#lark writes
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if anyone has actually read s&b and has a decent understanding of how the saints/ravkan religion works, as well as grisha powers, would you be able to advise me as to how might be the most plausible way that nina might be able to use her powers to cross over/enter into the afterlife, or open a portal or gate to let others through? thanks!
#kaz is staging an Underworld Heist btw#i CANNOT figure out the logistics for it#any help brainstorming would be much appreciated#shadow and bone#six of crows#grishaverse#ravka#grisha#nina zenik#kaz brekker#kanej o&e au#lark writes#posts of lark
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letting tumblr decide what i actually polish to post from my snowbaz drafts have at thee
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Curious about number 15 and 16 of the writing game, if you'd like to share! ☺️
Thank you very much for sending an ask!
15: Favorite writing weather: going to be very stereotypical and say storms. I love the sound of thunder and rainfall.
While at university I really liked sitting at the top floor conference room when nobody was there and writing while it showed though. It was something kind of magical to see. Snow in general is a close second.
16: Favorite place to write:
For typing: bed, lol. I like being cozy with a nice blanket. I have a toy rabbit called "plot bunny" who's essential to the process as well and does not like leaving the blankets.
For handwriting: outside on a lawn chair. Especially on warm days.
This is the ask game if anyone else wants to send an ask!
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I Could Be, Be Your Man
pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC 18+ MDNI word count: 5k tags/warnings: Explicit, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ascended Astarion, PEG THE ELF, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Porn without Plot, Lark x Astarion, mentions of past trauma, Anal Sex, your honor they love each other, Oneshot, Astarion deserves to be loved and pampered summary: Astarion wants Lark to do something they haven't done before.
PEG THE ELF oneshot brought to you by two Christine and the Queens songs: "iT" and "Catching Feelings".
HUGE thank you to @nerdallwritey for reading this through and approving that it's gooning material
Read on AO3
“You want me to fuck you?” Lark asks, looking at Astarion in the mirror. There is no evidence in her voice to suggest that she’s disgusted or weirded out; she just sounds like she’s looking for clarification.
Astarion rolls his eyes. “I truly wish you weren’t so vulgar, darling. But yes. Something to that effect.”
She pulls the hair ties holding her tight braids off and starts to untangle the waves that have formed. “And how am I supposed to fuck you, exactly?” she asks, lips twitching with amusement— but excitement, too. Astarion can hear it in the uptick of her beautiful heartbeat.
The instinct to grin at her with all of his teeth is much stronger than the desire to roll his eyes, at that moment. “With this,” he says, shaking a rolled-up scroll in the air.
Lark finally turns around, faces him. Raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look much like a cock to me.”
“You’re such a comedian, truly. Why did you ever choose poetry instead?”
Her composure breaks, and she giggles. Pauses, and then bites her lower lip before saying, “I appreciate the trust you have in me.”
And that’s who Lark is— even when he’s asking her to fuck him (her vocabulary is rubbing off on him, it seems) with a fake-magic-cock she still finds a way to make it sappy.
Not that he’s complaining, of course. He has changed, with her. Knowing that he’s capable of loving, and being loved, is no mere trifle for Astarion. The love he has for her, intense but lightening, pure, unbridled devotion— the love that lives in him and makes him a better person every single day, now blooms anew in his chest and all he can do is to close the gap between them and place a chaste kiss that makes both of them gasp on her soft, plush lips.
“I love you,” he says, fake-magic-cock scroll forgotten for a moment. Lark smiles at him, that glint in her eyes, ever-present, adoring and amused and full of everything Astarion once thought foreign to him at once.
“I love you,” she replies against his lips, and reaches out to take the scroll from him. “Let me show you how much.”
----
Astarion reclines back into the plethora of pillows scattered on their bed and watches Lark as she speaks the words on the scroll, shifting his thigh to accommodate how hard he is already at the sight of her nakedness. The determination that furrows her brows, creasing her forehead. How her lips move, her magic coming alive in front of his very eyes.
As soon as she finishes casting the spell, she yelps, eyes going wide, and quickly turns away from him. He straightens up, and when he speaks, his voice is colored with concern.
“Lark, love?”
“I— I’m okay. Just—”
Her shoulders start shaking, slowly at first. Is she crying? Astarion moves to rise from the bed, panic rising in him. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked this from her so brazenly, should have reassured her more, that this has got nothing to do with him being dissatisfied with their sex life because, Hells, how could he be dissatisfied with her even if the only thing they did was to lay down and stare into each other’s eyes for an eternity? He should have told her that this has everything to do with her, him wanting her, nothing else, and—
Lark turns slightly to the side, and Astarion realizes that she is objectively not crying. She’s laughing.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, eyes narrow with a glee. “It’s just—” She suddenly jumps forward, now facing him straight on, and goes on, “I have a dick.”
Astarion’s eyes follow the curves of her body, starting from her beautiful, flushed throat to her pebbled nipples, dark in contrast to the rest of her skin, to her navel that he desperately wants to dip his tongue into; and then, further down, to the lovely patch of hair he loves burying his nose in, where now a flaccid cock rests, springing up and down with her movement.
“You certainly do,” he says, voice raspier than he intended.
“Ha!” she laughs, jumping once again. “I’m a man now!”
Astarion rolls his eyes but can barely hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “What you are,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, though even he can’t deny the desire that coils tight in his body, “Is a child. Will you come here now?”
“Manchild?” she pouts, mocking.
“Whatever you say, my dear.”
She laughs, and starts walking toward him, but then pauses. “Am I…” she stops. Reassesses. “Is this okay?”
Astarion tilts his head, questioning.
“I mean,” she tries again. “Do you like this? Does it look good?”
