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bardic-inspo · 3 months

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Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

#ascended astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #vampire ascendant #vampire lord astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #my writing #naomi tavriel

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serenecypher · 3 months

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Bangtan Host Club Chapter Three

Genre: BTS Ot7xf!Reader, Poly!AU, Fluff, Romance, Crack-ish, Eventual Smut.

W/C: 2592

Summary: Tired of your boring mundane life? Become an exclusive member of The Bangtan Host Club™ today and let 7 charming men help you out.

Warnings: This chapter is rated PG13, but future chapters may include Mature Themes. The reader goes through the five stages of grief. 😔

Disclaimer: Please do not copy/translate or cross-post my work. The tag list is open. Just DM or send an ask to be included.

A/N: Hi! Sorry for the long wait. Thank you guys so much for being patient. 💕 This chapter isn't edited very much, so I am sorry for any dumb mistakes. Please do send my any feedback! 👉🏻👈🏻

Also, now that we have met everyone, here is the cast:

Kim Namjoon as “Takashi Morinozuka”

Kim Seokjin as “Tamaki Suoh”

Min Yoongi as "Umehito Nekozawa"

Jung Hoseok as "Mitsukuni Haninozuka”

Park Jimin as “Kyoya Ootori”

Kim Taehyung as “Kaoru Hitachiin”

Jung Jungkook as "Hikaru Hitachiin”

Congrats to everyone who guessed the right picks lmaooo! I had so much fun writing Chapter 3, I hope you enjoy it. See you sooooon! <3

Chapter 2 << Chapter 3 >>

You can count the number of times you have felt such unbridled mortification on one hand. One was when you were playing the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard of Oz showcase during your elementary school talent show and, just as you got on the stage, could not for the life of you stop the unrelenting hiccups out of performance anxiety. Or, that one time in middle school, when you spilled all of your half-digested breakfast on the shoes of that one senior guy you had a crush on because you had a bad stomach flu.

This, you internally scream at yourself, is probably the most dread you have felt in all your adult years.

The receipt you can not avert your eyes from shakes between the tips of your index finger and thumb. Is it your hand that is shaking? You really can’t tell. Something bitter twists in your chest that makes you repeat as you squint your eyes at Hoseok. “What the fuck?!”

He looks at you stunned, but definitely not unprepared. He sighs deeply as he tries to console you, “I am here to help you with any concerns you might have.”

You snap your head to look at the rest of the people in the Cafe- Club- whatever this place is. There are various degrees of horrified looks on the faces of the other- are they supposed to be patrons or customers or-? God this is so confusing. You let out the longest sigh and your other hand, the one without that malignant piece of paper, rubs across your face.

“There is no way in hell I am paying this.” you declare, looking right back at Hoseok. Just minutes ago you would have never thought of him as someone you’d have talked to in this agitated manner but also minutes ago, he wasn’t a person who claimed you owed his establishment all your family assets and then some.

There is a loud scraping of a chair behind you and before you can turn to see who it is, Seokjin’s gentle voice is carrying through the room. “I am deeply apologetic to our guests tonight but due to unforeseen circumstances, the club will reschedule your time with the hosts at a later date. Kindly grant us an excuse this once.”

There are murmurs and hushed whispers behind you. The obnoxious sound of various people shuffling footsteps toward the exit amidst the awkward silence that had followed your outburst is acting as the fuel to the simmering rage in your chest. You feel more than see the icy glares people direct at you for ruining what was probably supposed to be a night of entertainment and good company for them. The thought makes you shudder as embarrassment crawls up your spine. You fix your gaze on your tapping shoe against the plush carpet and cross your arms in front of your chest.

“Now,” Seokjin continues once it is only you and the other hosts remaining, “What might be the issue, beautiful?”

You inhale deeply before you turn to him, expecting him to look irritated by you. Instead, his eyes are full of mirth as he lifts an amused eyebrow at you. His hands rest on the table in front of him, palms down as he leans his tall frame forward. It irks you.

“I said I am not paying that ridiculous amount for a coffee I did not even finish. You can not make me.”

Seokjin’s lips form a small o shape as he pretends to sincerely consider your words. “It is not the coffee you are paying for though, darling. That is complimentary.” He says it like it is obvious. You feel a familiar twitch in your temple. “You are paying for the additional services you have utilized this evening.”

You can feel yourself seething but for the sake of not becoming liable to any property damage, you reign your fury. “I will do no such thing. I had no idea what kind of an establishment this is.”

“We keep that in mind.” Taehyung intervenes, his dark brown eyes sparkling at you intently. “Besides the several, and might I remind you, very prominently displayed boards with our club trademark, the first visits to the guests are usually not chargeable, a free trial if you will.”

“You, however, took four of us with you, to your apartment no less, and Namjoon Hyung even did locksmithing for you.” Jungkook adds from where he is standing next to Taehyung. He smirks at you, and it takes everything in you from banging your fist on the nearest table.

“He offered!” You argue, wincing at the sound of your voice.

“He is supposed to. Accepting is completely beholden to you.” Seokjin adds with a tilt of his head to the left that you can only assume to be satirizing. “The club hosts offer services to the guests and if they choose to accept them, they are liable to the charges.” he says, shrugging those ridiculously broad shoulders of his nonchalantly.

You scoff at this, your glare now directed at Namjoon, who to his credit looks like a big puppy that has been reprimanded by his owner for bringing the newspaper in the mornings, only slightly covered in drool.

Your shoulders slump in defeat. They are not wrong, you think. When you enter a place that offers you any kind of service, and you make use of said service, you are, as a consumer obliged to pay the fee for that service. “I can not pay that amount. I do not have that kind of money.” At this, the room falls into silence. God, these hosts must earn so much that the concept of living paycheque to paycheque must be alienating to them.

