#The chalice of blood is dinner

[uroborosymphony]

5

5 - your bedroom at 5 am. Liminal Space - Still accepting.

1861. Sixty years have passed since the beginning of the Great War against the Witches. Across the realms, her armies of vampires and ghouls were casting nothing but death and desolation down this path of revenge and insanity. All orders were executed under Calista's rage. A rage that was endless and only grew deeper as more and more battles were won by her loyal creatures of terror. Her goal remained : to find a very specific bloodline of witches, the ones who were responsible of awakening the lamia inside of her back in the year 1456, and therefore, killing the human side within her. It was that power she was hungry for, a power she intended to steal and to own, a power she wanted to use to change the rules of the world of the night, to free its creeatures and by the end of her path, to end herself, to free her soul from immortality. On the field, at night, as her soldiers were resting and regenerating after a battle, the lamia who did not need any rest, usually enjoyed the calmness in her apartments. Her rooms were a guarded sanctuary for her to study every the field in order to think ahead for the next one, strategies she would discuss with her council tomorrow in the early morning. On that night, it was different however as her days of glory were little by little declining. Today's battle was another lost one. The palms of her hands were down the table of wood in the middle of her bedroom, eyes fixated on maps, plans and recollection of today's disaster. In her red gown of silk, she was far from the military apparel of Commandant she was wearing on the top of the hill, her sword in a hand. Rare were the presences authorized in her bedroom. Vine was one of them. As it has now been years he accepted her request for help, to remain by her side and offer support from the underworld, he became her closest ally, despite her not holding much trust in nothing but herself. The curtains were floating through the wide opened windows on the moon. The lamia looks above her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the man who joined her in her walls, her eyes then going back to the map. "This is the third battle I am losing, Earl." She speaks to him. "I have spent the night studying their attack, their defense, every single sword strike, every single HEAD choped down, every single drop of blood spilled on the soil. Something have changed, their behaviour of the battle field, their strategy. The bloody whitches were not supposed to defeat us, not Here in Khangai, not now. The mountains have always been the optimum, perfect envionment for our armies to hold advantage over these mediocre creatures, it has shown in our glorious past." A long sigh escapes from her lips, eyes closed, back bent. "If we carry on like this, I am going to lose the war." The lamia speaks, away from her usual confidence in her victories. "Hell." She let out of frustation, slamming down the palms of her hands, then bringing them to her face, her fingers running up, through her hair, holding a pressure against her skull, seizing her hair as she's on the verge of pulling out, a slow rage dancing under her skin. "Something have changed.

WHAT CHANGED?!

She shouts in anger. "I cannot see it. I can't FUCKING see it." In frustration, she pushes away the plans along with her chalice of blood off the table with the back of her hand, causing each element to hit the wodden floor in a violent sound.

[nebulaafterdark]

Sooner Or Late

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Y/N flees to the north before the start of the war. When it is over, Aegon will stop at nothing to get her back. Based off this request 18+ ONLY implied dubcon, mental illness & violence

Long before the dragons dance, Y/N is promised to Aegon. As a result, Rhaenyra sends her only daughter to the North in hopes of securing an alliance and to keep her half brother at bay.

His desire for the princess Y/N is deprived, even Alicent could not comprehend it. In the years Y/N is gone, Aegon yearns for her, a longing set deep into his bones.

Y/N finds real love, without sharp edges. His name is Jonathan Stark, after whom their son is named. His body now hangs like a trophy in Aegon’s garden.

The war brought one tragedy after another. Her mother and three, if not four, of her brothers were slain.

As for the greens, only Aegon and Alicent remain.

Y/N was taken back to King’s Landing, upon Aegon’s victory. She is to be his prize. As a warm welcome, he strung up her husband and allowed her to watch the light fade from his eyes.

Jon is spared the sight of his father’s remains, shielding his eyes with his mother’s dress as she whispers to him.

“I love you more than anything in this world.” She tells him, “no matter what becomes of me, you mustn’t be afraid. You must be strong.”

His hold on her tightens as they are forced into the throne room to meet the king. A man his mother has no love for. The man who killed his father.

“Ahh, good, you’re here.” Aegon grins, rising from his perch. “We need to prepare you for dinner.” The front of his robes are stained with blood.

Her husband’s blood.

“I will admit, I was not expecting two guests. Luckily, the coronation will not take place until the morrow. Which gives us time to fit robes for our boy.” The King smiles at Jonathan.

Y/N clutches her son closer as he begins to cry. “Shh.”

“Tell me now, dearest, what is his name?”

“His name is Jonathan.”

“Jonathan.” Aegon looks to the boy, clinging to his mother. “A fine name for a prince.”

“T-thank you, your grace, but I am not a prince.” The boy sniffles.

Aegon bends forward to his eye level. “You are now. In one day’s time, your mother will be crowned queen of the seven kingdoms and you our heir. Now that you are here we will be a proper family.”

“I had a family.” Jonathan reminds him.

Y/N tucks the boy farther against her side.

Aegon sighs, standing to face Y/N. “There, there, my darling.” He dries her tears with a blunt swipe of his hand.

“Please don’t hurt him, he doesn’t understand.”

“I am not going harm him.” Aegon scoffs. “He grew inside your womb, same as our children will.”

“Ours?” Y/N breathes, clutching her son’s hand. Aegon has well and truly lost his mind.

“I’m going to be your father now.” Aegon tells Jonathan. “There will be no more talk of the man who tried to steal your mother from me. Do you understand?”

Jonathan nods, against his mother’s dress.

“Good,” Aegon inhales deeply, wrapping them both in his arms. “Welcome home.”

————————————————————————

“Why are you doing this, Aegon?” Y/N asks, staring out the window to the garden.

“You were promised to me.” He tosses his chalice against the wall, stumbling toward her. “You will marry me. You will love no one but me! That is why Stark is dead, that is why his body will hang until only his bones remain.”

“How can you be so cruel?” Y/N cries, wrapping both arms tightly around herself.

“This is a kindness, my dearest love.” Aegon says draping his arms over hers, “in time you will see. You’ve lost your way. But you will learn, I will teach you.”

She has to get away. “Please-”

He sneers. “You will do a fair share of begging in our lives together, there is no need to start prematurely.”

“What do you want?”

Has he not made it abundantly clear? “You.”

“I am only a woman. You understand that, do you not?” Y/N scoffs. “There is nothing I can give you another cannot. Why chase me? Why hunt me down when you could’ve had anyone?”

“I realize we have our differences, but there is no other woman capable of evoking such passion in my heart. I love you, I loathe you. You frustrate and entice me.” He nips at her neck. “It was always going to be you, sooner or late.”

“I had a life, Aegon.”

“Now you will have a new life, with me.”

————————————————————————

As days pass, Y/N allows her mind to wander. To escape the vessel in which it’s held; far enough that she doesn’t feel. In time, it begins drifting farther and farther out to sea.

Aegon plays with Jonathan, lifting him high on his shoulders, the way her husband used to.

Jonathan takes a liking to him. Anytime he asks about his father, he is met with a sigh.

“Do you see that pretender anywhere around here?”

Jon shakes his head.

“And you never will.” Aegon snickers. “There is no need to keep asking, as you know it upsets me.”

The boy lowers his eyes, “yes, father.”

“You are a Targaryen. Not a Stark.” Aegon taps his chin, “all of this will be yours one day.”

Aegon is a madman, but he does seem to care for them, in his own demented way.

Y/N loathes herself for even thinking it.

A few weeks after, her belly begins to round with Aegon’s child. Y/N nearly forgets why she is here. Why she has to float away.

Aegon is all but tethered to the tiny bump, kissing it each day as it grows.

Jonathan is the only reason Y/N holds onto hope. Though sometimes, she can hear his father calling from the garden.

Aegon is speaking to her then, plush lips moving over perfect teeth.

It catches her off guard, the look of him. A fallen angel, cast out by the gods. So like her mother. Y/N desperately misses her mother.

Aegon smiles as she caresses the side of his face, ignoring her distant gaze. He knew she would come round, eventually.

“Why do you think my mother hasn’t come to see me?” Y/N asks, with wide, sad eyes.

Oh…you poor, poor, thing. Aegon kisses her outstretched hand. She does not remember, nor does it matter. It’s best not to upset her. “I am sure she will turn up sooner or late, my dearest love.”

She believes him, she has to.

Part 2

Aegon Taglist: @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

[lilislegacy]

Okay, I’ve been thinking about something lately

All the time I see people make statements about Percy that start with “Percy would never…”

Some examples I’ve seen: “percy would never kill someone/something in front of his mom” “percy would never yell at someone he loves” “percy would never get drunk” “percy would never let his child go to camp-half blood”

Now if you passionately believe one of those, hear me out. I’m not necessarily saying I disagree!

I’m saying… who would have ever thought Percy would torture a goddess and choke her on her own poison? And…. enjoy doing it? If someone had said that on tumblr pre-HoH, every single comment and reblog would have been “PERCY WOULD NEVER!!” I mean, who would have thought Percy would do a million things he’s done? He’s done some very not so ‘silly little guy’ stuff. He is an extremely complex character. In his own head and to some people, he’s sweet and fun and silly, but to many people he’s reckless and scary and dangerous. Some people see him as someone who’s very gentle and relaxed, but some people see him as someone who’s quick to get very angry and cause destruction. And the truth is, he’s all of it. It depends on his mood. Consistency does not apply to him in many aspects. He has consistent traits, like loyalty, humor, and bravery, but his actual actions and reactions are NOT consistent. I understand why we think Percy would never do certain things. We think we know based off of his past and his history with his mom, or with Gabe, or with Luke. And I’m not saying I think he would do those things, but unless he specifically states it, we can NOT, ever, infer what Percy Jackson might or might not do.

Like for instance, the drinking thing. I am not saying percy would be a big drinker, if one at all. And he probably does have an aversion to the smell of beer because of how the apartment used to smell when he was young. But we have no evidence that Percy associates all alcohol with Gabe. Alcoholic drinks aren’t just foul smelling hard liquors. There are a million different forms that you can consume alcohol in - some of which don’t even smell like alcohol, and barely taste like it. And in The Chalice of the Gods, it’s said that Sally drinks a glass of wine every night. And Percy thinks Sally hangs the freaking moon. So if his mom drinks, he definitely doesn’t believe that alcoholic beverages = the enemy. And here’s the thing, if Annabeth and Piper and Leo were all drinking and having a good time, like college students do, and they go “Hey Percy, come sit and have a drink with us!” there’s a very good chance that he’s so comfortable with his best friends, and just wants to let loose and be a college kid, that he wouldn’t even think about Gabe. He’d just be like “Sounds fun! Count me in!” But I don’t know. That’s the point. I don’t know. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. I truly think it could go either way. And even if he does drink, maybe he never - not even once - gets drunk. Maybe he’d drink in college and as a young adult, but when he becomes a father one day, he decides he doesn’t want his children to ever smell so much as a drop of alcohol on his breath, and therefore completely stops drinking. Or maybe he doesn’t ever like it, even in college. Or maybe he’s like his mom, and he and Annabeth just have a glass of wine with dinner. Who knows?

Not us. That’s what I’m saying. WE don’t know.

I’m not saying we can’t have headcanons based on what we know about him. I have a million. But the point is, I feel like we can’t try to pretend like we actually know what Percy wouldn’t do. As a fandom, we analyze him and his choices WAY more than he ever thinks about a single choice. He definitely does not think about his life and his actions as much as we do. (I’m not saying that he’s dumb or doesn’t contemplate his life and his actions, but he doesn’t nearly do it to the degree that we do.) Us, we pretend like it’s simple math. (Our first mistake, since math is consistent and full of rules, which is the exact opposite of Percy’s character.) We go “okay luke did this and gabe did this so therefore percy would never do this.” But Percy doesn’t think that way most of the time, especially not in heat of the moment matters. The only thing we 100% know about Percy is that he will always be loyal to his loved ones. But even then, we don’t know what that loyalty will look like. Is it sacrificing himself for someone? Is it murdering the enemy? Is it manipulating someone else? Percy lives in the moment. He doesn’t often think too much before he acts. He just acts. Whether it’s in a life of death situation, or his after school activity for the day. He is unpredictable, like the ocean. It’s one of his defining traits.

