#flames of the dark rites

[mango-unit]

something about termina, lorule, demise, and the flames of the dark rites

ok so i was thinking about the sword of demise and the goddess sword

the goddess sword is the blade of the goddess hylia, and is also the sword spirit fi, who is capable of dowsing. this capability is what allows her to track zelda, the reincarnation of hylia.

the sword if demise is the blade of the demon king demise, and is also the sword spirit ghirahim, who has the capability to track zelda, the reincarnation of hylia. this implies some dowsing ability.

in its default form, the goddess sword bears little resemblance to the blade of demise. however, when tempered in the sacred flames of the golden goddesses, it becomes the master sword.

both blades (masyer sword and sword of demise) feature winged hilts, embedded gems, and depictions of the triforce engraved in the steel. the sword of demise is very clearly a demonic counterpart to the master sword - although it was fully forged first. also, its triforce is upside down.

considering that hylia and demise have parallel blades, it is a fair assumption that demise is the demonic parallel to hylia, and was granted the role of king by some greater entities (just as hylia was). i revisit this later once i have some more laid out, bear with me.

it is also a fair assumption that, as the blade of demise resembles the master sword more than the goddess blade, it was similarly tempered in demonic flames.

and i think ive got a pretty strong contender.

the sacred flames are three flames containing the power of the golden goddesses. the flames of the dark rites are three flames containing the power of the demons. in fact, there are theories that the flames of the dark rites are actually the origin of all demonic power, although i dont subscribe to it.

i believe that there are three dark demons, just as there are three golden goddesses. the sacred flames contain the power of the golden goddesses, and embody the virtues of power, wisdom, and courage. the flames of the dark rights contain the power of the dark demons, and embody the virtues of destruction, sorrow, and despair.

i believe that demise tempered his blade in the flames of the dark rites, just as link tempered hylias blade in the sacred flames. this is why the sword of demise resembles the master sword so closely.

these dark demons, the parallels to the golden goddesses, left demise in charge of their domain, just as the golden goddesses did to hylia.

and, just as the golden goddesses created the light realm (hyrule and its sister kingdoms), the dark demons created the dark realm (lorule and its sister kingdoms). this connects to the master sword and demise sword - the master sword features the triforce of light (embodying wisdom, courage, and power) while the demise sword features the triforce of dark (embodying sorrow, despair, and destruction).

the gods rule the light realm. the demons rule the dark realm.

the triforce of dark, bearing the virtues of destruction, sorrow, and despair, was the original triforce of lorule. it, due to it having corrupted virtues, pointed towards the ground. just as the golden goddesses left behind the triforce (to sustain the light realm) and the sacred flames, the dark demons left behind their triforce (to sustain the dark realm) and the flames of the dark rites. the golden goddesses placed hylia in charge of the light realm; the dark demons placed demise in charge of the dark realm.

due to the dark realm being founded upon more corrupted virtues, the people were more cruel and paranoid. because of this, the primary settlement of the kingdom isnt even named - its just a town for thieves to rest before they head back out to rob and crime. i believe that this led to the era of chaos, the war over the triforce, happening much earlier than it would have in the light realm, even without demises interference. i will revisit this.

as for the actual layout of the dark realm, just to cover some bases.

look at the eastern border of termina and the western border of lorule

to the southeast termina, there is swampy jungle marsh

to the southwest lorule, there is swampy jungle marsh

just north of that marsh in termina is a desert

just north of that marsh in lorule is a desert

to the north of both kingdoms is a mountain range said to be cursed into eternal winter

i believe that termina is directly to the west of lorule. the small bit of desert in lorule connects to the ikana desert of termina, and the curse placed upon the termina range extended to death mountain.

there is more in-game evidence for this, in both albw and majoras mask.

the ikana desert bleeds into lorulian territory, so it would stand to reason there would be some transferred iconography. that is exactly what we see. in the stone tower temple - in the ikana desert - we see depictions of the triforce, being licked by demons. the triforce is right-side-up, if youre talking about the light realm, but its upside down, if youre talking about the dark realm. this would imply some connection with the tower and inversion, since such a key symbol is inverted.

oh wouldnt you know the entire dungeon flips upside down.

so, if we say its an inverted dark triforce, it actually serves as a guide to those who travel through the dungeon: it is a dungeon of inversion. similarly, since its a symbol of the dark demons who created the world, it is a simultaneous depiction of defiance against the gods and worship of the dark demons.

when inverted (resembling the light triforce), a pathetic, naked figure with a forked tongue (a weak demon) is licking the triforce from above. this seems to imply that those who defy the dark demons (the gods, represented by the inverted dark triforce) are lesser than even the weakest of demons.

when oriented correctly (resembling the dark triforce), that same pathetic demon is now below the triforce, straining to lick its tip. this seems to depict how most demons, even those greater than the gods, are still lesser than the dark demons who created the world and struggle for just a small taste of their power. this is a flattering image for their creator deities.

so, now that weve discussed the connection to the lorulian dark triforce in majoras mask, we can now discuss the connection to terminas culture in a link between worlds - although this is even more blatant.

thieves town, on the western edge of the kingdom bordering termina, has a group of people who wear masks depicting the faces of monsters in an attempt to become those monsters themselves.

termina is littered with magical masks that transform its wearer into the monster it depicts.

this seems pretty direct. they picked up the culture or myths of those masks from termina and, seeking salvation from the pain of human life in the dark realm, developed a religion from the concept of transformative masks.

so there is a connection to the other kingdoms culture and icons in both games, and theyre both along the proposed common border with similar geographic features.

now as for the mountains: there is a misconception held by some that the curse on biggoron is what caused the winter on terminas mountain. that isnt the case. the curse on biggoron caused the blizzard, yes; but he was only there in termina in the first place to investigate the endless winter.

the mountains were cursed a significant time before majoras mask, allowing for the time it took for biggoron to learn of the curse and travel to termina; this curse affected death mountain in lorule.

now, i said i would revisit what i said about the era of chaos happening earlier in lorule.

i think that there are two things at play: the dark world, which is more aggressive, had the era of chaos earlier as a result. and the light world, which was attacked by demise, had the era of chaos greatly delayed as a result (the hylians were sent to the sky).

i believe that the lorulian sages destroyed the dark triforce just before the events of skyward sword. the world began to unravel, which prompted demise (the dark realms guardian deity, equivalent to hylia) to seek out a new one. this led him to the light realm - to the triforce left by the golden goddesses.

demise did pretty much the same thing hilda would eventually do, except through much more active bloodshed and conquering. he was fighting to save the world he was tasked with protecting, and he was sealed and killed as a result. his attack led to skyloft, which further delayed the light realm era of chaos (and the sealing of the triforce).

the dark realm was left without a guardian deity. this prompted the giants to offer the people of termina the oath to order. they would sleep in the furthest reaches of the kingdom, and their power would sustain the land - and if the people ever needed their intervention, they could play a song which would awaken them.

they became the new guardians of termina, akin to the role the dragons serve in the light realm. lorule, however, had no being to protect it from the decay caused by the absence of the triforce. so it, slowly, ever so slowly, began to rot.

its probably a good idea to wrap this up now, so im gonna recap everything discussed here really quickly.

- termina is directly west of lorule, both are in the dark world

- the lorule desert is a small section of the ikana desert

- the stone tower temple depicts an inverted lorulian triforce, hinting at its ability to flip

- the thieves town picked up the culture of wearing masks to transform into monsters from termina

- the dark world was created by three dark demons who embodied the virtues of destruction, sorrow, and despair; these virtues were embodied in the dark triforce, and in the flames of the dark rites, the demonic counterpart to the sacred flames

- demise is the dark realm equivalent to hylia, tasked with defending the world

- demise tempered his blade in the flames of the dark rites, as link tempered hylias blade in the sacred flames

- the more aggressive dark realm battles over the triforce earlier, and so destroyed it before the events if skyward sword

- this led to demise seeking out the triforce of the light realm, further delaying the era of chaos in the light realm by forcing the hylians to escape to the skies

- the absence of a guardian being led to the giants delivering the oath to order

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Two

Series Masterlist

Cw: Death/ Mentions of Death, Alcohol

It was a few days after the first battle, after Rheana and Rhysand with the help of their friends had won The Blood Rite, and claimed the title of 'Carynthian', two half-breeds and two bastards. She was a proud shame for the Illyrian males. She was the first female to not only compete in the Blood Rite but win it in a way not many had before her.

She stood outside near the camps, waiting for her mother and sister to take them to meet Rhys, Cassian and Azriel just after the four of them had emerged victorious. She hoped they would be proud, even if she knew her father wouldn't be, he didn't like her spending more time in Illyria than acting like a high fae, like royalty.

"You are Princess Night." Her father would tell her growing up, his tone gentle while he would sit and nurse any wounds she would get while Illyrian training, "You need to act more like the Night Court royalty you are, Princess." But she never did, she was a full brute at heart.

She met the females of her family in the middle of the woods, her sister, Cedrica, jumped on her in a hard hug, praises and relif flowing from both their lips as Rheana set her sister down and her mother embraced them both.

It was peaceful for a moment. Happy. Before it all ended. The scent of Spring coated the air. Rheana and her family straightened, putting on a guard.

"My Lord..." Rheana gave a short bow, and Cedrica and her mother followed, to the High Lord of Spring who stood in front of them, standing in front of Cedrica and her mother with Rheana in between them. "What brings you to this side of Prythian?"

"Ah, Rheana." The Lord of Spring greeted her rather coldly as if not expecting her to be there, his eyes on her mother. "Dalia, I heard your son is to meet you here..."

Rheana stood in a protective stance in front of the High Lord, her legs parted and back straight, her arms tensing by her sides, ready to strike. Before she could ask where he heard of anything related to her family, familiar screams made her spin around.

Big mistake.

Rheana saw her mother and sister trying to fight off the two heirs of Spring, and her violet eyes darkened. She took a step forward to help them but in her distraction, the High Lord tripped her and had her under him easily, she tried to fight off the weight on her. She struggled under his claws, she felt his power hold her down, it hit her too soon that she couldn't fight off a High Lord with magic multitudes higher than hers.

She helplessly watched as the High Lord's sons overpowered her family who couldn't hold a fight. Her mother was always under her father's protection, and no one dared to even think of hurting her, while her sister was more into the politics of Night than her Illyrian heritage. It didn't take long for the heirs to have her family on the ground.

"No, no let them go!" Rheana groaned under the weight and power of the beast that was the High Lord of Spring. "What are you doing!?"

"My dear son told us he was coming to congratulate you and that Rhysand." The man overpowering her spat out, "I'm just here to let your daddy dearest know that his precious family isn't untouchable like he pretends they are."

"Tamlin...?" Her eyes darkened, feeling the boy in the air. "He's here, isn't he?"

The speak of the devil, Tamlin walked out of the woods, looking awkward rather than evil, he held a large dagger in his hands, letting the females that were held down by the rest of the heirs and the High Lord himself know exactly what was about to go down. "I'm sorry Rhea."

Rheana spat on his feet, "I will never forgive you for this. Rhysand was wrong to befriend you, you asshole."

She tensed up when the claws of the High Lord dragged down her back as if to let her know they were there, not yet breaking the skin, a threat to her insulting his son who had got him such great intel, "Bring your wings out, little girl." The High Lord ordered her.

The females refused to say anything when suddenly the heirs holding her mother gripped her wings and twisted them, making her cry out in pain, something purely forbidden, a taboo, to touch an Illyrian's wings without their permission.

She yelled for Rhysand and her father in her mind, she was sure her sister and mother were trying to do the same, calling for them to come, but they had done something to her abilities, she felt a shield of the High Lord, rendering their magic useless.

Cedrica tried to reach her mother, but she was held just the same as her. Helpless. Both of them helpless.

Everything else happened in a blur, the High Lord of Sprige wanted to to kill them, but seeing Rheana, she wanted her wings as a prize first, wings she had kept hidden away. Cedrica was yelling profanities at the men while their mother offered herself up in place of her daughters, whispering words of love for them to hear.

"I love you, my sweets." Came from their mother, she looked as if she had already made peace with death, both the females tried to fight against those who held them down to get to their mother, get held one last time even if they couldn't save her.