After what seemed like an eternity, when it was probably only six minutes tops, Jimin who had been sitting on his chair quite comfortably so far takes an exaggerated inhale before intoning, “Well, we might be able to offer you something to help with that.”

You look at him sheepishly and he continues, “If you can not pay us in terms of funds, pay us in service.”

What the hell is that even supposed to mean? Is this like some sort of hidden camera prank? Are Pauly and Vinny about to come burst down the doors as a cameraman pushes his gigantic camcorder in your face yelling “You just got MTV pranked!”

Your bewildered expression must have been too obvious because Jimin adds “I am serious. Work for us.”

Now you are even more confused. Work for them? As an employee? You can not be a host. You have a day job. A job that feels like going through the depths of hell every day, but a job nonetheless. Your tongue twists in your mouth as you try to swallow saliva down your dry throat. “What does that mean?”

“You said you worked at LinkSol, right? By Hwan Sana?” Jimin asks and it's as if he just talked about Voldemort judging by the dramatic gasp from Seokjin’s lips and his hand on his chest, clutching pearls. “You should come work for us, as our manager. Trust me, you’d be doing yourself a favor too.”

“That’s your solution? Servitude compulsory labor?” you resign. “Do you think we are in the 17th century?” Change is not a friend to you. Yes, your job is torture but you’ve grown accustomed to the routine. This is asking a lot of you.

“Why, you got something better?” he counters. “We can not waive off your fee, you can not pay it to us. We have an open position and you are at a shitty job. The way I see it, there are no losing parties.”

“You will get to work stable hours that are open to negotiation. We will pay you a salary, also negotiable, from which we will deduct a monthly interest that will serve as your payment.” Jimin pulls out his phone and taps away for a few seconds before humming to himself and adding, “It will take you about 18 months to pay off everything and then you are free to discuss the position as you wish.”

18 months? That does not seem like enough time to pay off everything, does it? Exactly how much are they planning to give you as a salary? Before you can ask, you bite your tongue, wise words from your mother at your college graduation dinner resounding in your head, “Never let an employer know you were expecting less payment for your hard work than what they offered you. They must recognize some worth in you that you may be oblivious to.”

You furrow your eyebrows, trying to paint the most corporate expression on your face as you return a single nod toward Jimin. “That seems reasonable, but I would like to discuss everything from the profile and my responsibilities openly before deciding.” Jimin presses his thick lips in a flat line, nodding his agreement.

“Of course, take your time. We can set up a formal meeting anytime you want this week,” he informs.

“And,” you interrupt, suddenly remembering how you got yourself in this position in the first place, “I want it all in writing. No more errors in intentions.”

There is a cough from behind you by Yoongi which sounds suspiciously like a chocked back chuckle. Jimin too bites the inside of his cheek, eyelashes fluttering as he nods again. “We will make sure.”

“Now that all that is over can we please just have something to eat Hobi Hyung? I am starving here.” Jungkook sighs dramatically. “And you, come sit with us, we are not working anymore and I know you are exhausted so you might as well eat now.”

You eye him suspiciously. The other boys all walk up to his table as Namjoon and Hoseok go back toward the kitchen. Even though you trudge over to his table, you can’t help but snark at him, “Would this not be added to my debt to you?”

“Fiesty.” he grins and pulls out a chair for you. “And no. Like I said, we are off work so consider this just a dinner with your future colleagues.”

You hum dejectedly as you sit at the table with your arms still crossed over your chest. This evening has been a year’s worth of events for you and you seriously can not keep your head up anymore. So you lay your head on the soft white satin tablecloth and groan mutely to yourself.

“It won’t be that bad working here, pretty girl. You’ll see.” Taehyung says softly from where he sits beside you. You raise your head at him, without straightening your back completely, and are surprised to find him looking at you with no more amusement, just what seems like empathy. Your heart betrays you by fluttering. Why do all of them have to be so attractive? It would be so easy to hate them right now if that wasn’t going on. Life is so unfair.

Seokjin’s hand rests on your shoulder giving it a slight squeeze. “You are so knackered. What were they making you do at LinkSol?”

It is a rhetorical question, you know that, but you’d just love to dump all of your exhausting work stories on someone if only you had the energy to do that. So you just whine noncommittally and put a pin on telling those stories some other day. After all, they are going to be your “colleagues” as they said. Seokjin takes your palm in his and gently starts to massage your hand. His large hand engulfs yours as his thumbs press into the center of your palm. You give him a confused stare.

“What?” he questions softly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, pointing your nose down to where he is still caressing your hand.

“What does it look like I am doing? I am helping you.” he says it like it is the most obvious thing you could have asked him.

“Don’t think so deeply about it, sweetheart,” Jungkook says as he grins softly at you, “Hyung has a habit of doing things like that. Just let it be, he means no harm.”

“Yeah, but he is annoying as hell.” Taehyung chips in.

This makes a scowl appear on Seokjin’s face. “I taught you better than that, you shameless brat.”

“You didn’t teach me shit.” Taehyung gruffs, although he does seem to quiet down after that.

Jimins rolls his eyes at the both of them and diverts his attention back on you. “I have a better question. I get it about Jin Hyung, he gives off that vibe,” which you think is a slight hidden in the guise of a statement towards Seokjin, “but you didn’t think that we were acting… unusually, around you?”

To be honest, yes. It was definitely strange how these incredibly attractive men were the embodiment of cats with a ball of yarn with you, but that is the point. You were so distracted by the way they looked and how they were very obviously flirting with you that you never even questioned why. You weren’t going to tell them that though. How flustering that idea is, makes a sheen of sweat break out on your hairline. “N-no. I didn’t think of it as anything out of the ordinary.”

It seems like you picked the wrong choice because an impish grin curves along Jimin’s lips as his eyes linger on yours. “So it is a normal occurrence for you. People just flirt with you wherever you go?”

