#raven consort!! it was good!!!

[crehador]

finished koukyuu no karasu and well like many a chinese crab i am not immune to historical dramas about emperors and their most specialest consort which is to say asd;fklj;kj i loved this

first of all shouxue best girl and so so so pretty, yeah you can tell they paid for the flower animation and was like “we’re going to use this five times in every episode” but it’s so pretty that i don’t mind in the slightest

i really liked the dynamic between her and the emperor, really liked the episodic nature of the series, really liked the found family development, and basically just really liked the show as a whole

that said, i don’t think this is a series that would appeal to an especially wide audience (for various reasons)

personally i was a big fan of the art style, and i loved that a lot of the characters, even the emperor himself, just looked rather “plain”

but this might be a turn-off to some people, since besides shouxue the cast does look somewhat drab

the story definitely piqued my interest enough to want to know more, so assuming the anime didn’t fully adapt the light novel series, i would hope to see a second cour at some point!

the gaojun/shouxue dynamic legitimately wound up being my favorite thing it was just too cute (though i almost wish they leaned more into the potential for tragedy that’s very obviously there)

but two other things i loved were (predictably) ishida akira’s performance as owl and the ziyoou-vachi op (you just know a show is about to be crazy good when the op starts to play and you hear avu-chan!!)

i think this is going to end up in a similar category as baraou no souretsu for me, which is the “wow i want to read the source material BUT only when i’m emotionally stable enough to handle it and hahaha what is emotional stability i don’t know her” category

anyway, in short, shouxue!! best girl!!!

[the20thangel]

The Vow

Summary: Request: I was wondering if you could write something with Benji and Targaryen reader. She's like the apple of her parent's eye and nervous about marrying Benji and if he would be good to her. And loyal, like she's very scared that he would go and have bastards or mistress. She doesn't want an unhappy marriage. She's very insecure, and Benji reassures her that he will worship the ground she walks on and she will be the only one he ever beds.

word count: 1.9K

Masterlist

As you stood before the mirror, your fingers fidgeted with the rings, a nervous habit inherited from your mother. You gazed at your reflection, a vision of beauty. Your luscious white hair was elegantly pulled into a loose bun, with a few strands delicately framing your round face. Your eyes, a mesmerizing shade of lilac, were accentuated with light makeup that made them stand out. You were adorned in a stunning, vibrant red gown with golden accents. Despite the maids' admiring sighs, you couldn't muster any excitement. 

 On the day of your wedding, your nerves were in a frenzy. Despite your parents' attempts to reassure you, you couldn’t shake off the worry. You knew little about the man you were about to marry. Lord Benjicot Blackwood, the young lord who fought bravely alongside his aunt Black Aly and Lord Cregan Stark during the war. You knew your mother owed her throne to them, and in gratitude, she had betrothed you to him. But all you heard were stories of Bloody Ben, a monster on the battlefield, and armies trembling at the lad's name. The weight of this uncertainty was a heavy burden on your heart. 

You were shocked when you heard the stories and the news of your betrothal. You couldn’t understand how your parents could ever give your hand to someone described like that. Then your father, King-Consort Daemon, explained to everyone in the public how he was known as the Rouge Prince, but they didn’t know his true self. He asked you if you believed in all the stories spread about him, which you vehemently denied. Your father was brash and rude when he talked to his enemies, but he was a protective dragon to his family, making sure his family was happy and safe. Your father smiled and said, then do not believe everything about Benjioct. Speaking in favor of the raven lord. You nodded, saying how you would try. 

Now, you weren’t worried about him being cruel. No, you were worried about him being unfaithful. Dragons, like your family, don’t do well when people try to steal things belonging to them. You were the same, and you worried that Benjicot would only see your marriage as a duty. Finding happiness, pleasure, and companionship in the arms of another. This fear of an unhappy marriage, of not being able to handle such a betrayal, was something that kept you awake at night, a constant source of anxiety. 

As your maids and handmaidens finished, your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, walked in. Gracing you with her beautiful smile, she walked behind you, embracing you as she kissed your cheek chastly. Holding you close to her made you smile and close your eyes in contentment. Your bond with your mother was stronger than any of your siblings. She could know your millions of thoughts from one glance at your face, so she held you tight to her, giving you the comfort you desperately wanted. 

“He’s a good lad, my sweet girl. Honorable, fierce, and just. He would rather feed himself to your dragon than betray you.” she whispered, trying to erase your fears. 

As you nodded, you didn’t know if you were a way to assure her or yourself into believing the statement. You wanted to believe in your parents' statements, but you were still worried. You hardly knew this man, and in a few minutes, you would be his wife. You would not only be a Princess but the new lady of House Blackwood. The pressure was building inside of you. As you finished readying yourself, a servant came in, letting the Queen and Princess know that the wolf's hour had arrived and it was time to start the wedding. 

Taking a deep breath, you wrap your arm around your mother’s arms as the two walk into Godswood, where the ceremony will be taking place. Today was a more intimate ceremony, since House Blackwood followed the ways of the First Men and Old gods. Your family decided to honor the Blackwoods by having a ceremony in the old ways, marrying infront of a hearttree. 

As you walked down the corridors to reach Godswood, your family slowly started coming together, each holding a torch to light the way. Once entering Godswood stood your future husband, bringing you a first surprise. Instead of wearing red and black, his house colors. Benjicot Blackwood stood infront of the hearttree wearing pure black with gold accents, completing your dress beautifully. As the Blackwood members turned to the Targaryen family, they couldn’t help but gasp at the sight, power, and beauty of the Valryians. 

Your family took the other side of the aisle while you and your father, Daemon, waited for the signal from Cregan Stark, who would officiate the ceremony. Once you saw the slight nod from the wolf lord, your father took your arm, giving your hand a light squeeze as you both began your trek down the aisle, meeting your betrothed in the middle. 

“ Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” 

Daemon straightened himself, presenting the daunting regal Targaryen he is; Princess (Name) of the House Targaryen comes here to be wed. A woman grown trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods.” 

Cregan nodded as he turned to Benjicot, who grinned at his beautiful bride. “ Who comes to claim her?” 

Benjicot inhaled as he stared at his future wife and good father, “Benjicot Blackwood, of House Blackwood, lord to Raventree Hall. 

“Who gives her?” asked Cregan, looking at both a Daemon and Rhaenyra. 

“Daemon Targaryen, Her father and King- Consort of the seven kingdoms of House Targaryen of Old Valyria, ” proudly stated Daemon. 

You smiled slightly, turning to look at your future husband. He was quite handsome and lean, but you can see the outline of muscles around his body. Benjicot noticed your staring and gave you a smirking grin, causing your face to heat up. 

Your staring is broken by Cregan asking you, “Name, do you take this man?” 

You gulped, feeling the nerves coming back. Glancing behind him, you saw how intently House Blackwood stared at you, causing the nerves to worsen. Benjicot, noticing this, frowned slightly. He knew his family could be intense and wished that he could glare to ease them back. You took a shaky breath, smiling wryly at Cregan first before turning to Benjioct, reaching out with your hand as you stated. 

 “I take this man.” 

Benjicot reached to take your hand, giving it a slight kiss, gracing you with a warm smile as Cregan asked the the Targaryen princess and Raven lord to kneel. Then asking for the group to stay silent for a few minutes for prayer.  As you and Benjicot kneeled in front of the hearttree, you stared at the crying face, asking the Old gods to please bless her marriage, that Benjicot remained loyal to her and her only. After a few minutes, the couple stood as Aly Blackwood stepped forward, providing the marriage cloak. Benjicot removed your maiden cloak passing it off, before he took the marriage cloak, cloaking you with the proud Blackwood sigil of the weirwood tree and ravens. As Benjicot stood infront of his beautiful wife, he took your face into his hands, caressing your reach as he leaned in. Kissing you with sweetness and softly sealing their union in the eyes of the Old gods. 

As the rest of both Blackwood and Targaryen families went back inside, Benjicot held your hand firm, singling you to stay. Tensing, you turned to your husband, trying your best to give him your best smile. 

Benjicot smiled, kissing your cheek, trying to ease your tension, “I was hoping that we could speak before heading inside, my princess.” 

You nodded, biting your bottom lip, wondering what he might want to speak about. 

Benjicot stared at you, trying to memorize your beauty under the moon light, his breath being constantly taken away. 

“I know our wedding came as a surprise to you and so quickly…we might not know each other, but I’m hoping this coming moon, we take the time to understand each other and what we expect from this marriage.” 

You froze, was this it? Was he going to tell you now that he was going to have a mistress in the marriage?

Benjicot seeing your demeanor, quickly comforted you. 

“No, sweet girl, I meant that I want this marriage to bring you happiness just like I feel.” 

These words confused you; tilting your head, you asked, “What do you mean, my lord?” 

Grinning, he brought a hand to your cheek, “Ever since I saw you during the war, I have been taken by you. You are beautiful and cunning. Your sharp wit and fearless dragon-riding skills made me admire you from afar. When your mother made the betrothal between us, I felt immense joy at the chance you be married to you. Alas, though, seeing your tension and nervousness around these past few days, I fear the rumors about me have made you weary of me.”  

You quickly shook your head. Taking his other hand and holding it close to your chest, you defended yourself. 

“No, my lord, I- the rumors are just that, rumors; my mother and father assured me that you are an honorable, dutiful, wonderful young man. I believe my parents would never agree to our marriage if you were not kind and respectful. I…” 

You paused, unsure how to go on the way to ask..command..plead for him to always stay loyal in your marriage, no bastards, no mistresses. Benjicot, seeing you hesitate again, placed his forehead on yours and took you into his arms. This caused you to gasp, having such an intimate gesture.

“Go ahead and ask my princess; I shall not get offended,” Ben requested, staring at your beautiful eyes. 

As you, too, stared at his stormy eyes, you saw the softness in them, “I- I only have one request, my lord, which I feel will make this marriage a truly happy one. I ask that you always stay loyal to me and our marriage. That you forsake the thought of mistresses.” 

Ben smiled at you, leaning down to place a kiss quickly before whispering for your ears only. 

“That is an easy promise. No other woman can ever compare to you, my beautiful dragon-riding wife. I would rather feed myself to all of your family’s dragons than ever think of betraying you. I will stay with you entirely until my last days, living with you, respecting you, comforting you, and fighting for you. I swear this on the old gods and new and the fourteen flames…So much I promise this, it was meant as a surprise but I want you to believe in my vow fully. I ask your parents that tomorrow we have a Valyrian ceremony, blood-bonding us together. Like your dragons usually bond one rider at a time and mate with one mate forever, I want to bind myself to you. That I may become yours forever.” 

As he finished his vows, he studied your shocked face. Hearing his vow to you made your heart beat faster, and you finally allowed happiness to bloom in your chest. Giggling, you leaned up to kiss him, wrapping your arms around your husband. Benjicot smiled into your kiss, continuing to kiss you a few minutes more before you stepped back a bit, staring at his eyes as you reached to trace the scar on his lip. You made your vow to him.

“I vow to love you and only you, Benjicot Blackwood, until the end of my days. I want to be blood-bonded with you.”

[taking-thyme]

🌅 Lucifer Deity Guide 🌅

Note: This is inspired by both my own experiences with Lucifer and the information I read on @scarletarosa's blog and her devotional guide to him. Please go read that one too!!

The divine rebel, Lucifer is the light of truth and divine wisdom; an ancient light which shines through the darkness, representing illumination. He is the driving force of innovation, liberation and transformation. According to Scarletarosa, who actively works with Lucifer and was told this by him, he was the first-born god of the Universe created by the supreme deity, the Source. He is so incredibly ancient and beautiful. Lilith was created to be his counterpart, the Queen of Heaven. However, Jehovah took the throne of heaven from Lucifer and cast him and his followers into hell. Most of them lost their connection to heaven and their energy became dark and intense. Jehovah claimed the throne of heaven and set himself up as the one true god, manipulating humans into betraying their original deities. Thus, Lucifer became the King of Hell and has been scorned by Christians for millenia. 

God of: Illumination, Light, Darkness, Change, Rebirth, Challenges, Innovation, Logic, Truth, Knowledge, Wisdom, Strategy, Persuasion, Revolution, Luxury, Pleasure, Freedom, The Arts and The Morning Star (“Morning Star” is another name for the planet Venus)

Symbols: Sigil of Lucifer, The Morning Star, Violins and Fiddles (instruments traditionally associated with him)

Plants and Trees: Rose, Belladonna, Mulberry, Patchouli, Myrrh, Min, Tobacco, Marigold, Lilies, Hyacinth, Sage

Crystals: Amethyst, Black Obsidian, Onyx, Garnet, Selenite, Rose Quartz

Animals: Black Animals in general, Dragons, Snakes, Owls, Eagles, Ravens, Crows, Rams, Foxes, Pigs,  Bats, Rats, Moths, Swans

Incense: Rose, Frankincense, Patchouli, Myrrh

Colors: Black, Red, Silver, Emerald Green, Gold

Tarot: The Devil

Planets: The Morning Star, Venus

Day: Monday and Friday

Consort: Lilith

Children: Naema, Aetherea and many others

How was he traditionally worshipped?

There is not much to say about how Lucifer was historically worshiped seeing as he wasn’t worshiped at all for a large chunk of human history. He seems to have been worked with in some capacity according to the Gesta Treverorum, written in 1231, which is where we first see the term Luciferian being used to refer to his worship. This was by a woman named Lucardis for a religious circle, who was said to lament to Lucifer in private and prayed to him. However, the term Luciferians was later applied to basically any groups Christians didn’t like and wanted to fight, as one might expect. However, the modern Luciferian movement also sheds light on how Lucifer is worshiped. For Luciferians, enlightenment is the ultimate goal. Their basic principles highlight truth, freedom of will and fulfilling one’s ultimate potential, and encourage the same in all of us. Traditional dogma is shunned because Luciferians believe that humans do not need deities or the threat of eternal punishment to know what is good and the right thing to do. All ideas are to be tested before being accepted, and even then one should remain critical because knowledge is fluid and ever-changing. Regardless of whether Luciferians view Lucifer as a deity or an archetype, he is a representation of ultimate illumination and exploration in the name of personal growth. 

Epithets

Phanes

The Morning Star

Light-bringer

The First-born

Prince of Darkness

Son of Morning

The Glory of Morning

Lord of the Lunar Sphere

The First Light

Offerings

Red Wine, Whiskey (especially Jack Daniels), Champagne, Pomegranate Juice, Black Tea (especially earl grey), Chocolate (especially dark chocolate), Cooked Goat Meat, Venison, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Good Quality Cigars, Tobacco, Daggers and Swords, Silver Rings, Emeralds and Emerald Jewelry, Goat Horns, Black Feathers, Seductive Colognes, Red Roses, Dead Roses, Crow Skulls, Bone Dice, Devotional Poetry and Artwork, Classical Music (especially violin)

Devotional Acts

Acts of self-improvement, spiritual awakening and evolution, knowledge-seeking and dedication to spirituality ; Shadow Work ; Working to overcome your ego to become wiser ; Defending those in need ; Working to better yourself without being too self critical ; Fighting against tyranny and bigotry whenever you encounter it

Altar Decorations

Black or Red Candles, Snake and Dragon Figurines, His sigil, Roses, Fancy Chess Boards and Playing Cards, Silver Jewlery and ornaments, Black feathers, Goat horns

Appearance

For me Lucifer usually appears as a tall light-skinned man with long fiery red hair (so red it looks like it’s been dyed), a sophisticated face with a killer jawline, passionate eyes and dressed in a fancy black suit. From all my experiences with him and what I’ve heard from other followers, it seems Lucifer and most demons dress in full suits and tuxedos. 

