#undead sex ring

[foone]

Evil undead being with a mansion full of servants, most of which didn't want to be there. But he's got some kind of power over death and has bound them there, so they can't leave his employ even if they die. They'd just come back.

Naturally this has resulted in an environment where the chores get done, but the servants keep murdering each other. And then doing it again the next day. He's fine with it so long as they clean up the mess.

And he's still not sure if the maids really, really hate each other or if this is some kind of sex thing. They seem to be having a lot of fun, even if they them have to do more work to get the blood out of the carpets.

One day they ask him to perform their wedding. They want to both wear white so it'll show the blood better. Instead of rings, they're giving each other knives. And his last line in officiating their wedding is "you may now kill the bride". (he set it up so that instead of the usual place, they'll resurrect in the honeymoon suite at the local village's best inn.

He's a little unsettled by this. I mean, he may be a necromancer who is more familiar with death than most, but they're taking it a little far. He considers death a business partner, they're jumping into death's arms, and only braking the French kiss to ask for a threesome.

He's decimated nations, raized villages, and torn life from the body of men, women, and children alike... But those maids are doing something they manages to disturb even him. They're just having too much fun with it. Death isn't supposed to be fun, damn it! He's a cackling skull on a vampiric body whose every touch brings the cold silence of the grave, and even he doesn't have THAT much fun with death!

He sips his coffee and shakes his head. The living!

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Lestat de Lioncourt x reader

Synopsis: sick and tired as you are of Lestat’s treatment you decide to put your situationship on hold, until he comes for you. Inspired by the SDCC trailer.

Warnings: toxic relationship, kissing, p in v sex, blood drinking, biting, choking, clit pinching, edging, violence, butchering of the French language.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used, but French is a gendered language, which forces me to decline the adjectives as feminine whenever Lestat uses them when referring to reader.

The bustling in the dressing room is doubled by the fact that there’s no space to move; the concert is due to start in no time and you are all still running about, trying to prepare the man of the hour, the rock star the people in the arena are cheering, whose name they’re screaming at the top of their lungs: The Vampire Lestat. The one and only.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

Your current walking, not breathing headache. The undead man you’re trying to ignore with all your might.

You had asked a colleague to do his hair and makeup these last few nights, even though you’re supposed to be his personal stylist, and threw yourself into working with the rest of the band as a revenge for the way he’s been treating you lately; you know you’re on borrowed time, that he’s letting you give him the cold shoulder that, if he truly wanted, you’d be still working on him, whether you liked it or not.

You almost crash in one of the documentary crew people: they swarm everywhere and are always in everyone’s general space, filming and asking questions. You try to lay low, do your job and then hide until the next concert, yet you feel like the journalist, Daniel Molloy, has his eyes trained on you behind his tinted glasses, and you don’t like it: Lestat has a rabid fanbase, if anyone had the inkling he’s fucking you (because to call whatever it is what you two have a ‘relationship’ would be an exaggeration), you’d have no peace.

Lestat has been a menace, more than his usual self, during rehearsal and in his dressing room, unhappy with the various options for the Halloween concert, changing his outfits too many times and now your colleagues are in a hurry to prepare him, hence why you’re here instead on your perch backstage, ready to do touch ups in between songs.

You ignore his stunning eyes as you bend to finish applying the last layer of powder on his forehead and nose.

“Ma choue.”

You can hear is deep voice in your head, almost snapping the small brush in a half in annoyance: he knows you hate it when he calls you ‘my cabbage’, it makes your blood boil that it’s supposed to be a term of endearment; who, in their right mind would call someone at least dear to them ‘cabbage’? Might as well call them ‘lettuce’ or ‘ tomatoes’!

“Tu me manques.” He continues, his face not betraying any emotion, while his hand moves sneakily to caress the inside of your tight; in your head his voice has taken that low timbre of when he’s deep inside of you, fighting his orgasm.

“Would that be all, Mr. De Lioncourt?” You ask, coldly, moving away from his grasp. “You don’t look like you need me.”

Your words echo his when he dismissed you, not longer than a week ago, right before the first day of shooting.

As used as you are to his mercurial moods, that day you were already angry with him, his careless words were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back and made you decide to put whatever the two of you have going on (“Still better than Twilight” a voice in your head keeps telling you) on an indefinite hold or, as indefinite as he’ll decide it’s going to be.

Before leaving for the backstage, you let one single thought ring through your mind, positive as you are that he’s listening:

“Fuck you Lestat! The only thing you miss is my blood!”

To everyone else his face betrays no emotion, you’re used to read in between the lines with him and the twitch of his mouth tells you there’s going to be hell to pay: you’ll burn that bridge when you’ll get there, if ever, now it’s your time to be an asshole, and have fun while you’re at it.

You run into the dressing room swearing under your breath: how in the name of all is holy and sacred you forgot one of the foundation sponges here? You didn’t even use it on Lestat!

In a hurry you start rummaging through all the crap and garbage your colleagues and Molloy’s crew have left around: between your crazy work hours and the concerts dates being so close to one another, you don’t have the time to buy a new one and you find yourself hunting for this stupid one that’s finished God only knows where.

“Looking for this, ma choue?”

You turn around too fast, whipping the muscles of your neck painfully to look at Lestat, who has closed, and locked, the door behind his back and is leaning against it, pink sponge in his hand.

You know he’s fresh off the stage after the third encore, the pinkish red of perspiration is staining the dying makeup and collar of his elaborate shirt.

“I should have known you had taken it.” You growl back.

“What should a man do when he’s been ignored?” He says nonchalantly. “You left me with no choices, ma belle.”

Instinctively you start looking for a way out of the small room, knowing all too well there’s only the door, and that he stands on your pathway out of here and towards the safety of your hotel room.

“Perhaps, a man, should ask himself why he’s been ignored.”

You square your shoulders, yet your insecurity is betrayed when you start pinching the inside of your right arm, where he’s first bitten you.

The wound has healed nicely, the scar remains, too small to be truly noticed if not for the constant redness of your picking at the skin there.

You remember when he first drank from you, so many months ago when you still believed the whole ‘Vampire Lestat’ persona was just a stage play; he had looked at you with those eyes, mesmerizing, whose color you couldn’t truly name, making you feel like a lamb would in front of a hungry wolf, right before gently grabbing your uncovered arm to bite the delicate skin and drink enough blood to make you feel dizzy on your feet.

“And what did a man do?” He asks, advancing like the predator he is, as if he owns the room hell! The entire building.

You try to stand your ground, shoulders squared, legs firmly planted on the floor: the bridge is here, you might as well go down swinging.

“Oh, I don’t know, treat me like a blood bag and demean me in front of the cameras?”

Two days before your personal bombshell, he had complimented the taste of your blood, and responded a second too late, when you had bluntly asked if he looked at you like he would a steak, then the whole ‘Do I look like I need you?’ incident had happened: the proverbial icing on the cake.

To be absolutely clear, you don’t expect anything from him that is not great sex (narcissist or not, he knows how to show you a good time and not having to breathe to live helps when you’re going down someone) and a bit of consideration.

“Oh, that.” He stands in front of you, impossibly tall, cutting off any escape route. “Would you like me to apologize publicly? Perhaps in front of the crowd tomorrow?” He mocks you.

And you fall for it: hook, line and sinker.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You growl, invading his personal space, as if you’d ever pose a threat for him.

In a second you find yourself against the wall, arms stretched over your head, your work bag on the floor.

“What would you do, ma choue, how would you stop me?”

You’re so angry you’d kill him with your mind, if only you could!

Uselessly you try to kick him, squirming in his light hold, until he’s plastered against you with your legs around his trim hips.

“Let me go, now!”

That wins you a laugh, a low rumble against your chest: he knows that you know that he loves when you fight back, that your fascination with him doesn’t stop your fiery spirit to burn bright, like a light in the darkness.

“Why would I do such a thing?” His lips leave butterfly kisses all over your pulse point. “After scheming to have you here. That would be most stupid, wouldn’t it?”

Slowly, seductively, his hips grind against yours, his erection already pushing against your core, almost forcing a wail of need from your lips: even angry you missed the liquid need pooling in your belly as soon as your bodies are near, how his touch would ignite your desire and burn any reasoning to keep him away.

“I hate you so much!” And you both know is a lie.

“Then why can I smell how ready you are for me, ma petite?”

You let your head slam against the wall, baring your neck to his fangs, now tracing a path of goosebumps leading to your collarbone and heaving breasts.

You squirm against him, not trying to evade him, but because you need him desperately: you want to tear his clothes off his body and fuck your rage and pent up desire until you are both spent on the filthy carpet of the dressing room.

The words almost leave your mouth, when knocking on the door, followed by the voice of your fellow make up artist stops you, and him.

“Are you coming or not?” She asks from the corridor. “I need to shower! Come on!”

“I’m on my way!” You shout back, your desire retreating as your brain reminds you of the way he’s been treating you.

Lestat eyes you with a smirk on his lips; for a moment you think he’ll not let you go and blow your illicit relationship for the whole crew to see. His eyes seem to shine as he stares into yours, searching, searching as you wonder, again, what color they truly are.

“Saved by the bell.” He murmurs in your ear, letting your shaky legs off from around his hips. “Off you go, ma petite lapinou. You’re not going to be as lucky the next time.”

You’re still trembling as you grab your bag and rush to your friend, cursing yourself for being so weak in your resolve.

As per your contract you, and the other two make up artists, are supposed to share the hotel room to kill the costs for the whole production; the rest of the crew does the same, while the actual band members have rooms for their own, usually in a better hotel than the one chosen for you all.

The wandering life you have all chosen has changed those plans: in fact you have the hotel room all for yourself, since one colleague is in a committed relationship with one of the sound technicians (they always crash together), the other is in a situationship with a girl from Molloy’s crew; the relationship is even more toxic than whatever you have going on with Lestat, yet the two always bunk down together.

You don’t mind having all the space, and the bathroom for yourself: you love the quiet after a concert and before you are all on the road again.

You exit the bathroom, your skin still warm after the shower. You hear the TV on in the background, not giving it much attention: it’s just white noise to keep you company as you dry your hair and decide what to wear to go out with some colleagues.

“Now, what is this?”

You screech in surprise and almost slip on your ass.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why are you here?! I’m naked!”

Lestat looks at you from the armchair where he’s sitting, long legs encased in skin fitting leather and a white shirt half unbuttoned to showcase the hard planes of his chest you’re trying very hard not to ogle.

“You haven’t answered my question, ma petite lapinou.”

He’s holding your Taylor Swift pink T shirt, showing it to you with a frown on his brow.

Him and Taylor, better, the respective fan bases have this crusade going on, sniping at each other: the swifties being absolutely rabid whenever one of Lestat’s songs is higher in the charts or his tours sold out faster than hers. Taylor has published another remastering of her latest album and Lestat responded with new songs that beaten her to the top: it’s an ongoing messy feud and Lestat loves throwing jabs at her and her fans in his interviews. Thank God he has no control over his X and Instagram accounts.

All of this considered, you bought it before your fallout with him, as a prank: you thought about appearing in his hotel room clad only in that to see how he would react, and reap the benefits. You deciding to withdrew from the ‘relationship’ killed that idea; you have been using it to sleep.

“It’s a T shirt.” You answer.

“That I can see.” He says reigning in his annoyance at your pretend ignorance. “I have never pegged you as a fan of mademoiselle Swift.”

“With the things you don’t know about me, you could build a ladder from here to the moon.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping he’s not snooping in your mind right now.

He throws the T shirt in the general direction of the bed and spreads his legs even more, the outline of his bulge clear against the tight fitting leather.

“Going somewhere, ma petite?”

His voice is a low rumble that goes straight to your core.

“Yeah.” You feign indifference. “Out with some people, have fun. I have decided I’m going to play drunk trick or treat.”

He’s not wearing any makeup now, he looks like a carved marble statue come to life, yet you can see curiosity etched on his beautiful, alien features.

“I am not, comment tu le dis, privy to this particular brand of trick or treating.”

You tighten the towel around your head, you’re going to need it.

“It’s pretty simple, actually. I go out, get drunk and fuck the first person I meet. Having an orgasm, finally, is going to be my treat. It has been too long.”

In a heartbeat you find yourself slammed against the wall. You should be used to his inhuman speed, yet he’s managed to knock the breath out of your lungs again.

Your ears are ringing, the towel having done a poor job at shielding your head from a hard knock against the wall: one of these days you’ll get a concussion. How fucked up is it that you’re accepting your fate so calmly?

Your vision swims as your eyes try to focus on his face, now contorted in rage: Take that asshole, you think.

“Who would be the lucky candidate, ma petite?” He growls, his hand finding home around your throat. “Perhaps one of Molloy’s subordinates? Or one of the sad men drinking themselves in an early grave in the hotel lobby?”

“Anyone would do.” You spat back, despite the pressure of his hand. “You wouldn’t know how to find my clit with two hands, a flashlight and a neon sign pointing at it!”

For a second his hold is too tight, cutting off your air supply completely: is this how you die?

The thought flies out of your head when you find yourself on the bed, coughing and trying to absorb as much air as your poor lungs can manage, Lestat between your splayed legs: you have gotten to him, to his pride and possessiveness. Revenge tastes so sweet, knowing you can slither under his skin the same way he does with you.

“Ouch!” You whine when he strips you of the towels, uncaring of the cotton burning your skin.

“Two hands, a flashlight and a neon sign, is that what you said ma belle pute?”

You try to push him away, fruitlessly: he’s far too heavy and strong for you, even if he were a human man, yet you trash under him and try to go for his eyes, like a cat, until two of his long fingers pinch your clit cruelly.

You cry out in pain, arching under him in the vain attempt to escape your punishment.

“I hate you so fucking much! I wish I could put a stake through your heart and see you die!”

He doesn’t move for a second; he truly seems a marble statue, Bernini’s masterpiece, betrayed by the shining of his eyes.

You scream when his fangs pierce the delicate skin of your neck, and his cock slams into you.

The pleasure is a wave that engulfs you and your senses. You don’t know where you are, who you are, you’re only feeling his heart beating to the rhythm of yours as his hips meet yours, again and again, fast and hungry in the desperate pursuit of his own end.

You can’t plant your feet on the mattress, too taken by the impossible high you’re experiencing, all of your senses drunk on him and on the pleasure burning through you, the tight band in your belly snapping, forcing another scream from your lips.

You whine when his fangs leave your neck.

Through the roaring of your own blood in your ears, you can ear his moans of pleasure when the pain of your nails in his back finally register in his brain. Through hooded eyes you look at his beautiful face, now marred by the red of your blood, his pupils so enlarged you can’t see the color of the iris.

He’s still hard inside of you, not pounding away anymore his hips have taken a sensual, slow rhythm, meant to savor the warmth your body provides.

He kisses you when you try to say his name, your taste, metallic and heady in your mouth, pushes you into a frenzy he doesn’t let you follow, forcing you to go slow and feel the way he owns your body.

You arch your spine when he starts kissing your neck and chest, unhurried and possessive, his cockhead finding your G spot to bully it again, to feel your walls clamp again around his erection, too slow to throw you into the throes of another orgasm but enough to keep you on the razor’s edge, your moans and keens music to his ears.

You buck under his weight when his skilled fingers find your center again, massaging your bud with slow, deliberate motions.

“Two hands.” He groans after a vicious push. “A flashlight and a neon sign, n'est-ce pas? Then why are you moaning, ma belle?”

You grab his arms, needy and desperate for the end he’s denying you, embarrassed by the squelching sounds your cunt makes around his cock.

“Anyone would do.” He spats in your face, pinching your clit cruelly, to enjoy your whines of pain and how your body squirms under his.

You want to beg for mercy, scream how sorry you are but his devious fingers have rendered you speechless and thoughtless, mad for an orgasm he’s denying you with a cruel smile.

His forehead meets yours, now that the pace is slow. He’s switched to French without truly realizing what he’s doing, too lost in feeling your muscles clench and massage his cock: he’s missed your body, something you must never know.

His tongue finds the bites on your neck, licking lazily at the blood still spilling as his hips pick up the pace again, grinding cruelly against your puffy clit, drunken words of appreciation fall from his lips when your cunt wounds so tightly around his cock, forcing him in deeper and deeper, the fullness blanking your mind to his words and to the world around you.

You shatter like crystal again, forcing him over the edge as well, your combined screams of pleasure reverberating against the cheap walls, his breaking the table lamp on the desk.

Your cunt milks him of all he can give and robs him of his strength; it’s a miracle he manages to pull out and fall by your side, unfocused eyes trained on the chipped ceiling.

You hear him stretch luxuriously next to you as you try to find the strength to go to the bathroom and deal with the mess of blood and semen he’s left on your body.

Your legs wobble when you stand and the room spins as you bend to retrieve your Taylor Swift T shirt fallen on the floor, after your ‘activities’; you hear him say something in French, his voice a low purr and you can feel his eyes trained on your naked arse.

“Shall I remind you I have taken Spanish in high school?” You say, wobbling to the bathroom as you feel his come slide down your legs, ignoring how he grabs his shirt to wipe the excess of blood on his face.

When you come back he’s still laying in bed, smoking, arms spread on the headboard as if he owns the place.

“This place is horrible.” He says, as if you had chosen it yourself. “Sincèrement affreux."

“Your tour manager picks the place for us, which means that you did.” You retort, sliding in bed to put your head on his naked shoulder. “This one isn’t so bad. The clown themed one was worse.”

“Clown themed?”

He wants to know more, but you’re already asleep, out like a light; he can hear the whooshing of your blood through your veins, now that your heartbeat has calmed into your usual tattoo.

Without waking you up, he kills his smoke and tries to make himself comfortable on the lumpy mattress: perhaps that’s why you have been in such a bad mood lately. He will look into it as soon as he wakes up from his slumber: he’s going to be famished and his tour managed looks delicious.

[reyrapidsbutgayer]

Ranking All Shadow of the Erdtree Bosses and NPC's by Fuckability.

It's finally time. The sequel to the 2nd worst post I've ever made.

I 100%-ed the DLC and it was fantastic. Time to find out which new characters are the most fuckable.

In this hypothetical all of the bosses can be reasonably communicated with (if possible) and are not actively trying to kill you (Unless killing you makes it sexier).

Repeat bosses not included, duo bosses counted seperate. Bosses that already appeared in the Base game are not counted.

It should also be assumed that all of these bosses have access to their magic/items/resources to benefit them in bed.

Explanation of Grading system:

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

These characters are not sentient enough to communicate consent, or are physically incapable of sex.

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Character sucks so badly that they do not deserve to experience pleasure in any shape or form.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

These character are fully capable of sex but would never participate in sex due to lack of interest or overabundance of moral convictions.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

I mean, you COULD have sex with these characters but why would you?

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

These characters are average in bed, nothing crazy or noticeable. Some might end up in this category because they ARE good at sex, but the entire process would be inconvenient or uncomfortable to initiate.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

These characters are good at sex, give or take a few points depending on their mood or situation.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

These characters excel in giving pleasure and would be well worth the time and effort involved.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

These characters would be so good at sex that all other factors are irrelevant. They are serving and we are here for it.

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

These are characters that should fall lower in the rankings, but their sexual prowess supersedes their inherent awfulness to a noteworthy degree.

Full list below the read more. Obviously it's not going to be sfw.

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

Ralva the Great Red Bear:

Animal

Rugalea the Great Red Bear:

Animal

Ghostflame Dragon:

Undead, probably not capable of sex.

Golden Hippopotamus:

Animal

Swordhand of Night Anna:

She is a hot goth knight, but is a mind controlled puppet.

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Promised Consort Radahn + Radahn Consort of Miquella:

Radahn is just a mind-controlled corpse, and Miquella is a little bitch, so they are both ineligible. Honestly who tries to become a god but also ditches their inner goth girl? St. Trina deserved better.

Scadutree Avatar:

Theoretically capable of sex, but is made of pure anger and thorns.

Fire Knight Salza:

War criminal, even by Elden Ring terms so you KNOW it's bad.

Jori, Elder Inquisitor:

Creepy torturer and hypocrite, thinks sex is a sin and I plan for him to die sinless.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

Curseblade Labirith:

Too devoted to being a monk to care.

Midra Lord of Frenzied Flame:

He's going through a LOT right now. He just got dumped AND he is being tortured for eternity while also containing a god of madness in his body, just leave the poor man alone.

Blackgaol Knight:

In another life he'd fuck like semi truck, but as of right now he's taken a vow to be a wet blanket alone in a mausoleum.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

Chief Bloodfiend:

Too goopy and covered in diseased blood, but is still up for it if you are.

Putrescent Knight:

On one hand it's melting skeleton made up of thousands of merged souls... but on the other hand if you managed to get the consent and each and every soul I bet you could PROBABLY do something.

Lamenter:

Throw him one pity fuck and then run, he's clingy and a whiner.

Death Knight:

Is mostly just a skeleton, and whatever flesh is still there is probably rotting... but he does have some rizz and cool wings... goth guys can still get it.

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

Black Knight Garrew:

A highly trained knight, probably has good stamina but is also a fanatic to a creepy cult.

Black Knight Edredd:

Is also a highly trained knight, probably has good stamina but is also a fanatic to a creepy cult... but he does know crucible incantations... he might have some weird animal stuff you can get him to use in bed.

Rakshasa:

She's covered in blood and is overflowing with bloodlust... but lust and bloodlust are in the same neighborhood if you know what to do.

