#songs of armor and devotion

[yandere-wishes]

༄｡° Ice on Ice ༄｡°

𐙚 Yandere!Capitano Drabble

𐙚 Warnings: Stockholm syndrome, gore, manipulation

𝄞 Song: Kill V. Maim by Grimes

⋆˙❅ He's molded you into his perfect darling. His perfect weapon ❅⋆˙

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚‧͙̩̩͙

It's always snowing in Snezhnaya .

Even in the dead of summer.

Capintano glides across the castle like a shadow. Shying away from the moonlight gleaming through the towering windows.

Ice slithers up his arm, forging into the hilt of his glacial sword.

He can smell your bloodlust in the air, good, you've already commenced the integration.

The lower levels of Zapolyarny castle speak only of terrors.

It's where the faithless come to die.

Traitors to Her Majesty.

It was where he'd kept you upon your initiation, where he burned you down and fabricated you anew.

His pretty little deadly thing.

So eager to please.

So loyal

The salty tang of blood permeating the air has his heart racing, furious war drum hammering in his chest. He follows the embers of your rage, standing by the threshold watching as you dig your knife deeper into the traitor's shoulder. Capitano basks in your raw fury. Your anger sweet on his tongue.

"Darling"

His voice is low, a whisper among the screams. Snowflake on ice and yet you still jump to attention. Run up to him with a sweet smile that doesn't quite suit the crimson specks adorning your cheeks.

His eyes glide across your taut body, spine straight, fingers up in salute. Your pyro delusion glowing gently at your waist. Ready to engrave his commands upon your bones.

"Master, the prisoner has confessed to carrying out treason against the crown. But he's yet to disclose the whereabouts of his fellow rebels."

"He will."

Capitano hands you his coat, relishing the delicate way you clench the heavy thing. Cradling it in your chest as if it's more precious than all the constatations above Tyvat. He pulls his helmet up, ever so slightly, enough to press his frigid lips against your cheek and lick the specks of blood. You freeze, fingers grasping the fuzzy pelt.

"Come watch, my darling"

He stalks towards the bloodied man, twirling his sword, letting the tiny ice splinters impale the traitor at random. The man cries, voice hoarse and weak. The slim glaciers replacing blood with frost.

You trail after him, lovesick and devotion in every step, his coat hanging from your shoulders.

Heavy burden upon frail shoulders, such a perplexing thing you are...

Capitano can't help but smile in satisfaction. He's molded you into perfection, sculpted you from the purest ice. He studies your work rigorously. Pain painted across the vile canvas. The traitor's right eye is missing, the socket scorched, torrid flesh pealing from his arms. His shirt ripped, rude stab wounds still fresh, still dripping ruby.

He's trained you well.

Trained you to make nation topple and archons bow. To bend the stars and flames with your fealty.

Maim and kill.

Because this world is too cruel for righteous little boys and naive little girls.

Kill and maim or else it will be done to you.

You pull the informer's hair back as Capitano lands a metal-clad punch to his face, blood sprays unceremoniously, spoiling Capintao's black-silver armor, followed by the familiar clatter of a tooth hitting the thinly iced floor.

Capintano steps back, braces himself for a moment then thrusts his sword into the rebel's thigh. Marring the sturdy hoar a rotten red. Frost blisters skin ripping the soft tissue underneath.

Ice chips bone

Meat falls to the cold ground.

The man screams, crying out locations and names in jetted tongue. His eyes slowly grow darker.

The blood continues to pool.

You clap your hands cheerfully. Letting the man's head fall forward "Well done master."

For a fleeting second, as you skip towards your master, you catch the traitor's picture in the odd light. You gulp, the creature staring back wears your face, your body, your skin. You see yourself in the dead stranger. Stubborn face and blank eyes. You blink and it's gone, a trick of the dark, one you're too eager to forget. Those days have passed, left to decay in snow-covered tombs. You are someone else now, more importantly, you are Capitano's lover, his most devoted soldier. No longer a gullible thing chasing after empty ideals.

Capitano towers over you. A stone pillar etched of ivory paragons. His iron fingers wrap around your smaller wrist as he pulls you forward. Your fingers lace through his ebony main, while your other hand pulls up the helmet, desperate for his kiss. Biting his lips and letting the blood from his armor stain your uniform. He pushes pain and loyalty down your throat with metallic spiced kisses. Replaces the pearls of your spine with molten lava and brimstone. His touches are frostbite running rampant across your body. Peeling away skin and inscribing mortality and ethereal strength into the soft tissue of your organs. Leaving your lungs corked with icy doctrines.

He has sculpted his style of blade work into your blood. Your veins pump explosions through your body.

Capitano's lips trace the expansion of your neck, savoring your essence between harsh kisses and harsher lovebites. You feel like a sword in his hands, meticulously forged with the finest steel. He has killed many apostates with you. Used you to serve the Tsaritsa without fail

Weapon of war, built from the corpse of a little lost girl.

The frenzy in your eyes, the cosmic thumb of your heart, the way your fingers claw, and the silver of skin of his neck.

Deadly deadly deadly.

He plays the role of the virtuous knight.

Only he's come to learn that many mistake virtue for pacifism.

No.

Love and loyalty are delicate threads entwined with massacre and pain.

You must kill to protect loyalty.

You must kill to protect love.

And how better to express both than in love letters penned with fresh scarlet and decay?

"Get rid of the body, we have much work to do." He raises his sword up to the thin ray of moonlight. For a second your reflection flashes across his icy sword, broken and damaged and perfect in every way. He gives you a final kiss on your templet. Before retrieving his coat and turning away. Disappearing in the dark.

You sigh, breath observable in the chill. Your fingers ignite, warmer and warmer. Preparing for another cremation.

Capitano smiles, ridged, grotesque. As a putrid sickly saccharine scent wafts through the castle's dungeon.

He's raised the perfect lover.

Devoted to a fault and stronger than any weapon.

He's looking forward to unleashing you upon the rebel's nest.

Looking forward to the dance of savage carnage.

It's summertime in Snezhnaya 

Although you couldn't tell from the snowy blizzard outside...

When is Varka coming out? I want to be caged between the two of them so badly 😭😭

Also, guys, what if Capintano is Rustam or Arundolyn?? 🤔 I feel like I'm onto something

°🪼° @choueries @animelover6000 @viannasthings

[barblaz-arts]

I listened to ‘Whatever It Takes’ for the second time since January when I first heard it, and…I’m in love with it. 🥹 Like… Wow.

I don’t know why more people don’t like it. When I first heard it, I was like “Okay,” but I genuinely do believe that it grew on me because after that second listen, man— 👏🏽🙌🏽 After I kept seeing the lyrics over and over and kept listening to Vaggie’s part, it hit like a rock.

I love Vaggie and her love and devotion to Charlie and to people she genuinely cares about as well, and I can’t wait to see her growth and development in the show.

Yes!!!!!!!

I get what you mean bcuz I wasn't very in love with the song in my first listen, but after putting it on my playlist for when i walk to/from work it really climbed up to my favorites. And the way Stephanie Beatriz did the run in the "I" part in "And I... I'll be your armor" part is so so pretty. I'm obsessed with that part.

I'm so stoked that the sneak peek they showed us with Charlie's VA and someone who seems to be Baxter's VA has them singing it. It looks like it's gonna be reprised! I'm so looking forward to it. I wanna know how Charlie sings Vaggie's lines with her own reprised lyrics.

And gosh yeh. I just love how, like, blatant she is in showing her love for Charlie too? Characters in her archetype(the short-tempered hard ass who's very careful about showing her soft side) would typically be a bit of a tsundere about affection. Or at the very least hesitant to show how weak she is for Charlie in front of others. But she loves Charlie in such an unabashed way. I love that so much for Charlie too bcuz I'm sure she's craved to be appreciated and loved so genuinely and openly.

The way she only melts for Charlie, but is also unafraid to do it in front of a crowd... She's so cute, man.

[moltengoldveins]

so we can all agree that the newest 2WEI song (take the crown) is the trailer song for an Antarctic Empires Emerald Duo pg14 movie where Techno is a gladiator who earned his freedom and has vowed to destroy the government that enslaved him and Philza is an old demigod banished to a solitary plane of existence for five decades after attempting to run a coup against the ruling class.

They meet on a battlefield, Techno having joined up as brute muscle and Phil having used some minor illusions to pass as a quirky avian and join the bombardment team. Combining some similar plot beats as Oceans 11 and Atlantis: The Lost Empire, they gather a specialized team of insurrectionists, anarchists, battle mages, and warriors to take down the imperium from the inside, eventually planning on restoring the nation to the democracy it was in Phil’s earliest memories. But will they manage it, or will their bloody pasts and violent present seat Technoblade on the throne as the Antarctic Emperor, with Philza as his right hand, the Angel of Death? (Spoiler, the second option. It’s the most controversial film finale decision of the decade.)

The movie is filmed in a style somewhere between Dune 1, the Prince of Egypt, and Topgun. (denis villeneuve is too busy and too expensive, but it’s clear they’re taking inspiration. Bold colors and lighting and a lot of shots of the sky, wildlife, architecture, or of characters’ hands.) It’s scored by an up and coming indie musician, working under the consultation of Ludwig Gorannson in his spare time as a pet project, though his association with the film doesn’t really come out until it Smashes the expected theatre income in the first two days of release and critics start Raving about it. Techno’s actor is nominated for an Oscar for one of the most compelling intricate portrayals of ptsd and platonic devotion in modern cinema, but doesn’t actually get the Oscar.

Tumblr is flooded with gif sets of Techno in the Obligatory No Armor After Gladiator Fight Scene and the Late Night Vibing With Phil In A Loose Poet Shirt scene (firelit, lots of closeups of his eyes, the film is obviously attempting to express his complex emotional state and his deep relationship with Phil, and is failing miserably at doing Anything but making him hot. The internet is ✨gay✨ about it, because when is the internet not?) Also most of the simps are calling Phil a dilf.

Fit MC is the fan-favorite side character, his four scenes and nine lines of dialogue are clipped and edited and giffed and memed into the dirt. (His armor and prosthetic, the makeup and costuming department say, were the hardest thing to do in the entire film, which is why he isn’t in too many shots.) Though, a close second is Niki, who is played by a woman built like a brick house who doesn’t wear sleeves, so…. Yeah. We all know what the response is there. The effects, including Phil’s wings, are almost entirely practical and the only real places it gets iffy is Steve, the giant war polar bear that’s pretty clearly clipping through a few snowbanks here and there. Nobody can agree on which characters are morally reprehensible.

Within a few years, very few people outside a dedicated fan base have seen it and a few assume it’s made up like Goncharov. It’s also, for some ungodly reason, been labeled a Christmas film. (most of the plot happens in the ice and snow, hence ‘Antarctic Empire.’) I guess nothing says ‘Christmas spirit’ quite like ‘unmitigated violence, platonic yearning, and overthrowing oppressors.’

[papurgaatika]

Pink In The Night

Pairing: Din Djarin x f! reader

Minors DNI with my work please!!!

A/N: this came to me in a moment of insanity. I love him so much. This was supposed to be less than 1k words, but I truly got carried away. Thank you to my lovely beta reader @carlynkurin! This is semi dedicated to @joeloverture bc vetty did not let me add it to the WIP folder and somehow I finished it in a day so that's neat Once again sticking with the song lyric as the title brand, it is Pink in the Night by Mitski this time LOL. As always, peace and love on the planet Earth from me, and I hope y'all enjoy !!!!

Tags: smut, idiots in love, devotion, oral (f receiving), reader’s skin is called tan and reader has a bush, no other description, semi subby Din, tit worship, lots of semi-religious metaphors, pet names (sweet/pretty girl, my moon, my sun) Din worships reader, reader worships him, soft, established relationship, tooth rottingly sweet, no use of y/n, 18+ Word count: 3.7k

Summary: A night’s serenity with Din has you enveloped in each other.

There was a moment of peace you found yourself in tonight, the sun was low in the sky, not quite setting but it had started to move west. Your toes were dipping in the small creek just beside your home, ripples ebbing and flowing with every movement you made. You could hear the coos of Grogu behind you as Din kept a watchful eye on your son. You laugh softly as Grogu falls to the ground with an unrefined oomph probably exhausted from being allowed to run around all day. You glance at Din with a smile, and he feels like he suddenly can't breathe. 

God. that smile of yours. It always gets him and he can't explain why. You just felt like home to him. He moves to sit beside you, armored shoulder bumping your bare one, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the day  “Hey you,” you grin, toes wiggling in the water as you move to lean against him a little more. His arm moves to wrap around you, the leather of his glove somehow rough but soft against your skin simultaneously. 

“Hey pretty girl,” he hums, voice still tender even through the modulator. His fingers run aimlessly over your shoulder, feeling the warmth of your skin. “You’re gonna catch a burn” he mumbles, moving his hand to brush a stray lock of your hair off your neck to get a better view. 

You snort at him slightly, letting your eyes close in contentment as he touches your skin. “I don't burn, just get tanned” You can feel his unamused gaze, even through the helmet. You knew the look he was giving you. It was the same one he gave you when you refused to sit down when your feet hurt, or when he asked if you had eaten anything when your head ached. 

