#lord has heard my prayers once more

[nyxiannas]

THE FEELING OF FINALLY FINDING THAT ONE FIC YOU READ IN LIKE 2022 AND IT WAS SO GOOD BUT IT WASNT FINISHED AND U DIDNT ONOW U HAD A LIBRARY AT THE TIME SO 2 YESRS LATER YOU FINALLY FIND IT AGAIN AND ITS FINISHED WITH A SEQUEL😼😼😼🙀🔥🔥🔥

[the-fiction-witch]

Our Secret

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Gwayne Hightower Couple - Gwayne X Reader (Uncle x Niece) Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Daughter of Alicent and Viserys) Rating - 18+ nudity/ stripping/ incest / c tasting / licking / finger fucking / fingering / Word Count - 1863

Requested-

oh, btw, would you consider writing some smut for Ser Gwayne Hightower, or isn't a character that you fancy enough for that? your writing is so good!

Y/n had waited in the courtyard as soon as word reached her of his arrival in the city, she watched as his men made their way in, horses galloping across the stone. She softly smiled when she met eyes with her uncle Gwayne Hightower as he climbed from his horse and fixed his hair. She adjusted her long green gown holding it in hand as she made her way over and bowed as she reached him "My lord,"

Gwayne chuckled, watching Y/n come over to him, waving his hand in dismissal at her bow. “No need to be so formal, my little bird."

"Forgive me, so much has changed these last few months. I find myself meery bowing to everyone just for simplicity's sake," she answered her tone shy and sheepish,

"I'm afraid if you continue that habit I'll have to give you a few extra lessons on how not to be so proper. Your face may get stuck in a permanent state of bowing."

"Perhaps," she blushed, "Shall I show you to your chambers uncle? I can have them bring you supper? Or would you rather attend to a visit with the queen regent?"

"I can imagine that Alicent will busy at this moment with all her duties. I shall see her after supper, a good meal after a long ride always has a way of making things more bearable."

Y/n nodded and turned to lead the way inside the keep, she led him through the corridors before finally to his chambers. Gwayne nodded as he stepped into his temporary chambers, following Y/n inside. He sat on the bed, taking off his riding boots and stretching out with a soft groan, the bed beneath him being far more comfortable than the leather of his seat that he just spent gods knows how long riding on.

"Last I had heard my mother was taken to prayer, she does so at this hour daily accompanied by none other than her sworn sword."

Gwayne raised a brow at the mention of Alicent's sworn sword, "Ser Criston, I presume. They are practically tied at the hip, that's for sure..."

"she insists, for her protection in these tender days,"

Gwayne leaned back on his bed, arms behind his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if she has more than just protection on her mind whenever she is with her sworn shield."

“Perhaps…”

Gwayne lifted a brow, smirking at her. He rolled over onto his side, leaning on his elbow as he looked at her. One could imagine it was similar to the look a cat might give a mouse, a little bit of mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Does my little niece have something going on in that head of hers? Some juicy gossip to tell her old uncle perhaps?"

“No, No… she is simply very busy, I hardly much see her these days.”

Gwayne sat up on his bed, patting the blanket next to him with a sympathetic smile on his face. "She's the queen regent now, she's going to be busy, especially in these times. But she's your mother, don't be afraid to knock on her door and demand her company."

"I so often find her in the company of my siblings..." Y/n said as she came sitting beside him smoothing her dress as she sat, "It is sinful of me? to be envious?"

Gwayne wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. He squeezed tightly, letting his smile grow once more. "Of course, it isn't. I may be a knight, but I'm not so virtuous to deny that I have sinful thoughts now and then. It would be natural for you to want your mother's alone attention after she's spent years focusing it on your other siblings." Gwayne paused for a moment, squeezing her one more time before continuing to speak, eyes studying her face carefully. “Though, my little bird… I must ask. Do these envious thoughts extend past your mother when it comes to those siblings of yours?”

"How so?"

"Well, sometimes one can’t help but compare themselves to their siblings. Do you? Perhaps even envy them for anything that they may have and you do not?"

"No uncle, I am content. Merely lonely I expect,"

Gwayne hummed, watching her carefully, expression thoughtful for a moment. He nodded in understanding of her words before smiling once more, “Well, you won’t be lonely now that I’m here.”

"I suppose not, may I ask of your travels? and of my little brother Daeron?"

Gwayne let his smile grow at the mention of Daeron, the boy was a favorite of his, after all. He sat up a little straighter, "He’s growing up quickly. Very sharp with a blade already, I don’t have a doubt in my mind that he will surpass me in skill one day. I also wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to get even taller than me as well, gods know that the boy will shoot up like a weed." Gwayne chuckled, rubbing his chin as he continued in thought. He turned to look down at Y/n, taking in her own appearance before speaking once more, voice amused. "He definitely got the good look, too, I’d say. Much better than what I myself was cursed with. And he certainly got that Targaryen look to him, you can’t deny that. He's going to be quite the catch to any young lady that catches his eye..."

“Sometimes… I wish…”

Gwayne’s smile faded once he heard the tone in her voice, a frown starting to form on his face. He furrowed his brows, studying her expression closely. "Wish what, little bird?"

"sometimes I wish mother had sent me away, instead of daeron. or as well as. There are days I ponder over what joys I may have if I was at Oldtown with you,"

A look of surprise flashed across Gwayne’s face. He let out a quiet sigh as he pulled Y/n close, wrapping both arms around her and resting his chin gently on top of her head. They were silent for a moment before he spoke, voice quiet but still with a hint of concern. “I didn’t know you felt like that, little bird… Have you ever asked her why she sent Daeron and not you?”

"No, but I can assume,"

“And would you care to share your assumption?”

"Aegon is king. Heleana his queen. Mother would never send Aemond away she worries to much for him. So she sends away Daeron her little boy she has hopes and ambitions for."

Gwayne hummed, considering the validity of her words. He couldn’t help himself from reaching out and ruffling her hair again, “And there’s no hope and ambition for you, my little bird? Your mother has placed no expectations for you?”

"My mother plans to sell me off, to whatever lord bids highest when the war begins." Y/n answered, “Whichever lord offers the most men,”

Gwayne’s eyes widened slightly as she spoke. He paused for a moment, processing the words that she just spoke., his eyes hardening as anger began to bubble inside him. “Surely it can’t be that bad. Has Alicent actually spoken of that in front of you?”

"she says as her unmarried daughter... it is my duty,"

Gwayne didn’t say anything at first, clenching his jaw as he ground his teeth in anger. After a few moments passed, he spoke up again, voice somewhat quiet but with a clear hint of anger. “Alicent shouldn’t send you to some lord to be sold to, like she’s sending a piece of furniture. You are a Hightower, little bird. One of us. She has no right to treat you like some kind of cattle that she can barter and trade as she pleases.” Gwayne took a breath before continuing to speak, forcing himself to calm down some. He reached over and grabbed Y/n’s chin, gently tilting her head up so he could look into her eyes. His voice was softer now, but there was still a slight trace of anger in his tone. “She has no right… I won’t let anyone treat you like that. I won’t let Alicent sell you off to any lord that bids high. I’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure Alicent doesn’t do that to you, little bird.”

"Thank you, uncle," she briefly smiled, the first real smile he had seen since his arrival

Seeing her smile seemed to calm Gwayne a bit more, his shoulders relaxing and his jaw unclenching as a small smile formed on his face as well. He let go of her chin, gently ruffling her hair once more. “There we go, much better than that pitiful frown I saw earlier. No more talk about Alicent intending to sell you off to some lord. I won’t have it.”

After a while of the sweet embrace Y/n spoke once more, “Uncle?”

Another hum left Gwayne’s mouth, looking down at her with an eyebrow raised. “Yes, little bird?”

“You… have been gone so long,”

Gwayne let his smile grow after her words, nodding his head. “You’re right… I can’t believe it’s been this long. My, hasn’t it been almost four years now?”

"Do you think... I am too old now for 'secrets'?" she whispered

“Too old for secrets? Never.” he smiled,, “Why do you ask that, little bird?”

"One of... our little secrets?" she hinted

Gwayne’s lip twitched upward in a mixture of amusement and curiosity. His smile turned a little wicked, “One of… our little secrets?”

she nodded blushing a little

“Never my little bird,” He cooed, “Would you perhaps like to-”

“Yes please,” she softly giggled and checked the door to make sure no one was around to see them before she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his as they had so many times throughout her life

He let a soft laugh escape his mouth when her lips made contact with his, one of his hands finding purchase on the back of her head and he leaned into the kiss.

The kiss lasted for a few seconds, Gwayne wrapping one of his arms around her and pulling her a bit closer to him as the kiss continued for a bit before he pulled away just enough that their lips were still millimetres apart, but there was just enough there that he could look into her eyes. “… we can’t have anyone finding out about this, now can we, my little bird?”

she shook her head "No..."

A soft chuckle left his mouth as he studied her face once again, that smirk never leaving his face as he spoke. “No, we cannot have anyone finding out. It is a secret that we have to keep. You got that, little bird? This is just between us, okay?”

"If I promise... do I get more?"

The smirk on Gwayne’s face deepened, his eyes flashing with amusement as he chuckled softly and nodded his head. “If you promise, then I’ll give you more.”

"I promise," she nodded excitedly

A soft chuckle left his mouth at her excitement, a brief moment of silence passing before he spoke once more. “Good girl…” He smirked one of his hands gently tilting her chin up some before he leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips once more, the kiss grew deeper and more intense until he pushed her down on his bed, "You remember little bird? Our secret?"

She nodded giggling softly in excitement, 

He scoffed a chuckle and bit his bottom lip, He grasped the hem of her gown and swiftly pushed it up around her waist, revealing her underdress and stockings, "So sweet and proper," he cooed as he pushed the underdress up to her thighs to the top of her stockings, grabbing under her thighs and forcing them up until her knees where completely up, "Always have been, haven't you. You're really growing into the title... of princess," he smirked, running his nose over the tender skin at the top of her stockings, 

"You think so?" 

"I know so," he smirked, "But... you'll always be my little bird," he growled, his eyes meeting hers before he pealed her stocking down her leg and tossed it onto the floor, the other soon followed and he peppered kisses from her ankle all the way to her thighs, "You know y/n, I have been travelling for so long, I think I need a good meal." He growled, before she even had a chance to respond he forced her to dress and underdress up to her waist, 

She softly and playfully squealed as he exposed her already trembling cunt, 

"Shhh." He reminds her as he sits up with a predatory smile as he looks down at her, laid on his bed her hair cascading around her, her dress up around her waist and her legs up and apart offering herself to him so willingly, "Wouldn't you agree? that your old uncle needs something delicious?" He growled as his hand moved to rub across her tender lips, gliding his fingers over her wetness, he rubbed her clit with a sly clockwise circle before sliding his fingers down to push his index and middle finger inside her,

"Ah!" She gasped her hips bucking upwards, her feet attempting to squirm against the sheets as hie fingers so delicately fucked her, as Gwayne loomed over her with a sly sadistic smile, she tried to be quiet but the moans fell from her lips like a waterfall, 

Gwanye pulled his hand back and licked his fingers clean, "Ummm just as delicious as I remember," He growled, pinning her hips down to the bed and grabbing her thighs holding them apart as he moved closer and blew across her arching clit, "Now... I am so very hungry from my ride, that little taste has only made me feel worse." He smirked, "So you know what that means?"

"you... you must..." She trembled with excitement, 

"Humm I must feast little bird," He purred before burning his head between her legs...

[motherofdogs1010]

Of Messiahs and Seeds II (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: Emperor Paul of House Atreides has set forth with expansion of his empire on the planets that have resisted and has now come across the last stronghold that resists him: Terra Millennium...

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW dark!fic, obsessed Paul, yandere! Paul, eventual forced marriage, eventual pregnancy, talks of war, eventual NONCON/DUB CON

A/N: I'm basing Paul and Reader off of Usagi and Prince Demond's relationship of how obsessed he was with her just from her expression and power

Dividers by @firefly-graphics Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Picking up from Last Time

"You will relinquish your place as Queen", Paul said, walking up towards the women. "I will make sure you are well-cared for or you will become the beggar Queen you are."

Y/N raised a brow as she walked towards the Emperor, anger flowing through her but Lord York had always said to remain a neutral stance as possible to not let the enemy know your next move.

"We are not here to discuss terms of surrender", Lord York said, "we are here to discuss terms of peace."

"And those terms are to relinquish your right to Terra Millennium", Paul said before motioning to a Reverend Mother holding a newborn behind him. "And allow the Beneit Gesserit to spread truth and the Fremen people, my people find their Paradise."

"Obviously, we didn't communicate well", she said, looking at the dark-haired Emperor. "When we said war would happen, we met war will come to the Empire, not Terra Millennium."

She saw the man chuckle, actually the entire Atreides fleet chuckled and Y/N felt more anger, but she knew she would be the one chuckling in just a few moments.

"I imagine that you are finding this difficult", Paul said, leaning down in her face. "Your reign as Queen is over."

She heard the roar of Draco coming closer and she let a little smirk out.

"My reign has just begun, Emperor Paul."

Just then Draco swooped in, letting out a mighty roar as he landed on the ground behind her, roaring another roar as he spotted Paul.

The mighty beast was unlike anything Paul had seen as it landed next to the Queen, it leaned it's scaly head next to her affectionately before she turned as it lowered a large wing, allowing her to climb onto its back as he stumbled back as it roared at him, he could see the impossibly sharp teeth.

He could hear Stilgar let out a prayer as the beast began to flap its wings and run on its legs before taking off into the sky.

He watched in slight horror as he heard the sound of more beasts and saw two more in the air, flying behind its sibling in the air as it looked like it was circling one of his ships.

What was she making it do? Could she command them?

His answer soon came as the three mighty beast found one of his ships and breathed down a holy fire, he watched in anger and a little horror as his ship began to literally melt, the spice stored in the ship destroyed.

"I believe we have made ourselves clear", the shorter man said, "Terra Millennium will remain ours. It is in your best interest to take the mercy our Queen has shown, and let the Houses know of the mercy and kindness our Queen has shown you."

🌎

"Muad'Dib", Stilgar said once they had retreated back into the remaining ships. "We must formulate a new plan of attack."

Paul rubbed his chin as he sat in a chair, a hologram image of Terra Millennium was pulled up as he began to hear everyone discuss their next move as the ships hovered in orbit over the planet, but Paul could not think at the moment.

Such raw power at the hands of just one woman, Paul could not fathom that. It was like she was made to be the equal of a great ruler, an equal crafted just for him. Irulan was too mouthy and if he was honest, too submissive at times thanks to the Beneit Gesserit and Chani had given in too easily to his love.

But Amaris, oh... she posed a challenge for Paul, a challenge he wanted to conquer, to fuck until she understood her place underneath him, to breed heirs into her. She looked like she could carry children well from the wide hips she had as Paul allowed for these thoughts to course through his mind.

He needed to see those cold eyes again, he needed to watch as they melted into fear, into desire, into submission. She would understand soon enough, the Fremen would soon find their Paradise here in this planet and that only left the one problem: Irulan.

"I believe we need to find a way outside of their reach", Paul finally said, "look towards their colonies and start at the weakest one."

And Paul had the perfect way to get rid of her and that elderly father of hers...

She heard the sound of the ocean crashing against the sandy beaches of her world, the smell of the salt in her nose as she heard a palm tree rustle in her ears. She felt the water licking at her feet, the wet sand in her toes.

"Together, we could rule all this", a familiar voice breathed into her. "Together, this universe would bow at our feet."

A pair of hands wandered, grasping at her soft flesh as a pair of lips kissed at her neck, a nose nuzzling at her.

"All you have to do is say yes..."

Y/N felt hazy like her mind was underwater as the voice continued assaulting her with sweet words, their hands massaging and rubbing at her body.

