeats, yawning, their words slightly slurs from exhaustion. "You make me feel safe."

Tav was trying to break the record for how many times they could shock Astarion in one day. But before he could come up with a charming retort, their breath had already evened out. Tav fell into the world of dreams, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Astarion didn't trance that night, just staring up at the roof of his tent, listening to the soft breaths and steady heartbeat, rubbing absentminded patterns to the planes of Tav's back. 

Why couldn't he have found them when he was still so hopeful? Less broken. Because he think he might have been able to make it through just about anything with Tav by his side.

Tav, whose eyes find him first. Who makes sure he's fed and comfortable and okay with the plan even though he could give two shits about the poor fools that need saving. 

Who asks to be held at night when the dreams are too dark to handle alone, and they trust Astarion of all people to keep them safe? Where was Tav when he needed and pleaded for someone to care for and protect him from the cruelty of this realm?

Gods, he thinks he loves Tav. The thought turns his stomach to lead, but he stops and takes a deep breath. That is something he will have to think about tomorrow. 

All Astarion wanted to think about right then was the person in his arms. He kisses the top of Tav's head and closes his eyes. Astarion doesn't believe he's ever felt more at ease.

I really enjoyed writing this, so please let know what you thought. Astarion discovering his feelings for Tav past his survival instinct is a personal favorite type of fic for me, so I want to write one of my own.

Taglist: @heartfully10 @ayselluna @marina-and-the-memes @anixson @canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr @lotusandcrystals @venussakura @synapticjive

Want to be added? DM me please!

[spider-stark]

LITTLE DRAGON

Aegon II Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary - Your elder brother, Jace, attempts to teach you how to wield a sword. Aegon, your new betrothed, interrupts.

Warnings - slight Jace x Reader but you can ignore that alright

Word Count - 3.8k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

“You aren’t tucking your elbows!”  

Jacaerys shouted from across the training yard, sparing your horrid fighting stance a half-moment’s glance before shifting his focus back to the weapons table laid before him, enamored by all the fresh steel he had to choose from.  

Sweat dripped from your hairline, trickling down your temples and giving your reddened cheeks a glossy sheen. The sun’s rays felt particularly relentless today, blistering down upon the yard and reminding you of just how much you hated summers spent in King’s Landing, already dreading the thought of being stuck here.   

You had grown accustomed to the cool, dampness of the island you had called home for the last several years. Dragonstone was almost always engulfed in a cover of clouds, and the soft breeze rolling-in from the Blackwater ensured that the warmer months were never quite as stifling as they were in King’s Landing.  

“I am tucking my elbows!” You howled at him, gritting your teeth against the growing pain in your biceps.  

The two of you had been out in the yard since sunrise, going over the basics of swordplay over and over and over again. By this point it felt like your brother’s instructions had been all but carved into your mind—plant your feet, square your shoulders, bend your knees, and tuck your elbows.  

Remembering the steps hadn’t been the hard part, however. The hard part was actually doing them—and doing them right.  

“No,” Jace grinned as he plucked a delicately forged rapier from the table. “You’re not.”  

You blew out a breath, frustrated as you dropped the faulty form all together and let your arms hang limp at your sides. The training sword hung heavy from your hand, the tip of its blunt blade digging into the dirt.  

“This is ridiculous,” you huffed, watching as your brother drew closer to you, admiring the nimble blade in his hand. “I’ve bent my elbows a thousand different ways—and none of them have been right!”  

“That’s the issue! You’re bending your elbows, not tucking them!” Jace reprimanded, though his voice remained gentle, as it oft was when speaking to you.  

Your patience was wearing thin as your frustration grew, aggravated by not only the sweltering heat and swordplay, but also yourself. Your brothers had mastered the basics of fighting when they were less than half your age—and yet you couldn’t even manage a half-decent defensive stance.  

Exasperated and nearly at the end of your rope, you knew that you probably looked as miserable as you sounded. “Are bending and tucking not the same thing?”  

“Bending your elbows is a subtle movement,” Jace started to explain, “it helps you maintain some degree of flexibility. But tucking your elbows is more rigid, making for a better defense mechanism. By keeping your elbows close to your body, you’re tightening your posture and making it harder for your enemies to land a blow.”  

Adjusting your grip on the training sword, you brought it back up into a ready position, both hands now clutching the hilt. “So all I need to do is pull my elbows in closer?”  

“Exactly!”  

Focusing on each of the movements, you slid one foot slightly ahead of the other, balancing yourself as he’d instructed earlier. You took care to keep your knees bent, just enough to ensure that you could easily dodge or leap out of the way of an incoming strike.  

Once you were confident that you had done those steps correctly, watching as Jace nodded along in silent approval, you lifted the sword so that the pommel fell just a few inches below your breastbone, the point rising high above your head.  

Then, finally, you tried tucking your elbows as close to your sides as you could, attempting to block as much of your torso as possible from incoming attacks.  

“Like this?” You asked him, gritting your teeth against the throbbing in your arms, still so unused to the weight of the weapon.  

Jace cocked his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Well…”  

“Seven Hells, Jace!” You howled at him, trying to hold the position, “There are only so many ways to move your elbows!”  

“Yes, but now it’s not your elbows causing the problem!” He retaliated, extending his arm and using the tip of his rapier to point to your legs. “Standing like you are now, if you had to dodge your legs would probably lock up and slow you down. You need to drive your knees further apart!”  

You did as you were told, albeit a bit begrudgingly. 

“Better?” You hissed through your teeth, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you.  

Jace studied you, eyes narrowing as he scanned every inch of your form. “Push your shoulders further back,” he instructed, “and straighten your back out a little bit.”  

Again, you shifted into the new movements, adjusting and tweaking the positions to his liking. Your fingers hurt now, too, and painful blisters had already begun to form on your palms.  

“Straighter,” Jace snapped, still finding your posture to be sub-par. “And try to keep your toes pointed towards-”  

Your frustration finally peaked as you fell out of the intricate form, nearly doubling over as an exhausted groan ripped from your throat. Jace’s eyes widened at the sound, doubling back slightly.  

“And what next?!” You cried loudly, letting your sword fall to the ground. Throwing your aching arms out to the side in a dramatic display, you sneered at him, “Shall I hop on one-fucking-leg and shake my ass?”  

A sigh escaped your brother's parted lips, shaking his head as he leaned down to pick up your discarded weapon. Regret already seeped into your mind and dulled your anger as you began to prepare for the lecture that was surely about to leave his mouth—one that was no doubt about the level of discipline required for swordsmanship, and how you needed to maintain a level head.  

But, before he had the chance, another voice broke through.  

“Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to try,” Aegon quipped from somewhere behind you, sounding far too amused with himself. “Go on,” he urged, “give it a shot. I for one would love to watch.”  

With clenched fists you spun around to face him, glaring into his lilac eyes, resenting the way they sparkled with something like delight. It wasn’t until his gaze traveled south that you lost your cool, however, noticing how he eyed the low neckline of your tunic, watching as sweat slipped between your breasts.  

But as soon as you took a step towards him, fully prepared to strike the arrogant Prince, Jace snatched your wrist and held you back. Level-headed enough to think for the both of you, he refused to let you do anything that would give Queen Alicent further reason to despise you—even if he would have loved to watch his sister beat Aegon’s ass.  

“You’re interrupting our training,” Jace told him, keeping his voice respectful despite the undeniable edge of frustration.  

“Am I?” Aegon pursed his lips, staring at the training sword that was still discarded on the ground, abandoned when Jace realized he would have to hold you back from your uncle. “Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a very good job, then. It’s easier to fight when the sword is in your hand-”  

Jace interrupted, “We should really get back to work,”  

“No need,” your uncle swiftly retorted, flashing a cocky smirk that only served to make your rage grow further. “I actually came here hoping for a moment alone with my niece,” he continued, pinning your brother with a stare, “you wouldn’t mind, would you?”  

You recognized the trap that he had set for your brother. If it were anyone other than Aegon, Jace would have wasted little time in telling them off, but this was different. Rejecting Aegon would create conflict—the one thing your mother had asked you and your siblings to avoid, if only to avoid upsetting the beast that was your step-grandmother, the Queen Alicent.  

“Now isn’t a good time,” Jace tried to protest, searching for some peaceful way to turn Aegon away. “You saw her just now, didn’t you? She’s clearly in need of more practice.”  

You were silent, primarily because you could feel Jace’s fingernails digging into your skin, a warning to stay silent. When it came to you, Jace wasn’t violent by any means, but he was more than willing to be assertive if it meant keeping you safe.  

Aegon drew a breath, still wearing that sly smile that made your skin crawl. “Very well,” he said, and you felt Jace’s grip on your wrist loosen at his assumed victory. “Then I’ll teach her myself.”  

Jace’s eyes grew wide, a muscle in his jaw feathering. Refusing to back down, his mouth fell open to speak, trying to form some other nonsense excuse to keep you from being alone with Aegon—but you stopped him.  

“It’s fine, Jace,” you told him, slipping your wrist from his grasp. “If Aegon believes himself capable of teaching me, then let him.”  

The look on Jace’s face stubbornly pleaded with you to take it back— to say that you were done with training for the day, to say anything that would keep you from being stuck with him.  

But you refused, steeling yourself and meeting his gaze with an equally unrelenting stubbornness. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to avoid Aegon forever, and you refused to let your uncle think that he had enough of an effect on you that you would resort to cowardly excuses to get out of being alone with him.  

Jace leaned closer to you and asked in a low voice, “Are you sure?”  

You grimaced at the question. “Yes,” you snapped, not wanting to appear as the image of a helpless little girl in front of your uncle. But then you saw the hurt flash in your brother’s dark, doe eyes and immediately felt guilty for it. “I’ll come and find you when I’m done,” you reached for his hand, squeezing it in yours, “I promise.”  

His brows furrowed, still unconvinced that it was a good idea to leave you alone with Aegon, but aware that he wouldn’t be able to change your mind. You smiled, a sweet and gentle kind of smile that was reserved only for your older brother.  

“You heard the woman, Jacaerys,” Aegon waved an impatient hand, sneering at Jace. “Leave me and my betrothed.”  

The word betrothed seemed to drip from his tongue like tar—a nasty and vile sort of sound that was used only to further antagonize Jace.  

Jace went rigid beside you, his cheeks growing red with anger. But his hand was still clasped in yours, and so you gave it another squeeze. “Go,” you told him, having switched roles with him and now being the one to counsel him in restraint. “I’ll be fine.”  

You knew that Jace didn’t fully believe you—not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t trust Aegon. And while you were surrounded by a plethora of weapons that could be used in self-defense should Aegon try something, Jace also knew just how lousy you were at properly using them.  

Even so, he didn’t argue, biting his tongue and stifling his rage in favor of the peace your mother so desperately wanted.  

But even the prospect of peace wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling his hand from your grip and replacing it with the rapier he had chosen earlier, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned in, “If he tries something,” he whispered, “then shove the pointy end through his throat.”  

You held in a laugh, gripping the hilt tightly. “Got it.”  

With that, Jace stepped back and turned to take his leave, roughly knocking into your uncle’s shoulder as he pushed past him. Aegon cut his eyes, but you found it hard to tell whether it was because of Jace’s insolence or if it was because of how close you were with your brother.  

You didn’t care enough to ask.  

“Was there a need to provoke him?” You scoffed as soon as Jace was out of sight.  

Aegon feigned innocence. “Well, it’s not my fault that your brother is so easily provoked,” he said with a roguish grin. “He’s the one that’s so greedy with your time. I wouldn’t have to interrupt your pathetic sparring sessions if there was ever a time where Jace wasn’t stuck up your ass.”  

“Our betrothal was proposed five years ago,” you told him plainly, narrowing your eyes, “if you were that desperate to spend time with me, then I’m sure there were plenty of opportunities.”  

“You’ve been on Dragonstone.”  