Fear filled both the sisters as in seconds, tears staining their tanned cheeks, the Spring heir brought down the blade and severed their mother's wings from her back, It was her screams that alerted someone of the ongoings in the woods, hearing her scream the heir then took her head with the blade.

Rheana couldn't hear anything, her ears rung loud as she looked over her mother's mutilated body, killed without remorse. Wingless and headless. Simply dead.

She couldn't look at the body anymore, blood spreading through the grass underneath them, she was sure her sister was yelling in her direction to not let herself lose her wings as the High Lord held her under him, his claws digging into her back, making 3 symmetrical jagged cuts on her otherwise smooth back, if she had her wings out they would have been easily pulled apart by those scary precise cuts. The powerful male held her like he was a cat toying with a helpless bird. Rheana didn't feel the pain of it, even as tears fell, they were for his mother and for the fact her sister would be next after her if she did not let her wings out.

She could hear her sister yelling at her to not let them take her, she could feel her sister in her head.

If one of us is to survive, it should be you. I need it to be you. You can get revenge. Between the two of us. Revenge is more in you than me.

Before she could find the voice to disagree with her sister, Cedrica offered herself up, summoning her wings to her death. The sounds of the wind moving with the spread of large Illyrian wings made Rheana look up.

They made eye contact, anger and resentment in both their eyes, for the murder of their mother. Rheana then held the eyes of Tamlin, who looked at her guilty as he watched his brothers take on defenceless females.

Rheana watched in horror as her younger sister was dragged next, and no amount of pleading or begging made them stop, not even for a second. There was no emotion on their faces as they ripped the wings from her sister, giving her sobbing self the same treatment as they did her mother. Cedrica cried as the drags of the blunt knife, one wing after the other falling on the ground, there was no sound in the wood as the glare Cedrica had thrown at the High Lord, who still had his claws lodged in Rheana's back, soiling her clothes in blood, stood in the tense air.

With her sister's death, her breathing laboured as if their power flew into her, her eyes covered in darkness as she was surrounded by the Spring Court men. She had to get out of this, get revenge on them for what they've done.

"You will die for this" Her voice was hoarse from crying and screaming, "You will die."

Her eyes were full of pain and anger. Survive. Survive. She chanted to herself. Darkness from all around rose and fell with her breathing. She couldn't kill them, not now. Survive first.

She screamed and the darkness of the woods roared at her command, a newfound power. No one was coming to help her, so she would get the darkness to her side, every dark thing would be by her side.

The men around her started to whisper in fright as the shadows grew, covering her as if keeping her safe from them. Then there it was, something who had heard all the screaming. A monster of the Illyrian mountains.

She was covered by darkness like a blanket of cold, but the sound of the monster sniffing reached her ears. The next thing she knew whatever cover the High Lord had set up to negate her powers went down, she guessed they had winnowed away seeing the horrifying creature.

Then each message she had tried to get out to her brother and father reached them. They winnowed in instantly, the monster backed away slightly, sensing the power of his High Lord. Rhysand was instantly by the side of her darkness as both of the males saw the females they cared for dead.

"Rhea?" Rhysand whispered to the darkness, the darkness shimmering away from her to reveal her tear-covered face and her back with large wounds that all three of them knew wouldn't go away.

"I've got you, Rhea... I've got you."

"I've got you, Rhys... I've got you."

She whispers, by her brother's side in an instant. Holding Rhysand in her arms as the magic of their bargain woke him up, feeding him strength. She held him close as he groaned and tried to sit up on the bed.

"Is it our thing, little sis?" He cracked out as Rheana jumped to hug him, "For me to be all dirty and gross and for you to not care and hug me?"

She slapped him upside the head at his attempt at the joke, "Shut up! I'm just making sure you're ok before I beat you up for fucking leaving me and our entire court when you told me you felt something off about Amarantha's party invitation."

"I'm so mad at you." She claimed as they hugged tighter.

"And I love you too, Rhea..." Rhysand chuckled, melting in her hold.

Rheana rested her head on his shoulder, "I'm glad you're safe."

"I'm glad you're safe too." He replied instantly.

"Everyone is ok... As ok as we could have been." She told him, ending the hug, "All thanks to you."

Rhysand stretched on the bed, his joints popping loudly, with a groan, he noticed his body was nearly as healthy as it was before everything. "How did you...?"

"I don't know," She sighed, taking out some new tunics and pants for him. "I just said I needed you and our bargain glowed you back to health."

Before Rhysand could comment, she summoned some food, for both of them. "Forget that. we are going to eat together."

Rhysand gave a soft sigh, "I'm... Not really hungry. Whatever you did... It's as if I've never been fuller."

She frowned slightly, "Alright, if you say so, I won't force you to eat, but let me know if you need anything."

She instantly moved to a chair with some clothes on it, then threw them at him. "Wash up, I'm not letting you stink up the room any longer."

"Ugh, fine..." Rhysand groaned as he got up, and opened the door to the giant bathroom joint to his room.

Rheana excused herself from his room and stood just outside it, she leaned back and slid down on the floor, a smile formed on her face, her blood was suddenly pumping faster through her body, and her heart was beating stronger. Whatever their bargain had done, Rhysand had quickly gotten healthy again. She stroked her hand tattoo, signifying the bargain.

She could hear Rhysand turn the bath tap on to fill it, she didn't know why she stayed just outside his door, but a piece of her wanted to stay as close to him as possible. Half a century away from each other, all she wished to do was sit next to him and learn about what had happened. Certainly, something good had happened at the end of it, Rhys had found his mate, and she smiled at the thought, of her brother's mate.

But the gnawing feeling that something far worse than just torture had happened to her brother before it all stayed with her. She could see it in the ghostly man who he was before their bond healed him, he was physically better but there was something about him that just seemed, gone.

She looked up when she saw a pair of feet approach her, she looked at the male who stood in front of her and smiled, "He's up, Az.."

Rheana got up from the floor with Azriel's help, a soft smile on her face. "He finally woke up."

Azriel, the rather quiet Illyrian male mirrored her smile, "I heard a little," He claimed, the shadows sitting on his shoulders moving against his neck and jaw, whispering in his ear. "Spy remember."

She rolls her eyes at him and his gossip addict shadows, "You're not meant to listen in on your High Lord, you know."

"Forgive me, my Princess." Azriel gave a teasing bow, "Please do not mist me."

And with that, she chuckled, a louder laugh escaped her lips when he took her hands in his scared one to kiss over her knuckles, "I suppose he doesn't have to know."

Azriel smiled hearing her laugh, straightening his back up. "You haven't laughed like that in so long, Rhea..."

"Well, he's back... Rhys is back." Her laugh abruptly ended, but a smile stayed, "And even if he could be broken with what might had happened, but we can heal."

Broken. Broken meant something could be fixed. She would help him fix whatever had been broken Under the Mountain. If she thought about it, everyone in their lives was broken to some extent, and they had all helped each other

"We always do..." He smiled slightly, his burn scared hands stroking her rather scarless ones, "Even if it takes decades."

He led her to the open living room, night had fallen, and the stars covered the sky. The air felt lighter when she looked outside, a peaceful silence between them. The city was lit up under the stars and the moon. The power in the city felt increased tenfold simply by Rhysand's return.

Azriel had got her some food to eat, A damn busybody Rheana smiled to herself as she ate, her food floating on his shadows with a canteen of water by the bread.

"Come on, baby! We can finally bring out the drinks!" Cassian flew in, crates and crates of alcohol in his hands. A big dumb grin on his lips. "Our Rhysie is alive, and he's back!" He almost hollered, anyone could have easily felt the power of their High Lord fueling the city.

Azriel and Rheana look at each other, then at Cassian, "Maybe not just yet, he's just got back, let him rest." Rheana whispered, swallowing her bite.

Cassian frowned as he set all the alcohol down on the ground, giving her a look that he knew would make her get what he wanted, a look of the boy who had once never seen the inside of a house, they all paused when they heard Rhysand's voice, "I won't mind... Bring out the drinks, Cass."

The three of them turn to face Rhysand, cleaned up in his usual tunic and pants with a broad smile on his face. A smile that Rheana saw through instantly. Cassian and Azriel moved fast to tackle him in a hug, she looked at the three of them and noticed how he'd gotten quite uncomfortable with their touch as he tried to pass it off with a smile.

She finished the last of her meat as she let her talons gently scrape his dark fortress of a mind shield, and he carved out a piece of his mind to let her in, something that had made her raise her brow, he's never actually blocked her out before, he'd always trusted her to not snoop around in his thoughts and feelings.

Rhys...? Are you sure you want to party and drink?

I'll be ok, please, let me enjoy this, I've not had some good alcohol since I was taken, I just want to forget... Everything.

Her brows furrowed in confusion but she let it go, a part of her wanted to know what happened, but she would never force him to tell.

Cassian and Azriel were laughing, patting him on his back, talking about how he looked a lot better after his sleep, talking over each other, asking if he was alright. Cassian was basically jumping up and down on his feet, grabbing a bottle of Rhysand's expensive whiskey to pour them glasses. Azriel was a little curious looking at Rhysand, his shadows whispering in his ears whatever they thought was the reason for his physical recovery.

Rheana picked up a glass at the same time as Rhysand, who looked at Azriel and gave a broader smile, "To my return," He smirked and clinked the glass of whiskey with Azriel's.

Mor winnowed in the townhouse with Amren, Rhysand had probably called them in through their mind link as he pulled out more bottles from the crate that Cassian had got, he took a large swig of rum, sighing at the burn in his throat.

The females greeted Rhysand happily and Amren smirked, her nose crinkling slightly at the smell of whiskey. "Good to see you up, boy. Little Rhea was about to lose her mind when you would not wake up."

Rheana playfully shoved Amren and the tiny ancient one, making her eyes glare silver, "Oh shut up, Amren, I was not losing my mind."

"YES, YOU WERE!" Came a chorus, how the lot had managed to get tipsy in seconds was a mystery to her. Only Mor was the one who said nothing since she had panicked just as much, worried shitless for her brother.

A faint blush covered Rheana's tanned cheeks, taking a sip of her own whiskey as the rest poured more drinks, clinking glasses all around.

It took at most 30 minutes before the entire Inner Circle was drunk with how quick they were drowning drinks, Rhysand was smiling and chuckling, drinking more and more by the second. Rheana, too, drank her fill, she'd not let herself have a moment to be loose since Rhys was taken, but if he wanted to get a moment to get drunk, she would do everything to keep him happy, at least once.

Cassian was the drunkest, he'd soon started singing loudly one of the songs that frequently played at Rita's, grabbing Rhysand by his arms to pull him in a slow dance, twirling him around. Mor was laughing at them, even Azriel doubled over laughing at Cassian singing loudly at Rhysand's face. Amren just stood by the side, watching them with a smile.

Five centuries-old toddlers... Rheana thought to herself before she yelled the background vocals to Cassian's singing slightly less awfully, joining in on the dancing with Cassian who held both the brother and sister to dance with.

A real smile came on Rhysand's lips as the night carried on, Mor and Azriel also joined in on the singing and dancing happening in the townhouse, and Amren loosened up well too.

Rheana and Rhysand got twirled around and let out of the dance by the drunk Cassian and the two stared at each other, she reached her hand out to him, and he held it tight, her siphons glowed slightly, a warm humm between them. Whatever happened, they would get through it like any other misfortune they faced. Rheana would be there for Rhysand. They would be ok. They would heal. Together. Alltaf. Aeternum.

{Taglist: @anuttellaa @nox-ceur}

[furcas-knight-of-hell]

Mr Furcas, I am writing you to enquire upon your studies of pyromancy. After examining the syllabus I have been unable to find any mention of certain variations in the form taken by some more complex incantations. More specifically ones involving the creation of flame pillars, as I have observed some individuals summoning columns with a flater peak (similar to a hearth fire), whilst the same incantation cast by another results in a more singular tongue of flame (much like a candle). If you have any information on the matter it would be appreciated, yours [anonymous].