When he puts it like that, it makes your cheeks burn. It is further compounded by Taehyung who admonishes Jimin, “C’mon, Hyung! Stop teasing the poor girl.” He gives you a smirk and a dramatic once-over, before adding “I mean look at her. I wouldn’t dream otherwise”

The way his gaze is suddenly heated makes you choke on your own spit a little. Your heart stutters in your ribcage. Even Yoongi who has been decidedly quiet this entire time leans forward on the table from across you. “Cute.” he mutters, his sharp eyes boring straight into you.

Jimin sighs a deep breath. He plays with the button on the cuff of his shirt as he looks down at the table, “I am not questioning it. I just don’t think I like the idea too much.”

What was that about being “off work”? Aren’t they supposed to not be this charming anymore? Then why are they so intent on making you feel so bashful?! Before you can put too much thought into the matter, the doors to the kitchen open, and Namjoon and Hoseok carry with them two large trays full of food and coffee. As soon as the trays are placed on the table, Hoseok wraps his arms around you, pressing his chest to the back of your chair.

“I am sorry that this is how things turned out, angel.” he whines and Namjoon gives you a small smile as he takes a seat beside Seokjin, “Look on the bright side though. Now we can share all the sweets we want and play together.” he giggles. You smile gratefully at his optimism.

Maybe it won’t be that bad, you think as Jungkook passes you a plate of sandwiches. They seem like nice people, they are allegedly paying you a much better salary than you get at your job, and if nothing else, at least they are a nicer view instead of the drab walls of your office.

Taglist: @im-sinking-in-mud @comingupwithacoolnameishard @loumin908 @btsizlyfe @talyaaas-blog @ldysmfrst @socksfirst1 @aliceoracleollormusic

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hmslusitania · 1 year

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Ted Lasso is a portal fantasy

I know, I know it's not in any way a speculative fiction show. I know. Bear with me for a second. Ted Lasso is a portal fantasy, but the real question is whether this is the story we know from the Wizard of Oz, or Mary Poppins. Ted himself is at once Dorothy and Mary, and I think my reaction to the end of Ted's story, specifically, depends on whether you take the show at it’s title, that it’s about Ted Lasso (Dorothy) or take the show at Ted’s word that it was never about him (Mary Poppins).

To Ted, he is very literally Dorothy.

He’s away from Kansas, he’s surrounded by the reminder that “there’s no place like home”, and he spent the finale wearing honest to god ruby red sneakers. The evil wizard stalked down from his curtained owners box and was removed from power. The lion got her courage, the tin man for his heart, and the scarecrow got his brain, and Dorothy went back to Kansas (leaving Toto behind). But unlike Dorothy, we didn't really get the build up that Ted had to go back to Kansas to get what he wanted -- Henry back in his life. Rebecca even offered him the choice to stay, and the means to bring Henry and even Michelle back to London with him. Exactly zero compelling reason was offered to explain why Ted wouldn't take that offer. But he's Dorothy, in a portal fantasy, and that's what Dorothy does -- she goes home. It is the ending of the vast majority of portal fantasies, no matter how much it will fuck up the protagonist (there's a whole series detailing that damage and undoing it by tumblr's own Seanan McGuire which I highly recommend btw). To me, this is an unsatisfying ending for Ted himself, since no reason was given for him to turn down Rebecca's offer.

However.

To the Richmond family, Ted is Mary Poppins.

One of the complaints I’ve seen about this season is that we don’t know where Ted is, emotionally. Much like Mary Poppins, whose internality as a character is, at best, an afterthought. Mary Poppins is not the point of Mary Poppins. The children she helps are the point of Mary Poppins, and when she leaves at the end, although you’re sad to see her go, you know the kids she left there have grown as people and will continue to grow by her example and her benevolent Julie Andrews ways. And by and large, you don’t really worry about the place Mary Poppins goes to. She’s Mary Poppins and she’ll do what she does and ours is not to question etc. ("Mary Poppins isn't a portal fantasy" yeah, I know, technically, but it's kind of an inside out portal fantasy since there's a character who came from another kind of realm, who swept in to be the answer to some problem, and then went home {or, wherever}; it's just we're seeing it from the pov of the locals rather than the person from the other realm.)

The Richmond Team have all grown as people under Ted's stewardship. As we’ve seen in the character progressions particularly of Roy, of Nate, of Rebecca, they will continue in the Richmond way that they’ve developed. Forever changed by Ted sailing in on his parasol, missing him certainly, but able to continue. More narrative weight is given to the Mary Poppins side of the story, and in this scenario, I take much, much less issue with Ted's the character's ending.

In conclusion, Ted Lasso is the story of Mary Poppins staring Dorothy Gale in the titular role.

#Ted lasso #Ted lasso spoilers

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minkyungseokie · 3 months

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Anime

No Game No Life

Sora and Shiro are two hikikomori stepsiblings who are known in the online gaming world as Blank, an undefeated group of gamers. One day, they are challenged to a game of chess by Tet, a god from another reality. The two are victorious and are offered to live in a world that centers around games.

Blue Exorcist

After discovering that he's the son of Satan, a young man must join the True Cross Academy in order to master his abilities and defeat Satan himself

Naruto

It tells the story of Naruto Uzumaki, a young ninja who seeks recognition from his peers and dreams of becoming the Hokage, the leader of his village.

One Piece

In a seafaring world, a young pirate captain sets out with his crew to attain the title of Pirate King, and to discover the mythical treasure known as 'One Piece.'

Twin Star Exorcist

The story revolves around Rokuro Enmado and Benio Adashino, a pair of young and talented exorcists, who (according to a prophecy) are destined to marry and have a child that will be the ultimate exorcist.