Personality

Lucifer is nothing if not charming. He’s a protector first and foremost - one that always works to help you better yourself, but a protector nonetheless. He feels like a protective older brother taking care of you while your parents are away. He is a very complex entity, deeply wise and eloquent. He is more serious than one might expect for a demon given their popular depictions in our culture as chaotic forces of evil, but Lucifer is full of courage and love. I often feel him with me even when I’m not doing things related to him. He is proud of his follower’s accomplishments and congratulates them on a job well done, though he also reminds them that the job is never truly over. Growth is constant. Lucifer is the epitome of growth, blunt and gentle at the same time, telling you what you need to do and giving you space to figure out how to do it. 

Lucifer values resilience, the pursuit of self-betterment, intellectualism, courage, open-mindedness and responsibility in individuals and wants to see his followers develop these qualities. He is constantly rooting for you to reach your full potential. He won’t hold your hand the entire way, but he will help you take steps in the right direction. Lucifer, like all deities, is different for everyone and will adjust his approach depending on your needs.

^ The Sigil of Lucifer

[missglaskin]

i feel like Otto would use Daemon and Rhaenyra’s secret wedding, mere days after their partners funerals, as the sole ammunition to have Rhaenyra disinherited and second-born!Reader named the Princess of Dragonstone after Otto reminds Viserys the sole reason Rhaenyra was chosen was to prevent Daemon from having the throne. and Alicent will begin planting the seeds of a doubt in Viserys mind that some may not want a the Reader on a throne because she’s adopted but if she married Aegon, the firstborn son, she wouldn’t be contested. that Aegon was better fitted as a consort anyways.

and the Velaryons have mixed feelings about the whole ordeal because Corlys really wanted his blood on the throne but Rhaenys believes the reader will be a much better ruler.

she’s kind of like the “peoples princess” if that makes sense. from a young age she began serving as the king’s cupbearer, allowing her the opportunity to watch the council work, and even there were times when she spoke up. advocating on behalf of the servants for better living conditions or pushing for repairs on the sewage system underneath the city.

not even Rhaenyra could deny that the reader would make a good queen but there’s some resentment directed to her father, angry he still won’t accept that she loves Daemon and there confusion as she watches Daemon wrap a beautiful necklace around the reader’s neck

I apologize for the long haitus, I wanted to return with something so here it is.

The plot just thickens

Before Daemon and Rhaenyra secret wedding, Alicent was already sowing seeds of doubt in Viserys's mind (the reader doesn't have any bastards, last she checked but even so it doesn’t count).And it would be a great irony if Viserys sent Otto away thinking he wanted Aegon to be king (which might be partially true), when in reality it’s the reader he desired to be in the throne. With Lyonel's death, and Rhaenyra's decision to move to Dragonstone with Laenor despite wanting to stay with her sister. Otto and Alicent are only given a better advantage to continue casting doubt on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage seals the deal, and soon after, they are summoned by a raven from King's Landing.

While the Velaryons may have mixed feelings, they are all in support of the reader in being the chosen heir. It’s Rhaenys who encourages Corlys’ decision to swear his fealty to her. It doesn’t help that Rhaenys believes Rhaenyra and Daemon are the cause for her son’s death and them marrying right after Laena’s death only adds salt to the wound. Rhaenys genuinely believes the reader will be a much better ruler. 

When the reader is named heir, there is one final step for both Alicent and Otto to ensure her position (or as they like to say). So it comes as little surprise when the reader is revealed to be wed to Aegon. She already has gained a great deal of knowledge regarding politics throughout the years she was compelled to relocate to accommodate the entire family, from Driftmark to King's Landing to Dragonstone. Alicent and Otto took a step further in letting the reader act as the king's cupbearer, and Viserys naturally agreed. Unlike Rhaenyra who felt undermined in the council, the reader isn't cut off when advocating for herself, rather, she's backed by the green council. 

As you mentioned, she has earned the title of the "people's princess” through her charity, her advocacy for improved living conditions for the castle's servants as well insistence on repairing the sewage systems and for better roads. Tales abound in the city about the princess who visits orphanages, escorted, of course, by the finest knights, among them Ser Criston Cole. With all of that, simply wedding the reader to Aegon, already wins him favor at king's landing, besides, it's evident to the court that it's the reader who holds all the power.

It's an internal struggle for Rhaenyra; she feels waves of resentment and anger, sometimes aimed at her father and other times at the reader. But, she can never take the reader's actions personally, not after she offers Rhaenyra dragonstone or when she vows to make her the hand when she ascends the iron throne. So how can she ever be genuinely upset at her beloved sister whom she also thinks would make a wonderful queen?

And for Daemon, whom she observes draping a beautiful necklace—akin to the one he gave her years ago—around her sister's neck. She observes as her ever naive sister turns to face him, beaming as thanks him for the gift.

And for Daemon who she watches wrapping a beautiful necklace around her sister’s neck, similar to the one he gifted her a long time ago. She watches as her sister turns to him, beaming and thanking him for the gift, her sister so naive and innocent. But it won’t be long before Viserys catches wind of it, and if not him, Otto and Alicent will and this is the last thing they ever wish to happen. For they know, no matter how many times they Banish Daemon, he will always find his way to return to your side.

[inverted-typo]

I love the al Ghul villain aesthetic, but have you ever considered a villain AU where Raven has accepted her role as Trigon's daughter and Damian is her human consort? I feel like I only ever seen a villain AU on the al Ghul side of things, but Raven has so much potential as a badass demoness with Damian as her lover! I love your art style and would love to see your interpretation of this concept if it speaks to you

Yessss! I love this idea and I’ve thought about it before. Yes the Al Ghul villain AU is a given, but there are a lot of creative possibilities with the reverse side.

Perhaps when scouting for a consort, Raven insists she will not settle for anything but the best. She is picky, as no human could possibly be good enough for her. Trigon sees potential in using the LOA for his agenda, so Damian Al Ghul is presented to her. Raven is instantly smitten with him. Since in this light she’s the murderous daughter of Trigon, she absolutely adores Damian’s assassin capabilities as well as his military leadership skills. His loyalty to her is unwavering and despite the politics of the marriage, they also actually end up falling deeply in love with each other. Sometimes things just work out 😂

[syndrossi]

October Trick or Treat #7: Consummation babies

Aka "what if Rhea and Daemon had conceived the twins on their wedding night" aka "Regnal AU."

x~x~x

“I am pregnant.”

His lady wife had announced the news in the very tone she had used earlier in the day when issuing judgment on two squabbling farmers who’d brought a dispute before her, and she was looking at him now as though he were the farmer on the losing end of it.

Daemon could only stare at her. When he had been summoned to her solar by the maester, he had assumed it was for yet another narrow-eyed lecture on his conduct in town, where he had gotten riotously drunk last night in a desperate bid to stave off the boredom of life as the Lady of Runestone’s unwanted husband.

“You are certain?” he asked, recognizing the question as stupid the moment it left his mouth.

“I waited for the quickening,” she said, hand straying toward her stomach before she seemed to realize, pulling it back to rest at her side.

Daemon’s gaze dropped to her midsection, marking what might be a small bump beneath the fabric of a loose dress. They had lain together no more than thrice in their four moons of marriage, one of those their wedding night, and had happily kept to their personal bedchambers since. For her to be so far along already, the babe must have been conceived that very night.

“That is good,” he said stiffly, in part because she seemed to expect the opposite sentiment from him. “You have my congratulations, my lady.”

She did not frown at him for once, though neither did she smile. “Should not half the congratulations be yours?”

Nothing about this marriage is mine. Certainly not his choice. It had been his grandmother’s scheming and his grandfather’s command, carried out over his every protest. His own father had escorted him to the wedding ceremony at Runestone as though he were his aunt Saera being marched to join the Silent Sisters.

And the very moment Runestone had passed to Rhea at her father’s death, not a moon into their marriage, it had been made abundantly clear to him from every quarter that nothing about Runestone was his, either. She was the lady, he was her consort, and he was to entertain himself with mindless pursuits in a castle whose walls felt smaller by the day.

One year, he had told himself. He only had to endure for one year, long enough to put in a showing that his grandfather would accept, and then he would be free to return to King’s Landing, and fly off on Caraxes wherever he liked, and find someone to fuck who didn’t stare at him throughout with frigid disdain. It had been clear to him from the very beginning that he was nothing more than a duty to her, an inconvenience to be suffered.

A duty, as though he were not the son of the Prince of Dragonstone, the next ruler of the Iron Throne. A dragonrider of pure Valyrian descent, the blood of Aegon the Conqueror singing in his veins. Dark Sister moldered in her sheath, hungry for blood and glory, and he—

He had been just another marriage alliance to his grandfather, like Aemma’s mother before her. A political maneuver by House Targaryen to gain a powerful seat in the Vale through his eventual children, as though their house were not capable of seizing whatever they wished by force.

And now I am trapped.

A babe tied him fully to his wife, to this damp, miserable castle, because he could not abandon a child of his blood to suffer the cold and joyless fate he sought to flee.

For once, Daemon was grateful for every lesson of courtly etiquette that had been drilled into him. It allowed him to act on instinct, even as his mind was elsewhere. He gave his wife’s cheek a stilted kiss, murmured the appropriate words, and then begged leave to write to his family with the happy news.

It was Viserys who he addressed it to, fingers pinching the quill hard enough by the end to snap it, sending a spatter of ink from its tip across the parchment. He did not bother rewriting it, steps quick as he brought it to the rookery, to the raven he could have raced on Caraxes with the news if his grandfather’s command would have let him.

And with quicker steps still, he sought Caraxes and what little air he was permitted.

x~x~x

“Did our father send you?” Daemon murmured as he embraced his brother. It would not surprise him; he seemed to know them at least as well as they did themselves.

“He might have suggested it,” Viserys said, pulling back with a grin before moving to greet Rhea with a brotherly kiss to the cheek.

Daemon turned to Aemma, who held his young niece by the hand. Rhaenyra would be nearly three, and she gazed up at him shyly.

“Your company is most welcome,” Daemon said to his cousin as he kissed her cheek. “As is your experience in these matters.”

There was a teasing glint in her eyes as Aemma smiled at him. “And I am sure you will heed all offered advice, as always.”

Daemon rolled his eyes at her in response, then crouched down. “Are you excited for a baby cousin, Rhaenyra?”

“Maybe,” his niece said, which about summed up his own feelings on the matter.

He picked her up then and sprang to his feet, tossing her up—to an audible wince from Aemma—and catching her. His niece giggled with delight as she settled in his arm, where she spotted Dark Sister and turned her attention to the sword.

Daemon transferred her to his other side, well away from the hilt. “Let us not alarm your mother any further.”

“I shall believe it when I see it,” Aemma told him, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek in turn and steal her daughter back.

In truth, he was relieved at their presence, after six moons being surrounded by only Royce retainers and stern Valemen. It was no small distance from Runestone to King’s Landing, either—a week at least by ship, though at least the waters were calm in summer. It was but a two-day ride on dragonback, but Viserys had shown no interest in claiming a new mount since Balerion’s death by old age, which baffled Daemon to no end.

I shall have to take him up on Caraxes while he is here, so that he can be reminded of the thrill of dragonriding. There was a particular stretch of mountain he enjoyed flying over, near the Royce summer manse, that still had snow flecking the tops of the peaks, even this deep into summer.

Aemma greeted his wife warmly, and Daemon recalled that they had known one another as girls. His cousin had tried to reassure him before his departure for Runestone that Rhea Royce was a spirited, adventurous woman. Daemon had seen very little evidence of either, though he supposed a pregnancy was a fair enough reason to avoid adventure.

“You must take poor Fallow out hawking in my stead,” Rhea was saying to Aemma. “I was too sick the first few weeks, and too large now.”

She had grown considerably over the past two moons, and Rhaenyra stretched her arms upward to place them on his wife’s swollen belly. “It moved!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, the babe is quite active,” Rhea agreed, leaning to kiss Rhaenyra on the crown of her head, then straightening slowly, a hand to her back.

Daemon cleared his throat. “Shall we move to the solar?”

“An excellent idea,” Aemma said, her smile at him warm with approval. She took Rhea’s elbow and they started for the holdfast, with Rhaenyra grabbing for his wife’s other hand.

Viserys remained at the rear of the procession with Daemon. “What do you think?” his brother asked. “A son or a daughter?”

His voice was light-hearted, but Daemon could hear the strain beneath it. His brother’s quest for a son had been fruitless thus far, with Aemma suffering two miscarriages prior to Rhaenyra’s birth and two since. Their grandfather had sternly reminded Daemon of his own duty, and that misfortune could befall the king’s heir at any time, as their uncle’s death had painfully demonstrated. Their father was a second son, and now in line for the throne. If Viserys were to struggle to provide the realm with a son, and their own father refused to remarry, then it fell upon Daemon to produce the necessary spares.

Daemon’s gaze went to Rhaenyra’s small form at Rhea’s side, hand swinging as she walked with her, hair long and pale. He imagined a child of his own holding her hand, but the details shifted constantly. Long hair, then short. Light, then dark.

“I do not know,” he said.

“Rhaenyra will love any daughter of yours like a sister,” Viserys said confidently. “And if you should have a boy, then we may have a match in the future.”

Daemon grimaced. He had not even begun to think so far ahead as matches. The one consolation was that their grandfather would surely no longer be around to wrest the decision from him. Their father would not force an unhappy pairing, though he could not imagine his children and his brother’s not growing close.

“How long do you intend to stay?” Daemon asked.

“So eager to be rid of my company?” his brother teased. But then his voice grew serious. “For as long as you like. I am sorry that I could not attend the wedding.”

“Do not be. It was a grim affair.”

And Aemma had been recovering from her last miscarriage.

His brother slung an arm around his shoulder. “You do not seem quite as miserable as I feared from your letter. Are you warming to the thought of fatherhood?”

Daemon bit back a grimace, recalling the letter he had sent. The news had unbalanced him at the time, and he had poured far more into it than he had intended. If Viserys had shared his words with their father, it was no small wonder that he had urged Viserys to visit. He had likely sounded on the verge of fleeing in the night.

“Perhaps.”

He and Rhea had gone from wholly avoiding one another’s company to taking suppers together now in her solar. They had been stilted affairs at first, and he had felt like someone playing a part in a mummer’s show. The first conversations that had not been pure torture had pertained to preparations for the babe. Ensuring the nursery was ready, beginning the search for an experienced wetnurse. Daemon had taken one look at the rickety cradle that had last been used by Rhea’s younger half-sister, Elys, and demanded a new one, which she had deferred to him.

The duties had begun piling on after that. He had resented them initially, viewing them as more bars being added to the cage, or even demeaning—he, a prince of the realm and a dragonrider, seeing to tasks ordinarily left to a lord’s wife. Rather than filling his nights with revelry, however, he had found himself thinking beyond the present. Would his child be allowed an egg in the cradle? When would it be safe to make the journey on dragonback to King’s Landing to present their babe to king and court?