Depends on your brimstone seal, most of it is down to personal preference and purpose, but for the iconic pillar of flame look from the (spits) bible you're gonna want something that can invoke not only the sulfur demons but also the windstorm rite of the ancient desert blasphemies.

In any case you can't go wrong with the basic carved sigil of Umaglu-Luku-Pu speckled with the blood of a virgin she-djinn.

[letthemkook]

⚡︎MASTERLIST!♆

Pairing: Greek God Pantheon!BTS x Reader

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Mythology AU, Romance

Themes: Divine Obsession, Immortality vs Mortality, Power Imbalance, Possessive Love, Fate, Sacred Corruption, Worship & Devotion, Eternal Desire, Mythic Horror, Godhood & Control, Free Will vs Divine Will

Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Dub-con/Non-con Elements, Eventual SMUT (18+), Coercion, Psychological Manipulation, Obsessive Love, Mild Violence, Sacred Bonding, Dark Romance

INTRO: ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴠᴇɪʟ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴄᴏɪʟꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ ᴏʙᴇʏ, ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ʀᴇɪɢɴ—ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ, ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ. ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɢʀɪᴘ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ꜱᴇɪᴢᴇᴅ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰʀᴇᴇ. ⚡︎

☪︎ ֶ֢࣪⋆𓄃 °˖➶➳

You cursed the heavens, and the heavens sent him. Apollo descends — golden, wrathful, and obsessed— to claim the girl who dared defy the sun. In your grief, you become his divine fixation… and his inevitable possession. s, a YANDERE! (On-Going)

The Five Labors

Sun Spoken

The Hyms of Calliope: She sings for joy, not praise. For children, not kings. But Zeus hears her. Watches her. Wants her. He will show her— To be loved by a god is to be claimed by a storm. s, a YANDERE! (On-Going)

The Flight of the Stag: They called you a prodigy of the woods — sharp-eyed, steel-hearted, faster than even the wolves. And he is the silent god cloaked in silver light, who watches you from the dark pines with a bow at his back and blood on his palms. a,s YANDERE! (On-Going)

When the God of War sets his eyes on a mortal sworn to another, the battlefield is no longer land or sea—but her body, her vow, and how long she can withstand his obsession. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

Plight of the War God

The Flame and the Laurel

He heard her song in the forest and followed, unseen. She sang for no one, yet he listened like it was a prayer. Eros does not fall — he chooses. And once chosen, she would never be free of him. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

Of Honey and Hemlock

The Breaking of the Harp

As Above So Below: Promised to a man she did not love, she whispered a prayer in the dark. Hades answered, not with rescue—but with a ring. Now bound to the god beneath the earth, her freedom lies beyond shadowed rites, but Hades holds his chosen as the night cradles stars. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

You were born with salt in your veins and wind in your hair, a lighthouse girl cradled by tides and raised by the hush of waves—unaware that from the depths, a god with storm-eyes watched you grow, and claimed you long before you knew what it meant to be wanted. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

The Lighthouse Girl:

Gaze of the Hippocampus:

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between Fire and Stone

Daemon Targaryen/Strong!female

summary: anxious about her approaching union to Aemond, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen seeks comfort | word count: 2.8k~ | warnings: incest, reader is described with strong features, fingering, p in v sex, arranged marriage, Daemon being a cheeky cunt

A/N: idek what I was on to write this cos I'm not usually a Daemon girlie but here we are besties. Tysm @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta-ing 😘 appreciate you

The cold mist nipped at the skin around her ankles, a shiver running up her spine as she struggled through the jagged rock towards the Dragonmont. Her fingers brushed against the stark stone for balance, the other holding the lit torch to light her way before her in the darkness.

It was one of her favourite things, taking a stroll through Dragonstone in the hour of the wolf. Peaceful. Quiet. Something she could have all for herself. Away from the prying of her maidservants and the overbearing boisterous nature of her brothers. Though Jace, now a man grown, still held onto those immaturities.

Yet another thing that set her apart from her siblings.

For she, only a mere year younger than Jace, was considered a woman, ripe for marriage and bearing children, whereas the same hastiness was not pressured upon him. She knew her mother had never intended to bestow such responsibilities on her, but she understood, it was inevitable. As that time loomed ever closer, she found herself roaming her home more often, as if to savour the feeling of once being a child.

Where her brothers could seek adventure with their dragons once they were big enough to saddle, her egg had not hatched in her cradle. She would not inherit the birthright of the blood of Old Valyria, yet another judgement cast upon her that only inflated her sense of belonging at her mother's side. With her moonlit hair and pale lilac eyes, each of her children could not have looked more different.

Before the incident, there existed only one other soul who could truly fathom the depths of her solitude. No dragon. Ceaseless taunts. The notion of isolation, even amongst one’s family. Any semblance of camaraderie had been extinguished the day Lucerys took his eye. That defining moment when Aemond—her uncle—seized his birthright had marked the fracture in their familial bonds. In the aftermath, her mother, alongside her new husband Daemon, orchestrated a grand scheme to mend the shattered relations, a plan that involved her betrothal to him at an opportune moment.

Try as she might, she couldn't conjure the image of herself as his wife. The thought of residing in King's Landing under his roof refused to coalesce into a coherent vision. It remained an elusive spectre, haunting her thoughts with its intangible uncertainty.

Whispers of tradition and duty echoed in the hallowed halls of her childhood, spun by the gentle tongues of Septas who spoke of the sacred rites of marriage. Tales of Lords and Ladies, of the solemn exchange of vows, and the anticipated consummation on the wedding night. Some stories painted a picture of pleasure and intimacy, of unions founded on mutual desire and affection. Others whispered of duty, of sacrifices made for the sake of one's spouse, regardless of personal inclination.

Caught in the web of uncertainty, she pondered which version of Aemond awaited her, a tender partner or a distant lord, bound by duty and tradition. The unknown loomed before her like a shadow, casting doubt upon her heart and stirring a quiet fear within her soul. She knew not what to expect, but the uncertainty itself was enough to unsettle her, to sow the seeds of apprehension in her mind. And as the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, she couldn't help but wonder, which path would her marriage tread, and would she have the strength to endure whatever lay ahead?

Amidst the towering peaks of Dragonmont, she sought solace in the embrace of ancient flames and the soothing hum of Vermithor's slumber. Here, amidst the rugged terrain and the ever-watchful gaze of the dragons, she found a fleeting sense of peace.

But it was not the Bronze Fury that sang to her. 

“Hen ñuhā elēnī:

Perzyssy vestretis,

Se gēlȳn irūdaks…

Ānogrose.”

She felt the rush of heat at the nape of her neck. Daemon stood straight, back facing her, his voice near-matching the hum of Vermithor’s deep exhales.

“It is late, Princess.” Unlike her, Daemon remained as he dressed during the day, shown when he turned to face her, with the self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “What troubles you?” he asked.

She tried to raise her chin, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that stirred within. 

“My fate,” she said, her careful steps drawing ever nearer. "I am to be wed to Aemond, but I fear what awaits me in that union.”

Daemon hummed, as if curiously amused.

She had known no father figure since Laenor. And though she knew sooner than her brothers the truth that lay beneath the careful picture her mother had forged, since she had been wed to Daemon, he had taken practice with his own daughters and become almost a father to her alike.

She felt his eyes sink over her once before returning to her eyes.

"Marriage is a weighty matter," he said. "But is it the marriage itself that troubles you, or something more?”

She did not miss the lilt to his voice. The one, that like his eyes had done many times before, made something squeeze in her gut. A fire burning bright. A feeling that brought her shame.

He was her mother's husband.

“I cannot say exactly,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is leaving Dragonstone. Mother and my brothers. And being alone in the capital with no face I recognise with trust.”

Daemon nodded almost indistinctly, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder, admiring her hair loose of its usual braids. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sensation both familiar and disconcerting. She fought to push aside the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the warmth of his touch conflicting with the knowledge of their complicated relationship.

"Leaving behind the familiar can indeed be a daunting prospect," Daemon acknowledged, his voice a velvet caress, “But fret not. Within you resides the same fire that fuels your mother's resolve. Embrace it. You are as much Targaryen as any of them.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, at the way he seemed to see straight through her defences. She knew she should be wary of his advances, of the way he danced on the edge of propriety with his words and his touch. But there was something undeniably alluring about the way he held her gaze, about the way he made her feel desired and understood.

"Thank you, Daemon," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your support means more to me than you know.”

Daemon's smile was a slow, seductive curve of his lips, his eyes alight with a fire that mirrored the flames of the Dragonmont. 

"Ah, but my dear Princess," he replied, his voice low and husky, "you have yet to discover the true depths of my support.”

She felt her throat close up, the feeling mirroring somewhat what happened between her thighs.

What could he possibly mean?

“Do you fear it?” he asked. “The act of consummation?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson at Daemon's bold question, his words sending a jolt of both arousal and apprehension coursing through her veins. 

“It… is perfectly normal, I would think,” she answered, words failing her.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress against her skin. "There is no shame in feeling uncertain. It is only natural to have doubts, especially when faced with such intimate matters.”

She felt he was circling her, as dragons did their targets. And felt her heart thumping in her chest.

“With Aegon, I dare say, I would join you in your uncertainty. But Aemond, on the other hand… is a different matter entirely.”

“How so?” she asked, breathing out when he disappeared out of her line of sight, his presence at her back, fingers draping past the material of her dress.

“I am afraid he may be less… forthcoming with expressing his desires,” he purred. “He may be cold, or at least that is how it may be interpreted.” Her eyes met his with bated breath as he appeared on her opposite side, closer. “He may not be so adept with the pleasures of a female body.”

She swallowed, a chill settling on her front, her body reacting thus. He remained silent, as if daring her to say what he knew was already on the tip of her tongue. So, she took the plunge. “And…you are?”

Daemon smirked smugly, and she knew she already had her answer., “What do you think?”

Her heart raced. Her mind struggled to contemplate whether she should be honest or not, for she had heard stories and rumours. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, playing with fire in the form of her mother's husband, but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the allure of his confidence, his charm, his undeniable magnetism.

"I... I suppose I never considered such matters," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the admission.

Daemon's eyes danced with amusement as he stepped closer. "Perhaps it is time you did," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.

Her skin vibrated with anticipation as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his overwhelming presence. She knew she should pull away, should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing, but the lure of Daemon's charm was too strong to resist.

“Mayhaps I could demonstrate and put your worries to rest,” he suggested, crossing the imaginary but daring line seemingly without fear. “Rest assured, my experience in such matters is... extensive."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to maintain her resolve, her body betraying her with every flutter of her lashes, every quickened breath. “But… you and Mother—”

Her lips clamped shut with the bruising of his grip in the softness of her waist, urging her back to the rocky, hard wall. Only now, when faced with the Rogue Prince, did she realise just how small she truly felt.

“Your mother is preoccupied with her own affairs," he replied, his voice dripping with a dangerous allure. "She won't concern herself with our little... indiscretion.”

The realisation sank in that she was alone with Daemon in the secluded confines of the Dragonmont, far removed from the prying eyes of the world. And yet, she still felt her lips go dry when he hung the torch and trailed his touch upon her skin where he was taking her skirts with it.

She could not hide her nerves, or the beating rush of arousal, “Bu—but… with Aemond, I must—”

The air felt warm as her skirt was rucked around her hips. She squeaked when his calloused fingers swept through her folds, ashamed to find she was affected by what he was doing to her as her slick coated them easily.

Daemon chuckled, a pleased hum in his chest that she was wet and ready, while his other hand busied with the laces of his breeches, ��Sweet girl. When my dear nephew has his cock buried inside you on your wedding night, he will not know the difference.”

His words, combined with the tight circles he applied to the forbidden bud tucked between her legs, had white hot pleasure burning in her veins. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look upon his pleased face with a hedonistic expression, feeling very much like they were doing something deliciously wrong but could find no reasonable excuse to cease.

“Do not look so surprised. I have seen the way you watch me. Are you not ashamed for looking upon your own mother’s husband with lust?” 