Jujustu Kaisen

Yuji Itadori, a kind-hearted teenager, joins his school's Occult Club for fun, but discovers that its members are actual sorcerers who can manipulate the energy between beings for their own use. He hears about a cursed talisman - the finger of Sukuna, a demon - and its being targeted by other cursed beings.

Fairy Tail

The series follows the adventures of Natsu Dragneel, a member of the Fairy Tail wizards' guild who is searching for the dragon Igneel, and partners with Lucy Heartfilia, a celestial wizard.

Play it cool, Guys

A look into the daily lives of four guys who walk the line between unapproachably cool and undeniably clumsy on a regular basis.

Black Butler

Ciel has formed a contract with demon Sebastian Michaelis, who disguises himself as his butler, to seek revenge on those who tortured him and murdered his parents. In exchange for his services, Sebastian will be allowed to consume Ciel's soul.

Uramichi Oniisan

Being an adult is hard. For 31-year-old Uramichi Omota, that depressing truth weighs on him. While on TV, he's an upbeat exercise instructor for a children's show, but sometimes he can't keep his sardonic comments to himself.

Overtake

Freelance photographer Kôya Madoka finds himself in a slump due to a certain reason. He goes to Fuji International Speedway to work on a story, and he meets the highschool F4 racer Haruka Asahina. He suddenly finds his heart racing after not feeling much for a long time.

March Comes in Like a Lion

It features the life of Rei Kiriyama, an introvert and professional shogi player, who gradually develops both his play and his relationship with others.

The Devil is a Part-Timer

Hilarity and fun ensues when Satan ends up in modern day Japan without any magic to return, and starts working part time in a fast food joint.

Yowamushi Pedal

Onoda is a cheerful otaku looking to join his new school's anime club, eager to finally make some friends. Unfortunately, the club has been disbanded and somehow he stumbled into the bicycle club.

Tokyo Revengers

Hanagaki Takemichi lives an unsatisfying life right up until his death. Waking up 12 years in the past, he reckons with the eventual fate of his friends and tries to prevent an unfortunate future.

Ouran High School Host Club

One day, Haruhi, a scholarship student at exclusive Ouran High School, breaks an $80,000 vase that belongs to the "Host Club," a mysterious campus group consisting of six super-rich (and gorgeous) guys. To pay back the damages, she is forced to work for the club, and it's there that she discovers just how wealthy the boys are and how different they are from everybody else.

Mashle: Magic and Muscles

The story follows Mash Burnedead, a magic-less kid who enrolls at Easton and aims to fool everyone into thinking he's top of the class

IDOLiSH7

An idol group is named "Idolish7," and consists of seven male singers, each with their own unique personality and background. Tsumugi must train and turn all of them into the famous idols, all the while struggling against the hardships of the entertainment industry

Tokyo Ghoul

Set in a world where humans live in constant fear of ghouls - superpowered humanoid beings who feed on human flesh to survive, a shy college student named Kaneki Ken, who is nearly killed in an attack by one of these monsters, becomes a half-ghoul himself after receiving an organ transplant from the ghoul.

Obey Me

The main character is transported to Devildom by a summoning ritual to attend Devildom Academy as a exchange student for one year. The main character will be greeted by seven gorgeous men that are avatars of the deadly sins.

Buddy Daddies

Kazuki Kurusu and Rei Suwa, assassins who live under one roof; and Miri, the daughter of Kazuki and Rei's assassination target who ended up being picked up by Kazuki, who she thinks is her biological father.

SpyxFamily

The story follows a spy who has to "build a family" to execute a mission, not realizing that his adopted daughter is a telepath, and the woman he agrees to marry is a skilled assassin

Haikyuu

Junior high school student, Shoyo Hinata, becomes obsessed with volleyball after catching a glimpse of Karasuno High School playing in the Nationals on TV.

Food Wars

Teenager Soma Yukihira aspires to become a full-time chef in his father Joichiro's family restaurant, "Restaurant Yukihira", and to surpass his father's culinary skills.

My Hero Academia

Born without special powers in a world where 80% of the population has them, Izuku Midoriya still dreams of becoming a hero.

Black Clover

The story follows Asta, a young boy born without any magic power who is given a rare grimoire that grants him anti-magic abilities. With his fellow mages from the Black Bulls, Asta plans to become the next Wizard King.

The Daily Life of the Immortal King

A boy with extraordinary magical powers tries to pass for average at his new high school, where the students learn to cultivate their spiritual force.

Demon Slayer

A family is attacked by demons and only two members survive - Tanjiro and his sister Nezuko, who is turning into a demon slowly.

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wondashoever · 3 months

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how r we feeling about the wxs world link cards (LOOOONG RANT AFTER THIS)

WHY IS HE DOING ALLAT 😭 LITERALLY HIM IN LIKE HALF OF HIS CARDS OMFG but hes so silly teehehehehghehe i so normal HES JUST SOME GUY YK. is he falling off somewhere LMAO NOO BUT THE BACKGROUND IS SO COOL !!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THAT LION PLUSH ON HIS SHOULDER LIKE ITS IMITATING HIM ! it gives me wizard of oz vibes actually!

furina ahh pose LIKE HAHAH ithjink im going INSANE I HAVE NO WORDS JUST (chef's kiss) I LOBVE THE OUTFIT SM THOUGH?? IT REMINDS ME OF THE JELLYFISH RUI CARD OUTFIT!! howd you like his new drip (giggles) but oh ky god HE LOOKS GORGEOUS??????? ABSOLUTE KING (applause) THE DETAILS THE FRILLS ARGHHHHHH I NEED HIS DRIP