Honestly, I think that’s why annabeth is so drawn to him. With everyone else, she can read them super easily and know their next move. But with Percy, she has no idea. Which is frustrating to her, but also exciting. It’s a big part of her initial attraction to him. It’s also why many of us like him so much. We don’t know what’s coming next, and we never know what he will do in a situation. Like, how could we possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do when HE doesn’t even know? Half the time I don’t think Rick himself even knows.

We become so sure that Percy wouldn’t do something because we understand his character so well, right? But I think the truth is, the minute we become certain about what Percy would or wouldn’t do, is the minute we don’t understand his character at all.

Thank you for reading my analysis of Percy on why we can’t reliably analyze Percy

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[sserpente]

A/N: This is short and silly and I enjoyed every second of writing it.

Words: 685 Warnings: none

You sighed as you let your head fall back to admire the stars. Thousands of piercing little lights dotting the night sky. It was rather beautiful, and for the first time ever since you had gotten into this mess (and a tadpole had gotten into you), you felt… content.

Perhaps it was because despite all this—you let your gaze wander over the campsite—fate decided to give something back. Someone. Your eyes found Astarion, brooding over one of the books you had recently picked up. Gods, you longed to take a bite right out of him the way he stood there in those tight and dark trousers and his white cotton shirt. It was quite incredible this handsome man… vampire spawn… liked you back. Not only that but you had mutated into his… lifeline, so to speak. Absentmindedly, you brought your hand to your neck, fingertips ghosting over the two puncture wounds his fangs had left behind last night. It had become a pleasurable and enjoyable ritual for you both now.

You’d have dinner with the others and at night, once everyone else was asleep, Astarion would get his fill and have supper for himself.

Another sigh. Dinner had been quite amazing and filling today. Gale had volunteered to cook after you found a crate full of abandoned supplies. Potato chips, carrot soup, garlic bread, and even lasagne… a chef would have slapped his palm against his forehead at the combination of all of these things for one evening but alas… you hadn’t eaten this much in over a week.

You were practically drunk on a full belly and that was before having a glass of wine already. Speaking of which… grabbing your empty glass, you got up from your bedroll, sauntering over to Astarion’s tent.

His head lifted as soon as he sensed you—and you actually liked to think that he could smell you, your blood, before he could hear or see you. A slight smile played on his lips when your eyes locked and he shut the book in his hands, putting it aside.

“Have a glass with me?” you offered, tilting your head as you waved the chalice in the air.

“Oh? Are we celebrating something, darling?”

“No… I’m just in a really good mood today.”

Astarion smirked in response and reached for the bottle of elven wine on the small table next to his tent.

“Well, given the current state of things, I’ll drink to that,” he purred, filling both your glasses. You clinked them, each taking a big sip before the vampire spawn took yours from you and set them both aside along with the bottle.

“Now would you say… you’re also in the mood for a bit of fun tonight?”

You grinned when he pulled you close, his face only inches from yours. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You closed your eyes, allowing him to lean forward and capture your lips in a hungry kiss.

“Ow! Gods, damn it!”

All of a sudden, as if stung by an adder, Astarion released you, half-blowing raspberries and cursing as he coughed as if you had poisoned him.

“What… are you alright? What happened? Oh… oh gods!” Realisation hit you only a second after.

“Oh no… Gale made garlic bread tonight! I completely forgot you can’t… oh, Astarion, I am so sorry. Let me have a look, is it bad?”

“I’m fine! It’s not going to kill me, it just… burns. Gods!” A few more curses followed as he brought his fingertips to his lips, assessing the damage done.

“I’ll go rinse my mouth, alright? I’ll be right back.”

The sound of acknowledgment he made was hardly an answer. It was enough for you to turn back around though, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were holding back a grin.

“It could be worse… I mean… I could have put my lips elsewhere.”

“Very funny, darling.” Still, there was a hint of amusement swinging in his voice and you certainly couldn’t help the little chuckle forcing its way out of your throat. He had to admit… it was hilarious.

A/N: I'm on my second playthrough as Durge right now and I realised one thing about myself: As much as I love villains and misunderstood bad guys, I'm really bad at being evil. 😂 I feel soo bad every time I make a mean decision, hahaha!

[a-spawn-on-my-lawn]

date with astarion hc 😆

thinking about spawn astarion trying to be romantic. this man has been forced to stay in a fucked up palace for 200 years; only leaving it at night to seduce people in the shabbiest taverns and brothels.

he's not so much into details, he never had to think about taking his love to a date, because there was no one he loved and vice versa.

this man has no idea about what a "romantic date" is supposed to be, even if we consider that "romantic" is probably subjective, but you get the gist.

so suppose Wyll is not around the corner so he can ask him for help, what is he gonna do? what would he come up with?

He'd probably make a checklist.

Romance, that has something to do with flowers, doesn't it??(ew, flowers, they are only good for poisions!). But he'd bite the bullet for you, so... he knows there is a woman at the graveyard who sells flowers, how handy is that? he gets you a spray of flowers (that is supposed to be for a funeral.)

Flowers ✅

Now he really needs a nice location. That location should probably be shadowy and also provide some privacy for sure, he can't have any prying eyes near him when he's having a date with you. Thank the gods, there's an old crypt nearby, of course it is locked but what is he a skilled lockpicker for? yes it's perfect. no one is going to disturb them or make any weird remarks about him drinking a chalice of blood for dinner. There will be enough space to have a picnic. Maybe even a table. And possibly there's some loot left to find on top. Wouldn't it be extra romantic to find you a nice necklace in a coffin? it definetly would.

Romantic location ✅

Next one: Food. Astarion suddenly asks himself what you like to eat most. He figures he never paid attention to that. He's not into insignificant details, so he has no idea. He needs to get you something to eat and to drink for a dinner date, that's for sure! Drink: No problem, wine, lots thereof. Food? Needs to be handy and easy to transport. Food is food. He's going to stuff anything into his bag he gets his hands on: raw potatoes, carrots, sausages, pieces of cheese, a melon, other fruit, bread...

Food for his date ✅

And of course some food for himself, a generous bottle of some yummy blood. Ofc he counts on you letting him have a nibble.

Food for him ✅

Is there anything left? Oh, of course. A romantic dinner requires one (1) candle.

A candle ✅

The most important asset is of course

Astarion ✅

He's ready. 🥰

Ok, he's also slighly nervous about you enjoying the evening. But the better part of him is convinced you'll LOVE it.

(I would! :p)

[dhampling]

sylvan gn!reader, 2.8k

THIS IS IT! THE UNICORN FIC! ALSO COINCIDENTALLY A 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION PIECE! THANK YOU!!! based on THIS ask, where a chance series of encounters in youth come together on one night, where everything just clicks for Astarion and his unicorn. this has plagued my brain. this is all i know now. i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. wc: 2.8k c/w: descriptions of mutilation. fluff. reader WAS a unicorn. yippee.

A bed of burning coals. Belly on a smooth stone slab. 

Low candlelight as Cazador works, each measured smite into the milky flesh of Astarion’s back feels akin to a dull goring; blood a balm of cooling as it spills. 

A mouldering steak.

With each biting shovel of the gouging blade he knows this is a horribly permanent form of disfigurement. 

The pale face in the very periphery of his waning vision, flickering often to look at some tome of reference before conferring with Dufay in frequent sharp whispers. 

He wipes the skin to clear his canvas after each twist of his tool. A searing rag. He can feel the fluff, the grit, as it settles deep into the exposed sticky blazing valleys between his shoulder blades. He feels the birth of rancid infection. The prickle of each and every prick along his tendons that the debris sets alight. 

He knows little else in this moment. 

He knows his limbs are useless in tight leather binds, but that this isn’t a case of reprimand as a flaying or a visit to the kennels may be. He’s been good this month. He hasn’t pushed his luck, nor toed the line. He hasn’t even seen Godey in a four tenday. 

He knows that the gods can’t hear him down here, wherever here is. He was mercifully sedated at one point, but now all that remained were the paralytic properties of whatever was in the chalice presented oh-so-mightily to him at dinner. That his foetid, mortified carcass won’t allow him to howl, or whine, or scream. 

He thinks that he had a similar tool to this when he was young.

He remembers the cool blunt edge in the kitchens and running the tip of his small thumb along it. Feeling it in his pocket, warmed by the heat of his still-breathing body. Sitting in the forest just the other side of the fence with a small wicker basket of apples beside him. Woven blanket underneath linen tunic, woollen overcoat despite the early Kythorn sun; juices running down his little chin as he looked up at the birds singing through the canopy of trees. 

He then remembers his mother’s beckon call, leaving the cores to rot on the peaty floor; seeing the yellowing flesh dotted with twigs and brown leaves, glistening still.

-

“Are you coming?” He whispers sharply, head peering around the yawning mouth of your tent. 

You stretch and roll your wrists, freeing your eyes of sleep with a soft rub.

“Hm?”

Astarion clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. You look at him in a daze. 

He bristles in the post-gloaming purple dusk, your amber candlelight bringing his face warmth as his eyes scan your face. Behind him you can see a tapestry of stars starting to form in the sky. 

His head shakes a little. Claps once. Incredulous.

Oh.

“Overslept.” You mumble. He sighs.

“Gods.’

Pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

‘You have five minutes before I pull you out of this foetid little pit, whatever state you’re in.”

He turns on his heel.

“Is that a threat?” You shout after him.

His head ducks quickly back in.

“A promise. Just so we’re clear.”

A nap in the thulsun heat. A day of rest. Astarion ‘knock, knock’-ing on your tent flap as you read and slinking in like a cat, perching precariously on the chair you use to throw your unwashed armour onto after battle. Several quips about the smell. You threw a pillow at him. Hard. He repostured and continued on breezily.

He’d ‘gotten wind’ of a gathering happening on the beach twenty minutes from camp. Scavengers finishing up at the Nautiloid wreckage throwing some debauched farewell to the Ravaged Beach before some bastardised mercenary force comes in to begin clean up. All the good stuff now gone, but plenty of wine; and, obviously, an opportunity for ‘a little bit of fun’.

He’d blinked at you coquettishly, leaning on the back of the chair, daring you to ask just how he’d gotten wind of such an event. 

It’s rare you’ve bounced off another with such ease since your change. You’re too intelligent for his seduction techniques - the ones you hear him rehearsing quietly to himself from his tent each evening - to work the simple way he intends. That doesn’t mean the pale elf has had no effect on you, however.

You take comfort in knowing exactly how you’ll find him every time you look, and he’ll always be ever so pleased to hear that you have been looking. 

A wink. A flash of those porcelain white fangs. 

An invite to your bedroll for the most sordid of midnight snacks. 

Chatter between friends, an ever-present whiff of flirtation; the quirk of a moonlit lip and the pleasure of mutual relief in the dead of night. 

You fumble around the darkened tent in underwear searching for your discarded camp clothes as his fire-lit silhouette lingers outside.

-

Astarion thinks about the apples from time to time.

Tough, yet yielding. Biting. Sweet flesh bursting in season, ripe and white. Scraps of red skin stuck between hungry teeth. Seeds in their hard little hollows, stalks with small dry leaves. The way the juice ran so freely down his chin in the light of the sun and dampened the back of his hand as he’d wiped it away.

His full wicker basket empty by afternoon. 

Highsun courtyard feasts. He remembers the animals; his mother joking with beaming eyes and a wine-dipped cheer about his ‘druidic potential’ as she held him close, hand on his head, the other on his chest, he stood against her legs as she wittered. Time spent watching for an opportunity to slip through the gate and sit in silence with the birds.

Cazador trenches into his back deeper this time. What Astarion assumes must be blood spatters into his hair with the force of flying blue jay shit, and he’d know. 

He remembers the first time he saw the unicorns in the forest, how bewildered he felt. Startling white in such vivid contrast to the surrounding browns and greens. 

They weren’t skittish like the deer were, nor could they have been ‘lost property’ like the horses who often roamed by. The kobolds were mean to him on more than one occasion and the boars who passed were simple creatures. 