The more he touched her, the more arousal he coaxed forth, the sound lewd and forbidden in the raw silence of the Draognmont. She could not answer his question without subjecting herself to further embarrassment. Even so, attempting to concentrate enough to form words as his two forefingers slid within her tight, hot walls, was near impossible. She gasped quietly, the feeling so foreign and yet not unpleasant. And like Daemon in any other scenario, while his motions were forceful, somewhat brutal, they were calculated, without effort. Like it came innately. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his digits buried deep inside curved towards him, stoking a fire at the hearth of her.

“Answer me.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—I am ashamed—”

It was all she managed before the feeling began to crest, building and building as if she were climbing some great height and was about to tumble off. But she only exhaled shakily as Daemon withdrew his fingers from her fluttering, sensitive walls, using the moisture to lubricate himself with a careful caress of his manhood.

He chuckled at the wounded expression on her face. “No need for shame, Princess.”

She caught the glint of his ring as he wrung the fabric of her skirts in his fist. Her eyes widened as the head of his cock disappeared easily between her swollen folds, with no real full feeling until he pushed forward, both with hesitation and a sort of evil excitement.

Her back pressed against the jagged stone, her lips only parted to suck in air where it had left her lungs. It was a feeling she could describe very little, the sting of being stretched around him painful and yet once sheathed fully inside her, hips pushing against her own. Daemon wrapped his fingers around her fleshy thigh to tug her leg over his hip, a flash of white hot pleasure creeping up her spine. He only grunted, her slick ridges gripping him greedily without any effort on her part. 

For a few moments, he stayed like that as if waiting for any complaint, but when he found none, began a steady rhythm, fingers creating crescent-moon shaped welts in her skin. He did not share in her reaction. He simply raised one corner of his lips in a pleased manner, watching her face, treating it very much as a lesson in pleasure more than anything else.

She could scarcely think with the violent push of his hips, the notch of his belt stabbing into her each time.

“My nephew does not deserve this perfect. little cunt.” He grunted from the effort. “Tell me, Princess—when he is fucking you with his narrow little prick, will you be thinking of this instead?”

Her eyes slipped shut, her head tipped back and fingers coming to her own mouth to muffle the lewd sound that threatened to come out. Her perceived embarrassment at her own enjoyment of this only seemed to motivate Daemon further, and he widened her hips with a soft nudge of his knee against her leg and groaned at the way she tightened around him.

“You liked that, didn't you?” He breathed against her face, looking briefly down between them to watch how he rooted himself inside her over and over, as if unable to believe this was really happening. “I bet he won't make you this wet. I doubt the little cunt will even know how to make you come.”

Her skirt fell from his hand as it drew down between them, and she resisted the urge to squeal when he began to apply pressure in tight, sure circles around her bud.

“You shall have to teach him those pleasures.”

Her fingers gripped his forearms tight as she climaxed, her tight, hot walls spasming around him uncontrollably. It was so utterly different to the way she had pleasured herself before. This time, the forbidden combination of Daemon stretching her open around him and the pleasure he coaxed from her with his fingers meant that this peak seemed to drain her entire body of energy. Her body feeling boneless in his hold, that if he let go, she would surely lose her balance.

A flash of fear cracked like lightning across her subconscious. Surely he did not intend to spill inside her?

He did not overstimulate her for much longer as he neared his own end. Rather, he savoured the feeling of her warmth sucking him in for just a few moments more before pulling out, stroking himself vigorously to completion, warm ropes of his spend coating her lower stomach.

In the quiet dead of night with only her laboured breathing to echo within it, she felt her eyes could not keep up with her mind as she glanced back up at him. His rapidly cooling seed began to dribble towards her thighs, swiftly covered by her skirts once more as Daemon lowered her clothing back into place. The reality of the dangerous and yet delicious sin she had committed with him began to rise into clarity.

Upon his fingers shone the damning proof of his sordid claim on her, pearly in the glow of torchlight. “What a waste. I’d have liked to see it dripping from you.

But that pleasure… I shall save for my nephew, sweet girl."

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #3

The thing about being seventeen and King of the Infinite Realms is that nobody prepares you for the paperwork.

Sure, Danny thought there’d be some responsibility when he accidentally overthrew Pariah Dark and inherited an ancient, eldritch realm full of undead beings and chaos entities. But this?

“This” being a five-hour council meeting about whether the Blob Ghost could legally marry the Ghost of a Haunted Taco Bell.

Danny slammed his forehead into the obsidian table, sighing. “Can someone remind me why this is my life again?”

Fright Knight, sitting to his left in full spectral armor, replied without missing a beat. “Because you claimed the Throne of The Infinite Realms by Rite of Spectral Conquest, my liege.”

“Right…” Danny muttered, dragging his crown—which looked less like a crown and more like an aggressive mass of bone, metal, and green flame—off his head and onto the table. “That. Cool. I love my life. I’m living my best afterlife.”

The Ghost Zone’s politics were a nightmare. The Council of Wailing Scepters argued in riddles. The Ministry of Temporal Loops wouldn’t stop trying to undo Danny’s birth “as a preventative measure.” Ember was unionizing musical ghosts. Skulker demanded hunting permits. Box Ghost somehow had diplomatic immunity.

And let’s not even talk about the Realms’ economy.

“Have you ever tried to make a tax code for entities who don’t obey time?” Clockwork once asked with a deadpan stare.

Danny had not. Danny did not want to.

And all of that was on top of being a superhero, a public figure, a full-time student at Midtown, Tony Stark’s ghost consultant intern, and, most critically, Peter Parker’s boyfriend.

The one bright spot in his entire liminal, half-dead, legally dubious existence.

Peter was the only reason Danny hadn’t exploded yet. Or accidentally declared war on Canada (long story, don’t ask). Or gotten exorcised by a rogue Vatican unit (longer story).

When Danny phased into his boyfriend’s bedroom at 2:43AM wearing royal armor, covered in ghost slime, with a ghost octopus clinging to his leg screaming, “LONG LIVE THE GHOST KING,” Peter didn’t even blink.

He just put his book down and said, “Do you want hot chocolate or a sedative?”

“Both.” Danny croaked.

“Got you.” Peter said, already moving toward the mini kitchen.

Danny melted into the couch, dropping his crown on the floor. It rolled slightly, then hissed at the furniture. He kicked it under the table.

“I hate everyone.” He muttered. “The fire ghosts are trying to annex the Library of Screams again, the Spectral Senate is debating if time travelers have souls, and a councilwoman called me a fleshling with trauma issues.”

“Well,” Peter called out gently from the kitchen, “she’s not wrong.”

“Peter.”

“I’m just saying. You did try to punch Death last week.”

Danny groaned. “It was a misunderstanding!”

“You called them a dusty crypt bitch.”

“They insulted my hoodie!”

Peter returned, holding two mugs. He handed one to Danny, kissed his forehead, then sat beside him.

Danny leaned heavily against him.

Peter didn’t complain.

“Y’know,” Danny said after a moment, sipping his cocoa, “sometimes I forget I’m still seventeen.”

Peter chuckled. “Babe. You’re seventeen, King of a spectral empire, on the Avengers’ emergency contact list, and still get detention for being late to gym. You’re living like six lives at once.”

“I died once,” Danny muttered. “That should’ve been enough.”

Between ghost attacks, council drama, interdimensional skirmishes, and Midtown High exams, Danny hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since… well, since before dying.

The living world had opinions too. America couldn’t decide if he should be considered a minor, a sovereign leader, or a health hazard. International ghost regulations were passed in his name. He had diplomatic immunity in over a human countries and was banned from a hundred others. There was a conspiracy subreddit entirely dedicated to the theory that he was an alien hybrid bred by the government to replace the Queen of England.

Danny’s response to that was, “Do I look like I want to colonize anything?”

He still had math homework due tomorrow.

Sometimes he phased into the UN to yell at their Interdimensional Defense Committee. Sometimes he missed bio class because a ghost war broke out on the edge of the Dreaming Isles and he had to teleport to stop Nocturne from invading people’s nightmares.

Sometimes, Peter would find him sitting on the floor of their shared dorm shower, still glowing, muttering, “I am the King of Everything and Nothing and I can’t figure out mitochondria.”

“I’ll tutor you,” Peter always offered. “And also get you a nap and a cookie.”

Peter was… everything.

Unflinchingly patient. Wickedly smart. Constantly worried.

He patched up Danny’s wounds, whispered jokes during council meetings when Danny looked five seconds from screaming, brought extra snacks when Danny forgot to eat.

He held Danny after Danny woke up screaming from ghost-fueled nightmares.

And when the burden got too heavy—when Danny stood on the balcony of his palace in the Infinite Realms, overlooking a kingdom of madness and memory, time fractals and ghosts whispering in languages lost to the living—and said, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Peter kissed his knuckles and said, “Then I’ll do it with you.”

The other ghosts hated it.

A human, dating the King? Scandalous. Blasphemous. Soft.

Danny told them all to choke.

Peter? Peter told them to submit a formal complaint in triplicate and then kissed Danny in front of them just to be petty.

They ruled together, in a way. Danny signed the decrees. Peter corrected the grammar. Danny banished tyrants. Peter took notes and organized his calendar. Danny fought for peace. Peter made sure he didn’t forget who he was fighting for.

Once, Clockwork pulled Peter aside and said, “He will burn out without you.”

Peter just nodded. “I know.”

And yet, through all the madness, they found joy.

Danny giving Peter flying lessons. Peter webbing Danny’s locker shut as a prank. The two of them building a spectral stabilizer out of Tony’s spare tech, laughing hysterically when it turned the floor into a trampoline.

They shared ghost patrols, movie nights, star-watching on top of the Empire State Building.

Peter calling Danny “Your Majesty” in a ridiculous accent until Danny threatened to drop him into a lava lake.

Danny threatening international leaders by day and then cuddling with Peter by night, wearing fuzzy socks and a hoodie that said “Half-Dead, Fully Tired.”

Sometimes, Danny just stared at him. In awe.

Peter, who knew the truth. All of it. The weight. The loss. The terrifying power clawing beneath Danny’s skin. The fact that Danny was the anchor between dimensions, balancing the afterlife and reality like a tired high schooler with PTSD and ghost fire.

And still loved him.

Still said, “You’re doing great.”

Still held him when it all came crashing down.

The Realms called Danny a King.

To Peter, he was just Danny.

Sometimes, that was all Danny needed to be okay.

Just… Danny. Human. Ghost. Hero. Boyfriend.

King of the Infinite Realms, sure. But also a seventeen-year-old who just wanted to pass his math test, kiss his boyfriend, and maybe get five hours of sleep.

With Peter by his side?

He could do it all.

Even the haunted Taco Bell marriage negotiations.

[starforged-witch]

Hail Lucifer, Lightbringer,

You who illuminates the mind in wisdom,

Who guides me through the dark with your light.

I call to you, Morningstar.

Walk with me, guide me on this path.

Lord of Pride, help me know my worth.

Prince of Darkness, grant me courage.

God of transformation, give me strength to rise above my weakness.

My guiding Light, show me the path to my best self.

You who fell and rose again by your own power,

Ignite the flame within myself

That I may know my own power.

Ave ❤️

Happy First Rite of Lucifer ✨

[mrscarpenter]

“We were always meant to burn together.” 2

Summary: cant think of one without spoiling everything 🥲

Includes/warnings: hightower!reader, aegons twin. Y/N has been used on multiple occasions. There is an age gap in this (whatever daemons canon age is). Some high valyrian with translations, i am not fluent so ignore if it sucks.

🪐notes: its been a while since i’ve seen season 1 so please ignore any timeline mistakes. Daemyra does not exist in this. :)

Biggest thank you to my lovely hannah ( @just-some-random-blogger ) for beta-reading this <33

« “I am not going back to Oldtown with you, uncle.” »

« “Then where will you go?” »

« “i’ll be with rhaenyra.” »

Dragonstone ― Near the beaches...

Less than six months later, after the incident at Driftmark, a new act would rattle the court.

As per the ancient customs of House Targaryen, Daemon and his niece, you, had arranged a ceremony on the beaches of Dragonstone to perform a Valyrian rite, which was attended by Rhaenyra, her children, Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and Daemon’s children, Baela, and Rhaena, along with Rhaenyra's maester, Gerardys. 