Divine Beast Dancing Lion:

If those two guys in there aren't rotting corpses... Fucking two guys inside a scary lion costume is an above average Tuesday night.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

Logur, the Beast Claw:

A nude man covered in blood is running at you on all fours... you are either about to die or have a WILD night.

Ancient Dragon Senessax:

A very average dragon, but all dragons have a baseline fuckability so she's up here.

Jagged Peak Drake:

Drakes are slightly less fuckable than dragons, but if you don't think I'd willing be double teamed by two dragons while Igon watches, you clearly don't know me.

Ancient Dragon-Man:

All the perks of dragon sex but in a much more portable package.

Demi-Human Swordmaster Onze:

Normally Demi-humans are more cute than sexy, but this guy dedicated his life to the blade, you should be helping him make up for lost time.

Count Ymir, Mother of Fingers:

He's a delusional asshole... but he smacks of gender™ in a very submissive and breedable manner. A man who wants to be a mother and has giant fleshy fingers growing out of his body? It will be uncomfortable and deeply personal... but you GOTTA try it at least once, the LGBTQ community is depending on you.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

Red Bear:

All the raw sex appeal of Logur but with 25% more daddy energy.

Moonrithyll, Carian Knight:

Listen we have all been sleeping on Moonrithyll when we should be sleeping WITH her. She is the chamberlain to Rellana (as in head bedroom attendant) which means she is an actual #girlboss and there must be insane wizard lesbian sex behind closed doors. Not only that but she is beloved by the trolls and can fight on equal terms with the carian troll knights, who are no doubt getting sucked and fucked by her nightly. She's just a normal human but she is blowing out the backs of demigods and giants alike. She is struggling to keep her head above water and that water is pussy.

Commander Gaius:

Ok so here me out: He is an asshole, and violent, and a fanatic who serves the very order that discriminates against him... but all you have to do is mention that Radahn is better in bed than him. With this one simple trick he will have you bent over the back of his boar making sure he won't be the only one who can't use their legs after. He is pure rage and he will not stop until he has make you cum more times than Radahn ever has. Trust me, this happened to me, video games are real.

Dancer of Ranah:

Infinite stamina, enough said.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

Rellana Twin Moon Knight:

I want you to imagine Rennala, a normal woman who was able to satisfy Radagon/Marika, the sluttiest possible duo in the entire history of the lands between. Now imagine Rennala at full power, no depression, no hanging out in her basement mourning her failed marriage... now imagine Rennala 18% more goth and holding two magic swords. She will fuck you into space and then fuck you back to planet earth. Now imagine being bisexual.

Messmer the Impaler + Base Serpent Messmer:

I have slowly grown to love this sad bishounen anime boy more and more as I learn about his pathetic little life. He seems all mean and firey, but he is a bottom. (and his snakes are not) I wanna make him squeal and then get him therapy and then for good measure make him squel again.

Romina, Saint of the Bud:

A sleeper hit, but she is a mean insect lady with a giant prehensile centipede tail. She is like a xenomorph queen but a pink pastel goth rather than a vampire goth. She will wrap you up in that giant tail of hers and get straight to the egg laying. If you haven't considered it before, then you will now.

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

Metyr, Mother of Fingers:

Look... you WILL die after doing this, but she has a giant stomach full of squirming wet fingers and she is basically a big pile of dicks. Get naked, jump into her gaping stomach and die happy. That's an order from your commanding officer, now do your duty and serve your country.

Bayle the Dread:

I hate this dragon, he is responsible for the steady decline in dragon sex appeal, he hurt my Igon, and I can't explain why but I feel like he is sexist somehow. BUT... a dragon is a dragon. If Igon asks me to double team this guy I legally can't say no.

BONUS: Ranking the new NPC's from worst to best in terms of fuckability:

#13: Fire Knight Queenlign:

Somehow, his haircut is more of a turn-off than the war crimes he committed in the name of a god who doesn't even know he exists, which is not a good sign.

#12: Hornsent Grandam:

Normally I would give GILFs a pass to live their life and fuck as little or as much as they want. But she is the type to slut shame other women and as a feminist I cannot stand idly by.

#11: Hornsent

In another life he'd be a decent lay. He had a wife and a child so he has had sex at least once. In a pinch I can forgive the blind self destructive quest for vengeance, but I draw the line as soiled loincloths. You're an adult Hornsent, so act like it.

#10: Moore

My sweet little pot boy... If it came to sex I'd like to imagine that he is attentive and gentle, with his armor clattering around the whole time because he is too scared to take it off entirely. But he is too sweet and you honestly don't deserve him. He needs to be romanced, swept off his feet by a loyal and supportive partner and let's face it, you aren't at a place in your life where you can be all that he needs.

#9: Thoiller

The pillow princess to end all pillow princesses. He is a simp, he's submissive, he's breedable, he's a sopping wet pathetic little meow meow. Tumblr, THIS is the man you keep saying you want, now get in there and impregnate this man as the prophecies foretold.

#8: St. Trina

She's a plant at this point and probably isn't up for sex. (And a disembodied essence of love from a corrupted demigod) But I KNOW for a fact you kept imbibing her nectar more than you needed to. She just likes to watch as you and Thoiller get high and flop around in the putrescences. Lore says St. Trina was a fully grown woman at some point, and not just a weird little plant person, so in her prime she probably had a weird sleepy plant orgy with her followers.

#7: Redmane Freyja:

On paper she is the tragic butch sword lesbian we need but don't deserve. A prisoner who earned her freedom and rank through brutal gladiatorial combat, a loyal knight to a fallen demigod, and a big buff lady who can step on you. But in practice she still sides with Leda after breaking free of the mind control, and lets Miquella control her lords body like a toy. Come on Freyja, where is your fire? Your rage? Suplex Leda and fuck your way across the lands between as did your forefathers.

#6: Swordhand of Night Jolan:

She's a mean goth girl with a tragic past and a desperate need to be loved. I could fix her.

#5: Sir Ansbach

He easily earned his place in the top 5. He's running from a tragic past, he is trying to be a better person, he has all the sex appeal of Varre' but actually bathes, and he is a GILF. In practice he probably isn't the BEST in bed, but he is rather romancable. He can still get it, since he was a highly trained warrior in the past, but I see myself cuddling him as he somberly adjusts his glasses and stares out the window. Don't get me wrong there is still a LOT of sweaty blood sex but he knows what he is doing and understands what soap is.

#4: Igon

He's a screamer. Broken legs, dirty armor, doesn't matter. The warriors code demands that we look into each other's eyes as we both cum. That is the only honorable way.

#3: Needle Knight Leda

She sucks. She willingly follows a loser wannabe god, and it's not even the mind control, she is just like that™ already. She is so bad at socializing with rational people who are already on her side that she jumps to murder without hesitation. She even killed all the first Needle Knights just cuz of her own paranoia. She should be at the bottom of this list... but a yandere is a yandere. It would be creepy, uncomfortable and she'd be very demanding and probably bite you in a very non-sexy way. But it would still be some of the best sex you'll ever have. You'd regret it just as much as you'd enjoy it, and you'd regret it for the rest of your life.

#2: Dragon Communion Priestess Florissax:

Lovelorn dragon lady who wants me to eat other dragons in a very sensual manner. I am not immune and neither are you.

#1: Dryleaf Dane

After that brush, he is distant. His training is cold and impersonal, he throws himself into his prayers, dedicating every waking moment to meditation. He sought to turn his flesh to iron, so why is the flesh so weak around you?

Hear me out. He's religious, he is dedicated to his cause, he tries to kill you, and he doesn't even say a word to you.

BUT.

Imagine what happens when you finally get him to break.

He is your master, teaching you in the dryleaf arts, the two of you sparring atop a waterfall and bruising your knuckles more and more with each strike. The two of you meditate together, seeking inner peace to further your warriors spirit. He is stoic, his heart closed off to you and his mind focused on his holy mission.

But he is temped, you can see it in his eyes, in the way he watches over you when you are hurt, the soft way his fist unclench after a battle, and the thick layer of sweat you share after sparring. Together you are hardening your bodies to become living weapons, but bodies are not only used for violence, and the two of you cannot ignore the tension that grows with each day, your bodies intertwining during a particularly heated duel, grappling turning slowly to wanton exploration. He comes to his senses right before it crosses the line and you see the fear in his eyes as he pulls away from you. But you wouldn't have stopped him and he knows it from the pleased expression on your face as you lie on your back, defeated.

When it finally happens, you are sparring, leaving nothing behind. You shed your armor to let the movements flow without hindrance and so does he, conflict apparent upon his face. You trade blow after blow, your bodies raw and sore but still you don't let up. The sun is setting and neither of you will relent, sweat coating every inch and the roar of the waterfall drowning out every thought that isn't dedicated to this battle.

He is getting sloppy, his eyes transfixed not on your fists but your face. A poorly placed sweep to your legs leaves him wide open and you go for the maneuver neither of you have attempted since the close encounter that frightened him so.

He struggles, pushing your arms and legs away fruitlessly as his exhaustion drains away his years of practice. Soon you are pinning him to the wet ground on the riverbed, his hair wild and his hat flung far out of arms reach. He looks like a cornered animal in your grasp, eyes bulging and his breathing haggard. You can only look down upon your former master with a gleeful hunger, his body already more familiar to you than your own.

In a moment of understanding you see the hesitation drain from eyes. He knows what he wants, and he is done denying it. You grab his face roughly and kiss him more violently than any punch you have thrown. He returns in kind and all the exhaustion seems to leave his body as he sits up and wraps both arms around you firmly, desperate to make up for lost time, his holy mission only to worship your body and the unbreakable bond you have forged in sweat and blood.

And then you bone.

We have all imagined that exact scenario, haven't we? I have yet to meet a Fromsoft fan who hasn't described that fantasy to me word for word without hesitation. I am just saying what we were all thinking.

(Pictured: a man I would fuck until he renounces his god.)

[gladiatorcunt]

- UNDEAD UNEARTHED !!

you’re too sweet for me

cw: 18+ mdni, goth reader, reader is lowkey mean but not really on purpose, mentions of reader wearing makeup & a skirt, dubcon due to alcohol use and taking advantage of a vulnerable person, ambiguous intentions/ending, reader has a pussy, friends!pope & reader, one line of vomit kink & puppy reader talk, unprotected sex on the beach, feet kink, mentions of animal hunting & implied bone collecting, arguable intox (?) kink, unedited, title inspired by hozier but not directly from the unreal unearth album (subtitle is), experimental style, one usage of the word ‘daddy’, piss kink

wc: 1.5k

1k event. / consider commissioning me!

You’re out at night hunting a gator that some jackass threw into your family’s lake on a whim. It’s not a body of water that beckons the upper class to visit, large parts of it swamped with algae and fervidly humid as any circle of hell. But it’s yours, and you’d hate to get your foot bitten clean off because you procrastinated taking things into your own hands. An annoying job anyway, guess the bones rumored to be buried in the marsh will have to wait.

You’re just minding your business when a boat pulls up. Standing tall behind like the wheel like a captain is your one night stand from a few days ago, John….. C? Or maybe B, whatever. To his right is your longtime acquaintance Pope, someone who you probably would be a lot closer to if you didn’t resign yourself to being the world’s youngest hermit. You bonded over math and reading and you were glad to feel normal for once, to have a normal near-friend and do normal things.

He was the one that made an off handed comment about a party going down at the beach. Nothing special on this sinkhole in the shape of an island, but in theory you can appreciate a casual offer to hang out. You made the decision to only be there for half an hour since the drive back to your trailer was long and winded. You must have looked lonely, because John B (though you didn’t know his name at the time) had sought you out 15 minutes after your arrival and pats your back while you throw up the cheap liquor. Fuck you for trying out the nauseating neon colored liquids in those cheap red solo cups.

You can’t be mad at Pope, you squirreled your way to the pebbled trail leading to the beach soon after exchanging small talk.

“You’ll feel better when you get it all out, okay?” The brunette guy holding your back softly smiles, chomping at the bit to take care of something other than everything else he has to deal with. “Just lean on me and try to relax your throat.”

You’re admittedly embarrassed but you felt something warm stir within you, if you were sober you’d have batted his hands away and all but hissed and bared your teeth. You could almost purr like this, a heavy hand settled on your head and another petting your flank to soothe your trembling. The crosses on the black jacket you’re wearing shook in the breeze, a soft chorus of jingling sounds ringing through the air. Eventually you empty your stomach, he squeezes your shoulder and tucks you into his side as you calmed down.

Your heavy eye makeup and dark lipstick are smudged, your mascara left little trails down your face due to your tears. Having a gag reflex really was the worst, you decide.

“So, do I have a name to call you?” He asked “Can’t think of you as the pretty stranger I saw puking their guts out forever, y’know?”

Your cheeks heat up and you really wish a random tsunami would sweep you out to sea, but you give him your name and hoard the sound of him repeating it in your skull. A part of you between your legs hopes that he does the same when you wrap your lips around the simple syllables of his name, first and last. John B. Routledge is more attractive than he has any right to be, but you know he doesn’t need you to tell him that.

He tilts his head and the moonlight shifts to frame his face. It makes him look like the kind of guy you‘d go to a Lovers Lane with and makeout in his car past any reasonable hour. Someone normal, and you’re a recluse but that doesn’t mean you don’t get lonely. You stumble away from the partygoers, led by his firm grip to a private-ish area of the beach.

He smiles at you again as he pulls his t-shirt off and lays it down on the ground.

He takes a seat and pats the spot beside him, “You need some peace and quiet, some fresh air too. Come sit with me, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to leave you alone right now.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but sit down anyway, and you let him rest your head against his shoulder. You sit in that position for a while, watching the full moon shine on the ocean below. It feels nice, and you weirdly don’t want to leave, so you sink into the embrace and allow the distant cheers and yelling to fade into the background.

The world is fuzzy when he kisses you for the first time, there’s an airbrush filter over everything in your field of vision. You throw caution to the wind and clumsily kiss back, enjoying the glide of your lips together and the reoccurring pecks that bookmark every brush of skin.

You slur that you really never do this, have sex with somebody the night you meet them. John B chuckles, assuring you that he never thought you were the type to do that anyway. You keep to yourself too much, it’s a wonder you’re even allowing him to peel off your studded skirt and lace panties. He kisses down your leg and when he gets to your strappy sandal, he directs your foot to his bulge and grinds against it while he undoes the straps.

Your right shoe is promptly tossed over your head. Your top joins it, but the sickening clang your jacket makes is close to taking you out of the moment.

Then he groans, and you boldly move your toes up and down the shaft, giving what seems like a sizable cock a sloppy footjob. Your foot keeps slipping, but it makes him harder watching you struggle to regain your footing and keep up your pace. You press your heel into his balls, judging the heft of them and how they swell. You only stop when you skirt your big toe around the head of his dick, and John B clamps a hand around your ankle, chiding you for being so greedy already.

He repeats the process with the other shoe and suddenly your legs are spread and he’s kneeling in front of your exposed pussy with the strangest look on his face. Like it’s what he’s been waiting his entire life for but never knew he needed until he saw it in the flesh. He teases your clit with a few uncoordinated touches, messy circles with the tip of his thumb that leave you wanting.

Your limbs wade through water on the way to wrap around his neck, your anchor in the dizzying sea of lowered inhibitions. You grow wet disturbingly quickly, and the sticky sounds of his fingers playing with your folds, delving deeper up your slit and into your cunt sound louder than gunshots.

You’re so out of it you don’t notice the golden droplets falling on the pads of his digits. He wears them like luxury rings.

He coos and grins, “That’s it, you’re a messy puppy, huh? ‘S okay, I think it’s sweet.”

Your throat spasms and gargles around a watery reply, something about agreeing and thanking him and begging. You think you call him Daddy when the pleasure starts to rewire your brain.

He’s… caring, adjusting his shirt under you so you don't get too much sand sticking to your skin and stroking his thumbs down your thighs whenever you tense up. A tad too sweet for your liking, without the bitterness you’d expect from someone else. It feels right, and you guess that’s what causes you to whine and paw at the waistband of his shorts. John B pants into your slack jawed mouth and nods, licking your teeth and freeing his dick.

You don’t pick up on the lack of alcohol that should be permeating his breath, all you can focus on is how softly he taps the fat tip of his cock on your hole. Like it’s shy but going to do whatever it wants regardless, mold your guts around his length and leave anyone else without being able to fit into the lock he’s custom made.

In the present, your grip around your shotgun loosens considerably and that’s the sign he needs.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I forgot to get your number, so I…I just couldn’t wait anymore.” He says as if that explains everything, as if it seems perfectly fine that he dragged his friend out onto his boat to find out where you lived.

You don’t remember the specifics of the night, but you recall bits and pieces. How his cock stretched your walls and left you clenching around nothing, his necklace smacking the inside of your chin as he thrust inside of you with expert precision, his tongue cleaning the dried vomit off the corner of your mouth and forcing you to taste it. You don’t really remember the individual actions, but you can’t forget the sensations, so you watch the barely there ripples in the water as the boat moves farther into the distance. Your number on a torn piece of paper clutched in John B’s fist.

The gator better not have been scared off.

[ismellbitches]

I’m ill over the albatrio so yall get my head canons. Some of these are a bit heavy and deal with abuse, trauma and similar themes. Maybe skip this one if you don’t feel up for it 🩷🩷

Jay:

- Kira was her bisexual awakening. They went on a summer camp together and kissed while on a hike. Neither of them have brought it up since.

- She has such bad anxiety bro. Like she is always using nervous energy to complete projects or to fight, but every few days she would just get paralysed by overwhelming anxiety and shut down. Once she shut down in front of chip, now he tries to help her in any way he can when she starts getting too worked up.

- she has a complicated relationship with gender. She’s explored a lot of different things gender wise, but doesn’t quite feel comfortable with any label she has found. She ended up talking to Jaz a bit about it when they were travelling together.

- She enjoys textile work and makes and mends most of her clothes

- She used to only be toned before her time on the Albatross, but she now has a much bulkier build.

- Her favourite subject was math

- She still has a fat crush on Anastasia

- she got a lip ring to match Chip

- She doesn’t like getting drunk around people because she thinks it makes her too honest.

Gillion:

- He loves physical touch. He used to receive so little of it in the Undersea that it is still very hard for him to iniate, but he will always lean into hugs or captain huddles like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

- Gillion is sex-repulsed. That’s it.

- He has a bad habit of digging his claws into the nearest person or object when he feels unsafe or ungrounded. There are so many deep gouges in the captains quarters from times where the ship would rock or he felt particularly unsafe.

- he doesn’t like to think. This one sounds weird but let me cook. It’s not for a lack of intelligence or that he doesn’t consider things deeply, it’s that when he thinks he tends to spiral, and when he spirals it is difficult for him to work. This is reflected in his reckless battle tactics, he has enough ambient knowledge to be a good tactician, but fighting is when he can fully allow instinct to take over. It makes him feel at ease.

- he has a mental list of the awful names his masters would call him. But, during his time in the Oversea, the mental list has been overwhelmed by pet names and compliments given by his fellow captains.

- Sunlight is harsh on his eye so he relies on Jay and Chip more in harsh daylight for perception and awareness.

- he likes to braid ropes, bracelets, hair. Anything he can idly do with his hands when he isn’t working

- he likes to speak Aquan with Jay. It makes him still feel connected to his home.

Chip:

- normally the instigator of any small fights between the captains. He’s so used to always having to be guarded it regularly comes as a point of conflict.

- the ice arena battle deeply wounded his trust is Gillion and Jay. He had just started to feel safe and as though he didn’t deserve to be hurt when he made mistakes, so he felt really betrayed and abandoned after the first ice arena battle. Part of him still isn’t over it.

- He’s sensitive. Reuben used to criticise how easily words and insults affected him, so he presents it a lot less than he used to. But slight criticism or irritation with him or insults really deflate his self worth.

- Chip has a complex about being the weakest link on the Albatross

- After the Black Sea, the thought of seeing Ollie in his undead state is so nauseating it makes him fall over

- The best hug he’d ever received was from Reuben. He was young, sick and hungry and it was storming fiercely on Skullslice. Reuben had held him tight and refused to let him go for the whole night, just hugging Chip while he cried.

- If he could choose any superpower, he’d want the ability to pause, rewind, or fast forward time. Also lasers.

- He has a stuffed animal in the bottom of his trunk that he’s owned since he was 4.

- It took him a long time to figure out how old he was. He didn’t know his birthday, so he ended up choosing one. He ended up picking the day Arlin has let him into the Black Rose

- He’s never tried chocolate.

- He finds Queen really pretty, but in like a platonic, gender-envy type beat

- he has a secret love for writing. He writes poetry, little stories and more, he keeps them buried at the bottom of his trunk because he’s scared of what the others will think if they see it.

- his love language is acts of service

- him, Gil and jay cuddle a lot. Don’t read into that weirdly, all the captains just really need a hug

- he holds people’s hands a lot. It’s unconscious and when he catches himself doing it he immediately stops, but Jay and Gil don’t mind.

- Gil was his gay awakening in the sense that he fell really hard for Gil as a person. But, Jaz was like huge for him because he was just like holy fuck this dude is so pretty what do I do the whole time they travelled together.

- La Alma is on his heart me out cake

[kittenintheden]

No Thoughts, Just Vibes

Oh, you know, just a little Solstice/Midwinter treat for you. Enjoy!