His saddle was already modified to seat two, but he would need something of his own to hold the babe secure. He’d spent more time speaking with the craftsmen of Runestone in the past moon than he had in the air on Caraxes. It was tradition for House Royce to present newborns with a bronze medallion etched with runes to protect them from illness and injury, and it had fallen to him to arrange that as well.

His wife’s castle was laden with history and tradition for her house, and he had none on hand for his own, so he had chanced a trip to Dragonstone, poring over the volumes there for any ancient customs that had fallen out of practice in his own family, finding one at last wherein damaged and shed dragon scales from the mounts of the infant’s parents were carved up and set into a bowl of silver or gold.

Caraxes had been willing enough to make a few donations to the intrigued smith who had forged the Royce medallion, and the end result reminded Daemon almost of a mosaic, with darker and lighter patches of red arranged in a pattern not unlike flame within the gold.

The smiths of Runestone, he was forced to admit, were quite skilled.

“Come,” Daemon said, suddenly eager to show it to his brother. “I have something for you to see.”

x~x~x

“It is too early,” Daemon repeated, mouth dry with fear as he stared at the door, listening to the moans of pain from within.

His father’s hand came down on his shoulder, pulling Daemon into his side. “It is not too early. Not every babe is willing to wait nine full moons in the womb, and it surprises me not at all that one of yours wishes to scream fury at the world sooner than late.”

Daemon leaned his head into his father’s shoulder, grateful that he had come nearly a full moon before the babe was due. Every nightmare scenario played in his mind, presented to him earlier by the maester. A dreaded breech birth. An ill-placed umbilical cord strangling his child. Unexpected trauma to mother or babe, killing one or both.

Rhea’s labor had started the better part of a day ago, and he had been in and out of the room as the maester allowed. His wife was a strong woman, he knew, loath to show weakness even among those she trusted, but she had long since stopped trying to mask her pain.

“It is taking too long,” Daemon said, his worry a wild thing, whipping from one fear to another.

“Shall we go back in?” his father asked.

He had been banished from her sight last time, but she barely seemed to notice their re-entry now. Since Daemon had been chided by the maester for hovering, he settled on the couch by the window, his father sitting beside him.

There were cloths upon cloths stained pink and red, buckets of water, implements he did not recognize. Daemon was grateful that the view was mostly shielded by the maester and his attendants, even as he agonized over their decision to have the birth here, rather than at the Red Keep, with the realm’s best maesters at their disposal.

He clutched the bronze medallion in his hand, thumb running over its runes. Rhea had insisted that he hold onto it, that it was for the babe and not her, but she and the babe were yet one and the same, and if it could afford either of them some protection—

Rhea cried out again, this one nearly a battle shout in volume, and the strain in it gave way at the end to something like relief. A second cry came, this one high in pitch, and Daemon stood up so fast he nearly collapsed, only his father’s steadying arm keeping him upright.

Past the maester, he glimpsed a pink, wriggling shape being handed to one of the maester’s assistants. There seemed to be no alarm as they worked on the babe, but he was waved back when he tried to approach.

“Not yet, my prince,” the maester said. “There is another.”

Another. Daemon stood a moment, uncomprehending of his words at first. Then— “Twins?”

“Yes, my prince.”

As Rhea panted, a sheen of sweat on her face, the first babe was cleaned, cord tied and then cut. Daemon was permitted to approach then, as the screaming babe was handed to her.

“A son, my lady, my prince. Small, but healthy.”

Daemon’s heart fluttered as he gazed upon the child in Rhea’s arms. He had a crown of dark hair, clearly taking after his mother, though with his eyes squeezed shut as he howled his fury, it was impossible to catch a glimpse of their color.

A son. A shout caught in his lungs, and he choked it back, because the birth was not yet over, but for now, his wife was alert if tired, coaxing their son to her breast. The wailing stopped once his mouth found the nipple, and Rhea’s head eased back into the pillow, eyes closing in obvious fatigue.

Daemon dared reach for her hand, and her eyelids fluttered open, gaze landing on him. She did not pull her hand back, and he squeezed lightly. They held one another’s stare for a time, then glanced as one at their son. Their firstborn.

The minutes slipped by, long enough for Daemon to wonder if something was wrong with the second babe, but Rhea tensed then, her grip tightening around his hand. Their son was taken from her breast and given to his father to hold as labor resumed.

The second birth was mercifully quick, the pain either lessened or dulled by all that had come before it. In less than half an hour, another small head emerged, then took to wailing, and Daemon felt himself relax at last at the sound.

The babe was cleaned, cord cut, and the second proclamation made. “Another healthy son, my lady.”

His firstborn was relinquished to him by his father, who had been gently rocking him on the couch, and Daemon in turn gave him to Rhea, who kissed his head, eyes bright with tears, and returned him to her breast. She reached eagerly for their second son, whose head was topped with tufts of pale silver, and he quickly latched onto her other breast.

Dark and light. The contrast as he looked between them felt right somehow. Two sons. I have two sons.

His firstborn, who had already suckled for nearly half an hour, pulled back, face scrunching up as though contemplating another wail, only for it to become a yawn. At Rhea’s nod, Daemon took him in his arms, staring into his face, taking in his impossibly delicate features. His hand wrapped around Daemon’s pinky finger, and he could see tiny fingernails.

His son was staring up at him, his eyes a purple-hued grey, everything about him perfect. His frown, his nose, his dark eyelashes—

Another yawn broke his son’s steady contemplation, and Daemon yawned with him. His father murmured congratulations to them, praising Rhea’s fortitude as Daemon probably would have thought to do if he weren’t so exhausted. He couldn’t imagine having been the one actually giving birth.

Their younger son had finished his own first feeding just in time for the afterbirth. While Rhea was cleaned and the bed linens changed, Daemon cradled him in his other arm, as perfect in every way as his twin. His son’s sleepy eyes blinked at Daemon, a pale lilac that took his breath away when he saw it.

“Aemon,” his father whispered beside him, voice cracking midway through.

They need names. But that was a battle for tomorrow, when they had all slept at last. His son’s face scrunched up as he continued to stare at Daemon, a whimper that became a howling wail that woke his brother, who immediately began fussing.

“Here,” his father said, taking his younger son from him. He rocked him gently, murmuring soothingly at him, and the babe calmed, gazing up at him in a fierce study that was just like Aemon’s. His father smiled at the babe with a joy Daemon he had not seen in years and kissed his tiny cheek.

Rhea eased back onto the now-clean linens of her bed, and Daemon carried their eldest over to her, placing him in her arms. “They are perfect,” he said, because it was truth. The sweat had been wiped from her face, though her hair was still damp. She looked pale and exhausted, but her smile as she gazed at their son was unexpectedly radiant. Daemon took her free hand, squeezing it once more. “I am glad you are well.”

She gave an answering squeeze, understanding his meaning, then gazed about the room. “Where is our other son?”

Daemon glanced behind at his father, whose back was to them as he faced the window, which he was holding their youngest near to catch the last rays of sun.

“We may have to ensure my father doesn’t steal him back to King’s Landing.”

x~x~x

“If he is to inherit Runestone, he should have a Vale name,” Rhea said stubbornly.

It was an old argument, but this time Daemon had his father, heir to the Iron Throne, present to influence the matter, though he was distracted with both babes currently, a small bundle in each arm.

Their size still kept Daemon awake at night, and he had found himself sleeping in the nursery for the past three, soothed by the sounds of them stirring in their cradle—which was large enough to hold them both for now. Still, the maester checked them every day, and assured him that they were in as fine health as could be hoped for such tiny babes.

“He is my father’s eldest grandson,” Daemon countered. “And he is a prince of House Targaryen. Should anything happen to my brother, he could very well be king himself someday! He cannot be named Rodrik or Hubert.”

Rhea glared at him. “Or Jon—”

“Jon!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “You cannot be in earnest.”

“We have two sons. It would be a sign of unity between House Targaryen and the Vale to name one each in the fashion of both their houses.”

Daemon managed to hold back his instinctive sneer at the suggestion, contenting himself with a frown instead. It was already settled that their younger son would be Aemon. It was a fitting tribute to his uncle, and his father would not hear otherwise. Thus Rhea was scheming to get her way with their eldest’s name instead, using that as leverage.

“Perhaps we should seek the king’s opinion on the matter,” Daemon said. “I am sure he will have one.”

Let his grandfather’s overbearing nature be of some benefit for once. Judging by the endless stream of ravens into the rookery today, they could very well hear from him today. With four days passed since the birth, the responses from his family in King’s Landing would just be arriving.

The king’s would be effusive in its praise, he knew, with a tone of unbearable self-satisfaction at such an outcome less than a year after the wedding.

“You could let the babe decide,” his father said, earning Daemon’s glare. Whose side are you on, Father?

“Baelon and Aemon,” Daemon said, irritated that his father refused to take either the compliment or the bait. “They are twins. That is a bond they will have their whole lives. What better bond to honor than yours and Uncle Aemon’s?”

“I recall Viserys saying you favored Aegon.”

He had, but that had been when Daemon had been expecting a single son or daughter. A grand name, to herald a grand legacy. But two sons who had shared the womb, who already seemed upset to be parted for too long—

There was only one bond like it that Daemon had known.

His father glanced down at Jon, who had woken from a nap to peer at him. “What are your thoughts, little dragon? Do you favor Aegon?” His dark-haired son frowned, almost as though in response. “No? And what of Rodrik?” A whimper this time. “Hubert” was met with a screaming rage that Daemon had to take him in arm to calm, pleased at his son’s good taste, until “Jon” received an alert blink and an excited flailing of limbs.

“Baelon,” Daemon suggested quickly to take advantage of his son’s good mood. The suggestion was not received as poorly as the others, at least.

“That settles it, does it not?” Rhea said.

“It does not,” Daemon said through clenched teeth. Jon. The most plain of names imaginable. He could not believe that his father was willing to play along with this charade. “Let us ask Aemon his thoughts, if we are to be listening to infants.”

Aemon fussed at being taken from his father’s arms, and when his light purple eyes focused upon Daemon’s face, he fussed all the louder. “You were happy enough to be sung to last night,” Daemon reminded him, humming the tune of the lullaby until his son’s upset softened to light worry instead. “Is your brother a Jon?” He paused to give him a moment to respond, but his son continued to stare at him, as though awaiting something. “Or is he a Baelon?”

His son cooed softly, causing Daemon to turn to his wife in triumph.

“He is asking for his grandsire,” she said, her gaze withering.

[ashtavula]

Royalty AU: Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle

This is going to provide a bit more lore for the au, as well as providing some information about what the rest of the boys are doing in this world!

Start Here

Your Kingdom:

-Your kingdom is known as the Kingdom of Sages, and its capital is the city of Ramshackle. As the heir to the throne, you reside in Night Raven Castle, along with your staff. You have Crowley, your tutor and advisor. Master Crewel is your personal healer. Trein is the steward of the castle. Sam is the castle's quartermaster, and Captain Vargas is the leader of your Royal Guard. There are also more maids, butlers, and cooks than you can count. Your parents also reside within the castle, but you don't often see them, due to their royal duties.

Heartslabyul:

Riddle:

-The Rosehearts manage the Heartslabyul march, which is a fairly large patch of land on the borders of your kingdom. However, only Marquess Rosehearts actually lives in the march. Marchioness Rosehearts and Riddle both reside in a rather lavish estate in Ramshackle. The family's investments in medical research have made them more wealthy than most others of their class, and plenty of nobles despise them for it.

-Riddle's mother is still extremely strict with him, but her motivations are a bit different here. The marchioness is fairly power hungry, and she wants social status more than anything. Thus, she's been raising Riddle to be the most suitable candidate for your hand in marriage. If you choose him, then she'll be the mother of your king consort, and that grants her more social standing than the rest of the aristocracy. Riddle, for what it's worth, is hesitant to actually court you because of that. He's aware of what she's like, and he doesn't want to subject you to her whims.

Trey:

-He's recently taken over for the Four Leaf Bakery, which is the most popular sweet shop in Ramshackle. His mother, father, and siblings are still helping out, but his parents are trying to make sure that he knows how to run things properly before they get too old. Trey likes to think that people come to the bakery because of how good his treats taste, but honestly, people also come to see him. He's polite, hard working, and sweeter than a slice of his bakery's famous strawberry tarts. Swing by the shop, won't you? He'll make sure to whip up your favorites.

Cater:

-Cater works for the capital's best selling newspaper, the Ramshackle Gazette. He's always busy writing new articles, and interviewing people. Pretty much everyone recognizes his charming smile, and his news stories are always plastered on the front page. Secretly, he finds all the running around to be more than a little tiring, but he wouldn't trade his job for the world. You've spotted him prowling around the gates of your castle recently, hoping to snag an exclusive interview with you. After all, putting your words to paper will make him even more popular.

Ace:

-Ace works as a delivery boy, making sure people receive their packages and other sundries. He's often paired up with Deuce, who works for the same company. Ace ends up running around all over the capital, and he usually complains about having to do so. Honestly though, he's not sure what he'd rather do in life. He enjoys doing little magic shows, but being a street busker isn't a steady job, and his mother would yell at him for doing it. One day, he might figure out his life's purpose. But that day isn't today, he thinks, as yet another bundle of mail is shoved into his hands.

Deuce:

-He also works as a delivery boy, but he gets a few more benefits, since his mother is the one who runs the office. Unlike Ace, Deuce does like the job. He gets to wander all over the city, and meet interesting people. But he wants to be a knight, deep down inside. He grew up hearing stories about valiant knights protecting delicate princesses, and he's been enamored with the idea ever since. Still, his mother always says he should keep his head out of the clouds. So he'll work hard to make her happy.

Savanaclaw:

Leona:

-He's still the second prince of Sunset Savannah, and he still resents his place in life. However, Falena is doing what he can to further diminish Leona's political power by planting rumors and stirring up their citizens. Leona is intelligent, bitter, and ambitious. Three traits that make him a rival for the throne, despite the birth of Falena's son, Cheka. The best way to get rid of Leona is to marry him off to someone outside of their country, where he won't pose as much of a problem. Falena doesn't quite like the idea of Leona becoming your king consort, but it's better than letting him continue to stay. Besides, if you marry his brother, then your country will be more open to diplomacy, and trade. And that's what's driving Falena to push Leona your way.

-As for Leona himself, he's heard about your search, but he isn't all that interested in going to see you. He's not keen on the idea of actually courting you, because he's aware of what Falena is attempting to do. Besides, he doesn't want to end up playing second fiddle to a spouse that won't take his advice, or let him rule beside them. Although, he has to admit that he's a bit curious as to what you're actually like. And who knows? Play your cards right, and you might just be able to snag his full attention.

Ruggie:

-Cleaning, cooking, washing clothes, scrubbing floors, he does it all. Ruggie is a personal attendant for Leona, and that means doing whatever the prince demands of him. It's tough, and he almost never has time for a break, but it's not all bad. Normally, Leona would have a small fleet of servants, but thanks to Falena's efforts, Ruggie is pretty much his only servant. Despite that, Ruggie is proud to serve Leona. The prince pays well enough for Ruggie to feed his family, and that's what matters most. And, if Leona marries you, hopefully the man will remember who actually took care of him.