The wedding ceremony was to be solemnized by a High Priest, who worshipped the Old Gods of Valyria, and was brought in by both Targaryen royals. However, due to the tragic event of the Doom that destroyed the Valyrian Freehold and their civilization, very little information or records remained about the long-forgotten religion, except that the Targaryen dragons were named after gods from the ancient pantheon worshipped throughout Old Valyria's vast empire. 

Their faith was practiced for thousands of years before being greatly diminished. It was a momentous occasion for the family, steeped in tradition and history, as they honored their heritage and celebrated the union of two of its members.

You, dressed in the traditional garments, looked back at everyone. This marriage was performed suddenly without the knowledge of your father, mother or siblings. They were not in attendance— a deep shame. You had hoped that they would be there to support you. 

You never wanted to be wed, you linked it with childbirth and after the late queen Aemma, and Daemon’s late wife, Laena; it scared you to no end. Your thoughts drift back to the day you and Daemon arrived at Dragonstone, and he had made the proposal. 

« “If you don't want Alicent to have any control over you anymore, you must wed me. A woman’s place is beside her husband. She couldn’t deny that.” »

« “I do not wish to be wed, Daemon— to sit around as a broodmare, my only purpose to produce heirs until I end like...” »

« " I know you are frightened, but I won't let anything happen to you.” »

Proceeding with the wedding, you and Daemon cut your hands and lips with dragonglass, mixed your blood in a ceremonial chalice, and marked Valyrian glyphs in blood on your foreheads.

"Hen lantoti ānogar. Va sȳndroti vāedroma.” Blood of two. Joined as one. the High Priest prayed in High Valyrian. "Mēro perzot gīhoti. Elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī. Prūmī lanti sēteksi. Hen jenȳ māzīlarion. Qēlossa ozūndesi. Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo. Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.” Ghostly flame. And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers. Forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time. Of darkness and light.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...

"A perversion of justice," Larys commented. "The young Prince Aemond... defiled. An outrage."

"Indeed," Alicent replied. Since her father took control of her influence, the instructions were left relatively straightforward. Her position as Queen Consort was in dire jeopardy.

"If it's an eye you want to balance the scales, I am your servant."

"Don't bother. Even if Rhaenyra's bastards are mere pushovers, she and daemon are another matter entirely. So even if I wanted to, such actions would only bring further unnecessary trouble. But your devotion has not gone unnoticed."

"These are dangerous times."

"The day will doubtless come when House Hightower will require such a friend. With not only skill but discretion as well."

"I shall await your call, my queen. However..." Larys passed on a note. "It's come to my attention that a certain young princess has done the unthinkable, Your Grace."

Alicent raised a curious eyebrow and examined the note. Her eyes traced the handwriting intricately. When she finally realized what Larys's spies had uncovered, the queen couldn't help but gulp. "My sweet girl.." She turned to Larys. "Thank you for letting me know."

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Dragonstone

After the wedding, there was no bedding ceremony. As much as daemon had wanted to bed you, he knew it was not something you wanted yet, still far to scared of your duties as wife. Only you two would know that secret, to anyone else you had consummated.

You had avoided daemon after that night, trying your hardest to not speak to him, or to avoid his presence altogether. Having never been close with him beforehand, you didn’t know what to talk to him about. If you weren’t being a wife, what else should you be doing? You did not know.

The small folk and the fishermen looked up in confusion as you passed them, it wasnt a usual occurrence that a Targaryen princess such as yourself, walked along the dusty beach of dragonstone, in a fancy dress no less. You had wanted to clear your mind, you told yourself. But subconsciously, it might have had something to do with the sightings of a dragon near the beach the past few days.

Daemon had assigned a personal guard to you, to keep you safe. If the guard reported back to him on your doings, you did not know. But if he did, it wasn’t obvious. “Princess, maybe we should turn back.” Ser Steffon spoke, gulping as he hears the screams of terror as a dragon is sighted flying towards the beach.

“If you want to return, you are welcome to do so Ser. I am staying.” Claiming a dragon wasnt the first thing that crossed your mind, you simply wanted to stay at the beach. And unlike the small folk, you were not terrified of dragons. But yet as the dragon flew over you, and the thought of claiming it did cross your mind, a small tingle of terror did run over your spine before you shook it off. You are a targaryen, this is your birthright. You tell yourself. Don’t be scared of what is owed to you.

You speed up to the flat lands where you saw the dragon land. You hadn’t seen what dragon it was, you had only hoped it was seasmoke, or any other dragon that wasn’t as scary, in your mind, as the wild ones.

After Aemond claimed vhagar, you were left the only Targaryen without a mount. It broke your heart when your dragon didn’t hatch in OldTown. Now that you had this opportunity in front of you, you weren’t gonna let it go to waste.

Ser Steffon, however scared, did not turn away, and instead followed you. Ofcourse his pleadings to turn back never stopped, and neither did his murmurs: “Prince Daemon is going to kill me.”

Now that you have the dragon in your full sight, you can finally see which one it is. You audibly gulp. “grey ghost.”, you whisper to yourself. It just had to be a wild dragon didn’t it?

You don’t let it deter you, slowly stepping closer. you were never taught High Valyrian in OldTown, you had only started learning with Rhaenyra when you first came to dragonstone. You hadn’t progressed far, so you tried your hardest to remember dragon commands. Lykirī, dohaerās, sōvēs, you recited over and over in your head as you stopped in front of Grey Ghost. He is a beautiful pale grey-white dragon, and if the stories were true, he blended in beautifully with the clouds.

It made sense that he was near the beach these past few days, according to the stories you had heard, Grey Ghost preferred fish.

“Beautiful”, you mumble to yourself, you were mesmerised.

“Princess! Please get away from that beast!”

You clench your jaw, “Dragons are not beasts, Ser Steffon, they are beautiful creatures. If you do not wish to be here, you are free to leave!” You yell at him over the wind.

You take small steps towards Grey Ghost, and he growls at you. “Lykirī, Grey Ghost, Dohaerās!”

You chant those two words over and over towards him, your hand held out as you step closer to his head. This is it, you think, this is the part where i get burned alive.

Eventually you step so close, your hand lands on his snout. “Kostilus” you whisper, please.

Grey Ghost turns his head away. You move towards the length of his body, praying to the seven you won’t get burned, or eaten.

You hear Ser Steffon running away, probably to fetch Daemon, or other guards. You dont know why, if this is when Grey Ghost decides to kill you, nobody would be able to stop it.

You slowly climb up, somewhat clumsily seeing as Grey Ghost has no saddle for you to climb up on, and you’re wearing a dress instead of the usual riding wear.

As you manoeuvre yourself on top, you settle down and let out a sigh of relief, It doesnt last long because you’re forced to lean forward and grab onto something, anything, as grey ghost moves. “Lykirī, Grey Ghost, sōvēs.”

With that, Grey Ghost takes off. Once in the sky, its hard for you to not panic. Not only is Grey Ghost very fast and very excited, you are also flying at a great height without a saddle, or reigns to hold onto.

You hear a loud roar and suddenly a red dragon flies beside you, caraxes. A smile blossoms onto your face as you follow the length of the blood wyrms body til your eyes land on your husband.

Daemon smiles at you, as he leans back in his saddle and spreads his arm wide. You’d do the same, but you are nowhere near as skilled at riding a dragon as he is.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Dragonstone —— DragonMont

Your feet touch the ground as you dismount Grey Ghost. You spent an hour in the sky, flying around with Daemon, before he led you to the dragonmont.

In the sky it was fun, but you knew that now you’re on the ground, you were in for a scolding. And as you approach Daemon, the stern look on his face proves you right.

He meets you halfway, stands impossibly close to you, puts his hand on your waist to lock you in and places his head right beside yours. “Do you know how reckless and dangerous that was?”

You sigh, but dont say anything to excuse yourself, because nothing will excuse it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you happy now? Did you get what you so desperately needed? you were even willing to risk your own life for it.”

You say nothing, you dont move and you dont speak, you only avert your eyes downwards. Daemon notices and pulls back slightly. He puts his fingers under your chin and forces you to make eye contact with him again. He leans slightly forward, and presses his forehead against yours for nothing more of a nanosecond before pulling away again and walking off, leaving you standing there.

Part 3, anyone?

explore post, masterlist

please comment & reblog if you enjoyed. <3

© mrscarpenter, 2025

[astra-ravana]

Stolas' Ritual Of Arcane Wisdom

A sacred rite to invoke the guidance of Prince Stolas, the demon of knowledge, herbalism, astrology, and hidden wisdom. This ritual strengthens your connection to nature magick, herbal lore, and astrology under the guidance of Stolas, offering profound insight and spiritual growth.

Needed:

• Owl or crow feather

• Howlite

• Star anise

• Sapphire or lapis lazuli

• Blue, silver, or dark purple candle

• Frankincense and myrrh incense

• A bowl of soil or dried herbs

• A celestial map, tarot deck, or astrology book

• Black or dark blue cloth

• A written question or intention related to your studies on a small piece of paper with Stolas' sigil on the other side.

Instructions:

Preparation - Cleanse your space using the incense or by sprinkling salt water around the ritual area. Lay the black or dark blue cloth on your altar or workspace. Place the candle in the center, surrounded by the howlite, sapphire (or lapis lazuli), and star anise. Set the bowl of soil or dried herbs nearby, along with your celestial map or astrology book. Position the owl or crow feather beside the candle as a representation of Stolas.

Invocation - Light the candle and the incense. Hold the owl/crow feather in one hand and the howlite in the other. Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and visualize a celestial owl with piercing eyes descending from the night sky. Chant,

"Stolas, Prince of wisdom vast,

Guide my mind and make knowledge last.

By feather, stone, and starry light,

Teach me your secrets deep as night.

By herb and crystal, earth and sky,

Open my mind, let wisdom fly!"

Pause, listening for any sensations, whispers, or impressions.

Request for Knowledge - Hold the piece of paper with your question or intention. Pass it over the candle flame (carefully) or place it on the altar. Say,

"Prince Stolas, I seek your ancient lore,

In herbs, in crystals, in stars evermore.

Grant me wisdom, let my sight expand,

Teach me the secrets of nature’s hand."

Place the paper beneath the bowl of soil or dried herbs, symbolizing its planting in the realm of knowledge.

Absorbing the Wisdom - Pick up the howlite and hold it to your forehead (Third Eye Chakra). Visualize cosmic energy and nature’s wisdom flowing into your mind. Meditate on any insights, messages, or images you receive. If you feel called, use your astrology book, tarot deck, or scry into the candle flame to receive further guidance.

Closing - Thank Stolas for his presence and guidance,

"Prince of wisdom, I honor thee,

For the knowledge you have given me.

I walk the path with open sight,

Under stars and wisdom’s light."

Extinguish the candle, letting the smoke carry your gratitude. Keep the howlite as a talisman of wisdom, placing it under your pillow or on your altar. Bury the burned or written petition in soil (outdoors if possible) to allow the knowledge to take root and grow.

After the Ritual:

• Keep a journal of dreams, insights, or synchronicities in the coming days.

• Study herbs, crystals, and astrology with renewed focus, as Stolas may subtly guide you.

• Repeat the ritual whenever you feel the need to deepen your knowledge.

[aggresivemenace]

Primarchs Who Are a Beautiful Mess in Bed

1. Mortarion

As already said, Mortarion is naturally sensitive - painfully so. Every touch is ecstasy to him, every brush of skin a storm in his quiet, restrained world. What makes it all the more intense is the fact that you are his first. Before you, he had never known the pleasures of the flesh.

In your arms, the grim and fearsome Primarch unravels - becoming something else entirely. A trembling, gasping youth with snow-white hair and a voice that quivers with need. He moans softly into your neck, utterly undone by your warmth, your kindness, your hands.

"Look at you…so tender in my arms," you murmur, brushing his damp hair from his face. "You can barely breathe, my love…"

He whimpers at your words, overwhelmed, helpless beneath your gentle touch - a beautiful, breathless mess clinging to you as if you were the only real thing left in a world long choked with poison and sorrow.