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Tav (descriptionless) (BG3) Content warnings: PWP, PIV sex, oral sex, sex toys, tooth-rotting fluff

---

Their adventures by night in Faerún take them all over, from the Underdark to check up on Astarion’s siblings and their new spawn charges to Waterdeep in search of potential arcane solutions for certain undead individuals with sun sensitivity.

In fact, they find themselves entering Waterdeep just in time for Midwinter. The magicked streetlamps of the place glow golden and are festooned with all manner of wintery decorations, which feel oddly out of place in the seaside city but have a magic all their own nonetheless.

It’s just past dark when they approach a wizard’s tower, having spent the daylight hours getting to know the tavern and inn down the way while the sun still sparkled off the water. Now that it’s safe once again, Astarion and Tav ring the bell near the tower door and are greeted with a series of chiming meows in the style of a popular carol.

“He really doesn’t have to try so hard,” Astarion says, smirking despite himself. “And yet.”

“Let him be the dork of his dreams,” Tav chides playfully. “He deserves it. We all do.”

On cue, the large door of cypress wood before them swings open and their wizard friend holds out his hands in the foyer of his tower, arms wide.

“You made it!” Gale says, beaming. “Come, come inside. Please mind Tara, she’s been quite taken with the mistleberry and has made herself sick more than once despite my gentle reminders .” He yells the last words toward the spiraling staircase and from a nook nestled high in the wall, he receives a hiss in response.

“Relateable,” Astarion mutters as he comes inside, but he accepts an embrace from Gale nonetheless, giving him a stilted pat on the back.

Truly, the lot of them are glad their adventuring brought them to Gale’s doorstep. It’s nice to be off the road and surrounded by modern luxury again, and the wizard’s gone out of his way to ensure their modest celebration is full of delights. He’s even procured a top-vintage sanguine refreshment for Astarion.

“Did you imbue this with clove?” he asks, swirling it in his goblet and giving it another sniff.

“Not exactly,” Gale says, cheeks rosy from his own imbibed glass of wine. “Were you aware certain herbal and spiced components cross the blood barrier when inhaled or consumed? Give the resulting blood a bit of an essence for a certain frame of time. Garlic is the most common offender, but I thought I’d skip it, in this case. This donation came from a dear friend in the spice trade. One who doesn’t ask many questions and frequently dabbles in certain other trades.”

Astarion blinks against the verbal onslaught, then turns to Tav and says, “Hold on. Is that why I break out in hives after you’ve put too much garlic in your food?”

Tav’s also delightfully tipsy and she raises her glass to him. “I love you, dearest, but I’m not giving up garlic for you. Some prices are simply too steep.”

The night winds on and on like that until eventually Tav nods a sleepy head onto Astarion’s shoulder and he guides her off to bed in the spare room at the base of the tower. He returns to Gale, who’s ragaling Tara with his own rendition of “Marvelous Midwinter” to her great disdain.

“So, Gale,” Astarion says, interrupting to give Tara an appropriately respectful scritch on her head. “I have a bit of a favor to ask, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all, my friend,” Gale says, swaying. “How can I help?”

Astarion reaches into his pocket and procures a folded bit of something. He hands it to Gale, who unfolds it and examines it with some curiosity before cocking a brow at him.

“Any possibility of, erm. Recreating something to this effect?” Astarion asks. “One tied to a command word, perhaps?”

“Oh, certainly,” Gale says, going into tinkering mode as he examines the object. “I would need a few components, but luckily I have them in stock, thanks once again to my spice merchant friend. A little bit of articifer ingenuity to craft an arcane battery, some relatively complex enchantment, and a… wait.”

Gale gives Astarion another look and the vampire tilts his head and smirks.

“Right, I’m not asking,” Gale says, eyes back on his new puzzle. “Give me a day.”

“Lucky we’ll be here for three,” Astarion says with a light laugh.

The morning of Waterdeep’s official Midwinter celebration dawns bright and mild, the sea breeze rustling through the thick curtains they keep drawn in the guest room to ensure Astarion doesn’t wake up with burns or worse. They doze in the double bed in their underthings, Tav draped across Astarion’s chest and breathing softly as she wavers in and out of sleep. He’d actually fallen asleep last night, pressed up safe against her, and now he smiles into her hair, tracing his fingers up and down her arm.

Eventually she stretches along the length of her body and yawns against his skin, resting her chin on him and looking up into his face. She blinks lazily and runs a finger over the length of his nose with a delicate touch.

“Morning, dear,” she says, voice still rusty with sleep.

“Happy Midwinter, my love,” he murmurs in return. “I got you a little something.”

“Oh?” Tav purrs, sitting up a bit. “Is it fun?”

He arches a brow. “I certainly hope so.”

Astarion tangles his fingers in her sleep-mussed hair and draws her to his mouth, kissing her deeply as she relaxes into his body, letting her tongue stroke against his. He rolls them both to their sides and hooks his leg over hers, taking his time as he lights up her skin in all the ways he knows she loves. She laughs, tilting her head back to expose her throat to him, and he licks along the column of it, though he doesn’t bite. He wants her fully aware this morning.

With one hand, he deftly undoes the clasps of her brassiere and tosses it aside. Her smallclothes follow quickly after. She hums, pleased, lazing onto her back as he kisses down her breastbone, palming one of her breasts and rolling his thumb over her nipple until it peaks. His mouth works at the other, teasing and swirling until she’s arching up into him and rubbing her thighs together.

“Is this my gift?” she sighs. “I like it.”

Astarion chuckles against the space below her breasts as he continues working his way down. “In part, I suppose. But not quite.”

He runs his tongue underneath her breast and then leaves her a moment to fetch something from the side table. She whines at his absence, but he doesn’t leave her waiting long. He rolls back over, slipping a ring snugly down onto the second knuckle of his middle finger.

She giggles. “Are you proposing to yourself? Fitting, honestly.”

“You’re cute when you’re lust drunk,” he says before he puts the weight of his body on top of hers, kissing her deep.

He hauls her leg up by the thigh, wrapping it around his waist so he has better access as he runs his hands down the length of her, gripping her arse tight before moving around to the front and teasing his clever touch between her legs. She’s already going wet, her arousal making for a smooth draw over her skin and she settles into it, a wide smile on her face, knowing she’s in a master’s hands.

Astarion grins. She has no idea.

He places his hand flat against her slit, cupping her and resting the ring against her in just the right place.

“ Deliciae ,” he whispers.

The ring sends a brief, rapid vibration through her core, just beside her clit, and Tav cries out in surprise, bucking her hips and gripping his biceps, her breath going erratic. She’s fully awake now, staring up into his face, wide-eyed.

“What in the hells,” she gasps.

Astarion gives her a light kiss. “I’d hoped you’d like it,” he says. Then, again, “ Deliciae .”

“Oh,” she says, her thighs shaking on either side of him as another vibration pulses through her. “Oh, dearest . Again.”

He's happy to comply, kissing her between her gasps and mewls, repeating the command word in a sultry whisper while he works her with his fingers in the meantime. His own arousal aches where it’s pressed against her hip and he gently grinds it against her for relief, just enough to keep his own head as he watches her break to pieces beneath him.

Tav rolls her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream as her legs shake, incapable of holding back their shudders as a shivering, powerful peak comes over her under the little toy. It’s familiar but sweeter; her hips rise off the mattress and then slam down as she tips over the other side. Astarion feels her clenching and pulsing, strong and slick, and the entire ordeal is instantly worth it to bear witness to the unraveling. There is no pleasure, no greater high, than knowing he’s the one who brings her to this state. The one who has the privilege. The one she chose.

She blinks back to herself, a moan low in her throat as she tries to clear the spots in her vision. When she meets his eyes again, he’s panting himself, still rolling his hips to get some relief against her side. Her gaze clears as she breaks the surface of her pleasure and she growls, grabbing his face and bringing him down to her mouth, nipping his lower lip between her teeth until he whines from it.

“You liked my gift?” he whispers, breath quickened.

“Oh, yes,” she sighs. “Now let me give you yours.”

Tav’s hand snakes down their bodies to find his fingers and she takes them, slipping the ring off. He’s so dazed with lust that he lets her without thinking about it too much and gladly moves as she rolls them both until he’s the one on his back. Her mouth is so hot on his cooled skin as she places open mouthed kisses everywhere he likes – the space behind his ear, the place where shoulder meets neck, every rib on the way down. She spreads a hand in the center of his chest, over where his heart resides, and presses him into place as she licks down the line between his abdominal muscles.

Astarion’s cock twitches, throbbing against the weight of her body as she continues her path, and she uses her free hand to give him a rewarding squeeze and stroke, running the pad of her thumb over the split underneath the head. She gives his foreskin a little swirl, helping make sure it’s properly drawn down, and he thrusts up into her hand with a pleased murmur.

It’s taken time and significant gentle coaxing to get him to a place where he simply lets go and allows her to lavish him with attention. A lesson he’s forever learning, rewriting centuries of conditioning with care, with passion, with love. He closes his eyes and focuses on her touch, allowing himself the pleasures she’s happy to share with him.

With a slight jolt, he twitches when he feels her warm tongue follow the path of her fingers, rolling circles around the head of him and applying long licks down his length. Her fingers move to his sack, gently rolling his balls in her palm, warming them. She places a knuckle against the spot beneath them, kneading deep but gentle, finding the place that drives him wild.

“You are so good to me,” he sighs as she moves her mouth over his head again. “That’s so good.”

He senses her smile just before she swallows him down, taking his length halfway into her mouth and working him a few times before she pulls off and says, “ Deliciae .”

Astarion’s vision whites out as the knuckle pressing into his perineum sends a hard vibrating pulse through him at the same time she takes his cock in her mouth again. He gives a sharp cry.

“Bleeding hells,” he manages. “I… I…”

She pulls off of him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and says it again.

Pleasure upon pleasure crashes over him, lighting up his entire body as he writhes under her touch. She goes slow enough to make it delightfully tortuous, though it would be incredibly easy to push him over the edge in short order. She moves the enchanted ring, experimenting in different places – the base of his cock, the rim of his arse, the crease of his thighs – and each spot brings new sensations.

He’s an absolute mess by the time she draws back and crawls up his body, his hands weakly grasping at her hips as she sits up on her knees, gingerly reaching between her legs to hold his cock in place as she slides down onto it, both of them near sobbing at the sensation.

“I love you,” he manages with what little breath he can hold. “Gods, I love you, I love you.”

“Love you,” she breathes back as she rolls her hips hard against him over and again. “Love this. All of this.”

Tav rides him slowly, firmly, with intention. When they get to a point where they can’t help but pick up speed, grinding one another into oblivion, Tav lifts his shaking hand in hers and takes the ring from her finger so she can slip it back onto his, the movement reverent.

Astarion looks her in the face as he reaches down between them with his fingers spread over the base of his cock where they meet, resting the ring right alongside her oversensitive clit. 

“ Deliciae ,” they say together.

They shatter in the same moment, eyes rolling back, crying out to the morning light. The waves of delight roll like the tide outdoors, rising up the shore and receding back to the great unknown.

Tav collapses onto Astarion’s chest and his arms are so very heavy as he lifts them to wrap around her back. They breathe, and pulse, and live. Eventually, he begins tracing soothing patterns along her skin.

He clears his throat. “I take it that’s the inaugural positive review for Gale’s potential toy venture?” he says.

“Oh gods, that’s where…” Tav covers her face with her hands. “Oh gods, I have to go out there and see him.”

Astarion laughs and she laughs with him.

[circle-with-me]

heal me when i’m broken

pairing: ricky olson x fem!reader

content warning/tags: 18+ MDNI!! mentions of nightmares, panic attacks, comfort, fluff, shower sex, fingering (female receiving), unprotected p in v sex.

word count: 1.6k

tag list: @deathblacksmoke @concretenoah @tearfallpixie @meekahy @cookiesupplier @lacktoesandtoddlerants @sitkowski @collective-heartbreak @catharsis-in-darkness @undead-ahead-wh0re @to-be-written @collapsedglasshouses

authors note: i wrote this from an anonymous request i received where reader wakes up from an intense nightmare and ricky comforts her. fluff and smut were requested. i hope i made your request exactly what you wanted, love. please enjoy 🩷

also big thanks to my bestie/beta reader @deathblacksmoke 🫶🏻

Screams echo around the room as you wake up in a panic. Your body thrashes underneath the sheets, attempting to escape from the horror that had been chasing you in your sleep. A muffled voice repeats your name, but you can’t focus on it. You open your eyes but you’re too blinded by fear, your chest aching from gasping for air.

The voice gets louder and a figure appears in your still cloudy vision. You feel hands grab your wrists and you fight back to break free. The figure pushes your wrists to your stomach with one hand and the other comes to your face. The thumb rubbing at your temple feels familiar. The soft lips that delicately press to your forehead despite your violent movements are not from a stranger or a monster from your nightmares. It’s him.

As his voice breaks through the ringing in your ears, your body stills. Your vision clears and his stormy eyes stare back at you dejectedly. His eyebrows knit together with concern as he pets your sweat soaked hair out of your face. He lets go of your hands, both of them instantly wrapping around him.

“I’m so sorry, Ricky.” You sob into his neck.

He places featherlight kisses to your collarbone, running a finger up and down your arm. You feel your breathing slow down; your heart no longer pounding in your chest.

“Was it the same one as last time?” Ricky whispers.

You nod, whining. He squeezes your arm comfortingly, moving his mouth to your bicep. Ricky watches you as he thoughtfully kisses the tips of each of your fingers until they stop shaking.

“Is that better?” He asks, placing his face in your hand and smiling.

You’re uncertain of how he does it. How naturally he takes the darkness inside of you and chases it away with the lightest touch. You avoided spending nights with him for so long at first — terrified he would witness your nightmares and leave. The memories that haunted you weren’t his burden to bear after all. He finally persuaded you to stay with him, all but getting on his knees to convince you.

You had one of the worst nightmares you’ve ever had that night. He didn’t bat an eye, just held you until the screaming stopped. Every tear was wiped away as they fell. Consistent reassurance was whispered in your ear that you were safe – he was there, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, you fell back asleep some time later, sleeping in until late morning. You found out later that he had stayed up the rest of the night to keep an eye on you, soothing you back to sleep anytime you stirred unpleasantly.

Being loved by Ricky Olson is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

You gently move him so that you can swing your legs over the edge of the bed. All of your muscles ache and your bones crack as you stretch. You sigh loudly, feeling Ricky’s hand come to the small of your back. He sits beside you, pulling you into him.

“Why don’t I turn the shower on for you?” He asks, propping his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll throw in one of those lavender shower steamers. Maybe that and the hot water will help you relax.”

You lay your head against him, humming in contemplation.

“Will you join me?”

“I will never say no to that question.” Ricky punctuates his statement with a peck to your shoulder, pushing himself off the bed towards the bathroom. He stops at the doorway and looks back at you. Without a word, he holds his hand out for you, gesturing for you to come to him.

You do so without protest, following him into the cold bathroom and sitting on the counter as he turns the shower on. He ensures the water is at the perfect temperature before he sets the lavender scented disk on the floor.

Ricky helps you out of your sweat soaked tank top. You hop off the counter and wiggle out of your shorts and underwear. The water burning against your skin is pleasant. You let it run down your back, the smell of lavender permeating your senses. Ricky steps in not long after, wrapping you in his arms and burying his face in your hair.

The warmth from his body heat and the water eases the pain in your body. You slump into Ricky’s arms and he chuckles as he peels you off of him to wash your hair. He lets you wash your body, now having enough strength to do so. You watch his eyes wander, following the soap suds as they fall down the slope of your breasts and descend to your stomach.

It’s obvious that he’s trying his best to keep his hands to himself. You can see the inner workings of his mind as his tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip. He’s unsure if this is an appropriate time given this morning’s events.

You place your hand on his chest and he glances up at you. There’s little communication necessary, just a squeeze of your waist and a slight nod from you has him lurching forward. Your lips are consumed by his, nearly knocking the air out of you when you collide together.

He backs you against the shower wall, lips attached to your neck. The hot water beats down on your bodies as you tangle together. You wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your chest upwards. Ricky takes the hint, smirking, and dips his head down, wrapping his lips around your breast. Carding your fingers through his hair, you give a playful tug. He groans, gripping the flesh of your ass. His mouth is back on yours instantly, desperate to taste you more.

Ricky’s hand drifts up the side of your thigh, then between them, his fingers running through your slit. Gasping into his mouth, you grab onto his shoulders; the sensation causing you to lift onto your toes. He swirls your swollen bud with the pads of his fingers, slotting his knee between your legs.

“Open up a little more for me, baby.” He breathes, nudging your leg gently.

You do as you’re told, giving Ricky the room he needs to slip a finger inside of you. His pace is brutally slow, languidly drawing a single digit in and out of you. The pleasure is too much, yet not enough, and has you begging him to go faster – for more, anything he’s willing to give. All he does is softly shush you, his lips firmly against yours, hips thrusting against you in an attempt to sate his own need for the time being.

Ricky curls his finger inside of you and your vision goes white. As you clench around him, he speeds up his rhythm. You cry out his name, your entire body bucking in his arms as your orgasm rushes through you. He moans in your ear telling you how good you’re doing, moving and bending with your body as you do.

“Fuck..” Ricky pants, his hard cock twitching against your leg. “Turn around, baby. I can’t wait any longer.”

Turning around, you press your body against the tile of the shower wall. Ricky grabs you by the hips, pulling you back to meet his own. He bends over you, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your spine as he lines his cock up with your entrance.

His moans are deafening as he rocks into you. He starts out slow with shallow half-thrusts. You would complain about him teasing you, but from the quiver in his breath, he’s just as affected by it as you.

You call out his name, desperate for him. He runs his hand up your stomach and to your chest, pulling you back against his own. Ricky pumps his cock deep inside of you but his pace is still devastatingly slow.

He swallows every whimper that falls from you, one hand resting on your throat while the other returns to your clit. He increases his pace inside of you only a little, but it’s enough for the coil in your belly to start tightening.

“God, I can feel you, baby.” Ricky grunts in your ear. “Let go for me.”

His words make you clench around him. His resolve crumbles a little as he fixes his arm across your chest, driving his hips into you harder. He bites down on your neck as he spills into you, your orgasm following quickly behind his.

Ricky rinses you off with the now cold water and helps you out. He wraps a towel around you and you sit on the counter per his instructions so he can detangle your hair. He combs each strand with care making sure he doesn’t pull too hard. You watch him with heavy eyes, admiring his dedication. He catches you staring, doing a double take when he notices.

“What?” He asks, huffing out a laugh.

“Thank you.” You reply simply.

“For?” His eyes don’t meet yours this time as he’s too focused on a particularly stubborn tangle.

“For being my safe person.”

Ricky stops dead in his tracks, placing the comb down next to you and focusing his entire attention on you. His eyes search yours for a moment, a small smile on his face. He places his hand on the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his lips.

“Thank you for being mine.” He whispers.

[faerievampling]

Decisions, Darling

Chapter 2 of An Unexpected Visitor~ The larger work is called Killing Time.

Link to Chapter 1

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Link to AO3

Summary: Lae'zel makes her proposition, and Astarion has a choice to make.

Pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Female Tav

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+, Explicit. Blood Drinking, Blood Kink. PiV. Oral Sex. Light Dom/sub. Vaginal Fingering. Violence. Possessive behavior, angst.

You stare blankly at Lae’zel as she explains, in a rather long and drawn out way, that she needed your aid. Her tale is rather boring, you think, and you nearly begin to trance again, but Astarion keeps you alert. 

Try to pay attention, little love.

You swirl your glass of wine, trying to keep yourself focused on Lae’zel’s words, but you're rather hungry. You try to drown out the two beating hearts in the room, but the sound is hard to ignore: they are both so nervous.

Soon, my darling. Astarion takes your other hand, fingers idly playing with your rings. He noticed you had worn the priceless pearl ring, the one he had gotten you from Amn about a century ago. He thought it looked lovely on your finger, and he mindlessly plants a kiss to it. You had paired it with an amythest stud in one ear and a long, droopy sun on the other.

Astarion had called the droopy earring derivative. 

Lae’zel describes her need for allies to further Orpheus’s cause and the diminishing power of Vlaakith. She speaks about Vlaakith for a while, too long for Astarion to reasonably expect you to pay attention. 

But you try to at least pretend like you are, even though you are now wondering what Githyanki blood tastes like.

I will do my best to find some for us. You’d love it, my sweet. Astarion looks at you playfully, and you shoot him a little smile.

Your eyes lock on him and take in his decadence; his deep red and gold ensemble pair nicely with his perfect silver curls. His pretty, full lips are tilted in a half smile as his attention is split between you and Lae’zel. 

You’ve always thought the color of his eyes were beautiful, and they were now a perfect reflection of your own. Not every vampire had the same shade; Astarion was surprised but incredibly pleased at the outcome. He thought it rather cute. 

Just as you are bordering on a trance once again, Lae’zel finally gets to the point: she wanted the both of you to fight alongside her, just as you had at the Battle of Baldur’s Gate. 

Just the thought of a battle, the bloodshed, sends a shiver of excitement through you.

As she is explaining the logistics of how she can safely get you to the Astral Sea, you lose focus once more, your mind drifting to the Elderbrain. You still remember how horrifying it was to look upon so closely. 

