#asterius @ the manor

[late-night-cabaret]

Rough play for Yancy and Asterius? >:3

@asterius-of-crete

Okay, so maybe play fighting with an ancient mythological being wasn't the best idea. Even if it was just play fighting, and even if said being was his lover. Yancy hadn't even started it this time! He was out for his usual jog around the Manor, and suddenly, Asterius was giving chase.

Like he had any hopes of outrunning him.

Then they were rolling around in the grass, laughing and carrying on... and things got a little more heated. The only advantage that Yancy had was his height, so he had the reach on him. But that shit went right out the window when Asterius was strong enough to pull him wherever he wanted.

It shouldn't have been as hot as it was. Ast was rough, but Yancy knew he was holding back his real strength. Being at the mercy of someone so ancient and powerful...fuck.

Then Yancy is pinned to the ground with a grunt, hands and arms pushed down and held there by a powerful grip. And he's all too aware of Asterius' groin pressed to his own.

"Fuck... Ast..." Yancy says breathlessly, not wanting to sound as needy as he did.

"Hmm... do you yield, my sweet songbird? Shall I claim my prize now?" Asterius smirks above him, then he's slowly rolling his hips against him with a groan.

Yancy hits his head back against the grass and actually fucking whines, unable to hold back as he moves his hips with him. "Shit...yeah, you win, sweetheart. Take what's yers...please..."

Asterius chuckles deeply but doesn't stop moving, insistent on teasing him mercilessly. "Gladly, my love..."

[rosetintedgunman]

An angry hug from asterius haha!

For When You Need a Hug (Accepting across the blogs, but will be slow!)

@asterius-of-crete

-

Wilford was the first to admit he was not the smartest man. There were things he knew, but a lot of things he didn't know. He didn't know how to correctly lay out a financial budget. He didn't know how to properly critique books (or understand what he was reading half the time).

But he did know a thing or two about emotions.

He wasn't fully sure what had happened in the previous moments. He had been in the garden, carefully examining the state of one of the bushes - it was still looking a little thin, but it ought to make a good recovery for the summer - where there was an almighty bellow erupting from inside the manor. Wilford jolted up and whipped around just in time to see Asterius storm outside. The reporter wasn't noticed. Asterius muttered phrases that didn't sound recognisable to Wilford as he stomped his hooves in an angry march toward.... Ohhh no that was one of George's prized pots that he won in an auction.

George? Who's George? No one by that name lives here.

In a flash, Wilford bolted over. He pounced from behind, wrapping both strong arms around the Minotaur's torso and firmly holding on. There was another bellow as Asterius trashed in Wilford's arms. As Wilford struggled to prevent any weak points emerging, he was certain he could see Asterius briefly grow taller. Asterius' fingers dug into Wilford's arms while trying to pry them off, while his flailing ensured that one of his horns scraped the human's face and drew blood.

All the while, Wilford held on. This was a storm he could weather. He had always been a strong man, even when he was younger. He was the one who could always carry the things other would struggle with. He could comfortably shoulder his own weight over distances. Even with the growing list of hand marks appearing under his sleeves, the cuts on his face, and the potential bruise on his chin from Asterius trying to headbutt him, Wilford's arms refused to budge.

The resilience paid off. Whatever energy Asterius had built up must have run out between his attempt to shapeshift while also putting up an almighty struggle. Finally, after Wilford had long lost count of the minutes, the trapped Minotaur slumped in defeat.

"You are too stubborn," grumbled Asterius.

"I've been told that a few times," Wilford agreed with a chuckle, "but I think it's best not ta add ta th' list of woes today, eh?"

[frxgments-of-frxgments]

Don't get angry. Do not get angry. You said you'd try.

Asterius stands in front of the mirror, arms crossed over his chest, trying not to glare at it. His stomach twists with the plethora of unpleasant feelings he always gets inside the house, but he's trying not to show that.

"I may have been short with you last time we... talked." He can't believe he's doing this. "Would you perchance be willing to negotiate a ceasefire?" Help me, Grandfather.

Well, this is a surprise.