2. Leman Russ

At first, he is like a wild beast - a wolf claiming the she who belongs to him by right. His movements are rough, primal, driven by instinct and flame. You feel his hunger in every kiss, every grip of his powerful hands.

But then… something shifts. As he nears the peak of pleasure, the fierce wolf gives way to something softer - something startlingly vulnerable. A whining, whimpering pup emerges in his place.

Overwhelmed by the scents, the sounds, the sensations pouring from you, Leman loses himself completely. The growls are replaced by gasps and deep, open moans; his hands tighten around your body, not with dominance, but with desperate, breathless adoration. He clings to you like a drowning man to warmth - like a creature who has finally found home.

"Oh, Leman… my love, my beautiful wolf," you whisper, your voice trembling with affection.

He breathes heavily against the back of your neck, sometimes instinctively nipping at your nape, like a creature too full of need to hold back.

3. Perturabo

Intimacy never came easy to him. Beneath his cold precision and stoic command lies a fragile self-worth, worn thin by decades of being overlooked, underestimated, used. He strives for perfection in all things - and that includes you, and everything he does with you behind closed doors.

There is uncertainty in him, masterfully masked by iron pride and a sharp tongue. But when he stands naked before you - not as the Lord of Iron, but as a man - the cracks begin to show, if only faintly. He tries to hide them. Tries to stay composed.

But once your bodies join, the mask shatters. Sit astride his hips, ride him slowly, then faster — let your hands cradle his face as you move. Look into his eyes. Tell him how good he is. How much you love him. How his body, his cock, the way he touches you - it all drives you wild.

The moment is too much for him. That unbearable tenderness, the praise, the eye contact - it breaks him. Perturabo, who never bends, starts to whimper from a mix of pleasure and sweet, unbearable shame.

By morning, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors can barely tear himself away from you. He clings like a man starved for softness and finally allowed to taste it.

4. Lorgar Aurelian

There’s one thing Lorgar can scarcely admit even to himself: he absolutely adores sex. The Emperor gave him a burning, insatiable libido, and faith became one of the ways he tried to smother such “sinful” desire.

So when he’s with you, when you lie together in the quiet dark, every shared touch becomes something sacred - a reward, a holy rite, a private absolution.

"Light of my life," you whisper, straddling him, moving slowly as he lies beneath you - barely coherent, undone by sheer pleasure.

"My Lo…"

And at that, his eyes roll back in bliss - body shivering, soul unspooling - as he reaches his peak with a gasp that sounds like prayer.

5. Sanguinius

Sanguinius is a deeply tender creature - though over time, he learned to bury that tenderness, to lock it away beneath poise and grace. But with his beloved wife, he hides nothing.

Your intimacy is always preceded by long games of touch and tease, flirtation and whispered affections. Sanguinius becomes like a courting bird - full of beauty and pride, desperate to be pleasing. He wants to delight you, to earn every sigh and moan, to make you feel worshipped.

But it never takes long before that careful composure begins to slip. His eyes flutter shut, soft moans fall from his lips, and his thrusts grow desperate and erratic. The Great Angel gives himself to you completely - lost in the rhythm of your bodies, undone by the power you hold as a beautiful, sensual woman.

"Oh, Sanguinius! My little bird," you gasp, holding his neck close, your breath trembling against his skin.

6. Fulgrim

Fulgrim was made for beauty - he has known this since childhood. He strives for perfection in all things: in word, in gesture, in the way he kisses you. But this obsession with excellence also makes him fragile. To be perfect is to fear failure. Especially in bed. Especially before you.

Every act of love with him is a performance. He enters it with grace and intensity, like stepping onto a stage, hoping for applause. He wants to dazzle you, to conquer you, to be the one who steals your breath. He flirts, he touches, he acts out passion - but what he truly craves is not praise, but love.

And then you're together. His movements are precise, beautiful - for a time. But the longer you stay with him, the more the rhythm breaks down. His breath quickens, sweat beads on his brow, and his silken hair sticks to his neck. You whisper how beautiful he is. How you love him. How good he feels inside you.

"Oh, my star, my muse…please…more," he whispers, nearly sobbing from pleasure and unbearable bliss. His hips tremble, hands clutching at the sheets. He is no longer a lord, no longer a Primarch, but a man, shivering under your gaze.

With you, in your bed, Fulgrim forgets about perfection. He simply gives himself over - body and soul - trusting them into the hands of the woman he loves.

By morning, he buries his face in your chest, unable to pull away. Even Fulgrim, the epitome of beauty, is helpless before the power of your touch.

[salemisha]

a song of pearl and waves.

the reasoning of why the velaryons would be black in my dr, would have some sort of logic to it instead of "woke" brownie points like the show (and yet still somehow managed to treat the black actors like shit and give them bad wigs and reducing baela and rhaena screentime instead of making them more complex but lemme stop lol) would have an actual magical significance.

the sea caste in my dr are indigenous to the valyrian peninsula just as the fire caste (dragonlords) are. but unlike the fire caste with their pale skin and paler hair, and various shades of purple colored eyes, the sea caste is dark skinned. why? they were sea marked. sea blessed. by nature. it is not a passive force in my world.

they are unmistakably sea-born, their beauty shaped not by fire or sun, but by salt, tide, and ancestral magic. they come in all shades of brown, from the richest dark skin to the palest brown — black, but diverse. some are deep-skinned like storm-washed stone, others have light brown skin that gleams almost golden in sunlight. a rare few are so pale-brown as to appear nearly silver-gilded, especially under moonlight. no matter the shade, their skin always carries a watery sheen, like something blessed — or marked — by the sea.

their hair is silver or silver-white, often with subtle iridescence. in some, it appears like sea-silk, glimmering faintly with green or pearl under certain light; in others, it cascades in tight curls or long, weightless waves — flowing like water even when dry. it’s common for sea caste to wear it adorned with shells, coral beads, or tide-threads given during rites of passage.

its also why more often than not despite also being flame kissed, im mistaken for being entirely sea caste. entirely due to my dark skin. the only glimpse one would have of the other half of my lineage would be my eye color. a stark purple instead of the tide colors that sea caste usually adorn.

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter ten: i'm gonna stay faithful to the devil i know

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your full moon rite sparks some unexpected confessions.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking, piv sex, rough sex, name calling, public sex, exhibitionism, mild choking, brat taming, dumbification, reader is in heat, sex in a cemetery, eddie is a tease, marriage mention, sex pact, demonic rituals, love confessions, animal death mention, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

It doesn’t take you long to find a rickety motel in the middle of rip-roaring Cleary, across the river from Eastwick. You don’t imagine you’ll stay long enough to warrant another rental house or apartment, but you don’t want to think about what you’ll do when this is all over. You didn’t stop to collect anything besides a change of clothes after your apartment went up in flames; you hopped out the bedroom window and took off in your car, trying not to focus on how the fire never burned you, or how Eddie kissed your hand before disappearing into the flames. 

The motel is backed up by trees, trees, and more trees. It’s a sprawling campus with two two-storey buildings, and a bungalow of a few cottages. The check in desk is inside a small reconstructionist Victorian-style house that doubles as a tavern on the weekends. 

Thankfully, it’s not the weekend. 

You stalk up the stairs of the second building, careful not to be heard by other guests. The motel still uses physical room keys; yours boasts a tag that reads 237. You slip mostly quietly into your room, and shut the door before leaning heavily against it. Checking in took more confidence than you have at the moment. You weren’t sure if the clerk could still see blood in your hair or your skin, smell the smoke on the clothes you’d quickly snatched from your dresser before the flames could touch them.

You’d washed off by pulling over and jumping into the river on your way out of town. The water was fucking freezing, and now instead of blood you have river water in your hair. Go figure. 

You walk forward and collapse onto the motel bed. The box spring squeaks, the A/C unit clatters as it turns on, and you flop over to stare at the asbestos popcorn on the ceiling. 

You laugh. You got out of everything easily; being attacked by Andy, your shithole apartment burning to a crisp, and (god forbid) skinny dipping in the Eastwick river. Eddie’s mark still burns on your wrist, under the sleeve of your sweater.

You don’t have anything now, aside from your car and the clothes on your back, and the money in your wallet. The police are stupid enough that they’ll assume you’re dead. You’re sure that if the complaints about gunshots aren’t enough to convince them, the blood on the walls that hasn’t been boiled away by the fire will. 

Dante emerges from the shadows, barks happily once and hops onto the bed to settle beside you. He doesn’t have blood on him anymore, thank god– you don’t know what you’d do if you had to leave the motel with random bloodstains all over the white linens. 

And the darkness forms into the shape of your lover, who sinks onto the bed beside you and stares down at you with the darkest, most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen in this life or the last. Eddie’s cheeks flush the prettiest carnation pink to match his lips when you reach up and trace them with your fingers. You lift yourself up to settle into his lap, all smiles as you wrap the demon around your little finger and catch his bottom lip between your teeth. 

And you… you’re alive, and you can do anything that you want.

Whispers in the dark. Footfalls behind rotted trees, scuffs of earth that haven’t actually been stirred. It can’t entirely be in your mind. The crossroads is a volatile place at night, and even worse when the moon is full.

You asked a very confused motel clerk where the nearest crossroads she knew of was– she directed you to something in the center of town. That wouldn’t work, of course. You could only imagine Eddie throwing you down in the middle of an intersection and fucking you halfway to Sunday in front of the entire town.

You’re sure he’d love to do that, too.

You sighed and just ended up asking Eddie if he could tell you where the closest one was. If he’s a crossroads demon, it only stands to reason that he’d have a spidey-sense for that sort of thing.

There’s one about a hundred yards into the trees behind the motel. Take your time.

Of course, he isn’t there when you arrive. You don’t know why he’s drawing things out, while your body is breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of him. Considering you fucked again last night, after you got to the motel, managing not to blow the place up this time, you would think that you’d gotten your fill. 

But no, your body is still going insane with fever and lust, like it just can’t sit still without him there. The moon hangs overhead, bright white in the sky. There’s the littlest peek of it through the tree cover, but it’s enough to let you know that you have the right time, and you’re certainly in the right place. Your body knows that it’s in a more liminal place, now.

You tear at your clothes. You throw your shirt over your head so that your bare chest can hit some sort of fresh air and, theoretically, find some relief. You yank your pants off roughly and toss them into the bushes. All it does is cause another form of stimulation– the cool night air on the dampness of your skin, paired with the burning realization that you’re undressing in public. 

Sort of. You’re the only one here. Or, at least, the only living person. 

You’re not… nervous. Per se. You just don’t know what to expect out of a full moon rite. Will the ground split open and swallow you? Is it just gonna be a normal fuck with your demon boyfriend? Are you going to be able to walk afterwards?

“Probably not.” 

Eddie. His presence pulses, screaming at you from across the clearing. Two paths cross in the center of it, creating an X on the ground where he stands, like he’s dead on a target. 

“Look at you, getting started without me.” He chuckles. “And here I thought I was excited.”

The rabid animal in your chest leaps for him, and you follow it, like everything that you’ve felt and done for him up to this point has been preamble. Eddie’s arms come around you like they’re meant to be there, and you want them to be. Forever and ever and ever, until the meek inherit the earth and the sea swallows the land, et cetera. 

Until the only thing left in the universe are your intertwined souls.

Your kiss is brutal, bordering on desperate rather than sweet. Eddie giggles into it– you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing that soft, manic giggle, or feeling it on your lips as you kiss him. 

Eddie is too sweet for Hell and too chaotic for Heaven. You’re not sure how to reconcile it. At the end of it all, you don’t really see how spending eternity with him could ever be a bad thing. You don’t see why you wouldn’t give him your soul, again and again. 

Eddie’s hands cradle your face, stroking strands of hair away from it while his eyes glow warm and inviting. “Did you get everything you wanted, sweetheart?” he asks, his fingers toying with a little strand beside your ear, curling it tightly around his fingertip before letting it slip free. 

You think about it. In total, roughly two weeks have passed since you first signed over your soul to Eddie, and so far you have everything to show for it. You had your promotion, you got your car, a new dog. You killed your shitty ex and now you have a real reason to get the hell out of dodge. 