He wants to be a better man for her— only her, for the rest of eternity. He’s usually very good at reassuring her, she says— she always compliments him, any chance she gets— but Astarion believes it’s only because she doesn’t shy away from asking him whatever comes to her mind, even if it sounds weird. She is much more in tune with her emotions than he is— his emotions too, for that matter.
“You look good, darling,” he says. There is a dull ache in his groin. Desire always has a way of making itself known. “I like you.”
Lark smiles, and with another step, climbs on top of their bed on all fours, crawling to him like a lioness circling her prey. Once she reaches his knees, she stops.
“Hi,” she says.
From this angle Astarion can see everything— her beautiful face staring at him with a mixture of desire and barely concealed embarrassment reddening her cheeks, making her freckles pop. Her gorgeous tits his fangs ache to bite into. And her newly-acquired, half-hard cock, nestled between her strong but plushy thighs.
His cock twitches at the sight of her. Already rock hard to the point of pain.
“Hi,” he replies, then lunges at her.
He kisses her, hungry and animalistic. His love who is willing to do anything for him, he knows— because he would do anything for her.
She tries to break the kiss, but Astarion doesn’t let her, clutching at her, lapping at anywhere he can get close enough to, as she giggles, and it makes him giggle, too— the sheer joy that radiates from her, the simplicity of it. “How—” she tries, and he kisses the corner of her mouth, that warm, pliant mouth that can bring him to ruin with just the little noises it makes. “What would you like me to do?”
“Don’t you want to see how it feels first?”
Lark tilts her head, thinking. She looks down between them, and another flush colors her cheeks. “Gods,” she says, and laughs. “It looks so real. Feels real.”
“That’s the point, my love. So that you feel good too.”
A surprised expression passes through her face quickly. “So I’m… going to feel everything?”
“Yes,” Astarion drawls, just the thought making his breath hitch.
Lark takes a deep breath, then exhales. “That sounds… good.”
“Go on, then. Touch yourself,” he swallows thickly.
She peels her gaze away from him, and looks away, before finally gazing down. With a gentle hand, she takes herself in her palm, sucking in her cheeks. She frowns, first; then with a sudden spark in her eyes, looks back at Astarion, who is watching her intently.
“Let me see,” she says. “This is how you like it.”
Lark tugs at the skin of her cock, gentle yet firm, eyes locked in with his, in the particular way that he does like— and when the touch elicits a whimper from her throat, her eyes fluttering closed— Astarion shivers.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. Can’t help it. “Always.”
It seems to egg her on— Astarion knows what his voice tends to do to her. She’s told him before— he could just whisper the filthiest things into her ear, without even touching her, and she could unravel for him.
When she opens her eyes again, there’s a glint of mischief in them. The corner of her mouth lifts upwards, ever so slightly, and standing straight up on her knees, holding her new and gorgeous member, now definitely hard— she draws circles on the tip with her thumb. With her other, considerably emptier hand, she crooks a finger at him, and Astarion obliges— of course he does— and leans forward, bent in front of her, his chin resting a few inches above her belly button.
“Tell me how badly you want it,” she says, firm, looking down at him beneath heavy lids, thick lashes fluttering. She’s having fun.
“Very badly,” he says, looking up. Reaches for her, but she pulls back.
“So badly that you would beg for it?” she asks, pumping herself a couple times— slowly, torturously. “For my cock?”
“Please, my love. My Lark,” he says, without hesitation, and her name sounds like the only word that has ever mattered in his mouth.
It does something to her, too; he can tell, judging by the way her eyes close, her head tilts back. A desperate sound stuck at the back of her throat.
“Please,” he says again, and she opens her eyes, pupils blown out, to look at him again.
“Good boy. You can taste me.”
She’s being cheeky, and they both know it, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t send a jolt of pure desire straight through him.
And so— Astarion tastes her.
In the wretched memory of his past, he finds a whole lot of points of comparison— but the thought isn’t as painful as it was before. Before her. The pain isn’t gone, and perhaps never will be— but she understands, and still wants him, all of him; and despite everything, he has found her, his Lark, his soul. Now, the moment he lowers himself to be able to stick his tongue out and lick a long strip from the very base of her cock to the head, the solitary feeling that bubbles up in his chest is desire— red hot fire, burning, burning him from the inside out, mingling with the all-consuming love he has for her. He feels like he could explode— bring about the creation of a new universe.
She tastes like her. All Lark. It’s not all that different from eating her out, and gods, does he love eating her out— feeling the little shakes of her thighs that increase as she gets closer to climax, the sounds that her small frame is capable of: heaven made palpable.
But that’s neither here nor there.
“Astarion,” Lark whimpers. Eyes fixated on him, like he’s the only thing that exists. Or the only thing in existence worth looking at.
He moves her hand that’s still holding herself, interlocking their fingers in an embrace that’s simply necessary.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and repeats his earlier motion, licking her, only to savor her taste and nothing else. It’s more than enough to make him lose all logical thought.
The velvet skin of Lark’s cock— salty, floral, milky, almost aquatic— it’s Lark, it’s her, and he, he—
When he opens his mouth wider to take more of her inside, she moans, and he does, too.
He loves her. Three words flash in his mind, over, over, over and over again.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
She looks at her like she can see it— of course she can.
“I love you,” she says.
Astarion moans. Takes more of her in his mouth. She twitches against his tongue. Leaks a drop of pearliness that is another shock to his senses— unfiltered Lark essence.
One hand still laced with hers, he places both on the sides of her thighs. His claws are coming out. He grazes one sharp nail against her skin, feels her tremble.
Lark lifts the hand that’s holding hers, looking at his claws.