“Your skin is warm to the touch, meshla” he states, leaving absolutely no room for argument. His hand trails over the curve of your neck and traces the outline of your jaw softly, relishing in how soft you are compared to him. He wanted to memorize every curve of your body, never to be allowed a moment to forget them. “Let’s just go inside, the womp rat is already asleep on the blanket anyway” You both glance back at Grogu who sure enough, had tuckered himself out all day and was now curled up on the small blanket you had set up for him. You make a small noise of affirmation and let Din scoop him up, before you bring your feet out of the water, letting them dry slightly on the ground before walking in after Din, and shutting the door softly. You watch with a small smile as Din tucks Grogu into his bed, relishing in the domesticity of it all; being in your home, watching your husband tuck your son into bed after you spent the day in the sun with the both of them. It was something you would never get over. 

Din steps out of Grogu’s room, helmet discarded by the main door, and finds his eyes locked on your figure. There was so much love in those eyes, so much pain, and hardness, but when you saw them all you could feel was warmth. The chocolate brown of his eyes, deeper than any ocean, warmer than any fire, felt like home to you. He raises his now gloveless hand to skim the skin of your shoulder, brows wrinkling together a little as he feels the skin still warm under him. “Meshla you’re still warm” his touch was so soft, almost like he thought you would break if he was any firmer. 

You give him a light-hearted roll of your eyes as he ushers you into your bedroom, backing you onto your bed with an ungraceful thump “Din it’s not a burn-” you laugh softly at his insistence, but he wasn't having it. He makes quick work of removing his armor, the sound of beskar soothing to your ears before he turns back to face you. 

“Take off your shirt” The bluntness of his words catches you off guard for a moment, your mouth opening and closing with a lack of words. 

You can see him biting back a smirk at your falter “Baby what-?” you gape at him. It wasn't that you didn't want to, you were just absolutely baffled. 

“Take. Off. your. shirt,” he repeats himself, emphasizing every word. “I'm gonna put lotion on you, you’re too warm.” and there’s that smirk. You roll your eyes at him tossing off the soft tank top and throwing it in his direction before laying down on the bed on your stomach. 

Din could die a happy man right now. He thinks that if the maker struck him down, right this instant, he would be okay with it. The sight of you, relaxed on his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts, waiting for him to use his hands on you was almost too much for him to bear. He moves to sit behind you on the bed, essentially straddling the backs of your legs, and grazes your back softly. Mapping out the freckles and dips of your skin, tracing the soft tan lines, just in awe of you every single time. 

He lets out a shaky exhale before taking a bit of the lotion into his hands and massaging it softly into your back, feeling your body instantly relax at the coolness of it “Is that okay pretty girl?” he whispers, hands pressing gently down your back and shoulders, feeling the curve of your spine. You nod your head, face resting on a pillow, and peek up at him with a small content smile. 

“Yeah.. yeah it's nice Din..” you murmur at him, voice low and solace. You felt him continue the motions on your back, hands almost reverent against your skin, almost as if you were the beads of a rosary he was slipping between his fingers. His hands slip to your lower back and brush the waist of your shorts, a silent plea hanging in his touch. You lift your hips slightly, letting him tug them off with a touch much too delicate for someone who has been hunting bounties for years. 

You coo slightly when his hands rub lotion onto your ass, his touch featherlight and tentative. “Is this okay?” you hear him ask, your response coming out in the form of a silent nod, eyes closed enjoying the feeling of his hands on you. “You’re always so soft. So perfect..” his hands continue their tender movements, hands slipping between your legs and grazing your thighs but never touching your heated core, he was going to drag this out for you. “Stars…” he admires “you’re so... perfect... so beautiful…” his words are less for your ears and more just his internal dialogue being voiced. His hands continue down your legs to your ankles and then back up, tapping your hip to get you to roll over. 

You turn over, body laid bare for him. The evening sun peering through the window had your skin bathed in warmth. You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile at the sight of him. Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, the feeling of his beard coarse against the smooth skin of your palm. He immediately leans into your caress, seeking more of you, wanting to envelop himself in you completely, to give himself up to you as much as he can. His eyes gaze over the sight of you laid out under him, the way your breasts rise and fall with each breath, the tan lines on your skin, the curves and dips of your body. He was going to memorize you, to be yours completely. “Can I touch you?” 

“Always Din..” your murmur leaves no room for argument and sends his head reeling. He shifts so his clothed hips are pressed against you, and his face is nestled under the curve of your breast. You sigh as his warm breaths hit your skin, just watching him admire you. His hands trace the curve of your waist and his lips dip to the valley between your breasts. He licks a small stripe between them, eyes drifting shut, relishing the way you taste. Your eyes are slightly hazy, overwhelmed with the sight of him practically revering you. His lips move to press kisses over one of your breasts, lips tentative and gentle before he takes your nipple between your lips, a pleased sigh leaving your throat. 

He feels a jolt of electricity rack through him at the sounds you make, the sounds he makes you make. His lips leave your nipple, moving to the other one. He hums around it, your back arching at the sensation. His tongue swirls and flicks at the sensitive peak in his mouth, his hand softly tweaking and kneading the other breast. “Maker above” he groans, pulling off of you with a pop, “I love these so much. Stars you’re perfect” his hands go to massage both of them, thumbs sliding over your nipples making your breathing tremble slightly 

“Feels so good Din..” his hands haven’t stopped their ministrations, moving softly and gently as ever, taking his time to make you feel good. He grins at your words, the praise going straight to his cock, but that could wait. He just wanted to make you feel good today. 

“Yeah cyare? You like my hands on you?” his hands don’t still as he asks, his face pressed against the soft of your stomach, peering up at you. 

Your back arches again as he presses a few kisses under your breasts and across your ribs. “Yeah baby” you sigh “like when you’re soft with me..” 

He thinks his brain short-circuits for a minute. Din was not known to be soft. He was the hardened bounty hunter turned marshal of Nevarro, a stone-cold killer, nearly undefeated. But not to you. He was the man who rubbed the bottom of your feet when you had been standing too long, a caring father, the love of your life. He was softest when he was with you when he was in the presence of someone who made him forget what his legacy was and allowed him to be himself. 

“I’ll be soft..” his words are barely audible with his face pressed into your chest “I am yours..” he keeps his lips pressed against the skin of your ribs, his hands still cupping your breasts. “Always yours,” he mumbles as his lips find your nipple again, taking the pebbled nub into his mouth and letting his tongue swirl around it. Your hands fist in his hair, not pulling, just grounding him and yourself in each others’ touch “My perfect girl... my everything..” his words were slightly slurred, getting drunk on you. “Stars.. I want to taste you” he looks up at you, his pupils dark and blown, lost in his ecstasy. His hips grind down slowly against yours, his need taking over involuntarily. 

Your lazy sighs and moans fill the room, mingling with the sounds of the bugs and townspeople outside of your window. His lips trace their way down your chest, following the path down your abdomen, licking small stripes against your skin as he goes. “So good to me din..” you sigh, lips parting and eyes fluttering as you glance down at him. 

He lets out an uneven breath, his brown eyes drinking your body in. He sits up slightly between your legs and swallows roughly, as he takes in the sight of you. The sun was practically making you glow, casting a halo of gold around you, your lips were parted and red from biting at them. “You’re so beautiful my sun… so so beautiful” You feel your skin warm at his words, despite how often he praises you it never ceases to make you melt like putty in his hands. He can see the reaction on your face, the slight flush of your skin stirring something possessive and needy inside of him. “Kriff-” he makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper, “kriff i need you, i need you my sun,” 

You huff out a warm laugh and he thinks that it was warmer than the heat of any sun he had been in the presence of. You were his sun, you were his entire galaxy. “Go on in, I want you too my moon,” your words are soft, gentler than he thinks he deserves, but you never use anything other than that soft voice with him. 

“You’re sure..?” his hands trace over your thigh. Despite being fully bare and needy in front of him, Din is always sure to ask, never wanting to overstep, never wanting to hurt you even if by accident. His eyes are searching yours, looking for any sign of second guesses or hesitance, but are only met with utter devotion and need 

“I’m always sure” you whisper gently, looking up at him like he had personally set every star in the galaxy out there for you, like your entire heart and soul were his, and his were yours. He didn’t need to be told a second time, his lips finding your skin once again, tracing the same path down your body, licking over the ticklish skin of your belly button, nipping gently at the skin of your hip, until he’s hovering right above the coarse curls nestled on your body. You twitch slightly at the brush of his stubble against your stomach, your hand stroking through his hair absentmindedly. 

He lets out a small rumble of affection as he watches your chest rise and fall from his place between your legs. His mouth moves down to the curls just above your aching cunt and presses soft kisses into them, breathing in the smell of you. “You smell so kriffing good stars-” he practically whimpers at you, your breath catching as your hips jerk up inadvertently, yearning to catch some of his touch.

“Maker I love these” his lips continue to press kisses at the hairs on your mound, your skin heating at the praise, before his lips move slowly down, teasingly slow, before they press down over your slick folds. His nose nudges you open softly, and you cry out hands tightening in his hair, when it bumps your clit. “Smell so fucking good, bet you taste so perfect for me too ” he whines as his tongue lays a flat stripe against you. 

There was that filthy mouth of his. Somehow managing to be both incredibly sweet and debauched at the same time in ways that made your head spin. His tongue laps at you, gentle kitten licks at first, before it starts to work in lazy circles against your clit. He lets out a hum of laughter when your hand tightens in the sheets, a moan breaking out of your chest when his lips kiss and suck on that bundle of nerves. “Taste better every single time, Sun” he murmurs, collecting your slick on his tongue. 

“Stars-” your voice breaks in a whimpered moan, the feeling of his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses over your cunt making you writhe in his touch. His tongue darts out to lap at the slick that practically drools out of you eagerly like he was getting ambrosia straight from the gods. You tasted heavenly, and he simply could never get enough. He moans into your skin every so often, the vibrations sending shocks that go down your spine.

 The hand that wasn’t holding your hip was entangled with yours, his fingers rubbing your knuckles in a tender caress. The soothing motion is almost second nature to the two of you, one you use during any moment you can spare. “Maker” you cry out when his beard scratches the soft skin of your pussy, “all for you din, I’m all yours.” your words send a rush of possession through his body, his tongue lapping at you faster, almost like he was claiming you as his. 

His tongue goes back to dart at your dripping hole, pushing past your entrance and moaning at the taste of you. He flicks his tongue in you a few times, your back arching in response before he pulls off of you. He looks ragged with his mouth covered in your wetness and his hair clinging to his forehead, while sweat drips down his skin. “Maker above you taste so fucking sweet.. my sweet girl.” 

He moves back down, lips fervently attached to your clit, pulling moan after moan from your mouth. Your legs tremble as his mouth focuses on its new target, and you feel the coil inside you tightening, bringing you to that peak. 

“Oh, shit-” you cry out as your legs tighten around his head, a hoarse moan leaving his mouth at the feeling. “Din, baby fuck, I'm gonna cum-” Your breathing is unsteady, coming out in sharp pants and gasps. 

“That's it sweet girl” he hums into your skin, tongue never stopping its rapid movements “cum on my tongue baby, let me taste you, sweet girl” Your cunt pulses as you cum for him, his tongue working you through the high of your orgasm. Your sounds are like a choir in his ears, and if lack of air between your legs killed him he wouldn't mind, it would be an honor to die like that. The combination of those, coupled with how damn sweet you taste, had him rolling his hips into the mattress searching for any sort of relief for his aching cock. 

Your eyes are hazy as you come down from your climax, your legs going limp on the bed. You can see Din rutting into the mattress, a new burst of arousal flooding you. “Din.. baby… I want you..” you practically purr at him, voice dripping with almost as much need as your cunt. Your words raise a guttural whine to leave his chest, his breathing labored. 

“Please,” the tone of his voice is almost one of supplication, begging you for salvation “Please, I need to be inside you, please-” your hands are already making quick work of undoing his belt, your need for him primal.

His belt comes off with a click and you can feel yourself drooling at the sound, almost Pavlovian how quickly you react “Din, please please I want you, baby put it in I can't wait,” your own pleas match his in desperation. Both of you yearned for each other in ways that were incomprehensible, in ways that could keep you whole for the rest of time simply if you could bask in the shadow of the other. 

Din pulls his pants off, throwing them somewhere across the room, and you finally see him. Thick and pretty as ever, dripping pre-cum, practically throbbing and aching to be inside your warmth. You shuffle your hips down so he can line up with you, shaky exhales leaving both your lips when he drags the heavy weight of him over your sensitive heat. He gathers some of your wetness on his cock, coating it before he slips into you, curses flying out of both of your mouths. “Fuck Din,” you cry out as his tip pushes into you, the familiar stretch of him making you ache for more. He pushes into you further, making your toes curl and one of your hands grabs at your breast. 

“So good for me,” he groans out, pushing himself further, almost lost in how good you felt around him. Tight and wet, molding around him like you were made for each other. He pushes himself in all the way, buried inside you to the hilt, and it was like a puzzle piece. You were crafted just for him, and he was for you. There was nobody else for either of you. 

Din sinks down on the bed, his hips flush against yours, only propped up on an elbow to keep from crushing you under him. “My perfect girl..” he sighs, not thrusting but simply rocking against you. “My perfect fucking girl... I love you I love you I love you” he nestles his head on your shoulder, pressing kisses on your collarbone and neck. He snakes one hand around your waist, pulling you up to his body, chests pressed together, and you cling to each other. 

“Your girl..” you sigh, your hips moving gently, the friction of his coarse hair against your clit giving you enough stimulation to feel that familiar peak building slowly “Your girl.. Yours..” his lips move against your skin, his touch and presence engulfing you the way that you craved with him. 