The DA hadn’t been sure what to think when they’d felt Asterius’ familiar hooves slamming through the manor, heading straight for their little corner of it all. Their last meeting hadn’t exactly gone as they’d have hoped it would, after all. They’d expected him to camp out in the garden for... Well, at least a few more weeks. They couldn’t do much more than watch him chew on the floral arrangements when he was out there.

But here he is. Staring them down as if they might just disappear entirely if he simply looks hard enough. It’s... An interesting strategy. Not one that’s likely to pay off when your opponent has more eyes than they know what to do with. But points for enthusiasm, regardless.

I was never trying to hurt you to begin with, they write on the glass simply. Has someone put you up to this? I didn’t hear Yancy say anything to you.

[fxirest-of-them-xll]

@the-princes-court for the fantasy meme!!

includes size kink, vouyerism, bondage, ghostly da fucking, jealousy, a little fear play, dubious consent, implied infidelity?p

Size is of little issue to the DA.

They have no body to be broken or overwhelmed anymore, after all. They’re just thoughts and willpower and the lingering remnants of the person they once were, no shape with which to feel pleasure or achieve release, but all thought needed to burn with desire and need.

And God, do they burn.

They’ve seen Asterius in all of his glory. Bulking and massive and heaving with gasps, splayed out in the garden, or on a bed, or even in the kitchen one particularly interesting time, shaking and quivering and moaning as he does what lovers do. Sometimes he’s the one in control, broad hands wide enough to envelop his lover’s throat with just a few fingers, rippling muscles taut with finely controlled strength to keep his grip firm, but not too firm. His fur messy and perfect to be clutched as a hand hold as he hoists his partners as if they weigh nothing at all. His hips slam hard enough to rattle the manor’s furniture. Mark has lost several ornaments to it.

But best of all by far, is his cock.

It’s huge. Thick as two human fists, at least, and four as long. It ripples with Asterius’ pulse, and the DA’s watched as a Yancy and Mark both are barely enough to cover it fully with all four hands, even as they try valiantly. They have to work themselves open for hours, trembling and falling apart just to fit a fraction of him inside of them. Their mouths can’t even begin to cover even his head. There’s something charming in the way they all try so hard despite the obvious limits, the DA has to admit.

But if it were them, it wouldn’t be an issue.

They aren’t bound by the physical limits of a body, after all. They could keep Asterius in place, the manor’s shadows twisting and tethering him to the bed frame, and even if he fought with all he had, he’d have no hope of freeing himself. It wouldn’t be an act, like it is with rope and cloth and silk. No, he would truly be at their mercy, ears pinned back against his skull as those beautiful muscles thrash and fight against them, his simmering rage delicious to watch.

They’d be able to trail ghostly hands across every inch of furred skin, tracing the shell of his ears, grasping at his bulging muscles, handfuls of his incredible tits theirs to squeeze and knead and flick at dusky nipples to their leisure, stroking down his rock hard abs... There’d be no need to go one at a time. They can have as many hands as they need to keep him happy. To listen to those rumbling moans they drag from low in his throat, feel how his bucking hips and flexing muscles stop trying to escape and instead try to lean into their touches as their crackling glass laughter echoes through the room.

They’d only move on to his cock once it was fully hard, aching and dripping and gigantic where it’d be bobbing against his stomach, wet pre cum staining at his white fur. Maybe they’d make him beg for it. Wait until he was panting and quivering underneath them, wordlessly groaning and bucking up into thin air, never able to know where their next fleeting touch would meet him. Seeing his princely pride be smothered and reduced to desperate whimpers and keening sighs would be almost as good as knowing they’d given him much more pleasure than Mark ever could.

Only then would they reach down to his weeping cock, encircling it in perhaps a dozen or more invisible hands, all working in perfect tandem to stroke the full length of his shaft, smearing his pre cum along him to slicken the movements until they were pumping him relentlessly. They wonder how long it would take until he’d be crying out, surging up under them, and they’d be milking his dick as it shot cum hard enough to splatter his own chest and face, his fur sticky and wet with it, evidence of how completely they’d made him fall apart. Maybe they’d leave him there like that to be found by his lovers, wrung out and exhausted. Or maybe theyd wait until he’d recovered to make him feel it all over again.

There’s endless possibilities in their mind. And they have all the time in the world to consider them all.

[asterius-of-crete]

✏️

Asterius: Hey there demons, It's me, ya boi.