The Netherbrain, my darling. Remember that pesky crown? You nod at Astarion as you see it in his mind’s eye. But you quickly move on from this, considering Lae’zel’s words. You cross your legs, causing your dress to hike up, showing off your bare feet. Your toes are painted a dark, blood red, and are pretty as ever.

The anklet you sport is polished silver, so as to not burn your delicate, undead skin. It is embedded with black diamonds from Calimsham and has a single obsidian charm in the shape of a bat. Even the rings on your toes are embedded with other priceless jewels garnered from across Toril. 

Astarion’s eyes dart to your feet before giving you an amused look. Such a rebellious little thing. He was rather enjoying your wild streak. The ladies of the court have already begun to wear their hair long. 

Today, you had fought Bethild off by hissing, once again. She really didn’t like it, and you made a note to yourself to save this tactic for later. But Astarion had gotten onto you this time: Hiss at the spawn if you must, my treasure, but not at Bethild. After so many years, Astarion appreciates a good servant. Especially one that was willing to put up with his darling.

You already decided you were still going to do it, though.

But Astarion had doubled down. I’m serious, love. You needn't have a poor reputation among the servants. Bethild’s been good to you and has served you for nearly all her life. 

You had scowled at him, crossing your arms in annoyance at his sensible reasoning. Tell her to stop fussing over my hair and shoes.

Consider it done. 

Lae’zel is staring at the both of you with a bewildered look on her face. You realize she’s uncomfortable. You think that maybe you have been sitting in silence for too long, by mortal standards. Or maybe she isn’t used to seeing you like this, so comfortable. So pampered.

You spent so much time sleeping in the dirt. Countless days trudging through the swamp, those cursed lands, the disgusting sewers of Baldur's Gate. 

And yet, you can’t help but associate it with which you had the time of your life. You had loved the adventure, the fight, and you even fell in love. When you look over to Astarion, his look has softened, his eyes rounding when you meet his gaze. 

You see him put the mask back on as he turns back to Lae’zel, his chiseled features narrowing. “I hardly like the idea of my sweet consort on the battlefield,” Astarion says, crossing his legs. You notice his foot is tapping.

Lae’zel leers at him. “She was once something more than just your bride, Astarion.”

The smile plastered on Astarion’s lovely face does nothing to hide the targeted darkness in his eyes. “I know exactly who my darling is, Lae’zel. She is the True Hero of Baldur’s Gate. She saved that wretched city and thousands of mortal lives. And yet, she asked for nor received anything in return. And now, she is my wife and I will not so willingly risk her precious life for another battle that is not hers to fight.”

But, what if?

Astarion looks at you, his harsh stare softening with inquiry. “If what?” 

What if we go with her?

You can feel the growing pit in Astarion’s stomach. In his chest.

Lae’zel curses as she looks to you. “Whatever mind tricks you are playing must end. Speak.” 

Astarion really doesn’t like Lae’zel commanding you, but he’s too focused on you to fantasize about inflicting some sort of violence on the gith. 

“This is a discussion my consort and I need to have in private.” He speaks to Lae’zel, but his eyes have not left you.

”I would like to hear what she has to say first,” Lae’zel’s unwavering tone is low, threatening. Now, both Lae’zel and Astarion’s eyes bore into you.“Unless you are so beholden, like a slave, that you cannot speak without your Master’s consent.” 

You feel the anger rise within you, because you know she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand your relationship, she doesn’t understand that you know you’re different now. But…you remember those sweet moments of adventure.

”I…” You have to find your footing. You set your now empty goblet down. “I have lived in a palace for two thousand years, Lae’zel. I haven’t fought in a long time.”

Lae’zel looks you over. “That is apparent. Lucky for you, I am an elite teacher. And you used to be strong with a sword.” Lae’zel takes a deep breath before she moves closer to you, taking your hand in hers.

Her hand is warm, so unlike your own. That was one of the few gifts that Astarion couldn’t extend to you. You can hear the quickening of Lae’zel’s heartbeat at your touch, and her breath catches. You can even smell the growing desire between her legs, her musk. Eager. Like so many mortals were in your presence.

Maybe they too, will serve. You know not if this small voice comes from Astarion or yourself. 

You feel Astarion tense up beside you. For a moment, you greatly fear he will lash out and harm Lae’zel, and then put you in time out.

You feel Astarion crawling through the folds of your mind, undoubtedly searching your memories of lovemaking with Lae’zel.

You didn’t understand why he tortured himself so. 

Now, you find yourself thinking of them: all the times she dominated you. The times she fucked you so hard your entire body was sore. Astarion had noticed back then, too, but hadn’t really cared at the time.

Times change. 

And thou art mine.

“Do not make a githyanki say please. But I will, if I must.” Lae’zel says, eyes darting over to Astarion. 

“And what do you have to offer us in turn?” Astarion asks, his eyes meeting hers. The tension in the room could be felt by anyone who could blink. Including vampires who merely chose to, so as to not seem too creepy to mortals. 

“I can only offer you my allyship in times to come, if we are successful.”

—

Before Lae’zel is even out the door, Astarion’s protests begin. He burrows in your mind, swathing you in the folds of his own; his thoughts were paranoid, muddled, scared. And you too, felt terrified.

He remembered all the times you died in battle. The agony he felt even when knowing he could revive you. It would only be exasperated now, by an unfathomable amount, because you were his bride, his treasure, and his eternity. He thought himself in circles until he nearly decided to try to lock you away again. 

The Astral Sea is extremely fucking dangerous, Tav. I can’t let you go. I won’t say yes to this. 

Rarely has Astarion ever denied you. Giving you everything was the way he loved you, and his denial felt like a slap to the face. For a moment, you and Astarion both fear that Lae’zel may have been right in some regard: your shackles of love binded you to your Master, just as it binded your Master to you. You two were so intimately connected, body and mind; thus, Astarion couldn’t deny the dimming of your light. He was not so blind. He wanted you to have everything you wanted, and he wanted to be the one to give it to you. 

But he was still so afraid.

You’ll protect me. 

You feel his solid arms wrap around you as he presses you to his chest, planting kisses anywhere he could: your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw. His lips devoured you, pleading you to be contended.

I’ll take you anywhere else. We could take a long vacation again, explore a part of Toril we haven’t seen in a while - 

Weveseenthemall. “I used to be a fighter,” You say aloud, breaking his train of thought with the sweet sound of your voice. There was a time where I once protected you. The thought is but a whisper in the well of your shared connection.

He narrows his eyes at you, bringing up a hand to rest on your collarbone, just below your neck. 

“And now you are a wife,” Astarion’s voice is barely above a whisper as it rasps between his lips. His other hand grasps your waist, his fingers digging into your sides.

I would be more powerful than ever, Astarion. With my abilities as a vampire, I would be a most excellent hunter.

“I know this,” Astarion hisses. He knows you’ve thought about this before, adventuring again, but he’s simply just ignored it until it went away, like a buzzing gnat. 

“But I just couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, spawn.” You scowl at his choice words, thinking them strange at this moment. You try to push him away from you, baring your fangs at him, but Astarion doesn’t release you from his firm grip. 

He’s come to a decision, and you then understand. 

Astarion’s fear had not subsided, not completely: but alongside it, understanding was bred. He knew why you wanted to go; why you wanted to fight again, strategize again, and relive the days of your young love. 

Nonetheless, his hand moves from your neck to your jaw, where’s he firmly grasps you, forcing you to meet his gaze, where he locks into you. He is going to use his Ascendant compulsion on you, since he couldn't compel you by normal means. He had never thought this before, not to your knowledge, and you feel betrayed as he starts to draw you into him. 

The pull is far too strong to defy, even though you try. 

As your thoughts are subsiding, the world around you has come to a close: there is only Astarion. You see him amidst darkness, his eyes becoming wet and round as he studies you. You watch as his eyebrows knit to a scowl and the corners of his mouth pull down.

You sense many identifiable emotions at once, like his mind is clearer now that yours has gone so quiet. One that sticks out to you is a lustful shame. A sick part of Astarion wanted this: he wanted total control over you.

He thought you’d be a very pretty, mindless, little spawn. He would keep you in the boudoir, where he would drain you nearly dry, fuck you whenever he wanted, and hold you for as long as he’d like. 

Or maybe he’d keep you at his side, putting you on his lap, or perhaps under his desk, so that he could indulge whenever he desired.

He needn’t even worry to dress his toy. Or maybe he would, just to put you in something sinful. He wouldn’t have to worry about your wants, or needs, or hopes and dreams; you would be fully his. 

Lucky for you, the larger part of Astarion is disgusted by this. Ashamed, even scared, of those desires.

As the world comes back to you, your thoughts once again occupy your mind. Astarion is backing away from you, a tear in his eye threatening to fall.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Astarion says, his mind racing in agony as you float further away from him, eyes vacant but your heart fuming. 

His broad shoulders are hunched over, his arms stretch out to you, as if he feared he had hurt you. And suddenly, you can’t take it, and the tears begin to fall, and you’re  angry he’s crossed an unspoken boundary between you two; angry he isn’t giving you what you want.

Forgive me, please. His voice is but a whisper in the well of your mind, a droplet of water amongst an ocean. You’re everything. Everything. Can’t lose you. Won’t. 

You turn your back to him, but you don’t leave. You don’t want to feel this way, sharing the burden of both his and your emotions. You want to drift away, but he isn’t letting you, and neither is your own heart; because, at the very least, that light refuses to go out. 

You are my light. He’s running his hands through his hair, curls misplaced, and his heartbeat is through the roof. 

You turn to him. Then let me live. Let us live. No more of this. You wildly gesture around the palace, to your dress, which has become rather suffocating. With a motion so fast no mortal could comprehend, your decedent gown is in tatters on the marble floor. 

You think that Astarion’s paranoia is getting to you. His fear, his own possessive love for you; but maybe, you both think, this has been boiling over for a while. You also think your bloodlust is starting to rise, and Astarion smells delicious. 

You’re down to your slip and your jewelry. The necklaces that drape your pretty neck are broken and strewn across the floor with a tug. You’re still crying, but you’re having a difficult time processing this. You can’t stop thinking about blood, and it is all too much, and you need to run.

You don't remember if you’ve ever thought about running before. The look on Astarion’s face confirms you haven’t, because surely you would remember the look of such anguish.

Before you can move, he has his arms around you once more. You feel his hard cock pressing against you. You can’t help but want him too; but being so close to him, the beast takes over, and you cannot help but begin to ravage him. 

Your fangs cut into his clothing, but Astarion doesn’t loosen his grip on you. Before you know it, you feel the coolness of wood on your back, and your slip is pushed up above your breasts, your nipples hardening from the coolness of the palace air.

Spoiled. I’ve spoiled you. He rings out to you as you realize he’s teleported you both from the foyer to his office. 

Astarion quickly puts his hand between your folds, searching for the evidence of your arousal that you both know he will find. Probing at your entrance, you feel a gentle pressure as he slides his finger between your slick walls with little resistance.

Astarion’s other hand is tangled in your hair, nestling you to his neck as you feed. After pumping you a few times, Astarion stretches you with a second finger before he decides he’s done.

No more. You’re mine. You will do as I say. His voice is loud in your head, commanding.

You release your fangs from his neck when you feel the pressure of his thick member pushing between your tight walls, causing you to gasp from the stretch. He inserts his full length in you, and you to squirm from the adjustment.

You half-heartedly try to push him away, to tell him no, but your sex is so swollen from your fill of your lover's blood, and you’re so wet, Astarion cruelly laughs at your attempt as he restrains both your wrists with one hand. 

His strokes are intensely deep as he uses his free hand to bring one of your thighs to a deeper spread. He’s desperate to feel the depths of your cunt, to make you come and remember how much you want to stay with him.

He’s thinking he loves the way you look, tearstained and covered in his blood. 

But that light inside of you is still fighting, and you know she won't ever stop. I’ve lived so long in our heads. 

But Astarion knows; he’s been racking around your head for centuries. And when his troubled gaze meets yours, he buckles. His strokes become slower, and his stare is so intense you almost look away, but you know you shouldn’t. 

His gaze is softening as he lets go of your wrists and you wrap your arms around him to draw him closer. He moans as he continues to slide his cock between your tight walls. Not even death could separate us, Tav.

This seems like progress. 

I would tear across the planes of existence to find you. I have the means, the resources. I would get you back. No matter the cost. And you will bind yourself to me and promise that you would do the same. If something should happen to me, you must swear to come find me. 

Astarion’s disheveled curls tumble down his handsome face; his lips are parted in pleasure, sweat dripping down his perfect nose. He moves to capture a nipple in his mouth, gently sucking you and making you squirm.

You won’t leave my side. And you certainly won’t be any fighter. You and I will be in the shadows, where we belong, together-

Astarion has more provisions and rules to this agreement, but his balls are clenching so hard that he cannot focus any longer, and his lips find purchase on your own as his orgasm looms over him.

Tell me. Please. 

“I love you, Astarion.”

Again. 

“I love you, Astarion.” The words come out as a whimper as Astarion hits that sweet spongy spot deep inside of you. 

Please. Again. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,“ Your eyes wet as you say the words, which carry Astarion through his orgasm as he comes thick spurts of seed inside you. 

His body trembles above you, breath ragged in your ear. You loved hearing his moans of pleasure. 

After he recovers, he puts himself back together and looks to you: there was simply no putting you back together, because you were a mess. You needed a bath and a nap. 

The two of you retreat to your bedchamber, where you do just that. The two of you are silent as you ease into the water. 

Once you’re more relaxed, and the maids have finally left the two of you alone, you begin to mindlessly trance again, to wander in the vast space that was your mind. 

Astarion eases into your thoughts, cradling you as gently as he would a newborn babe. He was feeling more centered now as his powerful Ascendant mind worked its way through the plan and its details.

You often thank whatever gods were listening that Astarion had become sharper and smarter over the years: he learnt to focus on the details, and as his competency increased, your apathy grew alongside it.  

Astarion is pleased to find you’d been lost in the memory of one of your more recent vacations: Astarion had taken you to an ancient castle in Tethyr, where the two of you lived for nearly a decade. 

Astarion had made love to you in the lush fields under the stars often, then. You had asked, of course. He hadn’t wanted to take you in the dirt, initially, believing it far too lowly of you both. He certainly thought his wife deserved better.

Please, Astarion. The grass is soft and plush, and the moon is full. You had said to him, before you told him how beautiful you thought him to be, inside and out. 

“Those were lovely times. I, too, think about them often, my love.You looked so beautiful under the light of the full moon.”

You give him a little smile, but Astarion catches your upset. You hope he will give you even more, more of what you want. 

I’m sorry, Tav. I swear to you I will never try to compel you again. But you will swear by what I asked: that we will never be separated, even in death.

“I swear it,” You speak with confidence because you know it to be true. You weren’t even really sure why he was bothering to ask: as a bride, you’d likely be compelled to do so, anyways. He knows this, but he needs to hear it. 

Once you’re finished with your bath, you don’t bother with clothes once you get back into bed. You could smell the scent of his arousal, his leaking precum, through his trousers and from across the bedchamber. 

I think I’ll use a sending stone to attend to business while at the crèche. Hopefully it works in the Astral Sea, too. Astarion is thinking, idly playing with your hair as you lie on his chest. 

I hardly remember the crèche Lae’zel had us go to. But you did remember Karlach painting a face on the portrait of Vlaakith after having to fight about forty Githyanki. 

Karlach. You say, and Astarion already knows the deal: he does his best to imagine her, what her face looked like when she smiled, but even his memory is shrouded by her death on the docks of the city.

Astarion quickly moves on from the memory. I worry about how we will feed you.

“I can eat human food,” You hesitate, because for some reason or another, you just prefer to drink blood. Food tasted the same as it always had, you were fairly sure, but you couldn’t deny your nature.

You may have to. Of course, you can nibble on me as much as you’d like. The pads of his fingers trace your bare skin, grazing the curve of your hips and the side of your breast. I’ll try to come up with a better solution, my darling. I want you to be as comfortable as possible.

He plants a kiss on the top of your head, nuzzling you closer as he goes to free his cock. I need you again. 

***

In the night, you dream of riding atop a great Githyanki red dragon. You have the reins as Astarion sits behind you, arms around your waist. The two of you feel so dominant, so powerful, and the dream is a happy one. But as dreams often do, the moment turns to something strange.

You are alone with the dragon now, and as you feel his cool scales beneath your suddenly spread thighs, his body begins to morph and change until he is one of the Githyanki red dragons no more, but a simple red Dragonborn.

His eyes are red, and they bore into you as he fills you up completely, as you’re still riding him. The pressure of his cock makes you gasp in shock; his arms wrap around you, pulling you to him, and you shiver as he whispers in your ear: You will be mine. 

You wake with a jolt. Before you can blink twice, Astarion heaves you across his shoulder, causing you to knock against him with a hard blow, leaving you breathless.

You try to call his name, but you can’t seem to find your voice. You didn’t need to breathe anymore, but your chest felt tight, your stomach drawn with apprehension. A reluctant arousal lingered at your core, which only added to your disarray.

Astarion is in full defensive mode. He’s running through the halls of the palace, sword in hand, and the smell of blood is overwhelming to you; you try to squirm out of his grasp, but with his hand firmly on your ass, you quickly realize you aren’t going anywhere.

You’re trying to calm yourself, but you can’t make sense of it all. The dream, the running, the blood.

Moth attacked the palace - one of the servants had become his thrall. 

He doesn’t stop until he is in the foyer,  where the other spawn are awaiting. Astarion effortlessly puts you on your feet and intensely sweeps his eyes over you, looking for any injuries. His hand is gripping yours, the strength of it suggesting he has no intention of letting go. 

“Ten of the servants have been killed, Master, but we have swept the palace thrice. All of Lord Moth’s forces are dead.” 

“Sweep it again. And you won't stop until the sun rises.” Astarion sneers at the spawn, who immediately follow the command. 

Well, I guess Lae’zel has something to offer us after all. 

“I will see the end of Lord Moth,” Astarion begins his evil monologue about destroying Moth, which you certainly agree with, but you really can’t focus with all the blood. Once Astarion realizes this, he is quick to sequester you as far away from it as possible, quick to offer you his neck as he carries you to sanctuary.

He’s letting you nibble on him, and as the blood of the Ascendant fills you up, you remember why you didn’t care to eat food anymore. Literally, nothing could ever be as delectable as Astarion.

My protector in the dark. You think once you finally feel satiated. 

Astarion, despite his anger, can’t help but be endeared. The evening ends with hushed kisses and more gentle lovemaking. Astarion couldn't seem to keep his tongue out of your cunt or his fangs out of your thigh: Moth’s invasion of your body compelled Astarion, as your Master, to dominate you.

You and the palace wizard had assured Astarion it wasn’t a vision or anything connected to your foresight, but magic. Moth had used a powerful spell to project himself into your dream, and thus, controlling it. A simple protection ward was all that was likely needed to prevent a further attack.

Later, as Astarion is rutting into you, you feel the wetness of his tears as he rests his forehead to the curve of your neck. They mix with the flow of your blood when he bites you; strangely, his mind is guarded, nearly silent, because he doesn’t want you to know whatever he is thinking. 

Astarion plants soothing kisses to your lips when you begin to feel your anxiety rise in your chest. 

Don’t worry, Tav. I’ll protect you. “Nobody will ever take you from me,” His voice is rough and low in your ear. After two centuries, you know that Astarion is good for his word.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Masterlist

[heavenlymorals]

The Vampire and the Stag: A Look Into the Symbolic significance of Dutch Van Dir Linde and High Honor Arthur Morgan

Warning: This post has spoilers for Red dead 2

Symbolism is one of the most important visual and literary elements used to push the narrative of Red Dead Redemption 2. The game is chock full of biblical references, animal symbolism, and references to other famous works. Hell, I might've even found a Blood Meridian reference via that Judge Meredith Holden letter, but that might be a reach. In any case, this game uses symbolism to push the story further and I want to do a short little retrospective on my two favorite characters of this game and what they represent in the literary sense.

Let's start with Dutch.

Dutch Van Dir Linde is many things. He's a violent idealist, a romantic, a gang leader, a notorious outlaw, and a legendary gunslinger in his own right.

He's also an allegory for the vampire, and by vampire, I mean the European literary symbolism of the creature.

Let's start off with looks. Right from the get go, Dutch is differentiatued from the rest of the gang members by his luxurious and eccentric appearance, something that the vampire usually has. He had gold chains, personalized gold rings, one with a D and another with a lion. His jacket seems to be velvet, he smokes cigars rather than cigarettes, and his hair is done up in ringlets as we know his actual hair texture is straight rather than curly (Guarma, epilogue, RDR1).

His color scheme is also very stereotypical of the more modern vampire. While other characters usually have a more diverse color scheme, Dutch is suited in reds and blacks the entire main game.

The nature of the undead is also with Dutch via his horse, the Count. First of all, there is just the name the Count that gives off vampire energy (Count Dracula) but there is also the fact that Dutch's horse shouldn't exist. Foals born with albinism, which is the coat the Count is said to have, die because of lethal white syndrome. The Count should have died long ago but it's still alive somehow- he cheated death like a vampire. That's also not mentioning death in the sense that death comes riding on a pale horse.