“Pretty,” she says.
With a wet pop, Astarion pulls away from her cock. “And dangerous,” he replies. Presses a bit harder on her hip but doesn’t break skin. He can feel how her blood immediately pools beneath the surface. It makes him salivate.
“Most pretty things are.”
There was a time when he showed restraint and hid them from her— fearing her reaction to what happens when he lets go of control. Part of it is also, of course, the fact that he himself does not like letting go of control. But Lark teaches him every single day that he is deserving of everything good, simply for being himself.
With her, he feels more man than monster. Or— he feels that it doesn’t matter as long as he is Astarion.
“Am I a pretty thing?” he asks, placing a kiss on the top of her thigh, then breaking into an all-fangs grin.
Lark grins back at him, reaches out to play with his hair. They stare at each other for a moment. Then, slowly, Astarion lifts himself up, flush against her body, to capture her lips in a long overdue kiss. Her tongue infiltrates his mouth almost instantaneously and she moans, tasting herself. Her hands find the firm muscles of his ass, giving a quick squeeze before pulling back.
“Shall we take these off?”
He’s still in his pants. Right.
“Please.”
She helps him get out of them, and free of its confines, his cock aches to be touched. Lark doesn’t make him beg— instead, she takes him in her hand, that warm, gentle hand, the protector of his heart, the heart that found itself again thanks to her— and with her thumb, she caresses right below the head, just the way he likes.
“Darling,” he moans.
“Tell me what you want, Astarion,” she says, warm, like the rest of her, loving, caring.
He kisses her again, then— gods, the closeness of their bodies, and his cock brushes against hers, and it makes them both growl, moan, make any sort of sound possible, with how intense the pleasure of it is.
“Let me ride you,” he says between wet, sloppy kisses. Her breath hitches.
Peeling himself away from her with monstrous difficulty, he grabs the bottle he placed on the bedside table, and hands it to Lark.
“Prepared everything, I see,” she says, smiling.
“Oh, you know me,” he says with a smirk.
She just looks at him, for a second, holding the bottle of fragrant oil— with so much adoration in her eyes, it makes the corners of his sting.
He would’ve looked away, once. It would’ve been too much. But now, all he wants is to drown in the depths of her love.
Lark pours some of the oil in her hands, rubs them together. She closes the gap between them, kissing him deeply, feverishly; and with one hand she palms her cock first, then his— spreading enough of the lubricant on both of them— the feeling makes Astarion growl, one corner of his lips lifting in a snarl. With her other hand, she finds his backside, and moans into his mouth.
“Do you want me inside of you?” she asks. He nods, too far gone for words as her finger explores around his hole, gentle, undemanding. Thanks to the oil, her fingers are slippery, reverent, too gentle, Astarion thinks, almost involuntarily bucking his hips into her other hand, the one holding them together. He needs her, in any and every way possible.
“Please,” he whines, the word getting stuck in his mouth as she slowly pushes a finger inside of him. His eyes roll back, but he needs more, more of her—
“Astarion,” she says, and he looks at her, finding a thread of concern on her face— beautiful, soft brows knit together, nose crinkled. He lets her find the right words. “You’ll tell me if I do something wrong, won’t you? If you don’t like something?”
That bleeding heart of hers, those sweet lines that form on her face when she’s worried, worried about him, who has torn his way into her ribcage somehow, made a home for himself in there, right behind the hums and thumps of her chest. Gods, he’s so in love with her.
“Yes, my treasure,” he says breathlessly. “I will.”
“I love you,” she says again, her finger picking up pace, stretching, preparing him deliciously.
“Then please,” he whispers into her ear, taking the lobe in between his lips, letting go, grazing a fang against the flesh just to feel her tremble against him. “Please, fuck me already.”
Lark places chaste kisses on his shoulder, the column of his throat, then back down to his chest— far too innocent for what they’re about to do. But that’s just how she is— everything is pure, with her.
Then, she moves toward the nest of pillows Astarion has prepared, holding his hand to make him follow her— as if he was about to do anything but.
She lays down, the waves of her hair— the lovely aftermath of leaving them braided all day— pooling around her like spilled honey. She looks like the sun itself— the warmth he was deprived of for so long, even after becoming the Ascendant. How was he supposed to know the sunlight he was craving was actually a woman named Lark Promise?
Well, now he knows.
Lark pulls him forward, too, and Astarion straddles her thighs, claws on one hand drawing absent-minded shapes on her flesh.
Looking away from her intense gaze is a monumental task, but he manages— only to let his eyes wander over her body. She notices, and lifts her arms up above her head, pulling her body taut. The movement makes her cock jump, then settle against her groin at an upward angle— hard, a prominent vein bulging on the underside, pink and glistening with his saliva.
“Astarion,” she says, intonating his name like a melody, his siren song. “I’m aching.”
The little poet. She does have a way with words.
“For you,” she continues, to make sure it’s clear.
And damn him if he’s not aching for her, too.
Arms still above her head, she lets him take the lead, but the way her chest rises and falls rapidly tells him how desperate she feels— and he feels it too, her thunderous heartbeat echoing inside his skull as if it’s his own.
Astarion moves forward slightly, grinding against her, and her back immediately arches off of the bed. She chuckles quietly, amused by the intensity of her own reaction. “Ah,” she chimes, “Is this how it feels for you?”
He grinds into her again, harder this time, and her jaw goes slack. “Falling apart already, hm?”
He lifts himself up, taking her in his hand, lining her up with his entrance. He jests, but in truth, he’s just as lost as he is.
She thrusts upward, gently, slowly— just to make it known how much she wants this. Looks at him, wordless, eyes burning.