His hips move a little faster, his need for you evident in the way his fingers grip you. “So kriffing beautiful like this.” he cries out, biting your collar gently “So perfect… so good under me like this..” you can feel his hips growing a tinge frantic, his orgasm building after who knows how long of staving it off to focus on you. You let one of your hands drift to your clit, not even needing to move your hand, just needing a slight bit of extra pressure while he moves inside of you. 

“I love you, Din. I love you so much, I love you,” you cry out as his movements turn to shallow shaky thrusts, his lips parted against your skin in silent prayers to you. “Cum with me, please I want to feel you, I want you in me, I want to be yours Din.” your fingers move gently, pushing you over the edge towards your climax. 

The feeling of your walls clamping down around him pushes him over with you. His cock twitched inside of you with groans and cries of pleasure leaving his mouth as his cum fills you. “Perfect fucking girl,” his words are blubbering sounds, mostly coming out between gasps and moans “Take me so well, made for me.” 

Din rolls you on top of him, letting you both catch your breaths while you cling to each other like it would be physically painful to be separated. His hand strokes up and down your back, skin warm to the touch but not for reasons he could think to criticize. Your eyes droop, the pleasure and feeling of domesticity seeping into your bones. “I love you, my moon.” you coo at him, sleep taking over your body. 

“I love you too, my sun..” he replies, his own body beginning to doze off, his hands still wrapped around your body.

[hannicorpse]

ʚ♡ɞ hopelessly devoted to you : episode seven - fboys

previous | masterlist | next

pairing : frat members yang jungwon x female reader

warnings : smoking, drinking, karina says the word fuck a lot

wc : 2k

preview : jungwon was always known as one of the more persistent members of the epsilon nu frat. so when he ran into you for the first time, he just knew he couldn’t get enough of you. even if you couldn’t be together because of your warring friend groups. but that doesn’t mean they had to know. right?

taglist ! @firstclassjaylee @13tter @yjwxfxr @nctislifue @yizhoutv @jwonistic @seunghancore @sol3chu @qettalos @unhakki @i03jae @gyuvision

from niya ; the song referenced is fck boys by blxst

just as promised, you were getting ready to go to the party hosted at epsilon nu’s frat house. or as they called it, the ‘traphouse’. you and karina always found that corny. nonetheless, you’ll still attend.

as soon as you walked out your dorm with ning, you saw the rest of your friends already waiting outside.

“i’ll drive?” you said, grabbing your keys before closing the door.

“i mean, you’re the only one who knows where it is.” aeri grimaced.

the final destination was not far from the girls dorms, but it was still far enough off campus that you wouldn’t be able to walk.

as soon as you parallel parked the car off the sidewalk, you led your friends towards the front door of the house.

“it’s so weird being here after so long.” karina mumbled, as minjeong, ning, and aeri admired the scenery in awe. “sometimes i forget that you guys have never seen the house.”

“i mean, we weren’t necessarily invited. like, you were heeseung’s girlfriend. and i swear sunghoon has been trying to get with y/n for ages.” minjeong pointed out as aeri agrees.

“seriously? i pretty much grew up with sunghoon. i can’t say he’s ever seen me like that.” you scoffed, before going up to the ‘bouncer’ who stood by the front doors.

“name?” he asked.

“y/n lee?” you questioned, assuming your name should’ve already been on the list. you ignored the complaints from your friends in the background as two random girls shoved past you, immediately being let in.

“there’s no y/n on the list.”

“you’re kidding. can’t you just let us in? i know sunghoon. mark lee is literally my brother.”

“nice try. you don’t know how many times i’ve heard that tonight. can you just tell me what sorority you’re in?” the bouncer says as he looks you up and down.

“alpha epsilon.” you groaned, growing annoyed as he turns around to make a call.

“i’m being told that no one from alpha epsilon is allowed into the epsilon nu frat house as of last year.”

“this is ridiculous..” you mutter, pulling out your phone to text jungwon.

barely a minute went by before your knights in shining armor came out from the house. “yo, what are you doing? they’re with us. did you even bother to check that exclusive guest list?” jungwon scolded the bouncer, as he tapped on the top of the clipboard, which clearly read your names on it.

sunghoon peaked his head out from behind the door, motioning for you all to follow him into the house while jungwon dealt with the bouncer.

“sorry about that. he’s a transfer student. normally we don’t hire freshmen but, duty calls.” he shrugged. “there’s a cooler out back, non alcoholic drinks in the fridge, and food on the island. welcome to the traphouse. didn’t think you guys would make it.”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world.” karina rolled her eyes with sarcasm, before waving her hand for you and your friends to follow her to the kitchen.

before you could follow, sunghoon grabbed your arm. “i got you a little something.” he winked, pulling you to a more secluded area.

you walked with him as he pulled you, but you turned around to look for your friends so you’d know where to find them later. at a party like this? they wouldn’t leave their spot. but you didn’t miss the way they all looked at you suspiciously, whispering amongst themselves. “they’re definitely fucking.” minjeong muttered.

sunghoon sat down on the couch, gesturing for you to sit next to him.

you put your head on his shoulder as he rolled a blunt for you, leaning into his warmth. “why aren’t you looking for jungwon?” he whispered teasingly.

your face fell. “who told you?” you asked, almost immediately dropping the lit joint he held out to you when you jumped up from your seat.

“riki.” he shrugged, taking a hit since you didn’t seem to do so yourself.

“he told riki??” you exclaimed in fear, running a hand through your hair. “this is bad. who else knows?” “just us. but i pretty much found out myself. you guys are really obvious.” he murmured, blowing the smoke past his lips before holding the blunt up to yours.

you took a long drag, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. “nothing even happened. all we did was talk. do you know what would happen to me if they found out? my friends already hate me for talking to you. what am i supposed to do?” you ran on, visibly stressed.

sunghoon grounded you. he was always good at that since you were younger.

“can you relax?.. this,” he emphasized the joint he held between his two fingers as he let you use it, “was supposed to calm you down, not rile you up. i’ll help you with jungwon. it’s clear you have a fat crush on each other. so don’t stress. and your friends? they need to learn the world doesn’t revolve around them and their feelings. you knew me before you met them anyway.”

“you.. you’re actually right. but, still. i’m just scared. i really have no idea what would happen if they knew. like, karina literally loses her appetite if you mention anyone in epsilon nu.” you sigh, allowing yourself to sink into the leather couch.

“your usual goods doesn’t seem to be working for you.” he teased.

“i’ve grown a higher tolerance for this.” you scoffed, playfully flicking his shoulder.

“i’ll swing by at lunch to drop off a new strain next week. we got some of that strawberry cough stuff.” sunghoon laughed. “stay here, i’ll be back.” he informs you, putting out the forgotten joint.

as soon as he left, karina and ning came up to you. “don’t tell me you’re fucking park sunghoon.” karina sighed in frustration, speaking through her teeth.

“i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again. he’s practically a brother! i’m not even interested in anyone right now.” you frowned.

“you can fuck whoever you want. but it can’t be someone in epsilon nu.”

“i’m not trying to?” you exclaimed in genuine confusion, almost anger. karina was ready to talk again, but immediately stopping herself, closing her mouth as sunghoon came back.

“we’ll talk later. come on ning.” karina scoffed. you watched as ning gave you an apologetic look, gesturing how bad she felt.

“karina seems to be on one.” sunghoon joked, attempting to lighten the mood. “how would you know?” “she doesn’t really talk when she’s mad.”

you stared blankly at him. “how would you know?” “seriously? she was here almost every day because of heeseung.”

sunghoon sat down on the couch with two red solo cups in his hands. he held one out to you, letting you smell it before you took it.

“gosh, that’s strong. the hell is this?” you grimaced at the alcohol stench.

“vodka. grey goose, specifically.” he smiled. “no kidding.. this is crazy. that’s like, 6 shots in one cup.” “it’ll definitely get you there. that’s what this is for.” sunghoon emphasized the other cup, raising it to show that it is half full with strawberry fanta.

you hesitate at first, but pound the vodka before immediately taking the chaser.

“that was terrible.” you coughed out.

“one more?” “..”

by the time the party was already over, you were crazy drunk. your friends were already waiting in your car. good thing you gave ning the keys.

sunghoon offered to walk you out, but jungwon came racing towards you to beat him too it. “nooo, i’ll do it!” he slurred, probably more drunk than you were.

“where were you the whole night?” you whined, as he held your waist to help you get up from the couch.

“sorry babyyy i was dealing with the guy that was giving you a hard time.” he chuckled, pressing his nose into your neck as you walked towards the door.

“thank you wonnie.” you smiled, before reaching up to cup his cheek.

you stared into his big and round eyes. jungwons pupils dilated as you looked at him, his cheeks flushing a rosy color.

his breath hitched as he felt you coming closer, before you eventually sealed your lips together into a soft kiss.

you could taste whatever he was drinking at tip of his tongue. you were practically leaning into jungwon now, so his hands held your waist to prevent you from falling over.

jungwon pulled away, licking his lips before letting you go, holding the door open for you.

“such a gentleman.” you laughed as you were stumbling over yourself.

ningning was waiting outside for you, ready to catch you and walk to the car.

“come on, you’re drunk.” she smiled, helping you settle into the car next to aeri, who gave you a neutral look.

“we’re never coming back here again.” karina sighed, putting the car in ignition before turning out into the road.

[cursecuelebre]

All About Woden or Oðin

It’s going to be a bit long so I hope I won’t bore y’all.

Attributes:

War

Wisdom

Magic (Seidr or Galdr)

Death

Poetry

Runes

Healing

Divination

The elite which is the high class (historically speaking but he can still be worshipped by any class he doesn’t discriminate)

King of Asgard and Aesir

Father to men and gods

Spirits

Air and Breath

Symbols

Runes (which he gifted to mankind and sacrifice himself for)

Ravens, he has two of his own called Huginn (thought) and Muninn (Memory). Crows can be associated as well but accurately are Ravens.

The rune Ansuz

Wolves

Staffs

His spear Gungnir which will always hit its mark

A winged helmet

Sleipnir the eight legged horse, child of Loki. Horses can also be a good symbol as well.

Valknut a sigil that is representative of Death, Preparation, and Protection.

The Gungnir sigil which is a diamond with an X over in the center

Horn Triskelion which Odin’s gift of knowledge of poetry and mead

Poetry this can be written poems or songs

Wednesday or Woden’s day

His own set of books called Havamal which is basically Norse proverbs but it’s basically means “Words of The One Eyed”

Herbs/Plants/Trees: Ash trees, Elm Trees, Rowan Trees, Horehound, Parsley, Woad, Mugwort

Offerings.

Mead (Beer can be a good substitute) if you can’t get beer water or tea or coffee is fine

Meat (for his wolves it’s said that Odin doesn’t eat but drinks a lot according to mythology, but I don’t think he would be mad if you put some on the side for him)

Poetry or general music

Handmade items

Weapons (doesn’t have to be real)

Bird feed (for his ravens)

Crystals (it’s more neo pagan, but he likes obsidian a lot)

Devoted acts like writing, exercise, crafting, etc.

Any magical things

Anything associated with Horses, horses were very sacred in Norse culture. Pictures of horses, horse hair(if you can find any), drawings of horses, etc.

Ravens like raven feathers or skulls (please clean them well and ask the spirit for permission) but then again no need anything crow or Raven related same with Wolves.

Runes, bind runes, handcrafted runes, rune artwork, etc. any divination tool as well like a tarot deck.

Staffs or Wands

Depictions

There is quite few depictions of Oðin in artwork but here is common scenery, he is an older gentleman with a long bread with one eye (the lore never said which eye was sacrificed).

His wanderer aspect: It’s the one I described earlier about him looking like Gandalf, a older man in a top hat or hooded in old robes carrying a staff. This aspect is of him traveling throughout the nine realms.

Warrior aspect or King aspect: He is in his armor, carrying a spear. Sitting in a throne with his winged helmet by his side are his two wolves Geri and Freki and at his shoulders is Huginn and Muninn who are essentially his messengers but very still apart of them so that they can see everything throughout the nine realms.

His hanged aspect: Which shows him hanging upside down from the world tree by stabbing himself while gaining knowledge about the runes. He died then rose back to life fully understanding the runes we know today which he gifted to us.

Sleipnir: Oðin attain Sleipnir by Loki, Sleipnir has eight legs and was Oðin’s battle horse and accompanied him throughout the nine realms most famously known traveling to Helheim to summon a dead seer for a prophecy.

Titles

There are so many but I’ll shall put the ones that are commonly used and ones I really like and forgive me for any spelling mistakes Germanic or any Scandinavian languages isn’t my first language and I have terrible handwriting.

Aldafödr- Father of men

Alfaðir or Alföðr - Allfather

Báleygr - Feeble eye, one eyed or flamed eye

Draugadróttin - Lord of Ghosts

Foldardróttin- Lord of The Earth

Gapthrosnir - One in a Gaping Frenzy

Gizur - Riddler

Ginnarr- Decevier

Göndlir - Wand Bearer

Gollnir - Yeller

Godjaðarr - God Protector

Grimnir, Grimr - Masked one, hooded one

Hangaguð - Hanged God

Gudan - Master of Fury

Haptabeiðir - Ruler of the gods

Haptasnytirr- Teacher of The Gods

Hárbarðr- Grey Bread

Hárr - One eye

Havi- High one

Jölföðr - Yule Father

Jölnir - Yule

Oðinn- Frenzy one

Óski - Fulfiller of Desires

Runatyr- God of Runes

Sigföðr - Father of Victory

Wōden- Master of Fury

Ódr - “frenzy”, divine inspiration, breath

Wilde Jaegar - Lord of The Wild Hunt

Karl - Old man

War-Father

Long hat

Wise and Wisdom Granter

True Father

Spell caster

Shadowed face

Fool and Wise man

Sleep-maker

General Information

Commonly known as Oðin (frenzy) or Wōden (Fury) to the Anglo Saxons he is probably one of fascinating gods in Germanic/Norse Mythology. From the titles and attributes even the symbols you can tell he isn’t just one set type of God he rules and charges over countless of things.