"Just say yes to me..."

She turned her head and her eyes widened as she saw Paul, a dark look of desire and power in his eyes.

"Either way, you belong to me. It's up to you how many die along the way."

With a shaky breath, Y/N snapped her eyes open as she quickly sat up and looked around, seeing that she was in her room as her heart was beating in her chest.

She could still feel his lips against her body, his breath... still hear his voice in her mind.

Outside, she could hear the rumble of Draco, Aria and Perseus sleeping near her window; those three dragons probably curled up in a little scaly pile of cuddles that always made her laugh and right now brought her comfort.

Getting out of her bed, her nightgown fell around her as she walked towards her balcony, feeling the autumn breeze brush against her as she hugged her body.

The last Emperor had stood no chance against Terra M last night, but Y/N knew it was different this time. Paul had gained all the Great Houses and the Fremen, she had her army and the colonies, but would it be enough?

The colonies... she would check on them in the morning. She just hoped all would still be well in the morning...

TAGLIST

@ninastyless @james-bucky-barnackle @astarborntowrite @maggiecc @radiantdanvers @croatianprincess

[hystixia]

A TEST OF FAITH.

SUMMARY 、YOU’RE THE PRIEST’S DAUGHTER, SWEET AND INNOCENT AND FREE FROM SIN. UNTIL JEFFREY WALKED IN AND TURNED YOUR WORLD UPSIDE DOWN.

FEATURING 、JEFF MASON X F!READER

WARNINGS 、FINGERING (M -> F), PUBLIC FINGERING, BLASPHEMY, RELIGION KINK, CORRUPTION KINK

NOTES 、i gotta thank my lovely mutual @hysterotic for helping me flesh out ideas for this one. love you babe also depending on how well this does. i’ll do part 2 LMFAO

The air is tense on the ride to church. The sun casts the world in a warm glow as it slowly rises beyond the horizon and you keep your eyes fixated on the blur of trees passing by as your father drives and taps his finger impatiently on the steering wheel.

You sigh softly and look into the rear view mirror at his reflection. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” You ask gently and you hear your father sigh almost tiredly.

“Nothing, sweetheart it’s just…” He contemplates it for a moment before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I don’t want you feeling burdened in any way this morning.” It’s Sunday, of course he didn’t want you feeling anything but the spirit of the Heavenly Father washing over you.

You hum rather defeatedly, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and staring out the window once more. “Mkay..” You mumble out, saddened your father didn’t feel like he could share whatever wad weighing hard on him but maybe the Lord could help ease the heavy feeling he has today. You close your eyes and say a small prayer just as you feel the familiar turn onto the gravely trail that leads up to the church you’ve spent your entire life going to.

The pearly white chapel comes into view and your eyes gravitate to the sight, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you see other members pulling up around the same time as you and your father and mother. You sit up straight as your father parks the car and tugs the keys out, fixing your sundress as you wait patiently for your father to exit first before following soon after.

The familiar faces by the church, idly chatting all turn and smile at the sight of you. The older women compliment you, saying you look like an angel as always in those pretty sundresses you always wore.

You’d giggle bashfully in response to their compliments, cheeks warm to the touch as you thank them and compliment them back before the sound of a loud rumble echoes out and you turn to look over your shoulder at the road as a noisy motorcycle pulls into the spot beside your parents’ car. You squint your eyes due to the harsh brightness of the morning sun peeking through the distant trees and into your field of vision as you try to get a good look at the individual. It’s hard to see much until the person gets off the bike shortly after and starts coming toward you.

“For christ— Ahem, you took your sweet time getting here didn’t you, son?” A loud voice from behind you speaks up. You notice the way your father seems to hold a cold stare you’ve almost never seen on his face before as he watches the guy approaching you chuckle, a deep rumbly sound that has you surprised to hear such a deep voice.

“Took the scenic route.” He says with a grin in his voice and as the bright leaks of sunlight hide behind his tall frame, you finally get a good look at his face. And boy did you feel your heartbeat quicken.

His eyes look down into yours and you instantly tear your stare away and focus on the ground beneath you. Grass has never looked so greener before until now.

Your father reluctantly shakes hands with the guy whose appearance is not very fitting, nor would you consider it appropriate for church service. The black ripped jeans with a chain dangling on them, dirtied combat boots, a learner jacket on and somewhat hiding the black band tee he wore underneath. It had a print of a music band you’ve never heard of and it left you feeling curious. You’ve never heard such music before. Anything remotely inappropriate or dark and taboo wasn’t allowed in your parents’ house.

You feel like you’ve stared for too long and look over to your mother for guidance and she gives you a knowing look before subtly glancing at the church doors. You excuse yourself but shortly after, everyone else is coming into the quiet place and the sounds of footsteps and quiet chatter echo throughout the building. You take a seat on the long bench you’ve always sat at while your mother sits on the other side of the church at a different place. You see the man that had talked rather loudly behind you earlier come in along with who you presume is his wife and a rather young looking teenage boy, but where was the motorcycle guy that he had called ‘son’?

“Hey,” Your eyes widen at the sound of a low and deep voice in your ear and you whip your head around to look to your side where you see the aforementioned motorcycle guy. His black hair frames around his face and he smirks at you. “Did I scare ya?”

You blink a few times before shaking your head, mumbling a soft ‘no’ in response to which he chuckles at before letting his arm rest on the back of the bench, nudging your shoulders ever so slightly but you try to ignore it. Your father however is practically staring daggers into the boy when nobody’s eyes are on him before he stands up and prepares to start the day’s service.

You try to scoot away from the strange guy, keeping your eyes on those that sing and you can feel his eyes on and it makes goosebumps rise along your arms.

Suddenly you’re asked to sing and you feel your heart drop to the floorboards. You’ve never felt so nervous in all your life, it was something you were always asked to do by other members of the church so why did it feel so scary to do all of a sudden? Was it because of the mysterious boy beside you? Who knows. You swallow thickly, standing up with a tremble in your legs and hands so you grip onto the bench in front of you. You clear your throat quietly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats so wildly and so hard it makes your throat want to close up on you. You manage to start singing a hymn, one that everyone seemed to love hearing you sing the most and as you let your eyes flutter closed you relax your nerves and let the words flow through you and out into the world.

It’s only a few short minutes and then you’re politely sitting down but as you do so you feel something against the side of your thigh and see his own pressed snug against yours. Did he move closer or did you accidentally sit too close? You apologize in a whisper, trying to move away but he shakes his head at you with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Nah, I don’t mind, angel.” He says back, a whisper in a low voice only you could hear and it makes your heart flutter with an unfamiliar feeling as you force your attention back to those around you as people begin to testify.

You’re so focused on them all, nodding and feeling the spirit seep into your being that you don’t notice the unfamiliar touch against your dress as something slides up your thigh. It makes you tense up for a second when you realize and you glance at the guy who’s seemingly leaning a little too close for comfort but it would appear to others that he’s just trying to see the individuals that stand up and testify better.

“Don’t let temptation distract you from the words of God, doll.” He whispers with a grin on his face, eyes flicking down to your doe eyes that tear themselves away from his face and over to the other people.

He was right. No matter what he was doing, whatever it might’ve been… It was just the devil trying to keep you in his hold. Yet it was so hard to focus when the pads of his fingers grazed over your panties making you shiver slightly.

You didn’t know what he was doing. You’ve never been touched anywhere by anyone before, especially down there, but it was a rather nice and foreign feeling that you found yourself wanting just a little more of. Unconsciously, your legs spread just enough to let his hand cup your clothed sex and he rubs his index and middle against your panties until he feels a damp patch that makes him bounce his knee to keep himself from dragging your foolishly innocent self out of the church and fucking you in the bathroom.

Your father mentions an individual’s name for them to lead into prayer and everyones, including your own, heads turn down and al eyes are closed as silence envelopes the church and the only voice heard is a wretched sinner crying out for the Heavenly Father as he gets on his knees and prays.

You’re focused on listening to his words, feeling the pain he’s burdened with carrying as your brows knit together and you listen thoughtfully. Then something cold and foreign pushed against your nether regions and your thighs twitch as your eyes open and you glance to the guy beside you. He grins sinisterly, like he was the devil incarnate and you shiver under his gaze.

“Listen to ‘im, angel. Hear the cries of a fellow sinner and pay attention.” He whispers with a sick chuckle as he pushes his digit into your warmth and nudges it against your gummy walls. It’s uncomfortable for a few seconds, a new and foreign feeling you’ve never felt before but you unknowingly clench around him as he begins to pump it at a rather quick pace that has pleasure tingling in your gut suddenly as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to block out whatever he was doing to you in attempts to distract you.

Was it wrong? Was this something bad that he was doing to you? You didn’t know and couldn’t find the right answer you tried to search for in your mind. Whatever it was, it had a great effect on you and when you opened your eyes and prayer ended, tears blurred your vision but not from the Holy Spirit overwhelming you, oh no, it was that guy’s hand that overwhelmed you.

A tight coil burns hot in your belly as your legs tremble and you force yourself to straighten up and stare onward as your father stood to his feet and started to preach. Your mind was clouded, hazy and lagged behind on the words and sounds that met your ears but the warm breath tickling the side of your neck kept you alert and on edge in more ways than one.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hear your father’s words as it touches the souls of many in the church. Your brows twitch, eyes gliding over the various people and a wave of feel-good tingles seeps into your being and your eyes flutter closed for a moment, a soft sigh leaving you glossy lips.

Your father’s preaching reaches its peak just as your thighs squeeze around the strange guy’s hand tightly, as if they never wanted him to leave and then euphoria washes over you. Like being hit by the Holy Spirit, your body tenses up and warmth floods your being as a sharp but quiet gasp leaves you and you curl in on yourself, hands gripping the cushion of the bench by your thighs. You heave quick breaths, heart racing in your chest as those digits curl into something incredibly sensitive inside of you before pulling away and you’re left feeling empty and exhausted.

You watch with half lidded eyes as he raises his hand up towards his face, it’s glistening with something slick on it and you wonder if it came from you. The thought embarrassed you to no end and when he popped the digits into his mouth, sucking the substance off them and then grinning at you as he shoved his hand into his pocket, it made you feel pulled towards him as if you couldn’t get enough despite knowing he was no good for you.

Your cheeks feel warm to the touch, cupping your hands against the hot flesh as you try to slow your breathing and shortly after, church has ended and people are socializing outside. You muster up the strength to stand on legs wobbly like a newborn fawn, hearing that boy chuckle at you as he gets up and walks away like nothing had happened. It saddens you a bit, you had felt some type of connection because of that strange interaction with him but you try to ignore it and move on just like he was so easily able to.

You manage to get out of the church, heading for the car earlier than your parents would’ve liked. You felt so lightheaded you just needed somewhere a little more private to cool off for some reason. You don’t get there in time before that boy is reaching you however.

“Aw, leavin’ already?” He’s teasing, he knows he’s the reason you feel so odd right now and the more you look at him the more you want to cling onto him. Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill your head, inappropriate and so lewd it makes you shiver with a mix of disgust and embarrassment directed toward yourself.

“I just need to cool off.. It’s warm out today.” You try to reason, voice a bit strained and shaky as you try to stand up straight but it’s obvious you’re a horny wreck in his eyes and he chuckles at you.

“S’that it? Just got too hot?” He takes a few steps towards you, an unreadable look in his eyes and you struggle to hold his gaze as you fumble over your words until he’s got you cornered with your back against the car. Those wide doe eyes, glassy with need, almost gets under his skin. He grins and it makes your stomach do flips when he looks at you that way. “Y’sure it’s not because I touched ya right here?” His hand forces its way between your trembling thighs and nudges against your nether regions making your breath hitch in your throat as you stare at him completely stunned.

Your hands grab at his wrist, shaky and weak as you attempt to pull him off but he only stops terrorizing your poor little innocent heart when he hears footsteps approaching.

He pulls away, straightening his posture while you push yourself off the car slowly as if you were in a daze at the moment.

“Is something wrong?” It’s your father, concern laced in his voice as he gives you a protective glance and moves towards you all while giving the boy an odd look.

The black haired guy scoffs with a smirk. “Nah, was j’st talkin’ to her is all.” He says it in a way that’s either condescending, sarcastic or as if he wasn’t saying the full truth. It’s hard for your brain to decipher properly anyways as your eyes bore into the grass beneath you, looking at anything but him.

“I’d much rather prefer if you didn’t speak to my daughter, Jeff Mason.” Your father says and it’s only now that you’ve learned the guy’s name. Your eyes flicker up to his face only to find him already looking back and shyness gets to you, making you tear your gaze from his.

There seems to be a tension between your father and Jeff, a staring contest ensues for a few moments that begin to feel like hours until that man you’d heard speaking before church comes up to the three of you.

He forces a smile and puts a hand on Jeff’s shoulder, squeezing a little too tight. “Jeffrey here will be sure to do that. Won’t you, son?” There’s an underlying authority to his voice as he looks at Jeff who glares back silently before shaking his hand off and walking towards his motorcycle with not a single word to follow.

The middle aged man chuckles awkwardly and tries to make small talk with your father but it doesn’t do much, if anything it would seem your father didn’t like either of them and that made you more curious than it should have.

You walk around the car to get into the car without disrupting their— very tense and awkward —conversation, trying to ignore Jeff who’s standing by his bike with his eyes glued onto you.

“Hey, Mary.” He calls out and you blink a few times before turning to look at him. He grins, “Yeah, you.”

“That’s.. That’s not my name, Jeff.” You didn’t even mean to say his name. It just spilled out by accident, he repeats the way you say it on loop in his head immediately.

“Sure it isn’t.” He grins with a teasing tone and crosses his arms as he looks you up and down slowly, undressing you with his eyes but you’re none the wiser. He finally looks at your face and smiles wickedly. “I’ll see ya around won’t I, angel?”

Your hold on the handle of the car door tightens a bit at the way he says it, heart fluttering in your chest and your knees weak. You feel a little bold, taking a deep breath as you hold his gaze. “Are you implying you’ll come to visit more often?” You meant the church, it’s obvious in the way you say it that you meant it in a church setting. But Jeff is far too sick and twisted to accept it as just that and that alone.

He chuckles at you, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. “Heh, y’gonna see me a lot more often than just here.”

[danikamariewrites]

Take Them All Down (part 1)

Rhysand x reader

A/n: with all things I write I don’t really know what part of my brain this came from. I’ve had this story idea for a while I just never had characters to use it with. Maybe one day I’ll use it with my own but until then enjoy Rhys with a depression beard. Idk why but I mated Az and Feyre plz don’t be mad.

Warnings: death, angst, poison, blood, reader buried alive

You came to with a sharp inhale. The first thing you see is Beron Vanserra smirking down at you. You try to sit up but quickly find the male is kneeling on your chest. As you struggle against him he clicks his tongue at you. “Now, now y/n. None of that.”

You gave up. Tired from the brutal hours you spent fighting Hybern’s army. Before you could scream Beron gripped your jaw so tight he forced your mouth open. He dumped a small vial of clear liquid down your throat, quickly forcing your jaw shut so you’d swallow.

Once he let go up you started coughing, gasping for air. “What the fuck did you do to me?” You croaked out. Drowsiness started to take over your body. Your limbs feeling weak and tired. You fight the urge to close your eyes, attempting to flip your body so you could crawl to Rhys.

As your eyes closed you saw Beron’s mouth move but you couldn’t hear his threatening words. You just drifted off into an endless darkness.

——

It felt like you heard years pass as you stayed in the darkness. You heard Rhys cry out in anguish. A priestess and a somber organ and then nothing.

——

It’s been one month. One month without you and Rhys had become a ghost. He rarely leaves the Town House. Amren and Mor have been running the court. Cassian, Azriel, and Feyre are out of ways to help him.