HES EATING THE PLUSH OMEHWBNJKJNWSOMNOM SOMEONE SAID THAT THE BUNNY HAD N25 COLURS AND IM ACTUALLY SCREAMING AT THAT RFRGRHRGGHHHHHHHHH IM GOING INSANE THE ONLY DOWNSIDE OF THIS CARD HIS HIS UGLY ASS SHIRT (affectionate) BUT ISTSS SO CUTEVER IM CRYING THE PLUSHIES ARE SO FRIGHTENED AHAHHSHSHSHAHA

reminds me of his first birthday card actually! it has quite the same vibe HIM JUST SITTING THERE WITH BOOKS LIKE OKAY LIL BRO WE KNOW YOURE A NERD I LOVE THE COMPOSITION OF THIS CARD?????????????????????????????????????HES LITERALLY ALWAYS WINKING HES SO F(RUI)TY RRRRRRRRGHHC IM GOING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SHES TALKIMHG TO THE LION PLUSH FROM THE TSUKASA'S UNTRAINED IM FUCKING SCREAMING THE SYMBOLISM SHES SO CUTEREFSYGVWHBJYVWCFTDGVHSBKJE DID YOU KNOW I LOVE EMU RFRGRRGHHHH SHES SO SILLY AWWE I LOVE THE OVERALL LOOK OF THE CARD??? ITS SO PHOTOGRAPH STYLEE AND THE HOUSES AROUND HER ARE SO CUTESY

PEGASUS CARNIVAL RIDEEEEEEEEEEE ITS LITERALLY TSUKASAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THE STAR ON IT?!?@?@?!?!?!?! THERES SM GOING ON HERE BUT ITS SO GOOD TOGETHER !!!!! THE POLYSHO BALLOONS IM NOT OKAY SHE ATE RFRGRGHH HER CARD IS SO COLOURFUL I LOVE HER PROTECT THAT SMILE OMFG I COULD GO ON FOREVER

AGAIN, POLYSHO HOT AIR BALLOONS AND YWLLOW TURTLE WITH POLYSHO COLOYRS IM NOT OKAY I LOVW HER SHE LOOKS SO CALM AND SERENE?????????????? SHES A GIRLBOSS SHE LOOKS SO SOSISOSOSOSOS HAPPY THE COLOURS ARE SO BIRGHT FFGRGRRH NENENENENENNENENEEEE AND THE CLOUDS ARE SO COTTON CANDY??!???!?!?!?!??????

SOMEHOW HER CARD GIVES A DIFFERENT VIBE FROM THE REST! BUT MAYBE ITS JUST ME?? ITS SO AESTHETIC THOUGH!!!!!! ITS SO CALMING I COULD STARE AT THIS FOREVER SHES SO PRETTY AND AND YOU SEE THE ANIMALS THERE RUGHT (cat->rui, bunny->emu, chick->tsukasa, lamb->nene) ITS SO RRFRFRGG DO YOU SEE MY VISION IM SO SANE

#babbles #project sekai #prsk fa #polysho #wxs tsukasa #wxs rui #wxs emu #wxs nene #wonderland x showtime #wondershow

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de-sterren-nacht · 11 months

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The Fae of the British Lostbelt

This is gonna be a long one, so strap in.

The fae and other creatures of the British Lostbelt take heavy inspiration from real-life legends; almost every major character is named after a type of fairy or mystical creature from British folklore. Many of these names are not English; I've added a pronunciation guide for these in brackets after the word. In this post, I'll go over the beings and concepts these characters are named for and compare the legend to the original. This won't include Morgan or Oberon; those figures are complex enough to deserve posts of their own.

Aesc [ASH]

Aesc is more accurately spelled Æsc. It's an Old English word for the ash tree, and also doubles as the word for the rune for the letter Æ. This is pretty much a direct translation into Old English of Aesc's Japanese name, Tonelico (トネリコ), a word meaning "ash tree".

Albion

Albion is a poetic name for the island of Britain, from Greek Albiōn (Ἀλβίων), the name used by classical geographers to describe an island believed to be Britain. The name probably means "white place", which is how it's connected to the Albion of Fate. The Albion of Fate is the White Dragon, a symbol of the Saxons from a Welsh legend. In the most well-known version of the legend, the King of the Britons at the time, Vortigern, was trying to build a castle on top of a hill in Wales to defend against the invading Saxons, but everything he tried to build collapsed. He was told by his court wizard to find a young boy with no father and sacrifice him atop the hill to alleviate the curse. He sent his soldiers out and found a boy being teased for being fatherless, but when he brought the boy to the hill, the boy, a young Merlin, told him that his court wizard was a fool and that the real reason for the collapsing castle was two dragons inside the hill, one red and one white, locked in battle. The red dragon represented the Britons, and the white dragon represented the Saxons. Merlin told Vortigern that nothing could be built on the hill until the red dragon killed the white one. A red dragon is the symbol of Wales to this day, and a white dragon is occasionally used in Welsh poetry to negatively represent England. This white dragon is Albion in Type/Moon lore.

Baobhan Sìth [bah-VAHN shee]

A baobhan sìth is a female fairy in Scottish folklore. The name literally means "fairy woman" in Scottish Gaelic. They appear as a beautiful woman and seduce hunters traveling late at night so that they can kill and eat them, or drink their blood depending on the story. They're unrelated to banshees except in terms of etymology (Banshee is from Old Irish "ben síde", meaning the same thing as baobhan sìth). They're often depicted with deer hooves instead of feet, which is probably what inspired Baobhan Sìth's love of shoes.

Barghest

In the folklore of Northern England, a barghest is a monstrous black dog with fiery eyes teeth and claws the size of a bear's. The name probably derives from "burh-ghest", or "town-ghost". It was often said to appear as an omen of death, and was followed by the sound of rattling chains. The rattling chains probably inspired Barghest's chains. Her fire powers are also obviously based on the fiery eyes of the barghest. Otherwise, she's not very connected to the folkloric barghest, which is never associated with hunger or eating humans.