Jack:

-Jack serves as a personal guard for Leona. Admittedly, Jack isn't sure how he ended up being the one to guard the prince. Protecting the royal family is usually a task only given to the very best of the royal guards, but Jack is still a fresh faced recruit. Still, he takes his job very seriously. He's never too far from Leona, and he's constantly scanning his surroundings. Once he hears the news about your search, his mind instantly goes to his prince. He sincerely hopes that, if you marry Leona, you'll let him continue to protect the man who's earned his steadfast loyalty.

Octavinelle:

Azul:

-His mother owns what is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, one of the most famous restaurants in your kingdom. Even your own parents have been there, and loved every dish she presented. Azul, however, wasn't satisfied with just helping her run the family business. He set his sights higher, and managed to open his information agency with the help of the Leech family. It's worth knowing that, despite Azul's wealth and connections, his reputation isn't the best. Sure, he always delivers exactly what you asked for, but many people have figured out firsthand why you should always read the fine print.

-As for his reasons for courting you, he claims that it's all about the power he'll gain from winning your hand. And he's not exactly lying about that. But he's also a romantic, deep down. He's always wanted a fairytale romance, and he sees the opportunity to have that with you. He sighs, already dreaming about the tales people will tell about how the heir to the throne fell deeply in love with a common octopus mer. Floyd and Jade are already teasing him for how often he's practiced writing "King Consort Azul" on the margins of his papers.

Jade:

-Jade is one half of Azul's "eyes and ears." Literally. When they first started helping Azul with the Octavinelle Agency, the twins struck a deal with Azul. Now, Azul is capable of seeing and hearing the same things as them, to an extent. As for your search for a husband, he's extremely curious to see who you'll select. After all, it might be fun for him and his brother to have royal backing for their antics. Or, it might be even more amusing to watch you fall for someone else, and crush Azul's hopes and dreams.

Floyd:

-Right now, he's bouncing between eagerly listening for news on your search, and getting irritated at you because it's all anyone's talking about. Honestly, it's so much fuss! He sometimes entertains the idea of trying to woo you himself, just to see the looks on everyone's faces. But Azul's quick to remind him that meeting you is going to be a big deal, so he needs to be on his best behavior. That sounds so boring! He'd rather see how cute you'd look if he gave you a little squeeze. You won't mind, right?

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Consorts and Concubine

Agatha and Anna Marie enjoy you as much as King Magnus does. Whenever he retires early for the night or is too busy doing kingly duties, his women have their fun with each other.

Agatha Harkness uses sex magic. She likes to enhance the sensitivity of your pussy; increasing your wetness, clit throbbing and easily stimulated from the smallest of touches, hole fluttering and squirting without being touched, your hips twitching and bucking desperately

Agatha teases you. Drives you to the edge and pulls you back, smiling cooly at your whimpers and whines. She'll bring you to the point of sobbing, begging to allow you to cum, and she'll playfully think about it before saying, "Give me five reasons why and I'll let you cum."

At the flick of her wrists purple tendrils appear, wrapping around your breasts and spreading your legs apart, tying your wrists above your head. A thick slick tendril pokes at your entrance, before shoving in with ease, your pussy greedily sucking it in. Moments like those are you favorite.

Anna Marie is the opposite of Agatha. She loves to make you cum. Her eyes are glued to your pussy as cream squirts out of your puffy sex, a choking moan heaving out of you.

She'll pump a ribbed dildo in and out of your cunt or her fingers, eager to make you cream again. Your sweat covered body trembling, wanton moans escaping your swollen lips, hips bucking, pussy squirting- oh, she wants all of it and more.

She'll eat you out ravenously for the sweet, delectable taste of your heat. Tongue gliding between your glistening folds and flicking at your throbbing clit. She's desperate for you to cum. For your back to arch off the back, breath caught in your throat, and shaking violently as your pussy squirts.

When having a threesome, you're sandwiched between them, their breasts pressed against your body or face. Anna Marie and Agatha kiss you all over, dragging you around the bed, spurred on by your "oh that feels good!" and "m-more! more!". Hearing your pretty moans drives them wild.

They'll eat you out hungrily, having you stand while Agatha sits in front of you and Anna Marie behind you, their mouths ravaging your pussy

You're on your back, holding your legs open while Anna Marie and Agatha finger you, your pussy wrapped around their talented fingers. They both rub at your g-spot, watching in awe as your cunt creams and froths on their fingers

Bent over the bed, Agatha holding your head up as she pounds deep into your pussy, the dildo she chose to attach to her strap large and ribbed. Anna Marie taps her dildo against your lips, which you open your mouth and suck on the plastic tip

Sometimes they'll double penetrate you, you sandwiched right between them as they fuck your cunt

[pursuitseternal]

“𝕺𝖚𝖗 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉: 𝕷𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖘’ 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙” ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2, 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 ℑ𝔫 𝔇𝔦𝔰𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔰𝔢

Post-canon Lord Astarion x Cordehlia | E | 3K

🎨 by @marimosalad Crowdehlia Cordehlia’s co-creator

Summary: In the comfort of his arcane tower, Gale reveals the details of the mission for the Ascendant and his Raven, and grants them magical items to aid their quest. Left to their own devices, Astarion and Cordehlia do what they do best, finally alone…

CW: Banter, annoyed Tara, homebrew items (except the necklace really does exist, Act 3!), Quickie smut, bed creaking smut, desperate Astarion and Consort just as down bad for him. And poor Gale.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 1 for “Our Blood is Thicker,” OG series

A loud, open-mouth scoff was Astarion’s reply to Gale’s dramatics. “I swear to the gods this had better be worth my time, or I’ll walk my way back to the necropolis. At least it’s pleasant there… and quiet,” he gave that annoyed smirk.

That impudent grin earned him a shove in his ribs from his love. “You’re not going anywhere without me, and I’m helping Gale,” Cordehlia’s tone was meant to provoke, her eyes meaning to goad him into obedience.

Irritated, Astarion narrowed his eyes, a silent dare, provoking her to hold to her threat. “Fine,” he huffed, relenting. “But only because I won’t let you out of my sight. Gods know what sort of trouble you’d end up in without me.”

Astarion extended a single finger to trace her jaw, one that Cordehlia snapped at with a sharp turn of her head.

“Ahh, ancient love,” Gale bit, sarcasm darkening the good natured tone he usually used. He leaned back in his chair, when suddenly, something fluffy and brown swooped into the open space of his lap before he could even cross his ankle over his knee.

Astarion fairly shrieked, fangs bared and glinting in the firelight of the study. “Mangy beast,” he huffed as he tried to catch his breath.

The cat turned her head, yellow slitted eyes roaming over their guests. “I hear you can view yourself in the mirror now, vampire, if your looking for the real mangy beast in this room…”

Two snorts came in reply, Cordehlia and Gale equally blushing and giggling and trying to hide their reactions behind their palms. “Tara, play nice with the other creatures,” Gale chided her, even as he rewarded her sass with a hearty scratch under her chin. “That one can change into a rather large bat and still drain you dry.” Gale nodded towards the Ascendant.

But Tara only laughed. “Only if he could catch me,” she fired back, fanning her own set of wings.

“Why, you…” Astarion bristled in his place beside Cordehlia’s seat, fangs bared, hissing and spitting like a tomcat himself.

Cordhelia smiled slightly. “Sadly, you’d have to content yourself with my one and only form, Tara, but if you recall, you enjoyed my fingers rubbing your belly.”

“I do remember, my lady,” the tressym purred delightedly, curling on her master’s lap to face her. “But Master Dekarios has just the solution to that little issue you mentioned about your form.”

“Tara, that was my big surprise,” Gale half scolded, half laughed as he tapped his finger on that tiny pink nose. A twinkle in his hazel eyes, and Gale’s hand glowed, summoning a pretty little black box, opening to reveal a stunning necklace, a little circlet of gold with a bright blue stone in the center. “This is the Corvid Token, a little bauble that will grant you the polymorph of a Dire Raven.” He grinned widely, watching as Cordehia’s pale face lit up in joy. “And I can think of no better home than around the neck of the Lady Corvus, the Ascendant’s Raven.”

Astarion cleared his throat, a little high-pitched and whiny. “I’m sure my Bride will put it to good use in my service,” he crowed, hand splayed on his chest.

Cordehlia threw him a self-righteous smirk, “Oh Gale, it’s perfect.” She turned her bright scarlet eyes on their friend, relishing the bristle of annoyance that flowed from her mate. “It’s been so long since I received anything so powerful and elegant all at once���”

“Now you’re just being mean and petty,” Astarion huffed under his breath, folding his arms and sulking.

“Don’t you fret, dear Ascendant,” the wizard chuckled, petting his purring pet as she nestled in his lap and glared daggers at the vampire. “I have a gift for you too. I wouldn’t send my dearest sanguine-sated companions into the proverbial lion’s den without some magical items of arcane significance.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s giving us weapons to help us in our…”

“Yes, I get it. Thank you, dearest treasure,” he interrupted, clipped and biting as he glared at them both.

A wry smile on his face, and Gale’s hands glowed blue. The light settled on Astarions crown, two matching prongs of cambion horns materializing from the light. “What in the hells,” the vampire snarled, spine going ramrod straight before it bent under the new weight. The magic gone, and Astarion gingerly felt along their bumped and curled edges. “Well, fuck, these are heavy. I’m used to you giving me a headache, Gale, but I didn’t realize you would manifest it quite so literally….”

Cordehlia gave a decidedly unladylike snort.

“Care to explain why I have devil horns, wizard?” He gave a disgruntled frown, his hands and arms gesticulating to the sudden monstrosity on his perfect hair.

“I kind of like them,” Cordehlia purred, grabbing his hand to pull him lower.

“You, shut it,” he smirked, his annoyance doubling by the moment.

Gale sat there patting his own chin, making faces and running his hand through his hair. As if he looked at his reflection.

“Hells, it’s not some invisible astral projection, is it?” Astarion somehow sounded even more peeved.

And Gale finally stood, Tara’s padded feet landing silently on the red carpet as she trundled away. “Where you are going tomorrow, you will need good disguises, and I will need to see your every move.” He waved to the horns. “Remember Wyll’s eye? The Sending Stone in the cuticle of your horns will allow me to see and communicate with you directly, oh mighty Ascendant.”

Those crimson eyes glared in ire. “So you’re keeping tabs on me? Checking your own face in the way you look from this… rack… on my head. I do so enjoy a good rack...”

Gale smirked, folding his arms. “I’m going to take the high road on this one and ignore your innuendo.”

Astarion sucked his teeth, “Really? I mean I knew you were a little fun, Gale, but no fun whatsoever? Gotten even more boring as a teacher or whatever in your quaint little wizard school, it seems.” He settled on the arm of Cordehlia’s chair, one arm wrapped around her back, the other teasing a finger down her front to trail in the valley of her chest. “I suppose, if the lewd humor is off the table, you won’t mind if I engage in some lewd behavior…”

Gale covered his eyes, “Hells, I can see everything you see, Astarion, including Cordehlia’s… ahem… décolletage. This was a mistake trusting you with a Seeing Stone imbued disguise…”

Tara purred a laugh from her cushion. “It’s not too late to just swap the roles… Make the preening male the small, winged creature and give the female the arcane treasure.” Her fluffy tail twitched. “She smells trustworthy.”

Cordhelia beamed.

Astarion rolled those red eyes so far back, they could have stuck. “Just because I can take wild form, a most ferocious bat, mind you,” he commented pointedly at the tressym, “it doesn’t mean that I am amenable to such a plan. I am… Ascendant… after all.”

A warm laugh, and Gale leaned forward. “Tara, play nice with our guests. We don’t get many. Even if your observations are, as always, astute.” The wizard lost that smile as he regarded his friends. “I realize you look and feel ridiculous and perhaps woefully unprepared. Allow me to illuminate you.” He leaned back in his seat once more, steepling his fingers as his elbows rested on the arms. “Are you familiar with the coven of vampires here, Astarion?”

His jaw clenched, his hand stiffened on Cordehlia’s shoulder. “Lord Malicus and I have... brushed elbows in the past, though never in any way that would leave me… unwilling to face him, shall we say,” his voice was tight, words dancing around the scars of his past even amongst closest of friends.

Gale gave a sigh of relief. “That is good, I thought I had been thorough in what research I could to see how often you might have crossed paths before, and while I consider myself to be exhaustive, vampires unsurprisingly do not maintain accurate records.“

“Yes, being creatures of the night will do that to you,“ Astarion said. “An innate tendency for secrecy is a must when one is a fearsome monster….” He leered down at Cordehlia, rakish and smirking to produce the desired effect. She was always up for a good fang-bearing leer.

But all she did was lean forward in her seat opposite Gale. “So these vampires took something from you? Something dangerous and powerful?”

The serious professor somehow looked suddenly more solemn than usual. “Yes, by Elminster’s beard. An item I had my sights set on for the studies at the academy. A most singular text of arcane knowledge and power. They nabbed it before I could retrieve it, holding it in their crypt beneath Malicus’ tower.”

Astarion had busied himself by feeling the ridged curves of his left horn, then he snapped to attention. “Another powerful… text? You are having us risk everything for… a book?”

“Was the Codex just a book? The Annals of Karsus? How about your precious Necromancy of Thay, hmm?” Gale tensed, those wrinkles forming between his hazel eyes.

Astarion glared, “Point taken. So your grand plan to purloin this book for you requires me to have horns and my love to be a bird?” He arched his brow, feigning a greater interest in his nail beds as he delicately fanned his fingers.

“Indeed, mighty Ascendant. You’ll use your status to gain entry to his gathering for Liars’ Night, a grand soirée of hedonism and blood. By all appearances, you’ll be alone, just a harmless corvid familiar resting on your shoulder…” his bright eyes danced with mischief as he skimmed them over Cordehlia’s playful grin.

“Well, all my years being Lady Corvus, the Raven, the Bone Picker and now,” she giggled low in her chest, “I finally get to test my wings at it for real.”

Gale guffaws, slapping his knee. “I know, I know, you’ll be the delightful Lady Crowdehlia!”

Astarion audibly wretched. “Oh Gale, even for your brand of humor that was… horrible,” he chided, tones of utter disgust in his purring voice.

Gale laughed heartily, “Why doesn’t my lady try her new form. I’m sure Tara would love to teach you flying if it’s a struggle. If you don’t take to it like a fish to water.” The way he made himself laugh only earned him a matching giggle from Cordehlia and a scathing eye roll and sneer from the Ascendant. A touch of her pendant, a burst of blue magic, and in place of a vampiric beauty in his chair there was a stunning black Dire Raven, glossy black feathers and shining beak and everything.

Astarion’s eyes were saucers, staring down at the massive black bird. Her heartbeat was the same, their tethered souls and minds still intact. “Oh, fuck yeah!” he heard her exclaim as the bird hopped around on the velveteen seat. Sleek black wings extended and she was off, flapping and cawing around Gale’s tower.

Heart racing in dread, Astarion jumped to his feet and tried to grab for her. What if she fell… what if she couldn’t land… what if that mangy beast forgot herself and decided it was supper time?

“Godsdammit Gale, she could get hurt,” he snarled, rounding on the wizard with red eyes blazing in misdirected rage.