Mark: Asterius, NO!

[quillfulwriter]

Zagreus: There was a little boy, you say?

Theseus: Little, like you.

Asterius: Surely no one is as little as him.

[the-actor-himself]

When the Actor wakes up, he may be pleasantly surprised to find that the incessant tapping isn’t there to greet him. No shapes follow him down the hallways, lurking through the windows glass panes as he blinks away the lingering drowsiness of the night. There are no ominous messages waiting for him in the steam of his bathroom mirror as he takes a morning shower. The mirror does not rattle as he passes it. He’s left to his morning coffee in blissful silence, the first in what may feel like days, or perhaps even months. As he takes the first sip of extravagant coffee of his day, he wouldn’t be blamed for thinking that perhaps, he’s finally been left alone. When he lowers his mug, he sees a message written in fresh coffee grounds waiting for him on the counter.

Your Prince and Jailbird are having an affair in your garden.

The mirror rattles against the wall in what sounds suspiciously like cruel laughter. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

He was awake before Yancy’s arrival, though he’d been lingering in the room, still tired and yet not. He’d drifted to the window and spotted the man heading into the garden, and he’d felt warmth - complicated yet sincere - budding in his chest.

Yancy had made himself invaluable since coming to the Manor the first time. And when he’d last seen the man—

Well. It was something they needed to talk about. But repairing the damage between himself and Asterius was even more important first, so Mark saw no need to chase him down.

So he focuses on his morning. On showering, and dressing, and fixing a coffee. And it’s an overall peaceful and quiet affair. Almost a relief, given the way his mind is already all tangled up in itself.

He almost misses the message. He almost turns without glancing back down at the counter. But his eyes catch on the dark coffee ground against the countertop before he can fully turn away. And he stills, reading them over and over - struggling to wrap his mind around the meaning.

The mirror trembles, a mocking shudder of metal and glass.

The coffee cup doesn’t have time to simply be dropped. The handle bursts in his hand from how tight his grip becomes, leaving the cup itself to plummet to the floor. He doesn’t seem to notice - not the damage to himself nor to his kitchen.

He’s heading toward the garden.

[the-crypt-of-randomness]

Random couldn’t take staying in the Manor anymore.

Despite a week of feeling stir crazy, things had really started to take their toll on her the day she realized the Manor was clearly haunted by someone who was NOT a fan of Mark. Too exhausted and weirded out to eat, she had decided to go back to bed when she’d noticed no one was in the garden anymore.

She made her way to Mark’s bedroom, worried that maybe he was still upset and had sent Asterius and Yancy away. Peering in, expecting to see him alone or with Star, she instead saw the three of them sound asleep together. They were smiling, arms draped around each other.

Her gaze drifted from Asterius to Mark before settling on Yancy. Then, moving quietly as to not disturb them, Random snuck over to her room and closed the door. She leaned against it for a moment and frowned to herself, feeling like something was suddenly weighing her down.

���I should be really happy. Nobody got hurt, technically, and they’re all on good terms now. Really good terms, I guess. There’s nothing to even be upset about. So, why do I feel…kinda down?

She figured it was probably just due to exhaustion and went back to bed. The nap wasn’t great, both because of some restlessness and eventual hunger pains, but it had been better than nothing.

But now, with Mark busy with Star, Asterius still recovering, and Yancy suddenly acting quiet and twitchy (she assumed the house was to blame), Random was going stir crazy again. So, while everyone was either out or busy, she quietly packed her suitcase and left a thank-you note in the kitchen for Mark for allowing her to stay.

As she left the Manor grounds, she pulled out her phone to text Yancy:

Hey Yance, decided to leave. Tired of staying at Mark’s, no offense.

I’m think I’m going to stay at your place for a while, so you know where to find me. 🙂

By the way, has Mark told you his house is haunted?

[freebirdyance]

This isn't how Yancy saw his day going at all. Ironic, considering the things he had known before they happened.

But here he was, a firm yet careful hand on the small of Mark's back as Asterius led the way inside. Yancy wasn't particularly thrilled at being in the manor, either, but this was the option they had. And...they were together. That's all that mattered to him right now.

Further conversation would need to be had about just what exactly that meant, but that could wait.