Boggart

In English folklore, a boggart is either a malevolent household spirit or a malevolent creature inhabiting a field, a marsh, a hill, a forest clearing, etc. The term is related to the terms bugbear and bogeyman, all originally from Middle English bugge, or possibly Welsh bwg [BOOG] or bwca [BOO-cuh], all words for a goblin-like monster. It usually resembled a satyr. It's not really ever depicted with lion features, so it's anyone's guess why Boggart is a lion-man.

Cernunnos [ker-NOON-ahs]

Cernunnos, probably meaning "horned one", was an important pre-Roman Celtic god. His existence is only attested by fragmentary inscriptions and the repeated motif in Celtic religious art of a "horned god", a humanoid figure with deer antlers seated cross-legged. This fragmentary evidence is often led to assume that Cernunnos was a god of nature, wilderness, animals and fertility. There exists no evidence that Cernunnos was a chief deity of any kind, since we have barely any evidence he existed at all in the first place. Cernunnos might not even be his name; it's just the only name we have. Needless to say, the only thing the Cernunnos in the British Lostbelt has in common with the real figure is his large antlers.

Cnoc na Riabh [kuh-nock-nuh-REE-uh]

Cnoc na Riabh, Knocknarea in English, is a hill in Sligo in Ireland. The name means "hill of the stripes", referring to its striking limestone cliffs. It's said to be the location where Medb's tomb lies, so it's connected to Cnoc na Riabh through Fate's conflation of Medb with Queen Mab, a fairy mentioned in Romeo and Juliet; this etymology of Mab as derived from Medb was formerly accepted, but has lost favour with the advent of modern Celtic studies due to the lack of any concrete connection between the two figures.

Grímr (don't know how to say this one, apologies; Germanic myth is not my strong suit)

Odin (Wōden in Old English) was a god worshiped in many places, basically anywhere the Germanic peoples went, including the Anglo-Saxons that became today's English people. As such a widely worshiped god, he had a very large number of names, titles and epithets. Grímr is one such name, literally meaning "mask", referring to Odin's frequent usage of disguises in myths, which is fitting for how Cú disguised himself as a faerie in the British Lostbelt and hid that he possessed Odin's Divinity from Chaldea.

Habetrot

Habetrot is a figure from Northern England and the Scottish Lowlands, depicted as a disfigured elderly woman who sewed for a living and lived underground with other disfigured spinsters. She often spun wedding gowns for brides. Cloth spun by her was said to have curative and apotropaic properties. All the Habetrot of the British Lostbelt has in common with this figure is the association with brides and with spinning cloth. "Totorot" is not a real figure; the name is just an obvious tweak of Habetrot.

Mélusine

Mélusine is a figure that appears in folklore all across Europe. The name probably derives from Latin "melus", meaning "pleasant". She's a female spirit of water with the body of a beautiful woman from the waist up, and the body of a serpent or a fish from the waist down. In most stories, she falls in love with a human man and bears his children, using magic to conceal her inhuman nature. However, she tells her lover he must never look upon her when she is bathing or giving birth. Of course, he invariably does so, and when he does, he discovers her serpentine lower body, and she leaves, taking their children with her. Since Mélusine is just the name Aurora gave her, the Mélusine of the British Lostbelt has very little to do with this figure, but an analogy can be drawn between the Mélusine of folklore hiding her true form as a half-serpent to maintain her relationship with her lover, and Fate's Mélusine suppressing her true form as both a dragon and an undifferentiated mass of cells to ensure Aurora continues to love her.

Muryan [MUR-yan]

A muryan is a rather obscure Cornish fairy. The word is Cornish for "ant". Muryans are diminutive figures with shapechanging abilities, cursed to grow smaller every time they use those abilities until they eventually vanish altogether. Muryan, of course, is connected to muryans through her ability to shrink others.

Spriggan [SPRID-jan]

A spriggan is a type of creature in Cornish folklore. The word is derived from the Cornish word "spyryjyon" [same pronunciation], the plural of "spyrys", meaning "fairy". They're usually grotesque old men with incredible strength and incredibly malicious dispositions, and are often depicted guarding buried treasure. Spriggan is not himself a faerie, and the name is stolen from a faerie he killed, but it's still appropriate due to the greed and selfishness spriggans are usually depicted with.

Woodwose

Woodwose is a Middle English term for the wild man, a motif in European art comparable to the satyr or faun. The etymology is unclear. It has little to do with wolves or animals, despite its association with wildness, but there is at least a thematic connection with Woodwose's character, since the archetype of the wild man depicts a figure who cannot be civilised or well-mannered no matter how hard he tries, much like how Woodwose barely restrains his temper by being a vegetarian and dressing in a fine suit. Woodwose's predecessor, Wryneck, is named for a type of woodpecker with the ability to rotate its neck almost 180°.

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mbrainspaz · 1 year

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Came across your Harry Potter alternative for adults. Do you you have any recommendations for kids?

The Bartimaeus sequence would be ok for older kids. There isn't much with the same potential for fandom. A lot of YA series are shorter and less well developed because publishers just wanted to blast them onto the market and get some of that sweet JKR money. That's why you get so many crappy cash grabs that devolve into brain melting nonsense after 2-3 books like the Michael Vey series, Gone, Maze Runner, and Lorien Legacies.

Here are some short series that aren't much like Harry Potter but that I liked as a kid around the same time I liked Harry Potter:

Percy Jackson (obviously. If any YA series could take on Harry Potter in terms of scope and fandom it's probably this one. Kid with ADHD discovers he's actually a demi-god and has to go on adventures and battle monsters. The series racks up a hugely diverse cast over time.)

Airborn (alternate history with airships and lots of steampunk adventuring, made me more interested in engineering and zoology, and the series has a satisfying ending.) Airman (just a single book sadly, which I liked even after I'd outgrown the Artemis Fowl books and gotten annoyed by them. Young kids might prefer Artemis Fowl.)