As a decisive yank is made and the gouging tool changes direction, fully embedded in the flesh it tears, he thinks about the smallest one. 

-

Despite being fraught with innuendo and obvious peacocking, Astarion’s company is a reassuring distraction from your current tadpole predicament. A parody of traditional pursuit wrapped in genuine affection. He knows he doesn’t have to bring the bravado, because you’ll play along regardless. 

And this eventide, alongside the fallen Nautiloid; he glows.

Skin soaked in the deep gloaming ambers and yellows of the campfire. Laugh of treacle, like a dozing highsun; a dawn chant on Lathander’s day - he tips his head back in a cotton lull and the quiet threat of his smile brimming through his sharp incisors devastates you. 

You watch on from the open mouth of a scavenger tent astride a pile of pillows and blankets, surrounded in distant light and pilfered goods. A warm breeze carries the firesmoke and to your side is a newfound silver chalice full to the brim with heady Arabellan Dry. 

He looks every part the favourite of the gods. 

Sways gently in his seat. Imbibes generously. Lifts his arms wide in gesticulation with oft-rotating conversational partners and tells stories in hushed tones with the most salacious quirk threatening his brow.

Occasionally throughout your jaunt, you’ll wonder if he should be holding your mind like this. 

Then his eyes meet yours.

Gods.

It feels like they all watch as he moves to you. Adonis in the flesh; effusive as his fingers circle the rim of his glass and he sinks to crossed legs beside you. Face by face. 

“I am so fucking bored.” He mutters. Smiles widely at a passing new acquaintance before sighing a grumble.

“Which one was ‘bored’ again?” You peer mockingly into the crowds, searching with a hand resting atop your tired brow. 

He elbows you. Hard.

“You sound remarkably sour, pet.”

“I’m not sour. I’ve had a beautiful evening” You sip. A gentle breeze rolls over you. 

Astarion lolls his head back a little.

“Beautiful wasn’t really the plan though, was it?”

You turn to him. Narrow your eyes just the smallest bit.  

Astarion tilts back and looks to the sky. He opens his mouth as if to speak. Closes it just as fast.

“What?”

You picture him falling in love with every single one he’d spoken to on the beach this evening; lifting locks of hair around nimbly twirling fingers and pulling another warm body closer. Tilting his head downwards, eyes remaining forward; struggling for words in covetous gasps. Seduction. 

A small laugh. Gods.

“Beautiful. Fucking a stranger in a beach cove isn’t necessarily what I’d call beautiful, dearest.”

“That was your plan?”

“Wasn’t it yours?”

You stop for a good moment. Astarion clicks his tongue in thought. Blinks with the urgency of dripping treacle.

-

Gods. The memory alone would be enough to bring a smile to his face, and he remembers it so very vividly. 

The apples. A baby unicorn. 

One late Elient afternoon, the first time any of them had approached. His fingers stickied with juice. It didn’t appear to be cautious by any discernible means, refusing the peel he’d hesitantly offered far out on the flat of his palm.

Little thing. Just about his size, he thinks; and he was always small. 

He remembers sniffing with a cold and haphazardly wiping his sticky fingers on the front of his coat. Reaching out so it could smell him.

Chewing open-mouthed, eyes closed, smoothing his face with the back of his hand.

They’d fall about together on feeble legs, his flailing arms and gentle nudges. Days on days spent venturing into the forest where it’d be waiting for him in the same clearing as always.

He remembers easing into the apple flesh with the tool edge and gently wiggling it into the crisp white to ensure a deep enough pit. Skimming imperfect rounds of the skin. Bouncing the resulting red spiral between his thumb and forefinger. 

Cazador reaches for the dagger. A hundred-thousand molten pins.

-

The moon overhead. Unwavering in clarity. It almost feels like you’re on the precipice of a different world. 

“You’re weird, you know.’ Astarion breaks his silence. The revellers continue to drink, to dance and talk clumsily around you.

Your eyes meet his. He wavers on the edge of certainty, but the performative lowering of his lids shows you he isn’t too sure. There’s a front to the nonchalance. 

‘What are you?”

“Hm?”

“Fun. I said there’d be fun. You aren’t partaking.’ He takes a sip and swills it around his mouth whilst collecting his thoughts. The dossier. Racking through pages in his brain.

‘I can’t be completely sure, but I’ve met a lot of humans in my life. Seduced them. Given and taken like a market teller.’

His hands move as he speaks, a considered pattern of gesticulation. 

‘And you simply… you’re above it all. You don’t even smell human. What are you?”

There it is. If you weren’t inebriated you’d be tempted to laugh him off. 

Tonight, however; your bones are thoroughly wine-sodden. 

Your companion has a twinkle in his eye. A beach of prospective lovers and he has collapsed at your side in respite. If he persecutes you as they would then you’ll die with his face the last thing you see. It doesn’t feel like a bad compromise.

“Not human.” You confirm, looking at your fingernails with a pert nod.

He laughs in a slight of vindication. 

“Try me.” 

“Sylvan.”

You can’t be sure if it’s from embarrassment or underlying fear that your head falls into your sweaty hands. Astarion’s snide streak plays at the fray of your mind.

“What? Half wood-elf or something?” 

He sips. 

“Unicorn.” You lift your fingers and flutter them around the sides of your head meekly. 

Splutters. 

“Explains why there are none roaming the actual woods anymore, I suppose.”

He’s taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. You aren’t sure what you’d expected. A minute of silence. The lazy roll of waves along the shore.

“What do I smell like?”

Maybe he’s wary of the driftwood stake near your hand. 

“Apples. People don’t smell like apples. Usually sweat. Or perfume.’ He runs his tongue over his teeth and sniffs. 

‘Not apples. I should’ve -”

Apples. A softness in the way he says it, you note. Favoured fruit in the allotments running the edge of the forests.

‘I’ve not had an apple in so long.”

He finishes with a wistful smile, topping off the wine in hand and refilling it with a swift glug. 

“Do you miss them?” 

“Apples? I-’

The cogs turn slowly - he wets his bottom lip and looks to the sky once more. His brow furrows as you watch him think.  

‘I used to sit in the forest, just around the back of the garden wall. I was about- I’d have been about up to here?’ He lifts his arm to just above where his sitting head rests.

‘I was tiny. All day long. Peeling the skin, gnawing away. Ironic.”

Pauses as if in remembrance of something. Grimaces.

You smile fondly and reach for his arm. You’re willing to entertain the line of dialogue. It distracts from the situation and he seems open to indulging in it.

“Funny.”

He scoffs and taps your hand softly before taking it in his. Cool fingers lock around yours. 

“How so?” 

“Gods, a long time ago now - there was a boy I met who did the same thing. Fascinated by them. Would sit and peel them with a little tool. Strange thing.”

You take a sip as you imitate the focus of the young thing, pretending to work tunnels into the cooling air with your near-empty chalice.

Astarion whips his head to face yours.

“Two hundred years ago?” 

“Why?’

He’s watching you as if you’re holding something very fragile in your faux-gouging fingers.

‘I suppose so? Round about then. Bit longer, maybe two hundred and th-”

“Me. It was me.”

Your eyes meet.

It’s the kind of moment you’ve read about in your downtime, the way the clock stops. Everything feels silent. The sea stops rolling soft on the shore, the voices around you are naught above a whisper; the glass in the hand not clutching yours set firmly on the sand as he shuffles to face you head on.

Apples. 

You watch his eyes soften wholly. Not a single ounce of guard; no sense of hesitation. Two glimmering rubies in the moonlight.

“His eyes weren’t red.” You smile.

It takes a moment for him to react. He’s studying your face reverently, with newfound interest; mapping each of the lines and blemishes with a hand hovering over your cheek. 

And then he laughs. The most beautiful sound in all the realms, melodic. 

“They weren’t.’

He points to the scarred fang marks above his sagging collar.

‘I was also alive at that point.’

Astarion takes a few comfortable minutes to look at you as he strokes over your hand with his thumb. You’ve spent enough of the past few weeks looking over him to know him almost by heart but you’ll indulge with the context of the revelation before you. 

“Look at us now, then.” 

Your voice cracks. You didn’t realise the sheer size of the lump in your throat.

“I -’

He presses his free hand to your cheek as he did when you were both young. Soft. Jowls ablaze at his wine-sticky touch. 

The sincerity in his gaze is brutal. If you weren’t so deeply enamoured you might just vomit.

‘The longest night of my life, I thought of you. The apples. How -’

Astarion takes a moment to survey you. You obviously look nothing like you did back then, aside from the brightest eyes he’s ever seen in all two hundred and thirty nine years of life and the same softness in how they revere him. 

‘How you never came back. I waited.’

It’s then that you crumble. 

‘How happy I knew I’d be when you did return.”

It’s cataclysmic, the way he talks. The last person who was kind to you and he thought you’d left him by choice this whole time. Remembering you in his darkest moments. All you’ve both suffered and here you are, on this rancid beach in the middle of nowhere; your hand safe in his.

“It wasn’t by choice. Never.”

The look on his face suggests he’s toying with the idea of playing the fair maiden, but he sees the way you crack and almost takes to tears himself.

“Well. You’re here now, and we have a lot of lost time to make up for. It helps that I was already fond of you, of course.”

He brushes the hair from your face and plants a deep kiss on your forehead as you bring your arms around his waist, hesitantly.

It’s a start. 

One you’d never have seen coming when waking aboard the crashed nautiloid in front of you; but glorious nonetheless.

[justporo]

This started as a comment on the last domestic headcanon posts, so here you go...

Day in the life of an ascended vampire lord (Astarion)

Wakes up at 11 or something because last night's debauchery went on until like 6 in the morning

Gets dressed in new clothes and throws the old ones away

Has the blood of some virgins for a quick and healthy breakfast

Has his portrait painted (yes, every day!)

Then stares directly into the sun just because he can

Works on some witty insults because everyone else is a cretin

Then there's some quick brooding he has scheduled so he sits on his throne, has some wine from a pure gold chalice for lunch and works on deepening the crease between his brows

Gaslights some people into becoming his loyal servants in the afternoon (while sitting on his throne, one leg up over the side)

Gets dressed in some other outfit because the old one got boring

Soaks in a tub while letting himself be sung about by bards and complimented as his pre-dinner affirmations

Some more delectable necks for vamp dinner

Lays around on a chaise longue half naked as an evening pastime with naked dancers all around

Quick orgy in between

Beauty sleep to keep him fresh and world-endingly beautiful

[moonshine999]

Top 15 Helaegon scenes (that we will probably never see)

Note that these are my opinions and preferences and if you don’t agree with them, just ignore it and scroll away 

As much as I love these two and team green in general, it is obvious that the writers of hotd clearly have a bias towards team black. ( That especially sucks when you consider the fact that the team green castings are utter perfection ) But with what they have done in s1, I highly doubt s2 is going to give the greens anything and instead just make them comically evil and rush their plot lines and what not

So this is basically a list of scenes I would have loved to see for Helaegon in both seasons (I may do the other characters as well) 

The list is organised from most likely to happen/ to have happened (it won’t/wouldn’t have but I need a system) i.e. 15 and least likely to happen / to have happened i.e. 1 

15.a scene after blood & cheese

🕯️him approaching her after/during the funeral 

🕯️them trying to not cry in front of the other but all in vain

🕯️them seeking comfort with each other (even if doesn’t last long)

14.hurt/comfort conversation/ argument about Aegon’s drinking and whoring 

🕯️could tie into no.13 

🕯️them arguing at the top of their lungs 

🕯️or having a conversation through tears 

13.a heartfelt conversation about how they are handling being king and queen

🕯️them talking about the pressure

🕯️how they are not ready for it/cut out for it

🕯️them promising each other that they’ll look out for the other and keep their family safe 

12.them at the green counsel together 

🕯️just to watch them glance at each other when a counsel member says something stupid/questionable/ about their kids or them

🕯️them holding hands when tough news is presented 

🕯️them listening intently whenever the other speaks 

11.dragon riding 

🕯️(flashback) Aegon asking her if she would like to go dragon riding with him as she has just claimed dreamfyre 

🕯️them flying around king’s landing with their kids saddled in on their dragons 

10.family dinner

🕯️just the greens having dinner together to welcome daeron and/or gwayne 

🕯️them keeping a close eye on their kids but slowly letting their guard down when they see how comfortable they are with their uncle

🕯️them being the older sibling menaces they are and teasing the hells out of Aemond and Daeron 

🕯️Helaena having to leave early as the kids want only her to get them to bed and Aegon bringing desert to her in their room

09.their younger versions interacting with Rhaenyra 

🕯️either separately or together 

🕯️Helaena being closed off at firsts but then they start discussing all sorts of things from bugs to jewellery to how both of them loved to hear stories from Alicent 

🕯️Aegon and Rhaenyra initially wanting to keep away from each other but they have a small talk before his wedding about Helaena, their dragons and their father before they are rudely interrupted by either daemon or Otto or both. 