The High Lord has barley said a word since you died. He just spends his days draped in an armchair, a glass of never ending whiskey clutched in his hand. Rhys had stopped shaving. A dark scruffy beard now covering his sharp jawline. And the bags under his eyes deepened as the days pass.

Rhys knows his family means well but it didn’t make him feel any better as he overheard their constant muttering. “What do we do?” “Has he ever been this bad before?” “He wasn’t like this after under the mountain.” “I’m worried he’s going to do something…drastic.”

If Rhys had the energy to move he would’ve left the Town House weeks ago. But this was your favorite place. He couldn’t just abandon it to collect dust. Rhys scratched at his beard and cleared his throat. The conversation in the hall paused for a moment as the family listened for a moment and went back to their whispers.

—

The five of them held their breath for a beat, then let go as the sound of ice clinking against glass breaks the silence. Cassian scrubs at his face with both hands. Amren shakes her head. Azriel speaks up first, “I’m out of answers.” Mor hugs herself and Feyre holds Azriel’s hand.

“What about other friends?” Mor asks. Azriel shakes his head. “I have intel that Helion and Kallias have been dealing with their own issues.” He lowers his voice more, “Day and Winter are in trouble. They may collapse in months, weeks even.” Amren’s eyes widen in shock. “Why?” She spits out. Azriel shrugs. It’s killing him to not have the answer.

Amren let’s out a huff as she voices what everyone fears. “We might be headed for the same fate if something doesn’t change.” They all look to the sitting room, sending up a prayer to the Mother.

——

It was hard opening your eyes. You still felt groggy from the battle. And then you remember Beron kneeling on you. The clear liquid burning down your throat. You jolted up but hit your head on something hard, forcing you down again.

Your eyes fly open. Your breathing fast and hard. It’s pitch black. You feel around the dark enclosed space. It’s getting harder to breathe.

Cushioned siding and smooth wood meet your fingertips. Your mind is racing. Then it clicks. Beron put you in a suspended state. The bastard fooled everyone into thinking you were dead.

Oh Mother, Rhys! Your mate was tricked into burying you.

You felt anger surge through you. Resting your palms against the smooth cold wood. Taking one more deep breath you pull back your fist, throwing all the strength you have into splintering the wood. It didn’t budge.

You switched fists. Willing the wood to break under your knuckles. You kept alternating fists. Punching again, and again, and again, and again.

A scream ripped from your lips and heavy tears started flowing from your eyes in waves. You didn’t yield. Continuing your assault on the coffin holding you back from the world.

Dirt finally fell through a crack onto your stomach. You jerked and felt something metal against your leg. They buried you with your sword. Strapping it to the belt of your dress you went back to breaking open the coffin. Your knuckles were gushing blood, stinging from the loose wood and dirt.

Another wave of strength and anger came over you and started kicking at the lid. The lid splintered in half allowing dirt to spill in. You sputtered as it fell into your mouth and eyes. Willing your arms to move you push the dirt away from you.

You begin to dig upwards. Crawling all six feet to the surface of the earth.

That was the tough part. Punching through the tightly packed ground was harder than the coffin. As your fist broke the ground you spread your fingers, feeling the cool night air.

Punching over and over again you got both arms out. You push the ground apart with what little strength you have left, pulling yourself from the grave. Gasping down air lighting cracked above. You rest for a moment, curling up on the ground.

Rolling on to your back a wail comes up from your chest. More tears run down your face, leaving tracks on the dirt coating your face.

A blood curdling scream of anger comes next.

Rain begins to pelt your face. You breathe a sigh of relief. You feel alive again.

You want to see Rhys but the need for revenge is overpowering. The anger rattles your bones as you begin to shake.

Flipping over you push yourself up on tired and bloody hands. Fingers seeping in to muddy ground. You focus on breathing and your ability to winnow.

As your power flows through you, you focus on getting as close to the Forest House as possible. Wards be damned. Let him know you’re in his court. In his home. Death is coming for Beron Vanserra and you will be the last person he ever sees.

—

Rapid and hard knocks shake the door of the Town House. Cassian rips it open so hard it almost comes off its hinges. A city guard is standing in the rain looking worried and disheveled. Tilting his head at the guard Cassian noticed the male seemed pale.

“What is it?” “I am sorry to disturb at this hour but there is something the High Lord must know.” Cassian’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing. “The High Lady’s grave it’s…been disturbed.” Cassian almost fell to his knees. “How?”

The guard looked like he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “Speak!” The General commanded. “It’s been dug up, sir.”

Cassian left the door open as he rushed to the sitting room. The Inner circle looked to him with curious faces. “Rhys,” he strode over to kneel before his brother. “Y/n’s grave, it’s…”

Rhys showed his first sign of emotion in weeks. It was unreadable. He shot up from his seat and pushed past the group to the front door. Rhys broke out into a sprint in the pouring rain. They followed and didn’t stop until your grave came into sight.

He halted inches away from the ripped up ground. Dropping to his knees Rhys’s lip trembled as tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t scent another person. Just you. Only one thing was on his mind as he broke out into hysteric laughter.

There had been something off about your death- Rhys just couldn’t verbalize it until now. The mating bond wasn’t gone it was just…dull. Like it was waiting to wake up again. Azriel and Cassian wrapped Rhys in their arms tightly.

“She’s alive,” he forced out through laughter and tears. The group looked at each other concerned. Azriel’s shadows were swirling around like crazy. Covering your tombstone, the hole in the ground, and the ripped up grass around them.

They finally came back to rest by his shoulders. One circling his rounded ear. As the shadow whispered Azriel’s eyes widened at their report.

He looked to Cassian, bewildered. It was true. You are alive. And the shadows haven’t a clue where you went. They needed a plan. And there are too many questions.

—

You ended up at the bottom of the main stairs of the Forest House. The guards didn’t notice you until it was too late. You beheaded them, kicking the doors in.

Stomping down the hall you sliced through each guard you came across. Leaving a trail of blood to the throne room. One of Beron’s sons, you don’t know which one, didn’t care, tried to fight. You brought him down to his knees keeping a death grip around his throat with your arm.

Entering the throne room you climbed up the dais throwing the male down hard, your sword poised at his throat. Guards and other court members rushed in.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t drop your scowl or lower your sword. You wouldn’t back down from Beron. “Bring me Beron Vanserra or he loses another son!” For emphasis you pushed your blade against the trembling males throat.

[forsworned]

a thought i couldn't get out of my head about kyle because of this image

cw: religious themes, sexual themes, sacrilege, religious guilt, temptation, power dynamics, Kyle being a delicious temptation.

Penitent!Kyle is beaten, battered, and bruised seeking salvation when he has a terrible run-in with God’s Judgement. He’s the biggest talk around your small, docile, God-fearing town, caught stealing apples with pockets full with of hardtacks. He begs the Minister to let him go, he was running from his “demons”, he says. And that single-handedly saves him from losing his head. Poor, wretched soul, tortured by the voices in his head.

You spot him in the dim sanctuary, a lone figure at the witching hour, talking to the altar, begging for forgiveness in the form of penance. To be gentle, graceful, and the utmost serene. And you, the town beauty, who has been spying on him for the past half hour or so, step out. There’s a creak in the wooden floorboards that captures his attention. And then he sees you, face illuminated by the candle you carry with both hands. It casts a warm, angelic glow over your dulcet features, and his amber, dewy eyes team at the sight. An angel.

He curses himself for the lack of restraint his cock is practicing, but he holds himself still as you approach him. Hands interwoven on the prayer rail, kneeling before God, tears cascading down his smooth golden brown face—looking like an angel himself.

“You’re seeking salvation,” you take him in once more, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings in your rib cage. “I see your struggle, I can help guide you,” you murmur, each word a tender caress, “help you find the forgiveness you seek.”

God has heard him. The pathetic sinner he is, He has heard him.

“You’d do that for me?” His whisper is faint, but you hear him clearly in the still night.

You don’t even skip a beat, “Yes.”

And his honey eyes analyze your every move, from the beat you gentle place your pricket candleholder atop of the prayer bench to the way you gracefully glide to the ewer, pouring out holy water into the a bowl. His heart beats louder with every stride you take toward him and you stand tall, poised and maternally before him. Like Mother Mary in the flesh, the light cascades a heavenly glow upon your skin. It’s as if the voices in his head grow silent with every word you utter.

Your voice echoes along the church walls as you begin the ritual, he’s hardly paying attention to the declarations that fall from your mouth. Only imagining how your lips would look puckered around his twitching, rock hard length, “…and renew your soul, granting you the redemption you seek.”

The candlelight dances, outlining your visage, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He’s no longer obstinate in the path God creates for him. He is more than willing to embrace humility, show remorse, and let go of his pride. His eyes quiver, body spasming from the long hours he's spent in these four walls to subdue his demons, to strive for the quiet, serene life of man and wife, and to give up his incubus-like ways. The route to redemption lies right there in front of him, right between your bosom. So soft, so sweet, so willing to bring him to the light, coax him through your expressions of adoration toward the Lord.

“I accept.” He bows his head in acknowledgement, before you tip the bowl to have his sweet, supple lips touch the rim. His knees touch the wooden floor and he looks so sweet, so submissive and willing to give anything to have his sins wiped clean.

Your core throbs with heat, envisioning him hiking up your wool skirt to lap you up. But you allow him to drink, holding the bowl steady as he takes his first tentative sip, water dribbles down his chin and wets his breeches as he sups it up with a haste that makes the desire coil tight within your belly. It’s hard to ignore the large bulging between his thighs, the clamminess in his hands as he puts them over yours. He hears the sudden shudder in your breath, stumbling over as you lose your composure, water spilling into his lap, and apologizing profusely for your clumsiness.

His hardened length presses against his breeches and your innocent eyes broaden at the profane and luscious sight. You’re quick to pull on the discarded surplice that lies on the prie-dieu to blanket his sodden form. Temptation still lies heavy in the air, but you swiftly turn your back to him, rushing out of the chapel. Heart on your sleeve for the man that showed up on your town's doorstep for deliverance as you rush back to your home. You creep back through your window you leave ajar, un-wedging the fork and softly placing it on your nightstand as you catch your breath.

Fingers trembling at your sides with desire and adrenaline, and the memory of his hardened length outlined through the thin fabric of his breeches, tear stained bronzed cheeks, plump lips, woolen hair and taut chest that peeked through the loosened placket of his cotton shirt. And how can you forget his eyes? Eyes the color of golden, everlasting hearth, of polished amber in the first rays of dawn.

With clammy fingers, interlaced at the edge of your bed, you pray to God to let your provocations dissipate into the zephyr of the cool Autumn wind. Part of you doesn’t even want the enticement to leave you, to give into human nature. After all, man was weak.

This deserves a part two, yess???😇

[mannequinreligi0n]

Sins

priest!Vergil listens to your confession

pairing: priest!Vergil x nun!reader (mostly gn pronouns)

wc: 1380

warnings: mentions of religion

author’s note: priest vergil save me…..save me priest vergil…..might write a second part that’s actually spicy to this if there’s a demand for it. also i’m too lazy to proofread so you get what you get !

⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️

The seven o’clock mass had ended well over an hour ago, yet stray sinners still lined up to have their confessions heard. As the line dwindled, you wandered methodically around the church to dim the various lights and lanterns perched on pillars, leaving only the votive candles left to illuminate the grand hall. Every Sunday evening, your branch held an evening mass that was near identical to the morning service for those who couldn’t attend earlier in the day. Your fellow brothers and sisters of the church often rotated duties and you were fortunate enough to be left with attending the evening service, with hopes you could catch Father Vergil once confession had concluded.

There were two other nuns pacing about, helping escort leaving patrons out and collecting prayer books from pews, but they paid little mind to you. It was another twenty minutes before the final church-goer exited the confessional, signing himself with the cross as a nun came over to take his hand in prayer as they walked to the front door. The other nun followed loosely behind, closing stray doors, leaving only you in the echo chamber of the lord. You continue your duties of straightening the prayer candles when a loud creak of wood perks your ears. A series of expensive footsteps followed, a decibel louder with each step.

“Sister, you’re still here? The sun will set within the hour.”

You turn to acknowledge the voice: it’s Father Vergil, but you already knew that. You had practically studied the rhythm in his walk, the cadence of his voice, the soft aroma of myrrh and lavender that clouded him.

“Apologies, Father. I wished to do my work to the best degree, no matter the position of the sun. It is what our lord in heaven would wish.”

You bowed your head in atonement, not wanting to disrespect him in the slightest. It is only when you heard a hum of amusement from the priest that your head raised, greeted with stormy eyes and a smile of grace.

“God would forgive you for turning in early, sister,” Father Vergil mused, chuckling lightly. “Come, let me walk you out.”

You look down to see Father Vergil’s arm extended to you, an offering from above. If god knew of your sins, why was he indulging you with such a delight? Perhaps this was a test of faith. With hesitation, you take his arm, immediately reveling in the warmth of it. Shaking your head, you try to rid yourself of sinful thoughts, only to garner more attention from the priest. He stops you both from walking any further, you two standing in between the pews. Father Vergil turns to directly face you, clasping his hands over yours with concern and sincerity.

“You seem troubled, my child. Is there something you wish to share?”

Your eyeballs almost bulge out of your head from the accusation and touch of his hands. God has spoken to him of your impurities! Our benevolent lord has enlightened your dear priest with the knowledge of your thoughts. You immediately collapse before him to your knees, still grasping at his hands for a semblance of rapture.

“Oh, Father! I am not worthy to stand in the home of God beside you! I have betrayed my teachings, my very essence by entertaining these plaguing voices from the devil, himself!” you blubbered out, tears of shame cascading down your face.

Your hands shake as you grip his hands, fearing that he’ll turn his merciful eyes from you. The shake of your body is so persistent that your veil falls from your head, exposing your hair to the dimming light shining through the stained windows. Father Vergil stares at you with utter confusion, unsure where this fit arose from. His eyes flicker between your white knuckles and desperate eyes, not sure what “thoughts” you could be alluding to.

“Dear child, what has troubled you so?” Father Vergil questions softly, slowly bending down to speak more directly. “You are safe, and with God as my witness, I will not pass judgment on your sins. Please, share your burden with me.”

With tear-soaked cheeks, you swallow hard and bring your attention back up to him. “I wish to confess, Father,” you say meekly, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. A terrible, crude sin.”

Father Vergil lowers himself to his knees to sit across from you, still holding your hands. He nods for you to continue.

“It has been weeks- no, months, that my mind has wandered a dark path. I pray to God every night to take these…these obscene a-and lewd thoughts from me, but I fear I have strayed too far from Him, as He remains silent to me,” you exclaim to him.

Intrigued, Vergil raises an eyebrow. “What thoughts exactly?” his voice careful.

“I….I am not sure if I have the heart to voice them, Father,” you say, a frown plastered on your face.

“I understand this is difficult, Sister, but to receive penance and be absolved, you must confess to God,” Father Vergil sighs, squeezing your hands, “Has no one condemned you?… Neither do I condemn you.”

“John 8:11,” you say promptly, recognizing the verse.

Father Vergil nods and smiles gently, nodding once more. “Confess, and you will be rid of such sin.”

You look down at your joined hands and breathe deep, saying a silent prayer to God before speaking.

“Father…..I have been riddled with…disgraceful thoughts of you. I hear you speak sweet nothings to me in the lonesome night; I feel your skin on mine in times of need. I fear that my devotion to God has transformed into the devotion of you.”

Vergil’s smile falls as you speak, a cold, unreadable expression glossing over. He untangles his hands from yours and grasps at the rosary draped over his chest.

“Sister,” he starts, eyeing you warily, “such thoughts have challenged even the strongest of God’s creatures. But to worship someone other than our lord…it is sacrilege.”