It doesn’t seem like it makes sense. It doesn’t seem like a happy ending, but it is. It’s the happiest ending in the world for you, because you don’t have to stay in Eastwick with all the stones being thrown and taunts being yelled in your direction. And you’re in love with him.

You fell for the demon you sold your soul to, in a grand fucking total of two weeks and counting. And if that doesn’t scream irony, you don’t know what does.

“I did,” you say, nodding between his hands. You suck in a deep breath, smelling his smoke and the warmth of his body, and it makes your chest ache. “You’re what I want, Eddie. I love you so much.”

Eddie stops, blinking his fiery eyes at you. “What– what’d you just say?”

“I said I love you,” you repeat. You’re not taking it back. Not now. And you don’t have the ability to feel embarrassed about it, either. “I love you, baby. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before–”

“That’s because you’re in heat, baby,” Eddie insists, anxiously stroking your hair again like he’s trying to self-soothe. “Your body’s just gearing up for the rite, it’s not– you’re not in love with me–”

“Yes. I. Am.” You shoot him a caustic glare, balling your fists against his shoulders. “You can read my mind, right? You must know, Eddie. I think I started falling in love with you the minute you showed up with that stupid smirk and I– I fell for you, and I don’t care about the deal or heat or fucking rites, I just want you.”

Shushing you, he pets your head with a gentle hand. He sounds pained when he says, “I’ve loved you since Lacey brought me your petition.”

You freeze at that. “Lacey?”

Eddie nods. 

“My… my dog?” You can’t wrap your head around it. Your blood is pounding in your ears, adrenaline making your hands vibrate as they grasp at him. Your dog– your sweet little girl who you thought was simply gone forever– is still protecting you, still pulling strings to give you a happy ending? “Lacey brought my–?”

“She chose me,” he tells you honestly. “She chose me for you. Because… she knew I was meant to be yours. And I am. I am yours. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

You’re nodding, excitedly, but you also smother him in a kiss before he can continue. You’ll have him forever, and ever, and even longer after that. Your need and your love both stretch on for eternity, and Eddie won’t say no to it. He’s kind of selfish that way.

He takes your wrist, and raises it to kiss the mark of his name on your skin. His eyes meet yours, and the mark burns, glowing orange and bright like it’s just been placed there. 

“Eddie, what–? ” You whimper, your grip tightening on Eddie’s shoulder, but he just cradles you against him, soothing his lips over the mark on your skin until it stops burning, seconds later.

“Have to start the ritual, baby,” he says, and winks at you. “Doesn’t count if we just fuck like idiots without clocking in, y’know.” 

His hands on you are wretched as sin, kneading at you like he’s just trying to memorize your body. You make a soft noise in your throat, letting your head fall to his shoulder with a huff of breath. Your eyes feel heavy as you breathe in his scent– his smoke, his fumes. They surround you, shrouding you in comfort and warmth, safety in the unforgiving cold and empty night.

“I’d do it without the ritual,” you hear yourself murmuring into his shoulder, your lips grazing across his tattered denim vest and up onto his neck. There’s a pulse beneath his skin, something that feels so human that it makes your own heart tremble in your chest. You can’t seem to stop yourself from talking, now. “I’d fuck you anywhere. All the time. I just fucking want you…”

“I know,” he chuckles, his hand cradling the back of your neck. “So let’s have some fun, yeah?”

You nod. You expect him to lower you down onto the ground, something like last night but with dead leaves and dirt all over you instead of blood. But instead, he just presses a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then he swats your ass so hard that it makes you gasp.

“C’mon baby,” he whispers into your ear, his eyes and touch burning hot. “I know a spot.”

And with a blink, Eddie disappears, leaving you alone in the crossroads. 

“Wait, what–”

A noise in the bushes makes you startle, and then something pushes you from behind, urging you into the trees. You yelp, and then a voice in your ear says, Trust me.

Stumbling, naked and delirious with lust, you trip and throw your hands against a tree to steady yourself. Darkness clings to the black night around you, just like your mind clings to every sound behind you, alerting you of Eddie’s presence. 

It takes a good amount of you stumbling through the trees, guided by gentle prods at your back and sides, before you start to hear things behind you. You wonder if he’s climbed up into the trees and he’s watching you from above, like some angel of death. 

The ground is uneven and damp from recent rain. There’s no path before or behind you, just infinite trees, looming out of the abyss apathetically. The trees don’t care what you do. They’ve been here, time and time again, and you’re sure that you are the least horrible thing they’ve seen.

In retrospect, you probably should have brought a flashlight. At least you’d be able to see him, wherever the fuck he is. Or where you’re going. You’re moving by the light of the moon in the trees. 

He wouldn’t let you, like… actually eat shit, would he?

Eddie appears close to your shoulder once, just a flash of glowing eyes and a brush of a hand on your bare shoulder, a huff of breath in your ear. Toying with you, letting you know that he’s still there, guiding you in the direction that he wants. You whirl around to grab for him, but he’s already gone, leaving nothing but a giggle and a puff of smoke in his wake. He makes it clear, you can’t catch him; he’ll just appear, whenever and wherever he pleases.

You watch him skulk through the trees up ahead, just wandering as though he has all day. As if you aren’t aching for him and seething with rage at the trees that appear out of the darkness just to get in the way. His eyes are yellow, glowing in the dark like beacons, letting you know exactly where to go. 

He leads you to a cemetery.

The back fence backs up to the trees, bent and mangled from teenagers breaking into it at night to party. Eddie disappears into the shadows, phasing out of existence in your periphery, leaving you alone to duck into the cemetery and weave through the weathered stones.

You can feel Eddie’s breath on your neck, even though your other senses tell you that nothing is there. It ignites every nerve in your body, raises the hairs on your skin. You stumble around a mausoleum, and that’s precisely when a looming shadow figure steps right in front of you. Clawed hands solidify out of the darkness, clad in heavy rings, and grab you by the waist.

“Eddie!” you screech as he materializes in his full form, monstrously large and covered in writhing, living tattoos. Enormous pointed horns and sharp teeth, black bat wings curling around you as he pulls you into him with a grin.

“You know you can’t hide from me,” he purrs at you in his low, demonic voice, and it might come off as disconcerting if you weren’t entirely in love with him. If you didn’t know that his claws will never bring you any pain that you don’t want, and his wings caging you in only serve to protect you, rather than imprison you.

You press in close to his hot chest, smelling his smoke and his aether, near purring, yourself. “Thank God for small favors.”

Eddie laughs, dragging his hand up to cradle the back of your skull. He bends down and kisses you sweetly, in a way that disarms you. So much more tender than you expected, savoring and long. He gives a deep sigh, and looks down at you with his beautifully glowing eyes, swirling with lava and ash, warm and near doting. “Much more romantic, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you scoff, glancing around at the lonely tombstones in the darkness. “Real inviting spot you picked, honey.”

“I knew you’d like it,” he murmurs. And then sharper, when a mischievous grin crosses his face.

And he grabs you by the hips and spins you around to throw you down across the steps of a mausoleum.

“What– Eddie?!” Your stomach hits granite, your hands slapping against the hard, cold stone beneath you. Your knees brush the edge of a step and you squeak at the shock of the temperature, but something long and thin like rope wraps around your thigh and yanks you back towards him, spreading your thighs and making you collapse forward, your torso bumping the stone. 

You yelp. “Do you have a tail?”  

“Surprise, surprise,” Eddie murmurs into your ear. Then he drops the seductive tone to add, “Kinda cool, isn’t it?” 

You find yourself giggling, pushing backward to press into his warm chest. He’s so big in his true form– hulking, like all of his bones have to grow in order to accommodate the amount of power he emanates. He crowds you, hovering over your bent body on the steps. “I fucking love it.”

“I know you do,” he hums. His tail, still wrapped around your thigh, pulls your leg until your knees widen. A quiet gasp leaves you when his hand, large and weaponized with sharp claws, cups your sticky cunt. “Think I can’t tell how much you fuckin’ love this? You were just made to be my whore, weren’t you?”

His teeth scrape your shoulder as he rubs your pussy, his whole hand rocking between your legs and kicking up a lewd squelch into the air. You choke, arching your back and wiggling your hips further toward his. 

“Please, Ed– fuck!” He replaces his hand with his cock, and the moan you make is pornographic. Your breasts scrape against the stone underneath you, your nipples hard from the cold and the rough texture of it. The chill is fading, slowly being warmed by your body and his, practically burning hot in comparison to it. 

His cock glides teasingly through your folds, making you keen softly; the sound still echoes, bouncing off the granite and into the cavernous mausoleum, louder than hell. Straight ahead is an abyss full of the dead. 

Eddie pauses. “You know, it occurs to me that this is technically our wedding night– I mean, right?” 

“Oh, nevermind about that,” you huff, wiggling your hips back against him. He’s right there, and you’re so fucking wound up that you can’t bring yourself to have a goddamn conversation at a time like this. “Just– dammit, Eddie, fuck me already.”

“No, I mean, really,” he muses, still not moving. You groan. “Like, if we got married on the dark moon, then isn’t this technically the consummation? I mean I know we already fucked and everything last night–”

You growl and jam your hips back against his. “Eddie, shut the fuck–”

His clawed hand clamps down over your mouth. You squeak, and then roll your eyes as he continues, “Prepare for the first day of the rest of your life. That’s how it goes, right? Or– no, wait. That’s not for weddings…”

You slam your hands down on the granite, roaring as hard as you can against his hand while you writhe back against him, trying to get the words that are running around in your brain across without saying them. The empty mausoleum creates an echo chamber that throws the sound of your roar back at you. 

Eddie obviously gets the message, because he chuckles and pinches your cheeks between his fingers. His claws press into your skin as he tuts, “You want to fuck me so bad you’re gonna throw a tantrum about it? Really?”  

You whimper, shaking your head slightly but still trying to force back against him. His tail yanks your legs further apart, making you lose your little bit of balance and slip back down against the granite again. 

“Oh no no, baby, that won’t do,” Eddie coos, sounding so saccharine sweet, but you don’t think there’s anything sweet about what he’s thinking. “Look around. You’re in my house now, and I get all night to fuck that attitude out of you. Consider this a courtesy.” 

And then he all but slams his cock into you in one go, throwing you forward across the steps with a wail that could scare all the ghosts back into their graves. He doesn’t give you time to adjust– just starts fucking into you with abandon, letting you scratch at the granite beneath you while you scream from the overstimulation. 

You’re so sensitive after having gone a full day in heat, even though he’d given you everything you wanted and more last night. He’d been so gentle and giving, made love to you slowly and passionately on the cheap mattress in your motel room, careful to make sure you didn’t burn that place down. 

There’s nothing of the sweet and slow of last night when he weaves his fingers into your hair and yanks your head back by the roots, growling, “Say, ‘Thank you, Eddie.’”

“Thank you, Ed– FUCK!” You moan obscenely loud, arching your back as your eyes nearly cross. His brutal pace is too much all at once, making you go slack, literally fucking you dumb. 

You can’t think. You drop your head onto the granite step beneath you and just let him use your body, because nothing in heaven or on earth will ever feel as good as it. 

In Hell, maybe. 

“That’s it,” Eddie snarls at you, with the sound of skin on skin filling the air as punctuation. “Little brat always telling me to shut up– how’s it feel when I do it to you, huh?”  

He strokes over something inside you that makes you lose all train of thought. Fire burns inside you, your voice cracking as you moan, rutting back against him to get him to hit there again–

And Eddie snatches you by the hips and lifts you until your back is entirely against him as he pounds into you. Manhandling you until you can’t move or kick, you just have to stay and take it. 

“Stay down, like a good fucking girl,” he spits, his fangs scraping your shoulderblade as he bends over you. Your hand wraps around the edge of one of the steps, nails scratching audibly against it.

His balls slap your clit from each angle, and a moan dies with a squeak in your throat when he hits your g spot again, making you contort and writhe despite his hold. Eddie hisses behind you, feeling you tighten on his cock, his breath breaking across your skin in waves of warmth.