But the bird… or Cordehlia… or whatever… just swooped deftly to land on the tip of his dark horn. “Relax, my love. It’s easy and… I haven’t had this much fun since we killed our way out of the Goblin Camp back in the day,” she laughed, ruffling her feathers and folding her wings.

The Ascendant looked down his nose at Gale, that wizard’s arrogant grin pissing the shit out of him for one reason or another, he wasn’t sure yet why. “Alright, Gale,” he spat the name with playful vitriol, “so as the devil in disguise and his crow familiar… we get into this Liars’ Night ball, we find the vault, break in, get your… ugh… book, and return it to you without them suspecting a thing?”

“Yup, pretty much!” Gale clapped his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll spare you the details, Astarion. They were never your thing anyway. I’ll give you lots of backs to stab and necks to bite and treasure to loot.” Gale’s smirk widened at his friends. “Just do not abuse the power of that Sending Stone in your horns. You can conjure or dismiss it at will like Cordehlia’s form, so please,” he grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose, “dismiss the horns before you get… horny.”

“Tch,” Astarion pouted, “you’re no fun, but fine.”

A swirl of magic and both vampires dismissed their gifted forms.

Gale stood. “Tara will show you to your room for tonight. Behave yourselves, please. I don’t have the same resources as you to clean up after your… activities, oh mighty Ascendant,” he laughs, a bit hollow and honest as he watches them walk down the hall after his tressym.

“I missed this…” Astarion whispered into Cordehlia’s mind as they followed Tara up some curved staircase to a spacious landing. “The thrill of adventure with you, the risk of being… caught.” His hand wandered slowly from her lower back to grip her ass deliciously.

Tara sat at the entrance to a small curved door in the hall. “Your accommodations, courtesy of the Master. Don’t make a mess,” she sighed, flicking her tail as she watched them disappear inside.

Cordehlia entered the small bedchamber, setting her bag of holding down and removing her new precious necklace. “Astarion, do you think—”

His kiss of fangs silenced her, hands gripping and turning her by the shoulders as he covered her mouth. Lips worked furiously, tongue demanding entrance to taste her, to tangle with her own. And Cordhelia melted into his arms, her thoughts scattered to the wind as they did the moment she tasted him.

“I need you,” he whispered into her mind. “Keep it quick and quiet and the wizard will be none the wiser.” His skilled fingers made quick work of her jerkin and top, palming and massaging her breasts the second they were freed. A low growl in the back of his throat, and he backed her blindly to the edge of the small bed, laughing as she tumbled unceremoniously into it.

Arms around his neck, she pulled him clumsily down on top, the bed making a loud thump as their undead bodies landed. Their crimson eyes locked together, waiting and panting and listening if they had been caught. After several long seconds of their pointed ears twitching only to hear the settling of Gale’s tower, they gave sighs of relief.

“Good,” Astarion whispered as he crushed her into the bed, lips already working furiously in another kiss. “I’m too worked up to stop, even if we were found out.” His chuckle was deep-bellied and rumbling, a constant low growl as Cordehlia pulled him into her with equal need. Her hips rolled under him, hands pulling on the curve of his ass to press his fine leather-clad erection against her mound.

His name tumbled from her lips, felt more than heard against his all-consuming lips. She bucked her hips, lifting them to frantically drag them to her ankles. “My love, please,” she moaned in her deep and musical voice. Once she kicked off her shoes and freed herself, a sigh and a smile slipped from her. The relief of his clothed cock on her bare folds brought tears to her eyes.

She rocked her hips, desperate for more… more friction, more him. “I’ve been aching since the necropolis,” Cordehlia rasped, her fangs clicking against his as her kiss grew sloppy and desperate.

“I know,” he taunted, a cheeky, arrogant chuckle as he slipped his fingers inside her to touch those perfect spots. “I could smell you. I always… smell you,” he growled, his body making the small wooden bed start to creak as he thrust against her harder. “Hells,” he grumbled, “quick and quiet and…” he quickly freed his cock from his trousers, sheathing it in that familiar tight warmth of his love, “don’t break the bed.”

Cordehlia clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the whimper that tore through her from cunt to crown. His hips rolled, dragging deliciously in her walls, making her unbearably and instantly wet for him. Her eyes went wide, staring up at his conceited smirk, scarlet eyes glaring her warning.

He rocked faster, the small wooden frame of the bed creaking, its joints protesting as Astarion lowered himself, his full weight crushing her into the poor feather mattress. His lips replaced her hand to gag and swallow her noises, his tongue tangling with her to keep her quiet. One hand gripped into the back of her head, weaving and snagging in her red-orange hair. Smirking, he knew just how to unravel her, his free hand reaching to pull her by her ass against his hips, letting his cock grind on her clit. And then, his knee— his cursed, blessed knee—pressed her open, splaying her wider to make sure he dragged his cock against her inner nerves with every rapid thrust.

An elven curse slipped past her lips, the bed complaining louder as he drew near his climax. His body moved with feral need, lost was all the care and caution. Cordehlia’s hand slapped behind her pushing the headboard back to tighten the creaking piece of shit under them. “Hells… quick and quiet, huh?” she mocked, her words scratched in her throat as she dangled on the edge of her own pleasure-wave.

“He should just be thankful I don’t leave you a wet… and bloody mess… all over his guestroom,” he snickered, his voice fading into pants and groans until he felt her squeeze him. Her walls clamped around him, her back arching off the poor bed, legs wrapped snug around his waist. “Cordehlia,” he hissed. He panted her name once more, those four sweet syllables breaking in his throat as he came. His fingers clawed into her neck and ass, his breathing ragged and hot in her ear as he emptied inside her. That wetness that seeped from her cunt poured from her as she came around him again, sweet walls fluttering in rapid uneven pulses.

Their foreheads pressed together, their sweaty damp skin sticking as they breathed and laughed and shushed each other.

A soft knock at the door made them jump out of their undead skin. “Breakfast first thing in the morning,” Gale’s voice called through the door. Then, there was a slight pause. “And there are fresh bed linens in the dresser against the wall…”

[therhythmafterthesummer]

The King of the Forest (M) ~Bang Chan | 02

Pairing: WerewolfKing!Chan x HumanPrincess(now Queen)!Reader Themes: Supernatural/Fantasy AU | Smut | Royalty | Mediaeval Setting Word Count: ~2k | AO3 Synopsis: You had one goal: get your husband’s expert opinion. It should’ve been a quick visit to his study… In hindsight, you should’ve known better. Warnings: pet names · mentions of murder · interruptions · pregnancy · graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut)

Author’s Note: a follow-up to The King of the Forest that no one asked for, but i wrote a while back anyway because this idea wouldn’t leave my brain, so now i’m sharing it. hope someone else out there gets to enjoy it💜 especial thanks to @notastraykid for helping me out with this

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut Warnings: mentions of public sex · oral [F.Rec]

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

Being married to the King of the Forest, being crowned the Queen Consort of the Forest, entitled many things. You had to always take your subject’s needs into account, always had to try your best at providing them with a sense of security, of comfort, as if they were your own children.

You’d known this before you mated with Chris, before you became his wife and hopefully forever partner. You had also known how absolutely ravenous your husband was when it came to physical intimacy. You’d had a taste of it when he was courting you, during that year when you were planning your escape from your father’s home, but it seemed like that need for you had increased tenfold after you mated.

And, to be honest, you weren’t doing any better.

You weren’t sure how the mysticism of it all worked, but after getting marked by Chris as his mate, it was like you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. It didn’t matter where you were, what you were doing, who you were with, if the need became unbearable it was just a matter of time before one of you acted on it.

It all got so much worse when you got pregnant.

You were horny all the time, your husband was always ready to give you any relief he could, not only that but he was horny all the time, too. He’d been complaining that he couldn’t be near you when he was working on anything particularly important, because as soon as he got a whiff of your scent, slightly altered with his pups now growing inside of you, got him hard immediately, and it made him a bit feral.

Which was how you ended up here, sitting on his desk, in his study, with his head between your legs.

You’d come here only to relay some messages the Royal Advisor had given you, to ask Chris’ opinion on the matter. It took a total of ten seconds after you’d stepped into his study for him to sit you on his desk, drop to his knees, tug your undergarments off of your legs, and for his tongue to find its way between your folds.

With your legs over his broad shoulders, your long skirt hunched up at your waist, your dear husband placed a hand on your small bump, stroking it softly with his thumb. With his other hand, Chris squeezed the soft flesh of your thigh as licked and sucked on your clit. He feasted on you as if his life depended on it, as if you both would die if he didn’t, and, in a way, you felt as if that would be exactly the case.

Quiet whines and moans fell from your lips as you felt sparks of pleasure travel through your body. With a hand on the desk behind you for stability and the other buried in Chris’ hair, tugging and pulling the soft strands between your fingers, you got completely lost in the feel of him. His satisfied groans and hums, his loving, yet still animalistic gaze, all of it combined with his diligent tongue had you so, so incredibly close to your release, there was just no doubt in your mind that he’d get you there soon, and, hopefully, you’d get his monster cock inside of you afterwards, too.

“Oh, darling…” You bit your lower lip, a poor attempt to contain the desperate sounds trying to leave your mouth, to keep your volume to a minimum. After all, you were in his study, anyone could walk by and hear you. It wasn’t like you particularly minded if they did, it just got you a bit bashful. Chris, on the other hand, didn’t care at all.

‘I’m the King, my love. I can do what I want, and if what I want is to have my gorgeous Queen screaming my name, uncaring of who hears, no one can stop me…’ Chris had told you once, in a low whisper against your ear, between pants and groans. With his chest against your back, a hand fondling one of your breasts over your gown, and the other on your hip, he told you this, casually, as if he wasn’t railing you against the wall of a very public–albeit usually empty–corridor in his den. ‘But if it makes you uncomfortable, as Queen, as the love of my life, as a person, you can also do whatever you want, including keeping quiet…Or trying to…’

“That’s so good, my dear, my heart…I’m so, so close…” You could barely speak, your voice came out in hushed whispers, even more so when Chris was looking at you with that glint in his eyes that always reminded you who he was, what he was. He just hummed in understanding, moving back up from where he’d been licking at your entrance, to suck your clit into his mouth.

You inhaled deeply, throwing your head back. Your legs started to tremble, his licks were getting faster, the pressure of his tongue and the gentle sucks of his lips were just right, so good your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You were almost there, you could feel the tell-tale signs of your orgasm shining in the horizon, and it was just when you were going to finally reach it that–

“Your Majest–Oh, shit!”

The door of Chris’ study slammed open, your skeleton almost jumped out of your skin with the sudden thud of the door against the wall, and Chris immediately detached himself from your centre and covered you with your skirt.

He didn’t mind if people heard your sounds of pleasure, but he hated the mere thought of anyone else seeing you in ways only he could, or so he had told you once. 

“For fuck’s sake, Minho!” Frustration was rolling thickly off of your husband, and you almost whined at the loss of contact when he removed your legs from his shoulders and stood up from the floor, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “Someone better be dying!”

“I’m so sorry for interrupting your…marital affairs”, Minho had turned around and looked away as soon as he’d spotted you and your husband in the act, which you appreciated. “But this is of the utmost importance, my King”.

Chris sighed, adjusting his length, trying to make the tent in his trousers a bit less obvious. A very futile attempt, in your humble opinion, but if it gave him peace of mind, you wouldn’t comment on it. “Turn around. What the fuck is it now?”

Minho finally turned, and he regarded you with an apologetic smile, a bow, and a greeting of ‘Your Grace…’ before he directed his attention back to the King. “We received a magpie from the borders, Your Majesty”.

Minho handed Chris a piece of paper, which your husband took immediately to read it carefully. It was silent for a few seconds, and as soon as he was done, Chris sighed, bringing a hand to his hair and tugging the more than mussed curls on his head. “Was this all they said?”

“Yup. No further messages, Your Majesty”, Minho replied simply, crossing his arms behind his back and waiting for his King’s instructions.

Chris remained quiet for a minute, until he sighed again, folding the piece of paper. “Double patrol. Anything that happens in the forest, any whisper heard, I want to know it. Tell them to report every single thing they find out of place, any conversation they hear, any outsider they see. Everything. Got it?”

Minho hummed. “Understood, Your Majesty”.

“Good. Next time…shit, at least knock, Minho”, Chris walked back towards the desk, where you were still sitting, with one leg crossed over the other and resting your weight on both of your hands, listening intently. “You’re dismissed”.

“Understood, Your Majesty”, Minho said again, although this time, there was a hint of a smile in his voice, a hint of an amused tone. It didn’t surprise you, considering Chris and Minho grew up together. ‘He might as well be my brother’, Chris told you once.Even if Minho was the King’s assistant, he was probably one of the few people that could get away with making jokes at the expense of your husband, a very close second to you.

As soon as Minho left, closing the door behind him, Chris came to stand in front of you, dropping the piece of paper on his desk and sighing in annoyance as he placed his hands on your growing belly, with his eyes fixed on it.

You brought a hand to one of his, caressing the back of it as your eyes seeked his. “What happened?”

“Pup…” Chris’ eyes finally peeled away from your belly, fixing his gaze on your eyes instead. He looked a bit…worried. Just a bit, but enough to make you worry. “Remember…what I told you a handful of months back? After we mated?”

“You told me many things back then, my love”, you chuckled, trying to ease the tense mood that had settled in the room. 

A small smile made its way onto his lips, and he immediately leaned in to peck your lips. “When we spoke about…your father?”

You took a deep breath at that. Your father was one of those topics you tried to not talk about often. It angered you too much. Regardless, you did remember what Chris had told you back then, of course you did. “That you’ll kill anyone that tries to take me away from you”.

Chris hummed in confirmation, just as his thumbs started to trace circles on your belly. “Seems like your father’s looking for you”.

Your eyes widened a bit, and your soft caresses on the back of Chris’ hand stopped.

You honestly didn’t think your father would even try to look for you… You wondered if he even knew what had happened to you, if he had any theories at all, since you really didn’t leave anything behind to give any leads on your whereabouts.

“They have spotted people with your father’s crest roaming the forest, talking with locals in the nearby towns…Asking for any information on a missing woman whose description matches yours”, Chris brought one of his hands to your face, cupping your cheek so he could softly drag his thumb over your skin. “I doubt they’ll find their way here, but one can never be too sure… If it came to it, what would you want us to do?”

You looked your husband in the eyes for a moment. You knew there was no way you’d go back to your former life, much less now that you had the results of your love growing inside of you. “I’m willing to talk to my father… To give him closure. I probably should have done it before I left, but I honestly didn’t think he’d care”.

“And if he tries to take you back?”

“Then you’ll kill him”, you answered in a heartbeat, with no hesitation. A smile spread on Chris’ face, a genuine one, one that made his eyes disappear into adorable crescents, one that showed just how proud he felt. “Or I will. Whoever gets to do it first”.

Chris chuckled, pulling you in for a kiss. Looping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer to you, uncrossing your legs so he could settle himself between them, holding your hips tightly.

“That’s my girl…” Chris mumbled against your mouth, and you would’ve chuckled, had it not turned you on so much.