There’s a long pause as Father Vergil closes his eyes, deep in thought. You watch his nose scrunch in the dim candlelight, wrinkles forming on his marble-carved face.

“You must try to rid your pure mind of such fallacies, in order to receive penance. Let us pray,” Vergil orders, making the sign of the cross. You follow suit, ‘in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,’ and clasp your hands together to your chest, bowing your head to them. You listen intently as Father Vergil recites a prayer asking for your forgiveness, soaking in every word. Even now, you can’t help but feel a warmth in your body at the hushed, intimate tone of his voice. Pushing the desires down, you return your focus in time to end the prayer, echoing Vergil’s ‘amen’.

You open your eyes to see him standing, offering a hand to help you up. You take it and grab your fallen veil off the tile. Fixing it back in place, Vergil takes a few steps back from you and seems to be mumbling a small prayer to himself, twisting the cross on his rosary in his delicate fingers. You brush off the dust and wrinkles from your garb and clear your throat.

“Shall I continue my duties for the ni-“

“No,” Vergil promptly interrupts, “no, I think I can finish closing up myself. It would be best if you found your way home.”

There’s a pang in your chest, an arrow to your heart, at the stark dismissal. You wanted to say more to him, to apologize profusely, but you knew it would only make things worse. You bowed your head in obedience.

“Yes, Father.”

You crossed yourself one last time before turning on your heels to leave, the clicking of your shoes reverberating off the church walls. Father Vergil watched you as you scurried out, tail between your legs. Everything happened so quickly that he didn’t get a chance to voice that he, too, was struggling with his faith in your presence, and instead, projected his shame onto you. Vergil exhaled the breath he’d been holding and walked into the pew of the first row, kneeling down and clasping his sweating hands together.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

[goodeapple]

someone could come love me, if somebody knew me (aemond t. pwp o.s.)

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny. 

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating. 

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true. 

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest. 

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.” 

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable. 

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?” 

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat. 

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy. 

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.” 

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body. 

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck. 

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees. 

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it. 

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck. 

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin. 

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.” 

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath. 

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week. 

Cheeky brat. 

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so. 

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.” Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees. 

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone. 

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely. 

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks. 

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales. 

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.” 

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.  

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs. 

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see. 

“No.” 

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him. 

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat. 

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.” 

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness. 

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock. 

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind. 

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up. 

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary. 

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.” 

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong. 

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes. 

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

.

.

.

[specific-dreamer]

do u have any hc about darry and ace? I love in the musical tht she is the only one to call him "superman" and jumps on his back like twice i think? also just read a rly good fic of ace x marcia where ace does know about darry and pauls relationship and he confides in her abt it

this is more a headcanon on their backstory (i fear i got carried away) i hope that’s ok 😭

i mentioned in the tags of a previous post, but i think darry prayed one night (lilo and stitch style) for god to give him a sister because pony and soda were annoying him and like a month later two-bit steve and bales (who is he in the show btw?? like he’s in the lore but idk him in the show. i digress) introduce everyone to ace and he’s utterly convinced that god answered his prayer

due to that he tries to be on his best behavior around her because he doesn’t want god to take her back

so he tries to be polite and gentle with her

but for a what 13/14? yr old boy (if ace was twelve when they met and im assuming she’s the same age as steve) it’s really hard

one quiet lazy afternoon when it’s just them two in the curtis living room playing cards, she asks what’s his problem? and she goes on this rant about how if he don’t like her than he should just come out and say it.

darry’s flabbergasted. and highly embarrassed because he thought he was being discreet, in treating her more gentle, but he confesses how he thought her a gift from god and ace? she falls in love (/p) right then and there. because she’s never heard that before, especially not towards her.

so she’s all giggly and happy at the thought of anyone thinking her a gift and wanting to be gentle enough to preserve her. she’s giddy at the thought of being perceived as feminine/soft even when she’s wearing her boy-est clothes, she’s excited that someone has those thoughts about her without any expectation of getting anything more from her.

she doesn’t say any of this, but it’s evident how pleased she is by the huge grin on her face. but she does tell darry that she can hold her own weight and he doesn’t have to be gentle all the time.

but when she does want to be treated more delicate it’s always darry she goes to. she trust the others ofc but it’s something about how darry’s first instinct is to treat her like a flower, that makes her more attuned to him.

i think that’s why he’s always lifting her and carrying her somewhat akin to a princess in the show.

that got away from me lord um here are real headcanons that may be more what you were hoping for anon 🤧

every year for halloween the guys always want to do scary gory shit for their costumes or they’d want to go pull pranks and shit on the socs. this however is the one night ace let’s herself go out dressed to the nines, so she usually dresses up as like a princess or a fairy or something that’s traditionally girly and overtop. darry usually wants to go out with the guys but she looks at him once (1) with a fake pout and he’s putty. he’s immediately figuring a matching costume and he’s calling paul to look for a party for him and ace to go to. (one year they were wonder woman and superman, hence his nickname)

idk what darry is in my headcanons but he asks ace how to ask out a girl and she laughs her ass off for a solid thirty minutes before she’s any help. it’s okay because he does the exact same when she asks him later.

when ace is struggling to figure out how to do her own makeup (tricky eyeliner or something idk) she forces darry to sit down and let her do his makeup

darry takes ace to his senior prom. that’s it send tweet

(in a parry universe, darry and ace go on double dates with paul and marcia)

that’s all i got off the top of my head ! i hope these were alright ! (but also per the last part of ur ask, im begging for the link)

[katyspersonal]

Here is a question for you. What do YOU think Gideon Ofnir saw that shook him so baldly he abandoned everything he was working for?

This question has no right to be THIS hard, and I might have genuinely missed something somewhere, so anyone is welcomed to help with this :т

For now, I think it was him learning what Marika actually wanted initially: for "god" to be killed! I was confused too at first, but I think I've put the pieces of the puzzle (him chickening out, Hewg helping the Roundtable for Marika's wish and what limited information Roundtable Hold knew)!

Hewg, who is smithing to 'help to slay the god', reveals in a prayer that we catch him doing that it was her wish:

However, the way he said his words were not meant to be heard by any Tarnished here made me think it was more about it actually being sort of a secret, rather than preserving his more sincere feelings, for some reason:

I questioned if I had my Common Autistic L by looking into something through less "emotional" lense than I should be? But my hunch was that as far as Tarnished of the Roundtable are concerned (except for Roderika of course), he is the guy helping them with weapons to hunt those damn detractor Demigods! But to think of it, it might be JUST the case:

The information the others have is that you will just become the new Elden Lord, not "kill the god"! The Two Fingers are not genuine, of course, and it is further evidenced by another bit:

*meme 'failure' sound effect*

The Two Fingers have been grooming the Tarnished for who knows how long to 'just slay the Demigods for their Runes as a proof they're worthy and become next Lord'! This is also THE information that reached the ears of others so far, and where things are heading:

This is just something everyone in the setting knows, including us, but no one knows that Marika actually does not wish for the things to get fixed! People know she "committed a trespass" but everything will be fixed once someone becomes the new Lord for her! Except for Hewg, Roderika.... and THE GUY HIMSELF:

I think he learned why she wanted the Elden Ring to be shattered! Three out of six endings we get are about mending the Elden Ring with the runes other Tarnished had the capacity to create, Radagon who directly contradicts Marika's will wanted to mend it... Marika did not actually want anyone to come and fix her garbage Order with their new Order, or course! She wanted everyone to "continue to struggle into eternity"!

I had that rant a month or two before SOTE dropped, that the way I saw her, when she realised what everything became, she figured how one corrupt order will only be replaced with another corrupt order! So why not to try to avoid the vicious cycle of endlessly changing orders that harm the world all the same by keeping the world in permanent chaos? There is SOME consistency in it, right? One problem forever is better than the deceit of fixing everything? I suppose that holds up still...?

^^^ So, I think this refers to Marika's wish, rather than to like... Gideon learning that you'd have to face That Fucking Thing (Elden Beast) to advance! "A Tarnished cannot become a Lord" is realisation about the lie of Marika's "consort"! Everyone believed, until this point, that Marika was very much alive but just imprisoned, and simply becoming new Elden Lord would make things "right" again! But... she wanted to die.

Because she IS Golden Order! We mend Elden Ring in three endings through her own shattered body holding it inside! Death of GO is her death and vice-versa!

She gave Melina her task and Hewg his knowing that she would not instantly die/kill but Elden Ring had a defence mechanism, and Hewg only confided in Roderika who likewise tells us to go kill Marika! They can't know in advance that she will remain in this not-dead-not-alive state. Marika expected that though, but maybe she hoped that someone someday will find the way?

Gideon now knows that pushing for becoming a Lord is "the end that should not be", but her wish to destroy the darn thing that equals her death, that also horrified him, can't be delivered as far as he knows. He knows what it was all about, but it is not like he can watch Ranni's ending lore on Youtube to know there IS a way hfdhfdshfd

Ranni is the only one who gets AT LEAST close to actually "killing god" as Marika dissolves into dust in her cutscene, but Ranni is also not mere human, so Gideon is still correct! You do become a Lord, but you do not rule alongside Marika like Godfrey and Radagon used to! A mere Tarnished can't kill god, but a mere Tarnished also can't fix god! So, all he can offer is "struggling for eternity". So Elden Ring, existing as the vision of the Greater Will whether it is present or absent, remains shattered, meaning that Greater Will at least has its effect on the Lands Between crippled. It is as close as "mere human" can get to what Marika actually wanted, and he respects that, even if the very concept horrified him!

Why not push for Lordship anyway? Again, he most likely also learned why Marika rebelled to begin with! He did not study his whole life only to miss the point of vicious corrupt thing better left not-perpetuated through deceit of good intentions when he sees one!

In conclusion, I think the world is still broken even if we mend Elden Ring, because Elden Ring is broken fundamentally. THAT one can't be mended *insert my fav 'ohhhh aren't you a philosopher!' reaction image*. Ranni's ending is the closest to initial Marika's wish as it yeets Elden Ring infinitely far away. Radagon liked the Golden Order of course, but he probably also liked living normally. xD

[honeybeefae]

Congratulations on 2k followers! We absolutely love you and what you write for us. We appreciate you and everything you do! For your ask spree, what if Lucien was appointed High Lord of Day Court but tradition states that to make it official he has to consummate the union with his Queen. And they’re mates or the reader is given to him and they’re both nervous and holding back but really want it. I don’t really know just drama and smut ensue 🔥

(I hope this is okay and it was so much fun to write and I wanted to write more but it was already nine pages long)

Royal Duties (Lucien Vanserra x Reader)

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, worries over abuse, SMUT, 18+, super sweet, loss of virginity?

All eyes were on you as you were presented before the new High Lord of the Day Court, Lucien Vanserra. He had just recently taken over after the death of his father and although he was able to pick up on things rather quickly, the fine print of his crown made him raise his eyebrows.

It was written that the next in line to be the High Lord must not only take a Lady but also consummate the marriage. This was to ensure that the line would not end and that the thrones never sat empty. Lucien could have his pick of any court member or even one of his subjects in the villages. It was all within his hands.

And he had picked you.

You did not know why and had spent the better half of last night and this morning trying to figure it out. He had chosen you out of a lineup of noblewomen in the court, not even sparing a glance at the others once his gaze fell on you.

As far as you knew, he didn’t even know your name. This complete stranger had turned your world upside down with a point of his finger and wave of his hand. You were still coming to terms with it as your ladies dressed you in the court’s colors, making sure not a hair was out of place as the veil was draped over your head.

“My Lady, you are a vision.” Yuri smiled as she fixed the train of your dress. “Our High Lord will be most pleased in your attire.”

“Most pleased indeed.” Savit agreed, finishing the final touches of kohl and powder. You gazed at your reflection and barely recognized the woman staring back at you. The one in the mirror was fierce and beautiful, a true Lady of the Day Court. But that wasn’t who you were.

“Is he…” You swallowed as your voice squeaked in nervousness. “Have you heard anything bad about him? Does he treat…people like us fairly?”

Savit caught onto your worries and ran a soothing hand down your arm. “He is a good man, my Lady. He will treat you well.”

The words gave you some comfort but it all disappeared when you heard a knock and saw the advisors waiting for you with pleasant smiles on their faces. You almost tripped over your own feet as you followed behind them, the grand doors to the ballroom waiting to open for you.

“Good luck my Lady.” They bowed slightly just as the doors opened, revealing a room full of your family, friends, and other people of the court. You stood there for a moment, too scared to move, until you looked up at the front of the room.

Lucien was standing there, a vision of his own as the white robe clung to his body like water. His hair was halfway tied up and his golden crown was atop his head, matching the color of his mechanical eye. He was staring at you, drinking you in just the same, and gave a small smile when your eyes finally connected with his.

Something in his aura told you it was going to be okay and so you took a deep breath, held your head high, and gracefully walked up the steps until you were facing him. Golden light filled the room as the priestess said her words, both of you tuning her out as he held your hands.

His thumb was stroking the back of your knuckles in comfort when she finally ended her prayer, looking at the two of you expectedly. Your eyebrows were knitted in confusion until Lucien gingerly dropped your hands and lifted the veil off your face to reveal yourself to him.

Your very breath was stolen from your lungs as he gave you a wider smile, turning to grab the crown on the pillow beside the priestess and placing it atop your head.

He pulled away and admired you as the entire room erupted in applause, your heartbeat drowning out everyone as Lucien bent down and gave you a simple kiss on your lips.

It made your mouth tingle as he pulled away and you had to resist the urge to touch your lips where he had just been. You could feel him watching you as you turned to the room and gave them a smile and a wave, both of your hands conjoined as you walked down the steps and back through the doors you came from.

After that you barely had time to converse with your new husband as you got introduced to everyone in court, all of them bowing and offering bountiful gifts of different sizes and shapes. A grand buffet was served almost immediately and you noticed it had some of your favorite foods along with Lucien’s.

You didn’t have much time to eat though because the music started up and the festivities went in full swing. People were dancing, drinking, and dining while you were being whisked all around the room so much that you thought you would get whiplash. 

The entire night was like a dream and you found yourself actually enjoying his company. He was funny and sarcastic, whispering jokes into your ear about certain members of the court as they approached you. You were pleased to notice that he seemed to enjoy you as well, the two of you conversing easily over many different subjects.

Everything was going great until you heard an advisor stand up, his glass raised, and shout, “To the marriage bed!”

It was luck that you hadn’t eaten much because as soon as those words registered in your head, you felt your stomach drop with nerves. Your mother and sisters had given you a brief explanation of what would happen tonight, telling you it was not very pleasurable but to grin and bear it for the new High Lord.

They had warned you of pain and bleeding but had made clear that you should not cry. You felt your hands go clammy as Lucien grew distant immediately, dropping your hand and frowning. Did he not want this? Were you not desirable?

“Off you go, we must hurry!” One of your ladies whispered into your ear, taking your arm and gently leading you to a side room. You turned to look for Lucien, uncertainty in your eyes as he watched them lead you out.

“I thought he would be taking me here, Yuri.” You mumble as you are brought into a grand bedroom with a four-poster bed. 

“He will meet you here later.” She assured you as she began to undo the ties of your gown. “We need to get you oiled and ready for him before then.”

“Does he not do all that?” Your voice was laced with confusion and concern as the dress fell off your body, leaving you in the lacy undergarments they had put you in earlier that day. Savit took the dress and laid it on a hook, shaking her head at your naivety. 

“No, my Lady, he-” She began only to jump in fear when she heard the door open up. All three of you turned and were shocked to see Lucien standing there, his lean frame resting against the doorframe.

“Leave us, please.” He ordered. Both Yuri and Savit stood immediately, bowing their heads and gathering their things quickly. You were near trembling when the door shut behind them. It was the first time you had been alone with him.