Astarion starts sinking down— slowly, a different kind of worship. Lark’s face contorts in a way that he recognizes intimately. She’s fighting the pleasure. Not because she doesn’t want it, but because she wants it so much, and it’s hard to handle the weight of that. He knows, because he feels that with her, all the time.
He leans back, bracing himself on one hand as he continues to take more of her, and she feels like heaven, although heaven is not, and will not ever be ready for the kind of love they have for each other.
There is a slight sting of pain as his body resists to accommodate the size of her, but he welcomes it— it turns into a wave of pleasure so intense; he throws his head back with a broken sigh, one fang digging itself into his lower lip.
His claws bury themselves into whatever they find— one hand bunches a fistful of the bed sheets, and he hears the faint give of fabric as it rips, but it hardly matters. His other hand finds purchase beside her hip bone— if he were to tear her apart, Astarion knows she would be more than fine with it, but the thought of causing her pain unless explicitly asked to do so is too close to what he guesses to be blasphemy, so he settles on a bruising grip instead.
And Lark never stops surprising him— he rather thinks she will continue to do so till the end of time, and what is time for a vampire lord, but an endless thread of opportunities?
With her, it’s so much more than that. But no need to dwell on that right now, with her cock filling him to the brim.
She reaches out and places her hand over his, not to move it away, but to make him apply more force. At the realization, he moans, and with great difficulty lifts his head toward her to find an absolutely debauched grin painted on her face, glassy with sweat— she looks perfect. She is perfect.
“How do I feel, my lord?” she asks, thrusting upwards to meet him halfway, making him moan.
“Glorious,” he says, and she laughs, a bright thing, cut off by a wanton moan.
Astarion picks up his pace, now able to take her with less resistance, and Lark desperately tries to keep up with him— poor, sweet, sweet thing, he wants to devour her— but he can tell it’s too much for her, the intensity of the sensations, the sound of skin on skin filling the room as it does so often, but— different.
He flashes a toothy grin at her, and he can see how thickly she swallows. “It is how it feels for me,” he says.
She throws her head back on the pillow, exposing her beautiful neck. “Fuck,” she says, and repeats it over and over again.
At the beginning of their relationship, Lark hadn’t been as vocal as she is now— and a sense of pride blooms deep within Astarion’s chest as he thinks about how much more comfortable she is now. With him. How loud and crass she can be, unrestrained, like a wild animal; without a care, just the way he likes—
“Yes,” he moans. “I know, love.”
And he does. Neither of them will last long, at this rate.
She lifts her head back up, and her gaze shamelessly falls on his cock, moving to the rhythm of their joint thrusts— only then does he realize the precum that has leaked on her navel. Lark pulls her hand off of his, almost in a trance, to wipe the translucent liquid from her skin, carefully bringing her finger to her mouth, sucking on it with reckless abandon, making a guttural sound that turns into impossible desire, spreading in him like wildfire.
“You’re a freak,” he smirks at her, all love and adoration.
Lark removes the finger from her mouth with a wet sound. “Says the vampire lord bouncing on my cock,” she says, intonating the last word with special emphasis.
They laugh together.
Astarion would never have thought sex could be like this— a sentiment shared by Lark. Sex as an act of love— not just seduction, not just lust, not manipulation, but an act of pure love; exploration, joy— he would have laughed at the sheer suggestion.
But here they are.
“Astarion,” she says, a needy, pathetic little sound. No one else deserves to say his name.
“Yes, darling.”
“Can I go on top?”
He slows down until he comes to a full stop, both of them panting. He feels so full, so perfect. Before lifting himself up completely, Astarion rocks his hips back and forth a couple of times, just to torture them both.
But he relents. How can he not, when just the thought of what she’s suggesting sends a shiver straight up his spine? Not to mention the tightness he feels in his abdomen— getting tighter, tighter…
He suddenly feels so empty once he’s off of her, crawling up the length of her body to steal a kiss before they switch positions. She whines into his mouth, pulling him to her, and they stumble between kisses until he’s the one nestled in the pillows with her looking down at him.
“You’re perfect, Astarion,” she says, brushing her nose against his. The truth is, he’s not— perfection is not a thing that exists for a psyche as tormented as his. Neither for hers, for that matter. But to each other they are perfect just the way they are— total acceptance. By accepting even the darkest parts in one another, they continuously shed a light on them, and it’s— well, perfect.
Lost in thoughts, Astarion almost misses as Lark pulls herself back, hands caressing his body along her descent, to position herself. She takes one of the pillows and places it under him, then takes more oil to cover herself in.
The burgundy fire of her eyes fixed on him, she pumps herself a few times, an amused smile tugging at her lips. She lines herself up, and pushes forward, meeting very little resistance. It’s only the tip of her yet, but Astarion runs a hand through his hair at the sensation; the anticipation, the knowledge of how good she will feel inside him.
Lark thrusts forward again, now fully in control— it looks good on her. And it feels good for him— to let go. Let his love take the reins.
“I can be your man,” she says. Quiet. Singsong. Entirely shy.
She’s going to be his godsdamned ruin.
Another thrust and his eyes snap closed, all the air sucked out of him— and she stops moving.
“Ah, please—” he begs, claws digging into the bed, burning, burning, a building pressure—
“Then look at me,” she says.
He does, and she fills him up.
They sound good together, moaning in harmony. Repeating each other’s names again, again, and again. Astarion meets each of her thrusts with increasing fervor, bringing one hand up to his nipple to twist it in the way he likes when Lark does it with her mouth.
The way she looks at him— like he is what holds her together.
“I’m—” he rasps, not quite finding the rest of the sentence. But she understands, his Lark.