“And you have a dragon,” you reminded him, fully aware that the flight to the island was quite short from King’s Landing.  

Aegon lifted one of his shoulders in a lazy gesture. “And you have a Jace. If I had been foolish enough to venture to Dragonstone these last few years, then I likely wouldn’t have left with my head.”  

A scowl etched onto your face at that, fully aware that he wasn’t entirely wrong for assuming that.  

While it had been five years since your betrothal to Aegon had been proposed by your mother, hoping that it might bridge the chasm that divided your family, it hadn’t been until this past month that the Queen Alicent had finally given way and consented to the match. And, if the rumors could be believed, then you had heard that her sudden change in heart was in part due to Aegon’s insistence. 

But regardless of any hearsay, you did know one thing for certain—Jace had always held onto the hope that the Queen would reject the proposal. You often told yourself that it was because he didn’t wish to see his little sister wed to your vile uncle, but many others—Aegon included, it seemed—believed that it was because your brother wished to have you for himself, as was the Targaryen way.  

You knew that there was merit to those claims, even if you sometimes didn’t want to admit it.  

“He wouldn’t have killed you,” you finally settled on an answer, your frustration mounting with each word. “Maimed, maybe, but Jace is no kinslayer.”  

Eyeing the rapier in your hand, Aegon asked, “And what about you?”  

You paused, glancing at the nimble blade of your weapon.  

It was thinner than the training sword you were using—and a lot sharper—but it was awkward to hold, all its weight concentrated towards the hilt rather than distributed throughout. Even if you did want to use it against Aegon, you were probably more likely to hurt yourself than him with how little experience you had and how poorly training with Jace had gone.  

After a moment, the corners of your mouth tilted upwards in a twisted imitation of a smile, flashing your teeth at him. “Let’s just say that I’m not my brother,” you answered, purposely vague.  

Aegon’s stare narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look intimidated by your declaration. “Then go ahead,” he responded coolly, spreading his arms out wide. “Give it your best shot.”  

Your eyes flickered around the yard, realizing for the first time that there were no guards around right now to witness your interaction. If you wanted to kill him, now would be as good a time as any—you could call it an accident, even if Queen Alicent would try to deny it. But due to your poor swordsmanship, it was a believable enough lie that you knew most would believe it; knew that your grandsire, King Viserys,  would believe it.  

If you killed Aegon now, then you wouldn’t be forced to marry him.  

If you killed him, then you knew your mother would sooner betroth you to Jace before ever even considering Aegon’s savage little brother, Aemond.  

And that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Jace was kind and pleasant and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Your brother would make you a Queen—a beloved Queen, at that.  

And yet…  

Aegon snorted a laugh, letting his hands fall when he saw your brow crease, your body unmoving as you refused to lunge for him. “You’re right, you’re not your brother. I might have little good to say about Jacaerys, but he’s undeniably Strong,” he quipped, the mischievous glint in his tone causing your blood to boil, “but not you—you’re just a coward.”  

Your heart thrummed wildly in your chest, knuckles turning white as you gripped the hilt of the rapier tighter. Then, without Jace here to hold you back, a primal scream of frustration ripped from your throat as you launched yourself at Aegon.  

The rapier’s blade led the way, your movements fueled by a rush of adrenaline. But your arms were weak and your footwork clumsy and predictable, and Aegon easily side-stepped your attack with a smirk.  

Breathing heavily, you went to swing the awkward blade again, but Aegon had already made his next move—taking advantage of your lack of speed and coming up beside you, snatching the hilt from your inexperienced grip and disarming you, tossing the weapon a few feet away so that you couldn’t try and get it back from him.  

But with your nerves still lit by frustration and a refusal to accept defeat, you curled your fists and aimed for his jaw.  

Aegon caught you by the wrists before your knuckles collided with his face. He held fast even as you struggled against his grip—firm but not rough.  

“Your brother was right,” he taunted with a laugh when you finally wore yourself out, “you do need practice.”  

“Shut up-” you snarled, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.  

You weren’t used to this.  

You weren’t used to fighting, you weren’t used to the heat, and you weren’t used to Aegon—or, at least, you weren’t used to being this close to Aegon.  

It suddenly hit you just how intimate the position seemed. Your heaving chest bumped against his as he held you close, his grip on your wrists never loosening, even once you had stopped fighting and he had been able to lower your arms to your sides.  

You weren’t sure that you had ever been this close to Aegon—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of mulled wine on his breath—and you felt your pulse skip at the realization, fear settling deep within your bones.  

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized, but of the fact that you didn’t quite mind being held by Aegon—not as much as you should have minded it, at least.  

“I could help you, you know.” He offered, his lilac eyes flashing with some distant emotion that you couldn’t recognize. “I wasn’t just trying to get rid of your brother when I said that I would teach you how to fight.”  

Still pressed close to his chest, you tilted your head back to look up at him, his jaw tightening when you asked, “What do you know about swordplay?”  

“I was trained by the Kingsguard,” Aegon reminded you sharply, his offense evident by the sharp crease in his brow.  

You gave a dry laugh, thinking back on your childhood prior to moving to Dragonstone. “If memory serves me, you spent more time parading around with courtesan’s than training.”  

Your laughter was cut short, breath catching in your throat when you felt Aegon release his hold on your wrists just before one of his hands snapped upwards, his fingers curling around your jaw. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, and you couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something intoxicating about the way he held you—his lilac eyes seeming to admire every contour of your face. 

“Even so,” he began, his voice hardly a whisper as he ignored your claim, “I still know more than enough about swordplay to teach my helpless little dragon how to defend herself.”  

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks as the pet name slipped his lips. It stirred a hunger within you that you hadn’t known existed, and certainly didn’t expect. Your muscles went slack, relaxing in his grip as your lips parted ever so slightly, your body suddenly urging you to lean in and taste the honey that seemed to drip from his tongue.  

But even as you began to oblige with your body’s urges, rising on your toes to meet Aegon’s sweet, wine-stained lips, you heard some familiar voice chime in the back of your mind—urging caution, reminding you of who was holding you right now.  

Your deviant uncle—the son of Queen Alicent, who was all but your sweet mother’s sworn enemy. She might have asked you to wed Aegon out of duty, but she certainly hadn’t expected or wanted you to like your uncle, did she? In some twisted way, it felt like a betrayal to her and your true family to allow yourself to find pleasure in this—and yet you couldn’t quite deny the warmth flooding in the pit of your stomach at the feel of his touch against your face. 

But, taking advantage of that swift moment of clarity, you forced yourself to take a step back and reclaim some sort of control over yourself. As his hand fell, Aegon stood frozen in the agony of his own perceived rejection as he watched you turn on your heel, walking away from him without so much as a single word.  

But to his surprise, instead of exiting the yard altogether, you leaned down and plucked the blunt training sword off the ground where it had been abandoned far earlier. You left the rapier where Aegon had tossed it when he disarmed you, thinking you had no use for a blade that could cause actual injury. 

“Alright,” you took a deep breath as you turned back around to face him, offering a weak smile as you swallowed your nerves and said, “If you’re so confident in your skill, then teach me.”  

It was Aegon’s turn to pause now, a flicker of doubt dancing in his lilac eyes as his own insecurities continued to bear down on him. While he hadn’t wanted you to walk away, he also hadn’t expected you to say yes.  

But here you were—standing in front of him, not rejecting him, and allowing him to help, regardless of how wrong it might have felt. 

He's to be my husband, you thought to yourself, biting back against your feelings and trying to rationalize your desire to spend a bit of time with him, I should at least learn to tolerate him.

“Okay,” Aegon eventually said, his voice more uncertain than you’d ever heard it sound before; but hopeful too, wearing the faintest hints of a smile. “Show me your form.”  

As you did as he instructed, clumsily moving through each of the movements that Jace had shown you and listening to him laugh and correct your failures, you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty as you started to think that being stuck in King’s Landing wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

And that, maybe, Aegon wasn’t so bad either.

a/n - had this sitting in my drafts for a bit cause i wasn't totally happy with it, but decided to polish it up and post it anyways cause why not lmao

[runeswordproductions]

I think there’s a pretty good argument to be made that Gideon Nav’s weapon of choice isn’t a longsword, but something bigger, more comparable to a zweihander or a montante.

Like yes, of course Gideon uses a longsword because we as a fandom have a special place in our hearts for longsword and there’s probably Word of God from Tamsyn about it, but if we look at the text *archaeologically* how is this weapon actually described? Getting this out of the way: it’s called a two-hander (literally English for zweihander)  as often as a longsword but I don’t think that says much on its own. Neither are technical terms (“longsword,” historically, has been used to describe many weapons including, ironically, rapiers) and “two-hander” is pretty descriptive of what we think of as a longsword. Another potential fallacy that won’t help us is how everyone seems to regard Gideon’s “longsword” as a brute’s weapon with little finesse behind it. This isn’t true of longsword, but it *does* ring true for a take from snotty rapier people, and this series has an astonishing number of those in it.

Rather, I think the best argument is found in how we’re told these weapons are used. We never get to see Cohort swordsmen in action but they sound more like zweihander-wielding doppelsoldners than fighters practicing blossfechten or harnischfecten. Front line shock troops widely regarded as insane (at least by normal, non-House people), the Cohort's swordfighters seem to trained to take on large numbers of enemies at once and—critically—they don’t seem to fight *other people with swords.* Blood of Eden doesn’t use swords and there are no references to other anti-House resistance movements using them. So what makes the most sense here? Longsword, a surprisingly technical weapon most often used to fight other people with longswords? Or the whirling battle dance of the montante, designed to shock and terrify and cleave through whole units at once? I know which of these fighting styles I’d want to use against a giant bone construct.

[thechaoticdruid]

Indulging Curiosity

Astarion x F!Tav (Smut)

Plot: After a particularly gory fight, Astarion can't help but get hot and bothered seeing his favorite little druid all covered in blood. So he invites Tav to join him for an evening of pleasure. Tav begins to reflect on how sex wasn't exactly how she imagined.(This is basically a continuation of Firsts, but this time I decided to use the name Tav instead of Winnie for the reader's enjoyment. THIS CAN BE READ WITHOUT NEEDING TO READ FIRSTS)

Content/Warnings: MDNI. HEAVY Smut. PiV sex, anal sex, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal and anal fingering. Dom/sub, sub Tav, previously virgin Tav, Dom Astarion, light hair pulling, pillow talk, praise kink. Gore and action in the beginning. Galeshaming.

The road was long and treacherous. Tav and her companions had already faced many foes.  These gnolls were no different. It was pretty clear as the young druid slashed one of the beast’s heads clean off, watching it drop down and roll off into the dirt. The gnoll’s blood had completely coated her scimitars and even splattered onto her face and chest. Astarion swiftly slashed his rapier across one of the gnoll's throats before stabbing it right through its windpipe. As the gnoll dropped to the ground dead, Astarion looked back at Tav, eyeing her blood coated figure.  

Be still my undead heart.~

He licked his lips, mouth watering at the sight of his lover drenched in blood.  Tav glanced back at him as the others of their merry little group took a moment to catch their breath, the fight had taken quite a toll on the group. Tav’s eyes met Astarion's and immediately she recognized that look he was giving her. It was the same look he gave her the day they'd stormed the goblin camp, before the night of the tiefling party. She looked off to the side with a blush. Tav was no longer a virgin, but honestly despite the experience it felt as if nothing changed. She would still choke on her own tongue whenever he flirted with her. And gods why did her first time have to be so clumsy!?  

The memory of her screw up where she ended drinking the blood she brought for Astarion will probably forever stay burned into the back of her mind. Haunting her as she lies awake at night. 

Tav groaned with a frown kicking some small rocks across the dirt road with frustration as Astarion approached her.

“My, my, someone's made a mess of herself.” Astarion said, running a finger over Tav's cheek and collecting the stray blood that dribbled down. 