08.scenes with their kids 

🕯️Helaena comforting Jaehaerys after someone made a comment about his fingers

🕯️Aegon having some self reflection after Jaehaera says they threatened to rape her (obviously in the show, would not have included the rapist thing if I was writing it but if they wanted to “redeem” him, this is the best solution imo)

🕯️them trying to decide what to name maelor along with the twins 

07.Helaena’s pregnancy 

🕯️either with maelor or a 4th child (according to some leaks) 

🕯️Criston whispering to Aegon during a counsel that it’s a boy/girl 

🕯️him looking around the arguing members and quietly slipping out of the room before rushing to his wife 

06.dance/ballroom scene 

🕯️after the jace debacle, his insecurities skyrocket 

🕯️just him getting fully intoxicated by his wife as they dance 

🕯️them laughing as they spin around 

🕯️them getting applause and cheers as they make their way to the floor 

05.them gifting each other stuff 

🕯️necklaces, brooches for not being around as often 

🕯️chalices with various dragon imagery for his nameday 

🕯️her stitching his favourite flower onto his nightshirt

🕯️them getting their kids to help when they want to surprise the other with something 

04.(flashback) where they get into trouble and collectively decide to blame Aemond 

🕯️Alicent interrogating the shit out of them 

🕯️one look and they were at the library reading mythology about the Seven and the last person they saw at the crime scene was Aemond 

🕯️Alicent gives a disappointed sigh and they are both dismissed and as they walk away- a casual “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” from the other side of the door 

03.wedding flashback

🕯️Both are initially against it, they think of it as a punishment 

🕯️but a talk with their mother or half-sister makes them understand that this is for the betterment of the family  

🕯️they dance together, they talk shit about what the lords and ladies are wearing, they soften up at their mother’s wide smile 

🕯️Perhaps their father is smiling too. They can’t tell. But right now it doesn’t matter, they don’t care.

🕯️Aegon wearing white with gold details and a gold cloak with his hair tied up

🕯️Helaena wearing white with silver details and blue jewels on her dress and her crown 

02.bathtub scene 

🕯️domestic helaegon all day EVERYDAY 

🕯️her cleaning him up with his burns

🕯️he starts crying but they work through it together until it’s over 

🕯️him cleaning her during her pregnancy

🕯️them giggling like their kids 

🕯️them helping each other get dressed afterwards (like just imagine them in what seems to be a hug while he laces up her dress and she pins in his cloak) 

01. A sex scene 

🕯️enough said really.

Alright I hope you liked it

Since the writers for hotd won’t, send me the number and I’ll write a drabble 

[peachy-skies-writings]

hello ! Tysm for the Chance :) i would Love to See any Kind of Angst/fluff headcanon with astarion x Male!reader (rogue) <3

No problem, thanks for trusting me with this!

I've split into two - one for spawn and one for ascended. Hope that's okay? Thought it was best to get both angst and fluff in one :D Set post-game :)

I had an idea for Astarion that doesn't quite work as a headcanon so I'm going to write as a lil fanfic. It'll probably be out later this week/early next week! Please keep an eye out! Thanks for the inspo!!

Hope you like it!

Dinner Date with Astarion Headcanons

Spawn!Astarion

Astarion make a big deal out of your anniversary every year and plan a dinner. You were the first man he could ever remember loving and he was going to show you exactly how much you meant to him, every revolution around the sun.

The table would be set out relatively simply, but with elegant touches you’d expect from Astarion. No tablecloth but soft napkins placed on the side of your cutlery. And, it wouldn’t be Astarion without a fancy wine glass.

He’d make you a meal, or at least attempt - it’s hard when he can’t taste things properly as a vampire. He’d definitely ask Wyll, Karlach, or (begrudgingly) Gale to help. Whatever he knew was your favourite.

He’d usher whoever helped him with the food out before you sat down, to make sure it was a private moment between the both of you. He’d hold your hand over the table and let you eat as he sips from his chalice.

Ascended!Astarion

He’d make a huge deal about his ascension date and host a dinner party every year to commemorate the date.

The table would be set out lavishly, velvet and silk tablecloths, bright vermillion colours. The finest china and tableware. Not that either of you were eating, with Astarion turning you into his spawn. You’d be dressed in the finest silk and cashmere with a silk neckerchief wrapped around your neck, hiding your bitemarks.

He obviously wouldn’t be making his own blood or hunting his own. As his love, you wouldn’t be expected to either. He gets first bite though. No matter what.

Are there guests or are they food? I’ll leave that up to you.

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to the Darkhold Diaries: Day 572

Wanda: “Can you get the glasses out for dinner?”

Agatha: “Of course!” *pulls out fine goblets with engraved tunes and jewels inlaid*

Wanda: “I meant the water glasses…”

Y/N, entering the room: “Ooo the chalices tonight?? Are we drinking the blood of our vanquished enemies again??”

Wanda: *Intense stare of horror but also curiosity*

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #3

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: fear of non-con (brief) 

He was already awake when the knock came. Kit opened the door.

“Her Majesty wishes you to join her for dinner,” said the servant.

“Yes, sir.” Kit closed the door behind him. A guard was posted nearby, and how long had he been there?

He followed the servant, keeping his eyes down. There were so many people in the halls, and all the eyes on him made him feel even smaller than usual.

It was a good thing he had time to nap, because the walk was long. He couldn’t keep track of all the turns and staircases.

Eventually they came to a large room with a long table, not unlike the ones at revels. But instead of being laden with food and wine, it was very nearly empty. Only a white lace tablecloth and a candelabra at the very end, along with two place settings. 

Mistress was sitting at the head, and she gestured for him to sit at her right.

He obeyed.

“I thought we’d start off simple, with four courses.”

Kit didn’t understand what she was talking about, but he nodded along.

“This is your soup spoon” she pointed, “and then we move to the salad fork. Followed by the entree utensils, and then dessert.” Oh. Four dishes. That made sense.

“Yes, Mistress.” he looked down at the cutlery on the table. Silver, by the looks of it. 

“If you forget which one to use, just work your way in. Any questions?” He better ask, so he wouldn’t get punished so badly when he messed up.

“What if I can’t remember which one I just used?” If four courses was simple, what was complicated?

“You leave the utensils on the plate, and the servants will take it away when you’re finished. Now, do as I do.”

Kit copied the way she unfolded her cloth napkin, placing it just as she did.

Two servants came through the doors from what smelled like the kitchen. One with a crystal pitcher of water and the other with a bottle of wine.

“Tonight we have butternut squash soup, a seasonal salad with a honey vinaigrette, balsamic glazed lamb shank with white bean purée, and a honey yogurt panna cotta with blood orange sauce.” rattled off the servant while she poured them water. 

Shit. There was honey in two of the four planned dishes. Were they trying to get him drunk?

“Chef has picked out a white wine with notes of pear.” The servant with the wine uncorked the bottle, and held it near Iris for her to sniff. 

“Excellent. Thank you, Percy.” Percy poured her a glass, and turned to Kit.

“Wine?” he asked.

They didn’t know. Kit glanced at the queen, who was swirling her glass. He nodded, unsure if it would offend her to decline. 

He’d just have to avoid the honey as much as possible, and drink the wine. It smelled… alright. Almost like faerie wine if he ignored the bitter acrid scent.

Maybe it tasted better than it smelled.

The servants left, leaving the pitcher, and he hesitantly took a sip of water. Blessed water, clean and cool.

Kit avoided gulping it down, as it was clear this was an etiquette lesson, and making a fool of his mistress would have terrible consequences.

Instead, he sipped it slowly before putting the chalice back in its exact place. Not a hair off.

Percy came back, two steaming bowls of soup perfectly balanced on his tray. He placed each one in front of them, Iris first, and then him before leaving.

“I informed the chef to make all of your food without salt, and in copper pans instead of steel,” said the queen. 

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Iris, when it's just us.”

“Yes, Iris.”

The soup was delicious. Kit wasn’t much of a cook himself; preferring to hunt and forage over the effort of building a fire and such. Of course, at this point any meal would taste fantastic. He copied the specific way she ate, keeping the spoon from clinking against the delicate china.

Soon they were finished, and Percy whisked away the bowls and replaced them with the next course.

“You don’t speak much, do you?”

Kit hesitated. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Queen Iris picked up her salad fork. “Do I frighten you?”

“Yes.” What was the point of all this? What did she want from him that required intimate knowledge of forks?

He took a bite of the salad; he no longer cared about the honey.

“I don’t mean to,” she said. “Really, I don’t.” There was that casualness again, but she was stiff. Like the servants were listening in and she didn’t want to be caught.

“Okay.” 

She smiled at him, and then suddenly smoothed her expression, reaching for her wine.

Was it an accident, or more manipulation? Either way, the result was the same. If she was kind to him to achieve her own ends, that was still kindness. He’d take it, and use it to his ends.

“What do you want with me?” Kit asked.

“We’ll discuss that later, when we're alone.”

His insides squirmed at the potential implications, and he ate to cover his discomfort. The honey was getting to him a little, more than it would if he weren’t so sick. 

Percy brought in the lamb. “Would you care for more wine, your grace?”

“Ah, no thank you Percy.”

Percy turned to Kit, and he shook his head. He hadn’t touched his wine glass yet.

The lamb was tender and made his mouth water in between bites.

“Your chef is very good,” he said, surprising himself. Damn honey.

“Isn’t she?” said Iris, her posture relaxing. “I’m quite fond of her. Between you and me, I think she’s trying to impress you.”

“Oh?” 

“Lamb is usually for special occasions or on request.” 

“She doesn’t need to do that. I don- didn’t- often cook anyway.” 

“Well don’t tell Christine that. I could do with a little spoiling.” winked Iris.

Dessert came too soon, with more honey on his plate. Kit already felt a little flush. He couldn’t afford to be rude, so he took a small bite of the dessert. The taste of oranges blossomed on his tongue, the perfect balance of tart and sweet.

Just for a moment, it reminded him of home.

The honey relaxed him, tension leaving his shoulders and flowing out of him. His head was pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

Luckily for him, the mortal wine seemed to have the same effect on his mistress.

They finished the meal, and the queen stood. “Come,” she said. “We’ll talk more in my rooms.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[under-the-aspen-tree]

A Moth To You (Chapter 4 - Spiders and Snakes) Aegon II Targaryen x (Bastard Velaryon) Reader

Series Summary: After a year travelling abroad, you have been called home to Kingslanding by your mother, Rhaenyra. Turns out your family has grown in your time apart. Word Count: 2.8k

Your mind was swirled with wine by the time you got back to your apartments, hot and exhausted. Your meal had taken three courses, and you were unable to leave until Alicent deemed it so. The dinner was not long by any means, but you were tired, embarrassed, and entirely furious by the time you stormed out. Jace had offered you his guidance to your chambers, but you had brushed him off politely, telling him you would like a moment of solitude. It seemed he more than understood, likely having needed to cool down himself.

You were decisively less gentle with your handmaidens when they came rushing to your doors to unpin your hair and prepare you for bed. 