LionBoy (All I remember is t's about a kid who has asthma and can talk to lions, but I liked it a lot in middle school.)

Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld (similar vibes to Airborn but it's set in an alternate history of WW1, the books also have some truly awesome illustrations)

The Demon King by Cinda Williams Chima (high fantasy so it's no Harry Potter, but the main character is an urchin who becomes a wizard, so...) Her urban fantasy series The Warrior Heir is also good but pretty much revolves around human trafficking and an ancient blood feud.

Pendragon (eh... this one is borderline cash grab while still being fun. It's a good series overall but the conclusion is a little eh. Local high school boy discovers he can travel to alternate realities and is destined to fight a very evil villain who I always thought was cooler than Voldemort)

Inkheart (a personal fave I first read at 12 and still like to re-read at 30. Magic system is a little whack but the story does a great job of presenting truly evil villains through a lens of childhood.) Funke also has the new ongoing series, Mirrorworld, about a guy who travels through mirrors into a fairytale world, but that one's a little more mature.

The Knife of Never Letting Go (sci-fi, kind of like a cooler Avatar. Don't watch the movie. Very creatively written book with serious themes of imperialism, fascism, and misogyny—but in a way that kids can enjoy.)

Ranger's Apprentice (another kind of eh one in retrospect. Good for younger kids. Has some great characters but does devolve into a bit of a cash grab in later books. Harshest criticism is that the characters drink an unreasonable amount of coffee.)

I'll end on

City of Masks by Mary Hoffman (this one is a hidden gem. Urban fantasy but it's weirdly obsessed with Italian City-States. Long-ish series with a diverse cast and great recurring characters. It favors political intrigue over the magic system. Book 1 has themes of struggling with terminal illness and loss, but each book in the series introduces a new main character with a new personal struggle to overcome.)

#ya book rec #YA books #reading list #books to read instead of harry potter #good books #ya cash grab #mbrainspaz replies

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only-angel-28 · 8 months

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mastermind, part five

hey guys😀🔫

first of all im so sorry ik its been literally ten years since the last update but we're backk😋🙌🙌

anyways this used to be called redbone but im changing it to mastermind (the taylor song) bc i feel like it just fits more w the story but heres part five!!

its a short one for now but dw part six and seven are in the making and theyll probably be out later tonight or early tomorrow morning idk

anyways i hope you like this one please lmk and leave me some requests😋🤞

mastermind, masterlist

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“Good morning,” Harry says, smiling brightly as Hermione and I sit at the table.

“Morning,” we both reply in unison, Hermioen going to say something but is cut off when our attention darts to the old owl that all but crashes into our food on the table, sending bowls of cereal and plates of toast flying into the air.

“Ron! Get your owl in check!” I yell as Hermione magics away the spilt milk on my robes, leaving them brand new.

“Sorry, sorry. God this bird’s going to be the death of me.” Ron replies as he detaches the box in the owl's claws before shooing it away.

“What’s that?” Harry asks, pointing at the box curiously as Ron goes to open it and pulls out a long black robe with white ruffles at the collar.

“Mum’s sent me a dress!” Ron says in horror as he stares down at the old thing.

“Well, it does match your eyes. Is there a bonnet? Aha!” I shout through my laughter, pulling out a white collar with a black bow and holding it up at Ron’s neck.

“Oh shut up Y/N. You’re not funny.” Ron says dismissively as he walks over to Ginny and continues,

“Ginny here, these must be for you.”

“I’m not wearing that, it’s ghastly.” she says looking up at the dress in disgust.

Hermione lets out a fit of giggles as Harry and I smack each other, laughing at Ron, unable to control ourselves.

“What are you on about?” Ron asks confused.

“They’re not for Ginny, you idiot, they’re for you!” I shout as the Gryffindors around us join in on the laughter.

“They’re dress robes,” Hermione adds, calming down slightly.

“Dress robes, for what?” Ron responds with frustration in his voice.

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“The Yule Ball has been a Hogwarts tradition since its inception,” McGonagall’s voice booms in the large room filled with girls on one side and boys on the other. Hermione and I softly giggle as we make small quips about how uncomfortable Harry and Ron look, having to sit next to Theo and Draco.

“On Christmas Eve night, we gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity,” she says as she glides around the room, eyeing Harry and Draco as they make faces at each other, causing them to stop almost immediately.

“I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean this literally as the Yule Ball is, as you know, first and foremost, a dance,” she says, sending the girls into excited conversations and the boys into a sea of annoying groans.

“Silence!” she shouts over the noise, clapping her hands together over her head, “Our school has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for over 10 centuries. And I will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons.” she finishes, sending everyone into quiet laughter. I look up from my fixed gaze at McGonagall at Theo who snickers softly and looks at me before mouthing, “Try saying that five times fast.”

I smirk as I try whispering it as he does the same, before McGonagall walks over in front of us, breaking our gazes at each other. “Now, to dance,” she says, waving her arms around gracefully, turning to the girl's side, saying, “is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers…longing to burst forth and take flight.”

She turns to the boys, cutting off whatever snide remark Ron was making, “Inside every boy, a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr Weasley.”

She walks over to Ron swiftly as he cowers slightly, looking immensely uncomfortable as she asks him to join her.

“...Yes?”

Harry looks over at Hermione and me and we smirk at Ron as McGonagall lectures him how to put his hands on her waist.

They dance for a minute before McGonagall calls everyone over and tells us to partner up, and Theo comes up to me with a hand behind his back. “Join me for this dance?” he says jokingly as he bows forward slightly and puts one hand out making me smile and reach out for his hand before I swiftly grab Harry’s from behind him and say, “Sorry maybe next time!” over my shoulder, sending him into laughter, shaking his head as Harry looks up at me quizzingly.

“Leaving him wanting more?” he smiles at me, “Yep, I learned from the best.” I joke, referencing the endless amounts of times Harry and Ginny have gotten close but have never made anything official.