He immediately dipped his finger into his mouth to lick it clean. 

“If you start straight up licking me one of these days we are going to have a serious talk.” Tav rolled her eyes. 

“Oh no no no! I would never do that….Well not in front of the others anyway…” Astarion said, grinning cheekily.  “But if you're interested there are a couple of things I'd like to taste in private…” 

Tav felt a shiver go down her spine. 

“Like….Right now?” She asked, face turning bright red. 

“No pretty thing, not right this second. First we probably should convince the others to set up camp for the evening, then I'll steal you away and eat you right up.~” Astarion purred, eyes looking over the human female longingly. Tav couldn't help but squeeze her legs together. The way he said the last line made her ache between her thighs. 

“Okay…. I'll go talk to the others then.” She said, quickly walking away, face flushed as red as a tomato.  Tav scurried over to where the others were still gathering their bearings. Eyes glanced around the group as she considered her words carefully. Karlach and Lae'zel looked raring and ready to go while Wyll, Gale, and Shadowheart were more on the exhausted side.

“You know the sun will be setting soon and that last fight with the gnolls was a killer on my back. Think I might need to lie down and rest awhile.” Tav spoke up, her tone slightly uneasy. 

“There is still daylight. The more time we waste the greater our chances of being turned into disgusting ghaik become. And I would rather fall on my blade than transform into my enemy.” Lae'zel hissed out, snarling in Tav's face. The human female gulped, feeling a bit intimidated by the fearsome gith.

“B-But look at them!” She began pointing over at the others. “They’ll be massacred in this condition and then we'll never reach the creché at all!”

“They just need a quick breather, soldier. It's not that bad.” Karlach replied.

“Not that bad? Don't you hear Gale’s old wizard knees cracking!? He's about to collapse!” Tav exclaimed.

“What? I'm not that old.” Gale scoffed.

“Those creaky knees don't lie Gale!” The human druid crossed her arms. 

“I have heard Gale's knees cracking at the most inconvenient times.” Wyll added.

“Perhaps Tav is right, rest would probably do us good. Besides, we can always leave come first light tomorrow.” Shadowheart suggested.

Lae'zel sighed, “very well, but if one of us so much as shows any sign of change I am holding our ‘leader’ responsible.” The gith fighter growled out.

“I…..will accept full responsibility.” Tav gulped, nervously.

The things I do for vampire cock….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After convincing the others to make camp for the evening, Tav participated in helping with the set up despite not having a tent to herself. The druid female was usually content sleeping under the stars (and if it rained she'd use her druidic magic to conjure up a thicket like shelter). However as she hunched over to pick up some firewood she noticed a certain red eyed elf watching her. His blood red orbs were glued to her backside. Tav bit her lip before hauling the wood over to the campfire Wyll had been able to start up before dropping the rest in.  It was then she returned the vampire's gaze.  He smiled at her seductively, long lashes giving her a wink before gesturing to her to come to him with a finger. 

Tav felt her heart race and her cheeks flush. She looked around at the others before scurrying off to follow Astarion as he walked off away from camp, leading her towards a cave at the edge of the river. Tav made sure to grab her bedroll and blankets as she trailed after him like a little lovesick puppy.  Before Astarion Tav had never known a lover's caress or as far as she was concerned not even a lustful glance. The druid was convinced she was homely and undesirable. 

She'd been told that all her life. The vampire spawn was the only one who'd ever made her feel wanted, but deep down she knew there was a catch.  There was something he wanted from her. She assumed it was the guarantee of a willing meal, but she wasn't completely sure. It pained her that their little fling would inevitably come to an end eventually. Astarion made her feel special.

Ashamed as was to admit it she found herself becoming smitten with him.  

Tav stepped into the cave, hearing the sound of water dripping down from somewhere. She walked over and noticed what looked like a hot spring off in the distance.  A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, causing her to squeak and drop her things. 

“Hells Astarion! You scared me!” Tav turned her head to see the grinning rogue. 

“I can't help it. I've been thinking about feasting on you since our last night together.” He chuckled, pressing his hips up against the druid's plump backside.  He was already shirtless as he pulled her against his bare chest, almost immediately going in for a kiss after she had turned her head back. 

“Mmmm!” Tav was a little taken back by his eagerness, but she instantly melted into him, eyes slowly closing as she kissed back. Their lips moved together in sync as Astarion cupped her breasts gently squeezing and kneading them.

Astarion eventually pulled back, leaving a slight string of saliva connecting their lips as Tav panted. Before she knew it the vampiric elf pushed her down into her discarded bedroll, he smirked at her playfully. 

“So sweet of you to bring blankets again darling. Though you'll probably need to wash them by the time we're done here.” He looked at her, licking his lips as his hands moved to pull her shirt over her head.  Tav swiftly discarded her bra once she was bare, letting the vampire spawn get a nice view of her large round breasts. Tav looked down shyly when she noticed him eyeing up her chest. A single clawed finger traced around her nipple, teasing it and making her shutter. 

“I'm not sure what you see in me. In my body….” Tav sighed a bit. 

“What's not to like? Especially when you have these.” Astarion playfully cupped her tits before leaning his head down to plant kisses on each of them. He swirled his tongue around one of her hardening nipples before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently. 

“A-Ahh…. A-Astarion…” Tav moaned, as Astarion slowly moved to her opposite breast and repeated his actions as his hand moved to massage the other. Her breath hitched and her eyes followed him as he moved down, planting kisses over her plush protruding stomach and moving downwards. His fingers hooked onto the waistband of her trousers before he looked back up at her.

“May I?” Astarion asked before Tav quickly nodded in response. He pulled her pants down along with her boxer like underwear.

“Ahh…” Tav couldn't help but let out a lewd whimper as her elven lover ran a finger over her wet folds, coating the tip of his finger before licking it off slowly. 

“Mmm…. Delicious…” Astarion leaned down and ran his tongue over her clit, causing Tav to dig her nails into the bedding beneath them. He slowly and teasingly lapped over her cunt, eventually dipping his tongue inside. Tav closed her eyes and threw her head back.

“F-Fuck….” She gasped feeling his tongue slide in and out of her as he buried his head between her legs, his nose pressed against her clit. His hands cupped her ass cheeks as he lifted her up slightly, Her legs rested over his shoulders while the vampire spawn moaned into her cunt. Tav blushed darkly covering her face as she listened to the slick wet sound of his tongue plunging in and out of her.  The feeling was an indescribable pure bliss. Something she honestly had never expected to feel.

“Astarion….N-Ngh!” Tav cried out, feeling his fingers move up to play with her clit as he continued to eat her out.  Eventually he pulled back as he felt her flutter around him. He let out a breathy sigh, salvia connected his tongue to her cunt momentarily before he pulled away from her fully. 

“Astarion!” She whined, the sudden emptiness causing discomfort. 

“Turn over, my pet.” Astarion simply ordered as he gestured to her with his fingers.  Tav sighed and did as he asked without further complaint.

“Good girl. You're such an obedient little thing.” He purred, running a hand over the curve of her ass before giving it a slight pat. Tav bit her lip, this position for some reason made her groin tingle in excitement.  Astarion slid two fingers into her pussy from behind as his free hand rubbed over the growing bulge in his trousers. He huffed a bit, red eyes dazed with lust as he gazed down at her dripping womanhood. He thrusted them in and out a couple of times, eliciting some delectable little whimpers from his human lover before he dropped his pants. His cock was rock hard as precum dripped down from the tip. He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean, moaning softly at her taste before he lined himself up with her pussy and pushed into her from behind. 

Tav arched her back and cried out pushing her ass back up against him almost instinctively. 

He gave her ass a slight smack before grabbing her hips and slowly starting to thrust. Tav was a moaning whimpering mess as his hips slapped against her ass, cock pushing in deeper, stretching and pounding her soaking wet cunt.

“Oh look at you.” Astarion clicked his tongue, “our strong fearless leader...Mmm…Completely powerless under my touch.” Astarion said in between moans as he shifts over her back, pinning her down underneath him as he continues to rut against her ass, his cock pushing even further into her pussy, the head pressing up against a particularly sensitive spot.

“Tell me pet, do you like being at my mercy, hm?  Ahh….~” Astarion moaned a little noisier than before, feeling Tav clenching tightly around his cock. “Mm! I'll take that as a yes.” He let out a pleasured sigh, snaking his hands underneath the human female to grope and squeeze her breasts all the while continuing to pump himself into her.

“Astarion…I-I feel it…” Tav gasped, repeatedly pushing her ass back against his hips. “I'm about to….A-Ahh!”  Tav suddenly came with a cry, coating his length in her juices.  Astarion smirked and kept up his thrusts. 

“Naughty girl, I never said you could finish before me.” He suddenly began to increase his speed and force, ramming himself in and out of her innards. Her rear end turned light pink from his hips, constantly slapping against it. It took a while longer but eventually she heard him let out a rather delectable sounding grunt before spilling his hot, sticky seed inside her. Astarion huffed, tongue peaking out of his mouth slightly as he panted before slowly collapsing onto Tav’s back.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The two had made good use of the nearby spring in order to clean themselves off before curling up together back on the blankets and bedroll. The night was still young the two of them were afforded a brief reprieve before continuing their indulgence of one another. Tav laid beside Astarion. Her eyes glanced over his perfect flawless form. She wondered what it would be like to pepper kisses all over him, but she felt too nervous. Far too timid to make the move herself. 

She smiled to herself a hint of a blush spreading across her cheeks as she thought over the possibilities of what else might occur tonight. 

The position of their last little tumble had put some rather intriguing ideas into her mind. It reminded her quite a bit of the ridiculous erotic novels she'd found….definitely not stolen laying around in Sharess's Caress. She had become rather fond of one whose main characters were a high elf lord and a young half-elf man. 

Tav found herself picturing herself and Astarion in one of the positions from the book and bit her lip a bit before shyly nuzzling her face into his chest. 

Astarion who'd been resting his eyes suddenly looked down feeling a slight weight against his right breast.  

“Something on your mind, dear?” Astarion smiled down at her tucking some stray hairs behind her rounded ears. He traced a finger over them playfully. The elf always found human ears rather strange in a cute sort of way. 

“Just…Thinking…” Tav said shyly before suddenly her chin was gripped gently and she was turned to look up at her cheeky vampire lover. 

“About….?” Astarion had an air of mischief in his eyes as he looked down at her expectantly. 

“I never thought it was like this, if I'm honest. S-Sex…I mean….” She clarified, “a friend of mine had once told me men only care about their own pleasure.”

“And how many men exactly has this friend been with?” Astarion asked with a raised eyebrow. He almost sounded a bit offended.

“One I think…She only ever talked about one guy she'd been with.” Tav shrugged.

“And you believed her? You are so adorably naive, you know?” Astarion tapped her nose, causing Tav to pout.

“I didn't feel like I could ask anyone else. She was my best friend.” She explained, “but I suppose you are right. She also said it hurts a lot, but you've haven't hurt me yet.” Tav smiled a bit.

“Why did you agree to sleep with me if you believed that?” Astarion asked in complete confusion. He was beginning to wonder just exactly what kind of man Tav’s friend was involved with. 

“I…I'm not entirely sure…I know it's true we could die any day, but honestly I don't know if that's really the reason I agreed.” Tav chuckled a bit and sat up. “Perhaps deep down…I just wanted you more than anything at the time…” She murmured.

“Well of course, who wouldn't want their first time to be with someone as beautiful as I?” Astarion ran a hand through his hair, playing with one of the ivory curls. 

“You are very pretty I won't lie, but a pretty face will only get you so far.” Tav hummed and relaxed nuzzling her nose back against his chest.  

“I don't think I would have agreed if you didn't have such an entertaining personality.” 

“Entertaining? And how exactly do I entertain you?” Astarion asked.

“You make me laugh.” She said simply, “you're  sassy, witty and so very dangerous. It's exciting.” Tav’s tone was honest. There was no seductive flirtations, just pure sweet admiration.