"I can do both just fine, thank you," You had told them through gritted teeth. You couldn't be absolutely certain, but you had a notion that they had dressed you purposefully. You had given the girls full reigns over your appearance tonight, worrying your time away from court had you at a disadvantage with the trends of Westeros. Green was a clear sign across the Seven Kingdoms; War with Oldtown. Regardless of their disposition, whether the decision had been biased or not, you did not trust the girls in your service any longer. You had managed just fine in your time away, and you would continue to do so.

As soon as you entered your rooms, you tore the retched dress off and stood in only your undergarments for a while, drinking wine from a chalice left in your chambers in your absence. The embers had long gone out, and Kingslanding's nights neft a cool chill in the air, but your own shame and fury warmed you from the inside out. When you looked upon yourself in the mirror, you saw a woman half mad, with wild eyes and red cheeks in her nakedness.

It should have shaken you, how much a single night in Westeros had undone you. During your year away you had been carefree and gentle, always a laugh away from delighted. Now, after a single night in these lands, you were furious and ashamed. You could not leave the night as it was.

Perhaps it was how much you had to drink, though you felt tipsy more than you did drunk, but you made quick work of finding a dress from your wardrobe; silver as the moon, and cool against your skin. You left your hair pinned and slipped from your chambers during the hour of the bat, blood cold as ice and heart hammering against your chest. You would put this to right, damned be your manners.

The hallways of the Red Keep were silent as a mouse, only the distant twitters of mice reaching your ears. The occasional guard roamed past your vision, but you paid them no heed. You were well within your rights to walk these walls, you were a Princess, no matter how long you had spent in distant lands.

You came to his chamber doors quicker than imagined, having walked there without so much as a second thought given to directions. Though your brain was slightly muddled by time and drink, your bones knew where to go, and your legs where to take them. With no guards in view, you resigned yourself to knocking, knowing that the men of the realm often kept weaponry in their possession, and would not take kindly to an uninvited guest at such an hour.

Aegon came to the door quickly, hair dishevelled and a scowl upon his face at being disturbed, but it disappeared upon meeting your eyes. His expression melted into one of confusion, then of cockiness as his violet eyes travelled from your own to the silver of your dress swaying in the breeze from the windows. Saying not a word, still drinking in your appearance, he opened the door.

You had never been inside the Prince's chambers, only to stand beside them in your youth, though you were certain they were only this tidy due to the help of a serving girl. The bed was a pristine white and gold, his curtains not yet drawn. Beside them stood a lavish table of deep oak, two plush chairs, and a vase of wine between them. The fire was but a pit of embers; It seemed that Aegon, too, preferred the cold tonight.

You could scarcely keep your words within, whirling before Aegon had even gotten the door closed, looking up at him with glimmering ashes in your eyes.

"I have not been back a day and you are already conducting yourself in such a manner." Your voice was a snarl, completely unlike that which you spoke at the table, a manner entirely unladylike. If Aegon was shocked at your change in tone, he did not show it, sneering at you as he cocked his head.

"And what manner would that be?" He drawled, shifting as strands of silver swept across his eyes. A pale hand came up to push them back. His hair had defied the oils he had used to keep it at bay, and wavy locks layered about his face.

"A vile one." Your voice was a low hiss, spitting out the words with fire on your tongue. Aegon grinned, flashing pearly white teeth, though the cracks in his lips were stained an Arbour red.

"Your family has welcomed you to Kingslanding, must I share in the same festivities?"

"No, I would even prefer if you didn't," Your words were scalding, and you were brought into an even greater fury as Aegon crossed past you slowly. His shirt was unbuttoned by a few notches, his belt discarded beside the bed. "But to conduct yourself in such a shameful manner, to-to dishonour my brothers and I-"

"Dishonour you?" Aegon turned for a moment, looming above you, looking down from those lilac eyes with a near-sarcastic smile gracing his lips. "Why, Princess, I only spoke the truth."

Your fingers trembled from where you held them at your sides, blood running cold as ice at his words. Your vision was as red as the glimmering ashes in his heath, your words pure steel. "You are a blasphemy to the face of the Targaryen name."

"As are you."

His own voice was equally cold, drained of the amusement still held beneath his eyes. His hand now played upon his chalice, fingers skirting the rim of the silver cup. "Do not forget yourself in this matter, (Y/N), your ferocity only proves it." You stepped after him, furious at his attempts at being casual at such a time. "You are truly your father's daughter."

His lips moved to the syllables, but you heard only one. Bastard. You had skirted the words for a year, been adored for a month; Lords and Ladies had not dared to utter it in your presence. The time spent had left you proud and quick to tempter. Heat rose up your neck, and you understood suddenly why Luke had lifted a blade against Aemond all those years ago in Driftmark.

"I dare you to say that again." There was pure fire in your eyes now as you spoke. The fire of the Targaryens and the brutal, crashing waves of the Velaryons. You could not have it said otherwise. You were a Valyrian pure, Blood of The Dragon, a beast in disguise. 

"A year apart and you are still so much like your brothers." Aegon laughed, throwing himself back into his chair as he pulled his chalice to his lips, skirting the cold edge along soft flesh. The action gave you goosebumps, as though you were intruding upon a tender moment. You were reminded strangely of the Valyrian traditions, of slicing open the mouth with Dragonstone and sharing your blood with another, "A shame truly. I meant what I said you to this evening, green really is your colour."

It had left you tired, this meeting, this bizarre likeness brought to mind. Suddenly, you were not sure why you stood here, forcing an argument when you could have gone to bed and dwelled on your thoughts. Perhaps his cruel words had sobered you.

"Why do you hate me so?" You finally mustered, weaker than you meant to be. Aegon downed his cup and went to refill it, ignoring your moment of weakness and, in doing so, the dragon was awoken

once more. This hot and cold, this ridiculous game of chess, left you confused and hurt and angry to your very core. In a second of thoughtlessness, of pride, you staggered forward and ripped the cup from his hand, relishing in the look of pure shock on his face as cool wine slipped down your fingers. Finally, an emotion beyond arrogance or mindless cruelty. 

It was not long you held your victory though, for Aegon's face morphed from shock to complete fury in a blink. You had never seen that look on his face but for once, and even then it was not so terrifying. His lilac eyes melted into cold, sharp steel as he threw his hand against the table, standing so quickly you stumbled back. His hands came down hard upon your shoulder and wrist, your vision blurring as he spun you with strength you did not perceive him to have. The chalice fell tumbling from your grip as your arm hit the wall, stinging ferociously as the silver twanged against the floor. Wine exploded from the cup, staining the silver of your gown and the black of his boots as it spilt dark red against the stone ground.

"I don't hate you, Princess." 

Aegon's words were seething and you were suddenly terrified. You had not realised how much he had grown until now. A year ago his growth spurt had not yet hit, and you rejoiced in the opportunity to look down at the Prince. Now, he utterly devoured you. His frame was looming, his face nearly pressed against yours as he glared down with nothing but distaste. You tried to cower further into the wall, but the cold, jagged stone was relentless against your back.

"I abhor you."

His grip was crushing against your bones and you were doing all that you could not to yelp in pain. His arms were shaking with the force he used to keep you in place, or perhaps his anger, but his face was utterly calm. You had jested in days past that Aegon and his brother were nothing but green boys, drunk on power and prestige, but this man was utterly terrifying. Tears danced in your eyes, emotions swirling in your chest and stomach and throat; loathing, disgrace, humiliation, fear. With the last of your strength, you pushed back with all your might, though you knew it was not your own strength, but the Prince relenting in his grip, that had him stumbling back. 

Your steps were so quick you were almost in a run by the time you hit the door, palms slamming into the wood as you did your best to disguise your tears. Aegon did not move from his place, content with the distance you put between you both, but picked up his fallen cup and sat back down against his chair, refilling his wine. You could not leave like this, disgraced from his chambers as he sat cooly with his drinks. You said the first thing that came to mind.

"It would do you well to remember whose mother and brother are heirs to the iron throne." Your voice betrayed your previous terror, still shaking and jumping with the notch in your throat. It burned hot against your flesh.

"Go back to Pentos, Princess. It suits you better." You slammed the door before he could do so much as look at you, brushing angry tears from your cheeks as your wet gown dragged against the floor.

An hour had passed and you had still not returned to your chambers, having found a quiet place in the Red Keep. Your skin burned against the cold of the night, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, and yet you did not seek rest. Your heart had not yet calmed, still beating ferociously within your chest as you started at the grounds in your silence. It was peaceful here, at this hour, deep and blue and quiet. It left you to your thoughts and, if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine a colder night in Pentos. Even in the moonlight, it was still warm there, but it stilled your mind to pretend for a moment. You had wandered to halls for a while, hoping the walk would leave you time to debate your thoughts, but the endless stream of guards had you seeking solitude. So now you stood, overlooking a balcony that beheld the gardens on a floor that housed nobody, wishing you were anybody but yourself.

"I trust you are enjoying your time spent back here." You did not hear the man approaching, but Daemon's voice was as cold as the night and relieving to your ponderous mind.

Your voice was scratchy from a while of crying, and you had to cough to sound somewhat like yourself, refusing to look his way lest he see the red that marked your eyes. "As well as I can be."

"Yes, it really is a shit hole, isn't it?" His words startled you into a giggle, ever a reprieve in the misery of Kingslanding. You had forgotten his rash manners at court. It was what you liked about Daemon, his unwillingness to exert himself for others, to abide by the rules. He was utterly himself and your mother had always loved him for it. 

You were both quiet for a moment, enjoying the peace of this tranquil spot you had found, before you ignored your years of lessons in etiquette for a second time this night, speaking from your own heart. Perhaps this year apart had made you selfish.

"If tensions are so high, why not leave as mother did after Joffreys birth?" You questioned, turning to look at him. His white gold hair blew in the gentle breeze of the gardens and you noticed a cup gleaming in the moonlight in his hand. He looked down, contemplating for a moment, before speaking.

"The Kingdom is too unstable. If we were to abandon our positions in Kingslanding your mother's birthright could slip through the cracks."

You nodded, sighing through your nose as you bit the corner of the cheek, wishing for a cup of your own. "By cracks you mean the queen," You assumed. Daemon hummed in response, swirling his wine for a moment before throwing it down into the darkness below you. 'A waste,' you thought, bitterly.

"You're a smart girl." He said, finally turning to look at you through eyes that were almost an icy blue, if not for the flecks of Valyrian purple. "You have managed to wrap the seven kingdoms around your finger, you have friends in the right places- more so than your mother, and more than our benevolent Queen." He said the title with a sneer, rolling his shoulders as he stepped away from the balcony. "Be weary, Princess. You wield more power than you know."

You scrunched your nose at the thought, thinking of the weight behind his words. He most likely spoke of you as a bargaining chip, to be married off at your mother's or the king's will to unite the Targaryens with one house or another. You knew the day had awaited you, but when you thought of marriage you imagined the steel ferocity of Cregan Stark, or the soft eyes of Illestrio, miles away in Pentos. 

"Spiders and snakes lay in wait around us, tread lightly," Daemon confused you now, eliciting a frown. It was the second time this eve you had thought of that phrase. "They will bite at your ankles at the first opportunity."

He made a point of looking down at your skirts, where the wine had dried into a running red stain at the hem of your dress, and your cheeks flushed. He gave you no time to defend yourself though, and it seemed he did not expect it of you, as he walked into the darkness of the corridors that brought him back to his chambers. 

You leaned back against the balcony for a moment, but the silence suddenly felt lonely without his presence, and your spine stung against the cold stone where Aegon's jagged walls had bitten into your flesh only an hour ago. When you left to return to your chambers and threw your silver dress to the floor to join the green, you could not see the wine any longer. It was the thought of blood on your silks that had you shivering naked in your bed, the blood that came with a snake's poisoned bite.

[flowerprose]

NAMESAKE EXCERPT 💀🌿

i'm so behind, but so in love with this story, so i think that should count for something. by god, i'm gonna finish it soon, and then it's going into the hellish pit of querying.

“You're unsightly when you eat,” Hades observes. Kore catches the dissolving quirk of his brow before he returns to his fatty pork ribs and strange, purple tentacles. She smirks despite the insult. 