“Do you, um, I just,” You were fumbling over your words as you wrapped your arms around your body. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“I won’t touch you if you do not want to be touched,” Lucien assured, walking towards you in two long strides. “I do not want to force you to do anything of that sort, though I realize the irony of that statement given our quick marriage.”

The corners of your lips turned up in a smile. “It’s not that. My mother told me what would happen tonight.”

“Do you not know yourself?” His voice had dropped an octave, realization dawning on him. “Have you not been with any man? Or woman?”

Embarrassment made your cheeks heat up as you shook your head once, fiddling with a stray string on your panties. “No. I haven’t. Does that displease you?”

“Displease me?” Lucien chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Displease me? What about you? Mother above, I picked you because you seemed smart and capable and beautiful, I just assumed you had lovers before…and for this to be your first time?”

He began to pace around the room as if he were battling with his inner morals. You felt guilty for making him upset or whatever emotion he was currently experiencing. You let out a breath and reached out for his arm, stopping him midstep. Lucien’s eyes instantly fell on your body, his skin turning warm from arousal at the sight of you.

“I will be fine, Lucien. I promise.” You gave his arm a tiny squeeze. “Shall we get on with it?”

You didn’t wait for him to confirm, too afraid you were going to lose your nerves, as you climbed atop the bed and laid on your back. According to your mother, this was the position that would hurt the least. Lucien watched you with amusement as you situated yourself between the pillows, noticing the slight shakiness of your hands.

It wasn’t until you began to pull down your underwear that he stopped you, following you up the bed and gently grabbing your wrists. “You look absolutely silly, Y/N.”

“I’m not trying to look silly.” You huffed in frustration. “My mother told me this is how it is done. I lay here, you do something down there and I just look up at the ceiling. Simple as that.”

“Cauldron save me…” Lucien mumbled under his breath. “I’m sure that some people do it that way but this is supposed to be pleasurable for the both of us.”

“That’s not what I was told.” You purse your lips, rising up on your elbows. “Are those men still coming to watch?”

His frown returned as he rolled his eyes, the mechanical one whirring. “Unfortunately but these curtains will be drawn so they will not see you or I. I want you to feel as comfortable as you can tonight.”

“Really?” You ask with a raise of your brow, smiling as he gave you a sincere nod. “Well, if you truly mean what you say, could you, um, show or maybe tell me what it’s supposed to be like? I was told there will be pain and if I am being truthful, I do not deal with pain that well.”

The air between the two of you seemed to shift as his gaze darkened. “I have no problem showing you what your body and mine can do, but I need your consent first. This should not be out of force of duty.”

“Consent to what, exactly?” You breathed as he hungrily drank in your body once more. 

“To touch you, Y/N,” He replied huskily, raising a hand and skimming his knuckle down your arm. Goosebumps followed in his wake and you felt small tingles of excitement going down your spine. “To taste you, to make love to you…”

“Do I have your permission?” 

“Yes.” 

Your reply was instantaneous as was the kiss that followed. He tipped your chin so you were looking up at him, his body hovering over yours as his lips pressed against you. It felt like fireworks this time instead of tingles, the kiss was deeper and longer than before.

He tasted like sunlight and cinnamon, an intoxicating combination that made you crave more. When he tried to pull away you surprised yourself and him by throwing your arms around his neck, bringing him back to you.

“I didn’t know you would be so eager.” Lucien teased as he nipped at your bottom lip. Your thighs pressed together in need as he trailed his lips from your mouth to your ear. “However, I must say it is a good look on you.”

“Please, Lucien.” You panted, not even sure what you were truly asking for. It was like your body was on fire and his lips were the only thing that could put it out. 

“What do you need, my lady?” He asked you, appearing in your field of vision once more. “What do you want me to show you?”

“Everything, just, please! Please touch me!” You whined. 

One of his hands trailed down your neck, his fingertips ghosting over your skin until he brushed against one of your clothed nipples. It made you suck in a breath when he pulled on it, testing your reaction.

Lucien’s pupils were blown wide as he had you raise up and remove your bra. You threw it somewhere to the side, your body buzzing with excitement as he licked his lips at the sight of your bare breasts.

“You are gorgeous…” He hummed as he took both of them into his hands, squeezing the flesh while watching you bite your lip in need. Slowly, with his eyes focused on you, he took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked. You couldn’t hold back the moan in your throat at his action, your eyes closing as he lavished you with attention.

“Feels so good.” You praised, fists clenching the sheets as he moved to the other one. The panties you were wearing were wet with your arousal, something that had only happened to you during your dreams, and the lacy material kept rubbing against you in a way that was making you wild.

You hadn’t even noticed you were grinding your hips until Lucien placed a firm hand on your stomach, holding you still. 

“What are you doing down here, princess?” He asked you, his voice teasing. The nickname was unexpected but it made your stomach fill with butterflies. 

“I…I don’t know.” You looked away, ashamed, while closing your legs tightly. “It just felt good.”

His hands came up and pried your thighs apart, admiring the way your cunt glistened in the candlelight of the room. Lucien’s chest rumbled with satisfaction as you allowed him to touch you, his jaw clenching at just how soaked you truly were.

“I’m gonna show you how good you can feel, Y/N.” He growled, peeling your panties off and stuffing them into his robe pocket for later. You tensed, watching him with uncertainty until the first swipe of his tongue had you melting into the bed.

“Oh, Lucien…” You sighed, the feeling foreign but good. He wrapped both of his arms under your thighs and held them apart so he could feast on you, his tongue darting in and out of your hole before coming back up to your clit.

When he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue you almost jumped in surprise. You heard a small chuckle from him as he repeated the action but this time, this time you moaned loudly. 

“Right there, please.” You pleaded, your face flushed with desire and embarrassment. Logically you should be horrified that he would be anywhere near your sex. It was something you had thought was taboo, or at least had been told, but this pleasure he was giving you made it go out the window. You were on a euphoric high.

As he continued you felt something building up inside you. You started to squirm, wriggling your hips and even humping his face which he did not seem to mind at all. The pressure kept building and building and when you tried to pull away to explain, his hands roughly grabbed your ass and kept you still.

“Wait, Lucien, I feel like-” You tried to get out but then he started to suck on your clit, humming softly, and your entire body suddenly seized in pleasure. 

“Oh, oh!” You cried out, your core clenching as your hips rose high in the air as Lucien continued to eat you out. He drank every drop of your cum as you rode his face, your head thrown back in the pillows.

It was what you imagined heaven to feel like as he slowed down his licks, pulling away to gaze at you. Your hair was a mess, cheeks pink, eyes wide, and your mouth smiling as you stared up at the ceiling. 

“Are you okay?” He asked you, smiling when you rose up to look at him. 

“Can we do that again?”

[kit-williams]

Heartless Madness

The title is based off of a really cool powermetal song. I'm probably going to try and name most if not all after a powermetal song tbh.

tw: Yandere? (Might need a follow up fic), aftermath of rape, aftermath of torture, the Drukhari are here so yeah

This was a hard darling to come up with... as while I love Iron Warriors she had to be the right balance of interesting enough and made of tough stuff and also to be easily mailable/moldable. I might eventually do a "least yandere" poll and see who wins and either reworks that boy or just gives them a chapter serf darling. I'm doing civilian darlings because 1) More fun 2) more terrifying

Harram the Wallbreaker let his heavy lumbering steps kick up the dust on the cracked and torn pavement. They had replied to a distressed signal from this agriworld and the warband needed another world like this to keep the war machine going. In the midst of a Drukhari attack. The night was cold and quiet... till he watched a number of humans turn their heads to the East. "What is it." His voice rumbles out of his terminator armor.

"This is the second night we've heard a baby cry. We think it might be a Drukhari trap as all that has been observed over there were unfortunate victims dying." A man said.

Harram huffed out causing a billow of steam to leave at the same time of his huff making his armor look far more alive then it was. "Has anyone checked?"

"No my lord."

He turned to the East and began the slow march. If there was an ambush waiting to happen Harram was certain he could handle it and if there was a baby there still alive then perhaps they were made of sterner stuff... like iron.

He walked past naked bodies chained to the ground in various states of decomposition. All of them chained to the ground with some xenos looking bear trap like contraption. He turned the sensitivity of the audials up and he could hear the faint crying. How it would pause then start up again.

He stopped in the mist as the crying soon turned to laughter and he pushed his armor's capabilities to the limit. "Shh Ferum... no more tears... I know you're hungry... mommy has nothing left to give." He could hear her weak hums as he slowly walked closer.

He sees her on the thermals first and scrolls through all of the different settings to get the full picture as he walks closer. He can see maggots in the lashes across her back, one leg encased fully in the xenos torture device, blood and a high degree likelihood of xenos sperm paints her inner thighs, he can tell starvation and dehydration are setting in for her, and he can tell her hair was recently cut in such a jagged motion. Harram suspects for a trophy or for other things worse should she have been found... entertaining enough for the xenos.

"Has the Emperor answered my prayers?" She speaks so softly as he watches her weakly turn her head. She ends up just rolling over, her watches her eyes close in pain as large grey eyes look at him with a tiny fist jammed into a small mouth. Ugly brusing paints her face, bite marks littering her breasts, less cuts on the front just far more bruising.

"No. He did not send me." Harram replies walking closer.

"You are one of his angels." She sighs in relief.

"I am not. I am something far worse." He tilts his head slightly thinking, "I am a devil... a fallen angel." He chuckles more to himself at his poetic nature.

"Still an angel." He sees her bloody smile. But he can see a look in her eyes ones of grim acceptance, "Have you come to save me? Or just take my baby?"

"Originally just for the baby." He notes the sad smile on her face as her eyes water and she just nods slowly petting his head. "But... I can take you too. What you will return to is not going to be the same."

"I've been changed by this... as long as whatever I return to is better than being raped by xenos I'll say that's an improvement." She bitterly laughs letting her tears fall. He watches the infant try to breastfeed once more. The exhaustion as Harram realizes the baby looks fed and hardly any exposure.

"I am going to contact my brothers to see how to remove this without removing your leg." He says watching her nod.

"Thank you dearest angel..."

Harram just sighed and talked with his brothers as he started to pull the pins in their specific order. He ignored the younger warrior's persistant asking of why he was even doing this. The child was more than healthy enough, simply take them and put the mother out of her misery... even if you ignored that they brought up the points of she would be in recovery for so long. Perhaps that was why Harram followed Endion he was considered sentimental amongst the Iron Warriors and left to start his own warband.

They all did not fit their genesires ideal vision of iron... but they were still of iron! He pulled a pin out to quickly earning a whimper from her throat as tears flowed from her eyes. "Please... I do not wish to be trouble."

"Do not speak mortal. I could have killed you if I did not wish to deal with this burden."

Esteemed terminator Harram. We have movement a few clicks north of you. It's the xenos!

Harram lifted his head as he heard her whimpers as she could hear the near silent thrum of their crafts. He pulled a decorative pelt from his shoulder off and covered her up with it. "Stay there. Do not move at all lest I crush you." He watched her pull her son to her chest and do her best to keep the infant safe with only her body to protect them. The pelt was to simply keep her out of the view of the xenos. "You will probably lose HEARING." He roared the only warning before the twinlinked bolter started throwing the explosive rounds down wind.

His leg joints locked in place, so he would be less likely to crush her and the babe. "Brother's I have started to engage."

"Are you being soft again, Harram?" He could hear Endion's warm voice suddenly connect to the vox channel.

He watched rounds connect with one of the small crafts as it was just a handful of the quick xenos. "No brother I am being like Iron!"

"What have you found then?"

"IRON!" The large chain sword slams down being lucky enough to catch one of them trying to run past and slice at his joints. He couldn't hear the infant screaming over the scream of the chains. He couldn't hear her broken sobs of begging to be killed then be hurt by them again. Harram was focused on the combat. "I have found Iron! I refuse to let them RUST!"

Harram has to unlock his legs to turn around and charge the cocky xeno. But his swings were too slow as the xeno was slowly peeling away sheets of ceramite. Not once during this exchange he thought that this was a tactical error... other brothers would see this as an error but then again they would also be as stubborn as he would be to claim the iron.

It screeched as he saw his Orichalcum, he questions not when he saw her as his, sitting up having thrown one of the knife like pins into it. The tired weak smile on her face is replaced by terror as she rolls to shield her child as it charges but that was enough time for him to slam into the xeno and start crushing it.

When he was done he turned to her watching her writhe on the ground as blood oozed out as in it's dying moment it must have activated the contraption. She looks up at him in pure pain as he pulls out his knife and watches it heat up. "Pray that you are made of Iron."

She bitterly barks, "I was an Iron worker!" She half screams, "I'm half metal shavings at this point!" She shrieks as he doesn't give her much time to think as he just removes the whole leg.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Iron was apart of her. His Orichalcum. And her son Ferum. He learned quite a bit about her during her recovery. She was an Ironworker and so was her dead husband. She had lost him before Ferum was born... meaning that Harram could focus his attentions upon her without any meddlers.

Endion had teased him about his fondness... but it had been so long since he found anyone he could call iron. Though Endion was hardly one to complain as Harram would find him stealing Ferum away and of course teased the warlord of entering his "nesting" phase again. To which he threatened to take his Orichalcum away... and Harram could only silently stew as he would not risk losing her to a far more... charming one of his bretherin.

"Oh hello Harri-ham." She said in a cutesy voice as she was busy feeding Ferum some baby food. "Sorry I was talking with him." She just say softly. Harram just huffed softly. "Hey Harram... I want to deeply thank you for saving my life and that of Ferum. I don't know how to repay you."

"You have no need to repay me."

"Well I was thinking that I should be good to go back home soon." She hardly noticed Harram stop in his actions of getting his own food before he turned around with a bowl in hand just shoveling some food into his mouth. "I don't want to be a burden on you any more than I already have."

"What of your nightmares?"

"I'm a big girl Harram I'll have to sleep alone eventually." She chuckles as whenever he has been in the room at night she ends up usually in his bed or asleep on the plush chair in his work room just afraid to be alone... or when the night terrors come back how he grounds her. And perhaps he had grown content with the small warmth in his bed... he had never understood while Endion would bring mortals to his bed.

Not till he had her under him begging for him to fuck the xenos touch away... to replace the repulsive feelings... to help her feel clean again. "What if I don't want you to go." Harram said a little darkly just watching her blink and look at him owlishly.

"I... I..."

"Just stay for a little while longer... I can help you get things ready for you to return to, yes?"

"Oh... alright." She says softly smiling at him not realizing that the simple goalpost of 'being ready enough to leave' would keep moving further and further... and he doubts she will complain... too much.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Hear my pleas

This one’s different from my usual fics and set in an alternative universe where all the worst-case scenario outcomes had happened (set post BG3):

Astarion has ascended, his vampire spawn lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, is dead, Gale reached godhood, Shadowheart was killed by her Sharran kin, Karlach's beheaded for the sword of Tyr, Wyll and Halsin are dead along with the tieflings and the grove, Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain.

Astarion's lonely and tired. He has no one. Thus, in his desperation, he builds an altar for the God of Ambition and prays to him despite not expecting an answer. – His prayers are heard though.

Astarion x Gale

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, angst, anilingus, anal sex, nonconsensual blood drinking, blood, biting, cum-eating, choking, dom/sub power dynamic, derogatory language, dubious consent, fellatio, face-fucking, violence, vomiting, spanking, sprinkle of praise kink, these men have trauma, character study, emotional rollercoaster, happy ending (I wouldn't stand it otherwise), unnamed Tav, they/them pronounce for Tav, original character, OC, post-canon)

Notes:

I finally forced myself to play the Dark Urge and to choose all the worst options 'for fun'. It wasn't fun. It hurt. Badly. Now, you all gonna suffer with me for a bit.