“Keep the flattery up and I might not be able to stop myself from devouring you whole.” Astarion teased before grabbing her chin and planting a hungry kiss on the human’s lips. Tav blushed a bit, her heartbeat racing as she returned it. Astarion pulled back, continuing to stare into her eyes as he caressed her cheek with a clawed index finger. “You've been a very good girl so I'll let you decide what happens next.~”

“Uh…I…” Tav turned bright red, she knew what she wanted, but the idea of asking made her rather nervous. 

“Come on, tell me what you want my sweet.~ I won't bite…. Unless you want me too.~” 

Tav wasn't sure why she felt so embarrassed about it. It was no secret Astarion had been with other men as well as women so this wouldn't be something he'd be disgusted by, but the act itself felt so taboo to speak about.

“Well…You know the thing you do with other men…?” She mumbled out, her ears as well as her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. Astarion rose an eyebrow as a mischievous smirk spread across his face. 

“Sorry darling, I didn't quite catch that. What is it you want me to do?” He asked, that infuriating smug look not wavering for a second.

“T-The thing you do with men.” She said a little louder. 

“My sweet, I have done a lot of things with a lot of men. You'll have to be more specific.” He teasingly ran a finger over her chest. 

Tav internally screamed. She could tell he was just fucking with her at this point. 

“I….I want you…to…put it in my ass…” She mumbled under her breath.

“Hmm? What was that, pet?”  Astarion kept taunting her with his knowing grin.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass!” She suddenly snapped. 

“Oh! Well, why didn't you just say so?” Astarion chuckled a bit at the end. Tav glared at him with a pout. “Oh sweetie, I'm only teasing. Besides you look so delicious when you blush.” He said before quickly flicking his tongue over her ear, causing a shiver to go down her spine as she let out a shutter. 

“I am a little surprised. Most women don't really care for this sort of thing…” He said tracing a finger around her hardening nipple, “but I'd be delighted to indulge your curiosity.” 

“Okay…”Tav nodded with a sigh of relief. 

“Now, on your belly.” He ordered. Tav slowly shifted off of him before turning to lay on her stomach. Astarion sat up before running his hand over her plump ass, giving it a slight squeeze before he moved behind her.  She heard him muttered something under his breath before suddenly his fingers were slick with grease.

Astarion spread her hole open with his clean hand before slowly sliding his index finger into her. Tav let out a noisy gasp, feeling a slight burn from his his digit pushing through her sphincter. 

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, slowly pumping his finger in and out.

“Mmm…Mhm..” Tav nodded, feeling him begin to move his finger faster. The sweet sound of her moans and the feeling of her quite literally wrapped around his finger was enough to make his cock twitch. He moved his free hand down to stoke it a bit as he pushed his finger knuckle deep inside her.

“Ooh…” She shivered before suddenly feeling him add a second digit into her ass, pumping them both in and out as he groped his hardening length.  Eventually the elf removed his fingers before greasing up his length. 

“Are you ready then?” 

“Yes…” Tav huffed and glanced back at the vampire as he lined himself up with her hole. He slowly and carefully pushed his cock up her ass. 

“O-Oh g-gods!” Tav cried out, nails digging into the blankets as he stretched her. Astarion grunted slowly bottoming out into her ass as his hands gripped her cheeks. 

“Nghh…” Astarion bit his lip, a pleased smirk threatening to form. “Mmm…How is that, love?” 

“Ahh….It's good…Oh fuck….” Tav moaned out, her eyes rolled back into her head as she felt Astarion roll his hips against her ass. 

“Excellent.” He huffed before positioning himself on top of her back, slowly sliding himself in and out. Tav pushed herself back against him as he soon began to increase his speed, balls slapping against her pussy from behind.  

Tav continued to cry out, the sensation was a strange mix of discomfort and pleasure which just increased each time he pushed in deeper. Astarion slid one of his arms underneath her chest, almost immediately toying with one of her tits.  With his free hand he gently grasped her hair, hips smacking against her ass cheeks with a satisfying clap that echoed throughout the cave. 

“Star…. Astarion….Ahh…” Tav groaned feeling the vampire spawn press his lips to her neck.

“Yes, keep going love. You're cries sound so sweet.” He said, running his tongue along her neck before gently nibbling and sucking on it.

Tav grunted and whined, pushing back against him, trying to match his pace as he pounded her ass. Astarion eventually pulled away from her neck, leaving a bright red hickey on it before he pulled Tav's hair, making her look at him.

“Kiss me, my pet.” He commanded. Tav quickly turned her head pressed her lips to his, her tongue sliding across his bottom lip before being greeted with his. Astarion shoved his tongue into her mouth eagerly. “Mmmmm…” 

~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The next morning Lae’zel woke the group up bright and early. She was very eager to get on the road and search for any sign of her kin. Karlach and the others all began to take down their tents and pack away their things before Wyll took notice of Astarion’s tent still standing up.

“Has anyone seen Astarion or Tav?” He asked aloud.

“Gods, I hope he hasn't finally gone and drained her dry.” Gale said aloud.

“Oh I doubt that. It's more likely she drained him.” Shadowheart chimed in. The others looked at her in confusion before she guestured towards a path away from camp. 

Astarion walked up with a pleased smirk on his face. He was positively glowing. Meanwhile Tav limped behind him, hair messy, red marks on her neck as she let out a yawn. 

“Good..*yawn*... Morning everyone.” She rubbed her eyes before moving over towards Astarion’s stool and taking a seat. She yelped before quickly standing up, gently rubbing her bottom.

“Rough night soldier?” Karlach asked with a smirk.

“I..uh…Sorta…” Tav looked down at her feet. 

“Good gods Astarion, what did you do to her!?” Gale looked over at Astarion with suspicion.

“Nothing she didn't enjoy immensely.” Astarion smirked before glancing down at his nails. 

END

[maxarchive]

MAX-IMUM ATTACK 2017 Season Photos and words by Darren Heath

Monday lunchtime, Heathrow Terminal 5. Standing next to the slowly revolving baggage carousel, a fresh-faced, slightly awkward-looking - just out of his teens - young man is awaiting the arrival of his chattels.

Dressed in bland black trainers, similarly hued skinny jeans and an oversized hoody, this Young Turk ain’t winning any style awards. iPhone in hand, he’s busy swiping the screen in that head-bowed social media style billions of us now ‘enjoy’.

Max Verstappen doesn’t really do flash. He couldn’t look more ‘normal’. Yet put him in a racing car and he’s just about the most special talent to arrive on motor racing’s top step for decades.

Schumacher-esque – Michael of course! – is a term increasingly heard up and down the F1 paddock, such is the impact the Netherlands’ premier sportsman is now making.

I can see it too.

The fresh-faced 16-year-old boy who was, upon his arrival, so ignorantly dismissed by many within the sport is rapidly becoming a man. It’s amazing how quickly young sportsmen living life in the public gaze assume adulthood. Just take a look at Sebastian Vettel. The gawky kid of 2009 became the handsome dude of 2010!

What sets the potentially great apart from the mediocre? What makes Max Verstappen so, so much more special than, say, Carlos Sainz?

I guess it’s the whole package: the look; the mien; the steely character honed to be a racer almost from before he could walk; the utterly uncompromising way he dismisses any questioning of his racecraft; the toys-out-of-the-pram reaction to harsh penalties; the fast straight-out-of-the-box attacking style; and the rapier-like overtaking ability, the like of which we haven’t seen for many a year. Such was Max’s impact on the art of passing and defending, the rules had to be rewritten!

The way the car looks through the turns, the application of throttle, steering and immensely late braking. Metronomic in his blisteringly fast lap time delivery, this boy has the lot. He IS the future of Formula 1.

In so, so many ways – but let’s hope not all – Max is the new MSC.

Racing in an aggressive and forceful style often results in on-track contretemps with some of his more seasoned rivals. No matter, Max takes no prisoners, batting away questions about the legality of some of his racing moves with a dismissive arrogance that’s strangely appealing in its delivery.

Up to speed now and surely making Dan Ricciardo question his team-leading abilities, Verstappen is unquestionably Red Bull’s main man.

Off-track too, Max is sorted. Guided by his F1-experienced father, the young Verstappen has an able and well-qualified navigator at the helm. Learning from his own ill-advised 1990s F1 driving career decisions, Jos pays absolute attention so as to ensure his son maximises the opportunities on offer.

With top-drawer drivers in short supply, Red Bull had better make damned sure their 2019-and-beyond engine supply is top-notch. The bidding war for Max’s signature is already in full swing. Ferrari and Mercedes are enviously eyeing the Dutchman’s abilities with covetous desire.

It’s easy to forget that Max is only 20 years old. Way ahead in racing driver maturity - a relative term! – than so many millions of a similar age, Max has appeared mentally developed beyond his years since first he appeared in the F1 paddock at Spa 2014. It struck me then how entirely capable this 16-year-old boy was dealing with multiple language questions and untold camera lenses. Listening to his interrogator politely before answering calmly and intelligently, Max appeared born to the role…

Fast forward to now and Verstappen is a multiple grand prix winner and 2018 title-chasing challenger. Part of the new breed of F1 racers, Max leads the pack. Publicly respectful of his rivals, although privately dismissive of many, he well knows his place among the potentially great.

Michael Schumacher once opined – in an interview I photographed – that his father had advised him to heed well the arrival on the scene of the next great talent. The one who’d challenge and quickly replace the dominant male. Well, Lewis, Sebastian and Fernando, that man has arrived.

You’d best heed Herr Schumacher’s words well…

[atlabeth]

you’re beautiful — anthony lockwood

summary: a meeting goes wrong, feelings come out. you’d like to be sedated again, please.

a/n: so this started as part of “leave the door open” but then i decided i wanted something different (hence the wound dressing scene) but i really liked what i wrote there so here’s an entirely different fic! wow enjoy

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): reader gets stabbed, quite a bit of blood, couple death jokes, mention of not eating, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending tho

There was a saying in Lockwood & Company, courtesy of its namesake, that, if you had enough confidence, you could dazzle any ghost into submission. 

Nothing but facetiousness of course, but it was true in a symbolic sort of way. If you didn’t believe in yourself, in every slash of your rapier and every circle of filings and every salt bomb measured to perfection, then there was no use showing up at all. You might as well sit down and wait for the ghost-lock to set in. 

Lockwood’s words kept coming back to you every time you doubted yourself, his charming smile and eyes popping up in your mind, twinkling as he made you laugh. 

And those words were certainly echoing through your ears as you stumbled through Portland Row’s door, a hand still pressed to your abdomen when you collapsed. Your rapier, still holstered, clattered against the floor.  

George called your name from the kitchen, cheerfully oblivious to your joy. “You’re finally back! How did the meeting go?” 

When you could only groan in response, he emerged into the hallway and his eyes instantly widened. “Oh my god— Lockwood!” 

He rushed over and helped you up, propping you against the wall as his eyes darted all over. He took one hand away to push up his glasses, and you noticed he already had some blood on your fingers. “What in the world happened?” 

“The meeting didn’t go well,” you grit out, sucking in a breath as a sharp column of pain shot through you. 

“I could gather that,” George said wryly, and when you heard footsteps, you both looked up to see Lockwood taking the steps three at a time. 

“What in the world happened?” he asked brazenly, a wild look in his eyes. 

“That’s what I asked—” George said, and your breathy laugh was interrupted by a grimace. 

“The meeting didn’t go well,” you repeated. 

“I need actual details,” Lockwood called as he went off in search of the medical kit. 

“Everything was fine,” you grumbled. “But as it turns out, our lovely source Mr. Pallworth was more skilled in getting into trouble than actually being an informant. He was in debt to some even lovelier relic men.” 

“Oh, god,” George muttered. You winced as he put more pressure on your wound, having taken over for you. “I’m sorry, but this is so you don’t bleed out.” 