“For someone who bristles at the mention of my father, you certainly indulge in his line of thinking. He makes the same complaints about me and Mother. In the forest, we don't often sit at a table for supper. We dine with our hands, around a small hearth that keeps our fingers and bellies warm. It's beautiful out there. It's unlike anything you would find at a feast.”

“So you envy mortals and their primitive ways?” 

“Primitive or honest?” Kore challenge kindly. “You'll find all sorts of classes, even amongst the humans. The finest will dine with footstools and golden chalices and swift servants to bring their courses. But I like the burnt taste of coal clinging to fire-cooked bread. How fat dribbles down your cheek and stains your dress–a garment you may wear for days before weaving another. Many of the humans obtain so little, yet they've survived with only the resources of Gaia to feed them. They love tremendously and give thanks for ever morsel that touches their lips.” 

Hades seems to consider her words, which satisfies her long enough to try one of the oysters. The briny mollusk only earns a shake of her head as her lips squeeze together in revulsion. “No, I don’t like that at all,” she mutters to herself, tossing the shell back into a waste basket. 

Hades chuckles, earning curious looks from the rest of the table. “You speak of Gaia often,” he says, addressing her alone.

“Mother of Mother’s Mother. We owe all of this to her, don't we? All life trickles down through a mother.” 

“And here I thought your lot frolicked naked under the moonlight, chanting songs.”

“Only under a full moon,” Kore says. She's smiling when she hears the shuffle of Hades glancing at her again. 

Despite her dislike of table manners, the food is exquisitely seasoned, so unlike any of the dinners she shared with her father or within the forest. The small tomatoes burst in her mouth like acid blood, chased by a goblet of dry wine. Kore has always sought her sweet drinks, but the unusual variety impresses her enough to keep sampling more. 

“I didn't think I could eat once I died,” she says between mouthfuls of food. 

Hades' mouth curls in disgust, but he doesn’t rise to her bait. “Visit the Field of Asphodel. The heroes still banquet, still recount their victories in vivid detail. Not all who venture here drink from the River Lethe.”

“Would the River Lethe work on me? Expel my memories of my mother?”

Hades frowns as he considers this, chewing carefully on his garden peas. “I don’t recommend that you try, in case it does."

tag list: @mr-writes, @afoolandathief, @sapphic-story, @megarywrites, @blushroomx, @ozzie-scribe, @theskeletonprior, @muddshadow, @thepixiediaries, @nikkywrites, @bebewrites, @jhellfiregirls, @pinespittinink, @pink-prose-n-wiriters-woe, @phantomnations, @queenslayerbee, @antihell, @monstrousfreedom, @perasperaadastrawriting, @andromedaexists, @thebluesthourcommunity, @fearofahumanplanet, @bloodlessheirbyjacques, @stephwriteswords, @cljordan-imperium, @carminasolis, @kaatiba, @moondust-bard, @macabremoons, @lena-rambles.

@beforethepen

[dollivication]

CULT LEADER V MAKING U DRINK HIS BLOOD!1!!! hes.. hes into a bit of cannibalism too.. its like peak intimacy to him… pls i need ur thoughts on this one hes sick icky and REALLY crazy i need him so bad ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა light gore nsfwish v i lovyu

— 🍓

cw…!! dr,., drink the blood chalice,,,

IM FUCKINH CRYINH but on a realer note i dew think he tends to spread the influence of “eating/drinking your loved ones” because it “connects two souls” or “makes you become one”.. laik yes king encourage cannibalism and bloodshed!!!

that being said hes a firm believer of his own teachings LMFAO… so i’m afraid the pic is /srs because this Freak wil have yu drink his blood from those historic gothic looking chalices… most likely even licks any residue off your lips,..

for cannibalism.. okay please stand by as i infodump like a little nerd….. it’s a traditional belief in some places that the left arm is closest to the heart… laik even inuHhH ancient egpyt this belief existed, where they thought a vein in the fourth left finger linked to the heart. it was called the vena amoris. that sillay myth is why we put wedding rings on that specific finger :3

SO i would laik to think v would focus on feeding you bits of his left arm instead of any other body part.. it’s as romantic as you can get, as intimate as humanly possible! and naturally he would do the same to you! cutting off tiny pieces of yur left arm to consume with a glass of your blood on the side<3

don’t eva join no cult, let alone v’s… the girl dinners are human flesh and blood i fear (◞‸◟)

[i-fondued]

Ghost | Sinners in Secret - Chapter 4

Chapter Four - The Dinner Incident

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin x Papa “Terzo” Emeritus III

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Plot, smut, etc. See AO3 for full list of tags!

A/N: I almost held onto this for one more day just so I could make it longer but I liked where I stopped here so get ready, there is actual plot now LOL

Chapter One - HERE

Chapter Two - HERE

Chapter Three - HERE

AO3 Link - HERE

“Prime Mover?” I repeated back to Imperator, looking at Nihil for a moment as he took a deep breath from his oxygen mask. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that before, no.”

“The Prime Mover, Sister.” Sister Imperator spoke, her voice almost soft which freaked me out even more than her being her normal self. “They are very rare, only a few Sisters of Sin are selected to become Prime Movers.”

“What does this have to do with me?” 

“We are under the impression that you have been selected by His Dark Grace himself.” Sister continued gently. “You see, prime movers are very essential to both the clergy and the papal seat. Historically speaking, the prime movers have been the official companions and wives of both the Papacy and the heads of the Clergy.”

My heart thudded in my chest, hands fidgeting in my lap as I tried to process what she was telling me. I could tell Sister Imperator wasn’t quite sure how I was feeling about the whole situation as she paused, clearly waiting for me to either bolt from the room or speak. 

“I-I see.” I didn’t see, but I continued on. “How was this discovered, I don’t remember any tests being done.”

“This phenomenon is so rare that we test every Sister of Sin after her first ritual service.” Nihil spoke up then, my eyes turning to him as he continued. “At the time, Papa Emeritus II was in charge of the ceremonies, yes?”

I thought back to the night I swore myself to service to the church, it was at least five years ago and just prior to Terzo taking over for Secondo. I remember thinking he was terrifying, his stoic face locked on mine as I sliced my palm and dripped the blood into his chalice. I remembered him tucking it to the side, continuing on with the Latin prayers and thinking it odd we didn’t do anything with my blood. Clearly, something was done just not in front of me. 

“I had wondered what my blood was needed for…” I grumbled, crossing my arms like a petulant child before Imperator cleared her throat. 

“There is more. Secondo had indeed used your blood along with the others in your group to test to see if any of you could possibly be a Prime Mover. You had been the only one from that entire year.” She held out a worn looking book, scratchy handwriting visible. “He noted here what had happened when he tested your blood.”

I read the lines she pointed to myself, my heart thrumming in my chest.

Positive/Negative - Positive; see notes

Had an odd vision with this one (Sister no. 160) His Darkness himself appeared momentarily before two distinct shapes emerged from the shadows. One had a mitre, the other wore robes of red. When asked for what this could mean, the Dark One shook his head and did not reply. Will need further clarification prior to PM Ritual.

“B-but what could this mean?” I cried, anxiety building in my chest. 

“That is the nature of the question, Sister.” Impertor sighed, moving the book to the side. “There are varying opinions of what it could mean, the only way to truly find out would be to have you perform the blood rite yourself so you could possibly ask His Darkness himself.”

“What is the point of asking him again? It is clearly meant to show she is going to bear Papa two sons.” Nihil grumbled, shaking his head as Imperator glared at him. 

“We do not know that for sure Nihil.” She narrowed her eyes at him before looking back at me. “Some of us think this could mean you are meant to service both the Papal line and the Clergy line.”

“Meaning..?” My breath hitched in my throat, heartbeat thundering in my chest.

“You’d be sworn ritual style to both the current head of the Papalcy and the current head of the Clergy.”

“Terzo and Cardinal Copia…” I whispered

“Precisely.”

“Nonsense, Seestor. Papas do not share their prime movers, it cannot mean he will need to share his wife with another man. How is she supposed to bear Terzo’s children if she shares her time with another?” I’d never seen Papa Nihil this worked up as he coughed before taking deep breaths in his oxygen mask.

“Papa Emeritus III and Cardinal Copia have a long history and, without insisting myself into the situation of the Sister, it seems like after last night's dinner display they already have their own suspicions of who she is to them both, Nihil.” 

As they both bickered back and forth, I felt like my brain was going to fall out of my ass. Prime Mover, wife, companion, mother…children. The floor felt like it was shaking under me, like the foundations weren’t solid anymore.

“Sister, why don’t you take the day off? Find some time to relax and come back to see me once you've done your own readings. You don’t have to decide about the blood ritual right now.” Sister Imperator’s voice pulled me from my panic spiral, I nodded at her before dismissing myself from the room and blindly wandering out of the Abbey. 

It was a surprising sunny day, a slow breeze rustling the falling leaves, a perfectly mild October day. I couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on my face as I watched my other Siblings go about their days, some heading to and from classes while others did yard work. I saw the gardens to my right and saw the familiar shape of Primo as he moved among the rows of his impending fall harvest. I came to kneel next to him as he dug at the roots of some of his pumpkin crop, one that would be harvested before the annual pumpkin carving contest. 

“Sister.” He greeted me simply before handing me a pair of gloves and sheers, his way asking me to help him with his gardening. Silently we worked together to prune the plants and weed the plant beds, something I hadn’t done in years with him. “They finally told you, didn't they Piccola?”

“They finally told me.” I sighed, sitting back on heels and wiping the sweat and dirt from my brow. “Did you know, Primo?”

“I did, but I didn’t think it was my place to tell you.” He chuckled. “Anyone watching those two last night make fools of themselves just for your affections would have been able to figure it out with the right information.”

“What should I do?” I whined, feeling like a child as he sat back and smirked at me. 

“What do you think you should do?” Primo spoke softly, slipping the gloves from my hands and holding them in his own. His hands rough from years of hard work tending the garden and his time in the papal seat. My brain wandered to the last few nights before I blushed and looked away from him, unable to tell him what I thought I should do. “Judging by your reaction, I think you already know.”

“But what if it's the wrong call?”

“I always am a strong believer in studying everything one can to make an educated decision. Look into everything, Sorella, commune with the Dark Lord and see if he will gift you his wisdom.”

“Primo..?” I started hesitantly, my hands fidgeting in my own lap. 

“Yes?”

“Di-did any of the other Papas have Prime Movers?”

“Yes. I did.” He spoke softly, hands back in the dirt as he looked away from my shocked face.

“What happened to her, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“She died in childbirth when Secondo and Terzo were young, they do not remember her either.” He said simply, my heart panged in my chest at the thought.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”

“It’s quite alright, Sorella.” He paused, looking at me with a wistful look in his eyes. “Sometimes I wish more people asked about her, sometimes I feel I am the only one who remembers her.”

We continued working in silence, my mind whirling with the possibilities and new information about the eldest Emeritus brother. After some more work, my shoulders were aching and I knew I needed to see if I could find some more reading about the Prime Mover phenomenon. I gently put my hand on Primo’s shoulder, he looked over at me as I smiled warmly at him.

“Thank you, Primo, for hearing me out.”

“Anytime Sorella, or should I call you Primo Motore?” He teased as I stood, I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. 

“Sorella is fine for now, please…”

…

I’d spent most of the day outside, basking in the sunshine on my skin. My nose and cheeks were tinged pink and I had found myself a comfortable spot under a large tree while I watched the occasional leaf drift lazily down to the ground. I was reading one of the books Primo had recommended to me about the history of the position of Prime Movers; my fellow library Sister who helped me find the books I had borrowed looked at me suspiciously as I tried to over-explain why I needed them. 

I paused reading when I felt someone sit close to me, looking up to see Cardinal Copia sitting stiffly on the ground. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine as I watched his hands fight a silent battle before he took one of my free hands in his, rubbing the back soothingly. 

“I had been looking for you, Sorella…” Copia’s voice wasn’t as sure as he normally was, I knew this confrontation needed to happen before anything continued. 

“Did you know, Copia?” My voice came out steadily even though my heart felt like it was going to explode as it pounded away in my chest. 

“I-I had heard a rumor, Si…”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I had meant for it to come out casually but instead it sounded accusatory and sharp. Copia looked down at our hands as we sat closer together. 