Your legs wrapped around your husband’s waist, pulling him in further into you, just as his tongue made its way inside your mouth, its soft nudges against your own making you moan quietly. As you buried your fingers in Chris’ hair, as you raked your nails over his scalp and his clothed back, you couldn’t help but feel those familiar butterflies awaken in the pit of your stomach, and he clearly picked up on it.

In a few minutes, he was back on his knees, pushing your skirt out of the way again and bringing your legs to their rightful place on his shoulders. 

“Now, where were we, pup?”

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General Masterlist

[brabblesblog]

Ch 8: Thou hast ravished my heart with thine eyes.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The party is in full swing. Ban and Astarion’s relationship is redefined.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Ban stepped out of the bedroom, surprised to see the Ascendant right by the door. She had purposefully delayed joining the party, half hoping he’d be too occupied by then to notice her.

She didn’t realize how much she actually consumed his thoughts; didn’t realize that in her absence he hadn’t really found any meaning to the scheming, merely going through the motions.

He offered her his arm, taking a quick, appreciative look at her body. The halter top was a good choice - it showed off well-defined shoulders, and Astarion itched to sink his teeth into the belly of the muscle.

“They’re here,” he said as she linked arms with him. She took a deep breath and he finally realized that she was nervous.

He turned to her, determined. “Whatever happens, Ban, I’m not letting them touch a hair on your head. I promise.”

Astarion knew it to be true. This was one thing both sides of him could agree on - he would let the world burn to keep her safe, himself included if need be.

As they made their way to the ballroom, Ban noticed that he had prepared. He'd summoned more minions than ever before, and various combinations of werewolves, skeletons, and ghasts were stationed at regular intervals. For the first time, his display of power didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. She pressed closer to him, their sides touching as they walked.

They reached the double doors of the ballroom; she squeezed his arm, one final gesture of gratitude and fear. Astarion drank in the moment; he hadn’t felt needed, wanted, or even seen by her of late. Today, he was getting it all, and he found himself being more willing to let his guard down as a result.

“You’ll be okay.” There was no need for pet names, not when it was just him and the only person he’d ever cared about. “We get through this party, and I shall get my reward.”

She laughed, and he felt his heart swell.

“And after that?”

He looked away. He had ideas, but he didn’t think now was the right time to say them.

“We’ll have eternity to figure it out.” A wave of affection came over him, and before he could think too much, he pressed a little kiss to her cheek.

He squeezed her hand, their arms still interlinked. He opened the door, and the Ascendant and his consort entered the ballroom.

Ban spotted the leader of the coven instantly. Human, with cropped raven-black hair and broad, well-built shoulders. In another life, she might have been attracted to the sight. He had two elves with him, both ethereally beautiful and scantily dressed, each draped on an arm.

Compared to them, she was positively masculine. Ban sighed at the thought, brushing it off.

The vampire spotted them and turned, making a beeline for them. Ban felt Astarion straighten up, and so did she.

“Astarion.” The man offered his hand to the Ascendant, and Astarion took it in a quick grasp. He noticed to his displeasure that the other vampire was a good head taller than him.

“Vel Stedez.” Astarion inclined his head in acknowledgement, and then tilted it back so that he was able to look the taller man in the face without craning his neck. He’d always been a master at looking up at someone taller than him while still giving the impression that he was looking down at them, and it proved useful at this moment.

“This is Ban.”

She curtsied, and Vel gave her a bow in return.

“The daywalking consort. I have heard so much about you.” Vel gestured to the ladies beside him. “Enxisys and Miaxisys Flendror - my favoured spawn.”

Ban realized with dawning horror that the two elves were related - possibly even twins. She quickly masked it.

Astarion kissed each of their hands. “Charmed,” he murmured, and both girls tittered. They obviously liked what they saw, eyes hungrily taking in Astarion’s features. The Ascendant returned their gaze with equal, albeit manufactured, intensity, knowing how to play this role far too well.

Vel’s eyes were intense, a maroon so dark it was almost black. He stared at Ban, at the way her dress clung to her body. Her skin crawled at the sensation.

“A unique specimen, for sure,” he told the Ascendant. “I can see why you chased her all the way to Waterdeep.” He turned his gaze to Astarion, and its coldness reminded him so much of Cazador that his hands twitched and he had to stop himself from going for the other vampire’s throat.

“A word of advice, fledgling. That is exactly why you create spawn. Not brides.” He leveled another long, lecherous look at Ban, one that made no pretense about what he was staring at. “Spawn do not go off gallivanting, forcing you to chase after them like a lovesick pup.”

Vel took a step forward with sudden speed, grabbing Ban by the jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. She flinched, and Astarion bared his fangs, his control over his rage hanging by a thread.

“Do be careful, Vel,” he snarled. “It wouldn’t be wise to be rude to your host. Release her.”

Vel gave Astarion a glance, then pointedly ignored him in favor of Ban. “I would so enjoy you, gorgeous. I love it when they fight back, and I can tell you’d be feisty.” Astarion hissed and reached out for Vel’s arm, but before he could make contact, Vel dropped his hand. He eyed Ban head to toe once more, his tone turning rueful. “But alas, your lord has said I cannot borrow you. Such a shame,” he tutted.

Astarion couldn’t stop the exhale of relief that came out of him. He didn’t move, but all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her and take her away from this.

Instead, he tried to redirect. “I don’t like sharing my things,” he drawled, adopting a bored, dispassionate tone. Inside, he was becoming increasingly more panicked. Vel’s interest in Ban was greater than he’d anticipated and he was worried he might not be able to protect her as well as he’d planned. If he couldn’t keep his promise, she’d leave again. He’d never see her, never touch her, she’d never let him win her back. “I find doing so makes them less… pristine. Why, Vel - would you have allowed me to fuck these two lovely ladies, had I asked?”

Vel grinned widely, and Astarion’s heart dropped. In his panicked rush to find a response, he’d bungled it. Shit.

“I would!” The taller man clapped his hands together. “If you would be amenable to a swap after all, I would be most happy to-“

“No.” Astarion couldn’t completely hide the disgust in his tone. “A gracious offer, but as I previously mentioned - I am not looking to share what is mine.”

“So be it,” Vel said coolly, but his eyes shone with malice. “Just a dance with your dear consort, then?” The word consort was said disdainfully, as though Vel thought of the idea of having one absurd.

Before Astarion could answer, Ban made the choice for him. She slipped her hand off Astarion’s arm and raised it, meeting Vel’s outstretched arm. The Ascendant was barely able to mask his fear and worry for her, but he nodded.

“Enxisys. Miaxisys. Keep the Ascendant entertained, will you?”

The twins moved to either side of Astarion. He linked arms with them reluctantly, not seeing much choice in the matter. As Vel took Ban to the dance floor, Astarion sat on his throne, a girl on each leg. He swallowed once, slipping himself into the role that must be played, then briefly reached out to Ban’s mind.

Be careful.

As Ban was swept across the room in a gentle waltz, she glanced over to see Astarion being fed grapes by the twins. She bit back a surge of jealousy, then turned her attention to Vel.

“So. Daywalking,” Vel said, leaning closer to speak above the din of the party, “How do you manage that?”

The truth wouldn’t hurt them. If anything, it could serve to show how powerful Astarion had become and thus discourage any nefarious plots by Vel.

“My Lord extends some of his gifts to me, as a boon,” she said automatically.

The vampire laughed. “And he did so, even when you were in Waterdeep? Don’t deny it. I have reports of you walking in the markets.” He shook his head. “I should have known Cazador’s spawn would be so feeble. The power of the ascension was wasted on him.”

Ban couldn’t help the growl that escaped her at his words.

Vel, emboldened by the idea of Astarion’s impotence, pulled Ban tighter to his body so that they were chest to chest.

“What would Astarion say, hm?” He forcefully pressed Ban against him, his hand moving down to grab her ass and squeeze tightly. The other hand slid to her hip.

She yelped, her mind blanking in fear. She froze, her mind automatically searching for Astarion’s, but before she even made contact she could hear his voice.

“I’d like my wife back, if you don’t mind.” His tone was perfectly level, but his eyes were glinting with barely concealed rage. Enxisys and Miaxisys trailed just behind him, looking disconcerted - he had obviously eluded them in his rush to intervene.

Vel held still for a moment, considering defying Astarion. Then he laughed and with one final squeeze of Ban’s ass, let her go. “Of course.”

She was still frozen, eyes unable to meet Astarion’s. He quickly wrapped an arm around her waist. For a moment, he felt a thrum of energy and worried she’d inadvertently put the wards up in her panic, but he was too worried about her to care about it possibly hurting him. Thankfully, his hand settled against her without any resistance and he pulled her against his chest. He held her close, taking a moment to ensure she was alright. Then he glared at Vel.

Vel watched this with amusement. “Wife, Astarion? You really do give your creation too much power. If I may suggest a firmer ha-”

Long fingers wrapped around Vel’s throat, cutting off his words as his feet were lifted several inches off the ground, Astarion dangling the taller man by the neck with no visible effort.

“A firmer hand, you say?” Astarion drawled with sinister delight.

Vel’s face was a picture of confident arrogance, his smile tinged with faint amusement. He reached up to pry the hand from his neck, the arrogant smirk beginning to wane when his strongest effort had no effect whatsoever. Miaxisys and Enxisys gasped, both taking a half-step towards the Ascendant, freezing in place when he turned to give them a look that dared them to try. In the background, a cacophony of growls and hisses reverberated around the room, Astarion’s summons responding to their master’s fury.

A small, strangled noise escaped Vel - more humiliation and bafflement than actual suffocation - and Astarion fixed his gaze on him. “I did warn you not to be rude, Vel.” His hand tightened a fraction, fingernails digging into skin; Vel would have marks for at least a few hours after this encounter. “Now, apologize to my wife.”

Vel huffed in indignation, but the hand around his throat tightened further, and he choked out a quiet “My apologies, Ban,” his eyes burning with loathing… and just the slightest hint of fear.

“One more chance; violate our hospitality again, and you will return to Waterdeep in pieces.”

His countenance cooled almost instantly and he dropped Vel unceremoniously. As the other man caught himself, rubbing his bruised throat, Astarion rearranged his coat, features sliding into a veneer of calm politeness once again.

“Take your time, Vel. Miaxisys, Enxisys - a pleasure having you here.” He gave the spawn a small bow. “Please, enjoy the rest of the night.”

Before Vel could say anything damning, Astarion took Ban away, leading her into the thick of the crowd on the dance floor.

The moment they were in the middle of the crowd, Astarion wrapped both arms around her waist and held her. She buried her head against his chest. He tried to peer at her face.

“Are you okay?” he said, keeping his voice low.

Ban could smell the twins’ perfume on him, but it didn’t bother her. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze, and in that moment she felt as if the ascension had never happened at all - he was here in her moment of need. She nodded, hoping to reassure him.

“I’m fine. He got handsy, but that’s all.” She could see him scanning her face, trying to gauge the truth of her words. Seemingly satisfied, he exhaled.

Ban tapped her temple. Speak here.

I don’t think we’re rid of him yet, unfortunately, Astarion replied. However, with any luck, the other covens won’t want to interfere with a conflict like this. Territorial disputes are one thing - but interfering with someone else’s bride is another matter entirely. He cupped her cheek, his fingers shaking from the intensity of his anger. He hurt you. He made me break my promise. His eyes were soft for a moment more, and then they hardened at the thought of Vel Stedez attempting to take his treasure right under his nose. In the heart of his palace, no less.

That prick, he hissed into her mind. You’re mine. You will only ever be mine. His voice was rough, even over the bond, the wounded pride coming to play. I should have staked him where he stood.

Astarion, Ban murmured, and just his name was almost enough to snap him out of it. Is that all that matters to you? That he tried to take what’s yours?

She looked disappointed. She was hoping he was starting to understand what she wanted from him, and this sounded like a step backwards.

To her immense delight, the Ascendant shook his head, looking away. Possessing her was part of it, of course, but he was more worried about her than anything else. For now, that small gesture was all he had the bravery to manage; speaking the words would make it too real.

Ban knew all too well what that look meant, why Astarion suddenly looked off to the side - he was feeling a little too vulnerable. She decided to give him her understanding in terms that he'd be more willing to accept, knowing words were often difficult for him.

She cupped his face in both hands and before he could react, she kissed his lips. She tried to set the pace of the kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth, hoping he’d let her continue the dynamic they had earlier in the day.

He smiled into the kiss, returning it just as eagerly, his tongue finding its way into her mouth in return. When he pulled away, his eyes were shut, his breathing hard and fast. “Have I behaved well enough, now?” he whispered.

She slid her hands from his cheeks to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart.

He smiled wider at that. “For you,” he murmured. “It only races for you.”

His hands dropped to her ass, and he opened his eyes. Without a word, he slowly led her to his throne. He took a seat and pulled her to his lap, her skirt fanning out over his legs, covering them both. She scooted a little more towards his torso, settling her ass higher up on his thigh. She shifted her weight against his groin, watching his eyes widen and then narrow at her.

“Bad girl,” he growled, a hand coming up to grip her thigh in turn.

“I think we both know you’re not the one barking commands today, Astarion.”

He scowled, but it was soon replaced by an exaggerated sigh. Of course. “If you must,” he said resignedly, pretending that he didn’t feel the bolt of excitement that shot straight to his cock.

As they sat on the throne surveying the party, Ban slipped the hand closest to Astarion beneath her skirt, cupping him through his trousers. He couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way his body jerked up to meet her touch. He was already growing hard, and he felt the familiar urge to fuck her senseless roaring back to life.

“Pretty good party,” she drawled, “I see you managed well even without me.”

The hand on his cock squeezed, and she began to stroke along his now rock-hard length. He fought the urge to buck, one hand clutching the armrest in a viselike grip, the other fisted in Ban’s skirt.

“Ban-” he choked out. More, he thought desperately, longing for there to be nothing between her skin and his. He wanted this. No. He thought he needed this - this new, delicious feeling of letting go, of letting his pleasure take precedence.

She laughed softly, leaning back to whisper against his ear. Her breath tickled the edge, making him shiver. “Say please.”

Astarion considered denying her, but the urge to assert control didn’t stand a chance against the raging inferno of his desire for her. He relented. “Please.” His hips rolled a little, pressing his cock against her hand. The pleasure was immense, and he could feel himself throbbing with need.

“Mm. I think… you can do better than that.” She stopped touching him, drawing her hand away, and the loss of sensation nearly wrested an unbecoming whimper from him.

His cock twitched, straining against the fabric. He shifted his hips and adjusted himself, easing the pressure a little.

His next words were frantic. “Okay. Okay. Ban - please. I want you to touch me.”

She nodded, considering that enough. She found the buttons of his trousers, popping them open and letting him spring free. Astarion exhaled, swallowing down a whine as she wrapped her hand around his cock.

Ban huffed a laugh. “You’re so hard, Astarion, gods.”

Hidden under her skirt and her body covering them from prying eyes, she began to stroke him. She swiped her thumb across his tip, collecting the fresh precum and spreading it as she thumbed circles around his cockhead. She could feel his cock pulsing in her palm and it was a glorious thing, the way he responded to her touch. Try as he might to keep still, his hips still bucked subtly.

Astarion forced his eyes ahead. His grip on the armrest was now painfully tight, and part of him worried he’d crack the wood.