“Did you get into a fight or something?” Lockwood marveled, bounding back over with a white box in his hands. “Because it looks like you were stabbed.” 

“One point for Anthony,” you said groggily. “Mr. Pallworth ran off the moment he could, leaving me to deal with his mess. I was indeed stabbed. Only once, somehow. The relic men deserted when the police showed up, and I wasn’t far behind.”

Lockwood knelt down next to you, and he looked at you for permission. You nodded, and he pulled your shirt up to expose your wound. He did a good job hiding his grimace as he began to gently wipe away the blood, but it was still there. “Why did you come here and not immediately to the hospital?” 

“I don’t know if you remember, Lockwood,” you breathed, “but this job that we’re doing is not exactly legal.” 

“I don’t care,” he enunciated. “This is above our paygrade, and your life will not be on the line because of our lack of medical knowledge.” 

“We either have to help her here or get her to a hospital,” George said, “because if we sit here bickering, she’ll bleed out before we make a decision.” 

“I’d rather die here than a hospital,” you said.

“You’re not going to die here,” Lockwood said harshly, and his hands opened and closed into fists. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. He eventually let out an annoyed sigh and glanced at George. 

“Phone 999,” he said. “She’s not dying because of her stubbornness.”

George nodded, grimacing at the blood on his hands—your blood, you supposed, which made it worse—and he ran off. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have sent you there alone,” Lockwood grumbled as he started taking things out of the medical kit. 

“No, you didn’t,” you said. “We had no reason to believe anything like this would happen.”

“Well— I should have known!” Lockwood’s voice rose, and his jaw clenched as he got himself back under control. He continued to clean out your wound, and you could hear George rattling off information in the distance to the authorities. 

“You’re cute when you’re determined,” you said. 

“I am determined to not let you die in our foyer,” Lockwood said.

“The foyer.” You mimicked Lockwood’s voice. “So posh.”

“If she’s being this annoying, she can’t be doing too bad,” George said dryly. 

“Loopy from the blood loss,” you said offhandedly. You frowned as it sunk in. “Maybe I should go to a hospital.”

Lockwood heaved a very dramatic sigh as he continued to keep pressure on your wound. “At least you’re coming to your senses now,” he said dryly. He was still kneeling next to you, his hands covered in your blood, that wild look in his eye. “What the hell took so long?”

“I’m not…” you blinked the black spots out of your vision, “good with hospitals.”

“Well, I’m not good with you dying,” Lockwood said.

George came back over. “I’ve called the police—an ambulance is on the way.”

You groaned, half from the pain and half from the thought of the police. “We’re going to have so much explaining to do.”

“Leave that to us,” Lockwood said. For some reason, you found yourself grabbing his hand. He didn’t hesitate, his throat bobbing as he laced your fingers together. “Just hold on for a bit longer.”

You nodded, your mouth going dry for a moment when you looked at him— really looked at him. 

There was unbridled fear in Lockwood’s eyes, the slightest glimmer of tears. If you weren’t slowly bleeding out, if the black spots weren’t taking over your vision, if your grip on his hand wasn’t loosening, you might have been embarrassed at his closeness, at his doting.  

But apparently, you weren’t. 

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured. 

And then everything went dark.

-

You were assaulted by a barrage of lights and beeping, too-bright fluorescents and the sterile scent of disinfectant alerting even your still groggy mind that you were in a hospital.

There was something in your arm—multiple somethings, actually. A tube with a lot of red in one arm, and another with clear liquid in your other arm. Blood and an IV, you guessed. 

Right. You were stabbed, and one does not just walk away from a stab wound without a few problems. 

You weren’t dead, though, and that surely counted for something. You would have to thank Lockwood later, for his stubbornness beating out your own. 

“You’re awake,” a voice breathed, and you realized it was just the boy you were thinking about. 

Lockwood sat next to you in a chair pulled up at your bedside. His tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and he’d draped his jacket on the back of the chair. His eyes were slightly red, but there was undeniable relief sketched into his face. 

“I am.” Your voice was raspy from disuse, and you grimaced at the soreness in your lower chest. “How long has it been?” 

“A few hours,” he answered. He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of his chair, and your eyes followed the movement. He was holding your hand— he’d been holding your hand. “You— um, you had surgery. A small one, it didn’t take too long, but—” Lockwood’s voice broke, and he laughed mirthlessly as he shook his head. “It was scary. Terrifying, actually, but…” he managed a smile. “You came out the other side. You always do.” 

Your breath caught for a moment, and your grip on his hand tightened subconsciously. “I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” Lockwood asked wryly. “It’s not your fault you were stabbed. You did a rather excellent job fighting them off, actually. It could’ve been much worse.” 

“I’m sorry for putting you and George through this,” you murmured. “I worry about the two of you every second of every day, and most of the time it doesn’t come to fruition. This—” you laughed, which immediately turned into a wince— “I’d say this is fruition.” 

“I’m just glad we got you here in time,” Lockwood muttered. He looked at you, his eyes boring into you with equal parts concern and desperation. You used to hate that about him, especially when you joined, how it always felt like he could look at you and know every single thing. “You said the police showed up in the fight. You were obviously injured— why didn’t you get them to call an ambulance? Why did you risk it all to come back to Portland Row?” 

“I told you. The job we took on was illegal, and I felt it was going to be a much bigger mess than we needed to deal with.” 

“I don’t care how illegal it was,” Lockwood said stiffly. “You were hurt— you were in danger. That comes before anything else, alright? You come before anything else.” 

The intensity of his voice made you pause, unable to do anything but… look at him. His hair was tousled, no doubt from running his hand through it endlessly as he was wont to do whenever he was stressed. His undone tie and discarded jacket, his eyes, red from… from crying, most likely. He cried over you. 

When your hand tightened around his this time, you did it on purpose. 

“Thank you,” you murmured. “You’re probably the reason I’m alive.” 

Lockwood managed to crack a smile. “It wouldn’t look good for the agency if my employees started dying. I don’t have very many to lose.” 

That got a genuine laugh out of you, and you tried your best to ignore the subsequent wince. “Of course. That’s why I pulled through, to make us look better.” 

“Your efforts are much appreciated,” he said, that small smile still on his lips as he rubbed mindless circles on your hand with his thumb. 

The door creaked slightly as someone pushed it open, and a smile broke out on your face when you saw it was George. 

“I was wondering where you were,” you said. 

“Tea,” he said, lifting the drink holder with one hand and a box with his other, “and donuts.” He looked at Lockwood pointedly. “You’ve got to get something in you. It’s not exactly healthy, but the sugar will help.” 

You looked at Lockwood. “You haven’t eaten?” 

“I was preoccupied,” he said dryly. 

“That’s no excuse,” you said. “Eat your donuts, and as soon as we get home, George is cooking you something.” You looked up at him. “Right?” 

“Right,” George agreed. He handed Lockwood one of the cups and set the box on the table, and he smiled as he took a seat across from you. “You look much better. You’re bossing everyone around again—I take it you’re doing better too?” 

“Much,” you nodded. “Thanks for getting me here, by the way. I’d probably have bled out if it weren’t for you.” 

“Of course.” George took a donut from the box. “I can’t let you leave me alone with him.” 

“Oh, I would never,” you said wryly. 

“I’m surprised you’re willing to be alone with him after what you said,” George said offhandedly, and both you and Lockwood stared at him. 

“George—” he started. 

“What do you mean?” you interrupted. 

He made that funny little expression where he knew he said something he probably shouldn’t have, and he busied himself with his donut. “Nothing.” 

“George,” you deadpanned, “I’m the one in the hospital bed. I have pity points. Tell me.” 

Lockwood sighed and leaned back in his chair, though you noticed he still didn’t let go of your hand. 

“I’m guessing you don’t remember what you said,” George said slowly. “Before you blacked out, I mean.” 

“No.” Your eyes darted between the two of them. “Why? Did I say something awful?” 

“Not awful,” Lockwood said, still looking away. “Pretty far from it, I’d say.” 

“Why are you two acting so weird?” you asked. “Spit it out!” 

“You called Lockwood beautiful,” George finally said, and you just about died right there. “Right before you went out, you said he was beautiful.” 

You blinked. Looked at Lockwood, who didn’t seem to be the slightest bit embarrassed—god, was he smiling?—looked at George, who was this time busying himself with his tea. 

“You’re kidding,” you said. 

“...He’s not,” Lockwood said, tilting his head to the side. “You did do that.” 

“Looked up at him, said ‘you’re beautiful’, passed out.” George shrugged as he took another sip of his tea. “Quite dramatic, I’ll give you that. It drove Lockwood absolutely insane, too.” 

“George,” Lockwood said sharply, “don’t you have a phone call to make?” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. How could I forget?”

You weren’t even able to watch him as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with Lockwood. You wanted to melt into the bed. This was the absolute worst way for your feelings to come out, feelings that you were content to let sit forever and never really reveal. Apparently, you couldn’t even almost die with dignity. 

“It’s alright,” Lockwood said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

“No, I do have to be embarrassed.” You stared up at the ceiling. “I do have to be embarrassed, because my last words could have been ‘you’re beautiful’.”

“Why?” he asked. “Do you not think I’m beautiful?” 

You groaned, and if you hadn’t been practically immobile, you would have buried your face in the pillows. “Get a nurse to sedate me again, please.” 

Lockwood flashed that irritatingly pretty grin as he took your hand again. You hadn’t even realized he’d let go. “Relax. I think you’re beautiful too.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Even now?”

“Even now,” Lockwood said. “Always.”

“At least you’re not saying it half-conscious and dying,” you mumbled. 

“I think it’s better I’m saying it now,” he said. “You know I mean it.” 

You looked him in the eye. “You really do?” 

“What did I just say?” Lockwood chuckled. “Always. Forever.” 

You felt the heat creep to your cheeks. “I can’t believe this is what it took to get you to admit your feelings.” 

“It took this for you to admit your feelings,” he countered. “It took you admitting them for me to admit them. I never really knew you felt the same way.” 

“I guess I have a flair for dramatics,” you said wryly. 

“It seems so,” Lockwood said. “How about after all this is done, when you’re good and cleared by the doctor, I’ll take you out for tea. My treat.”  

“You pay my salary,” you said. “Everything is practically your treat.” 

Lockwood grinned. “Do you want to go on a date with me or not?” 

You smiled, and you pulled your joined hands closer. You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.” 

“Excellent.” He smiled as well, a breath of relief coming out of him, and he leaned closer. “Just remember that you don’t have to get stabbed to get me to ask you out on a second date.”  

[limpfisted]

Something I think taken for granted for "good and heroic" characters like wyll is

How hard it is to be a hero in settings like this in gen. especially a solo hero.

And then u look at will especially at 17, especially after just losing half of your vision, and now being obligated to hunt devils for mizora, and not being able to tell people who you are or why you have magical powers

Wylls life has been extremely difficult.

Hes not "some rich boy." In fact, he tells you himself, he never really was. His father became grand Duke when he was 17. His father was a Duke before that, but his father was born to a poor blacksmith father and he was the youngest of six, so he worked his way up the ranks. Even as son of a Duke and grandduke---ulder was champion of the poorer "mythical middle class" lower city. All nobles and patriars are from the upper city. There's no way wyll wasn't looked down on by the upper city and then held to a certain untouchable standard as the flaming fist brat by the lower city/outer city people

And yet even at being some "rich boy" he excelled thru hard work and dedication, making things into a competition if nothing else, in which despite his Father's unsurpance to power, he still had PROOF he was the most charming, after all, he held the record for most sarabandes danced in a single evening, much to the exhaustion to the good lords and ladies of the courts.

But even so, with this "cushy life" (where he would get into trouble, mind you! Where his father would encourage him to get into fights, who would train him with a rapier, where he would drink in taverns in the lower city at 14 despite being "a noble rich boy" and hand deliver letters from his father to sharess's caress before he ever knew what went on with the pretty men and handsome ladies behind closed doors.)