“At the time it was being whispered about the clergymen, Papa had not shown any interest in you Sorella…” He spoke, voice low and controlled as he massaged my hand gently. “I-I did not think anything of it till after the other night. I had always assumed he was destined for another.”

“Copia, if this thing is going to work long term we will all need to be honest with each other going forward.” I sighed, leaning slightly to rest my head on his shoulder. 

Someone cleared their throat and I looked up to see Terzo standing in front of us, his hands in his pockets as he looked at us sheepishly. 

“May I?” He pointed to the empty side of me and I nodded as he came to sit next to me. He took my other free hand from my lap and mirrored the action of Copia, rubbing at the fingers and muscles in my hands. I couldn’t help but ask him the same questions I’d asked Copia only moments ago. 

“Did you know too?”

“Si, I had always known.”

“Then why wait till now to start this game between us three? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I saw the happiness the Cardinale brought you and I didn’t want to break you up to stake a claim on what Secondo saw that night. Lucifer willing, he could have meant anything with that vision…” Terzo turned to look out over the lawns, before continuing. “Being the compagna of Papa, well.. it is not always the easiest position. When I saw how happy you were with the Cardinale, I assumed that mio fratello was incorrect.”

“And now?” 

“I have always had a soft spot for you, Tesoro…” He purred, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my cheek. 

My face flushed slightly before Terzo moved to lay his head in my lap. Without thinking, I began running my fingers through his hair, brushing the strands away from his face. He practically purred in my lap, eyes closed and looking relaxed for the first time in a long time. I rested my head on Copia’s shoulder and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. 

“Whatever you choose to do, Stellina, we will be here with you.” Copia murmured into the crown of my head and I shivered at the words. 

“Si, Cardinale is correct. It is ultimately up to you, Tesoro. We will follow your lead.” Terzo spoke, one eye cracked open as he leaned to the side to press a kiss to the inside of my palm.

The thought of having both of these extremely powerful men at my side, spending time together and building a life together made my stomach do flips. I looked down at the book I had been reading, now sitting in Copia’s lap as he skimmed over the passages and I knew I had made up my mind. I leaned back against the tree trunk and looked up at the dwindling collection of leaves, sunlight filtering through them.

…

“Sister Imperator?” I called, knocking on her office door that was opened slightly. 

“Come in, Sister.” 

I stepped inside, smiling shyly at the other woman as I came over to sit in the chair across from her. 

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.” I stalled, flush to my cheeks as I squirmed under her sharp gaze. 

“Are you willing to attempt the ritual, Sister?”

“Yes I am.”

“Excellent, we will have you review with Papa Emeritus II since he was the one to do it in the first place and Terzo isn’t exactly an unbiased party in all this.” She muttered darkly before smiling again at me. “This is a major step for you Sister. I am proud to see you’ve taken it in stride.” 

“I don’t really have much of an option, I’d like to have a clearer picture before I make any official decision if I’m being honest Sister.”

“I hope that in time you can grow to love the new role you’ve been given. It's quite an honor to be given this chance to serve the Dark Lord in this way. The timing couldn't be better, we will need to wait for the next blood moon for the connection to be the strongest. It looks like the next one is in 2 weeks, on Samhain.”

“I’ll prepare till then, Sister.” I bowed my head slightly, thinking about all that needed to be done before then before Imperator continued. 

“There is another thing, Sister. Now that you’ve decided to move forwards with the process of becoming a Prime Mover,” She spoke so firmly I couldn’t find it in me to correct her that I hadn’t agreed to becoming anything but she continued. “I’d like to offer you the rooms dedicated to the Prime Movers, it would be connected to Papa Emeritus III’s rooms however Cardinal Copia’s rooms are directly across the hall from yours.”

“Of course, Imperator.” My mind filled with all the ways I could use this to my advantage and I had to hold myself back from squirming in my seat.

After being shown by Imperator herself where my new rooms would be, I walked back to my room and packed up the tiny space. I looked around, trying to memorize the tiny space before handing the boxes to the ghoul who was helping me move my things. After all my things had been delivered to the new rooms I took my time exploring the space that would become mine. 

Entering through the main doors first, there was a little sitting room with a large fireplace on one wall and the other had a large set of bookshelves. There was a little desk by the set of large lattice windows that overlooked Primo’s garden and the several acres of forest beyond the stone walls of the abbey. Through the pair of sliding pocket doors was a small kitchen with a little dining table, off of the kitchen was a hallway with three doors. One led to a small bathroom clearly meant for guests, one was a very old style nursery and I couldn’t help but slam that door closed quickly, the last was my new bedroom with its own en-suite bathroom. 

The bedroom was in rich blue tones, a large four poster bed against one wall and a fireplace directly across from it. The furniture had a Victorian feel with deep mahogany tones to the wood, a soft cream accent color bringing a more feminine touch. The bed itself was massive, clearly big enough to fit another five people along with myself, and I laughed at the image of the poor sibling who’d have to change the sheets for a bed like this. I had a whole closet to myself, my current Sibling robes sitting in there along with more formal clothes and dresses. 

The bathroom was really the best part of the entire space. White italian marble everywhere the eye could see, clean and classic. I had a massive shower that could accommodate all five people from my bed and probably have some room to spare, there were shower heads above me and on the wall next to me. A massive mirror and vanity with built in vanity seating, two sinks and plenty of fluffy towels in the closet. But the best part? A massive claw foot soaking tub right under a beautiful stained glass window that faced the sun all day so the bathroom would be filled with multicolored rays of sunshine. I was frothing at the mouth at the idea of getting in the bathtub but I knew I wanted to unpack first. 

It wasn’t like I had very much to bring with me, my old room being so cramped, but I found places for the trinkets I had brought with me to the abbey and collected over the years here. I managed to fill some of the bookshelves in the living room, vowing I’d just have to buy more books when I got the chance. I heard someone knocking on the only door I hadn’t investigated, the one that I had assumed led to Terzo’s rooms. The door opened a crack before Terzo poked his head in.

“Ah, Cara mia! I’m happy to see you’ve moved into your new camere. How you like? Is everything the way you want? If not, I can have the ghouls redecorate for you.” Terzo seemed buzzed by nervous energy, I took his gloved hand in mine to center him back to me before speaking. 

“It’s perfect Terzo, I couldn’t ask for more. I’m not quite sure what to do with all the space if I’m being quite honest…”

“I can think of a few ideas, Tesoro…” Terzo purred, eyes flooding with heat as his hand came to settle on my waist. “Che ne dici di passare le serata a battezzare i mobili, si?”

He leaned down, cupping my chin and pressing his lips softly to mine. I tilted my head back to him, whimpering slightly into the kiss as I squirmed. He chucked, tongue slipping into my mouth, as he backed me up against the back of the sofa. I sat on the edge and Terzo stood between my legs as he hungrily devoured my mouth. I felt him rock slightly forward, his hips grinding into mine as our movements became more demanding. A knock at the main door made us jump apart, cheeks flushed and looking at anywhere but the other. 

“C-come in!” I called, picking at non-existent lint from my robes. I smiled brightly when I saw Copia step into the room, shutting the door closed behind him. “Cardinal, have you seen my new room?”

“I have, Stellina. Everything to your liking? Papa was very worried…” Copia teased, eye locking on Terzo’s flushed cheeks. “I did not interrompere, si?”

“N-no!” 

“Actually…”

“Terzo!” I cried, my face instantly hot as I looked at both men. 

“It is okay, Stellina. I actually was coming over to escort you down to dinner…” Copia offered me his arm and I paused slightly, looking back to see the kitchen in the other room. I dreaded the idea of sitting by myself surrounded by the glares again.

“Why don’t we stay here for dinner? All three of us?” I countered, pointing towards the kitchen. “I’m sure if one of you asks for a sibling or a ghoul to bring up a meal, nobody will think twice…”

“I think this is a wonderful idea, Tesoro.” Terzo spoke, his face smiling but there was something predatory as he locked eyes with Copia. There was a small nod between them and I knew I was screwed. “Let Papa and the Cardinale handle the meal, you get the table ready Sorella.”

…

Twenty minutes later I found myself sitting at my small dining table with a full spread. There was a tray of pasta in a pesto sauce, roasted herb chicken, and a mix of sautéed broccolini, zucchini, and summer squash. My mouth hadn’t stopped watering even after I had begun to eat, letting out happy moans at the flavors. Terzo popped open a bottle of wine for us, one from his private stores in his room. He poured each of us a glass before standing and clearing his throat. Begrudgingly I paused eating, picking up the glass as he held his out for a toast. 

“Un toast; for health, happiness, and many more sinful evenings like this.” He joked before clinking his glass to ours. “Salute!”

“Thank you both for indulging me with this,” I spoke as I sipped my wine happily, probably a little too much to drink when I hadn’t eaten much that day. “The dining hall has become a little too hostile for me recently…”

“Colpa mia…” Terzo at least had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself, but the smirk on his lips told me he planned to do it again. “Once things have been solidified and you have made a decisione I am sure the other siblings will understand more.”

“I’m not so sure Papa…” Copia sighed, sipping from his glass before leaning back in his chair. “Sorella’s position…it is unique, even for us Satanists.”

“Si, but if Papa decides it then they have to follow.” Terzo shrugged as he twirled his pasta onto his fork. 

“It’s hard to believe even for me, and I do most of the translations for the rituals.” I sighed, tucking my legs up under me. “To think I was hand picked by Lucifer himself for even one person is a lot, never mind the possibility of both of you.”

Both men’s eyes locked, silently communicating something to each other before they both came to kneel on either side of me. They each took a hand, kissing my knuckles and pressing their cheek into my palm.

“It must be overwhelming, Stellina.” Copia purred, his mustache gently scratching my palm as he spoke and pressed a little kiss to the inside of my wrist. 

“Si, I cannot imagine what you are feeling.” Terzo sighed softly, pressing his cheek to my hand like an oversized cat. “I remember being terrified when Papa Nihil told me I was to ascend the papal seat. Now Satana himself has picked you…”

“Tell us, Sorella.” Another kiss to my palm from Copia.

“What can we do to help you?” Terzo mumbled against the skin of my forearm as he started kissing up my arm. I shuddered

“Si, how can we release you of this stress?” Copia’s lips grazed the edge of my ear and I couldn’t help the gasp that came out of my parted lips. 

My cheeks flushed, from the wine or from the heated looks they were showering me with, I wasn’t sure. I squirmed under their mismatched eyes, unsure what to do with myself. I felt Copia’s leather gloved fingers trail from my arms to gently brush my thigh and my head fell backwards against the back of the dining chair. Terzo’s soft white gloves trailed up from my hip as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss at the corner of my lips. 

“I-I think we need to set some ground rules first.” I panted as both men slowly pulled their gloves off, eyes locking with each other before smiling like little sinful children. “For now, I’d like to make sure neither of you feel the other is getting p-preferential t-treatme-ah!”

I stuttered before I gasped as I felt Terzo slip under the table, his warm bare hands traveling up my bare calves and pushing the hem of my robes up as he went. Heat brewed in the pit of my stomach, my core flooding with an aching warmth. His fingers gently massaged my legs as he went before I felt Terzo’s warm breath on my thighs. Copia was sitting on the tabletop, dinner long forgotten as he pushed my chair back so Terzo could look up into my eyes as he pushed my dress up so he could pull my underwear off with his teeth. 

“Continue, Sorella.” Copia’s voice was stern but steady as he slipped two fingers under my chin to tilt my head back and look him in the eyes. “Do not let Papa distract you.”

“I was thinking we should start a-a schedule of s-sorts.” I whimpered, my hands gripping the arms of the dining chair as I looked down at Terzo. His eyes were locked on mine as he brushed his fingers against my dripping wet slit, fingers slick instantly from my arousal. “That way everyone gets one on one time while we f-f-figure out what to do.”