Oðin was born to Borr along with his two brothers, Vili and Ve, Oðin is the oldest. All three brothers killed the first being in existence Ymir. Which they created the earth, sky, and sea from his corpse literally Ymir’s skull is the sky and his brain the clouds and his blood the rivers and ocean. Then him and his brothers created the first humans Ask and Embla from pieces of trunks of Ash and Oak. I should note that most of what sources we have Norse Mythology is from Christian sources so you might see some influences from Abrahamic faiths. Oðin along with his brothers Vili and Ve gave each of them a trait of life. Oðin gave breath of life, Vili gave understanding and physical movements, and Ve gave their senses.

Oðin is a god of wisdom, he is always eager for the pursue of knowledge. That is why he travels a lot. Once he came upon the Well of Mimir beneath Yggdrasil’s roots a Jotun who guarded the well who was the wisest being of all and his well and grant such wisdom. Oðin asked if he can drink from the waters. Mimir agreed but said he needed to give the well, a sacrifice, so Oðin did that he gave the well his eye that he can drink. From doing so he became very knowledgeable in the ways of magic, curing the sick, calm storms, summoning the dead, etc this lead him on to his pursuit of the Runes. By the way Mimir’s head was beheaded and to preserve his head Oðin put the head in herbs and sang spells so that Mimir can still speak to him.

Then another famous story was how he gain the runes. Oðin hung himself upside down from the Yggdrasil tree by piercing himself with his spear as he called for the runes. For nine days and nine nights he had no help but when the runes finally came to him he let out a cry falling dying. It’s said it was describe the light of the world going dark when Oðin dead but suddenly it light up again and Oðin came back alive with the knowledge of the runes. Which he generously shared with Mankind.

He is a god rules over Valhalla one half goes to him (those who die in battle) and the other goes to Freyja’s hall. He’ll lead dead warriors when Ragnorak begins.

He is the god of kings and rulers but he also is the god of tyrants as well

God of order but he does do some trickery like Loki.

He is a war god there is so many titles that have him in war context that is overwhelming lol. About frenzy, fury, spears, victory, etc. it’s also describe Oðin will bring war upon peaceful communities as well.

God of Death, he is considered to be a psychopomp

He is equivalent to Mercury or Hermes (Psychopomp, knowledge, share the same day Wednesday.) similarities between them are mostly documented by Roman historian Tacitus.

He is a God among the goths, Anglo-Saxons, Germanic Tribes, Norse, Danes, Swedish, Finnish, and Icelandic peoples

He is the God of the Wild hunt which along side him is Holda a Germanic goddess of winter and death, it’s said Santa Claus is partly inspired from him because after he is finished with his hunt will come around people’s homes dropping gifts in shoes. He is also known as the Yule-Father.

Oðin is also the god of magic of Seidr and Galdr, Seidr is like a shamanic form of magic that the Norse used. It involved divination, spirit work, chanting, spinning, meditation. Seidr historically was only socially acceptable for women to practice not men but Oðin is the one that taught men Seidr. Galdr is magic of chanting or singing, created the song to cast spells. He can send a person dreams and messages. He can also make witches go mad apparently.

He is able to summon the dead, make them alive again. 

Oðin is married to Frigga of marriage and justice and they had together Baldr, Hodr, and Hermod. But Oðin had many lovers and many children including Thor, Vali, Vidarr, Heimdallr, and many more. It’s also said that he had a relationship with Freyja even married her at one point before he disappeared however it’s not quite clear nor proven to be Oðin just speculation.

My personal experience

I will say Odin is a different type of God I encounter with. The best way I can describe it and it may sound weird but he’s like a fun grandfather. He has his wisdom and knowledge but also his sense of humor. He has helped me through a lot especially with anxiety and depression and burnout. Out of all the gods I have worked with he is the one that gives me the most dreams, the dreams are so beautiful and powerful I can’t describe them in full detail but involves magic.

Typically he loves any type of votive offering (creating the offering) like he enjoys regular offerings of course. But just using your free time to do craft something for him or do something for him he really appreciates. Writing your own poetry, studying, crafting, using your inspiration for workings, etc. divination or spellwork. He does play some playful tricks time to time.

Tarot:

Tarot cards I resonate with Oðin from my personal practice

Magician

Emperor

Hermit

Hanged Man

Death

Ace of Wands

[deimos-awaits]

Dreams of the Chaptermaster

My first little writing from Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita did not know where he was. This deeply concerned the Chaptermaster of the Ironsong, in a way the few other things did. He almost always knew at the very least where he was or what made his surroundings. To be so unprepared and unknowing of either was troubling. He was not wearing his armor that much he was sure of. The comfortable feeling of tons of ceramite was gone from his chest. It made them feel rather light and airy. The area around them was light and fragrant. Though covered in such a deep smoke or mist that it was hard to tell where anything was really. It reminded him of one of the poetdens on his homeworld of Astraea, at least on the side that devoted itself to the arts.

It took less than a minute for him to take stock of himself. He seemed to be wearing the robes and tunics common on the more wealthy parts of Astraea. He would rather have been in one of the old jumpsuits he had long grown accustomed to wearing. Further he wished that he had a mechandrite harness or any of his armor. Artificer Siderénia felt naked without it, especially without any knowledge exactly of where they were. The last thing that he could remember was celebrating a successful campaign against an eldar craftworld force with the Knightly House of Phobos and the First Deimos Explorator Fleet. The celebration was a subbed event, the heads of the three organizations, themself representing the Ironsong Chapter of Astartes, though he did indulge in specially acquired Fenrisian Ale. Maybe that was the mistake, and the ale imbibed by the sons of Russ. Warpcraft was his second supposition as to what was occurring though he was hoping that wasn't the case. The third most likely situation was he was dreaming.

Artificer Siderénia took one more moment to examine the air around him. It resembled the smoke clouds more often found on the poetdens of Astraea though unlike there, where a simple wave of the hand would result in more clear air with the incense brushing away and the ability to see whatever poet was crooning against the sound of brasswind instruments. He strode forward, though they were unable to out which direction they had initially started facing. Siderénia was confident enough though that the ground beneath was made of marble or some other similar stone. He bent down to feel it and it was as smooth and cold as they would otherwise expect. The smooth surface indicated some form of polishing and the as of yet unidentified light source seemed to confirm it was white stone with gold veining. Artificer Siderénia could Even see his own well kept beard and violet eyes in the reflection from the stone.It felt truly like he was in one of the more gaudy Emperor forsaken poetden. Upon recalling the simple fact about his homeworld’s musical traditions, a soft melody began to play in the air.

It sounded wrong, as if there was a faint hint of static with what was normally a live performance. The melody itself was strange and Artificer Siderénia did his best to try to appraise it before approaching. It seemed to be a strange melange of the work songs of his youth and the more restful ballads of a poetden though he could not make out any district words that either might have. He was put on high alert no matter where he was it was trying to put him at ease and failing.

If only he had his Omnissian power axe.

He was not often given to strong emotions, moderation and balance was after all key to his chapter's survival and thriving but he yearned for it now in this strange place. If this was the result of any of the Magi of Deimos they would learn why to never do this again. With little emotion visible he began to move towards whatever source of the music he could find. Damn Magos Aleph-Gimmel Bellerov-2.0 and her Fenrisian ale for addling their head enough they could not remember where they were. With a simple breath he moved forward, less a man moving forward but a rumbling mountain of steel, flesh, and ceramite moving forward in thundering footsteps. He never was one for subtly though there was an itching in the back of his head that wished that was more the case.

Artificer Siderénia kept walking until the smoke began to clear and his surroundings seemed to take a more solid form. The room they found themselves in was a similar amalgamation of all the poetdens he had ever been in. There was a stage at the edge of his vision where there was a youth of indeterminate gender - not uncommon on Astraea - crooning into a microphone hanging from the ceiling, tables spread out with small arrangements of flowers on them, gilded seats and incense burning everywhere. The song that youth with light hair and even paler skin was crooning was strangely difficult to focus on. There was also no band visible behind them to give the backing music. Dream or warpcraft Siderénia decided. Perhaps both. He was leaning towards dream given how most of the seats and tables present seemed suited to accommodate a man of his size and build and although that was not uncommon on Astraea due to it being his chapters homeworld but all of them being his size or larger? Strange.

He began to walk towards the youth on the stage. The fact that the youth either did not notice him despite seemingly being the only other person in the room or did not care that a nine foot tall transhuman was approaching was troubling. It was further troubling that the youth only had one breast whose swell was visible under their tunic. Warpcraft of what flavor was quickly becoming obvious to him.

Could he use any of the chairs here as a welcome? Were the chairs also similarly tainted? What would he have to do in order to escape this place? His thoughts began to march through his head in ordered fashion trying to discern exactly how to leave this warp spawned nightmare. The Ruinous Powers would not have him.

Siderénia was so focused on that he didn't notice at first the clapping congratulating the Youth's latest unintelligible song. The Youth took a bow before returning to croon in some language that was definitely no form of Gothic Siderénia had ever heard. He turned to see the source and perhaps find any other person here to find a giant of a man even by the standards of the Astartes. He has the same white hair as Siderénia, like the marbled floor and matching violet eyes. Siderénia’s hearts felt as if they had just stopped.

He yearned once more that he had his power axe.

It was impossible to deny who was sitting in front of him and Siderénia would not even begin to attempt to. The other man laughed. The laugh was far similar to the music playing. It was a thousand desires and dreams fulfilled all at once, and ten thousand desires left aching.

A few moments passed between them again with the smell of incense and the crooning threatening to overtake all of the senses. Siderénia simply stared, a gaze that in most cases would have caused any member of the Ironsong Chapter to shrink. The other person simply laughed again. “Hello darling. Are you enjoying the performance?”

Artificer Siderénia simply stared over more at the man begging the Emperor to be wrong about who this was.

“Well. Aren't you going to say something?” The other figure asked as if the few seconds, maybe even a minute, if that at most, of silence had begun already to bore him. The voice was similar enough to the laughing that it made him want to talk and respond. It was oozing with joy.

“No.”

The other man's broad smile seemed to twitch for a second. “Oh come on, Siderénia, you know you brought yourself here, won't you as least ask who I am? This is modeled after your homeworld after all.”

Siderénia glanced at the crooning Youth. Their performance though still entirely musical had begun to verge into a style that would have never been accepted on Astraea, Even given their relatively progressive standards. He looked back at the figure lounging in front of him. The tunic the other was wearing seemed to be made out of snake skin. “What would you have me say Fulgrim, snake, Gorgonbane?”

The Primarch of the Third Legion's face, Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita own Primarch, laughed again though there was no mirth this time. “First Rylanor, now you. Oh darling, darling. " Fulgrim tuted at him as if he was a child. "When I heard the little whispers the Imperium had decided to make a new chapter with my geneseed I just had to watch you know. It was so fascinating to watch you all grow.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita stood as impassively and emotionless as any proud son of Ferrus Manus would. His chapter claimed their descent from the Gorgon. Now would be no different. “I hope you are disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Oh my dear son, Siderénia, I'm far from it. Your precious Ironsong has been an exemplary finishing force! And while the art you make tends to be more subdued, that can be fixed in time! I'm sure I can find a place for all mechanists.”

“No.” the world around Siderénia began to shudder and shake. It was like a hololith losing connection.

“No? Again that's really quite Dornian or even rather like… you haven't even heard my offer.”

“Snake, I want nothing of what you offer me.” Siderénia Teleiótita count feel the tug within him to submit to his primarch and do whatever the demon and but the chaptermaster held firm.

“I am your father,” Fulgrim stood now white hair cascading down in an impossibly beautiful wave. “I know what you have gotten up to with those Magi-”

Siderénia Teleiótita, against his better judgment, stepped forward and grabbed a chair as he did so. It was no Omnissian axe but it would have to do. “You are not my father. He is buried in Astraea’s soil, and though you are my primarch my allegiance is to the Emperor and Ferrus Manus.”

Fulgrim’s languid and easy attitude had swung towards anger and frustration. The entire poetden seemed to flicker into static. “I do not know by what Warpcraft you think you can escape but you will see,” and the human form he was talking fell away to reveal the demon prince beneath. Writhing scales and four arms reaching towards the all too human history master. “You are my children, you are not his!” one of Fulgrim's claws scratched his chin.

The Youth began to scramble and run off of the stage as the dream world was shaking.

Siderénia Teleiótita had no idea what Warpcraft was happening either. As far as he was aware no one even remotely close to them had access to warpcraft. He swung the chair at the daemon primarch ready to fight to his last here.

Then his eyes shot open.

Siderénia Teleiótita’s hearts were pounding and he was covered in sweat.