She wraps her hand, her soft, warm, petite hand around his cock, and Astarion feels it— the cord pulled tight, about to snap.
“Yesyesyesyes—” is all he can manage, a hand buried in his hair, all of his nerves ablaze— it almost makes him cry.
“I’ve got you, Astarion,” she says, barely above a whisper. She’s not much for pet names, his precious girl— at least not much for using them herself. His name is a title of devotion enough, she says.
The cord snaps.
There’s sunlight on his tongue, taste of her blood still buried between his teeth from an earlier feeding (she’s always, always, always giving) and the transparent glow of her magic right on those fingertips he loves so much to kiss one by one pressed right on his cock, a sensation he never quite gets used to (will always want more, more, more). As Astarion comes, thick ropes spurting on his stomach, he can fainly hear Lark’s voice in the background, beneath the ringing in his ears— telling him how good he is, how good he is, and it’s difficult not to believe her.
The world around him starts to come back into view, as if the balloon he was inside was just popped. He’s panting, sticky— with more than just sweat.
Lark looks at him with one of his favorite smiles— the softest one that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle.
“Have I told you how much I love you before?” she asks.
Slowly catching his breath, Astarion laughs. “You can always tell me more.”
She slowly pulls out from him, the sensitivity making him hiss. With deliberate movements, she climbs up to him, placing a kiss first on his nose. “I love you,” she says. Another kiss between his brows. “I love you.” On his right cheekbone, followed by the left. “I love you.”
He buries a hand in her hair, applying the slightest pressure to pull her closer. Against her lips, he whispers, “My sweet girl.”
“Ah,” she breathes. “Your claws are gone.”
“You almost sound sad.”
“I do like them quite a bit.”
He kisses her, smiling all the while. Then his gaze shifts down. “They’re not the only things gone, it seems.”
“Pity,” she grins. “I did enjoy having a dick.”
“We can always buy more scrolls.”
“I would like that,” Lark says, then pulls away, making Astarion pout. “But first,” she goes on, moving back toward his abdomen and dipping down until her mouth is right next to the mess he just made. She lifts her ass up, putting on a show for him, and his fingertips tingle.
“Let me clean you up, my lord,” she says, lapping at him like a hungry kitten. He runs a hand through her hair repeatedly, and she hums— partly because of the sensation, partly because of his taste.
But she has not unraveled for him yet, and that’s simply unacceptable.
Astarion takes Lark’s chin between his thumb and pointer, squeezing her cheeks just so, and she knows why he does it— he loves seeing him on her tongue. And she shows him, so obedient, so eager to please.
“Good girl,” he growls.
All his. How did he ever get so lucky?
With a firm grip, he pulls her upright while slinking toward her on his knees. She’s the one to kiss him first, and he feels the blossom of new heat in his pelvis. His palm tingles— itching for one thing only. And Astarion has always been known to follow the thread of his desires.
Lark yelps as his hand meets the round flesh of her ass. But he can smell her arousal— insistent, constant, for him, for him, for him, eternal…
“My turn now, darling,” he growls.
Astarion has changed, with Lark. Time means something, now. More, more, more of her— eternally.
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it’s actually so crazy that anthony dropped the lore that LARK FUCKED SPARROW’S WIFE. that’s so crazy. can you imagine. your wife fucks your IDENTICAL TWIN BROTHER and you know but you don’t say anything bc it’d be too awkward and he lives w u and you’re so used to managing your family (specifically your dad and brother - basically acting as an intermediary between the two) and being the peacekeeper that you internally compromise and decide to never bring it up. a couple years go by and you’re ignoring it and then you get trapped in a crazy eldritch horror dimension with him and get so drunk and shocked by the horrors you are witnessing that you TELL HIM YOU KNOW. IN FRONT OF YOUR SON. AFTER TELLING YOUR SON YOU THINK HES A DISAPPOINTMENT. and allllll this happened to my buddy sparrow swallows oak garcia.
#op#dndads#dndads s2 spoilers#dndads spoilers#just want to cover my bases in case someone else hasn’t finished listening to s2 (i’m in episode 12)#no one tell me but PLS let it come up again . it’s so fucking funny#it’s fucked up but still . so fucking funny. i can only accept this as a natural progression of lark and sparrow’s codependency#cracks me up too that sparrow wants normal to be normal when he wasn’t a normal kid either . like he and lark were fucking weirdos and i sa#that with all the love in my heart#i think sparrow acts like an intermediary between lark and henry . i noticed it during the back half of s1#he just wants his bro and his dad to get along again….for lark to learn to be a love wolf…sparrow it’s joever#can you tell i love this podcast#i NEVER make posts like these where i write so much . its just so fun for me to think abt#dungeons and daddies
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Prompt 64
Jaskier has been cursed to turn into a Lark during the day for years now. It makes following his dreams very difficult, what with a lark not being able to carry a lute nor his money pouch, but he just waits to move at night, when the magic turns him back into his human form. Which means he technically has a very awful sleep schedule, but that's not what we're focusing on. Jaskier is sat in a tree one afternoon, trying to sleep, when a horse neighs below him. He peeks down and to his surprise sees a witcher. A witcher! What stories he must have! Jaskier must follow him so that he can ask him questions once he becomes human again! So a very sleepy bird follows after Geralt, twittering and singing all the while. Geralt evidently notices, but ignores the bird for the most part. That is, until the bird lands on Roach's back. Geralt sighs. These birds will stop at nothing... He reaches into his pack, and plucks off a few pieces of bread, and scatters them along the road behind them. He watches as the bird eagerly hops down and pecks at them. Jaskier isn't usually one for eating off the ground, but he's technically a bird right now, and he really mustn't let free food go to waste! It's only after he's finished his banquet that he notices the witcher has ridden off. Oh drat. He'll try and find him that night. When he's not so tired. The next day, Geralt is sat at his camp with Roach, and is surprised to see the same hungry lark as yesterday flying over to sit beside him. Geralt once again shares a bit of his food, and even gets to pet the bird's head. He admits he's grown a fondness for the little lark. That afternoon, just before the sun has set, Geralt is armored up and ready for a fight. Roach is tacked up, he has his potions, his swords, his lark, his oils, hi- Wait, his lark? The lark keeps insisting on following him, until he finally shoos it away with a firm "Don't come. It's dangerous." and the bird seems to understand. Geralt is unnerved at the implications, but he has a contract to attend to first.