Have you ever been camping, like experienced the holy shit, Outside of it all? I dont even like leaving the house without my phone. Wyll, 17, traveled all over the sword coast, with one eye, who knows how many supplies.

While wyll laughs off the trauma of it, losing an eye is a real ass disability that affects your motor skills. It can be difficult to do things like cut food at first, and it can take like 6 months WITH THERAPY for everything to feel "normal" again. Now imagine fending off goblins, and minotaurs, with no therapy, no physical therapy, no doctor. Having to navigate the cold of winter, cursed lands, mountains, all by yourself.

Having to learn to use you sword again, this time without your father. Remembering him every time you pick it up. Remembering the way he looked at you every time you face down a "devil." Spitting the words he would later say to you at them. They stink of avernus, they have brought ruin

Wyll dedicated his life to laboring for the people of the Sword Coast. It's not easy. He makes it look fun, because he's so proud of himself and happy to be helping people

But its actually hard and lonely. And it doesn't come easy, even to Wyll, I think. He had to train himself, it probably took him a long time to figure out what he was doing

I dont think wyll is really as inexperienced and naive as people think. Hes been to avernus, he's fought dragons and minotaurs. He's seen terrible things, he's STOPPED terrible things, and he's going to continue doing so, and choosing to do so, with the full knowledge of what that decision means, and the hard work and sacrifice it requires.

he's fully aware of who he is and what he's capable of, and he's extremely brave and strong and competent

Its good to be good for the sake of being good! And wyll does believe in fairy tales. But his dedication to the blade doesn't come because he's misinformed. Is he as experienced and powerful as he thinks he is? No, he's 24 LOL. But he's still done a lot! Has YOUR muse hunted devils thru avernus? Has ur muse even BEEN to avernus?

Wyll ravengard genuinely is improvising half the time---but more important than simply "being" good and wanting to do good----Wyll has the experience, practice and competence in serving a community to actually BETTER and protect communities.

In fandom spaces we often talk about how certain characters are "just so good" but we like. We forget about the effort it takes to actually commit to acts of doing good, the practice and perservance it takes to competently serve the community.

You can give the people the shirt off ur back but u run out of shirts eventually. Wyll has made himself an important resource on the Sword Coast for its safety. And I think we take that for granted bc its a genre staple, but like. He worked really hard. He dedicated himself to this.

He sold his soul, and he kept living and doing good anyway

[anonymergremlin]

Types of hugs

As promised, another piece of my thoughts and headcanons. This time about the gestures we learn in the game. I got really curious after receiving this one gesture after reading a certain sad letter. Is our boy learning from them? Is he curious about human gestures? Who knows.

Anyway, gender-neutral this time. For all you lovely people out there.

I hope you enjoy it and please forgive me for any mistakes. I am just a silly gremlin.

A heavy rainstorm rattled through the floors. Turning the once silent night into a restless one, keeping some of Hotel Krat souls awake. Step by step they approached the hotel's library. Perhaps a good book would help them through such a stormy night. Their fingers curled around the handle of the door. Slowly they opened it. To their surprise they were greeted by a brightly lit room. Another soul must have found its way into the library. "Oh... I didn't think anyone else would -" they stopped their own words as the other person came into view. It wasn't just anyone from the other residence, no, it was the puppet. Geppeto's puppet. The young man stood beside one of the many bookshelves. Fingers running through pages. He seemed to be quite concentrated on the writings.

“P?”.

As his name left their lips, he immediately turned. For a moment his porcelain face looked so blank, but it changed so quickly. The softest smile of all covered his face, his blue eyes lit up and his freckles almost seemed to shine like stars. It was impressive how much he had changed, he really had become more human.

"Have you found something interesting, my dear puppet? Would you like to show it to me?"

They took a few steps to close the distance between them, close enough for a quick glance at the book. To their surprise, P's finger pointed to a particular word.

Hug.

"Are you curious about hugs, P?" they asked him, eyes moving from the book to his blue eyes. He nodded. It wasn't unusual for him to be interested in human gestures. They had seen him mimic some of those described in books or letters before. Once he even mimicked a painting of a knight, his rapier close to his chest, the blade pointed to the sky, his back straight and a proud smile on his face. It was an amusing sight that brought a smile to their face.

"Well, my dear P, there are many kinds of hugs. You could say that one type of hug is never the same as another". They moved one of their hands up, raising their index finger like a teacher giving an important lesson. "In general, you can hug a person to show them that they are welcome, but you can also hug someone to say 'thank you'. You see? A hug can mean two completely different things." His mouth opened slightly and his eyes blinked, indicating his understanding. "A hug can also be a gesture of consolation. For example, when you see someone crying. You can go up to them and hug them, hoping that by doing that, you're going to comfort them through their sadness." For a moment, they stopped themselves and thought of all the people out there who deserve to be hugged. To have just the slightest bit of comfort in their lives. From the look on P's face, they had a feeling that the puppet probably had the same feeling. 

They shook their heads, trying to rid their mind of the thought of Krat's sad state. The people must continue to look forward to a better future. They brought their thoughts back to the hugs. With a slight blush, they remembered another important kind of hug.

"There's also... the kind of hug that lovers do," they said, almost whispering the words out of a slight sense of embarrassment. A fine blush rose to their cheeks as they thought about it more clearly. "Lovers hug as a gesture of their love. They embrace each other, body to body, to feel each other's warmth. Wishing they never have to let go." Their eyes closed for a second, imagining the feeling of someone holding them like that. Two hands gently touching their backs, arms wrapped around their frame and a chin resting softly on one of their shoulders. The thought alone left a good feeling in their chest, but to their surprise, it seemed to come from a real source. Eyes opened to find themselves in a hug. Two hands gently resting on the small of their back, arms carefully wrapped around their frame and a chin tucked between their neck and shoulder. P hugged them like a lover. He put just a tiny bit of pressure on them to pull them closer to him, wrapping his arms a little more around their frame and hiding his head in their neck.

They had only just told him about this kind of hug, but he was already imitating it so perfectly. And they knew from the softness and gentleness of his touch that he was serious about what the hug was saying.

Perhaps it wasn't a book that they needed in order to find comfort on this stormy night. Perhaps it is simply the hug of the person they love that they need.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Black Hole
Weapon (longsword or rapier), legendary (requires attunement) ___ This black longsword has a pulsating, cosmic void at its center. The void is a tiny shred of a "sphere of annihilation," which only functions to grant this weapon its various properties. You gain a +3 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon, which has the finesse property. While holding it, ranged attacks against you are made with disadvantage. Whenever a ranged attack misses you while holding the longsword, you gain 2d6 temporary hit points, and the missile or spell permanently disappears into the void at the weapon's center. If the missile is a magic item, it immediately reappears in a random location within 1,000 feet of you. The first target you hit with the sword on each of your turns takes an extra 2d10 force damage. While holding the longsword, you can use a bonus action to magically split it into two rapiers named "gravity" and "mass", which each have the light property. The void vanishes when the longsword is split. You gain a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with these weapons, instead of +3. If you're proficient with longswords, you are proficient with these rapiers. Each sword has its own unique properties. 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮. "Gravity" has an elaborate, twisting basket at the base of its blade. When you hit a creature with this weapon, the target's speed is reduced by a cumulative 10 feet until the start of your next turn. A creature whose speed is reduced to 0 in this way must immediately succeed on a DC 16 Constitution saving throw or be magically restrained until the start of your next turn. 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙨. "Mass" has a hefty, armored guard around its handle. A creature hit with this weapon for the first time on a turn must succeed on a DC 16 Constitution saving throw or feel a powerful, invisible weight thrust upon it; such a creature has disadvantage on ability checks, saving throws, and attack rolls it makes using Strength until the start of your next turn. A creature not attuned to "black hole" can still benefit from the rapiers' properties. Such a creature must make a DC 16 Strength... ... Continued in the comment below! ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[s10127470]

My Ideal Revival of the Disney Heroes Franchise

What you’re looking at is the official logo for a now defunct franchise known as Disney Heroes.

Disney Heroes was basically meant to serve as the sister…..or more appropriately, the brother franchise of the Disney Princesses, with the focus being placed on the male heroes of the Disney pantheon.

The franchise initially started back in 1999, but under the name of Disney Adventurers. Not only that, but the line-up was rather small, consisting of the titular protagonists of Hercules, Aladdin, Peter Pan, and their most recent film at the time, Tarzan.

The franchise mainly existed through toys, with some notable merchandising besides that here and there.

The franchise remained this way until about 2003, when it got a notable revamp.

The franchise would get its current name and it would expand the roster quite a bit. The new members included Merlin and Arthur from The Sword in the Stone, Robin Hood, Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty, and Li Shang from Mulan.

I also think Simba from The Lion King was a part of the roster as well, I think I remember seeing him on a backpack done for the franchise.

But in 2005, the Disney Heroes franchise had a another revamp…this one notably different from the previous ones.

Although the franchise mainly existed through toys and play-sets that more or less stayed faithful to their respective films, these however…..

Your eyes are not deceiving you….these were actual action figures created and designed by Disney for the Disney Heroes franchise…..and I couldn’t be anymore happier.

Hercules looks like an ancient Greek warrior with the golden armor, plus he’s carrying a big xiphos and a golden shield with the face of a lion.

Peter Pan is now sporting some tan gloves, boots, and ever a mask, carrying a bow and quiver of arrows alongside his trusty dagger.

And Captain Hook has a more swashbuckling look, and his rapier has been replaced with a big ass cutlass!

Prince Phillip and Maleficent were also apart of this line-up of action figures as well.

Phillip had a more knight-like appearance, even having a helmet with a golden falcon on top.

And Maleficent…well, she was in her dragon form.

Sadly, only five action figures were made in this style….

And it’s a shame, given that there were plans to revamp the franchise with a more action-oriented style.

These designs by Disney animator Ruben Procopio for planned future figures for the franchise really highlight this…

Aladdin was gonna look like an Arabian Knight, complete with a dagger and a huge ass scimitar that would make Cloud Strife impressed.

Tarzan was gonna go for a Conan the Barbarian-esque look, complete with a headband, a vest, a tooth necklace, boots, and even a quiver filled with spears, knives, and arrows.

And as you could see, they were even gonna introduce The Beast from Beauty and the Beast as a new member of a roster, with the appearance of a warrior prince and a mace as his weapon.

Unfortunately, these figures never came to be....

Although Disney Heroes franchise was doing decently fine, it was nowhere near the level of success of the Disney Princesses.

As a result of that, Disney slowly but surely phased out the franchise over the next three years.

By 2008, the Disney Heroes franchise silently ended, only merchandising through coloring books and their only new addition since 2003 being....of all characters....Milo Thatch from Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

So yeah....that's pretty much the story of the Disney Heroes franchise.

It's honestly a shame because I could totally see this franchise being pretty successful today.

And given the rise of nostalgia and crossovers in media over the last decade, I could see this being an absolute goldmine for all parties involved.

And today, I'm gonna share on how I think a revival of the Disney Heroes franchise should play out.

.It would aim more towards a older audience, mostly teenagers, similar to the Disney Villains franchise. It wouldn't really focus all that much on toys like the Disney Princesses, though there would be some figurines here and there, instead focusing on media that's more accessible with a older crowd like novels, comic books, video games, and even animation.

.Unlike it's previous iteration, and to that extension the Disney Princesses, it would be more gender-neutral, featuring male and female representatives of most of the represented films as members of the roster.

.Also unlike the Princesses, this franchise has its own backstory. Various Disney villains have joined forces in other to further their respective goals. In retaliation, a group of various Disney heroes, led by Merlin, have united to fight against the villainous alliance and protect their respective realms. I know it's a pretty simple premise, but I think it's the perfect that way.