Also, just so that it's said: I do NOT support romanticising and/or defending violent behaviours, especially when it comes to sex!

In this fic, Astarion and Gale both know that what's happening is wrong.

The Netherbrain was defeated, but at what cost?

The Emerald Grove was dead and with it dozens of tieflings and druids, as well as Halsin the Archdruid and Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers. They had exchanged Zariel's attack dog, Karlach, for a sword blessed by Tyr – which hadn't been worth it at all. Shadowheart had been killed by her Sharran kin because of a betrayal the cleric couldn't even remember. Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain, both of them fighting 'till the end. Gale had become the God of Ambition, now dwelling in the Outer Planes. Astarion had finished Cazador's Infernal ritual and had ascended to an all-powerful vampire lord. He had turned his lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, into his first and only vampire spawn, granting them one single drop of his own blood to make them his spouse.

Everything had been perfect until Withers had gathered the three remaining members of the heroic group for a night of celebration. There, Tav had lost themself completely, giving themself over to Bhaal instead of Astarion, and attacked their lover, Gale, and Withers. The God of Ambition had killed them, incinerated them to a heap of ash, and the vampire lord had wept for the loss of his first true love.

Seven years had passed since then, but Astarion still couldn't find any joy in his immortal life. With his mad love dead, Astarion was alone again and once more at the brink of forgetting how to love. The Szarr palace had never felt like home and it still didn't, but Astarion had nowhere else to go. He hated the place, hated the servants who only bent to all his wishes because they hoped to be turned into spawns and gifted with immortality. He hated to host parties for the nobles, politicians, and other people in power because it forced him to put his mask back on and slip into a character that wasn't fully true to himself. He hated to be pleasant company and to show interest in people and things he didn't care about the slightest to secure his place in the city. He hated his life, his existence, and the worst of it all; he had to face it all by himself. Once again, Astarion was alone to survive the hells of eternity.

It was a breezy spring morning and Astarion decided to go for a stroll through the bustling city. His mindless wandering led him to the tabernacle near Basilisk Gate. He entered it, not knowing why he did so exactly, and came face to face with the statue of the God of Ambition. With a blank mind, Astarion stared at it, taking it all in. The long hair, the knowing eyes, the warm smile, the flowy robes. Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, the God of Ambition. No deity had ever answered Astarion's prayers in the two hundred years of torture under Cazador. No deity had ever deemed the high elf turned vampire spawn worthy of their attention or their help. Astarion despised them for it. Would Gale answer to his prayers, he suddenly wondered. Would the God of Ambition, his former tadpole-infected companion, listen to his pleas?

"Start praying or get out," one of the clerics told him angrily - and Astarion laughed maniacally.

The huge marble statue dominated the room, chiselled by the most talented artist of Baldur's Gate. On its round base, purple candles, sweet buns, a couple of books, and a silver chalice with high-quality red wine were placed. Only one last thing was missing.

At the reunion party, Astarion had noticed how much Tara had detested Gale all of a sudden, hissing at him whenever he'd gotten too close to her. Gale had seemed utterly crushed about it. Thus, Astarion had planned to summon a tressym for Gale to lure the God of Ambition to him – or so he told himself.

The vampire lord checked his ritual again. The runes and the circle were right, the candles placed around it, the incantation was in his hand and its pronunciation perfected over the last two months. The potion that allowed him to understand tressym speak had already settled in his stomach. Astarion remembered what Gale had told Tav when he'd showed them how to access the Weave (no, Astarion hadn't been eavesdropping. He'd just been nearby accidentally). He hoped his plan worked.

Astarion lit the candles, tried his best to connect to the Weave, and uttered the spell. The runes started glowing and a breeze wafted through the room.

Please work, the vampire pleaded and repeated the ancient words that sounded foreign even to his old elven ears. Suddenly, a ball of fur popped into existence, dropping right into Astarion's arms.

"Oof, apologies. I'm usually much more graceful," spoke the tressym with a feminine, warm, young-sounding voice.

The vampire laughed and hugged the creature tightly. He'd done it. It had worked! The tressym let out a sound of distress and he finally gave her space to breathe again.

"Apologies, I'm just very excited. I wasn't sure if the ritual would work. I'm not too well-versed in higher magic, you see. My name's Astarion, by the way, and who have I the pleasure to meet?"

The tressym looked up at him and the vampire was met with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The long, fluffy coat was snow-white and her nose adorably pastel pink. She was stunningly beautiful.

"I'm Kalina. Nice to meet you Astarion. Why did you summon me? Forgive my question, but I'm still young and was never called upon before."

"Oh... well, you see, I –" Astarion paused, suddenly embarrassed and unsure how to phrase his request. The tressym awaited his answer patiently. He sighed deeply. "Look, there are two reasons why I summoned you. Firstly, I'm a vampire lord and I have no desire to create any spawns. I'm alone in this palace and have no one to share it with and I crave intelligent conversations. Secondly, I have - had a friend who was a talented wizard. He lived with a tressym that he adored, but then, he ascended to godhood and his tressym started to hate him for it. Gale seemed sad about it and I.... well, we both are lonely, I suppose. I'll try to call for him, pray to him to meet me once again, and I thought he might be persuade if... you know, if I had someone like you by my side to sweeten the deal a bit."

Astarion hated how he stumbled over his words like a bumbling amateur, but Kalina didn't seem to mind.

"I understand," she snickered amused. "You need me to wrap him around your little finger. To lure your lover back."

"He's not my –"

"Mhm." The tressym smirked as much as a cat can smirked and hopped onto the stone floor. "How about you offer me a nice meal, hm? I'm your guest after all."

At that, Astarion snorted an amused laugh, but guided Kalina towards the staff's kitchen in which he'd already stored a bunch of tressym-friendly food. Just in case.

Kalina decided to stay for a while and help him with his plan to get Gale down to the mortal realms. She turned out to be excellent company and Astarion started to understand why Gale had loved his 'dear old' Tara so much.

Finally, it was time. Astarion kneeled in front of Gale's statue, folded his hands, and closed his eyes reverently.

"Uhm, hello Gale, God of Ambition. It's me, your old friend Astarion. You're probably wondering why I'm praying to you. Funny story actually... If you could spare a moment, I'd like to talk to you after all these years. I'm... well... I'd like to see you again. – Please."

Astarion huffed, irritated about laying his heart bare. He hated it. He opened his eyes and stood up. His prayers were neither heard nor answered, and if they were heard, they were masterfully ignored. Bloody typical. Astarion couldn't prevent an angry snarl forming on his face. With another huff he turned around, stomping towards the door.

"Hello Astarion."

The addressed froze dead in his step, then, he whirled around with a gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. Behind him stood the God of Ambition. His skin shimmering silvery blue, wrapped in a dark purple toga. His eyes glowing with white light. He looked exactly as Astarion remembered him, not having aged a single day.

"Gale," the latter croaked out. He wanted to rush across the room and hug the other man, but his pride stopped him from doing so. Astarion didn't want to seem desperate, weak, and pathetic. Thankfully, Gale acted instead, embracing the vampire warmly. The latter was barely able to keep from sobbing.

"You came," he whispered. "You answered my prayer."

"Of course." The God of Ambition smiled. "It's an honour to be remembered by an old friend who went through the same horrors as I did."

"There's no one else left," Astarion spoke, close to tears. "We're the last ones standing."

Gale sighed, looking sad.

"I'm aware," he nodded. Then he turned around to look at the altar Astarion had made for him. "Impressive. And put up in your home... that's – I'm speechless, really."

Astarion snorted, replying: "I don't think it's possible for you to ever be speechless."

Gale chuckled at that and tasted some of the wine that served as an offering.

"Mmh, what a lovely vintage. Velvety, with a hint of blackberries. Wonderful choice."

The vampire preened. To him, all drinks tasted like vinegar and all foods like ash, thus, he was happy he'd picked the right wine.

"I got something else for you. Well, not something you can own, but... Kalina?"

"Yes?" purred the tressym, slinking through the door.

"Oh!"

Gale's eyes went wide in delight and surprise, a huge smile spreading over his face. Kalina looked at him.

"Ah, the God of Ambition has heard your pleas, I see," she spoke, the amusement audible in her voice. She moved closer to him. "Gale, wasn't it?"

"A tressym," the addressed breathed, ignoring the creature's question. "Oh, and what a beautiful specimen."

He bent down to sweep Kalina off the floor, cradling her close to his chest. She purred happily and rubbed her head against his shoulder.

"Your friend's delightful," said the tressym. "He knows exactly how to scratch my chin just right. You could learn something from him."

Astarion laughed.

"You cheeky thing!"

"Huh?" Gale looked at him confused and seemed flustered. Only now, the vampire realised that the other man thought he'd addressed him. Frowning, he asked: "I used a potion to understand Kalina. I thought you're well-versed in tressym speak."

"Uhm, no," muttered Gale, lowering his gaze. "I enchanted Tara's collar to give her the ability to be understood by everyone. I don't speak tressym."

"Oh..." Astarion was dumbstruck. He hadn't known and had just assumed. "Well, she says she likes you and you have talented hands, darling."

He winked suggestively at the last sentence and swore he could see Gale blush despite his silvery skin. The latter cleared his throat and asked: "Why did you call for me, Astarion?"

"Am I not allowed to wish to speak to an old friend?"

"Of course you are. It's just... unusual. I didn't expect you to call for me. We got along fine, but you never seemed that fond of me. If I remember correctly, you called me annoying at every occasion."

"Tsk, tsk, Astarion," tut-tutted Kalina and the addressed started fidgeting.

"I just -" Words were lost on him. It was so difficult to say the truth. Gale looked at him. Those intelligent eyes boring themselves into Astarion's ruby-red ones and straight down into his soul.

"You're lonely," the God of Ambition stated matter-of-factly.

"So are you," Astarion snapped back, angry that Gale saw right through his façade. "Don't tell me there are parties up there in the Astral Planes? Or did you reunite with your beloved Mystra? Fucking her again, now, that you're finally deemed her equal?"

Gale narrowed his eyes, the air around him suddenly crackled with purple magic. Kalina hissed in surprise and a flare of fear, jumping out of his arms and fleeing the room.

"You're just trying to rile me up because you're mad I struck a nerve," the God of Ambition spoke calmly. Of course, he was right and gods, did Astarion despise it. The latter bristle, putting up his defences.

"Why?" growled the vampire.

"Why what?"

"Why did you answer my prayers?"

"Because it's my duty."

"Ha! Fuck off!" Astarion cackled uglily. "There's not a single god that answers their devotees' prayers! Don't be ridiculous, Gale."

The addressed frowned, his mouth a thin line, visibly miffed.

"Would you prefer it if I say that I came because you deserve to be heard?" he asked then.

Astarion glared at him, his ruby-red eyes full of fiery rage. Baring his fangs, he roared: "Don't you dare! Don't you dare pitying me!"

"I'm not."

"Of course, you are! You always thought you're above me, above everyone else, because you were Mystra's Chosen! You were always haughty, but now that you've reached godhood, you're so much worse! You scolded me for being power-hungry and for ascending, but you did the exact same thing, Gale Dekarios!"

The addressed inhaled sharply, the air around him crackled again. The electricity of the magic made Astarion's hair stand on end.

"Vampire ascension changes a person," Gale replied. "It kills all your feelings. Your soul. You're not yourself anymore, Astarion."

"You know nothing about me!" roared the vampire lord. "I'm no longer a pathetic, scared spawn. I'm finally strong enough to force anyone to their knees and ensure my safety. I no longer have to run and hide."

"But at what cost? Your siblings and seven thousand innocent victims are dead. And so is Tav."

"Don't speak their name! You have no right! They were mine and you kill them!"

"They were a Bhaalspawn, Astarion. They attacked us at the reunion party. I had to save us."

Astarion screamed. His bat wings split the skin and shirt on his back and unfurled to their full glory. Usually, he had himself under control, but apparently not today.

"They were mine! They were my perfect vampire spawn spouse. Mine, forever!" Astarion heaved a breath he technically didn't need to breathe. He felt dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden. With another scream, he collapsed onto the floor. "They were my mad love."

"Astarion..." Gale moved closer, kneeled down beside him and pulled him into an embrace. The vampire sobbed, not remembering when he'd started to cry.

"I'm sorry," whispered the God of Ambition and kissed Astarion's temple.

The latter went very still under him. They had never really touched each other before today and the quick, mindless kiss was definitely unexpected. Something bitter and ugly coiled in Astarion's stomach at the gentle affection he received. He wanted to hurt Gale, to punish him for what he'd done to him and to his beloved spawn.

"I should kill you," Astarion growled viciously. "I should make you pay for what you’ve done."

"Then do it."

The words made the vampire's thoughts come to a screeching halt and he stared up at Gale.

"What?" he whispered.

"Punish me, Astarion."

"No, that was just –"

"Do it. Make me pay for killing Tav. For berating you for your choices. For not being able to save the grove from Tav's bloodlust. For not being able to save Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Minthara. If you believe I deserve it, then, punish me for failing you and everyone else."

Gale's words stoke the fire of hatred in Astarion again. He felt violent and the wish to hurt the other man grew with every second. The vampire gave in to his urges and grabbed a handful of Gale's hair, yanking his head back painfully, gleeful to see the other man wince.

"You'll regret your words soon enough," sneered Astarion. "You'll wish you haven't left your cosy little spot in the Divine Planes."

He saw Gale swallow thickly, eyes big and nervous, and felt a sick kind of satisfaction. Astarion tugged on the other man's hair again, ordering: "Stay where you are. Don't you dare move."

The vampire stood up and retracted his wings, sneering down at Gale.

"You're exactly where you belong; on your knees. Soon, you'll beg for mercy. – Now, take your clothes off."

The addressed squirmed, but snapped his fingers and his clothes disappeared. Grinning, Astarion traced the branding of the Netherese Orb on Gale's chest with his fingers. The dangerous fracture of ancient Weave was still stuck there, emitting a subtle purple light under the vampire's pale fingers. Now though, with Karsus' Crown and Gale's godhood status, the Orb was permanently stabilised and had become a part of Gale, just like the rest of the ancient magic.

Astarion dug his fingers deep into the silvery blue skin, feeling its warmth and the chest hair. Gale grimaced and hissed at the pain. The vampire revelled in it.

"Look at you," he mocked. "At my feet. What would the other gods say if they knew, eh?"

"I don't care," answered Gale, and strangely enough Astarion believed him.

Suddenly, the vampire smacked him across the cheek with an open palm. The God of Ambition gasped, looking up at him. Shock and surprise written all over his face. Astarion laughed and hit his other side. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed loudly through the room.

"That's not enough," Astarion voiced his sick thoughts. "You need real punishment."

With that, he took a step back to open his belt and free it from his trousers. Gale's eyes widen in realisation. Astarion sneered. He was ill in the head and he knew it. Still, he ordered: "Get up, hold onto the base of your statue, and bend over."

The addressed trembled slightly when he obeyed and hid his face behind his hair as he lowered his head between his shoulders. Astarion stalked closer, sliding his fingers along the leather belt.

"Good," he praised and Gale shuddered slightly.

Interesting... The vampire cracked the belt over Gale's right butt cheek with force, revelling in the sharp cry of pain he coaxed out of the other man.

"Yes. Sing for me, pet."

Another hit, another cry. Astarion grinned, lost in a mixture of rage, arousal, and sick fantasies. Drunk on power. He landed another two blows on each butt cheek before he stopped. Gale was panting elaborately now, arms and legs shaking slightly. Astarion leant forwards and licked up a rivulet of black blood that welled from where Gale's skin had broken. The vampire made a face at the taste. It didn't reek of bile anymore like it had before, but there was something sharp and acrid about Gale's blood.

"You still taste disgusting."

At that, the God of Ambition chuckled lightly.