For now, he climbs into bed behind Mark. An arm over his waist, a hand reaching to rest on warm fur. Yancy had never cared so deeply about someone like this before, and now he was laying next to both of them. His heart just might burst as he lets out a shaky breath.

As he drifts off, Yancy remembers confiding in Mark about having trouble adjusting to life on the outside. Bed's too soft and big, he thinks he said.

Now, he's laying next to the perfect cures. And it's the best sleep he's had since being out on parole.

[jacqcrisis]

Okay, so 10 random Beach fic facts that will literally never come up because either there is no reason to bring them up, trying to bring it up would be too hamfisted, or the stories for the characters involved do not happen for another decade and a half when Zagreus is a big boy: 

1. Hermes and his mom are ambivalent to each other. She really did not have much interest in keeping him, but sort of blackmailed Zeus into buying her silence on yet another bastard child. So she got a large sum of child support, was the world’s okayest mom, and kicked him to the curb when he turned 18. They talk maybe twice a year and they are both fine with that.

2. Nyx had Charon EXTREMELY young, around age 15/16, and like a lot of people born of teen pregnancy back then, Charon was raised as her brother. It wasn’t until the accident that this came out, and they had an extremely strained relationship for a while, but have been slowly repairing it. What we see in the timeline of the fic is the product after years of them working through this.

3. Skelly has been to prison several times, and that’s why he’s employed by Charon cause Charon’s the only one who will hire him.

4. Persephone worked as a gardener for both Erebus Manor and the hotel, which is how she met Nyx and Hades. Nyx is still extremely bitter that Persephone picked him over her

5. Ares own a successful arms manufacturing company with a severe morality deficit and was dishonorably discharged from the military during, you know, the war what was going on at the time. Zeus despises this because the bad publicity that could come out of Ares chosen line of work would look horrible for the family.

6. Asterius is currently in prison, but there’s a rumor the local sheriff is trying to appeal his case, probably because that sheriff is also the reason he’s locked up

7. Hypnos has childhood-onset narcolepsy, which he which he will have for his entire life. The only person this really bothers is Nyx. 

8. Charon has always been mute. He uses the scars as an excuse if people pry and used to be known for coming up with wildly different stories for his disfigurements when he was younger but has since just stopped answering.

9. Dusa and the Furies are not in this fic because right now, they are all children and/or not living in the state. (Meg is a little older than Zagreus, Dusa is his age, and Meg’s sisters are either pre-teen or teenagers)

10. Achilles moved specifically to Styx Beach, which is half an hour from that one city, for literally no reason whatsoever :)

[rosetintedgunman]

Asterius meant to have a serious and possibly hostile conversation with Wilford, but really, he got distracted by the sound his hooves make in the Roller's floors.

Oops.

@asterius-of-crete

-

They often say that you can gauge a place by the owner. Usually it would be by the choice of aesthetic, colour palettes, photographs, or other items.

In the case of the Moonlight Roller, it also extended to distractions.

Wilford, as was very well know, was a man who would find himself distracted at the oddest things, and it was little wonder that such a trivial thing would side-track the Minotaur from his mission. After all, didn't the Manor have wooden floorboards? Or was it the acoustics surrounding the dance floor that made the sound bounce around in a different way? Not only that, the bar was a safe place to experiment in such a manner. By right, the place was closed right now, only accessible to staff and those who happened to open the right door at the right moment. No one was around to witness such a mighty creature enjoy such a simple pleasure.

That is, except for Wilford himself.

There was amusement as the barman watched the spectacle, seemingly unnoticed by Asterius. However, do not take this as something demeaning. Rather, there was a trace of fondness on Wilford's face. Asterius didn't like him - that was a rather clear statement - yet something about a place associated with Wilford was able to have the visitor drop his guard just enough to encourage his curiosity.

Whatever the purpose was for this trip would be revealed in time. Right now, he would allow Asterius the ignorance that Wilford was aware of his presence and would instead turn his back to idly arrange glasses on a shelf until the time was right.

[frxgments-of-frxgments]

📱

[frxgments-of-frxgments]

Asterius growls as letters start appearing in the mirror. He can't read them. And yet, he knows what is being said to him, adding to the unnaturalness of the house and its... inhabitant. He can't tell what angers him more, but he once again tries to shove the anger down.