Geralt wakes up the next morning, bloody and beaten, no longer high on potions. It was very nearly a pyrrhic victory, it seems. Geralt brushes himself off and looks at his surroundings and sees that the monster and him tore the forest up a bit during their tussle in the night. He's walking back to his camp when he spots it, a fallen tree, and next to it, his lark. Geralt races over, and sees that the tree is pinning the lark to the ground by one of it's wings. The lark opens it's eyes and chirps frantically at him, kicking it's little legs and batting it's free wing erratically. Geralt manages to get the lark unstuck and mends it at camp. He plans to see to the lark's healing, and then release it back into the wild. This is complicated by the lark turning into a man in the middle of his camp later that night.
#ignore any and all typos i had a migraine lol#Swan lake elements#Swan princess elements#swan princess#geraskier#gerlion#the witcher#geralt x jaskier#geralt x dandelion#witcher fanfiction#fanfiction prompts#geralt loves his bard!#writing prompts#requited unrequited love#friends to lovers#cursed jaskier#love confessions#first kiss#strangers to friends to lovers#strangers to lovers#bird jaskier#jaskier can technically be any song bird you want#I just chose lark cause its the community favorite
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// some bad news has reached ketterdam :((( our poor crows 🐦⬛ my kanej orpheus & eurydice au is coming along! please stay tuned 👀
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*crashes into the blog like a feral scientist leaving the lab for the first time in weeks* *drops fic link like it's an over-filled file spilling across the ground*
p.s. object shipnames >> namesmash shipnames, even if i know the history of namesmash shipnames.
#lark says#simon snow#carry on#lark writes#i have no defense for doing ANOTHER muscian epistolary social media fic#but in my defense#theyre fun#and its my archive account so#anyways im gonna go rewatch blue exorcist now
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Yooooo time for some 2am outlining.
The July prompts are almost out so I have to get back to Resonance. Thankfully the break seems to have helped.
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thank you for the tag!! also tyty @starsarefire824 for tagging me earlier in this too 🫶
surprisingly, this is Not byler… ya girl is branching out & also going absolutely feral over six of crows. if anybody else has also read it lmk 👀 this au im tryna write is eating me alive
It hadn’t been a hurricane, though, had it? It, like all the worst things in the world, had been a man who took Inej away, a cocky, new-money mercher who Kaz hadn’t even thought he needed to be wary of.
open tags bc i am not sure who has already done it…if u write fic n ur reading this then That Means You <3
last line wip game!!! ty @bookinit02 and @booksandpaperss for tagging me <3
i also wrote a Section that cannot stand alone so:
Will blinks at him, looking like a kicked puppy with those wide eyes and pouted lips, and Mike groans.
“Oh, stop doing that,” he complains, holding up a hand to block Will’s face from view and forcibly turning his own face away. “You can’t win arguments like that.”
np tags @willow-lark @wayward-sherlock @etchedstars
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WIP Not-Wednesday
Some lovely friends have tagged me to WIP and Last Line games in the past few days and I finally have something to share, so I'm sort of combining the two- sorry for getting to these so late! If you tag me in anything I absolutely LOVE you, and please keep doing so, even if I'm slow🖤 Thank you to the amazing & insanely talented peeps who have tagged me on these: @vividiana, @amoremagnificentbastard, @strixamans, @roguishcat, @deadly-diminuendo, @irondeficienttav and @hellethil, love you all!!!!
Here is a potential 4 or 5 chapter fic idea that'd mostly be smut- another modern AU, a little different, still Astarion, still Lark. These are fragments of a few scenes that would possibly go in the first chapter (under the cut since it's a bit on the longer side)
Astarion walks into the bar, one hand clutching his briefcase that holds multiple clients' papers, the other his phone— and the only thing that makes him look up from the article he's reading is the familiar sway of two long braids in the distance. Lark Promise. He'll be damned. He never would have thought he'd have the chance to spot his favorite content creator out in the wild— at a place he frequents, no less. And of course, he doesn't favor many content creators like he favors her— wouldn't take perfume advice from anyone else, really.
"I'm working on a book I want to get published," she says, still not looking at him. "What's the book about?" he asks, feigning interest. "Vampires." That makes him laugh. Really laugh. "Ha!" he exclaims, as if there's a joke there that she's in on. But then she finally looks up to meet his gaze, a frown contorting otherwise soft and, dare he admit, beautiful features, so he immediately clears his throat and tries to recover by saying, "Does anyone even read about vampires anymore?" "I do," she says, barely above a whisper, clearly exasperated by him— is she embarrassed by the fact, or does she not want to waste precious energy by talking to Astarion?
"I'm something of a content creator myself," he says, straightening up. It would work better if she was actually looking at him. "I have an account where I give legal advice." "Unsolicited?" she asks, a hint of amusement to her voice. "I'm a lawyer," he says. "Sorry. I've never needed much legal advice." "I guess it is more common for people to need advice on how they smell," he says, a little hostile. But that finally gets her to look up at him, and she smiles.