.The franchise will have a major focus on action and adventure....which for a franchise like this, should be expected.

.Many of the characters will be receiving redesigns in the veins of the ones done for the franchise back in 2005, which give off a fantasy warrior, almost Dungeons n' Dragons vibe. While these wouldn't be to the extent as say, Disney Mirrorverse, they would clearly by different from the characters' usual attire and makes them come off as more like warriors ready for adventure and battle.

.The series will essentially expand on the worlds of the films and bring in elements from their original source materials, official continuations like the TV shows, and even the cultures they represent.

Okay, now that we got the major elements out of the way, I'm gonna briefly share who would be apart of the roster for this new franchise, and list them in chronological order of movie release.

.Alice

.Peter Pan

.Princess Aurora and Prince Phillip

.Merlin and Arthur

.Mowgli

.Robin Hood

.Ariel and Eric

.Belle and Beast

.Aladdin and Jasmine

.Simba

.Pocahontas and John Smith

.Quasimodo

.Hercules and Megara

.Fa Mulan and Li Shang

.Tarzan and Jane Porter

.Milo Thatch and Kida Nedakh

.Jim Hawkins

.Tiana and Naveen

.Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert

.Merida

.Anna and Elsa

.Moana and Maui

Just imagine.....seeing this iconic heroes going on various adventures, from the hottest deserts to the deepest jungles. Fighting against mythical monsters, thieves, wild beasts, villainous knights, deadly invaders, mysterious spirits and swashbuckling pirates!

Anyway, that's all for now. I'm planning to go more in-depth on this idea, fleshing out the characters and their worlds.

If you have any ideas for this franchise, let me know.

[websterss]

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃  

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Hello!! I simply adore your fics with my whole heart I was wondering if I could request a Lockwood and co fic with Lockwood? Where maybe reader, him, and, Lucy are all at the auction and once they make their escape to the roof reader fights golden blade with her rapier and just before they jump maybe she gets stabbed or something? And lockwoods just freaking tf out? And he’s just pleading for her to stay with him and just angst to fluff if possible? I love your fics and your writings so much! 

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst, some fluff, mentions of stab wound

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,746

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! let me know what you guys think!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Anthony had tugged on your and Lucy's hands back the way you came. Peering over the edge of the building had resulted in a dead end leaving you with the option of jumping into the freezing water or facing Golden Blade.

You all stopped dead when he blocked the way with the tip of his blade. Anthony had attempted to shield you behind his frame, but you weren't having any of it tonight. You were exhausted from running all day long, and you really wanted some tea and buiscuts. You were teetering on your last braincell. 

“That was mine!” He growled. The Bone Glass long gone in the hands of DEPRAC by now. Flo and George ensuring of its safety.

“Oh geezus, give up!” Anthony began backing the three you of towards the edge. “Bone glass is with DEPRAC, now it’s over.” 

“You don’t understand the game at all do you?” Golden Blade scoffed. 

It didn’t take long for you to unsheath your rapier, drawing it and directing it towards the man before you. His eyes met yours across the length of your weapon. There was a moment of tension and a flicker of surprise in his eye but he merely smirked.

"Oh my, looks like we have a fighter here. I always like a girl with spirit. Shall we dance? I wouldn't mind taking a spin." He spun his blade around, showing off and taunting you to attack.

“Do not engage, Y/n!” Anthony frowned.

"I do like a good tango!" You ran forward taking the first strike, ignoring Anthony’s pleas to stand down.

He sidestepped and your blade swished past his shoulder, missing him by an inch. His blade slashed up, trying to cut into your cheek but you'd already moved out of the distance of the blow. You took another step and jabbed at his side, only for him to dodge again.

“Y/n come on!” Anthony begged once more.

Lucy turned in time to catch him get up on the ledge, peering down into the water. “No, no, no, no.” She shook her head immediately, not wanting to take his extended hand. “No Lockwood.”

“Lucy he’ll kill us all-Y/N leave him!” He called after you, watching you swing and dart with precision, but it was the precision that made him fear for you to make a mistake and get hurt. 

"I always did prefer a woman with some backbone," Golden Blade grinned, his blade dancing above his head as he parried your next blow which was aimed straight at his face. You were good with the rapier, he'd give you that much. The two of you circled one another for some moments until you attempted to stab his midriff and he responded by launching forward, the tip of his blade piercing skin, your skin. You gasp as your weapon clattered to the ground, the silence growing eery and still as you looked down at where he got you.

“No!” You could hear Lucy and Anthony exclaim. 

You slowly look up at his eyes filled with amusement. He now faced a child simply scared for her life. “But even those with the confidence, are sure to have a weakness. You’re impulsive child.” He pulled the blade out of your abdomen. Your hands trying to clutch at the bleeding wound with shaky hands. You spared him one last glance before you turned and ran. Anthony had reached for your hand mid jump, but he had missed you by an inch. Your gasp filled his ears as you lept off towards the water. You fall into the icy waters of London, the air leaving your lungs as you plunge past the murky surface.

He watched you disappear with a splash. His heart thumping loudly in his ears. He gripped Lucy’s hand and lept off the edge. 

The icy water bit into your skin as you submerged completely. The water's embrace was chilling and bitter and you could feel the wound ache more when you plunged into the water. You kicked your legs and arms using what strength you had left to help you break the surface. You weren’t the strongest swimmer. Anthony knew it too, but you guessed when you feared drowning that your flight or fight response could possibly save you. You gasp as your head comes up, inhaling a chunk of air before you fell back down under the surface. You tried to kick upwards, feeling around in the water for something solid to grab on to but the water pushed against you with relentless force. You were drowning. Your head surface once more before you were met with a solid form. Your arms immediately clinging to it as you coughed up water. It wasn’t until a brush of fingertips pushed back your wet hair, that you realized it wasn’t a something, but a someone. 

"I've got you, I've got you!" Anthony held you close as your head fell forward onto his shoulder. "I've got you love." He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. His eyes closing shut as he fought to keep you both above water.

You clung to him for dear life. You were shaking and trembling with the cold, as well as the terror that you almost died. You were sobbing into his shirt, and even with the pain in your torso, you tried to hug him tightly, so that he wouldn't let go and you would never let go. He was the only lifeline you had right now. “He stabbed me...” Your lips trembled with the admition. 

This had Anthony recoiling back in your arms. His eyes wide with concern and fear. He immediately checked you over. Lucy treading closer to the two of you. "What?" She exclaimed. "Where?" Anthony had lowered his hands down your sides and when his thumb brushed against the top of your jeans lyour whimper was enough to let him know where it was you were injured. 

“Can you float?” His tone soft, but concern ridden. You barely missed the rasp in his throat as he blinked back tears. 

You nodded. Unwrapping your hands from his neck, allowing him to guide you on your back. One hand kept underneath you at all times. His hands had slowly reached forward to lift the hem of your shirt. Lucy's heart froze as she came closer to the two of you, her gaze fixated on the wound as well as you shaking from the cold. You had stopped crying, having focused your energy on maintaining yourself afloat. You kept your eyes closed as you tried to breathe. You’ll stay afloat as long as there’s air in your lungs, Anthony’s voice rang through your head, but no matter how hard you focused, the panic made only made it worse for you. Your eyes fluttered open in a flash, and you reached out for him again. Anthony caught you before you slipped under the surface, bringing you closer once more, letting you wrap your arms around him. 

Anthony couldn’t stop the wave of emotions that crashed up against him. He didn��t want to be crying in front of anyone, but he felt completely overwhelmed, tears filled his eyes as he held you, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He had been afraid. Very afraid that he was going to lose you, right out here in the middle of the freezing river in London.

“We’re gonna get you help soon okay. I just need you to hold out for me a little longer. Can you do that for me?” He lifted your chin with his hand gently. You mustered a small nod but he needed more than that from you. “I need to hear you love. Just a little longer.”

“Just a little longer.” You echoed back to him. “I’m not a good swimmer Anthony...”

“And yet you jumped into the river.” His laugh breaks the tension.

“You were gonna do it first-had to beat you to it.” You breathe out a laugh.

“I would not have jumped in.” You both turn to Lucy, watching her tread water shivering. 

“Ready?” He dipped his chin to you both. 

“No.” You shook your head, you could feel the exhaustion getting to you but you knew you couldn’t let sleep win over your body.

“Whatever.” Lucy began swimming forward, the shore was the goal. 

“We can stop if you need to take breaks.”

“No, no stopping, the sooner we get to shore the faster we can take me to the hospital.” You breathed out again. 

“I’ll get you there safe and sound. I refuse to let the river claim you. I promise you.” He leaned forward and kissed your temple. You sighed against his touch. 

“Don’t let me go.” 

“I’d be stupid to.” There it was again, his charming smirk you adored. 

As you lay your head on his shoulder you felt his arms become tighter around you as a shiver ran down your spine. Your body shook uncontrollably against the cold of both the river and the weather. He could feel your teeth chattering and wanted to wrap you in his coat, give it to you, but you'd probably punch in the face if he tried. So he opted to just keep holding you close. His promise to never let you go would remain sound and safe in his heart. He'd swim across the ocean just to ensure your life, even if he was on his last remaining strength, he'd hold out to get you to safety. He was exhausted, knowing that the swim would take twice as long for you both but he'd get you there. He'd make certain of it.

He swam for what felt like hours but you could finally make out the shore. Lucy beat you both there, but she waited for you both to get there. She laid on top of the rocks, catching her breath. However, the look of relief that washed over her face made you want to sob from exhaustion. If not for the sting of your wound and numbness in your body, you would've flung yourself in her arms and just burst out crying right here and now. Yet still, you were so very grateful to see her wait on you. Anthony walked you both over to where she was and flopped the both of you beside her. Your chests rose and fell from the swim and the cold, but you were alive. That’s what mattered the most. You’d be alright.

[howtofightwrite]

Just a casual question: What lightsaber style do you prefer out of one-handed, two-handed, double-bladed or dual wielding?

We’ll leave out the Lightsaber Forms from the EU, because they are inconsistently defined between sources.

No, no, no. You ask me what my favorite lightsaber is, you get the answer whether you want it or not. The answer may surprise you. It’s (probably) considered the second dumbest lightsaber weapon ever invented in the extended universe with the exception of the lightsaber nunchaku.

Are you ready? Do you have your guesses?

The Lightwhip.

The chosen weapon of Dark Ladies of the Sith and the Nightsisters of Dathomir back when the Sisters weren’t all dark side practitioners and rode rancors.

(This is my favorite. For reference, Starke’s favorite is single blade Form IV: Ataru. He’s boring.)

Now, I agree with the general fandom that the lightwhip is a dumb, impractical weapon that’s more likely to dismember its wielder than it is their opponent. Only someone with a high level of skill, prescience, and telekinesis could make effective use of a lightwhip’s dismemberment murder frenzy without killing themselves. Fortunately, that’s exactly the base level of skills most Force sensitives possess. Probably most important, the lightwhip is the exact sort of dumb we see with real weapons in the real world. This includes the more wild examples like the urumi, the chain whip, and the three-section staff. And, it should be said, I have watched living black belts concuss themselves with the three-section staff while trying to figure out how to use it. All for the Rule of Cool. So, while I accept its impracticality, I refuse the argument that the lightwhip being any more unrealistic in use or invention than the rest of the lightsaber weapon family. Does it have a high skill floor? Absolutely. Is it a safe weapon compared to the rest of its very dangerous family? Absolutely not. Would a student potentially dismember or murder themselves learning to use it? Yes, and that’s why it’s fun. (I’ll add a small caveat that the average student could also dismember themselves with a normal lightsaber, so this isn’t just a danger posed by the lightwhip.)