Vampires in classic literature are never just about vampires as these charming blood sucking creatures almost always exist to convey a deeper meaning of consumption. In the 1800s, this idea of consumption, with the most famous visualization of it being the older vampire man sucking the blood of young, usually virginal women, is often an allegory for selfish sex and defilement. Vampires in old media could very well be a criticism of wealthy men taking advantage of younger women, taking their virginity, and then tossing them aside and being virtually fine while the women lose everything from respect to family to even lives, which can also be the case with Dutch and Molly, but overtime, the vampire became less an allegory to write sex without outwardly writing sex in the 1800s, and became more a symbol of personal consumption at the expense of others.

The wonderful Professor Thomas C. Foster puts it best: "That's what this figure (the vampire) really comes down to, whether in Elizabethan, Victorian, or more modern incarnations: exploitation in its many forms. Using other people to get what we want. Denying someone else's right to live in the face of our overwhelming demands. Placing our desires, particularly our uglier ones, above the needs of another. That's pretty much what the vampire does, after all." - "How to Read Literature Like a Professor"

Dutch is basically that. He consumes people for the sake of his own goals, his own dreams, and his own delusions of grandeur. He will believe in people as long as those people believe in him, but their belief in him is more important to him than his belief in them.

Dutch seems like a Messiah to the disenfranchised, a Jesus figure of sorts. He seems charming, empathetic, cultured, and different from other men, like the vampire. People are enthralled by him, become obsessed or loyal to him, like the vampire's victims. However, these people, like Arthur, John, Molly, Bill, Javier, etc., are used and Dutch, the vampire, doesn't return the favor as he only consumes for his own favor.

And in the end? People suffer or they die and Dutch moves on to his next victims, even if he did love these people.

Dutch is the embodiment of the vampire in every possible way except in the most literal way, which is the blood sucking.

Now let's move on to Arthur Morgan.

Arthur and the stag are one in the same when it comes to Red Dead's symbolism. If one were to mention a stag in the Red Dead universe, more likely than not, people would think of high honor Arthur Morgan. The Stag is Arthur's symbolism, but let us dig a little deeper into what the stag could symbolize beyond just high honor.

When it comes to animal symbolism, stags are almost as iconic as male lions with what they are meant to represent. All throughout various cultures, the stag usually represents a noble creature. It can represent honor (duh), strength, virility, grace, and regeneration, amongst other things, but I want to focus on interpretations of the stag from a few cultures and how they ultimately relate back to Arthur Morgan.

Considering that Arthur has Welsh heritage, or so we assume, let us start with the interpretation of the stag in Welsh culture and mythology. The stag has a huge presence in Welsh culture and mythology, with even some gods and higher beings taking the image of a stag. However, I would like to focus on the stag as a messenger, a messenger between worlds, which is what Arthur becomes in a sense to John Marston.

John's world for such a huge part of his life as the gang. The gang raised him, fed him, taught him to read, taught him morals, taught him many skills, and gave him a purpose. The gang is his world and for such a huge chunk of his life, it was the only world he knew. Sure, Abigail gets pregnant because of him, but she was a part of that world too.

Arthur was able to see other worlds. Mary wasn't a girl who was downtrodden like Abigail and thus would take on well to the life they lived. She was a normal girl and he was not a normal man. Eliza wasn't part of his gang life either, and neither was Issac. They lived in a different world, in a world of civilization, in a world where they didn't or shouldn't have had to keep one eye open to stay alive. Arthur would jump over to their worlds, even if just for a short amount of time, and then back to the gang- he has seen and experienced both of those worlds.

Arthur then gives John the message that he should leave and be a man and provide for his wife and protect his child by leaving the gang life that destroyed the both of them. Arthur becomes a messenger from one world to another- from gang life to normalcy. And with that message, John experiences a change- a change of character and motives.

The Stag is a messenger and Arthur is a messenger. A messenger to not only John, but to everyone else he tried to get out of there for he experienced two worlds and one is better than the other.

Another interpretation of the stag is the selflessness of sacrifice, which can be shown through the Greek culture of story and mythology and explained perfectly in the story "Iphigenia at Aulis" by Euripides. Iphigenia goes to her father and tells him that she will offer herself as a sacrifice to the goddess Artemis. Sacrifices must be made to keep the gods happy and the people alive and happy. Iphigenia offering such a thing shows her selflessness, her want of wanting others to be safe and sound, even at the expense of herself.

Sound familiar?

Reminds me of a certain dark romantic cowboy.

By the end of the story, Iphigenia's selflessness was rewarded by the goddess, and as Iphigenia's father was about to slit her throat, the girl got replaced by a stag while Iphigenia was escorted to live amongst the gods for her selflessness.

The deer becomes the sacrifice and in a way, Iphigenia and the deer become one and the same. The deer is sacrificed for the sake of others- the stag becomes a symbol of noble selflessness, much like Arthur. Arthur sacrifices himself in order to save John, Abigail, and Jack- a noble cause, a noble sacrifice.

The stag being a noble sacrifice is also associated with certain Native American cultures (I cannot for the life of me think of which tribes they were exactly, but once I find them, I will edit this post). The stag must be killed for people to eat, thus the deer is a noble creature. The consumption of the stag is an allegory of people living better lives or having better days because of the sacrifice of a person. Because of that, the stag is a heavily respected creature.

And given that Dutch's vampire is all about consumption, Arthur's symbolism of being a stag is perfect for their dynamic since the deer is all about sacrifice and nobility and the vampire is all about selfishness and despair.

In any case, the deer represents many things across many cultures, from being a messenger to being a sacrifice, but one thing for certain is that the stag is synonymous with honor and nobility- the person that Arthur tried to be in the end.

Yapyapyapyapyapgodifuckinglovesymbolism-

[barbwritesstuff]

I dunno if this is something you want to do or not, but do you think there could be flavor text during the sex scene if we attempted to bite Nathan in the warehouse? I was actually surprised that Nathan would allow that without some kind of ring gag after we went all bitey back then. Although I guess a gag like that would probably be the equivalent of iron croutons in blood soup or something to a strength-based vampire.

I actually totally forgot that some MCs tried to bite him in Chapter 7. I'll add in some flavour text. 💙

Though (lore drop?) Nate was never actually in any danger. He doesn't tell you, because he's still low key testing you, but his ward protects against all harm (head to toe, including dick) and burns the undead on touch. So if you had tried to bite off his cock, it wouldn't have worked, and probably would've resulted in your MC being staked by one very sexually frustrated hunter.

I'll add this information after the sex scene. I was planning on revealing it later, but in hindsight, it makes most sense in that moment.

[gerec]

I want to thank your for your amazing fics and recs!!

Plus I wanted to ask if you have any Halloween cherik fic recs? It could about them just celebrating Halloween or about them being monsters or something spooky. Anything that’s considered Halloween themed.

Guys, Sept and Oct have been such busy months for me in RL I haven't had the chance to catch up with recs and writing eek! Hopefully after next week things will slow down so I can properly partake in fandom again lol.

In the meantime, here are a list of Halloween fics for you to check out! I linked a post at the end to a list of vampire aus, but I'll be back with a monster themed Halloween rec list in a short while. Happy reading!!!

HALLOWEEN FIC RECS - PART 1

King of the Pumpkin Patch by tahariel

Charles has a Scaring deficit, but Erik is happy to help him learn to be more frightening this Halloween.

Fusion with Nightmare Before Christmas.

Ring In The Witching Hour by luninosity

Halloween at the mansion (written February 2012). Costume parties, ethics debates, emotional hurt/comfort, implied sex; slight warning for not-very-explicit mention of abuse in Charles's childhood.

To Boldly Dress (Like Those Who Might Have Gone Before) by iberiandoctor (jehane)

Erik doesn’t do Halloween costumes. Peter and Charles try to change his mind.

Seal Your Doom Tonight by CharryWotter

It's October at the X-Mansion, and as everyone prepares for the Halloween party, Peter makes a promise to his friends that he'll finally confess to Erik that he's his son...on Halloween.

When the day rolls around, at Peter's suggestion, Erik is dressed up as a zombie - and is completely out of his element. The party is loud and crowded; and through the noise, Peter gets up the courage and shouts the truth to Erik.

There's just one problem. Under the pounding music of the party, the words "You're my dad," sound quite a lot like "You're undead."

So can you really blame Erik for replying, "I AM AWARE! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"?

with the spiders on the wall by orphan_account

Erik is used to getting roped into a costume for Halloween, what with having 7 year old twins. This year is no different.

Trick or Treat by ximeria

Erik might have developed a bit of a crush on Raven's brother without ever having met him. It's just that he keeps witnessing Raven losing every argument with him on the phone and Erik is curious, okay? Anyone who can argue Raven out of one of her harebrained ideas has to be worth meeting.

The Most Sincere Patch by starlady

"Sexy professor" Charles meets a sexy vampire at Moira's annual Halloween party.

Xavier Family Values by winter_hiems

Charles and Erik love all their children. They’re just a little worried that David might be becoming, well… normal.

(An X-Men Addams Family AU)

trick or treat by pocky_slash

A Halloween ficlet collection.

Haunted House on the Hill by ximeria

Erik's not too sure at first about Raven talking him into taking Lorna to a haunted house party in Westchester. What if it's too scary? What if it's too boring? Is he expected to socialize as well?

Adam and Steve by TurtleTotem

Charles doesn't have a partner for Emma's couples-themed Halloween party, but perhaps he can tempt Erik to help him out...

A Headmaster in Sleepy Hollow by arcapelago (arcanewinter)

Sean is engrossed with the Legend of Sleepy Hollow when Charles lets slip that the historical location is just 30 miles away on the other side of Westchester county. Sean and Alex sneak out of the mansion to investigate, and Charles and Erik go to retrieve them, surprised to discover that North Tarrytown has at least one mystery for the holiday. (Set in the Burdens universe.)

Perfect Match by Gerec

Cherik - mistaken identity at a Halloween party

Vampire AUs

[ollypopwrites]

From Depths Unknown ; Part 6

Part 1 ⚜️ Part 2 ⚜️ Part 3 ⚜️ Part 4 ⚜️ Part 5 or Read on Ao3

Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.

Rating: E

Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Smut (PiV sex, fingering, wizards and their mage hands am i right?), confessions, background Bloodweave being dysfunctional (i love you boys but u are a mess), familial banter, Rolan being Rolan, and Tav's savior complex.

Notes: I said six chapters.... but i got carried away again. Next chapter will be the last I promise lol.

Chapter Summary:

Rolan felt the walls closing in on him. The thought of her packing her things to leave the city behind had created a painful clawing sensation in the center of his chest. He had quickly realized that were he to give any input, Rolan would be near begging her to stay. Tav should do what she wanted to, and without him being so openly upset at the prospect of her departure. But it had been days of agony keeping quiet as she played with ideas of what she ought to do and what she wanted to do. He was not sure he could contain himself any longer.

“Engaged? As in…  to be married?”

“What other kind of engaged  is there, darling?” Astarion took a sip of wine. “Do we not have our fearless leader’s blessing?” 

Tav rolled her eyes at his pout. “No, it’s just… fast.”

“Our bond was tried by illithid fires, a more harmonious matrimony couldn’t be forged,” Gale grinned. 

“Point taken.”

“Will it be a spring wedding?” Shadowheart smiled only half teasing, “with calla lilies and hydrangeas? Oh, who will be the ring bearer? I think Scratch would love to do the job. We can make Minsc the flower girl.”

“A role he would fill honorably, no doubt,” Gale chuckled. 

Astarion seemed to be mulling over the idea of an actual ceremony. Then shook his head and turned back to his glass. It was still an adjustment, his new life amidst the living. He kept forgetting he actually had to eat, and as a result Tav had started slipping rations into everyone’s pockets to offer him regularly. Any spot they settled into, he would find a pocket of sunlight from a window and sit in. 

After decades of hiding from the sun, and without the tadpole to preserve his formerly-undead skin, there was a slight pink tint to it. Tav watched as he pressed his fingers against the slightly sunburnt skin, the pressure making it lighten until he removed it. It warmed her heart to see him adjust, but she would never embarrass him by saying so.

“After we return to Waterdeep there will be much to do,” Gale said, “the tower will need adjustments, now that it will be our home. Once things get settled, and I face my mother’s ire, we can start to consider the details.”

“Gods, I’ll have a mother-in-law ,” Astarion realized.

“She will love you,” Gale assured him. 

“I think it might be Tara who is the harder sell,” Tav said. “She’s protective.”

“As many tressyms are,” Gale hummed. “Discerning and erudite.”

“I can catch a few pigeons, maybe that will soften her up,” Astarion smiled. 

“Good to know you’re still the same,” Shadowheart laughed. “What will you do in Waterdeep? Become a magistrate again?”

“No,” Astarion scrunched up his nose. “It’d be too hard now to get my pockets lined with all this Saviors of the Gate talk.”

“An easy solution would be to simply not accept bribery,” Gale pointed out.

“Where’s the fun in that, my sweet?” Astarion purred. “I have a very needy wizard to support now. How else will I pay for your quills and ink?”

“I’ll remind you I was a very established Archmage,” Gale smirked. “I have no shortage of means to supply myself with materials and whatever else you may desire.”

“Trying to buy my love now, are you? Go on, it’s working.”

“Gods, I wish you two would get your own room,” Tav grimaced. 

Astarion winked at her, his smile still managed to be dangerous despite the new lack of fangs. 

“Speaking of rooms.” Gale was considerably pinker, seeming to realize again they were not alone. “There’s more than enough space, should you wish to join us.”

The topic of conversation Tav kept avoiding and yet could not seem to get away from. What was she going to do next? Halsin had extended an offer to have her join him in the new settlement, and Shadowheart had made it clear she would welcome some company on her new adventures. Gale and Astarion kept insisting they take her with them like she was some kind of stray cat that needed a home. Her mother and Lottie were still in the city, but they couldn’t keep the inn closed forever. They would have to go back to business as usual, now that they knew she was alive and well after going missing.

She was overwhelmed with the options, but more than that a deep feeling of sadness came with them. Leaving her family behind again felt unconscionable. If anything she would probably have to go back and run the inn, take care of her mum and sister, and extend her offers of an always open door for her new friends. Everytime she thought of it she realized how much she wanted to do anything else and was plagued by guilt about it. 

“I’ve been dealing with you two making eyes at each other for months across camp,” Tav joked, “I hardly want to stumble upon you two mid-romp around your home.”

“Your loss, darling,” Astarion grinned. 

“It really isn’t,” she laughed. 

“But what are you going to do?” Shadowheart asked. 

“My mum and Lottie need me,” she shrugged. “I’ll probably put my hero days behind me and run the inn.”

“They seem fine to me,” Shadowheart commented. “If anything Alan needs them with how much they’ve helped him recently.”

It was true. The Elfsong was one of two pubs left standing in the area, the other being the Blushing Mermaid, and both were incredibly busy in the aftermath. But there were a couple new places that had popped up in the lower city, and things were calming down as shops reopened and homes had been rebuilt. But being the last two standing spots with food, ale, and room, both generously offering what they could back to their city, they had become even more popular than ever before. 

“They won’t stay,” Tav shook her head. “That inn was my father’s legacy, humble as it is.” She played with the pearl around her neck.

“I’ll have to stop by and see it for myself,” Shadowheart said. 

“You better have a good story ready,” Tav said, “you get drinks on the house if you impress the owner.”

“I helped you save the world, I think you can spare me a drink without a story.”

“We run a business, Shadowheart, not a charity.”

Rolan felt a strange sense of awe and fear as Gale held out the pieces of the Netherese Crown. He thought nothing could surprise him anymore but being presented the broken pieces of a historical relic of that nature had him speechless. The two of them had spent days trying to find the crown. Tav had been helping them earlier, but she had run off to find something else to do after using up her stores of magic for the day. It was nearly nightfall, and they had finally gotten it out of the Chionthar.  Gale seemed to be hypnotized by it, and Rolan tried to find a way to break his reverie. 

“Mystra will be pleased.” 

The comment was purely meant to fill the silence, and not be inflammatory in any way. However, Gale’s nostrils flared and a strange half-snarl passed over his face for a moment. Quickly, he seemed to come back to himself with a tight smile but still said nothing. 

“Surely it’ll be safer in her hands than here,” Rolan offered at the lack of a response. 

“Yes,” Gale said quietly. “Surely.”

He felt uneasy about Gale’s mood, but he knew Gale and Mystra’s history was complicated at best. Even so, he never liked the look in the older man’s eyes when it came to anything Netherese. Rolan knew he was the last one to cast stones when it came to untamed ambition and poor choices made in its pursuit — but there was the added potential of Gale actually pulling off any insane scheme he put his mind to which made Rolan wary. 

A yell had Rolan looking up, seeing Tav running up to them. “Did you find it?” Tav said as she got closer. She bumped into Gale’s side, leaning close over the crown in his hands, “weird isn’t it? It was the source of all our problems and now it’s just… trash.”

“This is a highly volatile artifact, it’s not trash ,” Gale’s musing was interrupted by his need to correct her. 

“No,” Tav frowned, “I know all about highly volatile,” she poked at the orb mark on his chest to make her point, “this is just… a nuisance. ”

Rolan knew their relationship was nothing more than platonic. Still, he couldn’t help but wish she felt as comfortable invading his space as much as she did Gale’s. It was hardly inappropriate, but they were just at ease in each other’s space and he found himself wanting the same. It was not the first time he felt the sting of jealousy when it came to her companions.

“Nuisance. Its power is enough to transcend mortality and you call it a nuisance,” Gale muttered, putting the crown away in his pack. “You’re being purposefully bothersome”

“And you’re  being weird about the crown again,” she said back. “Don’t let Astarion see you moon over it like that. He’ll get jealous.” She clapped him hard enough on the shoulder that he grunted and then turned to Rolan with a bright smile. “I ran to get us some food but Mum and Lottie are off for the night. Cal thought it might be nice to host dinner at the tower so they don’t have to cook.”

“You can’t just commandeer my tower for dinner parties,” he replied, but his irritation was mostly for show. A dinner with her and the others was far from disagreeable to him. 

“But we did anyway,” she scrunched up her nose with the petulant tone. “Cal lives there too, if he wants to make everyone dinner he can.”

“I’ll remind you that you're not the hero calling the shots in my home,” he rebutted. 

“Seems my wizards are in quite the mood today,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “You,” she pointed to Gale, “stop obsessing over that crown and come enjoy a nice dinner with your friends. And you,” she shifted her extended finger over to Rolan, “can join us or sulk in your study. The tower is big enough for either.”

With that she started her walk back to the city from the docks without them. Rolan watched her go, heart rate spiking at being called one of her wizards. He almost forgot to be offended that she was getting too comfortable calling shots around the tower, as if it were also her own home. And that was also a jarring thought. Not for the first time since her mother had arrived, he found his mind chanting at Tav in a desperate plea like she was some detached deity who could hear his prayers: stay with me, stay forever, my home – my heart is yours . 

But she was walking away, and Rolan called after her, “you don’t get to order me around!” 

“I think you’ll find she doesn’t have to give orders for you to do exactly what she wants,” Gale was grinning a little as he said it. “After you,” he gestured to begin walking, “your lady awaits.”

Rolan rolled his eyes and started walking, cheeks burning the entire time. They made their way through the city, passing through the streets which had started to become bustling again. They made it back to the Tower before night fully fell, and Lia was closing up shop with Tolna. Minsc had taken it upon himself to help out. Rolan was not sure if the ranger would do more harm or good, but Lia seemed confident enough in him. At the bottom of the stairs, Jaheira was waiting with her arms crossed in her usual stance of aloof authority. 

“Ah, there is our host,” Jaheira said with a wry smile. “And Gale, looking ‘miles away.’ Did you find your crown?”

“It’s completely destroyed, but yes. The crown is in our safe hands.”

“Safe. Right.” She arched a brow at him. “You two are needed upstairs, and I need a word with the cub.”

“ This is my home ,” Rolan found himself reiterating in bewilderment. 

“And you are a gracious host,” Jaheira bowed. 

“How many times am I going to be ordered around in my own tower tonight?” 

“Go where you please,” she held up her hands in amused resignation, “but your brother is asking for you and I still need Tav alone.”

Rolan rubbed at his face before heading up the stairs in defeat, Gale following his lead. Of the hills to die on, his friends bossing him around was one that was ranking lower on his list by the day. It was a lost cause, really, with Cal and Lia always taking their side. Truly he didn’t mind it, but it was annoying to be Master of a great tower, now well-known and revered in his city, only to be strong armed by a geriatric vigilante and forced into socializing by his little brother. 

“Does a wizard good to have obstinate friends around his tower,” Gale told him, “keeps us humble.”

Rolan had no reply aside from a slight noncommittal grunt, and made his way to the kitchen. There was a dedicated dining room with an impossibly long table made of some ancient wood from an enchanted forest and an ostentatious seat at its head for the master. It was a beautiful room with large lavish paintings and floor to ceiling windows. Him, Cal and Lia never ate there, however. The kitchen was big enough to put a table large enough to seat them and all their friends. 

It just felt cozier, more like a home. Inside, Cal was running around the kitchen throwing something together. Of the three of them he was the best cook, and judging by the smell, tonight would be quite the meal. Astarion was sitting in a corner, eyes looking down at the city through an open window that was framed by sun dried herbs. As usual, Gale’s attention went to the elf first and he made his way over. Halsin had gotten Yenna to join them, the young girl watching Cal cook with interest while Halsin dozed in bear shape nearby her. At the table Lottie, Tatianna and Shadowheart were looking over a map.  

“There you are,” Cal said. “Where’s Lia?”