I'm posting this at a weird time so not sure if anyone wants to share anything, but if you do, please feel free to say I tagged you!🖤
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A Lark In a Hollow Chapter Three
Lark knew how to make adults like her.
She knew how to make herself clean, presentable and sweet seeming with two long brown plaits laid down each shoulder, a pink tee shirt and raggedy denim shorts that stopped just past the sharp points of her knees. She understood the different ways to speak to men and women, how she should present to strangers on the bus or her teachers at school.
Adults like girls who speak softly and only when they’re spoken to. Adults like girls who address them properly and look them in the eyes. Adults like girls who behave like tiny grown ups, tiny women.
Adults love little girls with good manners.
Mrs. Parker used to go on and on about it, pinching Lark’s cheeks and cooing at her as she dolloped another heaping scoop of mashed potatoes onto the girl’s plate. “You see how Lark finishes everything she’s given, Missy? She’s a good girl - good girl’s get ice cream for dessert."
Dinner at the Parker house had been a staple of Lark’s routine before. After school or on the weekends Missy would ask her randomly, mumbling the invite to her phone more than to Lark, blue eyes splitting focus between whatever was on screen and her friend sitting in the swing opposite.
Lark always said yes. Missy’s dad would pick them up within the hour in his red Mercedes, and Mrs. Parker would be at the door to greet them, hair perfect, grinning with teeth whiter than the pearls around her neck.
The family were rich and strange in a harmless sort of way. Lark had been friends with their daughter for years - but she never cared for her much. Missy was the sort of despondent, rude girl that Lark had mostly seen stereotyped in movies and books; Veruca Salt or Nellie Oleson.
She was spoiled, pretty, and frantically, crushingly alone .
Lark pounced on her loneliness quicker than a starving street cat to a plump mouse. She had held it, dripping wet and half dead, between her teeth since their first conversation on the playground swings as elven year olds, because she needed Missy’s family as badly as Missy needed her friendship.
Lark’s life had depended on it. On the dinners Mrs. Parker fed her. On the spontaneous sleepovers that let Lark rest without the fear of something happening while she slept.
Dad overdosing. Dad wandering off into the night when he was high. A stranger barging into the apartment and hurting them because the lock on the door was broken and the chair she jammed up under its knob every night would only do so much.
Mrs. Parker was sweet and erratic. Mr. Parker was impassive and utterly indifferent to Lark. He didn’t speak to her and he didn’t stare at her the way other men did - low and hungry.
Not like the man who owned the convenience store two blocks down from the apartments. He had stared at her the most of any of them, constant and starved, eyes carving into her like a physical thing, marking the tops of her shoulders and the back of her thighs.
Lark wasn’t oblivious, she couldn’t be, it was dangerous not to know how men saw her, what they would try to do if she got close enough.
Lark would never have allowed the clerk to touch, but she let him look for the steep price of ten dollars on weekends and sometimes after school.
As a minor, it was illegal for her to work stocking shelves or manning the till - forget hauling huge boxes of beer from forklifts into the back of the store like she did on most Saturday afternoons or being responsible for throwing away expired food.
He knew having her work there was as wrong as him trying to steal glances up her skirt, Lark knew that if she went to the police her ‘boss’ would be in jail before she could say boo.
She might have mentioned it to him one muggy afternoon when he tried to cut her pay, and then again a week later when she decided her work was worth fifteen dollars an hour, not ten.
Lark knew how to make adults like her, but more than that, she knew how to make them do what she wanted, leading them around by the tether of her will without them ever noticing.
When Mr. Hollow pulled up to a sprawling wood log cabin carved into wild, bright green mountainside, a scatter of deer rushing away from its front porch at the sound of the engine, Lark prayed she could make him like her, too.
Because there wasn’t another house for miles and the closest town was two hours away by car.
Her heart was in her throat when he climbed out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side, pulling open the door and holding out a hand for her as she lowered herself down on shaky legs.
If Christopher Hollow decided he didn’t like Lark, if he decided that he wanted to take the lock off her bedroom door, or watch the backs of her thighs all low and hungry - if he decided she wasn’t worth liking;
There wouldn't be anyone to save her if she screamed.
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KIDDADS SOCCER TEAM HEADCANONS !!
terry jr. center forward canon and real. absolutely no arguments here. he's proven to have the attitude and technique to back it up. he's arguably the beating heart of the group too. the kind of player where his teammates felt it would work out if they could send him the ball. before the forgotten realms, he probably practiced taking shots on the goal by imagining the ball was ron's face before kicking it.
nick feels like a forward wing kind of kid. my bias says that he plays left and is actually pretty decent at handling the ball with his left foot. it's a small source of pride for him, and he gets to show off a few techniques that are harder for some of the other kids to pull off. unsure if he commits to and is passionate about the sport or he just plays because "why not" or even if he's a starting player, but he survives mostly on being loose enough with dribbling to (seemingly effortlessly) slip past opponents on the field. he seems like he'd probably focus more on assists, and he's got practiced synergy with getting the ball to terry jr so terry can score. but if nick is the one taking a shot at the goal, he's doing it in the most uneccessarily flashy way possible.
nicholas, on the other hand, absolutely does not strike me as a forward. he seems a lot more like a substitute, probably for midfielders since they might be the most prone to tiring out. and i don't mean that in a mean way in the slightest!! in the sense that, for this age group, a fair amount of these kids don't have the stamina to play entire games, and nicholas is aware of that. he's very insistent on yelling the other players from the bench to take a break if it looks like they might be slowing down. his teammates think that it's because he's eager to get them out of the way so he can have his turn in the spotlight, but nicholas is just very earnest and hard-headed and genuinely wants to be a team player and let his teammates take a breather so they can play at their top performance. he's probably the type to help pass out water bottles and orange slices at half time.