The lightwhip is a weapon of the Dark Side. Its battle style would be (and should be) wild, chaotic, and nigh uncontrollable. There’s no way to use it safely and it belongs in the hands of a wielder who is straight up thrilled to cut down both their allies and enemies in equal measure. This is the weapon of a murderous lunatic in black leather, and gets even more wild when it switches to a Cat o’ Nine to bring on nine weaving laser tendrils instead of just one. The lightwhip is the sexy Catwoman reference that transcends its genre when we really start to think about how intimidating it’d be to see that thing on the battlefield in the hands of a novice and, especially, an expert.

The standard use for a whip in the real world is as a support tool for your primary weapon, such as a rapier. The whip doesn’t do much damage on its own, leaving only small, painful cuts and lacerations so it transitions into a means of harassment. The advantage of the whip is that it attacks at odd, circular angles which are difficult (if not impossible) to block and will curve into a strike around the opposing weapon. The rippling movement makes it difficult to see and even more difficult to predict. If kept in constant motion, this difficulty triples because the disparate movements blend together.

Now, take this setup and add the lightshow. Instead of a weapon that does light lacerations, we have a weapon that deals massive burns if it doesn’t straight up dismember. It will cut through everything and everyone. Conventional fighting styles fall apart against it. More importantly, because it is a burning plasma ribbon, it doesn’t need to follow the standard rules of physics. The lightwhip is beautiful in its raw, chaotic brutality, it’s high risk, high reward nature, and I love the way it hard counters the standard philosophy of lightsaber combat with a literal curveball. Any opponent who faces it is forced into new, creative approaches for their very survival.

Lastly, I love what the lightwhip says about its wielder as an expression of their vicious, ferocious, highly aggressive personality. This weapon requires commitment and dedication. It’s absolutely fair to say the person who wields a lightwhip has a fanatical, if not suicidal, bent. After all, they’d willingly risk death to master it. They love destruction. They don’t care about outside consequences or property destruction. They go it alone.

I’ll admit the lightwhip’s true potential is too violent for most of Star Wars and, like most Star Wars weapons, it very much lives on the Rule of Cool. One of the sadder aspects with the lightwhip is that, while I love the weapon and its potential, any discussion of it gets mired in sexism. Every appearance of the lightwhip comes with the sexy NSFW Dark Side Dominatrix bent and leads to the lightwhip not being given the consideration it’s potential deserves.

My favorite saber is Darth Maul’s saber staff from The Phantom Menace, because versatility allows for use of both one and two. My favorite lightsaber form (which should now surprise no one) is Form VII: Vaapad.

All that said, I do enjoy a good Dark Side Dominatrix as much as I enjoy a moody and hooded Dark Side Goth. And I genuinely love dumb and, seemingly, impractical weapons when the reward justifies their risk. If there’s a general writing advice takeaway here, always consider the practicality of an impractical but cool weapon, address i’s rewards as well as its risks, and pair it with a suitable personality. The lightwhip is not a weapon that belongs in the hands of a Jedi or, really, any individual who possesses any degree of restraint. It’s for a character who merrily expresses raw, raging power at every opportunity and willing to risk destroying themselves along with everyone else for victory.

There’s a weird angle with the Star Wars EU where they tried to establish the lightwhip as weaker than the lightsaber (*cough* woman’s weapon *cough*) with less cutting power even when it doesn’t use a physical cord, which makes absolutely no sense. The lightsaber is the more versatile weapon, while the lightwhip is more specialized and circumstantial. Which fits with the patterns of real world weapons technology.

This a long circle round to saying that the weapons we choose for our characters act as personality tells. Which is why it’s important to give a lot of thought and consideration to any weapon’s historic use and purpose before attaching it. Weapons communicate more than we might expect, both via their situational viability and associated cultural myths. It’s important to choose whether you’ll address this, especially if you’re not planning to intentionally communicate that message or make those personality traits part of the character’s identity. Weapons are tools and, like with all tools, different tools attract different personalities. In fiction, we the authors often decide this from an external perspective. Once a choice has been made, always give yourself a chance to think about it from a character’s internal perspective. Why did Character X choose this weapon? Why do they want to use it? What does this weapon do for them that another weapon doesn’t? Or, what makes that other weapon less attractive?

You might find yourself with an answer or story beat you hadn’t previously considered.

Food for thought.

-Michi

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[ddarker-dreams]

Unique Burdens.

Enver Gortash x F Reader.

Warnings: Dark themes™, unhealthy relationships, implied kidnapping and major power imbalances. Word count: 1k.

Where there are sparks, there can be fire. 

Concentrate. Hone your thoughts. Refine them, sifting through any impurities. Ichor is woven into your flesh like threads through a hallowed loom. These threads contain arcane energy that some spend lifetimes pursuing, their noses buried in esoteric tomes. 

For you are a scion of a being most high — the Lady of Love’s darling daughter. 

Sune’s always had a soft spot for you, fickle as her favor may be. Whispers carried by the wind offered encouragement at the beauty your artistry brought into the world. Your mother may be distant, but so is the sun, both of which provide satisfactory warmth regardless. This distance never bothered you. So long as you were free to wield a quill, lyre, or rapier, you were content. 

Indeed, her distance never bothered you, until you realized that just like the sun, celestial bodies must give way to the night. 

Focus, focus, focus.

The faintest hum of the Weave resonates within. It reaches out to you, incorporeal hands longing to touch. This is it. Your chance. Your spark. It’s tentative at first, a shy reunion— 

—And then it’s gone. Silenced. 

Extinguished. 

Your shoulders droop as yet another failure joins your ever-growing resume. 

Your shoulders droop as yet another failure is jotted down.

“I never took you for a masochist,” tyranny incarnate muses from behind. “That must be it. Why else would you torture yourself so?”

“I’m no more a masochist than you are a worthy ruler.” 

You try to keep your tone steady and indifferent. Regrettably, of all your artistic talents, acting is not among them. The bitterness seeps out like blood through thin gauze. He must’ve sensed a fluctuation in the ‘connection’ you share. You thought yourself subtle with your tampering, but your sentimentality betrayed you. 

“Ah. That’s where you’re mistaken. There are no ‘worthy rulers,’ only rulers who make their reign worthwhile.” 

“That’s your intention?” 

“That’s my intention,” he mimics your cadence. 

Unwilling to withstand further provocation, you whirl around, ready to slink off. Your abrupt motion proves to be a mistake. The world loses its sharpness, the outline of every object smearing together as your balance falters. A wicked throb blasts through your skull — your reward for this little rebellion. The black fabric fastened around your throat greedily swallows the meal you just offered. 

Its creator steadies your body as if he isn’t the source of your malaise. His hands, covered in golden gauntlets, slither around your bicep. You’re vaguely aware of the short journey to an outdoor table set. Water rushes from the garden’s ivory fountain, the sound crescendoing into something unbearable. The evening sun feels too hot, the summer air, too humid; and the deceptively delicate-looking choker around your neck too tight. 

Gortash barks out orders toward the maids here to serve ‘you.’ They scurry about, their hurried gait like that of a discovered rat colony. You sit at his behest. Commanding others is second nature to him, he enunciates every syllable with the confidence of a man who knows he won’t be challenged. No good comes from fighting it. You panic, you struggle, and then finally, you sink, succumbing to a riptide you never had a chance against. 

He holds a crystal vial to your lips, which you part without prompting. It’s syrupy on your tongue, an artificial sweetness intended to make the tonic more tolerable, owing to your many complaints. Whether he adjusted the formula for your sake or his, you can’t say. 

The viscous liquid stubbornly sticks to your esophagus. Eventually, you force it down. 

Gortash’s elixir circulates throughout your body and soothes the tempest you incited. There’s little you know about the magic that siphons your divinity, but you do know it’s volatile. The insidious inventor sat aside his pride to explain that much. He foresaw that you wouldn’t sit pretty while he sapped your celestial power. An accurate estimate, considering your current predicament.  

He recognizes your lucidity returning before you do. 

“Foolish girl,” Gortash sneers. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing eye contact. The bags beneath his eyes appear darker than when you first met. You suppose you’re to blame for that. “Are you so eager to undermine that you’ll put yourself at risk?”

“What does it matter,” you reply, your glare communicating what your weary voice cannot. “Pain is all I know around you.” 

Gortash releases you as if your skin scalded him.

“Pain? This? You know nothing of pain, aasimar. The word is lost on you.” 

Righteous fury churns your stomach in on itself. 

“Then show me!” You demand. “Show me, if that’s what it takes for you to stop flaunting your godsforsaken ‘benevolence.’ A benevolent warden! Can those two roles coexist? Or are you the one ignorant of words and their meanings?” 

You fight for each breath. It’s been some time since you’ve snapped at him like this. For good reason, you think, noting the murky abyss in his eyes. Lord Enver Gortash isn’t to be spoken to in such a discourteous manner. People have had lips sewn shut and fingers unnaturally contorted for less. His cruelty isn’t random, there’s a methodology behind each stitch and snap. 

Yet here you sit. Physically unharmed, adorned in fine garments, aureate bracelets, onyx earrings, and his favorite shade of rouge upon your lips. You don’t know what to make of this, you didn’t want to know for the longest time either. Should he confirm what you dread, well… at least you’ll have clarity amidst the revulsion. 

He studies you like he would a defective construct he’s one adjustment away to fixing. You loathe how vulnerable you feel beneath his scrutinizing stare, that he has the means to take you apart and piece you back together. 

An eternity passes before Gortash speaks again. 

“... You’re frightened,” he surmises. “Frightened over what it means to be the subject of my affection.” 

Your pulse quickens as the cool metal of his gauntlets brush against your hand. 

“You want my wrath. The sting of a riding crop, the indignation from the welt it forms.”

The gauntlet’s tips dig into your flesh. It almost hurts, until he lessens the intensity of his grip. He’s mastered applying just the right amount of pressure to leave indents behind without breaking skin. He could break you, but he wants you whole, as proof he could conquer you at your best. 

“Keep wanting, you won’t ever receive it. No,” Gortash smiles, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling from mirth. “Endure what it means to have earned my affection instead.” 

[chocobosdungeon2]

Anyway Ianthe has absolutely been emotionally manipulating/abusing Coronabeth since they were children. Their whole dynamic seems to be Ianthe lording guilt and shame over Corona to control her. Corona almost killing Ianthe in the womb is something she is NEVER allowed to live down. In Nona, Ianthe has ascended to lyctorhood and she still brings it up.

When Gideon first sees the pair, she describes it looking like Corona had been sucking up Ianthe's life force. This is revealed to be true in a roundabout way as Ianthe has been pretending to be two necromancers because their father wanted a "matched set." While Corona does allude to her father's role in this dynamic, Ianthe seems to imply that she does it all for Coronabeth's sake. This dynamic that requires them to be constantly together also seems to have been used by Ianthe to deepen her enmeshment with Corona. How enmeshed Corona is (in GtN) is evidenced by a desire to be Ianthe's cavalier or to play a similar role in her life. The Cavalier/Necromancer relationship is established to be one of the most intimate between two people in the culture of the Houses. Scenes in GtN including when Naberius stops Corona from practicing with a rapier and then at the end when she laments that Ianthe ate Babs instead of her point to this desire to be Ianthe's 'cavalier.'

From GtN to NtN, Ianthe negs Corona at every opportunity, reminding her that she's stupid, overemotional, and hopeless without her. She nitpicks her appearance in particular, implying she looks awful when everyone else in the room is swooning (or at least our POV characters lol). Ianthe is awful to everyone, but there's something really pointed about her insults to Corona/Crown. Such cruel comments dressed up as casual terms of endearment. Something you can only accept as love when its all youve known.

Its understandable that Camilla doesnt trust that Crown wouldnt defect immediately upon meeting Ianthe. Camilla had seen first hand how attached the two were. But I think in seeing Crown work against Ianthe, and even using their old dynamic to manipulate her, we see that she's broken free of that toxic relationship. We dont know much about what happened between Corona and Judith while they were travelling during HtN, but we know that it taught Corona a love that didnt depend on her sister's disapproval, and that she has grown and changed because of it.