“Closing up shop, she’ll be up soon,” Rolan replied. 

“Did Tav not come with you?” Tatianna asked. 

“Jaheira needed her,” he sat down next to her. “What are you three up to?”

“Charting our journey back home,” Lottie said. 

“I want to mark down the location of the inn,” Shadowheart said mostly to herself. “After Reithwin I may make my way towards Waterdeep to visit the House of the Moon – and Gale and Astarion, of course,” she said excitedly, “your village is on the way isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Tatianna said with a nod. “Give me your map, I’ll mark a trail you can get to from there. Fastest and with the most beautiful sights,” she said excitedly. 

“Are you planning to leave already?” Rolan asked. His stomach turned with discomfort at the thought. 

“The inn has to reopen sometime,” Tatianna shrugged. 

“Again, I can offer teleportation,” he said. 

“Lottie wants to see a few places on the way,” the older woman smiled. “We don’t get to travel often.” 

“Maybe you can make one of your fancy teleportation circles here anyway,” Lottie said. “So when Tav starts shacking up with you in the tower we can see her whenever we want.” 

Teleportation didn’t exactly work like that, but his brain was split between correcting her and feeling a rush of some emotion at the teasing. Hope, it dared to name itself, and he immediately tried to chain it back up. 

“Lottie,” Tatianna scolded, but her smile was mischievous. 

“Is she not going with you?” Shadowheart asked, sparing Rolan any embarrassment by not acknowledging the teasing. “She’s made it seem like she is.” 

“She hasn’t said,” Tatianna looked at Rolan pointedly. “But she better decide soon.”

“Is everything alright?” 

Jaheira’s expression had turned serious after Rolan and Gale made their way up the stairs. She guided Tav far enough away that none of the specialists in the shop nor Lia could hear them. She looked around to ensure they were alone and offered her a soft smile. 

“Rest, Cub, there are no villains that need smiting just yet,” she said. “I simply wanted to speak with you.”

“Alright.” Tav frowned. 

“Your story has spread, not unlike mine or Minsc’s, and you will feel the pressure to live up to that story,” she began. “If I am right, this journey has shown you what you are truly capable of.”

“Oh, Gods, a pep talk. Are you dying? Did the years finally catch up?”

Jaheira let out a short laugh. “Watch it,” she warned with a mirthful smile, “I’m offering you a chance to use your capabilities. My numbers have dwindled, but the Harpers never stay down long. And I hope to add you to their ranks.”

“Oh.” 

“You will get to stay in Baldur’s Gate, there is still plenty to do. Though I’m sure the chance for running around Faerûn will present itself again,” she told her. 

“Aren’t Harpers spies?” Tav frowned. “Hard to do much spying when everyone in the city knows your name.”

“A challenge both Minsc and I have managed to overcome,” Jaheira smiled wryly. “We don’t just collect information, we act on it. Your skills would be invaluable, not to mention your influence.”

The idea of having influence over anything as serious as the Harper’s dealt with made her chest squeeze with nervousness. It was, she supposed, nothing  new given the final battle against the Absolute, but Tav still had trouble wrapping her head around it. Jaheira seemed to sense her trepidation.

“Do an old woman a favor and simply think about it. You would do good here.” She put her hand on Tav’s shoulder with a slight squeeze. “Now, let’s grab some food.”

As they made her way up, she had questions. And a strange sensation of excitement. Since the defeat of the Absolute she had thrown herself into rebuilding the city, not sure what else to do in the face of no longer having a goal. This was an opportunity, a purpose , and she felt the possibility of it like a strong beacon of hope. She could build something for herself in the city.  

When they walked through the doors, everyone was in full conversation as Cal started serving. She sat between Gale, who seemed uncharacteristically quiet, and Lia who was chatting with Rolan about the store. She locked eyes with Rolan, seeing his slip away from hers the moment he was caught. Lia turned to glance at what had his attention while she was still talking and smiled. How she resisted the urge to tease her big brother was beyond Tav’s understanding, given the way she normally tormented him. 

Cal’s impromptu dinner had been a success, the younger tiefling beaming about it with every compliment. From what Tav knew, for a while it had just been the three siblings, and she could see Cal’s joy at a gathered group around a table. It was very domestic, she realized. The ease in which everyone seemed to settle in, the welcoming way everyone had greeted her mother and sister — it made her quite happy. 

Her companions she expected no less from, if she was honest. Gale was always welcoming, Shadowheart’s change over the past few months had made her less suspicious and more inclined towards the warmth that had always been lurking beneath. Astarion was still Astarion, and more recently quite retrospective with his new mortality but her mother was easy to get along with. Lottie was just enough of a smart ass to make him giggle, and Tav knew he didn’t mind their presence. 

The tiefling siblings, however, had been an unknown concept. Cal was very open hearted, always the least of her worries when it came to interpersonal interactions. Lia could be brash and maybe a bit intense, but she was at her core kind. Rolan had been her biggest surprise. 

Even now he was chatting almost easily with her mother. When he had shown up to the Elfsong with them in tow she was shocked, and a little nervous. Rolan, as much as she adored him, took some getting to know before his charms made an appearance. But it seemed her worries had been for nothing: Lottie teased him easily, and Tatianna was never put off by his sometimes brusque tone or his facade of extreme pride. 

Tav thought she may like to see more of them all gathered around a dinner table. 

Her musings were interrupted by Astarion abruptly stepping away from Gale and walking out of the door. Gale had a frown on his face, lost in thought, clutching his bag with one hand. No one else seemed to have caught whatever lover’s quarrel the two had, but old habits die hard and Tav was out of her seat to make peace before she even realized it. 

Rolan’s eyes flicked over to her, and she smiled at him. It was a regular occurrence, he seemed to be hyper aware of her presence whenever they were in a room of people. As comforting as it was frustrating, since he never seemed to act on this magnetism that had pulled at them. But she had a former-vampire to check on. 

Astarion moved nimbly, even without his inherent vampiric attributes. Silently and quickly he was walking out of the tower, and Tav realized how loudly her footsteps were as she ran to catch him. She said nothing as she caught up to him, and he rolled his eyes when she did but said nothing. They made their way out of the tower and went back to the Elfsong, where it was bustling with the night time rush. 

“If you insist on following me around like a puppy you may as well buy the drinks,” he said haughtily.

“You really know how to charm a girl,” Tav said back as they passed the bar. “Mermaid whiskey, Alan, please.” 

“Oh, you are trying to butter me up,” Astarion said. 

“You seem like you need it,” she replied while Alan disappeared to find the expensive bottle. “The drama of walking out like that, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Surprised you noticed,” he crooned. “You’re always so busy making eyes at your wizard. Have you ever considered bedding him or do you simply enjoy being pined over?”

“That’s harsh,” Tav’s eyebrows flew up. “Don't talk about my wizard when you're obviously crossed with yours.”

Alan came back with the bottle and some glasses. Tav dug into her hip purse and tossed more gold than it was worth, but she hardly cared. Neither of them acknowledged that she had called Rolan hers , but she did feel a little embarrassed. No one else was there to hear her, yet she wondered if that was too presumptuous. She led the way to their usual spot, away from the crowd and secluded as could be in a busy pub. Astarion sat down and shot back the first pour of whiskey much too fast, he hissed slightly at the burn. 

“Gods, I have to remember not to do that,” he said. 

“Could you not taste it before?”

“It was like it was a ghost of a flavor,” he looked at the brown liquid when she poured him another glass. “The only thing that ever had any real taste was blood.”

Tav hummed curiously. “Lots for you to adjust to then.”

“I keep scaring myself when I walk by mirrors,” he mumbled. “And you were right, I do have laugh lines.”

“And they’re very becoming,” Tav smiled. 

Astarion scowled. 

“It’s okay to be a little overwhelmed,” she told him. “So much has happened in the past few weeks alone.” 

Astarion didn’t answer.  Tav sipped the whiskey, grimacing at the taste. Sure it was high quality but she much preferred wine. Astarion seemed to enjoy sipping at it, however, his pale eyes darting around the room. She let him take his time, let him decide whether or not to share his feelings. Early on Tav had realized simply being present seemed to be enough for Astarion to open up eventually, pushing him to have a genuine conversation almost always backfired.

“It’s the damned crown.” He said without preamble. 

“You’re telling me you don’t want to be a god?” Tav asked in shock. 

“We discussed it,” he said. “We discussed it.”

“And?”

“I don’t want the rest of our time together to be about getting back at Her .”

Tav offered a soft hum of understanding.

“But now that he has it…” Astarion trailed off, his eyes looking as if he were somewhere else entirely in his head. “What if he does it? What if he leaves me here?”

A pang of hurt stabbed at her heart, all of his quietness made sense now. Tav cautiously put a hand out, palm up, letting him decide if touch was on the table. Astarion looked at it, then placed his hand in hers. She squeezed gently. It was still strange to feel warmth in his hand.

“That’s not in his nature, he would do anything for you,” she said with a soft smile. “But even if he does, you won’t be alone. You will always, always have a place with me, I’d never let you go through that alone.”

Astarion looked at her for a long while. “And what’s your nature? Naive, trusting, bleeding heart fool that you are.” His lips quirked up a little as he teased, only emphasizing the genuine way he added, “we really were lucky to have you through all this, you know. 

“I would have been long dead before I even got to the grove if it weren’t for the lot of you,” she countered. 

“Are you sure you won’t come to Waterdeep?” He ignored her comment. 

“To visit, of course, but I… “ she sighed. “I can’t be your crutch every time you disagree, Star. You two are getting married . You’re going to have to learn to talk it out without me.”

Astarion made a face like he could wretch. “It’s all so new. I’ve never had anyone like this before.”

“You’ll make it work.”

“More than that,” he said. “I’ve never had anyone… to miss.” He scrunched up his face. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you or to Shadowheart or even Halsin.” He drank some whiskey, she suspected he needed something to do besides feel vulnerable. “It’s not just having a… fiance, I have friends . What am I going to do without you?”

“Make new ones?”

“Gods forbid.”

“I get it,” she laughed. “Almost everyone in my life besides mum and Lottie have just passed through. All I’ve ever known is back in some small village no one knows the name of. Now… now everything is just different.”

“If Gale leaves me for Godhood we aren’t staying in some pub,” Astsrion muttered. “We’ll adventure. Go see the world.”

“We still can even if he doesn’t ,” she squeezed his hand again. “But we just saved the world, we deserve some rest. Some time to figure out who we are now.” Tav grinned, “hells, you’re mortal . You still haven’t figured out you need to eat at least three times a day. Take a moment, enjoy it.”

“I keep thinking of Karlach,” he nodded. “All she wanted was this. She’d be furious if we wasted it.”

“And Wyll,” Tav said, “he’d be so happy for us. And so proud of you.”

“Lae’zel would be horrified at the idea of rest and relaxation,” Astarion mused, “all the more reason to do it, I suppose.”

“Keep your daggers sharp in her honor,” Tav shrugged, “she left that damn whetstone. Take it with you, never know when you may need to stab someone.”

“Oh that does sound fun.”

His mirth was back, the mischievous glint in his eye. Gods, she would miss him. 

She lifted her glass, “to friends.”

“Ugh,” he rolled his eyes but clinked his glass to hers. ”if we must.”

The suite was far too big to house what few of them were left. Wyll, Karlach and Lae’zel left so urgently that their stuff was still by their bunks; no one had the heart to go through it yet. With most everyone gone and busy, Tav had taken it upon herself to start. 

Karlach’s best weapon had been on her person, as had her toughest armor. There were a few enchanted weapons left behind but Tav figured Halsin’s group of refugees could make use of them on the road if there was trouble. She saved Clive the Bear, not willing to part with it. There was no part of her that believed they would be stuck in the hells forever, and Tav would be sure to keep Clive safe for Karlach until she got back. Things like spare armor and blankets could be donated or sold. 

It was much the same for Lae’zel, who had no keepsakes from their journey. Which, although was somewhat sad since Tav wanted something to keep of her, made perfect sense for her Gith friend. The only thing Tav felt she should keep was her stuffed trophy heads; the illithid one was particularly important to her, she knew. 

When she made her way over to Wyll’s things it occurred to her that he was the only one who had family to receive left behind belongings. His map of the sword coast was notated, and she found herself delicately rolling it up to keep. Perhaps Shadowheart could make use of it on her travels. He had letters and journals, but it seemed he packed as lightly as the other two. It made sense. He was running around the coast being a hero before the tadpoles got inserted, he would have needed to travel lightly. 

She kept only one of his journals. It included their journey, but she was sure not to read too much of it for the sake of his privacy. The last entry was from the night before the final battle. He had full confidence they would all make it, and that they would be victorious — Tav felt tears sting her eyes. Wyll’s clothes, his tales, his small trinkets could all go to Ulder Ravenguard, but the story of their journey through his eyes she wanted to keep. The book still had empty pages, and she wanted to be able to give it back to him for continuation. 

The scratch of tiny claws on wood grabbed her attention. She looked over to see a rat, scurrying across the room. Despite her first instinct to launch a firebolt in its direction in order to scare it off, she watched as it climbed over to Jaheira’s bunk and deposited a folded up paper. It met her eyes, tilted its head, and then ran away again. Probably a good thing Tav didn’t incinerate it then, it would be hard to explain that she had immolated one of Jaheira’s spies. 

It was welcome, if it was there on Harper business. 

Maybe one day she would have her own informants, Tav found herself thinking. Immediately after she shook her head, she was going back home. She had to go back home. There was no way she could abandon her family again. Last time it had been completely beyond her control, she could never do it of her own volition. 

As if to further prove the point to herself, she set aside the chest of Wyll’s belongings to send off to the Ravenguard estate later and moved toward her own bunk. Unfortunately, she was a bit more of a collector than most of her companions. There was a lot of stuff to go through in her own personal belongings, and the camp chest would also need to be dug through. To her credit, she did try to focus on the task and not let her mind give way to fantasy. But it was not long before the idea of the offer Jaheira had her thoughts running away with excitement. 

A Harper, in Baldur’s Gate, working alongside two legends and a small army of just as heroic everyday people who didn’t want their names in any ballads. Tav could only imagine what she would see and learn as Harper, what places she would go to before returning to the very city which brought her into the world of adventuring. How much good could she do? How much tyranny could she thwart? And all with good friends to come back to. 

In her mind’s eye she could imagine coming home to Rolan and his siblings. Cal and Lia would embrace her, they would trade stories about what they had been up to while she was away. Rolan would wrap her up in his arms, kiss her like she had been gone a hundred years and scold her for any new bumps and bruises and scars she got from playing hero. Oh, and wouldn’t it be so fascinating to have those three on an adventure with her. 

Packing up her things suddenly felt impossible. How could she leave? But she had to. She was sure she had to. 

Looking out of the open window, she caught the glimpse of the tower she could see from there. She looked at it often at night, after everyone was asleep and her mind wandered. Rolan was just there, she could imagine, and then her mind went to imagining what things he could be doing up there alone or with her. It hardly mattered, it was enough to get her through a lonely night. 

With a frustrated huff she closed her trunk and walked away. Nothing would get done while her mind was oscillating between dreams she could never claim and the one person it would be the hardest to say goodbye to. Gods, besides her companions he was the only one who understood what she had been through. The only one who knew her shame and her fears and her flaws and never seemed to let it change how he treated her. A hard earned closeness that was different from the one she had with her traveling group, one that had to be forged by actively choosing vulnerability and trust. 

Thinking of leaving that bond behind, leaving him behind, it made her feel so hollow. 

She needed air. She needed a distraction. Her feet took her down the stairs and out into the street. There were still plenty of books on the hells she could read back at Ramazith’s tower, where her path seemed to be leading her without really thinking. She still had a mind to find something worth reading on infernal engines, even if she could not understand it, maybe she could work with Dammon to find something. Just a few hours of reading, then she would go back and start packing her things. 

Tav waved at Cal behind the counter before making her way up to the portals. Rolan was going to eventually stop using them in favor of the arcane elevator, but for now it was the quickest way to the study. It was empty when she got there, a small pang of disappointment making her sigh before she began looking through some of the books.

There was a loud whoosh and footsteps on the tile. 

“Please, let yourself in, make yourself at home,” Rolan said sarcastically. 

“I always do,” Tav said lightly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I just needed some time out of the Elfsong,” she shrugged. “I was packing and I got overwhelmed.” 

“Packing?” Rolan repeated. There was an unusual look on his face, his jaw working overtime grinding together. It looked painful. “So you’ve decided?”

“Yes,” she said, then reconsidered. “No? I don’t know.” Tav heaved a sigh, “I won’t be going to Waterdeep, that much I know. I could go with Shadow, I suppose but… Jaheira offered me a position in the Harpers, here in Baldur’s Gate. I keep thinking — just can’t get it out of my head. Me , a Harper.” She shook her head in slight disbelief. 

“Seems apt, given your enjoyment of swooping in to save the day.”

“She seems to think so,” Tav said, noticing the abruptness in his tone.  

“So,” he said expectantly, “what do you want to do?”

“I should honestly just,” Tav winced, “go back and take care of mum and Lottie.” 

“I didn’t ask what you should do,” Rolan said harshly. “I asked what you want to do.”

“What I want is hardly the point,” she shook her head. 

“That is entirely the point,” Rolan insisted. “It’s your life, Tav, no one else’s.”

“That’s — why are you getting angry with me?” 

“I’m not,” Rolan bit out. 

“You are,” she frowned

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he snapped. 

“I — “ she flinched a little at the tone. 

As normal as his tendency towards harshness at her had been once, she had not been faced with it for some time. It hurt. Especially when she had no idea why he was behaving that way. What had she done to make him upset?

At his resounding silence she huffed, “is it because I came up without asking? I just thought —“

“No, that’s hardly it,” he cut her off.  He grimaced slightly, “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“Then what is it?” Another beat of silence. His tail was flicking behind him in sharp movements she knew to be a sign of barely repressed anger. “Okay,” she sighed resignedly, “I’ll leave. I came here to clear my head, not to deal with whatever the hells this mood is.”

Rolan said nothing, a pained look on his face. Tav put the book in her hand away, painfully aware of the silence in the room and the intensity of his gaze on her. Avoiding eye contact she made her way towards the portal through which he just came in. She only made it a handful of steps past him before he spoke again. 

“Don’t go.”

Rolan felt the walls closing in on him. The thought of her packing her things to leave the city behind had created a painful clawing sensation in the center of his chest. He was trying to do what her mother had asked, to let her decide what to do. He had quickly realized that were he to give any input, Rolan would be near begging her to stay. Tatianna was right, Tav should do what she wanted to, and without him being so openly upset at the prospect of her departure. But it had been days of agony keeping quiet as she played with ideas of what she ought to do and what she wanted to do. He was not sure he could contain himself any longer.

“Don’t go.” 

She turned towards him. “If you want to be alone, that’s alright. You don’t have to —“

“No!” He said urgently, he kept cutting her off but she was just not understanding him. And how could she? He had hardly made himself clear. “I mean — don’t leave Baldur’s Gate,” he pleaded firmly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “I’ll make it so you can visit home whenever you like - I’ll figure something out. Just don’t — Don’t go so far from me.”

Tav’s shock was written on her face. But she did not say anything.

He winced slightly, but his mouth was going before his mind could stop him. “ I think it’s what you want too — I  think you want to join the Harpers: you love stupidly risking your safety to help people and the Harpers will give you that and more. You’re so good at all of this, Tav, you shouldn’t waste it. I may go gray prematurely worrying about you but if that’s the price for you to be here and happy I’ll pay it, with minimal complaining. Only minimal, mind.”

It was a poor attempt at levity since he was completely off his footing, half-ready to scream and unsure what to do since she was just gawking at him. Rolan knew he was neither disarming nor would many find it fit to call him charming, but gods was he trying. 

He barreled on, “I won’t pretend it isn’t selfish of me to tell you stay — I’ve tried to give you space, to keep all of this to myself so you would choose what you wanted but there is no avoiding it: I am in love with you and the thought of you leaving —” He finally cut himself off, forcing a self-deprecating short breath of a laugh when the admission tumbled out of his mouth, “it’s agonizing. I don’t know what spell you’ve put on me but it can’t be avoided any longer. You have to know the truth, or I will never stop thinking about what could have been if I was brave enough to say it.”

“Rolan —“

“It doesn’t even have to be for me, you could tell me to sod off and I’d still think you should take Jaheira’s offer,” he added quickly, not ready to hear a rejection or any kind of let down. “If you force yourself to go back you will regret it. I know it.” He heaved a breath, trying to steady his heart beating so wildly in his chest he could hear nothing but its heavy thumping, “Tav, please, think of yourself just this once”

Rolan felt emboldened now that it was out. There was every chance he had made a fool of himself, she liked him, surely he didn’t doubt that. Love was another thing altogether, he knew. But that was fine. As long as she was happy, he didn’t care if he looked like an idiot.

“Did you just say you’re in love with me?” Tav licked her lips.

“I did - I am,” he shook his head, “I couldn’t hide it, even if I wanted to.” He gestured widely at the study, “I only have any of this because of you, Cal and Lia would have been trapped in Moonrise, I would have been dead on the side of the road.” He swallowed hard, “I really tried to talk myself out of it. You’re nosy, meddlesome, absurdly soft hearted and idealistic not to mention sentimental — I only just learned your full name, and you seem to make it your life’s calling to bother me —“

Tav gave a bewildered breath of a laugh. “Only you could manage to insult me in a moment like this.”