“I’m aching for you too, don’t worry,” Ban whispered, “Imagine, Astarion, if it was my heat taking you right now. Squeezing around you.” She leaned back to watch him struggle, and then licked the tip of his ear.

He couldn’t quite hold this moan in, and it escaped as a small, strangled noise. He desperately needed to rut harder, and he obliged himself a little, rolling his hips at a slightly different angle. He twitched in her grasp, and she smirked as she felt him throb.

“You want to come?” She asked, glancing over at him.

He nodded violently, hands trembling. He had been left wanting all day, since that first little tease, and he felt frenzied, wild, like he might die if he couldn’t have her soon.

“Please.” It grated on him somewhat to say it, but to his surprise and delight he realized he trusted her enough to play along - in fact, he was enjoying it.

“I think not. If you come here, you’ll stain your pretty clothes. Everyone will see. We can’t have that, can we?”

She stopped stroking his cock, and the loss made him ache. He knew she was right, but he was so delirious with need that he considered telling her fuck it and just bending her over in front of the whole party. If not for Vel and his prurient interest in Ban, he would likely do exactly that.

She considered their predicament for a moment, and then smiled. “We could slip away for a quick moment, if that’s what my lord wishes?”

Astarion nodded frantically. All too eager, he quickly reached in to tuck himself back into his trousers. As Ban stood, so did he, and he used her body to hide his raging erection from the crowd. They managed to sneak off to the hallway and into their bedroom; Astarion snapped the door shut.

“Fuck me,” he hissed, all pretense gone. But she only laughed.

“So impatient,” she teased.

He growled, a little of his usual arrogance coming through as he crowded her against a wall. His hands grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.

“I know you want to,” he said, in between kisses to her lips and throat. “I know you’re wet for me, darling, just as I ache for you. I know you want my come inside you. So how about I give it to you?”

Ban felt her core contract at his words, aching to be filled.

Astarion released her wrists to ruck her skirt up, but she stopped him.

“I didn’t say you could.”

For the first time, it didn’t even cross his mind to fight her, the usual sting of his pride being forced down entirely absent. In that moment, he realized why allowing her dominion over him felt so right. When she took control, she was fully present - there was no resignation or absence in her. She actively chose every kiss, every caress, every drop of pleasure she bestowed upon him. In this, he found a fierce joy; there was no room for arrogance or pride. Instead, there was only the throbbing need in his cock and her sheer closeness. He could smell her arousal mingling with his own, and the heady scent - one he thought he’d never get to enjoy again - almost drove him insane.

“Please, Ban,” he whimpered, and it was the easiest those words have ever left his lips. “I’m begging you. Fuck me. Ride me.” He ground against her, feeling her moist heat through his trousers.

Any further words were lost as she kissed him again, her hands lifting her skirt to reveal her glistening mound. He reached for her with his free hand, his thumb finding her clit and tracing circles around it without breaking the kiss. The other hand eagerly cupped her breast, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. He found her already soaking wet, her entrance slick and warm and so ready for him. His hips ground against her erratically, his cock absolutely begging for friction, rhythm be damned.

“Astarion,” she warned, “You don’t need to. Just let me give you pleasure for once. That’s it. Nothing else.”

He was uneasy about that. For two hundred years, sex had been a performance, sometimes a torturous one. There had been scores of cruel lovers, who had enjoyed bringing him to the brink and then refusing him relief. His body had responded against his will, and the need had always been fiery and desperate and painful, all the same. With her, especially before the ascension, he had slowly been learning to enjoy himself in the moment, learning to trust that she’d give him what he wanted - what he needed. However, that had been quite some time ago. Whenever they’d made love in the last few months, it had felt like she was going through the motions, and that had made him resort to his old tricks to elicit some kind of response.

But he rediscovered a truth he’d always known before and had forgotten since his ascension. He could trust her. He didn’t have to perform for her. Ever. He merely had to be real.

“I want to,” he murmured, “I want to make you come. And then I want you to ride me.” He met her gaze. “Please let me.”

She nodded. Astarion smiled, and then fell to his knees in front of her. As his deft hands worked to undo his trousers and free his aching cock, he buried his face in her sex. His left hand spread her open and his tongue swiped at her engorged clit, then lapped at her entrance.

Delicious.

His right hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself fast and hard. He squeezed lightly as he did, his hips pistoning as he fucked his hand, desperately chasing his release.

Ban looked down to see him buried nose deep in her groin, tongue fucking her, his thumb rubbing her clit while he touched himself. His ass clenched with every frantic thrust. She threaded her fingers through his hair, but didn’t pull.

“Astarion. Don’t come like that. You know where I want it.” Where we both want it.

He backed off enough to meet her gaze, and the sight of his chin and mouth coated in her wetness made her groan.

“I know.” The smirks and the arrogance were gone; all that was left was Astarion and his blinding devotion to her. “I won’t come until you tell me to, and I’ll do it where you want me to.”

Absolute trust. It was entirely novel to the Ascendant, but it felt right.

Ban smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. “Good.”

With that, Astarion resumed his work, his lips wrapping around her clit. He sucked, his tongue flicking against her flesh. He let go of his cock to grip her hip, pressing her closer to him and urging her to fuck his mouth.

She obliged, hips gliding as she rubbed against his tongue and lips. He could feel his cock aching, begging for something - anything, but that didn’t matter much right now. All he could think about was how she tasted, how she ground herself against his face, how her hand fisted in his curls. He gently, carefully pressed a fang against her clit, dragging it along the surface, holding her hips still as she writhed with the sensation.

That alone almost brought her to her peak; she released her grip on Astarion's hair, covering her mouth to stifle her moans.

Astarion, sensing how close she was, flattened his tongue and continued to lap at her entrance and the bottom of her clit, while his thumb slid over the top, rubbing faster and faster. The twitching of his neglected cock was barely an afterthought; he knew his own release would soon follow.

Ban moaned his name as she rode the wave of her orgasm, her knees buckling. His name was a fervent prayer from her lips, a worshipful sound that never failed to go straight to Astarion’s cock. He held her up throughout, his tongue and thumb still working until she squirmed from overstimulation.

He gave her one last lick from entrance to clit and then pulled away, making a show of licking his fangs and lips as he met her gaze.

“May I?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yes, you may. I'd ride you, but I think we're too far gone for that. Fuck me. Take your pleasure from me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Astarion stood, hand pumping his cock as he lined himself up with Ban’s entrance. Without further delay, he buried himself to the hilt, sliding home with no resistance. She was slick and warm and perfect. He groaned, pressing their foreheads together; he had been dreaming of this for so long.

Ban could smell herself on his breath, and she leaned in to kiss him as he began to fuck her. This time, there was no performance from either of them. Astarion’s hips thrust of their own accord, and they did not roll like they usually did when he wanted to make her come. Instead he pumped in and out, hips pistoning at a punishing pace. He gripped her ass with both hands, pressing her closer to him, burying himself as deeply as he could with every thrust.

Their tongues tangled in a mess of breaths and moans, and Astarion could feel his balls tightening as he approached his climax. Good - so good, having her here, taking her, sinking my cock deep inside her heat, where it belongs, has always belonged. More, he thought, more and more forever because I want and need and miss you so much.

Ban placed a hand on his chest, feeling the roaring thunder of his heart, tongue finding a fang and pressing on it until she drew blood. He whined at the taste, eagerly lapping at it, and she smiled.

“Come for me, Astarion.”

Even in this, especially in this, the Ascendant obeyed without thought. Her command pushed him over the edge into an ecstasy beyond description. As he came, he moaned into her mouth, his hips spasming in jittery thrusts and grinds as he lost all control. He felt the overwhelming sensation of release as he emptied himself inside her, filling her with his come, and for the first time in months, he wasn’t coming into emptiness. There was warmth, and tightness, and closeness. There was her. It was so exquisite his eyes closed against the overwhelming joy and pleasure.

For several moments neither of them moved, clinging to one another while they caught their breath. As the world came back into focus he slowly pulled out of Ban, looking down and watching as his cock emerged, coated in his come and her wetness. She looked down as well, smiling.

“Won’t do to have that mess in your trousers for the rest of the night,” she teased, kneeling down to lick every inch of his cock clean. The sensation was intense, almost too much, and his hand gripped her shoulder tightly as she cleaned him.

She gave him one last, hard suck, earning her a loud groan, before standing back up. He fixed her with an unsteady, almost stunned gaze as he tucked himself back into his trousers and fixed his clothes.

“I want to try again, Ban.” The words slipped out earnestly and without hesitation. He had been considering how to broach this topic all day, vacillating between grand gestures and a long prepared speech. In the end, after all this, he felt this was the best way to do it. The way she always seemed to want him - sincere. Real.

Ban stared at him in shock, contemplating saying no. There was too much baggage, no matter how fantastic the sex was. But she could see that he was closer to his old self than he’d ever been. Not exactly the same - but almost. He’d protected her out of love, allowed her to take charge, trusted her to do right by him, and had now taken the next logical step.

He was handing her his heart, just as he had when he’d first confessed his feelings to her.

“If that’s what you want,” Ban murmured, caressing his cheek. His face was still damp with sweat and slick, and she traced some of the wetness on his lips. He parted them to suck her finger, a coy smile crossing his features.

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

He knew there was work to be done. There was still the party to attend to. There were things to make amends for and things to prove. He had to get over his pride and relearn letting his walls down, if only for her. It might prove impossible, but he intended to try.

But for now? This was enough.

[absinthe-of-midnight]

Rolls over

So Wolfwood may allude to a Psychopomp,

Psychopomps (from the Greek word ψυχοπομπός, psychopompós, literally meaning the 'guide of souls') are creatures, spirits, angels, demons or deities in many religions whose responsibility is to escort newly deceased souls from Earth to the afterlife.

Their role is not to judge the deceased, but simply to guide them. Appearing frequently on funerary art, psychopomps have been depicted at different times and in different cultures as anthropomorphic entities, horses, deer, dogs, whip-poor-wills, ravens, crows, vultures, owls, sparrows, and cuckoos.

One notable Psychopomp is Charon(which is also one of Pluto's five moons) the ferryman who collected coins as payment, whose name is a poetic form of χαρωπός (charopós) 'of keen gaze', referring either to fierce, flashing, or feverish eyes, or to eyes of a bluish-gray color.

bluish-gray...

Another Psychopomp is Mercury, guider of souls to the underworld and "messenger of the gods", planet and metal named after him, noted as “both destructive and creative”.

“The elusive, duplicitous Mercurius who consorts with the devil

is at the same time a redeeming psychopomp”,

“The fact that he can freely participate in both light and dark worlds without taint makes Mercurius the perfect meditating bridge."

The metal known as quicksilver for being fluid and because of it's colour:

Silver...

(Wolfwood I love you but finding a good shot of your eye-colour is a pain in the ass!)

Now in Stampede he doesn't have any of these eye-colours but his role as a Psychopomp is still alluded to via the undertaker title(those who were given burial rites are able to meet Charon and cross the river Styx) and of course, being outright called a guide(btw Saint Peter was also considered a Psychopomp:)).

Still with me? Now let's discuss Legato for a bit, This is still part of the Psychopomp thing because Orange might be doing something that's making me go crazy(in a good way).

In the manga Legato is Not a Psychopomp, he does have death imagery but invokes it via war and destruction, thus it associates him with Mars and iron, one well known iron-cyanide complex often used as a pigment is Prussian blue(Berlin blue, Paris blue) or "ferric ferrocyanide", and it looks like this:

Now reason I'm pointing out that he's not a Psychopomp in the manga is because one of the lovely participants in Tristampparty had pointed out in their rewatch that Legato's eyes are

a greyish-silver and that surprised me and got me thinking, is Orange trying to give him Psychopomp allusions too? How? *Rolls over again* through Charon? He guide souls deeper into the underworld through the river Styx which could be referenced in how he "guides" lost souls into EOM.

And then hit it me, hehe, he's–, guys, he's the fucking Archangel Michael, chief of the angels and archangels, "stand ready and enter before the glory of the Lord". Meditating the "law of god" and standing at the right hand of the throne of god(right hand man, get it?).

Given permission to bring "righteous judgment" on the souls of the damned and bring those who are "worthy" of god to the gates of heaven.

"Bring them to the afterlife" would make him a Psychopomp as michael does guide souls but if you recall earlier they do not and cannot judge souls in the end so while micheal is theoretically a Psychopomp he does not embody it in its truest form, Micheal's role is a judge, jury and executer.

“The Lord punish you.”

And That’s it, the difference between Wolfwood and Legato's roles as Psychopomps, it is guide vs. judge, which uh, could also tie back to the twins.

(muttering, guide vs. judge, guide vs. judge... *tosses this into the steadily growing pile of "Orange might be foreshadowing a Wolfwood v. Legato fight in the future."*)

[shiny-jr]

pardon my late message i've been letting letting the current damnation chapters sink in the past couple of days after finally taking the quiz (im am still waiting with baited breath but like in a chill way for the rest) but HOLY. MOLY.

i did indeed notice that the MC's have different morality stances, and they match their crimes (granted im still trying to figure out which one did what. cuz rn i got stuck on iago coming fraud or tax evasion, even though theyre super down with murder, but like raven is WAY more down to murder somebody. im just nit paying enough attention to figure it out, really. im having too much fun vibin)

2 THE WAY THE CHARACTERS MAY NOT START OUT ENTIRELY YANDERE FOR THE MC AND INSTEAD DEVELOP THE OBSESSION FOR THEM LATER ON 🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌😭😭😭😭😭 BRILLIANTBRILLIANTBRILLIANT. ok so i got heartslabyul on my first attempt so it wasnt as like "obvious" even though trey and cater are both instantly "shocked" i was like "that could just be bc our character is weird it doesnt necessarily mean they yandere switch has been flipped pshaw! 🤭" BUT THEN eventually i got to pomfiore and epel confirmed it when he was like "ive been imagining things i never did before!" and i was like "oh snap! WAIT is *THIS* part of the punishment? like not JUST being sent to another world that is based on a story, but specifically a YANDERE DEATH TRAP? 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯"

cuz like, sure, the MC is doing what they can to survive but depending on which one theyre fine to just vibe and let the story take its course if theyve got a good chance to survive not doing anything special. but then the story always gets WEIRD, RIGHT?! stuff always goes wrong! was that part of the vision? or am i going conspiracy crazy?

anyway AMAZING WORK. also you really fed the vil simps on that one story. i thought i was over him and content to be like rook and admire from afar but that SCENE with his hands wrapped around the retainer 🥵 i darn near short-circuited. HOW DARE YOU! (please continue 😉)

its hard to choose a favorite story in this series and i dont want to speak too soon before theyre all out. but i do have favorite bits in each of them.

and i just love the endings to them all. i love the bittersweet nature of all the endings. like none, of them are really romantic in a comforting way (duh its a yandere story) but they do vary in romance level. like by far i think riddle's azul's and vil's are the most romantic while leona and jamil are quite cold and calculating or in jamil's case mostly possessive and manipulative on the surface. it's VERY interesting.

and also bc im silly and you brought up the yandere-ness of the other characters, i start to wonder what happens next in these stories (im not asking for sequels. oh heavens no! never! unless you wanted to, but im mostly just brainstorming character relationships and potential conflicts). like in the savannaclaw story, ruggie and jack are also glued to the MC but not in a really romantic way? ruggie has that "i want to be your #2/by your side forever" which could go either way, but to me initially reads as "jack was pushing his way into MY spot and i want to guarantee he cant have it" rather than a "one day i'll deserve to be by your side romantically and for now i want to ensure i'll always have that opportunity by being next to you and a priority of yours" and then comes leona's proposal at the end, and i was thinking "uhhh but mc is by your side as consort, then ruggie gets pushed out of his spot in favor of the husband taking over. even though ruggie could still be an advisor and confidant, its still like 'move over dude theres another taking priority over you" and then that gets me wondering "what would happen if MC turned down leona? what kinda havoc would he wreak if any? does that put the village in jeopardy if he gets pissed off? what if they accept and they're STILL screwed bc he stops paying attention to the village after he gets the throne? and then the chieftain is taken into the palace and away from the village and has no way back and theyre left to basically flounder without them?"

also i really like how you end your stories with pseudo-cliffhangers? i mean they are but also the plot is mostly resolved and whatever major things that needed to happen happened. and its just the character resolutions and epilogues you dont see. its entertaining. like i said, i like to imagine what happens next and you really leave some stuff open for that.

anyway! thank you so much for sharing your stories!