A familiar, though a tad forgettable Magos of Deimos, loomed over him. “Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita! Are you alright? Your heart beats were elevated, I was simply coming to ask for your presence at a meeting with the local planetary governor.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita simply looked up at the Magos Tsephor-10.54 and attributed the headache to hangover as that dream faded almost instantly from memory. The rather fat techpriest had the strange ability to be almost forgettable while also unnerving. “I am fine. Aid me in putting on my armor and I will be there promptly.”

Siderénia Teleiótita did not notice the new scar on his chin.

[gaysindistress]

A Fool’s Devotion

disclaimer: shoutout to @malsorie for letting me use her stunning art. The center picture as well as the bottom one are her master pieces. All others were found on Pinterest or Google.

pairings: Minthara x f!reader (could be read as gn since I didn’t use pronouns for reader)

Summary: Only a fool would remain faithful to a coward god.

Warnings: bg3 cannon violence

Word count: 2.7k

Bg3 masterlist

A Fool’s Devotion teaser

Drifting through the stale winds of the Underdark on mushroom spores, I have finally found her.

Sitting in a cold and silent room with her chin resting on her closed fist as she watches the city from the window, I have finally found her.

Singing the songs of both her victims and allies, a reckoning begins in the hallows of slit throats and caverns of forgotten hope but I finally found her.

A paladin who’s lost their oath, willfully broken under the pretenses of another’s twisted lies, she sits with the blood of her mother caked into the creases of her hands. A daughter, once sworn to her house and to her goddess, she no longer is but in her place is a creature of darkness.

A wickedly evil thing lives in the mess that Orin made of her mind.

Darkness from the depths of Mykrul’s personal hell has crept into her heart and warped whatever demented love that Drow society left behind.

A soldier for her people, her house, and her goddess has been lost to the wild of Faerun and now only remains a soldier for herself in the haunting study of House Baenre.

Floating through the open window, I watch her stare at a distant fixated point in the city. Alone she has let her guard fall and with it, the look of desired anguish is pulled taunt on her face. The thought of not remembering her time with the Absolute must eat away at her every moment she is awake and those from her childhood must find her at night given the way her brows are pinched together. Within the red of her eyes, dry tears gather but don’t fall down on her lavender cheeks. Her lips are pulled into a tight line and her jaw is set in a similar fashion.

The veil that hides me from her view falls as my boots make contact with the floor. Like the smoke that dances above a dying campfire, I flicker into existence and come to stand beside the window facing her. Her melancholy comes off of her in waves that lap at my feet but from my spot, I’m a safe distance from her sea of emotions.

“You’re here,” her voice cracks for a moment as she speaks to me but continues to stare past me, “I was beginning to wonder when you would make your appearance.”

“There are rules, Minthara.” She interrupts me by waving me off with the hand her chin had been resting on.

“Rules that even you have to follow,” I continue, “and I tried to warn you about what would happen if you broke them. I told you what the consequences would be if you continued down this path of murder and chased a power you would never hold. I sent you all kinds of signs, omens of what your future would hold should you continue to ignore me.”

I feel those exhausted red eyes cut to me, slicing through the leather of my armor and hoping to find a weak spot beneath. When no vein is ripe for her blade, she chooses a different route to maim me.

“A power I would never hold? You are a fool if you think that I haven’t been successful in my efforts to gain whatever it is that I seek.”

A sigh of defeat escapes my lips. I’d hoped that time would ease her determined mind but from what little she’s said, I can tell that it has only made it more rigid.

“Do the consequences of your actions not matter to you? Have you no sense of self preservation?”

Her hand falls to grip the edge of her chair. White strands of hair are disturbed from her movement but flutter back around her shoulders in moments as angry water laps at my feet. I fear that if I look down I would find a stormy wave ready to overtake me so that I may feel her anguish fully.

“Without it, I would have been dead by my mother’s own hand long ago. Self preservation is what has led me to where I am now. It’s been the only thing that has motivated me when all should be lost, when even YOU deserted me.”

The hole where my heart must have once sat clenches at her words; she believes that I deserted her. When all others have left her and deemed her too maniacal for their liking, she doesn’t care because there has always been one person who remained. When everything was stripped from her and she became a plaything for the Absolute and Orin, it didn’t matter what she suffered because her heart still knew there was one person who cared for her. As Tav decided to save her from that prison and make her a part of their camp, she didn’t seek out the companion of the others because she yearned for one person alone. While standing over Orin’s eviscerated corpse, she felt relief at the reality that this monster was gone but grief that she couldn’t share this feeling with one person in particular. When the Nether brain fell and she returned to her city, she searched for this person in every alleyway and noble house alike. Laying awake at night as she tried to ease the tension that unknown horrors had inflicted on her, she prayed to me and asked me to come back to her.

Can you hear my prayers? She cried one night. Can you hear me? Or are you ignoring me, ust-nor?

My answer feels thick on my tongue but there’s nothing else I can tell her, “I didn’t intend to desert you. I had no choice. I’d been called upon and you know that I cannot leave sooner than necessary.”

She lets out a sinister, mocking chuckle as she adjusts in her chair. She’s taken on a more relaxed pose, slouching with her hands folded on her lap although it’s merely a mask. “You reprimand me for making the wrong choices when you have done the same.”

My whole body bristles at her tone, “Minthara.”

She glowers at me with a menacing stare for a moment before sweeping over my appearance. “I suppose that you’re not here for old time’s sake if you’re wearing your armor. You’ve been called here, haven’t you?”

The armor in question is a complex web of leather and spider silk woven by Lolth herself. The chest plate boasts of Her favoritism from small pieces of Her candles that decorate the neckline and to the intricate spider designs carved into the blessed leather. Trousers and boots crafted in the same fashion fit closely to my legs, both blessed by the Spider Queen to grant me advantages in my line of work. However my gloves are the true testament of Lolth’s favor; a rather unassuming set of black leather gloves that grant me the ability to paralyze any creature that I desire. A soft touch to one’s arm in passing is all it would take for the paralytic to take effect in seconds and remain in effect until I release them. They’ve been the envy of many people but Minthara, in particular, has attempted to persuade me into giving them to her numerous times.

I glance down the gloves and flex my fingers to see the lights around us disappear into their black shade.

I allow my voice to fall into a deeper and authoritative one as I ask, “What is the name that people whisper when they speak of me?”

Her eyes narrow at the change before she answers, “Dobluth.”

The outcast.

I nod my head as I move away from the window at last. My boots make small, almost eerily silent sounds as I approach her and fully look at her. Ragged is not a kind word nor is it one she would ever allow someone to call her but it’s too simple of a word to describe the state that she is in. Now that I’m closer, I can see the true extent of her exhaustion and how it has wreaked havoc on her. No longer is she the vibrant and ever imposing Drow successor but in her place is the rotting corpse of a woman who’s witnessed and inflicted far too much evil. Fatigue has dulled her senses to the point that she barely reacts when I remove my cloak and place it on the small table beside her. Crouching before her, I study her face closely when I ghost my hands up her legs and brush them against her fold ones. I take note of the way her eyes almost flutter closed and she lets out a long sigh when I take them into mine.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

The simple command seems damn near impossible for me as she takes seconds too long to do so. She looks everywhere but my eyes at first and when I squeeze her hands, she finally meets my gaze.

“I’m the first Dobluth, Minthara. I was neither born nor created; I simply have existed since the dawn of time and will continue to exist when all else has perished. I will live in the hearts and minds of all living creatures and will putrefy with them as they take their last breaths. I will feed on the consequences of wrong doings and ease the pain of those who cry out for deaf gods as I do so. I am the devourer of all sin; I absolve souls of their weight and as a consequence, was named the first outcast, the First Dobluth. I am known by everyone yet no one knows who I am.” I keep eye contact with her as I press my lips to the top of her hands and murmur my sacred devotion to her, “No one knows me for who I am but you, Minthara. You may very well be the only person to have said my name in centuries, to know my face, to hear my voice, to have my interest. You’re the solo person who has known who and what I am but yet still chosen to be mine. My heart may no longer beat but it has found sanctuary within yours. My blood may be solidified within my veins but it flows within yours. My body may feel frigid but against yours, it feels alive once more. I may be fundamentally incapable of being anything other than a devourer but I’m sated with you and finally found fulfillment knowing that I am enough for you.”

I cup her face while keeping her hands firmly clasped in the other. Perhaps against her mind’s will, her heart allows her to lean into my hand and savor the feeling of a gentle touch. A lone tear smears against her skin as my thumb catches it and sweeps it across her cheekbone.

“I heard your prayers and I did everything I could to come back to you because without you, my existence would be a blur of fear and loneliness. There’s no reason other than to cause ourselves pain to dwell on what we wish we could change about the past but I need you to know that I never would’ve left had I known what that Bhaalspawn would do. I would’ve fought harder to stay had I known what horrors you would face by her hand. I would’ve slaughtered every cultist and their Chosen myself had I known what I do now.” Her angry waves crashed into me the moment we touched and began to form a hurricane of her emotions and mine within me as I spoke. As more determined tears fall, the hurricane crumbles into a beast of a different nature. Sorrow replaces that anger and tells her that I am here now and that is all that matters.

“You failed to answer my question; were you called here?” she murmurs.

It catches me off guard when it shouldn’t.

“I was called by you, ust-nor.”

Disgust twists her face at the pet name, causing her nose to wrinkle and brows to furrow. She pulls her face from my grasp, meanwhile against the leather of gloves, I feel the minuscule twitch of her fingers as she keeps herself from shoving me away entirely. Although I vowed to never bring her harm, she knows all too well what lethal consequences could come from irrational actions right now. A single misunderstood movement from her could result in endless paralysis with no way out.

A moment passes as Minthara presumably considers her next move. She leans down, close enough that her breath washes over my face.

“I will tell you what I told the first Oathbreaker bastard who offered me a chance at redemption; I will never be governed by another again. I will not vow my life to a thankless coward. I will not force myself to live by an oath that does not serve me nor prioritize my wellbeing. I’ve spent too long serving those who don’t care if it is me or some other mindless soldier who returns victorious. I’ve given everything I have and been forced to give even more for a cause that is not my own. I refuse to praise a god for simply allowing me to worship them.”

I wish disappointment had been the emotion that greeted me as she spoke. I wish I could say that I didn’t expect her to react this way or to say the words that she did. I wish I didn’t know her as well as I do so that this unfortunate reunion wouldn’t bring me as much misery as it does.

Sighing, I pull my hands back and rock back onto my knees. With my hands resting on my knees, I stare at her. It’s an act of submission, my stance but for her, I would strip my armor and present my weapons with a bare heart if she asked.

“If you do not wish to retake your oath, our Goddess has been generous enough to offer…”

“Fuck your goddess.”

The silence is astounding.

She gets to her feet and is at the window in one fluid motion it seems. Candle lights dance down the expanse of her back, across the pale strands of her hair and over her void like black dress. In her chair remained the forgotten over layer of her dress; a structured piece that was crafted to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies and allies alike. Pointed shoulders and gold edges give her a towering illusion that matches her confidence. The dress she still wears reminds me of what she lovingly called her at-ease clothes. It almost feels like a call back to a time simpler and much happier than now.

Almost.

“The so-called Spider Queen has no place in House Baenre.” Her voice is steady now, devoid of any previous emotion as she takes a pin from the window’s ledge and twists her hair back into place, “Soon she will find that she has no place in Menzoberranzan at all. Her effigies will be destroyed, her books burned, and her memory scrubbed from history. I had hoped that you would see reason one day and join me as I fight to reclaim the city but there is no place for a bleeding heart in war.”

Once more she has become Minthara, Matron of House Baenre.

Somewhere lost beneath the countless sins of others I have absolved lies a naive soul that yearns to take my place by her side as she becomes the Slayer of Lolth but it is that very same goddess that binds me to the floor now. Her envy and anger crackles with a ferocity I’ve seen only a few times through my body and into the marrow of my bones. Her power seethes and tightens around me when I try to push back, to stand, to move at all. It was one thing to allow me to come and speak to Minthara but Lolth is not the generous type.

“You are dismissed, Y/N.”

I catch a brief look of longing before Lolth retakes me, wrapping me in her spidery webs and dragging me back to her clutches.

“Goodbye alurlssrin.”

[barb-l]

I have a crush on Vaggie. I…. I have a crush on Vaggie mf “Slim Thick” Morningstar. 😯 I actually have a crush on VAGGIE! She’s my favorite character but I’ve never really realized that I was crushing on her until I woke up this morning and thought “Damn, I wonder what Vaggie’s doing today. I want to hear her talk and walk and give me sultry looks.” Needless to say, I had a good morning this morning. 🫦 I’ve crushed on characters before as a child, but with Vaggie, I think it’s something different. God bless Ms. Stephanie Beatriz.

This video also helped with the crush: https://m.youtube.com/shorts/TZ6iS4tRjZw

(oh, and that post you made when that anon commented on her thighs and hips in the skirt? That def helped. More please.)

Honestly same for me. I didn't realize I'd like her this much when I was anticipating the show because when I'd watched the pilot, Charlie was the one I was simping for. I still really really like Charlie, but Vaggie is iiiiieeeeeeee

The change in her outfit helped. That skirt is super flattering lol I also like that she mellowed down a lil compared to the pilot. And her devotion to Charlie is just so swoon worthy. everyone hates her for it, but i totally love characters who are super devoted to their lovers when either said lover is a baddie(ex. Gomez for Morticia) or is an absolute sweetheart (Marcille for Falin in Dungeon Meshi). If the person their down bad for barely even appreciates them(like. Idk. A certain duo in the titan anime), then it's just frustrating. But Charlie is such a sweetheart, Vaggie being so in love with her makes so much sense, and is such a sweet contrast to the fact that she's so taciturn with everyone else. It's great!!