“Sorry,” he said with a wince. Gods, he was horrible at this. 

Tav came up to him, grabbing his hands in hers. All Rolan could do was watch at first, letting her take his hands, the warm glow of hope raging violently in his chest beyond his control. She ran her thumb over the tops of his knuckles, looking at them as she seemed to gather herself and figure out what to say. It was impossible to not bring their joined hands up to his lips, to duck his head and kiss her skin gently. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” he assured her quietly, lips just barely pulling away from where they were pressed against her hand. “I — I couldn’t let you make this choice without knowing the whole truth of it. Whatever you need to lessen the burden, I’ll do it. I swear. Stay, please.” 

The last bit was a truly desperate whisper, but he could never let pride get in the way of saying what he needed to. It was as liberating as it was terrifying, to have it all out. Spurred on by her gentle but firm grip of his hands, and the fact that she was not pulling away: he could not find it in himself to be embarrassed. 

“Are you done ranting at me?” Tav smiled a little.

“I’ve held my tongue for weeks,” he breathed, closing his eyes. 

“I can tell.”

Despite the words her tone held nothing but softness. Even after his fumbling she only met him with gentility and understanding, he could only begin to hope he could strive to deserve her affection. When she pulled one hand away to cup his cheek he sighed, turning his face into her palm. Gods, that alone was enough to satisfy him. Such a soft and gentle touch, enhanced only by her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. He kissed her palm, eyes still closed against the onslaught of comfort and ease her touch inspired in him. Rolan was half certain he was dreaming, that he would wake up and she would still be in her suite at the Elfsong – the entire scene a fanciful imagining. His eyes were still closed when he felt her lips against his, an experimental but firm kiss. He felt a cut off sound leave his throat as he gripped her hand tighter. 

“Say it again,” she whispered against his lips. 

He replied automatically, not needing any clarification on what she needed to hear. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Rolan’s eyes opened abruptly, searching for a hint that she was lying - looking for signs of pitying him or simply appeasing him so as not to hurt him. Instead he just saw her smiling, eyes sparkling with happiness despite the slight bewilderment in her expression, but she was being earnest. Some kind of euphoric urgency took over him, moving him to kiss her. His lips half formed on another apology when their teeth clacked sloppily together, but they found an easy push and pull quickly. 

At first it was just kissing, him pulling her as close as he could, with her tugging at his hair and his tail curling around both of her legs. Despite being pressed directly together, he wanted her closer. His grasp on her was desperate, and frantic. There was the slightest tingle of electricity on her tongue when it touched his for the first time, not enough to be painful but enough to make him exhale in surprise. How excited must she be for her powers to slip like that?

His hands reached to grab at her, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer so her breasts pressed tight against his chest. Tav gave a high pitched noise of surprise and a slight jump. Instantly he pulled his hands away. He was getting far too ahead of himself. 

“I swear I had no other intentions — do you want—? We don’t have to—” he quickly tried to find the right thing to say, sentences stumbling out half formed as he tried to recompose himself. 

“I was just surprised,” she assured him with a soft laugh. 

“I’m sorry — I should ask, I shouldn’t just be pawing at you,” he scolded himself with a wince. 

“What a gentleman,” she teased. There was the slightest hint of mischief in her eyes as she tugged him back to her lips, kissing and then taking at his lower lip gently between her teeth as she pulled away. “Do you want to stop?”

“Gods, no,” he shuddered. 

“Good.”

Tav guided him to step backward, her body pushing his back with small steps and he let her lead. They shuffled backwards until his back hit one of the bookcases. His tail was still wrapped around her legs, tripping her up at the last moment. She fell into him gracelessly, with a squeak and a laugh. He grunted at the wood of the shelf digging into his back with her weight shoved so abruptly into him.

“That’s what I get,” she laughed as she righted herself, “for trying to be some smooth fairytale heroine, whisking her prince off his feet in his high tower.”

Rolan laughed too, cupping her face. “I’m hardly princely.”

“No,” she hummed in agreement as she kissed his jawline, “you’re the grumbling, reluctant damsel, more like.”

“Oh, that’s cruel.” He grinned. 

Using his tail to his advantage, he shifted his body, tugging at the back of her legs as he did. It was hardly seamless, but he managed to spin them so she was now the one with her back pressed into the shelves. Tav had gasped in shock, gripping him tight for fear of falling. Just when she was about to say something, Rolan dove into the crook of her neck. He loved the way she squeaked when his breath tickled the skin of her throat, and the taste of her skin as he dragged his teeth over her, ever mindful of his sharp canines.

“I assure you I’m anything but reluctant.”

She gave a sharp gasp, her grip on his arms tightening, and he felt his confidence soar. Slotting his thigh between her legs, he pressed into her, the evidence of his eagerness already pressed against her stomach. He sucked kisses into the skin of her neck until she tugged at his horns to get him to kiss her again. Her hips rolled, grinding her against his thigh and she gave the slightest whimper. 

Immediately his hands dug into her hips, gently pushing and pulling her over him. Tav broke the kiss, head thunking gently against the books behind her as she tilted her head back with a slack jaw. 

“Good?” He asked. 

“Very.”

It felt like some urgent cannibalistic hunger, the way he wanted to taste her skin, pulling aside her shirt to get more access to her chest. It was messy and intoxicating, as they were grinding against each other against a bookcase in his study, like something out of a dream. And it was tantalizing, the friction between them enough to make them both grunt and moan but not enough to truly satisfy with all the clothes in the way. 

Her shirt was half off, the plain cream bustier she wore exposed and she tugged at the fastenings on his robe. He was hardly going to stop her, only pulling his hands away to shrug it off, leaving him in only a thin sleeveless tunic and his trousers. 

Tav’s hands slid up his bare arms and he shuddered. Such an innocent touch but he was always so covered up, it had been so long, too long, since anyone had seen this much of his skin. He surged forward, hips grinding into hers to roughly it was almost painful. Tav was panting, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, he let her remove it and tilted his head back in bliss when she leaned forward to press open mouthed kisses to the skin of his chest. 

Her tongue traced over infernal ridges before sucked at the flat expanse of skin, making his nails dig into her clothing until he felt the fabric split beneath them. Scrambling to pull her tunic off, he was blindly grabbing at her, maybe too roughly, he thought in the back of his mind. But she never winced or flinched from his nails across her skin. When her hand slipped between the waistband of his trousers he gasped, going still at the feel of her hand wrapped around him. 

It was entirely too good, the feeling shooting down his spine, making him throb in her hand. 

“I can just barely see the tower from my room at the Elfsong, you know, just the stained glass windows of the study,” she cooed almost shyly, quite the contrast in tone given the way  she was stroking him, “after everyone goes to sleep, I make myself come — looking at the tower and wishing it were you touching me.”

By the Gods, he nearly finished there in her hand. 

“Zurgan ,” he hissed. “A bed. I need you in a bed.”

“No, next time,” she insisted. “I want you right here.”

In the back of his mind, he knew that if she ever found out he could deny her nothing it would prove to be very troublesome for him. The concept of there being a next time had him momentarily stunned. He barely had time to banish the portal that allowed essentially everyone they knew access to the study before she stopped stroking and started unlacing his trousers enough to pull them down his hips. 

He tugged down the bustier, just as she was slipping off her own pants, only getting one leg truly free before he was on her again. There was too much of her to touch, he wanted to be in between her thighs, he wanted to grab and grope at her breasts, to make her come on his fingers before he took her. 

He didn’t have enough hands. 

Murmuring the spell against the skin of her lips, without warning, two mage hands hovered on either side of him. He had one lift a leg, with her surprised chuckle being drowned out by a kiss while the other slipped the other leg of her trousers and underwear off. When she was naked from the waist down, both mage hands hoisted her up by the thighs, lifting her up against the bookcase so he was at the perfect height to put one of her nipples in his mouth. 

“Show off,” she gasped as he teased the peaked bud with his tongue. 

For the first time, Rolan had the upper hand. 

If Tav was honest, she could do without the foreplay. She felt how wet she was and knew he could slip inside of her easily, but she felt no need to stop him either. The mage hands supporting  her thighs were just corporeal enough for her to feel them holding her, but it still was akin to floating nearly helpless against the onslaught of his attention. His mouth was hot on her breast, tongue moving over her in ways that had her cunt throbbing. 

He only broke away to kiss the soft, pliant swell as she arched her back to press her breasts out towards him. A sharp sting on the flesh of her breast had her hissing slightly, just painful enough to catch her attention as he sucked on the skin.

At the sound she made he unlatched his mouth and murmured something she could still barely hear with him so close, all she caught was,  “…forget myself.”

He kissed the same spot gently, a wordless apology. When he pulled away she was surprised not to see blood, but a shiver of excitement had her rolling her hips when she realized there were indentations of his teeth in her skin. 

All she could do was hold on. One hand gripping the edge of the bookcase, the other firmly wrapped around one of his horns, she was unable to do much else. And he seemed to like it that way as he bit into her skin over and over again. There may be marks on her skin for days, she realized, but it occurred to her that he may have been trying to make sure there was.

Nails dragged down her stomach, just light enough to make her entire body break out in goosebumps, for a moment she saw him sigh at the full bodied shudder it created in her. Without saying anything, he ran his fingers through the hair between her thighs before impossibly warm fingers cupped her cunt. Rolan moaned, the sound muffled by his lips pressed to her chest, before he looked between them. 

He watched, and she felt his fingers spread her lips apart before experimentally rubbing. “You’re so wet,” he whispered. “Gods, you —“

The way he looked down at her while he rubbed his fingers through the slick folds of her made her swallow hard against a needy moan. His pointer finger danced over her clit, and the sharp jolt of sensation had her tugging on his horn in surprise. Her mouth practically began to salivate with the desire for more, and the abrupt reaction seemed to take them both by surprise. 

“You’re going to break my neck, doing that,” he said but he hardly seemed to mind. 

“Sorry,” she breathed, letting go of him and grasping instead at his hair. It was soft, she thought, as it slid easily between her fingers. “Please, don’t stop.”

At first he was slow and gentle, mindful of his nails, feeling out what had her writhing. Tav was certain he was doing it on purpose to tease her, but when she looked down at him he was watching her, intent and focused. Studying. She could have laughed, and made a joke about his studiousness but he found a rhythm and pressure that made her incapable of more than a pathetic whine. 

“Like this?” There was the slightest hint of pleading in his tone, not teasing her but searching for approval.

“Yes,” she quickly said. “Yes, like that, you’re –ah – so good – pulling me apart.” 

Rolan moaned, hiding his face as he leaned forward. The hot swipe of his tongue over one of her nipples made her shudder, his free hand keeping a tight grasp on the other. Despite what he said earlier, there were no complaints when she grabbed one of his horns again, desperately trying to keep him exactly where he was. His eyes flicked up to her face and she felt herself start to tip over the edge. She warned him best she could, moaning out that she was close, pleading with him not to stop.

For the first time since they had met, he heeded her orders without complaint. Twitching she felt the wave of anticipation crest and crash, her skin warm and thrumming with each heavy roll of her hips against his fingers. Giddiness bubbled up in her, a sense of satisfaction that had been lacking when she touched herself making her so thoroughly pleased that she could have started to giggle. 

Rolan slowed his fingers at a sharp jerk of her hips, her clit sensitive and cunt twitching. “Too much?”

“Need more,” she breathed, tilting his head up so she could lean down and kiss him. “Want you inside of me.”

A full body shudder passed over him. The mage hands lowered her enough that she could meet his lips easier, and the ridged length of his cock rubbed against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths at the sensation. His magic did most of the work to keep her up but she tilted her hips still as he rubbed against her, his forehead pressing against hers as he panted. 

“I’ve wanted — “ he started, “I’ve wanted this so badly,” he breathed, “can hardly believe it’s real.” He laughed a little, “you love me?”

“I do,” she breathed. “I love you. I’m staying. I’m here.”

Rolan slipped inside of her, a slow but steady push with a little resistance that had her eyes rolling back a little. The last time she had anyone inside of her was a one night stand on the road months before being taken by the nautiloid, the stretch at first was overwhelming. Rolan seemed to be in a similar state of being overtaken by the sensation, his hips pressed hard against hers as he started to pant against her. For a moment, his hips were only twitching as if on some uncontrollable instinct and when he started to move consciously he thrust slowly, and evenly; brows drawn together and upwards in a quiet reverie. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered. 

“It’s perfect.” She said back.

He buried his face in her neck, breath tickling her sweat sticky skin. Pressed so close to her she could feel the ridges on his skin, and see the freckles that painted his shoulders. Her arms were wrapped around him, legs doing the same, ankles resting on the base of his tail. At the pressure he whined, and she shivered at the sound. 

The slap of their bodies made the books behind her shake, the sound of their skin colliding echoing slightly off the vaulted ceiling. The sun was going down, its light shining through the windows in a technicolor glow that made the entire place look hazy like a dream. But the weight of his body against her was so real, she was in a state of rhapsody, torn between the illusory feel of the room and floating by the mage hands with his very tangible body pressing into her. 

When she came to the tower that day she hardly expected it to end up like this: Rolan laying his heart out for her and eagerly offering hers in return. Only to end with her back pressed into a bookcase with him rutting into her. His thrusts were becoming more urgent, his hand coming away from the needy embrace to grip the side of her head and guide her to kiss him again.

“I want you to co - fuck- come with me,” he grunted out, “ please .”

Tav felt her cunt clench around him, her body threatening to let the waves of another orgasm flow over before she could stop it. She loved him like this, raw and open. The feeling must have been too much for Rolan, his sudden expression of awe making him slack jawed. But it also broke his concentration. 

The mage hands disappeared, dropping Tav so suddenly she almost didn’t get her legs underneath her in time. Luckily, Rolan shoved forward keeping her upright against the bookcase, as she found her balance. He had slipped out of her, and the shock of the near fall made her giggle slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating smile and a wince. “You — I can focus on nothing else when you’re near.”

“Don’t apologize.” She kissed him. “You’ve been doing all the heavy lifting, lay down.”

Rolan tugged her hand so she came down with him, and she straddled his hips as she removed her bustier. It was only fair she removed his trousers past where they had settled on his hips in their haste. Both fully naked in the rainbow glow of the stained glass windows, she climbed on top of him. Tav rubbed herself over his ridged cock, breath catching as she did. Her mind conjured up the idea to simply  grind against him like this until he spilled all over his stomach and the friction against her clit made her see stars. 

But Rolan’s nails dug into the flesh of her hips, a gentle bite of pain, and he sucked in a sharp breath when she planted her hands on his chest. She needed him inside of her, and she knew he felt the same.

Lifting her hips, lining him up again, Tav sank down. Full once again, she sighed happily as Rolan’s head tilted back, eyes closed while his hips tried to thrust up into her slightly. Giving him what he wanted, she started an easy rhythm up and down. It was satisfying to a point that nearly scared her, his length rubbing so sweetly inside of her and hitting her at a truly sinful spot in the new position. 

When Rolan looked at her again, his sharp teeth were worrying at his lower lip, needy little grunts escaping him. One of his hands came up to grab at her breasts, bouncing with each of her movements. The other dipped between them, rubbing over her clit making her lose her pace for just a moment before she chased the sensation further. 

“Beautiful,” he grunted out, “so fucking beautiful, Tav.”

“Gods,” wass as all she could utter as body grew tense and her mind blanked out to anything but chasing the high that was quickly approaching. 

“I won’t last — “ he warned. Shaking his head, eyes full of awe. “You’re — I’m going to —“

“Fuck, Rolan,” she gasped. 

He toppled over first; hips thrusting upwards harshly, making Tav lose her balance. She tipped forward onto his chest, just as quickly feeling his arms come around to hold her close. She ground out her own release, the ridges of his skin seeming to do just as much towards stimulating her clit while he pulsed inside her. Tav hit her peak with abrupt intensity, and she heard her moans echo off the high ceilings until they deteriorated into truly pathetic whines against his skin, as she rode her orgasm out as long as she could. 

“Oh, oh ,” Rolan choked, the sensation of her clenching around him making his eyes shut at the overstimulation after his release. 

“You okay?” she murmured, going to lift herself off him. 

“Yes,” he tightened his grip on her. “D-don’t move, please.”

For a while it was still, as they caught their breath. Tav was a little nervous whatever bubble they had created was going to burst as their bodies calmed down. She felt him lift his head and press a kiss atop her head, fingers dancing over her back.  

“I was here when the nautiloid got me,” Tav said quietly. “Just another passing traveler in a city of more faces than I had ever seen in one place.” She lifted her head to look at him, leaning into the hand that came up to her cheek. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Not particularly,” he said. 

“Me neither,” she smiled. “But it’s strange isn’t it? I’ve come full circle, and… what were the odds of me finding you time and time again?”

“The gods did do me the greatest favor ,” he murmured, “keeping me intertwined with your madness.”

“Don’t give them the credit,” she said. “It had to be something more.”

“More than the gods?” Rolan’s lips quirked up. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “They’ve never done me any favors.”

“Don’t go inciting any more godly intervention, my dear,” he rumbled. “I’ve just gotten you exactly where I want.”

“Naked on the floor of your study?”

“Yes,” he said with pure self-satisfaction. “One of my many  achievements, having the hero of the city whining my name.”

“Oh you’re going to be insufferable about this,  aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.” He grinned. “I am the master of a world famous tower, a wizard of great renown — as I predicted — and now have the object of all my desires right on top of me.”

“I’ll have to get creative about keeping you humble,” she laughed. 

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

“We should start now,” Tav licked her lips, “I think you mentioned something about a bed?”

Thank you for reading!

Next Chapter ->

[itsthesinbin]

Blood Drunk (Thranduil/Vampire!Reader)

Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit got me in a fucking Vice lately.

if i forgot a warning lmk and ill add it

Warnings: Blood drinking, alluding to addiction (very minor and more as a metaphor than real addiction), vampire biting, reader is GN but bottoms, Elven blood is a minor aphrodisiac/drug to vampires, high sex

Do not read or interact if you are under 18!

If you like it, reblog and/or give me some feedback :3

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

You've learned a few things since ending up here. The sun left you just as weak as it did back home, for one. For two, vampires weren't well known at all- the only person that had known anything about blood-feasting creatures was a strange wizard's Elvish companion. For three, the races' blood tasted different.

Human blood was the same across worlds, except for a very select few. Rich, although affected by things like diet or disease. You avoided very small villages, as peasants tended to be more tired and anemic more often than not.

The wizard's blood was unique. It left you charged. Energized. But too much would make you physically sick. The magic in his veins burned you from the inside out if it was too concentrated, so you only fed from him in emergencies.

Dwarvish blood was... compact was the best way to put it. Absolutely bursting with excess iron and more filling than humans. It almost left you ill afterwards- like the night of Thanksgiving when you decided that third helping of dinner was necessary. You had thirteen chances to see how Dwarvish blood would affect you, and it was the same every time. You had to learn to drink carefully.

Hobbits were tricky to feed from. With how small they were, you had to treat them like feeding from a child. Only in small doses- a supplement, not a meal. You've only fed off of one, and he was a fidgety thing. Got woozy very easily as well.

And Elves... were intoxicating. You had only drank from one once, when you arrived. It left you nearly drunk, or high. You never told the wizard, but you craved another taste. Especially since becoming close with the Elven king, Thranduil. It was a test, every time you needed to feed.

Normally, you'd leave Mirkwood once a month to travel to the newly-rebuilt city of Dale- or even make the trek to Erebor- to get your fill and bring back a few spare vials of blood. Your Elven partner knew of your condition, as did a few trusted friends in Dale and in the Mountain, and he would offer some of his own. You never accepted, however much you wanted to.

Now, however, the Greenwood was struck with a harsh storm that had been raging for a couple days. It wasn't lightening, either. You were getting hungry, and it was making you ill. It was making your lover worry.

"Why will you not just feed from me?" he asked finally, sitting at your side as you rubbed your tired eyes. You sighed slightly as he grasped your cold hand. It was colder than usual. He scowled to himself, taking your hand in both of his in an attempt to warm your long-undead skin.

"I react to Elven blood differently than I do the other races, I've learned. I don't... want you to see me in such a state," you admitted. He didn't respond, but he pulled your hand up to plant a kiss on your hand.

"I would rather see you in a state-" a kiss on your wrist "- than ill and starving". His lips trailed a bit further up your arm in an attempt to persuade you. You shuddered slightly. Normally, Thranduil would feel a bit of heat from your skin at such an act, but the lack of blood left you cold even while flustered. It scared him.

"Please, love," he murmured against your skin. You finally turned to him, looking at him worriedly.

"Promise you won't think ill of me- I might not be able to keep myself together". He reached over and stroked your cheek with his knuckles. His mouth upturned into the smallest smile.

"I will understand". You were hesitant, but didn't have much choice. There were no non-Elven guests in Thranduil's realm at the moment, and you had no idea when this storm would let up before you started getting really ill- and feral. You squeezed Thranduil's hand as he helped you stand and led you to your chambers.

As soon as the door shut out the prying eyes and ears, Thranduil sat down in a chair near the fireplace. He had dreamed of this- wanting to know what it was like to be drained by his dear vampire. He would see you drink from the Dwarves, or Bard, and scowl at the fact they didn't seem in pain. In the cases of some, they seemed to enjoy it more than they should.