Oh, for the crimes, just look at one of the questions which I believe asks what you (the quiz taker/MC) committed. Those are currently five of the seven crimes I've listed before, and each MC has committed at least ONE of them. But, they could've always committed more too.

On that other topic, of characters going yandere, one thing I hate is when reading a story and for some reason the characters are already obsessed with the MC but for absolutely no apparent reason. And me personally, I enjoy a bit of build up, which is why I try to implement some in my writing. Which can be a bit hard to do within forty pages when all these other things are happening, but I manage for the most part.

[talonabraxas]

Goddess Tara ॐ Talon Abraxas

Goddess of Compassion - One Who Saves

Diamonds are Her Sacred Stone.

Tara or Arya Tara, also known as Jetsun Dolma, is a female Bodhisattva typically associated with Tibetan Buddhism. She is the "mother of liberation", and represents the virtues of success in work and achievements.

Tara is actually the generic name for a set of Bodhisattvas of similar aspect. These may more properly be understood as different aspects of the same quality, as Bodhisattvas are often considered metaphoric for Buddhist virtues. As Mahatara, Great Tara, she is the supreme creatrix and mother of all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas.

Tara is the Feminine Goddess Archetype in Hindu Mythology. Tara governs the Underworld, the Earth and the Heavens, birth, death and regeneration, love and war, the seasons, all that lives and grows, the Moon cycles - Luna - feminine - creation. Typically Tara is seen as a slender and beautiful woman of white complexion, long golden hair and blue eyes.

Her animals are the sow, mare, owl and raven.

She is the most popular figure in the Tibetan pantheon of deities, the beautiful goddess Tara, (pronounced tah' rah) whose name in means 'Star' - originated in Indian Hinduism as the Mother Creator, and her many representations spread from Ireland to Indonesia under many different names.

In later Hindu scriptures, she is depicted as one of the eight major aspects of the Divine Feminine Principle, a loving manifestation in contrast to the fiercesome Kali. Like a star that perpetually consumes its own energy, Tara represents the never-ending desires that fuel all life.

Adopted by Buddhism from Hinduism by the 3rd century B.C. , Tara appears in Buddhism, Jainism, and particularly, Tibetan Lamaism, as a complex array of manifestations: goddess of ascetism and mysticism, mother creator, protectress of all humans as they cross the sea of life.

The most widely known Taras are:

Green Tara, known for the activity of compassion, the consort of the Dhyani Buddha Amogasiddhi, and is incarnated in all good women.

White Tara, also known for compassion, long life, healing and serenity; also known as The Wish-fulfilling Wheel, or Cintachakra. As White Tara, she rose from a lotus blooming in the lake that formed from the first tear of compassion of great bodhisattva Avalokiteswara (whose human incarnation is the Dalai Lama), and is considered his consort.

Red Tara, of fierce aspect associated with magnetizing all good things Black Tara, associated with power Yellow Tara, associated with wealth and prosperity. Blue Tara, associated with transmutation of anger

Cittamani Tara, a form of Tara widely practiced in the Gelug School of Tibetan Buddhism, portrayed as green and often confused with Green Tara

There is also recognition in some schools of Buddhism of twenty-one Taras. A practice text entitled "In Praise of the 21 Taras", is recited during the morning in all four sects of Tibetan Buddhism. Some Tibetan Buddhists practice a mantra meditation called Tara Practice. The main Tara mantra is; Om Tare Tu Tare Ture Soha.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries below:

A Dowry of Blood by S. T. Gibson

S.T. Gibson’s sensational novel is the darkly seductive tale of Dracula’s first bride, Constanta.

This is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession…

Saved from the brink of death by a mysterious stranger, Constanta is transformed from a medieval peasant into a bride fit for an undying king. But when Dracula draws a cunning aristocrat and a starving artist into his web of passion and deceit, Constanta realizes that her beloved is capable of terrible things.

Finding comfort in the arms of her rival consorts, she begins to unravel their husband’s dark secrets. With the lives of everyone she loves on the line, Constanta will have to choose between her own freedom and her love for her husband. But bonds forged by blood can only be broken by death.

Fantasy, horror, gothic, historical fiction, adult

The Machineries of Empire series (Ninefox Gambit, Raven Stratagem, Revenant Gun, and other stories) by Yoon Ha Lee

To win an impossible war Captain Kel Cheris must awaken an ancient weapon and a despised traitor general.

Captain Kel Cheris of the hexarchate is disgraced for using unconventional methods in a battle against heretics. Kel Command gives her the opportunity to redeem herself by retaking the Fortress of Scattered Needles, a star fortress that has recently been captured by heretics. Cheris’s career isn’t the only thing at stake. If the fortress falls, the hexarchate itself might be next.

Cheris’s best hope is to ally with the undead tactician Shuos Jedao. The good news is that Jedao has never lost a battle, and he may be the only one who can figure out how to successfully besiege the fortress.

The bad news is that Jedao went mad in his first life and massacred two armies, one of them his own. As the siege wears on, Cheris must decide how far she can trust Jedao–because she might be his next victim.

Science fiction, fantasy, science fantasy, space opera, military science fiction, series, adult

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4- New Plot Bunnies Winner

I've been very excited for this AU and I hope you guys have been as well! This isn't exactly where I would start the beginning of the fic, but it's definitely the beginning of the action.

The Raven Prince

Rating: T

Warning(s): Assumed Character Death

Ship: Bagginshield

Summary: Thorin thought his life was working perfectly. He had good friends, was the prince to the wealthiest kingdom in Middle Earth, and the love of his life just agreed to marry him. However, that changes when Erebor is approached by a sorcerer who flexes his power and influence on Thorin. Now he’s a raven and he must somehow save Bilbo, save his kingdom, and get his father’s blessing before it’s too late.

Thorin was rushed through the royal wing, valets doing their best to dress him in a regal coat and jewels on the go. Balin and Dwalin were trying to interrogate him about where he was the previous night. Images of his hobbit, grinning brightly as he jumped into Thorin’s arms in acceptance of his proposal, came bidden to the forefront of his mind, nearly pulling a grin along with it. His best friend since childhood wanted to become his consort. It was like a dream come true. He didn’t know what his father would say, and he didn’t care. For once, Thorin was going to do what made him happy.

Finally, they reached the corridor which would open behind the throne. Thorin was all but shoved through the door to take his place beside the king. Thrain looked over at him as Thorin merely raised an eyebrow in return. Thrain scowled, which was becoming a familiar expression to Thorin as of late.

“Where have you been?” Thrain demanded.

“I would prefer to discuss it later.” Thorin murmured back.

“Damn it, Thorin! When are you going to grow up and behave as is expected of your station?”

“I didn’t realize my station was to be chained to your side as a pretty pet to be brought out on special occasions.”

Thrain jumped to his feet, ignoring the gasps and murmurs from the crowd of dwarves gathered. Thorin merely glared back into his good eye, challenging him to refute it. Before the king could utter another word, Fundin interrupted. 

“Master Smaug from the north mountains to see you, Sire.” 

Thrain turned back, glaring at his advisor before taking note of their audience. Thrain grumbled before returning to the throne and motioning for the guards to send him in. Rather than a dwarf, a tall man wearing a dark cloak entered the throne room. The room grew quiet and tense as the braziers along the wall flickered with every step the man took. A word was being whispered around the hall. Sorcerer.

“My King, My Prince, thank you for welcoming me into your halls.” 

“Master Smaug, to what do we owe your presence?” Thrain asked carefully.

“I’m here to warn you that war is coming.”

Murmurs broke out amongst the dwarves present as Thorin felt his hand fall to the sword at his side. 

“Who would dare to challenge the might of Erebor?” Thorin demanded.

Smaug’s grin turned feral, sending a wave of ice along Thorin’s spine. 

“Well, I would.”

The murmurs turned to cries of outrage that even had Thrain jumping to his feet. Smaug seemed unperturbed as the guards closed in, hands on their weapons.

“My orc army will be here within the fortnight. Your mountain will fall. Your people, massacred, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Why tell us this? Is it to gloat?” Thorin snarled.

“Nothing so baseless.” Smaug scoffed. “It’s a demonstration, and a chance to offer you salvation. Turn over half your treasury to me, and I will spare you this fate.”

Thorin was taken aback. On one hand, that was a hefty sum, but half the treasury against the wellbeing of their people. Could they honestly turn down such an offer?

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” Thrain announced, causing Thorin to whip around in shock.

“Father, can we really afford to risk war for gold?” 

“My king, perhaps we should take the time to consider…” Fundin also tried imploring upon his king.

“No!” Thrain announced, ignoring them both. “I will not be coerced by threats and bribes! We don’t even have proof of such an army.”

“You’ll have your proof soon enough.” Smaug growled. “At which point my price will have gone up.”

“You can’t do that!” Thorin roared.

“Do not mistake me for a wandering wizard, Prince Thorin!” Smaug snapped, flames rising around him forcing everyone to step back. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“And you don’t know who you’re dealing with. We are Erebor, the greatest dwarf kingdom of Middle Earth! Your army will fall!” Thrain boasted.

“Yet no army should be without its leader.” Smaug sneered.

Thorin’s eyes widened as he saw the intent of the sorcerer. Without even wasting a thought on it, Thorin threw himself in front of his father. The bolt of magic struck him true, lighting his every nerve on fire.

“THORIN! NO!” Thrain shouted.

It was the last thing Thorin heard before disappearing in a puff of smoke and black raven feathers.

***

New Shire lay in the valley between Erebor and Mirkwood. After the tragedy of the Long Winter that happened far before Bilbo had even been born, many hobbits left their homes and moved East. Thain Fortinbras Took, Bilbo’s great-grandfather, made a plea to the dwarf king to be allowed to settle outside their mountain. In exchange for protection, they would grow the crops to share with Erebor. It was an easy alliance to make, and dwarves and hobbits have lived in harmony ever since. 

Bilbo had been outside his grandparents’ smial, in the garden daydreaming of all the flowers he would like to weave in Thorin’s hair when he received the news. His heart plummeted, pleading with Bofur for it not to be true. Thorin couldn’t be gone. It had to be a mistake. It wasn’t though. The entire mountain was in mourning, and Bilbo had been invited to join them. He declined. Bilbo walked into his bedroom, and he didn’t come out for several days. No matter how much his grandparents pleaded with him, Bilbo just couldn’t find the stamina to pull himself out of bed. 

His hair was a mess of limp, greasy curls. His face, red and tear-stained. His stomach tied in knots, both simultaneously starving and nauseous. It was on the evening of the tenth day that Bilbo finally found it in him to find some manner of closure. He slipped out his window and walked towards their tree. It had always been in some manner a sanctuary towards him, but tonight it was nothing more than a memorial. He placed a hand on the cool bark, and promptly fell into a sobbing mess.

Great wracking heaves that pulled him to his knees as his arms wrapped around his middle. Something cool hit his cheek. His engagement bead. In a fit of rage, Bilbo yanked the damn thing off, pulling several hairs out with it, and chunked it into the darkened forest. The moment he did it, he immediately regretted it. That was the last piece he had of Thorin, and now it was likely lost forever. Bilbo put his back to the tree and leaned against the trunk as he continued to wail out his sorrow. Maybe he would just wait here. Wait here for Thorin to return and let it all be a lie, or for him to waste away and join him. Bilbo closed his eyes tightly, picturing his dwarf.

“Thorin. I wish you were here with me right now.” He whispered.

There was a rustle and what sounded like the flap of wings. Bilbo slowly opened his eyes right as a large raven burst through the brush to land on his shoulder. Bilbo looked at it aghast only to notice something in its beak. He held his hand out, and the bird dropped Bilbo’s bead into his palm. Bilbo felt a catch in his chest before he turned to the bird with a watery smile.

“Thank you.”

The raven nodded its head, remaining right where it was on Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Don’t you have messages to deliver?” Bilbo tried to remind it.

The bird cawed at him before dipping its head under Bilbo’s chin and rubbing against him. Bilbo laughed as the feathers tickled his neck. 

“Alright, alright!” He scolded good-naturedly. “Enough of that.”

The raven didn’t relent immediately. Only after Bilbo pushed it off his shoulder completely. At which point the raven fluttered for a moment before landing on his other shoulder. 

Bilbo sighed. “You’re as stubborn as a dwarf.” 

The raven cawed at him again. 

“Are you lost?” He asked.

The raven didn’t provide him with an answer, but Bilbo was willing to bet that was a yes. Now he really was becoming reminded of a very particular dwarf. A pang of longing hit him square in the chest, and Bilbo took to petting the raven’s head if only to keep himself from falling apart once more. He gave the raven a weak smile.

“Come on.” He whispered. “Let’s get you back to Ravenhill.”

Bilbo kept himself occupied by talking to the raven. He told him of his home and his grandparents. Told him about his job in the mountain and his friends. He asked after the raven. About where it had been and if it had been gone long which led to a more painful topic.

“The Crown Prince has…died.” He croaked. “I don’t know if you know that. It’s been…hard for me because you see he gave me the hair bead that you so kindly returned. He was my best friend, and…the love of my life. I don’t quite know what to do with myself now that he isn’t here.”

The raven was very sympathetic, using its beak to comb through Bilbo’s curls. He gave it a weak smile and a gentle rub under its chin. 

“In any case,” Bilbo sighed. “We’re almost home for you. I’m sure the other ravens will tell you all about it.”

They finally crested to the top of Ravenhill, and Bilbo took just a moment to admire the view of the valley in the moonlight. This was one of Thorin’s favorite spots to just come up to and think. Considering they were on the backside of the mountain from where the rookery was, it was nearly always unoccupied and so serene.

The raven suddenly gave a caw, startling Bilbo as it took flight. He spun around only to gasp. The moonlight hit the bird to make steam rise up and surround it, obscuring it from view for only a moment before someone else stood there. Someone Bilbo thought he would never get to see again.

Thorin looked down at his hands in wonder before he turned his hopeful gaze onto the hobbit.

“Bilbo?” He spoke.

Bilbo couldn’t even think to form a response before he had fallen over in a dead faint.