"I have been... taught about not holding onto things. When I asked if such also applied to grudges, I was told so. Therefore," he huffs, glaring at the mirror still, "here I am." The logic was... a little convoluted, and probably not what his friends had meant when telling him not to hold onto things so tightly. But it was progress. Maybe.

The DA’s options are limited. The writing is the easiest way for them to communicate, so unless Asterius would like them to disappear halfway through from exhaustion, this is simply how it’s going to have to be. It’s still bizarre to them that he doesn’t even know the script of his homeland, but they suppose literacy wasn’t exactly high on the list of priorities when trying to survive a labyrinth. But he’d been a prince once. Surely he’d had tutors?

They’re getting distracted.

Ah, they think they recall something like that now. But they’re fairly sure it’d been more in regards to holding onto people rather than feelings... It’s a close enough thing, they suppose.

I bear you no grudge. If anything, I think we’re much more alike than you’d like to admit. Both prisoners caught in an endless cycle they could never hope to escape. Both damned by a man with more power than them. Both fumbling and reaching through the darkness in search of the light. Both filled with rage, enough to leave them little more than a beast, ripping and tearing and screaming and hurting anything around them just to feel in control of something. To feel the life fade in their hands. To be the killer for once, and not the killed.

We’ve never been properly introduced. I was a District Attorney, once. It’s as good a name as any, but you may call me whatever you like, other than Ghost. It’s awfully rude to draw attention to one’s lack of body, you know.

...Was that a joke?

[frxgments-of-frxgments]

"Evil demon house. And a bitch."

The manor gives no outward response to Asterius' jabs, instead choosing to be the better person and rise above it. Until, of course, Asterius is walking down the hallways a few hours later, and finds a floorboard dipping under his hooves to leave him flat on his face and quite sore. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all.

[the-actor-himself]

I am Asterius, Son of Pasiphaë, Prince of Crete. You are Mark, Prince of a Deeply Fucking Haunted House That You Should Leave Effective Immediately. -Minotaur

“ Haunted implies there’s some humanity to it, darling. ”

It’s his fondness for you that makes the comment digestible. But the very thought of leaving the Manor behind tugs at something unwell inside him. Wet and sick and twisted, something foreign that had long ago made its home inside him.

Something that bled black rather than red, that reached its fingers all the places it didn’t belong, that maintained its poison and its power, even from far, far away—

[the-actor-himself]

Asterius is asleep next to him, and there's a moment where Yancy feels like he may drift off, but...he can't. Something was off, and it wasn't just the guilt that started to twist his stomach into knots. Even without his abilities, an uneasy energy permeated the air. He couldn't take it.

He had to find Mark.

Yancy manages to get up without disturbing the Minotaur and makes his way to the Manor steps. Only to see Mark already coming down them. Nervously, he runs his hand through his hair and continues forward. "Mark, I-"

He started to speak once he thought he was close enough...but stopped when he saw the look on his face. Aw, fuck. Yancy's a deer in the headlights waiting for impact, but he forces the words out.

"Mark, I need to tell you somethin'."

He almost doesn’t come outside, but the need to escape the furious glee of its ghastly inhabitant is too great compared to his desire not to see the truth with his own eyes.

Besides, he knows he has to see it. There’s no Abe this time to bring him the pictures.

“ Yancy. ”

He doesn’t quite know how to put the feelings in his chest to words. There’s outrage, of course, but it feels so dwarfed compared to everything else. Darkness runs in currents beneath his skin he hasn’t felt the need to draw on in… longer than he can believe, now. But it hums now at his fingertips. He need only call on it.

But that isn’t what wins, either.

It’s the ache.

The hurt is raw and choking, creeping vines from a plant that had grown there long ago and never been uprooted, only trimmed. It shakes violently at the young, shooting branches that he had been working to extend to Asterius. Bruising them. Doing all it can to displace them, to rip them out before they only grow thorns themselves.

There is something miserable in the Actor’s pose, in his eyes, that hides itself behind the smokescreen of fury that matches so much better to blood dripping from fingertips and hair still curling from the shower.

“ Out with it. ”

Say it. Have done with it. Spare him lengthy suffering.