You knelt in front of him, grabbing his wrist and turning his palm up toward you. You ran your thumb over his smooth, pale skin. You'd almost think him another of your kind, if not for the inhuman warmth Elves had. All the people here were so warm, even compared to the humans back home. It was jarring.

You pressed the sharp nail of your thumb to his flesh and dragged. Thranduil gave the smallest inhale, the only indication he felt anything. A quick glance up at him showed you that he was fine. His gaze was intense, as it always was, but this time there was a fascination in his eyes. He had seen you drink, of course- he almost always came with you during your feeds to ensure your safety- but never experienced it.

You lowered your eyes back to the new cut on his hand, your own pointed ears flicking back at the sight of the small droplets of blood that bubbled to the surface. Your tongue ran over your lips as you eyed his hand like a beast starved. Your thumbs pressed against the sides of his palm, drawing more out, as your mouth met his skin. The taste of iron filled you and you almost moaned with delight. You let your eyes slip shut, savoring the taste- and the moment.

Thranduil, however, was entranced. You knelt before him in almost reverence, drinking him in to the most literal degree. The slice on his palm stung, but feeling your mouth on him- your tongue sliding along the wound to not waste anything- was intimate. He felt his breath quicken ever so slightly, his head beginning to swim a bit from the... eroticism of it all. He never thought he'd enjoy it this much. But it was hard not to enjoy you.

The Elven blood began to take effect as you drank more, and your body relaxed. You pulled away when you were satisfied and stared at him with half-lidded eyes. You dragged your tongue up his palm in a more... provocative manner, causing him to stiffen. Your saliva had minor healing qualities and would help the blood clot and the wound seal faster, so you always licked the wounds after you finished.

"Have I ever told you how pretty you are," you muttered, sliding your hand up his arm and pushing the sleeve up. Your thumb followed a vein along his arm, threatening to cut it open. Despite the haze settling in your mind, your hand was as steady as ever. Thranduil couldn't help but smirk, amused at the sudden flirtation.

"Only in the dead of night, when you think me asleep," he responded. You slowly released him, only to climb into his lap. You were tall for a human, but he was still taller. You straddled his lap, a faint purr rumbling throughout your chest. His hands settled on your hips.

"Have I ever told you how much I wish to mark that pretty neck?" Thranduil's eyes widened a touch. You were always a bit reserved with such things- never wanting to accidentally draw blood and "partake" and end up scaring him off. Not that much would truly scare him away. If anything, this side of you was thrilling. Perhaps he should have tried harder to convince you in the past to feed from him.

Your hand trailed from his chest and to his shoulder. Then up the side of his neck, following where you knew an artery was. He shivered at the press of your claws to his skin. You could easily kill him- rip his throat out in a moment of passion and he'd not be able to stop you at that point. Maybe that was part of the thrill.

Your lips met his in a somewhat sloppy manner- rough and uncoordinated. He returned it with the grace only an Elf had, tilting your head further toward him. You let out a loud, unashamed moan. His ears perked at the sound.

You pressed flush against him, pressing quick kisses down his cheek and jaw. Then he felt your fangs sink into his neck. He let out a sharp breath, grasping your hips out of instinct. This time you didn't hold back the noise of pleasure when his blood touched your tongue. Your hand grasped the other side of his neck and held him in place.

The sharp pinch of your fangs hurt, but then Thranduil began to see why the others would always seem so at ease afterward. Something spread through him, urging him to relax. Urging him to feel good. It turned from pain to pure pleasure, and even he couldn't hold back the groan that rose from his throat. His head dropped back against the chair, exposing more of his skin to you.

"How I've longed for a taste of your blood," you rasped, voice heavy with lust and pleasure. Your chest heaved. You tilted his head further to the side, laving your tongue against the wounds your fangs left behind. You rolled your hips, grinding against him. He was harder than he'd like to admit.

Normally, you'd take each others' clothes off like normal people. But you were fully blood-drunk off of him. Instead, you hooked your claws into the collar of his shirt and dragged them down, slicing through the material easily. You saw his eyes widen and knew in the back of your mind you'd hear it later, but for now you hardly cared.

You barely took the time to pull your own trousers down enough to free yourself, and did the same to your stunned partner. You ground against him, snapping him out of his daze and making his hips buck. You dragged your fangs down the other side of the king's neck, biting down as you slid onto his length. He let out a breathy moan.

You didn't bother waiting and set yourself into a good, if uneven, rhythm. Thranduil could feel your strength returning, the heat of Elven blood finally rushing through you. If he didn't know better, he would have thought another of his kind was bouncing on his lap.

Your claws raked down his chest, leaving welts in their wake and drawing a near desperate noise from the usually stoic Elf. You growled deeply against his throat. Animalistic and needy. Thranduil began to feel lightheaded in the most pleasurable way possible.

He had shifted slightly, trying to sit forward, only to have you shove his shoulders back with inhuman strength. He grunted as you raised your head. You looked at him akin to a wild animal. His blood stained your lips and your eyes nearly glowed in the firelight. You were terror. You were death incarnate. You were beautiful.

You were his.

In that moment, you were addicted to him. He could see it in the way you gazed at him. The way you pulled yourself toward him for a searing kiss laced with iron. The way your hips sped up and stuttered as you chased your pleasures. His hips bucked up to meet yours and you moaned into his mouth. Neither of you were going to last.

Whether it was from the erotic display you gave him, or from the new sensations of being so lightheaded and having his very blood drained from him, he was the first to crumble under the pleasure. He moaned lowly, dragging your hips down as he came hard enough to make him dizzy. Although, that wasn't as hard of a feat as it would normally be, he supposed.

You weren't far behind. Your head was thrown back in rapture as a snarl left your throat. Thranduil shivered as you released around him. You ground your hips down to draw out as much pleasure from you both as you could. You moaned, pulling him into one last kiss. Now satisfied, you were beginning to calm down from an insatiable need to a pleasant buzz.

You had enough of a mind to get up and clean you both off, and he managed to get to the bed nearby without falling over. You purred as you climbed into bed with him, laying on his chest. You then, promptly, passed out on top of him now that you were full and satiated. He was surprised when you began snoring almost as soon as your face hit his chest.

He laughed to himself, a little bewildered, as he smoothed your hair back. His neck began to feel stiff from the bite marks, but he'd have the healers deal with it tomorrow. For now, he was exhausted. He was more than happy to fall asleep, now that everything was taken care of.

He'd have to ask you to feed from him again, however, now that he knew what it would entail.

[axel29-exe]

I'm watching supernatural for the very first time.

okay continuing from my last post on supernatural here's some of the things that i noticed or told my friend about.

the green screening still looks funky but it adds (screenshot below)

they really did an Actor AU

no early 2000's video program can do that AND GRAPHIC DESIGN IS THERE PASSION. (screenshot below)

Dr sexy is Dean's man crush.

Dean's obsession with cowboys is real, i love red dead redemption

(my friend said they wanted the chest tattoo) well you can't exactly get the rib ones. cause ya know. It's on your ribs.

WHY IS HIS PANTS PULLED UP SO HIGH??(screenshot below

CASS WENT KABOOM, BRO WENT MARANARA SAUCE.

HIT LIST, - John - becky for that fuck ass SA shit - John again for good measure

they really went international, to scottland.

Misha goated w/ the sauce

i can be ur angle or ur deivl

Another thing was that i was coming up with some theories BUT they were later disproven. my fav one is this:

The way I see it is that either Dean wasn't born with a full soul/ soul or he lost it or broke it in hell because he's been constantly eating since the start of the show. When he was with Cass at the striper club, he mentioned that it was the first time in a long time since he had laughed. which could also mean that because he lacks a soul, his body yearns for one and Cass's holy energy?? is substituting it a bit or that Cass has too much soul because ya know angel.

So his soul got taken when he took the fiery plunge and when he came back all his habits representing greed cranked up tenfold.

he fills his lack of a soul with human desires to feel something , so eating, drinking, sex, not sleeping . Just constant consumption that invokes human endorphins, because he's legit undead.

IT WAS A THEORY AND A BOY CAN DREAM but alas i was wrong.

anyway ill do another one of these shitposts later down my watching line :) enjoy this art of Cass and the many screenshots.

Dean w/ really high jeans

bro rlly said "zoom, enhance" and graphic design is in fact, their passion.

she has a green ring around her silhouette, i love the fuck ass green screens.

[katyspersonal]

Having many assorted Caitha thoughts as usual 🤔

But I really think her and Nahr Alma being related makes a lot of sense! Both are connected with death and darkness, but also the blood/tears duality! Caitha displays both as seen from her rings but her focus is blue/tears, so could Nahr Alma have focus of red/blood but also have the 'tears' somewhere on the fringes?

I considered the idea of them being siblings and children of Velka; her color is purple (so, red + blue) and she is another God connected to Dark (most prominently so, too!) Nahr Alma's statue also literally holds scales in one hand, a common depiction of justice, and Undead Purgatory is called 'Execution Ground' in Japanese! But at the same time, Velka herself doesn't bear any connection with death...

Titchy Gren, a spokesperson for Nahr Alma, however, uses Caitha's Chime, one of the only three catalysts that can only cast Hexes (so, Dark), and other three are created from souls of daughters of Manus! The Hexes Titchy Gren uses are also Dark Hail and Dark Orb - dark magics that originally were borne of corruption of Abyss of Manus! I joked that Caitha and Manus fucked, but it makes a lot of sense and I don't know if it's cursed or cute. So, Nahr Alma would be the child, reasonably falling for bloody, "evil" side of Caitha as opposed to inheriting the duality, let alone her learning into "compassionate" one! That'd make Nahr Alma half-God if not quarter-God, but it isn't a big deal in Dark Souls 2 lore as even a simple human (Pharis/Evlana) is revered as God! So, yeah, Caitha fucks every wet cat man with a sob story or...... Nahr Alma is a result of gay sex with Velka.... I mean we never know how Gods bodies work or what they can do ghghdhhjn I just think there is a good way to connect these three characters. The weirdos and the feared ones amongst Gods.

Another interesting thing about Caitha is subtle connection with the Curse as it is known amongst Dragons (crystallization)! 1) Her symbol in God's name selection screen is literally a Curse icon, that specific skull 2) Her tears literally turn into crystals 3) Nito, the only other significant person connected with death, seeks eyes of Basilisks who are small relatives of Dragons and cast curses too 🤔

@val-of-the-north convinced me on the idea that Caitha is just a daughter of Nito; even if he himself wasn't a God, his EX wife (mind an empty coffin next to him) was! And she was a titular Goddess of water and life (Mask of Mother that all acolytes of Nito have and not just Pinwheel sticks out and has watery motifs, Leydia Witches not only causing disease but healing too, water pool just before Nito's arena being birthing grounds for skeleton babies that always spawn). Nature of Caitha's tears is primarily that of grieving and mourning, she has connection to death like Nito and kindness and water like her mom! Also Church of the Deep used to be her domain before Deacons retooled it.. which could explain why Aldrich uses Nito's Gravelord blade (only drenched in purple light, trademark of Dark)! He could have simply appropriated it from Caitha!

The thing is? Daughters of Chaos were possibly involved in invading Nito's domain to steal his powers to kill Gods! Effigy Shield looks a lot like a face of their Demons (Ceaseless Discharge particularly), and Undead Dragons are simply severed upper half..... when, coincidentally, lower severed halves of dragons are found in Izalith... There is also Vamos oddly having small pool of lava to smith with, knowing how to use Ember from Izalith to weave Chaos into weapons and having mysterious ties to a royal family that he no longer wishes to speak of! I remind you that Jeremiah, another user of Chaos Pyromancy, is known as a King!

Undead Dragons appear to be Dragons wounded by Nito's "miasma of death" but unable to die because... well, they're Dragons... So, if Chaos Daughters had Dragons by their side upon invasion, perhaps this is how Caitha got harmed by Dragons crystallic curse? She was protecting her father! As a (demi)God, she would not just turn into mass of crystals and perish, but some effects were set. Like her crystal tears. Maybe her very body was slowly suffering from crystallization, too?

And you know what else? Titchy Gren sells Great Scythe, that is in Dark Souls 1 found IN Nito's Catacombs, and the only magics he sells are Chaos Pyromancies! These might have been remnants of the defeat of Chaos Daughters that were appropriated by Caitha's allies!!!! Who would also be Nahr Alma's allies, even if they don't really give their compassionate mother a good name!!!!!

[profoundfics]

Tertiary Opinions I/I

Unorthodox Introductions - I: The Whisperer & The Reaper

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

-- --

Casual destruction of the dead.

That was the accusation levelled at Lieutenant Yaryna Ingellvar following the War of the Banners. A serious allegation for any member of the Mourn Watch to face. It was not an accusation made without a reasonable degree of evidence that the loss of the undead was borne from a deeper disregard for life and unlife. Emmrich stole a glance at his unexpected companion, attempting to discern from her appearance alone whether Ingellvar, or Rook as she introduced herself, could be capable of such a crime. She had asked him for a moment before ringing the bell, and he watched as she traced necromantic sigils across the boss of her shield, green light shimmering then being absorbed into the mental face .

‘I really should know better than even leave the Lighthouse without armour,’ Rook remarked to Bellara, picking the shield up and turning her attention back to him. ‘What can we expect down there?’

‘Once I start the spell, it will draw attention from any remaining spirits of despair,’ he explained. ‘You’ll need to hold them off while I work - it will take a few minutes for the bell to the gain the momentum it needs for the spell to work.’

‘What does that mean?’ Bellara asked.

‘That it’s going to get cold,’ replied Rook, ‘dependant on how many spirits are left. This might even get more dicey than that ogre.’ She lifted her shield, contemplating it for a moment. ‘Haven’t got the resources for an additional hex-weave, so remember when I use the blade spell, shoot your charged arrows at them to cause an explosion.’ Her attention returned back to Emmrich. ‘Ready when you are.’

He walked to the centre point under the bell while the two women took up defensive positions, Rook slightly ahead of him and Bellara behind. He called the Fade to his fingertips, directing the spell through sweeping movements, channelling the magic upwards and waking the bell as Bellara alerted them to the arrival of Venatori. Out of the corner of his eye, Emmrich caught Rook’s swift movement, the long skirts of her leather coat flying around as she threw her shield behind him, marching after it, eyes on her next target before catching it, turning with it’s momentum and throwing it at her next target.

Throughout the fight, Rook focused on putting herself between Bellara and himself deflected the ranged attacks back at the Venatori in fiery showers of magic.

‘There’s too many of them,’ Bellara called above the fray, multiple demons rising around the room.

‘We just have to hold them off until the bell rings,’ Rook replied watching mist rise from her breath. ‘Professor, how long?’

‘About half way there,’ Emmrich responded.

‘Okay, Bel, keep them in front of you,’ Rook instructed. ‘Keep moving side wards with your back to the wall. Don’t let them get behind you, and on my mark, we’re going to aim for the pride demon. Professor, whatever you have to throw at that thing, please do.’

Rook set off into a run, dodging around two mages that she hit with her shield and followed up with swipe of her sword without losing momentum. Emmrich noted she was fast, covering the space then yelling her signal for Bellara. The roar of magic flew at the demon from three directions, Rook’s magical blades slammed into the Pride spirit, crystal shards sundering the body followed by Bellara’s arrows shattering them in a devastating shower of lightening charged shards exploding out of it’s twisted body. Emmrich followed up, his magic tangling around the remains of the spirit as it continued to lash out; Rook ran at it, kicking it then bringing her shield down as the bell tolled.

The spirits twisted until they evaporated into the Fade. Rook turned, throwing her shield one final time. It spun across the room into the remaining living assailant, striking between the eyes, dead before they even hit the ground.

‘Well, at least we’re not short of bodies for new undead guards,’ she remarked drily, catching Emmrich’s eye as she caught the sheild. She turned her attention to Bellara, walking towards here. ’Told you it would get dicey.’

‘Definitely worse than the ogre,’ Bellara replied. ‘The second one.’

Emmrich watched Rook walk to Bellara, place a hand on her arm. ‘You were brilliant,’ she said, a smile lifting her face.

‘Let’s ensure these cultists didn’t leave anything dangerous behind,’ he said once the two women were done exchanging words.

Rook clipped the shield to a leather strap over her chest and slung it over her shoulder.‘What are we looking for?’

‘Anything out of place,’ Emmrich directed, walking towards one of the alters around the central plaza. ’Scan for any magic that doesn’t belong.’

Under the resonating toll, silence fell across the chamber. Emmrich didn’t know exactly what he was looking for; it would have to be powerful but subtle magic to have been able to pass the wards.

‘And this is…’ Rook announced from the other side of the room. ‘Oh, a Hand of Glory. A real, working Hand of Glory.’

Emmrich turned to see Rook examining her find, the palm close to her eyes.

‘The Venatori should never have this,’ he declared crossing the space to Rook’s side, holding out his hand. ‘I must find out where it came from.’

Rook looked at him, steely-blues eyes met his with her eyebrows raised. Her head tilted to the side, stray locks of her lilac hair brushing her shoulder before she held the artefact out to him. He examined it, the runes carved into its flesh, noting the truncations as Rook watched him, apparently studying him.

‘We should head back up to the Upper Mortuary, I need to report this incursion,’ he said, referring to the headquarters of the Death Callers, pocketing the Hand in his Robes. ‘You can tell me why you’ve sought out a Fade expert on the way?’

‘Of course,’ she said, following him back out the chamber towards the elevator.

He watched her dust off her coat, patting out small puffs of dust from the leather sleeves.

‘I really need to stop leaving the Lighthouse without full armour - getting this repaired would take an age.’ Their eyes met; steely grey-blue eyes gently bore into him. ‘Thought we’d be relatively safe with this one, don’t know why,’ she finished looking at Bellara. ‘The Necropolis is a hive of hidden danger at the best of time.’

‘Especially at present,’ put in Emmrich, ‘if this incident is anything to go by. This way please.’

He led them to the elevator, Rook still dusting down her coat until they were moving upwards.

’So, how is it I can help you?’

‘Yes,’ Rook rubbing her hands together. ‘We, that is to say Bellara, myself and a number of my associates have found ourselves caught up in race to save the world from two blighted Elven gods who escaped from a prison within the Fade. We need a Fade expert to help us understand the nature of that prison and help us make sure the rest of the Blight remains locked away there as well helping us navigate a portion of the Fade known as the Crossroads safely.’

She spoke in a rush as if she had rehearsed what she was going to say a couple of times over. Her gaze had become a challenge; a dare to tell her that she was making things up but Emmrich had seen the changes to the currents of the deeper Fade. He’d even felt it pulling apart several weeks earlier with a fluttering of fearful excitement among some of the more volatile inhabitants.

‘And how do our new friends fit into this?’

Rook blew out breath she had been holding in the aftermath of her speech, relief sparking over her face at not being dismissed out of hand. ’They have aligned themselves with the Gods, doing their bidding.’

‘But why come here?’ Asked Bellara.’What’s here that could interest them?’

‘Bellara, the Necropolis contains powerful, magical relics that have been collected for over a thousand years as well as the raw magic that keeps it alive,’ Emmrich explained gently.

‘And they had vessels for siphoning magic,’ said Rook. ’No doubt the ancient magic here interests the Gods.’

‘Making it more imperative we discover who was behind the Hand of Glory,’ said Emmrich lifting the artefact to his eye line to examine it. ‘Who knows what destruction they could have wrought with it.’

He separated the fingers then turning it over to scrutinise the sigils carved into the flesh hoping they could tell him something about who had it. Bellara’s face screwed up in disgust while Rook’s eyes widened with curiosity, fire kindling in her express as she tilted her head in interest.

‘You’ve never seen one before?’ Emmrich enquired.

Rook focused on him. ‘There’s a dried up, dormant one used in practical demonstrations at the academy. Hardly comparable to an active one. The magic radiating off it -‘

‘Indeed,’ Emmrich said slowly, placing it back in his pocket and returning his full attention to Rook. ’Now, back to your query, navigating the Fade and understanding the nature of a prison within the Fade, how would you expect me to provide you with such insight?’

‘Our base of operations, the Lighthouse, sits within the Fade, built by the creator of the prison. We believe the prison is in close proximity to it,’ explained Bellara, ‘we also have access to where Solas opened the prison. But I can’t convert the information into something we can use. Artefacts are more my thing.’

‘Very your thing,’ put in Rook, placing a hand on Bellara’s upper arm. ‘We need help monitoring the prison, but also, perhaps find a way to return them to that prison.’

Bellara’s head turned sharply. ‘What? I thought we were going to attempt to kill them? After D’Meta’s Crossing and the dragons, Minrathous… It’s why you hired Lucanis.’

Rook squeezed Bellara’s arm, turning the younger woman to face her, expression serious. ’They’re Gods, Bellara,’ she spoke softly. ‘We need options to end this, and we have to consider that if Solas could not kill them, only imprison them, that might be our only way out of this as well.’

‘Solas?’

‘Also known as Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf,’ replied Bellara turning to look at Emmrich.

‘The actual Dread Wolf,’ put in Rook. ‘He was also responsible for tearing the veil open over Ferelden and Orlais ten years ago.’

Emmrich frowned. ‘Then he too needs to be stopped.’

Rook nodded her head. ‘That’s another reason to look at the prison. When Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain escaped, Solas was pulled in - now he’s trapped in the Fade prison, and we’d like it to stay that way.’

‘I will do all that I can to assist you,’ he replied with a resolved nod.