I think i probably started really liking her when she had her song in ep 3. The line "I'll be your armor" is simultaneously swoon worthy testament of her love, a good way to show Vaggie's personal flaws, and a nice way to look back on and realize how she went from being a killer to being a protector and how awesome that is. I just love her, man

[multi-lefaiye]

heads up, seven up tag

i'm stealing @vacantgodling's open tag :3 because i wanna share more of the sunbringer's song outline...

tentatively tagging.... @albatris @drawnecromancy @northwyrm @paradoxspir1t aaaaand anyone else who might wanna hop in! open tag!!! i am blanking so fucking much rn, y'all!

anyway. here are seven lines i wrote for sunbringer's song today, with as few spoilers as possible for the game and overall story. this is a moment unrelated to eden's pov, but i'm setting up some things to come here :3

Even with his armor and years of training his body, he wasn’t able to escape the battle unscathed, left with a sluggishly bleeding gash just under his ribs.

It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Hells, he’s had far worse injuries before--his instructor had been unforgiving, unyielding, uncaring for those who were anything less than perfect warriors. But today’s failure is added salt in the wound. He’d been so close, and yet once again the comet had slipped through his grasp.

If the knight were a less determined man, less devoted to his cause, he would have gone mad long ago. As it stands, however, he knows he must persist.

[beanghostprincess]

Sanji loves romantic novels. And romantic plays. He keeps buying books about fairytale romances and scripts every time they happen to find a bookstore. He loves the poetry of it all. The dramatic and intensified feelings of pure, devoted love that goes against all odds and always has a happy, magical ending. Because that's what he has always wanted. He knows he shouldn't find comfort in books about royalty falling in love, but it's never really about the princesses and more about them running away to find love and fight for it. And they might be cliché and sappy but he likes them. They bring him happiness whenever he's feeling down. Besides, his mom used to read those to him quite a lot, so that's another reason.

But he never tells anybody because he's a bit embarrassed of being a 21 y/o man that reads these things. Not that it's bad,, And he knows the crew wouldn't laugh that much at him about it (except maybe mosshead). But still, he doesn't have good memories about situations like that. He doesn't even tell Usopp when they start dating. It's a secret, guilty pleasure he has. Even if the stories are dumb and predictable and idiotically hopeful and romantic... He loves them. But he doesn't want Usopp (even if he knows he wouldn't) to think less of him for that. An irrational fear, he supposes. Maybe he's just not ready to share his passion with him yet.

So he keeps hiding to read and some days he even disappears for hours to do so. Nobody knows where he is. Sometimes he says he's busy cooking and bans everybody (even his boyfriend) from coming in because he needs to focus, when he's actually just reading. And Usopp notices. Of course he does.

But Sanji doesn't find out about that until one day, Usopp appears with a ton of flowers (that are definitely not roses and definitely not pacific but they're tame now and they look sort of cute) on the deck, looking up at Sanji who's leaning on the railing of the second floor. Sanji does not know what's going on. He's astonished. Speechless. Everybody is around them witnessing what's going on. And that's when Usopp starts acting all dramatically, reciting by heart one of his favorite scenes of that one book he always keeps rereading.

And it's dumb and mosshead is rolling his eyes and Luffy won't stop yelling in the background and Franky is crying but-- But Brook is also playing one of his songs and Robin is staring at them with the softest of smiles and Sanji just can't seem to be able to look away from Usopp. It's cliché and dramatic and it's absolutely perfect.

So when it's his turn, he responds to Usopp, maybe not with the same intensity, but with the exact words he wants to hear. They haven't said 'I love you' yet, but Sanji says it anyway. Not because it's in the script or because that's how the book goes, but because it's how their story goes.

Usopp might not be a knight in shining armor. Or a prince. Or a superhero. But he's Sanji's overly dramatic sniper who would make a bouquet of lethal flowers and memorize a whole fairytale romantic confession for him. And you know what? Sanji is starting to think that the only reason why his books will start to feel ridiculous now is because they'll never be as magical as his reality with his true love.

[weaveandwood]

Hey bestie!

Here is one of my favourite songs for your writing prompt!

Love ya <3

Thank you bestie! This song is perfect for these two! Summary: Gale and Auroria get engaged Pairing: Gale/Named Tav (Auroria) Word Count: 1127 Warnings: None (Fluff and Romance ahead) AN: This is probably one of the sweetest things I've written. This is a expansion of two sentences from my fic Midwinter In Waterdeep, but you're fine if you haven't read it.

Sunlight streamed in through the gap in Auroria’s tent, signaling the start of another day. If she was counting correctly, it was almost spring. The frigid nights of winter were staying further and further behind her with each sunrise, and with that, so was Gale. It had been five tendays since he had surprised her with a cabin in the woods on Midwinter and voiced his devotion to her. Five tendays since she was finally able to accept it. 

The sun glinted off the small band of silver on her finger, the symbol of his love for her that he had returned to her that night. The ring was her constant companion, never finding itself forgotten ever since. Though if she was being honest with herself, it was never forgotten. The ring and everything it symbolized ran through her head constantly in the year they were apart, and the many years since reconnecting on their too-short nights each Midwinter. He had never forgotten it either, confessing to her that he had only stowed it away in a drawer two tendays before their fateful meeting on that very first snowy evening. 

The crackle of magic and her favorite voice ran through her head as she pulled on her armor, preparing for the day’s events.

“Good morning my love. Please keep safe, I miss you more than you know. I love you.”

“I love you. I have a big day, we are striking this morning. Go easy on your students today, Professor,” she replied through her sending stone. Gale always got worked up when he knew she would be battling, and his students were the ones who suffered - the amount of pop quizzes he gave over the last year had set a record at Blackstaff. 

“Ready, Auroria?” came a voice from outside her tent. It wasn’t the same as before. Nothing ever would be, but it was nice to have a party for this hunt. She finished lacing her boots and grabbed her bow and arrows. Time to finish this and go home, at least for a little while. She smiled to herself at the thought. Home. She had been all over this continent, and longed for her tiny cabin deep in the woods outside of Waterdeep. 

******

Auroria heard him before she saw him - some things would never change, even after all this time. As she watched from the window in the living room, she couldn’t help laughing to herself as she saw a very worried, very handsome wizard rush down the path to their cabin and seemingly find every brittle twig that existed in this forest to snap with his steps. Maybe she would offer yet again to help with being a little more stealthy in his movements, though she knew he would decline. “Wizards aren’t meant to be stealthy” was always his reasoning. She always assumed it was because of his creaky knees. 

She opened the door and, after a second of utter shock, his expression became one that could only be described as incandescently in love as she pulled him inside and kissed him deeply. He led her to the bedroom, a trail of discarded clothing following them as they reunited.

That night he cast dancing lights as they lay in bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and watched his elegant fingers effortlessly perform the spell movements and then manipulate it easily, making the small lights float around and illuminate both the room and its occupants in a calming, pale blue glow - not the purple he used to favor before. He made the lights twirl around Auroria’s outstretched free arm, then rest near her head to become a crown of light, and finally form the shape of a heart - delighting her and making her laugh with each new trick. 

How different they were from the day she pulled him out of a portal. How different they were from the night he brought her the stars and she begged him to choose to live, to love. How different they were from the day she walked out the door of the tower, never believing she’d return to Waterdeep again. 

Something about the moment hit her with a stunning amount of clarity. 

He turned to face her, catching her staring at him and smiled softly. “What is going through that beautiful mind of yours, Ora?”

“Marry me, Gale.”

The dancing lights froze in place as his breath caught in his throat, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. She could only imagine the worst, that past hurts were playing through his mind. A scenario playing out much like it did shortly after their defeat of the Netherbrain, where they push each other away and hurt each other worse than any enemy, curse, or spell ever could. 

“Ever since I pulled you out of that portal, you have been the only one for me. It was like I was blind before I met you, living in a cloudy haze of chaos and death and solitude. The only time I feel any peace is when I am with you. We’ve only spent one day together over each of these last years, but…I need you. I love you,” she paused, feeling tears starting to form in her eyes. “Days and locations all blur together, but one thing has remained clear to me. You. Us. Even when I’m away, I want you to be my home. I want to be your home.”

She took a breath, letting out her biggest insecurity. “I know this is probably different than what you wanted, or planned, or dreamed about but -”

He pressed a hand to her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped confinement. 

“Ora, your face was the first face I saw when I got out of that portal. If anyone had been blind before, it was me. I was on a path of certain death, ready to accept it before meeting you, and you changed everything. You don’t have to convince me. I could see you only one day a year for the rest of my life and I would still be the luckiest man on the entire continent because you are my wife.”

She smiled, warm tears easily sliding down her face. His wife. 

“So…that’s a yes?”

He laughed. “Yes, my love. Let’s get married. This week, while you’re home. Greengrass is the perfect setting.”

“So quickly! I really think you like me,” she teased. 

“I really do,” he said, kissing her deeply. The dancing lights hovered above them as he pulled the covers back up over them, the two of them spending the rest of the night lost in each other’s love, the sound of laughter and pleasure echoing throughout the tiny cabin deep in the woods outside of Waterdeep.

[violettduchess]

A/N: Last but not least: Cyran tied with Gilbert right behind Clavis and so he gets my final entry for Aqua and my Summer Days Sultry Nights CCC.

Suitor: Cyran, Prompt: Starry Night

WC: ~560

You think you are alone, here in the open heart of the forest, but you are wrong. Above, swimming in the inky darkness of a night sky, the stars themselves blink at the sight of you two, together. They watch, curious, as you fall, heavy with relief, into the fortress of Cyran’s arms and press yourself against the hard stonework of his body. Your eyes close as you hold him, as you breathe in the comforting, earthy scent of his skin. Here you are safe, far away from the palace with its many doors and many windows where even an idle gaze might happen upon something it shouldn’t. Something that is forbidden.

You hurried here, fighting through the grasping branches of the forest, the ones that plucked at your clothing and passed on the whispering wind’s warning. You were fleet-footed over winding paths littered with sharp twigs and leaves that hid dangerous inclines and threatening stones which punched the bottom of your leather boots as you ran. The forest watched closely as you cut your way through the darkness, no light but the pale slants of a crescent moon filtered through the trees to guide you. Finally you finally reached the clearing, the clandestine oasis in the middle of the forest, where the moon can shine unhindered and crickets sing a love song to the starry sky.

He is already there, having arrived earlier than planned. His usually bright hair is a burnished garnet in the darkness. He has his broad back turned to where you emerge from the trees, one hand at the pommel of sword, always at the ready, always dutiful. Always on guard.

Until he met you. You are the one that penetrated his rigid armor of order with your kindness, your intelligence, your warmth, your beauty. The one who reached through all those layers of loyalty, uncertainty, propriety, apprehension to take his heart in your hands, and remold it into a vessel capable of holding more than just those iron emotions. 

Now, as he holds you in his strong arms, your hands cradle his face and fill his heart with tenderness; your body presses against his, electric, filling his heart with desire. Your throat passes along sighs and whispered words of devotion, filling his heart with a sense of calm, of safety. Because of you, his heart is full, those once locked-up chambers unfolding like a lunar blossom in the starlight. 

He undoes his alabaster cape in one elegant movement and lays it down, a rectangle of light surrounded by dark green grass. He pulls you back in his arms, even a second apart too much, and locked together, you slowly sink to your knees. The world tilts and for a moment, only the star-crossed sky fills your vision, those glowing pinpoints of heavenly brilliance scattered across the velvet black of night. And then Cyran is above you and you close your eyes to the sky, sight unnecessary, as you run your hands through the silk of his hair, taste the hunger of his kiss.

The stars continue to shine, but you have found a source of something divine, right here on earth. Devotion in the caress of his rough fingers, benediction in the sound of your name on his lips, revelation in every heated kiss. You sink into the pure light of his affection, your heart alight with a love brighter than any nightborne star.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Twenty Songs Challenge, written after being so lovingly inducted by the powerhouse that is sweet Mey, @the-ugly-swan . Challenge being to choose twenty favorited songs and write one shots based off of them with any pairing or fandom of my choosing. Being a weirdo and a little burned out in my own created universes beyond the fics already in works, I chose what currently inspired me most, obscure as it is.

Pairing: Henry “Hotspur” Percy and Lady “Kate” Mortimer Percy -early 15th century

Fandom: RPF, Shakespeare? Tom Glynn-Carney’s 5 magnificent minutes of a performance as Hotspur in <The King 2019> the armor alone was amply inspiring. The Hollow Crown fans feel free to imagine whoever, as you like. I love this historical pairing in about any iteration and the plot is drawn from both Shakespeare’s play and real history, the timeline, plot and politics being pretty self explanatory through the incorporated dialogue. NOTE- wordplay ahead with “cur” and “Kerr”, the latter being a Scottish clan holding great enmity with the Percy Family and charged with holding the Scottish side of the border. Also I kept Lady Percy’s name as “Kate” even though it was technically Elizabeth in the records.

Dynamic: a rough northern lord and his too good for him lady -a lady who has, through years of an arranged marriage gone horribly well, come to find his homespun gallantry and blunt ways more than a little intoxicating when knelt before her in amused deference. She could almost find it in herself to be gentle with him -if he hadn’t just started a rebellion whilst away from her at the Capitol.