He rolls his eyes and says, “Shut up.”

“Have you even asked her yet?” I ask as we sway to the music, “Not yet, I think I’ll do it tonight…if Ron doesn’t interrupt us again that is.”

“Don’t worry,” I say nodding my head over to the other side of the room where Ron and Hermione are trying to dance, “I think he’s got other things to worry about.”

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“We really need to get a move on, otherwise we’ll be the only ones without dates,” Ron whispers to Harry as we try and recreate the potion Slughorn’s just shown us.

Harry doesn’t say anything as he smiles to himself and focuses back on his potion, making me smile softly in return knowing he’s probably asked Ginny by now and she's said yes.

“What are you smiling about?” Theo asks, interrupting me from my thoughts as he adds fluxweed into our potion and looks at me confusingly. “No reason.” I smile up at him, noticing the ring I gave him on his finger.

“So,” I say, taking my seat as we wait for our potion to boil.

“So?” he replies, taking his seat next to me and resting the bottom side of his jaw in his hand with his elbow on the table, staring at me with his blue eyes.

“Yule Ball’s in a few days, have you found a date yet?”

“Mm no not yet. Why do you ask?” he smirks.

“Oh no, no reason.” I stutter, feeling embarrassed, as I try to distract myself with the brew in front of us.

“So your bruises have healed,” I say, reaching out and holding his face to the side to examine the area they used to be on top of his sharp cheekbone. “Mhm. All better now.” He smiles.

I sigh and say, “You shouldn’t have done that you know.” “Why not? I’d do it for Blaise or Pansy or even Draco, I’d do it for any of my friends, so why not you? Especially you.” he mutters the last bit silently but my ears catch it before it disappears, making blood rush to my ears and cheeks.

“A friendship between a Gryffindor and Slytherin is unheard of. Especially considering your family and my best friends, what makes you so confident in ours?”

“I don’t know. You’re…different,” he says, standing up, “You’re not like those other Gryffindors. They’re too proud.”

I laugh after him, gathering my own things as he goes to give Slughorn our finished potion, “You Slytherin lot aren’t all that humble anyways.”

“No Star, we just know our worth.” he winks back at me as he leaves and I notice something on his side of the desk. A little envelope with my name on it.

I open it to find,

“Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after curfew. Bring a jacket.”

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“You took your time,” Theo says as I walk up the stairs, holding two cups of hot chocolate for him and me.

“Shut up, I was bribing one of the elves to give me whipped cream in these this time.” I hold one of the drinks up to him to take it before he grabs both out my hands and puts them down on the floor,

“You shouldn’t have, we won’t need them.” He smiles mischievously before taking my hand and running down the large, empty corridors.

“Theo stop! Where are we going?!” I whisper yell out of surprise, grabbing his hand tighter as I run to keep up with him. “You’ll see!” He says over his shoulder, leading us out the castle and giving a few galleons to the prefect keeping watch at the door.

“Come on,” he says softly now, both of us panting from the run.

The cold wind hits me in the face and immediately sends a shiver up my spine, making me pull my jacket up slightly to cover my exposed neck.

Theo lets go of my hand and pulls his black, green and silver Slytherin scarf off and wraps the cloth around my neck,

“Theo, will you stop being a prick and at least tell me where we’re going?”

He grabs my arm and links it in with his before saying, “We’re almost there.”

I look up at him as we walk in comfortable silence, the soft moonlight reflecting on his sharp features, his rosy cheeks and the cold vapour coming from his pink nose as he breathes and he turns to me giving me a big smile as he stops walking, turns me around and covers my eyes.

“Theo what now? You drag me out of the warm castle and make me freeze out here in the stupid snow and you didn’t even let me drink my hot chocolate and you won’t even tell me where we’re going and I’m probably going to get hypothermia at this point because of you.” I finish my rant as he turns me around, slowly removing his cold fingers from my eyes.

“Shut up and open your eyes, you drama queen.”

I can hear the smile in his voice as I open my eyes and see a big tree with a covering on top, looking like a den adorned in fairy lights and snowflake decorations. A red checkered picnic blanket resting on the ground along with my favourite pastries, hot chocolates and movies all set up on a projector facing the castle. Snowflakes all form one sentence above the movie projector screen playing Tangled, making my breath stop and a huge grin form on my lips.

Will you get tangled with me at the ball?

I turn around to find a flustered-looking Theodore with his hands in his pocket, nervously looking down at me waiting for my reaction. “You did this?” I ask with a quizzical smile on my face, still in disbelief that he went through all this effort for me.

“Yeah. Well I mean Blaise, Mattheo and Pansy helped me. Draco tried but he wasn’t any good so I got Pansy to instead. And I asked Hermione for all your favourite movies and I’ve seen you with all these pastries and hot chocolates a lot this time of year so I thought you’d like them. But I mean if you don’t that’s perfectly fine, I can scrap it all and we can pretend like this never happened and-”

“Yes.” I interrupt his rant with a smile on my face, admiring his stress over whether I’d like the gesture or not.

“And I- Sorry?” He asks breaking his rant confusingly with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, I love it and I’d love to go to the ball with you Theodore.”

“Oh, I- Okay well. Okay. That’s great, that’s…Wow.” He stutters out, surprised at my response.

Theodore Nott stuttering? Nervous? When did that happen? I think to myself as he composes himself again and asks, “Shall we?” pointing to the blanket and movie playing on the projector.

I nod, smiling brightly up at him as I give him a side hug. He tenses for a moment before wrapping his arms around me and hugging back tightly.

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part five done!!

lmk what you think and send me requests<33

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#theodore nott x reader angst #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x reader fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #harry potter and the half blood prince #theodore nott x y/n fluff #the yule ball #theodore nott x y/n angst #fics #fanfic

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