"Apologies. My body contains even more Netherese magic than before, thus, I'm sure it –"

Gale's reply ended in a yell when Astarion racked his sharp fingernails down his back, leaving bloody trails behind.

"You're still talking too much," the vampire said coldly. "I guess it needs more drastic measures to shut you up."

Astarion pushed Gale back down on his knees again and forced his jaw open with one hand, pressing his thumb into his mouth to pry it open. With the other hand, he freed his dick from his trousers skilfully. Gale's eyes widened in fear, but Astarion couldn't hear his pulse quickening. Actually, he couldn't hear a heartbeat at all.

Right. Gale's a god now. Immortal like me, the vampire realised, slightly bitter about it.

"What? Never sucked a cock before?" he taunted, releasing his grip on Gale's jaw to let him speak.

"Mystra liked to change her form sometimes. Thus, I know how to –"

"Don't speak that bitch's name ever again!" spat Astarion, riled up. "That bitch doesn't deserve to be worshipped nor anything else! Least your attention. She's the reason for your folly."

Surprised, the God of Ambition looked up at him. Oh, how Astarion wished the other's eyes were still as brown and expressive as they’d been before his ascension to godhood.

"I – Apologies. I didn't know it would upset you so much, but you've asked if I had any exp-"

"Shut up and suck me off, pet," Astarion interrupted him harshly, grabbed Gale's jaw again, and shoved his member into the other man's mouth and down his throat. The latter made a choking noise.

"Don't be dramatic. You don't need to breathe anymore," Astarion taunted and the addressed glared up at him. An ugly grin split the vampire's face. "How does it feel, God of Ambition? On your knees and used like a toy by a mere vampire lord. Where are your godly powers now?"

At that, Gale slightly bit down on Astarion's cock as a warning. The latter gripped the god's hair tighter, hissing: "Don't you dare."

To Astarion's surprise, Gale obeyed and his jaw went slack again, letting himself be face-fucked by the vampire who moaned blissfully. Astarion's eyes rolled back in his head as he pushed as deep as he could and spilled down Gale's throat.

"That's it, darling," he groaned. "Take it."

And the God of Ambition moaned as he swallowed the vampire lord's cold seeds. Astarion bit his lip to hold back a whimper. It felt so good. So loving.

He'd tried to find joy in sex again ever since Tav had been killed, but nothing and no one excited him anymore. Everything felt fake and wrong. Either because Astarion forced himself to enjoy it, or because whoever joined him in bed only did so because they were terrified of him or wanted something from him.

It didn't feel fake or wrong now. The only thing that felt wrong was forcing Gale to go along with what he wanted, but Astarion didn't particularly care about that right now. He still panted as he stared at the ceiling of the Szarr palace. The place that once had been his prison, had become his unwelcoming, cold home. Astarion hated it. He blinked slowly before looking down at Gale. A genuine soft smile appeared on the vampire's beautiful face.

"So good for me," he praised and couldn't keep himself from gently running his fingers through Gale's hair. "You can release me now."

That he did. Gasping for air and coughing, Gale looked positively wrecked and Astarion felt smug and almost satisfied, but when the God of Ambition initiated to stand up, the vampire spoke sharply: "I'm not done with you, pet."

The addressed froze.

"Astarion, I think that's quite enough. You had your revenge."

"I decide when it's enough! As I said, I'm not done with you, God of Ambition!"

In a sudden outburst of anger, Astarion backhanded him across the face, sending Gale onto the floor again. Sneering, Astarion placed a foot on the other man's chest and pushed him backwards onto the cold marble floor.

"You took everything from me," growled the vampire lord.

At that, Gale bristled.

"That's not true! You did this to yourself, Astarion! I warned you. I warned you that the ritual would change you and it had. It took away all of your humanity."

"Humanity?!" roared Astarion and cackled. "I'm an elf! I never had any humanity in me in the first place!"

"You know what I mean! Look how cold you're acting now. No more empathy. No more feelings. No more heart. No more love."

Snarling, Astarion bent over Gale, bringing their faces so close together that they felt each other's breaths on their skins when they spoke.

"My heart stopped beating over two hundred years ago when I was turned into a spawn. My heart's long dead – and so is yours now."

Astarion grabbed the other man's thighs and pushed them upwards, purring: "You better use that grease spell on your rear or I'll take you dry."

Gale's shocked, almost terrified, expression wasn't as satisfying as the vampire lord had hoped for.

"Astarion... please..."

"Any time now, Gale!" the addressed snarled, baring his fangs.

The God of Ambition looked hurt now, and even though he was trembling in fear, he muttered the spell.

"What an obedient pet," praised Astarion and pushed all the way into him until he bottomed out.

Gale screamed hoarsely, tears running down his face as he dug his nails into the vampire's shoulders. The latter set a violent pace, revelling in the other man's cries, and started to choke him just for fun. Gale wheezed, gasping for air. He obviously didn't need to breathe anymore, but his brain apparently hadn't gotten the memo yet.

"Astarion... please..." the God of Ambition begged, gulping in ragged breaths and the addressed squeezed his neck just a little tighter for a second to taunt him before releasing him. Gale's eyes rolled for a second as he gulped in lungful’s of air in a panic.

"We're not so different, you and I," sneered Astarion. "We both ascended, became something far more powerful than others could ever dream of. We're both immortals and can inflict terror in anyone. You're as power-hungry and greedy as me, Gale."

"If I... if I could turn back time," the addressed sobbed. "I'd stop you from ascending and I'd return the crown to Mystra. We both lost our humanity, our hearts, and ourselves. We sought power to prove ourselves, but we lost everything dear to us in the process. Now, there's only loneliness for us."

"Shut up!" yelled Astarion and buried his fangs in Gale's neck. His blood was vile and insulting, but also held power, so much power. Pure magic. The vampire wondered briefly if he'd become even more powerful if he'd drain the other man dry, or if the Netherese magic would kill him instead. He didn't care either way.

Gale choked on a sob, but continued talking.

"I'm sorry I failed to save us. I'm sorry I couldn't save you from yourself. I regret it. Forgive me... please."

His body went limp under Astarion, his hands losing their grip on the vampire's shoulders. Almost panicked, the latter, stopped drinking from him to stare at the other man instead. Astarion grabbed Gale's face with both hands, slightly shaking him.

"Don't die! You're a God, you can't die! Don't you dare leave me alone!"

Groaning, the God of Ambition opened his eyes.

" 'm not dying. Just... tired... can't...."

Suddenly, Astarion felt vile and it finally hit him what he'd done. He let go of Gale as if the touch had burned him and slipped his softening dick out of him. The vampire scooted back on his bare arse, horrified of his actions, before bending sideways and retching onto the floor. Gale's black blood was a stark contrast to the white-grey marble floor.

"Ugh..." Astarion groaned miserably and dry-heaved again. "I'm - I'm a monster. Just - just like - Cazador."

His eyes flitted back to Gale who winced as he sat up. All the fight had left the vampire and he trembled now.

"Why?" His eyes spilled over, an ugly sob escaping his throat. "Why did you let me hurt you like this? You're a god, you could have easily overpowered me."

"Because -" Gale wheezed. "Because it seemed like you needed it. You're lonely, sad, and hurt. Let me help you. Let me ease your suffering."

"Gods, you're the worst," Astarion cried and, before he could get cold feet, he crawled back to kiss the God of Ambition. He didn't expect the thrum of magic that zapped through him like lightning, even though he should have. Gale was glowing with old Netherese magic after all. It wasn't unpleasant though, thus, Astarion didn't pull away. Gale moaned – loudly, desperately, wantonly, needy – and deepened their kiss as he wrapped his arms around the vampire's neck. The Orb in his chest started to pulse with purple light, illuminating the cold marbled room. Astonished, Astarion gently stroke the mark with his fingers, hissing at the crackling magic there.

“It - it glows?”

“When - when I’m excited, yes,” Gale panted, slightly bashfully. Then, he added: "I'm - I am too."

"You're what, darling?"

"I'm lonely, sad, and hurt too. I no longer want to be alone. I miss having company I can trust."

"Yes," sobbed Astarion, desperately clinging to Gale's shoulders. "I miss it too. Please, Gale, please don't leave me. Don't go back to the Astral Planes."

"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to stay in the mortal realm, but I want to."

"You're a god. Can't gods do whatever they please?"

Gale sighed, answering: "Not always. It's complicated. But I stay as long as I can and if I must go, I'll come back as soon and for as long as I'm allowed. – If that's what you want."

Astarion nodded hastily.

"Yes, yes, I want that. Please, Gale."

"Yes," answered the God of Ambition simply and the vampire lord kept weeping.

3 months later

Astarion awoke from his reverie to the chirping of sparrows and screeching of seagulls. He stretched lazily under the white sheets, sleepily gazing at the sun-dappled room in Gale's tower in Waterdeep. Next to him, his lover stirred and Astarion turned to look at him. Gale looked ethereal as always. Like Astarion, he didn't need to sleep anymore, but he loved the sentiment of it.

"Good morning, darling."

Smiling softly, the ascended vampire lord stroke the God of Ambition's cheek, marvelling at his soft, long mane and silvery-blue, warm skin yet again.

"Good morning, dear," said Gale, voice husky from sleep.

Astarion leaned over to kiss him gently and Gale hummed happily. The vampire rolled on top of him easily, deepening their kiss while stroking his lover's hair out of his face. For a while they simply kissed, entangling their tongues, while rubbing against each other. When it wasn't enough anymore, Astarion asked: "Darling... may I?"

And Gale nodded, easily parting his legs around the vampire after the latter had pushed away the blankets.

"So gorgeous," praised Astarion before engulfing his lover's erection with his mouth.

Gale sighed blissfully, running his fingers through the vampire's white curls while closing his eyes. The latter stretched out his hand and, with a flick of Gale's wrist, a bottle of oil flew over to him. Astarion caught it easily, pouring some of the oil directly onto his lover's perineum and coating his fingers with it. Then, he started to carefully prepare Gale. Fingers pumping in and out of his hole while sucking him off. The God of Ambition panted and moaned beautifully as the Orb in his chest started pulsating with purple light. It was music to Astarion's ears.

"I'm ready," Gale panted and the vampire looked up at him, mirth sparkling in his ruby-red eyes.

"I don't deem you ready yet, darling," he retorted, basically bent his lover in half, and dove his tongue into him.

Gale almost yelled, clawing the sheets as he let out a string of moans.

"Astarion... Astarion..."

He repeated the name like a prayer and the vampire revelled in it. Gale's fingers tightened in the sheets, his hips spasming.

"Astarion!" he warned, sobbing.

The Orb in his chest started to glow brighter and brighter. The vampire knew his lover was close, thus, he kept going. Gale climaxed with a hoarse shout, spilling his seeds over his own belly and torso, and the light of the Orb exploded, making the god's entire body glow purple, almost as bright as the sun. When the light diminished, Astarion finally let go of Gale, placing one last kiss on his hole. Then, he bent forward and licked up his lover's still warm spent. When he was done, he wiggled his tongue into Gale's mouth to let him taste himself. The latter moaned and kissed back eagerly. Finally, the vampire entered his lover, slowly and carefully.

"You're so beautiful," he praised, gazing at the man beneath him through half-lidded eyes.

The God of Ambition blushed, intertwining their fingers.

"So are you," he whispered.

They kissed again, deeply but tenderly, as they made love (yes, love. They weren't fucking). Gale moaned blissfully and Astarion let out a harsh breath every time he bottomed out and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head. The vampire licked his lover's sweaty neck before biting down gently and drinking his vile but oh-so addictive blood.

"I love you," mewled Gale, throwing his head back on the pillow, and, with a loud moan, Astarion reached his high, spilling into his lover. Even through his closed eyelids, he could see how Gale emanated purple light once more. The vampire collapsed onto the God of Ambition, removed his fangs and licked the wounds until they stopped bleeding. With a deep sigh, he placed his head on Gale's shoulder.

"I love you too," he whispered.

He's content when the other man wrapped an arm around him and held him close. They dwelled like this for a while, recharging.

"I want to stay like this forever," revealed Astarion, slightly bashful.

Gale smiled, tenderly stroking the scars on his lover's back.

"Well, technically, we can," he answered teasingly and the vampire snickered.

"Yoo-hoo, Astarion, Gale!" lilted Kalina as she scuttled through the doorway and jumped up onto the bed. "Good morning, lovebirds. May I remind you that I am neither a god nor a vampire and need real substance to survive. It's already elven o'clock!"

The men chuckled amused and Astarion replied: "Of course, Kalina. We're very sorry that we forgot the time. I'll feed you right away."

With a happy purr, the tressym hopped off the bed and rushed towards the door.

"Ah, one more thing." She turned around to look at the pair with her pretty blue eyes. "I've spoken to Mrs. Dekarios and Tara and they've both agreed to visit you tomorrow."

"Really?"

Gale smiled broadly and happily. These were the moments Astarion missed his lover's human form. He'd always had such beautiful, expressive, warm, brown eyes. Now, they were simply two pools of bright, white light.

Kalina nodded.

"They're compliant on the condition that you'll meet up regularly and behave decently. No ascended, godlike behaviour and such."

"That can be arranged," Gale replied, smiling fondly.

Astarion simply nodded.

"Wonderful," the tressym purred. "And now that that's settled, I'd like my very plentiful brunch, if you'd be so kind."

Barking an amused laugh, Astarion swung out of bed, put on one of Gale's robes, and followed Kalina to the kitchen. The God of Ambition got up too, walking to the window in his birthday suit, and watched how the wheels of time and life spun.

'Fate spins along as it should' Withers had said, and he'd been right.

With a deep sigh, Gale gazed at the sea.

If I could turn back time, I would, and I'd change so many things, he thought woefully. But it's impossible and we must live with our decisions.

He smiled when Astarion wrapped his arms around his middle from behind, kissed his shoulder, and muttered: "Come back to bed, darling. I want to ride you until the sun goes down."

Even though our fates seemed dark, we've found the few specks of light in the darkness, the God of Ambition thought as he was led back to bed by his ascended vampiric lover.

Over the past three months, they'd realised that they both were still capable to feel and to love. Their true selves still existed, underneath all the power and ascension. The men clung to them more consciously now, not willing to let go of their humanity, hearts, and souls. It was a wonderful revelation.

Astarion and Gale would live forever, but they'd also love each other forever.

[immoralimmortals]

ok so what if, hear me out Takara was pregnant (gasp) nah like I want to hear your thoughts on this

So all cards on the table...miracle of life, wonderful, wonderful thing... Yeah, I know all that. But all the same, pregnancy to me is largely a form of body horror. A lot of this is going to be on the fly since it's not my cup of tea. So putting that aside and trying to make the subject warm and romantic, here are some thoughts on what it'd be like if Takara was pregnant:

You KNOW they dote on her. Absolute kings. There isn't a day that passes where ten separate Akatsuki members come up to her, if not multiple times, to make sure she's okay.

Itachi swears she's radiant, glowing like she's holy. You've heard this all before in other headcanons on this site-- he's over the moon with love. Glued to her side, yet somehow not overbearing. 10/10, I'd let this man be with me during my morning sickness. Takara will want for nothing. Probably becomes the most overtly sweet and romantic in al the time they've known each other, gently stroking her skin and kissing her head. When it comes to the point where she's "showing", he's quick to tell Kisame to do tasks for Takara whenever she's about to do something, and he has to be reminded she's not useless and it's good for both her and the pregnancy to continue being active.

You thought Kisame was awkward and cautious *before*? He's at the point where every single little touch, regardless how small or where it is on her body, is so, so purposeful. Nothing he does is haphazard. He will clear paths for her if necessary. He's her knight, her guardian, placing himself between her and the rest of the world. Definitely at one point rests his head on her belly and cries. He's very quick to answer to Itachi's orders and further enables inactivity. It is a lot easier to use his body to interact with other things than it is to use it to directly touch her; he's up for anything. He'll mow down a mountain just so she could go for a walk without having an incline. He will walk to town to buy her flowers every single day.