grant gives me center defender vibes. he's got a fair amount of practice in since darryl is his dad and all and would have heavily encouraged him to, so he's probably pretty decent. takes a similar approach to gaming, meaning he's very methodical about taking in the entire field and the game's scope to the best of his abilities and picking the right moment to strike and get the ball away from the opposing team and away from the goal. a watchtower of sorts. but he blames himself anytime someone gets past him and ends up scoring no matter how many pep talks from his coach or his dad that "to score a goal, the other team has to get through all of you." his slightly more timid and anxious nature before the forgotten realms manifested in him being a little unsure on his feet on the field, and he would often hesitate in one-on-ones for fear of poor judgement and moving in too quickly and letting the other team past him. if he continued playing after faerun, i can see his therapist saying something about this being a healthy outlet for him. which could manifest in grant being a lot more willing to use his whole body in defensive maneuvers and one-on-ones (just because you can't use your hands to touch the ball doesn't mean you can't make effective use of your whole body in the sport lol)
lark and sparrow strike me as a midfielder package deal. sparrow plays defensive right. lark plays offensive left. and they do indeed have the stamina to back it up. as midfielders, sparrow might stay back to defend or hold the line and lark might be quicker to move on the offensive and help out on the attack while the ball is on the other side of the field. but they REALLY get to shine if the coach gives sparrow the go ahead (or if sparrow just goes off on a whim) to join the attack on the opponent's goal together with their brother. we already know that their twin synergy has to be a fearsome weapon to wield, but their signature move is switching sides mid game. the twins have a pretty similar gung ho attitude about a lot of things, but i imagine they have minute differences in their actual playstyles when it comes down to it. thus making it an effective method of bamboozling opponents who can't really tell the difference between the two.
i mean, can you imagine getting more or less used to defending against a kid whose primary M.O. is absolutely blasting past you with a force that is just barely held back enough to not get fouled and suddenly his attitude switches after halftime and he's entirely focused on more tricksy ways to dodge and weave past you and is laughing the entire time and you haven't dealt with this one-on-one because that player was actually on the complete opposite end of the field before (or vice versa)?
#i was a soccer player i have a lot of thoughts about this#dndads#terry jr#terry jr stampler#nick close#nicholas foster#grant wilson#lark oak garcia#sparrow oak garcia#tossing my writing into the void
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Squealing because that snippet you posted with Kaz and Jesper and Wylan (for the Orpheus and Eurydice AU) is DIVINE and I'm so excited to read more! I just finished CK and the book hangover is so real.
nonnie omg!! thank you so much 💕🫂 i am having an absolute BLAST writing this and i cannot wait to share it. and the book hangover really is so REAL, i only read soc & ck last september so i am SO late to the party but i just want more 😔 but that’s what fic is for i suppose!
and just for you, a few sentences i wrote today 👀😏

#EEEEE IM IN LOVE WITH THIS AU IN CASE U COULDNT TELL#six of crows#kanej#kaz brekker#jesper fahey#soc#kanej o&e au#lark answers#lark writes#wip wednesday#<-it is NOT wednesday but this is a snippet i’m sharing sooo#anon
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hi tumblr. have a blurb from chapter one
“I’m not leaving any one of you, so don't even start.” Magnus hadn’t meant to speak, but the reaction was so visceral he did anyway. Blitz scowled at him. “You’re an idiot. A goddamn fool. You think your mom—” Blitz’s tone was neutral, calm. He’d always been a good balance for the way Magnus and Alex exploded with two much emotion for their bodies. “Don’t bring my mom into this! Mom has nothing to do with this!” He saw Annabeth flinch when he and Blitz started fighting out loud. She stepped closer to her father, just slightly. He’d overthink that response later. “Your mom has everything to do with it, Magnus!” Blitz groaned, tearing his hands through his hair. “You are the most idiotic, loyal fool I’ve ever met! And I married that dipshit!” Blitz gestured to Hearth, who was playing a fun game of ping-pong to track the conversation. “It’s not idiotic to want to stay with my family, Blitz! You know I would literally rather die— I did die rather than abandon any of you! I won’t—" Blitz started talking over him. “I told you in January, and I’ll tell you again, you reckless little shit, you are my kid! It’s my job to make sure you don’t—” “I’m a fucking orphan, Blitz! I’m no one’s—" “Both of you, pause!” Alex pushed Magnus to sit back and held a hand up to Blitz. Magus nearly growled, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re both better than that.” Magnus just stared at the floor while Blitz was trying to psychic beam some message to him. “If I was worse, I’m down-right smack some sense into him, but lucky for pretty boy over here, I don’t hit my kids.” Blitz talked with his hands, and it got annoying when Magnus was already mad at him. “Do it, Blitz. Don’t be a coward, punch me! I dare you!” There was a loud groan and Hearth thumped his partner upside the head before stepping over to do the same to Magnus.
maybe i post a sneak peak of the jobu rewrite. I added extra anger this time
#lark says#its just our bringing up#lark writes#hearth is SOOOO sick of them#but they're family your honour#FAM. IL. Y#Magnus be out here like 'so yeah my big brother-'#and the greeks are like 'you??? are an only child???'#and Magnus is like '.... yeah#so anyways my big brother-- blitz--'
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Unironically this aspect of Otogakure would probably really appeal to Naruto.
#lark ramblings#I wanna write a Naruto in Oto fic#I need to actually develop how I'd want to write otogakure#what I get for continously pulling Kabuto out of Oto
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