Dedicated to my wifey @prompted-wordsmith who I did proselytize into the Percy cult one fevered evening with inestimable results, including her contribution of a few choice lines herein.

🕯As it Was ~ Hozier

“There is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved

Never I'd had life enough

My heart is screaming out

And in a few days I would be there, love

Whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was”

Warnings: 18+ to be safe. a small amount of sexual content, flirtations, a husband and wife touching in public, verbal sparring and talk of making children and use of the word “bred”, swearing, use of the words “cock” and “cunt.”

The sound of hooves in the courtyard rouses Kate from her anxious stupor by the hearth, toilsome grain list forgotten on her lap. The scroll swishes to the floor at her abrupt standing, wafting out of her path as she rushes to the window.

First the clatter of a single, foremost, over-eager rider, followed at a lag by his retinue, skilled riders all and armored as befits the guard of a nobleman. They make such a clatter in the yard when they come in after him. Some petty part of her briefly considers the tactic of staying here in their chambers in protest, a quiet sign of disapproval with his errand, of discontent with his brusque leave taking two weeks agone.

Her Harry would find her anyway, and like it better that she were in their chambers. He would like it well she were so near the bed and like it ill she slighted him in her dutiful welcome -but he would not speak of that. Not one for speaking much, her husband, not on matters that plague her these days, weeks, months. Kate might have it out with him in the old way and slap him about and toss cold quips and get from him little more than the same benign aggravation and good humored laughs between, a couple dozen kisses to her neck and a grapple in the sheets.

That is what talk they would undertake were she to stay up here.

It is that lone, eager, forerunning clatter of his horse that speaks to her, speaks for him. Just as his sword and his reputation and his gruff graciousness has spoken well of him across these northern lands, his eagerness to return to her, to outstrip his men in haste to be back from his fool’s errand and into her embrace -it is all the declaration of devotion she may expect from him. It is the truest form, without jape lacing his tone or tonic of lust clouding his confessions.

Harry Hotspur, as fast to return to his wife as he is to meet a fight.

It is love, of the sort she has grown to be grateful for, and it is that and fear of losing it besides, that rushes her out from their chambers and down the polished steps, out to the great hall and past the giant outer doors, cursing a lousy servant or five and ordering a bath and commissioning supper and refreshments as she goes. The torch flames bend from her flight, a whoosh and a shadow stalking Alnwick Castle’s stone passageways until the gray light of evening pours into her sight from the opened great doors. Squires and stable boys clutter her path but they part as she dashes, nay, only a dignified hasten now, out into the courtyard where nearly all of this fool’s troup have dismounted.

There are doffed helms to the Lady Percy, the jangle of chain mail crinkling with bows and scraps of deference all around them, but she sees only him, with mist dripping on his nose and a face too boyish for the insolence he has returned from discharging.

“Kate.” he utters.

Will ever he say her name lazily? She hopes not, for that alone she will endure the unwarranted cheerfulness with which he greets her on this dire occasion. She has heard it said in anger, in jest and in passion, vows and quips, praise and warning. And now in cheerful pleasure as evening mist soaks her gown and the heavy clunk of her husband's footsteps clang ever near her on the paving stones.

“Lord husband.” she greets, hands folded over her freshly healed womb.

His stride falters and he rocks back on his spurred heels, an arms length away, an embrace so tangible she can see his jaw tick from the watering of his mouth. “Lord husband is it?” he repeats thoughtfully, eyes drifting down to the paving stones for a brief moment as if to recollect some forgotten crime, they flick up soon and in them is jesting scrutiny, “My lady wife rushed all this way, down five corridors and a furlong of Keep only to greet me thus?”

Did her rising breath betray her eagerness? Could he see her in the hall despite his business dismounting?

“Your cheeks are red.” he shows her mercy, some form of it. His form. “But -Lord husband, it is, nevertheless?”

“Unless you would prefer ought else?” she inquires, he had once thought this smile quite chilling, he had admitted after their first babe, now he finds it rousing, he has admitted after their third.

“If it please you.” his shifting stance is noisy, his tabard and sword and still clutched helm a racket of accouterments in the pattering rain.

“I have any number to offer,” she concedes, stepping nearer, a lady’s step, covering one third of the ground between them that he might vanquish in a single stride. Still, he waits. “Knucklehead.” she whispers, her breath a fog and her insult as lost as vapor in the ears of his watching men, her bearing alone must satisfy their curiosity, as must his growing smirk and rising color, “Jackenape.” Another step until each little scar on his face is visible and the little canyons each raindrop make of them. She saw his finger twitching where it grasped his visor “Cur.”

There was the slightest flinch between his brows at that, a furrow that smoothed as his mirthful lips flattened out. “Careful now, lady wife, with words like Kerr* thrown about, my men might think you presumptuous, their lady gone and married to some other, a Scottish laird at that. So sure of my death already, sweet Kate, that you must speak of Kerrs in mine own yard? Ha, ‘pon my word you are qu-“

“Hush!” Her hand, fresh warmed as it was by recent hearthside and rich velvets pressed frimly to his lips, a tingle shooting straight to her toes at touching him at last. He was silent then, only the puff of breath against her fast chilling fingertips. “Tease me not so,” she begged, her own mirth gone out in her eyes, her arch look turned to grief, “not when you are just returned from an errand all but ensuring such an end. It is too cruel, even of you. Handle me kindly, Percy, as you always have, in words this time, if not in embrace.”

He seemed to ponder this before raising that hand not occupied with his helm, clumsy and clad in gauntlet as it was, to her wrist, wrapping the chilled and layered steel round her pale flesh and gently tugging her hand from his lips, only so far as to press it to his cheek instead, their audience of men at arms unheeded. “I betook myself to London,” he enunciated, as if it were their first night all over again and his thick borderland drawl too strong for her courtly ears to decipher, “to remind a king of his debts.”

“And tell me!” she cried fiercely, a choked, barely quieted protest as her hands dug into the wet leather of his jerkin, wrist twisted from the steel grasp, “What errand is that but a fool’s? Have you no fear at all left in this bruised carcass? Do I patch up an animated corpse time and again from your wars only for it never to have soul and feeling and wisdom in it? Do I, Harry? Gone to remind a king? How do you dare such?”

“It is he who has dared too much!” he cried back, loudly where her’s had been choked, a ringing and rebauld defense, worthy of a man who would chastise his monarch in full view of council. “First his debts, and now my son’s land! We did not make children so as to watch like blithe cowards as their birthright is bequeathed out from under our feet -piecemeal!- to a courtly cunt whose only recommendation is his alacrity to pucker and bow.”

Kate glanced about her at the men making show of industry, piddling at harnesses and armaments, walking horses in circles. Her husband's words could be no worse than what he had said to the King’s own face, anyone without stomach to become a rebel would have stayed behind in the Capitol, sensing dissension brewing. Lady Percy could perceive none missing from his number. So, a war it was to be, then.

“So, a new generation of Percys is to play at kingmaking.” she summarized.

“We make no boast of it.” Harry protested in turn.

“No,” said she, “why would you with how poorly your last choice has served you?”

That caused a start from him, a step forward that was neither gallant nor eager but angry as man to man. Kate, still with hands fisted in the crooks of his armor, stepped with him, backwards to his hall. “It is your brother with the better claim.” he showed his plan at last, a slow and conniving admission, one not common for his brash ways and straightforward mind.

Kate gasped at the implication. “Edmund?”

“He was proper heir, all along.”

“Your father-“ she chose her wording carefully, “-did not agree.”

“My father’s preference is not law.”

“It is mistaken for such, often.” Kate smirked in reply. “And Edmund is not suited-“

“-Edmund is not the turd now stealing from his vassals!” her Harry rejoined, his helmet pressed to her chest, “Edmund will do.” he reiterated once more.

Kate stared at his temper, the signs of it in his flaring nose and his wild eyes, the cure was between her thighs but watching mist drops fall from unblinking lashes was sweet prelude indeed. “Edmund,” she replied quietly and in a manner to be heeded, “is not willing or suited, he prefers instead to listen to welsh bards and lay upon the lap of his savage wife.”

Her Harry rolled his eyes at her truth, an admission, or the closest to one, she would ever receive. As if battling some great inner turmoil she watched him purse his lips and heave out a sigh before in a sudden movement the helm was tossed to the ground -much to the scramble and reaction of a half a dozen squires who ran to pick it up from its puddle- and suddenly steel hands were upon her hips, tugging her near to him even as she shied away, her face turned in a pantomime of demureness. “Strange,” he said and his tone suggested he still pondered her report of her brother's amorous preoccupations, “-and her lap so less Devine than mine own wife’s.”

“Then why do you haste from it so often?” she whined, delivering a smack against his belted tabard, right where the lions paraded across his right breast.

“Only a man dying of thirst appreciates that water has a flavor.” he reasoned and Kate allowed the open mouthed kisses that crept down her neck, her face turned stubbornly still to the south wall. The blacksmith's roof will be in need of new thatching soon, before spring. Before war.

She feels stubble against her tender skin, bracketing those pretty lips she once derided him for. No warrior ought to have lips like that, it was not seemly, not when maidens were denied such richness, such fullness, such rosy hue. But there is roughness about his lips and on his jaw as it tucks into the juncture at her shoulder, that show of clavicle her dress allows drawing him in like a siren’s song. He must’ve rode hard the entire way, no inns or refreshment, no shaving or baths, straight to her as from a battlefield. The King’s city is just as loathsome as any field of carnage, but he went to free her brother, to get a ransom, to reclaim their stolen land, to remind a king.

He did it for her, and the babes she gave him.

Kate turns her face from the blacksmith's thatch and raises her hand to his face, tenderly stroking the three days' beard that's grown as he's been on the road, riding hard to get to her. They have backed nearly to the hall’s mouth, the drip of rain off the gutter patters behind her on the threshold, Kate knows he can smell supper and hear the clatter of their children racing to meet him on still chubby legs. How different is the love of home, man to woman, Harry would sooner fight for it and she would cower within. Her thumb swipes at the raindrops making farce of tears upon his cheek.

"Princess," he breathes against her palm as he crushes her into his chest, still half armored and agonized for it as he cannot feel her softness with the cuirass, the leather, the chainmail. There are curves and bosoms and soft flesh he knows too well just on the other side of this awful barrier.

Princess will be her title if his treason succeeds, if her brother wears that cursed crown. “Princess”. It sours her mouth, but it is kind of him to wish it for her.

"You will come back, Harry.” she commands of him, she declares the outcome of this brewing war, “Soaked in the blood of feckless scum, you will come back and put another babe in me. A little prince or princess," she hisses in his ear, and she can tell he freezes at that, her concession to his treason, still as stone in his metal casings.

His eyes are ever so blue as they search hers.

"So I forbid any recklessness, my Lord Husband. Because I want this - " and her hand slips beneath his jerkin and the hem of mail to squeeze his cockstand most assuredly, as assuredly as she was that he would be sporting one for her, gripping it as one might grasp a chalice of wine during a toast "- and the rest of you, in one piece." Harry slumps against her shoulder, panting into the chilled hair and too heavy for her little frame. "Or so help me God." she intones, sharper than any steel he wields. "Swear it, Harry." She gives him another punishing squeeze, and he groans, agonized, as his mouth meets with the softness of her bound bosom, his knees the hardness of the stone cobbles. If she hadn't promised a use for his cock, he'd think she was liable to geld him herself at his presumption to seat and unseat a king, but now that he is out of her grip, for a moment, and looks up at her with such longing he fears his soul has left his chest for hers.

"So help me God." he agrees, it is in providence’s hands, after all, and in Kate’s clasped one’s atop his head.

“Fool.” she says once more as she bends over him, gently pressing a hand to the back of his head, pressing his face to her belly and her chilled fingers to his sopping hair, “It is not my brother these men fight for, nor for me. Not when it is you that calls them to it.”

“For what then?” He mumbles into her womb, hands heavy on her hips, the courtyard’s occupants dispersed into the shadows of the eaves, but a couple dozen peering eyes twinkle towards them in the twilight’s gloom.

“How often have I heard it said here, in this very courtyard.” Kate scoffs, observing the strength knelt so adoringly before her, “Have I dreamed each cry of ‘no prince save he be a Percy?’ Ha, to think they fight for a Mortimer, indeed. Ha!”

Harry staggers to his feet at this poke, it is, as are so many of his Kate’s wounds, half torment, half praise. His blood pounds with the elixir of her acknowledgment of his capability. “It is well then, Kate Mortimer,” he recites, daring now to put his lips very near her own, to nuzzle his strong nose with her hawkish one, to tip a chin and bat an eyelash against her wet cheek, “it is well that you are Percy now yourself, through and through, wed-“ his lips meet hers in a brush she chases after, “-and bred.”

🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯

Hope all five of you who read that enjoyed it. 😆 I know it’s a fragment but as I’m nothing but hyper fixated when some interests resurrects in me, I’ll probably be back with more of them. Drop a note below if you’d like to be on a taglist for such developments.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Heart of Steel

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Chapter 1

Songs for this chapter:

Summary: Elder Maxson makes his rounds through the airport, inspecting the soldiers training and to check how you're dealing with your punishment. Although he definitely did not expect to find you...singing...