Hidan gets...quieter around her, especially as the pregnancy begins to show. He's more observant than before. Still gets into his usual attitudes if he doesn't understand or see something coming ("What? You seemed FINE a second ago! What do you MEAN you're gonna throw up!")...but he's certainly taking all this in. What does it mean to Jashin if someone brings forth life instead of takes it? He holds his prayer beads and feels the sigil between his fingers, only shutting his eyes to pray once she is surely asleep. He'll wonder a lot, eventually out loud, what the baby is going to be like, who they'll grow up to be, what it'll be like to have one around. He won't say it, but he's nervous as hell for that part. It's a whole new human being.

Kakuzu is so fucking stressed. This man is the closest in the group to being a normal-ass man with a normal-ass job and goal. He is trying to coordinate enough income for eleven fucking people to live at least somewhat comfortably. You're going to add a BABY? Good lord he might break. That being said, he's a worrywort that's always a little bit on edge. If someone is fucking around with her or the pregnancy too much, he will actually hit you. ...But not until he took you outside, she doesn't need to see it and stress herself or the baby. He is also especially concerned about accidentally being too rough. She'd have to convince him to touch her or sit next to her. Once she does? He finally relaxes, and he's in heaven. There's a whole world that fits right in his arms. He has a second chance not just with her but this child to have a life worth living.

Deidara is the most to treat her like...a normal human being undergoing a body change? I'm not saying he's uncaring, more like he's the best at not losing his fucking mind. Most willing to just hang out and not make it weird, let her do things on her own. Other people-- no, literally everyone else-- will see her reaching up in the kitchen cabinet for a mug and will scold him for not jumping to do it for her. He argues otherwise-- and it makes sense-- so therefore the other person gets pissed off. He tells Takara to be grateful for what he does for her independence, and she genuinely is, rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek that makes him bright red. It makes him stutter and try to move on so things are normal again. I think like Hidan-- even more so actually-- he's very curious about what it'll be like once the baby is around. It's fun to see her change little by little, day by day, too.

Sasori doesn't like change. That's kind of his whole bit. He isn't looking forward to the noise, the filth, the troubles of a baby and then later another growing person. So the pregnancy is kind of a precursor for that. Once it's clear that yes, this baby is coming, he has to make peace with it. He's the one that's most attentive about her physical health and body. He'll notice any change in color of her skin-- reddening or paling-- catch on to ANY morning sickness before she even says a word. She'd have to remind him that regardless of if the stretch marks stay, they're a part of her right now, and with that explanation he begrudgingly appreciates them. He eventually becomes entranced by the idea of teaching the child what he knows.

Konan is...wistful, I think, as well as in awe. She's kind of like Itachi in that she's very present, very gentle. But Takara being pregnant gives her a lot of...thought. Surely when she was born-- when Nagato and Yahiko were born-- their parents, too, had the best intentions in the world. A piece of her is afraid. The best laid plans can still fall into ruin, the intentions of being good parents and giving a happy life certainly did not happen to her and her friends. That being said, she finds comfort in being a pragmatic planner. She's the one that gets a routine for Takara both prenatal and then postnatal, the one that strategized how the baby is going to be educated, what kind of food they need, etc. So if nothing else-- if anything and everything goes wrong-- they at least have a plan to follow even if they panic. She also, like Itachi, finds her radiant in this time. I can see her sitting with Takara and holding her hand for hours on end, just finding peace in how much she loves her right now.

Nagato picks up where Konan leaves off on the whole planning thing. She is not to be alone at any time. She wants to go for a walk? Kisame, walk ten paces ahead, Kakuzu, ten paces behind, Deidara, go up in the trees. If she so much as scrapes her knee, there will be consequences. This will NOT be fucked up. He won't say it, but he loves her even more right now than he ever thought he could. He thinks that despite all her flaws-- any human has flaws, of course-- Takara will be the best mother to grace this universe or any other.

"Tobi" is so, so excited. While Konan is sitting next to her, he's on the floor, wrapping around Takara's legs, talking endlessly about how much fun the baby is going to be. He's also excessively careful and protective, which is in earnest at heart but also being played up so no one second guesses he's an idiot. He will throw away a cup of tea if he deems it too hot for her to drink, uncaring if it hits and spills on someone else. In private...he's quieter. I can see him putting on her socks for her as she has trouble bending, and he does it nearly reverently, looking up at her through that mask with a gaze she can feel as adoring. Obito is feeling every emotion possible. He's afraid, he's overjoyed, he's shaken, he's happy. This situation is the culmination of everything he's come to want while Takara has been here. He looks at her carrying this baby like she's Mary, mother of Jesus.

Zetsu is the funniest one. He doesn't get it. Like he DOES-- there'd be a joke where he'd say he doesn't get it and Tobi begins to explain where babies came from and Zetsu would yell at him to shut up-- but he doesn't get it. He's like me, the author, in the sense that like...if you really want to experience parenthood...why are you making a whole new baby? There are so many babies out there who NEED a parent. And you're going to fill up that slot? Humans are really genuinely so selfish, what the hell. That aside, he's at least mindful of her, in a physical and medical sense. He asks her questions, in the rare moments she is alone, and he genuinely listens and tries to engage. I think he would, finally, in at least a little way "get it" when Takara invites him to put an ear to her stomach and listen.

Everyone is excited to see who the father is, regardless of how much they say it does or doesn't matter.

[frances-baby-houseman]

As I've mentioned, I meet with a group of women in my neighborhood about once a month to play canasta ("play canasta", we've been meeting since august and actually played 3x, mostly we just gossip) and 5 of us are jewish and 1 is the kind of christian you are when you're latvian (she is latvian.) One of the woman said something about her temple and another was like, oh where do you go? and she mentioned a place none of us had heard of and that they rent space in a church, and we were like, huh, what kind of congregation is it? and she said they are messianic jews and everyone around the table did that like, high pitched "ohhhhh" where you don't know what else to say!

Being a messianic jew is like... fundamentally the one thing you cannot do and be jewish. Jews are accepting of almost any belief including a full DISbelief in the existence of god, but the one thing you basically CANNOT believe is that there is more than one god. Like the absolute foundation of judaism is that there is one god and no other gods and you cannot worship any other gods but our one god. I say it in that weird language bc it's phrased like that in about 50 places and prayers. Our most foundational prayer is "hear oh israel, the lord our god, the lord is one." like, one god. You don't have to believe he's real, but you cannot believe he has a son who is also god. You also can't worship a golden cow or anything else. Just our one god.

Anyway it was a little awkward! I like this woman a lot, no problem with her or anything, she is having a baby and I gave her my beloved Keekaroo Peanut changing mat, but it is weird! Like meeting a cult member! Is it a cult? Idk. The wikipedia page was very clear that every major religious group considers messianic jews to be christians except for messianic jews themselves.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

The gods’ approval

Summary: Catelyn is surprised when Ned enters her sept, he so rarely does.

Day 6 of @nedcatweek : Catelyn’s sept

Catelyn had just found her feet again when she heard the creaking of the door to the sept opening. Immediately she turned around; surprised to be interrupted in the middle of her prayers. That happened so rarely.

Even more unexpected was that she found herself eye to eye with her lord husband. He never came to her sept. Since he presented it to her all those years ago he had only come inside of it a handful of times.

She watched as Ned closed the door behind him and then once more turned to face her. Though he said nothing and barely a second passed before he began looking around the sept; the discomfort apparent on his face.

“How come you’re here, my lord?” she asked.

His eyes found her face again.

“I wanted to find you” he told her.

That was not a rare occurrence, every now and then he would seek her out in the middle of the day. It happened the other way around, as well. Though if she was inside the sept he always waited for her outside rather than coming inside.

“Has something happened?”

Even as she suspected he would have said something sooner should something have happened she had to ask. There had to be a reason for why he had come all the way into the sept.

“No, nothing has happened. Everything is as it should be.”

“Yet you’re inside my sept.”

Ned gave her a wry smile.

“As you’re sometimes before my heart tree.”

Catelyn held out a hand towards him, wanted him to come closer. Hold his hand before her gods.

Ned saw what she did, yet remained by the door. He was no great force of a man most of the time, though rarely as hesitant as she saw he was then. The sept did something to him even as he had been the one to order it be built.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt you in your prayers” he said.

She had meant to leave just before he came, she was finished with her prayers. She could leave with him, though found that she wanted to stay. They had been wed before her gods, though since then the gods had very rarely seen her husband.

“You have not, my love. Come before my gods with me.”

When she smiled at him he finally came to her. Closed the distance between them and took her hand. As always his hand was warm in hers.

“I’m not certain your gods are particularly fond of me, my lady” he said in a low voice as he looked around at the seven faces that surrounded them.

He spoke as if he did not want the gods to hear him. Most likely that was the truth.

“I’m entirely certain they’re perfectly fond of you” she said, looking up at him. “You are a devoted husband, and a kind father, and a dutiful lord.”

“And a barbaric northerner with improper rules and customs” he added.

Catelyn grimaced at him, making him smile again.

“You ordered the building of this sept, you made a place for them in Winterfell. They know you are a good man” she said, placing the hand he wasn’t holding on his chest.

Ned cupped her face, stroke his thumb over her cheek. His eyes went to the carving of the Mother that was behind her, then he looked at her again. She saw how his gaze softened when his eyes found hers.

“I didn’t build this sept for them, I built it for you” he said and his voice was as soft as his eyes.

The joy of that gift never lessened. Each time she stepped into the little building she was struck by that it had been raised for her sake. For thousands and thousands of years Winterfell had contained only a godswood and Ned had changed that for her.

“That was when I knew the depth of your will to make me feel at home here.”

That was when she had known she could truly love him one day. She had not loved him when he led her into the sept for the first time, though she had known she could love him. And she had known maybe he could love her if he was willing to change his ancestral seat for her.

“It seemed unfair that everyone in Winterfell but you should have a place of worship. It was a matter of respect.”

Her dear husband. Her Ned.

“House Stark has taken southern brides before, I’m not even the first Lady Stark from the Riverlands” she reminded him. “No other Lord Stark has done what you did for me in raising this sept.”

Ned let go of her hand and let his other hand fall from her cheek, instead embracing her. At first she was surprised by the sudden action, though quickly she wrapped her arms around him in return. It had not been fate that brought them together, it had been terrible things that took them to their wedding day. Though she fit so perfectly against him one could almost think otherwise.

She smiled when she felt how he nuzzled his face into her hair and took a deep breath. She could not say why he loved her hair, she merely knew that he did.

“The Eyrie has no heart tree” he mumbled.

Her husband had once been the stranger in a different country. He had spent his youth in a foreign place where people did not share his beliefs and customs, he knew what it was like.

“Had I been there I would have made one grow for you” she said.

When he laughed she felt it in her whole body. What a wonderful feeling it was when his low laughter rumbled in her chest.

“If anyone could have made a weirwood grow even though the soil was too shallow it would have been you, my love. The weirwood would have had no choice but to grow when faced with the sheer power of your stubbornness.”

She turned her face up, meaning to kiss him, but he leaned his head away.

“Your gods are watching” he reminded her.

“You have kissed me in a sept before.”

A different sept, a different time, a different kiss. Though he had kissed her, sealed their union.

He gave her a quick peck, though seemed to change his mind just after and gave her a proper kiss. She wondered how many times they had kissed since that first kiss in Riverrun’s sept. Too many to count. Each one sweeter than the one before it.

“And I believe my gods have little against seeing that I am happy with my husband” she said when they parted.

“One never knows with your gods.”

With her gods? The gods worked in ways they would never be able to understand though she knew what had to be done to appease to them. She knew what was right and what was sin, she knew how to pray to them and which face she had to pray to for different things. His gods were nameless and the only faces they carried were those of the weirwood trees.

”And one always knows with your gods?” she questioned.

”I would say so.”

”I disagree.”

Even as she had been in Winterfell for years and years she quite often found herself facing that she had little idea of what was considered proper and improper by her husband’s gods.

Ned kissed her again. A short kiss, though a sweet one all the same.

“Thank you for the sept, Ned.”

“You already thanked me years ago.”

She had thanked him for it over and over again.

“It remains a beautiful gift that I’m very thankful for.”

And she would continue to be so for the rest of her life. The sept was a place of worship, but also a place of love. Long after they were gone the sept would remain and it would always be the sept Lord Eddard built for his Lady Catelyn. Many generations later people would still know Ned had held her in such high regard.

“Were you ever worried for how people would talk?” she asked him.

That question entered her mind every now and again. She felt deep joy over the sept’s existence, was very happy with that Ned had built it for her. Though she could imagine some of his lords and ladies would be less joyful at the notion of that Lord Stark had brought the Seven into Winterfell.

Ned did not have to consider his answer.

“I ordered the building of a sept for my wife, I did not submit to the southron faith.”

“Do you believe all of your lords agree?”

“I have long since decided whatever complaints they can raise regarding this hold less weight than your right to your gods.”

A sweet notion, one she loved him for. Though at times it worried her. She was beyond happy for that their children kept both his gods and hers, worshipped both old and new, still she wondered what that might bring them one day. If when Ned was gone the northerners would look less kindly upon that decision of his.

“You have allowed our children to keep both my gods and yours. The next Lord of Winterfell will not be solely of the old gods.”

Ned looked at her for a few seconds, contemplated her words.

“Robb can keep your gods without forsaking the ancient traditions of my house” he then said. “Nothing has changed except for that he prays both to a weirwood and to these statues.”

They did not step away from one another when the door to the sept once again opened. As if he had heard what they were speaking of their eldest son became visible in the entrance.

If the surprise on his face was because of their embrace or because of Ned’s presence Catelyn couldn’t say.

“Father, Mother” Robb said, nodding towards them.

“Good day, Robb” Catelyn said with a smile.

Then she did untangle herself from Ned.

“If you were speaking of something important I could return later” Robb said.

“Not at all” Ned responded.

There was still uncertainty in his features, though Robb stepped into the sept and closed the door behind him. It was not entirely unlike how Ned had entered not long before.

“I was as surprised as you are to see your father in here” Catelyn told him.

Robb hesitated before speaking.

“Yes, I must admit I wonder what he’s doing here.”

Ned chuckled.

“Do I need a reason? This is as much a part of Winterfell as the glass gardens or the keep or the godswood.”

“I can’t remember having ever seen you inside the sept” Robb insisted.

His father made a face at him, drawing a small smile from Robb.

“I wanted to find your mother, is all” Ned then said. “Though I shall leave.”

“You can stay, Ned” Catelyn said.

He leaned towards her and kissed her temple.

“No, I should be on my way. I shall see you for supper.”

“Alright.”

Ned nodded towards Robb as he passed him and both Robb and Catelyn looked after him as he disappeared outside again.

“Was that truly all he wanted?” Robb asked once the door had closed.

Catelyn smiled even as she recognised it must have made her look like a giddy girl. It made her happy to know he only wanted to see her. He wanted her presence so much he came all the way into her sept without having something he needed to speak of.

“Yes. He came for me.”

When Robb looked at her she saw much of his father in him despite that he looked so much like her. At times Ned shone through in his expressions and manners.

”He loves you, Mother” he then said and there was something almost longing in his voice.

That, on the other hand, Catelyn recognised from Sansa.

”He does” she confirmed, trying not to sound ridiculous.

Ned had loved her for many years and she had loved him in return for just as many. If not more. It was hard to say, it had creeped up on her slowly over the span of so long.

There was hardly more to discuss regarding that. Better they get on with what they had both come there to do.

”Would you like me to lead you in prayer?” she asked, gesturing to the statue of the Father.

”Yes, thank you.”