“Hm, I see.” Copia spoke; he made a point of making a thinking face as he watched Papa tease me, my hips rolling forward to try and catch more friction. I moaned quietly, eyes slipping closed for a moment. Copia’s hand gripped my chin as he looked at me darkly. “Eyes open, Sorella. I would not want you to miss out on Papa’s prestazione…”

My eyes locked on the man on his knees between my legs as he pushed my thighs open, pulling me to the edge of the chair so he had better access to my center. I panted as I watched him, eyes locked on his movements and gentle touch. His fingers spread me open almost reverently as he pressed a gentle kiss to my inner thigh. I couldn’t help but reach out with one hand to thread my fingers through Terzo’s hair. 

“Tesoro…” He murmured as he pressed his lips against my core, tongue slipping out to gently caress my clit. I gasped, rolling my hips against his face as I looked at Copia with a deep flush on my cheeks. 

Copia’s eyes lingered on my face before looking down at Terzo, his hand absentmindedly tracing over the outline of his cock under his heavy chassock. I shuddered as Terzo began to lap at me, his fingers teasing my clenching cunt that seemed desperate for something to fill me. Copia once again looked at my face before he leaned down to press a soft kiss to my lips. I groaned into his kiss and my free hand reached for him, pressing against the bulge in his trouser insistently. 

“Copia…” I whimpered, his lips hovering just barely above mine as I writhed against Terzo. I felt over and underestimated at the same time, desperate and needy for more. “Let me…”

“Stellina, this is about you. Enjoy it.” He crooned, his hands wandering to cup my breasts as my chest heaved from my panting. “She enjoys two fingers inside her while you assaggiala, Fratello…”

Terzo made a humming sound that shot right to my clit before he followed Copia’s instructions, fingers slipping right inside me as I gasped his name, head thrown back against the chair, as he sucked on my clit and curled his fingers towards him. My hand on Copia’s cock squeezed slightly as I tried to undo his trousers, desperate and needy for both of them. I looked down and locked eyes with Terzo, his missmatched gaze pinning me from between my legs. 

“Terzo…” I panted, grinding against his face as the lust in my belly began to build. “Don’t stop.”

“Oh he won’t Stellina. Terzo is a good boy and a quick study.” Copia murmured, his hips rolling against my hand as I slipped into his trousers and pulled him out of the tight fabric. “He has always been eager to please…”

I felt Terzo groan which, feeling the vibrations against my core, made me keen with an inhuman sound. I tugged on his hair as I shuddered, my thighs pressing against his face. He reached up and pried my thighs away from his head and curled an arm around one to make sure I couldn’t crush him. I felt the coil in my belly pull tight as Terzo picked up speed, his tongue making long lazy shapes against my clit as his fingers thrusted in and out of me. My hand curled around Copia’s cock, pumping up and down as I writhed in the chair. 

“Tell me, Sorella…are you close?” Copia purred, his hips thrusting into my hand roughly as his fingers tangled in my hair, pulling the braid as he tilted my head up to look at him. “Are you going to come for Papa?”

“I-I’m so close, Cardinal. Papa. Please…” I whined, squirming under the heat of both sets of eyes. 

“Ah, brava ragazza, Sister.” Copia chuckled darkly as he moved to press his cock against my open, panting mouth. “Prove to us you have earned Il tuo premio…”

Keeping with the tradition of never having to be asked twice, I took him as deeply as I could manage. I moaned deeply as I looked down at Terzo. His hand, once wrapped around my thigh, was now pressed against his straining cock in his trousers. I panted as my head bobbed up and down Copia’s cock, the man himself mumbling vaguely something like italian. I was too far down the rabbit hole to even care at this point, all I knew was the tight feeling of my orgasm in my core. 

I felt Copia’s hips stutter in the pace he sat, already close, and I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to finish till he had. I let my free hand move to cup his balls as I deep throated him, gagging slightly as my nose pressed against his stomach at the base of his cock. He groaned, hand in my hair tugging sharply to keep me in place as I squirmed under the attentions of the two men. After a few more thrusts I felt Copia’s cock twitch in my mouth as he spoke gruffly. 

“Ingoialo, Sorella…” He grunted, hand moving to my throat to keep me steady as he thrusted lazily in my mouth, coating my tongue with his seed as I panted. “She may come, Papa. You may not.”

I felt Terzo whine, his eyes locked on Copia’s from between my legs and my whole body shuddered at the thought of Copia dominating us both like he had in the library. The Cardinal leaned back against the table, eyes floating between myself and Terzo. Terzo’s fingers curled to press against that spongy spot inside me and I felt my toes curl, fingers tugging sharply on his hair as I came undone. The force of my orgasm rocked through me, my hips having a mind of their own as I rode out the waves of pleasure on Terzo’s face.

When he finally pulled away, I was boneless in the chair and panting. My eyes felt heavy as I brushed the hair away from Terzo’s face, heart clenching as he nuzzled into my hand. My cheeks flushed as he wiped off his face with his hand before licking his fingers clean. 

“For what it is worth, Sorella, I agree we should all have one on one time with each other.” Copia’s voice was light, a slight blush on his cheeks as he spoke. “I spent last night with you, it is only fair that Papa gets you tonight. As a reward for all his hard work just now.”

I looked over at Terzo, who was still between my legs, and I felt the heat of his eyes pool in my belly as I squirmed. He looked positively sinful; his paints smeared, his hair falling in his face, no gloves on, and the obvious bulge in his trousers making it painfully clear how much our interaction together affected him. 

“So I will see you tomorrow then?” I asked, looking up at Copia again who had paused to finish his glass of wine. He pressed a kiss to my temple before taking my underwear that Terzo had held out to him. I blushed as he stuffed them in his pocket. 

“Of course, I imagine you will need an escort to breakfast in the morning, Si?” He smirked at me, eyes soft before turning them on Terzo. “Be kind to her, Fratello, or I will take it out on your hide.”

“Ooh is that a promise, Fratellino?” Terzo teased, coming to stand and offer me a hand as well. I rolled my eyes, pushing the two men apart slightly.

“I’ll see you out, Copia.” I groaned, not needing them to start arguing. 

I walked with Copia to the door, pausing to take his hand in mine, a soft smile on my face. “Thank you for this…”

“I mean what I said, Stellina. I am with you, no matter the decision you make.” Copia smiled back, kissing my hand before slipping out the door. “Good night, Amate.”

“Good night, Copia…” My heart squeezed painfully and I couldn’t help but wonder how he felt about sharing me like this, it was one thing in theory but a whole other thing to do it in practice. Another part of me wondered if I picked them both, would he be willing to stay?

“Tesoro…” I heard Terzo purr as his hands came to rest on my arms, rubbing them up and down gently as he pressed a soft kiss to my temple. “Ho bisogno di te…”

I felt him grind against my ass, his cock rock hard, and I let my head fall back against his shoulder as he rolled against my body. My eyes closed as I took a deep shuddering breath.

“Your bed or mine?” I mumbled and felt Terzo chuckle behind me. 

“I did say we should christen the new furniture, no?” He sighed, hands coming to grip my waist as he pulled me against him. 

“Let me at least freshen up first.”

“No.”

“No?” I turned in his arm, eyebrows raised as I looked at him. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean I like you like this, Sorella.” He shrugged, a slight blush to his cheeks, as he tugged me by my hand to my bedroom.

He kissed my neck as he backed me up into edge of the bed, sliding me backwards till he could crawl up onto the mattress with me. He loomed over me, eyes dark with lust, before he leaned down to kiss me and I pulled back slightly. 

“Terzo…I had another man’s cock in my mouth. He came in my mouth. The one you want to kiss.”

“Si. I know.” He squirmed under my incredulous gaze and suddenly it felt like I found the missing piece in all this. 

Oh. Oh.

Apparently, it was not just other sisters of sin they had shared. My face had turned bright red, I knew it without even having to look at Terzo’s face. Suddenly any and all images came to my mind and I bit my bottom lip to hold back the moan that threatened to spill from them. For a solid minute all I could think about was running across the hall and dragging Copia back by his cock, the thought of watching them together absorbing every other rational thought. 

“Tesoro..?” Terzo’s voice seemed unsure at first and I looked back at him with a smile, cupping his cheek softly. He nuzzled in and we flipped on our sides, facing each other. “You do not have a problem with this, si?”

“No, Terzo. I don’t have any issues with it at all…” I squirmed, face flushed and he seemed to relax. “Though it does give me a few ideas…”

“Tonight, Sorella, is all about us.” Terzo smiled, his legs tangling with mine as he cupped my cheeks pulling me in for a tender kiss. “Voglio fare l'amore con te fino al sorgere del sole…”

I whimpered and pressed myself into his arms, my leg slung over his hip, and tangled my fingers in his hair as we kissed. Terzo brushed my bottom lip with his tongue and I gasped, his tongue coaxing mine to slip into his mouth. I felt Terzo’s hands push at my robes, exposing more of my bare skin to his naked hands. The heat of them intoxicating as he rolled on top of me, fingers slipping under my bra to pluck at my pebbled nipples. I arched into his hands, groaning into the kiss, and my hand tugged at his suit. We broke the kiss long enough for each of us to tug our clothes off, tossing them to the side of the bed, before coming back to each other. 

Our breath mingled, Terzo groaning as he tasted Copia in my hot mouth. I whimpered at the feeling as he tried to devour me, one hand in my hair to tug and force my head into the position he wanted. I broke away from him, burying my face in his neck and moaned as he dragged his tongue across my neck, sucking and leaving small marks all across my chest and collarbones. My fingers tangled in his hair as I held him to me, grinding my hips against him as we sought out pleasure in each other’s bodies. I let my hands wander from his neck, down his chest and through his chest hair. The pads of my fingers teasing a trail down his stomach, muscles clenching as I followed the trail of hair to the waist of his trousers. 

“Terzo, please…” I begged, my belly swirling with lust and quivering as he touched my waist.

“Please what Tesoro?” He teased, slowly undoing his trousers and kicking them off gracelessly. I felt his cock against my aching core and I moaned, my nails digging into my palms as he teased me. 

“Fuck me.” I groaned as his ear rocked forward, pressing into my tight cunt as he rested his forehead on shoulder. “I want you…”

“Anch'io ho bisogno di te, amore mio.” Terzo groaned, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. I shuttered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he rocked slowly in and out of me. “Let me bring you pleasure, the Cardinale has his ways and I have mine…”

In the past, my moments with Copia and even the few with Terzo had been frantic and wild. We didn’t have a space to call ours, where we could take our time to explore each other. No, in fact part of the thrill was the chance we would be caught. I didn’t want to waste this chance now, even though I had no plans to go anywhere. Copia was demanding, intoxicating, and commanding, Terzo was his opposite. 

He was gentle and soft with me, his kisses fluttering across my skin like butterfly wings. His fingers teasing brushing against my sensitive spots that Terzo figured out made me shudder and my toes curl. He spoke words of adoration and love in both English and italian. He spoke of a future he could imagine of us, with Copia or without him, and he spoke of the children we would have and the ways he would treat me with love and how much he would treasure me. He was soft in a way I didn’t expect from the eternal flirt, my heart clenched as he began to snap his hips more urgently. I curled around him like vines, holding him close as we panted into each other’s mouth. I felt the coil of my orgasm plucked tight and tears pricked in my eyes at the intense feelings I was having while Terzo rolled his hips into mine. 

“Terzo…I’m close.” I whimpered, my hand slipping between us to furiously tease my own clit. “I’m going to come.”

“Vieni per me, Tesoro.” He grunted, hips snapping more furiously as he sucked at my neck. I cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as my orgasm rolled over me in slow tingling waves. 

Terzo followed me in his own pleasure shortly after, his cock twitching as he filled me with his seed. He couldn’t keep himself off me however, resting his head on my sweaty chest as we caught our breaths. He pressed soft kisses to my chest and between my breasts. I hummed in pleasure as my hands rubbed his back and brushed sweaty strands of hair away from his face. 

“Terzo?” I spoke, voice quiet as we soaked in the afterglow. 

“Hm?”

“W-will you stay the night with me?” My face flushed, looking anywhere but his eyes. I felt his hand come up to tilt my chin to look at him in his mismatched eyes. He had a wry smile as he spoke.

“Naturalmente, Sorella.” He kissed me softly, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. 

Oh I was so screwed with these two