Notes: this story will move a bit off canon obviously :) I promise the next chapter will be a bit more interesting and yes, songs will be an ongoing theme for this series :D

Chapter 2 - Tour of Duty

In the early hours of dawn, a solitary figure treaded the tarmac of the airport yard, savouring the warmth of the first rays of sunshine after another sleepless night. Elder Maxson, the man who carried the weight of leadership as his sole companion, was observing his men silently. Soldiers trained like clockwork, their laughter and the clanging of their tools against power armors echoing across the yard. His presence, his stern gaze was a subtle reminder of the devotion they poured into their tasks. Salutes punctuated the monotonous rhythm of work, an acknowledgment of the authority he wielded. The thought of you popped up in his mind again as he made his way to the main building, a triumphant smirk on his face. He was certain you would have learned your lesson by now, cleaning the latrines and the showers had brought every slightly rebellious recruit back on track quickly. He expected to hear the sulking grumble of resentment but most certainly not the lyrical notes that flowed through the building. As he entered the shower area, the echo of his boots was drowned by a different rhythm - music. A melody woven through the moist air and the gleaming tiles. Shadows danced to the tune, shaping an image of you at the end, holding a mop like a dance partner, your movements painting a bizarrely beautiful tableau across the tiled floor.

Let's rock , everybody, let's rock, everybody in the whole cell block, was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock

Maxson stood still, the stern creases of his forehead softening, his steel-blue gaze capturing your oblivious performance. You were supposed to suffer, to contemplate about questioning his orders, not to enjoy, yet there you were, swaying and laughing, your spirit untouched by the chastisement. An inexplicable warmth coiled around his heart as it reminded him of his own stubborn spirit and his love for music. His damned treacherous heart echoed with an unexpected rhythm, a dance that he had long pushed away for the sake of duty, a dance of life and love that you offered through your buoyant demeanour despite the hardships you went through after waking up from your two hundred year slumber. But while his heart danced, his mind refused to acknowledge this unfamiliar, unsettling sensation. He was the Elder of the Brotherhood after all, a stern leader, not a love-struck fool for a woman, a new recruit, he barely knew. He cleared his throat, startled you spun around and almost dropped the mop at the sight of him.

"Aspirant", he called out, striding towards you as his heart hammered in chest, "Really? Jailhouse Rock? While you're executing your punishment?", his strict voice echoed through the room.

You straightened, a smug grin lighting up your face. Whatever he had planned you'd be prepared and the warm feeling of delight filled your entire being.

"Well, Elder", you hummed, "should I not keep my spirits up, even in punishment? But if it's the song itself, I can change it."

You switched the channel of the radio on your Pip-Boy and another song echoed through the room.

Life could be a dream, sweetheart, hello, hello again , sh-boom and hopin' we'll meet again, boom

Arthur stood there in silence, the lyrics of the song whirling around in his mind, etching themselves into his memory, forever linked to your figure swaying and humming along with the tune. When you noticed the lack of his response, you turned the radio off, the abrupt silence hanging between the two of you, heavy with unspoken words.

"Maybe not the right song", you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

Breaking the silence, Maxson's dry voice pierced through the tension.

"Status?", he asked, his tone harsh and commanding. It was his way of deflecting from the vulnerable moment that had just passed between you.

"All done, Elder."

"Latrines?"

"Clean as a whistle, it'll almost be a shame as soon as the first sweaty cheeks touch it again.", you grinned.

The twitching of Maxson's eye didn't go unnoticed. It was a small crack in the facade he had carefully constructed, revealing the control he was struggling to maintain in your presence. Since the first moment you stepped up to him on the Prydwen, you were becoming a distraction that threatened to unravel the carefully crafted walls he had built to survive in this world. Despite facing this slight disadvantage, his determination to break through what he perceived as a charade remained unwavering. He never lost his spark and resolute nature but the past years had sapped the joy for the simple things in life. Bound by his duty, the boy, who's soul was forged from eternal steel, found himself sitting within his fortress of solitude that turned into an inescapable cage that denied him the very nourishment his soul needed to thrive.

"I have a vertibird on standby, fully armed and ready to depart. Use it to carry our message to Fort Strong and wipe those dirty mutants from the face of the earth", his voice was harsh but carried a yet barely perceptible tremble.

It was his second test, the continuation of his plan to...he inhaled sharply, clenched his teeth in an insidious moment of anger as the boundaries between his meticulously devised plan and his innermost desires began to blur before his very eyes.

"Yes, Elder. Will I be part of a team?", your soft voice snapped him back to reality.

"Of course. Such an important mission will not be entrusted to a single aspirant, especially not one who joined merely a day ago. You'll have a head paladin accompanying you and you will follow his instructions without questioning. The success of the mission will depend on it."

"Will I work with Paladin Danse?", you asked out loud, hoping that Maxson might indulge you with an actual answer.

"You'll be awaited on the Prydwen in 20. Report to Danse and get familiar with your power armor. Don't dally, Aspirant. Dismissed."

He managed to spin around just in time to hide his smile. His heart beat so fast it threatened to burst through his chest as excitement coursed through his veins like a wildfire that could potentially grow out of control.

You could sense a hidden smile lurking beneath his stern expression as he spun around, making a deliberate effort to hide it. You took a deep breath, attempting to calm your nerves in thought of the upcoming mission. This was the moment you had been longing for, the chance to prove yourself as a member of the Brotherhood, just as, back then, you'd proven yourself during your first mission in the army, and you'll finally get a chance at proving your competence to him, getting closer into his well guarded space.

A nervous chuckle passed your lips as the realisation of your first mission in this new world and the prospect of having your very own power armour within the Brotherhood truly settled upon you. It was both exhilarating and overwhelming given the little time you had to prepare, knowing that the path ahead was filled with danger and uncertainty. You were almost thankful that your first experience in this radiated wasteland was your encounter with the Minutemen while fighting off a deathclaw in an old rusty power armour. You were determined to find out who this mysterious knight in power armour that you were supposed to follow into battle was, wondering if it could actually be Danse supervising you on this mission. You already missed the Paladin and his gentle but stern guidance. You placed the mop away and sauntered towards the Prydwen, whistling a soft tune, readying your mind for the battle to come.

Chapter 3 - Show no mercy

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story :)

[judasiskariot]

Tavs of judasiskariot/bhaalbattlebeerbard

Saulus

screenshots all by @aristenfromwarsaw

My second tav (durge run), main tav, love her so much

Quick Facts:

    Race: Tiefling

    Class: Bard (College of swords, Multi in Rogue and Fighter)

    Fighting Style: Two Hand Crossbows

    Instrument: Lyre, Lute (but also practiced in flute, pun intended)

    Gender: Female

    Pronouns: She/Her

    Sexuality: Pansexual

    Scent/Perfume: Lily, jasmine, blackberry (lilac, pomegranate, cocoa, gooseberries, grapes)

    Hair: Ravenblack with red highlights, rune horns

    Eyes: demonic blue with flames

    Tattoo: white dots upon her face

    Skin: dusk purple

    Romance: Astarion

Pros & Cons, characterisation:

Summary: Bhaal battle beer bard: The name says it all

Bard is not only her class but foremost her vocation, her calling

She loves to write poems and songs, makes music all the time

Maybe you will get as her companion some songs about you, you would rather not like to have because she loves tavern roasting songs and also dirty limericks

Loves to drink, party and rhyming songs (preferably with bff Thisobald Thorm)

Very funny and silly, always up for a good time

Soft, sweet and devoted when it comes to love

Addicted to puns, sarcasm, burns, ambiguous comments

Gossip Queen

Dirty mind, dirty kind

Likes to flirt

Sexually very open and liberal, tries everything and anything

Doesn't need much convincing, always open for fun 😉

Has absolutely no problem with polygamous relationships, but when she loves you and you agree on exclusive relationship with her, than you are her whole world, the one&only

Very loyal

Loves animals: Proud owlbear mother!

Pro: You get a cute owlbear cub; Con: You have to share your bedside with the owlbear cub

Loves the love; likes to play Armor (looking at you Karlach&Dammon)

All of the Dark Urge problems

Therefore, can get really bloody and nasty

Insecure about her Tiefling body (foremost her tail, horns and  ridges)

Holding her tail like security blanket when she is nervous

Has a feud with Volo (he is her nemesis; he knows what he did)

Excellent sharpshooter (two hand crossbows double action; fight is over before it even started)

Because of the dark urge her enthusiasm sometimes looks a bit crazy, chaotic and intimidating

Rather not making her angry while the urge is still strong, she will slice you up in one second because it is fun

Loves to be a loyal bhaal babe, Sceleritas Fel is her buddy

But also redeemed (would have stayed with bhaal if daddy would have let her the free will)

After that her true kind nature comes up: Loving, caring, very sweet, loyal, devoted, patient, cuddly, can be a softie when it comes to her loved ones

Wanted to be the baddest, most evil bhaal babe of them all; ended up rescuing most people and help everyone

Is banned from most gnome weddings and some cities in Faerûn (not everyone likes her very dirty limericks and she can’t control her urge)

Oh and she has the condition to confuse gnomes with children very hard (That is maybe the problem; but she like gnomes, very much! Supporter of all the gnome rights!)

Confuses a few things (Don’t ask what she thinks what Hobgoblins and Bugbears are called)

Does everything Astarion wants to (sometimes he thinks she is a bit naïve and easily to manipulate, but she just loves him and so she lets him get away with everything)

Easily to convince, says yes to almost everything (chaotic good times)

When she likes you, she hypes everything you do and supports you endlessly

Saulus will help you archive everything you want to and will never want to change you

Accepts you as you are; will not make decisions for you

Because she is a Dark Urge, she will not question your moral compass; she doesn't allow herself to judge what is wrong and right and what things a good for you

Relies on people to be honest about what they want and think and accepts this as the truth

Goblin supporter and friend

Invite her to a drink or party and she is your lifetime friend - that is just the law

I don’t have amazing huge lore accurate backgroundstories for my tavs like so many of you. I only have an outlook for the future what they want to do after the final battle. My tavs don’t look much back in the past, they look straight ahead for what to come.

Saulus is a sassy little Dark Urge Tiefling Bhaal Battle Beer Bard, dreaming of a retirement with Astarion at Moonrise Towers with best friend Thisobald Thorm.

The Tiefling bard is banned from most gnome weddings and some cities in Faerûn 😂 There is some fun rivalry between her and Volo 😄

Her dream is to marry Astarion, start a family and settle down with him at Moonrise Towers to reopen the Waning Moon Distillery. (The party, "Opa" Ketheric, bhaal cult and the undead horde are babysitters)

To cuddle with Astarion and the owl bur cub under a warm blanket is everything she needs in life.

She uses two hand crossbows, wanted to be an evil bhaal babe, but ended up doing all the right things 😄 The Urge is still strong in her, so better not making here angry 😈

She is absolutely in love with Astarion and the owl bear cub (her son) and Thisobald is her best friend.

She is insecure about her Tiefling look, holding her tail when she is nervous. Saulus plays dirty funny limericks with the lute and mostly lyre but with two missing strings at the moment💀(maybe she doesn't take criticism very well😅)

She likes gnomes but is banned from most gnome festivities because she confuses them with kids and is singing too many dirty limericks (at children's birthday parties thinking it is a wedding; but also inappropriate for weddings though... 😅)

Saulus: "Let me tell you my bardic epos:

After all fires in Baldur's Gate are extinguished only one remains: Cazador's palace. I burn it down, so Astarion is getting his head clear and get over his Ascension Master God Complex. And because the handymen failed to build a palace door in owlbear size for our son the owlbear cub. In consequence of I won the drinking competition against my bff Thisobald Thorm I inherited (more or less official and legal) the propery deed of The Waning Moon.

Ketheric is still alive and our grandpa Ketheric now.

I marry Astarion, start a family and settle down with him at Moonrise Towers to reopen the Waning Moon Distillery.

And when Opa Ketheric is holding the little half Elf Tiefling Vampire baby for the first time, you can see how the light and will to live is coming back into his eyes.

I am the bard at the bar, barkeeper and my own best customer.

The party, "Opa" Ketheric, the bhaal cult and the undead ghoul horde of vampirelord Astarion are the babysitters. (Everyone wants to look after the baby but the party is failing miserable and Dammon is giving them babysitter lessons because Karlach is also pregnant and is lending Dadstarion Clive til her baby is coming. Opa Ketheric is always babysitter of the month, but surprisingly closed followed by the ghoul and bhaal assassins. Father bhaal is not really welcome but Sceleritas of course!)

Needless to say we still have a vacation home at Baldur's Gate and coming back there with a little family of four children (five! Owl bear child not to forget!)

When we are walking through the city, we do it in single file and every child (also the owlbear cub of course!) is holding the tail of the sibling in front, so no one is getting lost in the big city. One child do not have a tail, because it is more elfish than the rest, but he is wearing a costume tail to be part of it and he insists that Papa Astarion is also wearing a fake one, so that they are all similar.

Astarion and I always must pay reparations, because the owlbear cub grew to like rose pedals at the wedding and now it destroys the gardens at Baldur's Gate.

I perform dirty limericks and funny songs about our friends and adventures at the Elfsong Tavern. And especially by the order of Lord Gortash many songs about Dragons(born).

Yeah almost everyone is alive (come on it is fiction, it is fun, it is fan made, give me the all fluff and happy ending)

Astarion and the party are the bouncers so everyone must watch the whole concert. Yes Astarion supports everything his wife does! The stupider, the better. And because as the only one he is wearing earplugs.”