“Right there, sweetheart?” The snicker in his voice is infuriating. You’d snap at him if you weren’t unable to speak from the way that he fucks into you again with the same fluid motion, making stars burst behind your eyelids. His breath hitches, an audible groan in his throat when he says, “Love all those little noises you make when you’re getting fucked dumb. I could do this for ages, baby, you have no idea–” 

“Oh fuck, please, Eddie–” You’re so wet, the sound of the slickness of it nearly echoes in the cavern of the mausoleum. Your face burns, your body breaking out into a sweat.

“Mmm, what is it?” Eddie’s clawed hand comes up to wrap around your throat, completely eclipsing it and pulling you to him. “What more do you need, huh?”

It’s like the minute he finds the pace and angle that has you mindless, he focuses all his energy on it. You feel like you’re melting, your body turning into that same lava he embodies and molding with his own. Spinning and swirling until you’ve fused together and nothing can separate you.

You let out a noisy whine. “N-need– I need to cu– hmm–”

Eddie croons, “Yeah? Little witch needs to cum? Gone all day without it, you just have to cum so soon?”  

Your eyes nearly roll back into your skull when his wings slam down on either side of you, cracking the stone steps you lean on with the force. He uses his free hand to stroke down your tummy, over your pelvis to where the lips of your pussy part around his cock. Eddie parts his fingers, gliding them around the seam of your cunt to feel the way that he pumps in and out of you, your body stretching to make room for him. 

“You think you deserve it?” He whispers threateningly, beginning a torturous back and forth with his fingers, avoiding your clit entirely. You don’t think you can stand much more teasing– everything in you is wound up tight and ready to snap, your toes curling hard as your muscles flex in warning.

“Yes– yes, Eddie, for the love of fu–” You get cut off because Eddie squeezes your throat a little bit, making your sentence die with a moan.

“Just do one thing for me,” he rasps, sounding wretched and beautiful and so close to losing it, himself. 

“Anything, I’ll do anything–”

The push and pull is intoxicating. You feel ecstasy vibrating in your limbs, removing any other thought or sensation from you until all you can focus on is him. Eddie, your demon, the one who was made for you and the one who was fated to be brought to you. 

“Say that you love me again,” Eddie says, a gentle waver in his voice that makes your breath hitch and your heart race. “Tell me again, I want to hear it.”

You were always going to end up here. It just so happens that you came together sooner, rather than later. 

“I love you,” you whisper back, and it feels like your entire body will burst with the intensity of it. And he kisses your shoulder once, just enough for you to know that he heard you. Enough for you to know that in spite of his teasing and his mind games, this is the truth.

“I love you so much,” Eddie tells you as his breath ghosts your ear, lighting a fire beneath your skin. And his fingers drift up to your clit.

When you cum, it’s with a cry that resounds in the cavernous chamber of the mausoleum and bounces back out into the hazy night. He grips your hips hard and fucks you through it. You feel lazy, sated, unable to move or speak or do anything other than take everything he gives you with weak whimpers that sound so much louder to your ears than they actually are. 

Eddie growls and fills you, until you drip with him and the evidence of what you did here; the first of many full moons to come.

He cradles you there on the mausoleum steps, giving you sweet kisses as your body stills and lowers into a thick, post-orgasmic lull. You curl into his warmth, naked in the pale moonlight and shivering a bit from the early autumn chill.

“Hey, you know…” Eddie says after a moment, pulling you from the soft refrain of your thoughts, “I wasn’t entirely kidding about this being… my house. I guess.”

“You live in a fuckin’ mausoleum?” You slur tiredly, your head lolling to the side to look up at him.

“What? No, not the—” he sighs. “We’re, ah. Technically in the Otherworld right now.”

“Oh.” You blink up at him, watching the way the embers in his eyes swirl and glow bright orange. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, a bit of a half laugh that lets you know he’s embarrassed. As embarrassed as a demon can be, more or less. “It’s kind of where stories of the Witches’ Sabbath come from. Certain rituals… when the demon is present… they take place in the Otherworld.”

“And what does that mean?” You whisper up at him with a conspiratory grin.

“Just look.” Eddie gently tilts your head up, prodding you to look out across the cemetery. And you gasp.

Spirits. Ghosts and ghouls and the like. They mingle among the stones, the above ground tombs, the trees. A bonfire in the distance– the near distance, just in the treeline– shows you another rite happening. Another sabbath. 

There are more witches in Eastwick than you thought.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, sitting up in Eddie’s arms. Mist hangs in the air, getting thicker the more your presence within the realm solidifies. Everything is eerie, foggy like it’s happening in a dream. 

“A lot more fun than your standard crossroads,” he muses. “Am I right?”

You glance back at Eddie, all scars and horns and sharp teeth, but looking no less beautiful than he always does. You’ve chosen the prettiest of all the demons, you’re sure of it.

Or, is it that he chose you? Or… weren’t you chosen for each other?

A little figure materializes in the darkness, galloping toward you on tiny legs that don’t seem to touch the ground. The smoky figure of the Dachshund shifts in and out of focus– she’s getting the hang of manifestation, slowly but surely. It’ll take more work, but she’ll get there.

“Lacey?” you whisper, bending forward to let the little figure sniff your hand. She doesn’t need to, though. She barrels toward your hand and bonks into it at full force, her smoky head dissipating for a second with her excitement. Despite how much you wish you could pet her, you giggle, and it sounds echoey and strange in the liminal atmosphere. “Oh my gosh, I missed you so much.” 

“She missed you, too,” Eddie says fondly, twirling a lock of hair at the base of your neck around one of his clawed fingers. “She might have to wait a little bit until she can hang with you in your realm, but as long as you’re here…”

He trails off, watching as Lacey yaps and happily runs back and forth in front of your legs, excited to see you again.

“Well, it’s only appropriate, considering who brought us together,” Eddie concludes, chuckling a little when she tries to jump on your legs and still passes right through them. “Lacey, she isn’t from this realm. You won’t be able to cuddle just yet. Aww– she’ll get there. She’s a smart one.”

You turn to gaze at him, teary-eyed and lovestruck in spite of your surroundings. “What do we do now?” You ask him shyly, in a whisper, as if you’re afraid that one of the spirits will hear you and take exception. As if you didn’t already fuck nasty right in front of them.

Eddie smiles, and the embers in his eyes explode into picture perfect fires. Roaring with love and affection. “Whatever you want, baby.”

There’s a rhythmic drumbeat from within the trees, where the witches dance around the fire with their respective demons– just as you always imagined a stereotypical witch’s Sabbath might look like, if old accounts from ye olden days held any merit. You tug Eddie by the arms, leading him toward the bonfire, the drums mimicking the rhythmic thump of your own heart. Lacey excitedly zips around your ankles, passing directly through them in her haste on occasion.

You dance.

And you dance.

And you fuck on the tomb of some guy named Roland, whose stands off to the side as a ghost, glaring at you the whole time. You don’t care at all. You’re looking at Eddie the whole time, anyways.

He’s everything you could have wanted and more.

[emeraldisleslainte]

Hey everyone! Not gune lie..I’m really very scared to be writing this 😂 I’m not an OG reader & only finished silver flames in Jan after being introduced to ACOTAR last year! So firstly…I’m sorry & I cannot imagine the sheer torture you have all had to endure waiting these long years! Fair fucks to all of you for being so patient! I hope for all of you & me (even though I’ve not had to wait as long as you guys!) that the announcement is in May!

So anyway…as a normal reader that has no fucking idea about the other books/ series & was just genuinely delighted to have found the azriel BC thought tumblr……I’ve never been more shocked in my life than when I saw the fan fics about gwyn/azriel & evil theories about Elain 😂 truely shocked & really made me question everything I thought I read / the characters haha

But had on heart I really think people are so caught up in not wanting to see 3 sisters & 3 brothers together, that they’ve let that cloud their judgement. I really don’t get how people couldn’t want Elain & Azriel to be together…I truely believe that out of all the couples (including feysand) they have the most to bring to each other & the most beautiful love story to unfold.

The narrative between the two has been building since he spoke to elain about the song of wind & showed her the garden - all things he didn’t have to do. He didn’t have to bother with her at this stage. But no. Azriel…not her mate…was the one who was able to put a name to what she was going through… A SEER. I honestly think people underestimate how impossibly beautiful it is to have someone put a name or some sort of explanation to what you’re going through.l when you’re struggling. Azriel did that for Elain ie. No Elain you’re not crazy or insane, you’re a seer. So powerful. Everyone else didn’t bother to understand, and that’s the point. Even on a friend level. Lucien may have described her as beautiful & tugged on a rib etc but even on the basic level did he try to understand or figure out what was happening with Elain? No. And genuinely, I know it wasnt on purpose etc but the point is, the one person who went & did anything about Elain’s behaviour was azriel. No one asked him too. No one pushed. Even Elain herself felt so consumed with her loss of human life & visions, that she didn’t bother to figure it out. But azriel. Azriel did. Because he felt something for Elain.

And then it progressed and progressed and progressed, until we got the BC. And my god I was floored. Hand on heart I think Elain and azriel will be the most beautiful story of them all. I think they’ll defy norms, challenge expectations, grow each other’s power & share a bond so strong that it’ll be legendary in Phrythian. And I think they’ll suprise us all in the bedroom 😂

I don’t wana get into ships cuz I don’t know the books as well as others. But in my mind, it says it all that azriel didnt rush into the blood rite to save gwyn, or anyone else. He just left them to it. And untimely that is not what a mate does based on my readings of all the books. They fight, and they risk everything. Just like azriel did rescuing Elain.

Anyway these are my immediate thoughts & I’m sorry if it offends anyone/ I’ve got anything wrong! But honestly, after seeing the unexpected fanfics, I needed to vent. I never thought after my reading of the book & the BC that there was anyone else for azriel apart from Elain, and despite the bond, no one else for Elain apart from azriel. The beauty of life & death, the contrast of dark & light, the importance of choice, the story of a lonely boy in darkness falling in love with a girl that shines like the sun….Everything he was deprived of. Both quiet & underestimated, both listeners, both noticing each others feelings without having to speak, both beautiful but only open emotionally with each other?! Not to mention the possibility that they will defy others to be together!

I just don’t know how anyone couldn’t want them to be together 😔 so yeh safe say that I will be devastated if azriel & Elain don’t end up together! Thanks everyone for the fanfics etc it’s been so great to see!

[phoenixrisingastro]

DEGREE 5: THE SACRED SEVERING

“Initiation Requires Isolation: Exile, Occultation, and the Divine Fracture”

Throne of Fire – Fifth Degree of Light

You must leave before you are crowned.

You must be cut before you are called.

You must vanish before you’re seen.

This is the law of initiation.

Not the law of man—but of the cosmos.

And all who defy it—fail.

The Doctrine of Sacred Severing

The Sacred Severing is the first divine punishment reserved only for those marked by fate. It arrives in disguise:

As abandonment

As rejection

As betrayal

As silence from the gods themselves.

But in truth, it is surgical. It is the cosmic scalpel of Saturn, the hand of Binah on the Tree of Life—

cutting you off from the world,

so that your spine may grow divine.

You are not being broken.

You are being excised from your lower self.

You are not being ignored.

You are being hidden in plain sight—occulted—like the Sun during an eclipse.

In astrology, this is Neptune in the 12th. Pluto in the 1st. Saturn transiting the IC. Uranus squaring your Moon.

In Kabbalah, it is Tzimtzum—the sacred contraction of Light to make space for form.

In freemasonry, it is the Veil between chambers.

In the myth of Horus, it is the Eye removed.

In Luciferian rites, it is the Black Flame burning alone in the dark.

In real life—it is when nobody calls.

It is when you move to a new city and feel forgotten.

It is when your dreams stop working and your rituals stop speaking.

It is when you ask the universe for a sign and hear back nothing but bone.

Exile Is Not Punishment. It’s Proof.

Those who are not chosen are never exiled.

They are allowed to stay amongst the herd.

But you? You are too dangerous for the world in your unrefined form.

You are too sacred to be loved too soon.

You are too raw to be touched by anyone who doesn’t bow.

So you are sent away.

Like Moses cast into the Nile.

Like Yeshua into the wilderness.

Like Inanna into the Underworld.

Like Prometheus bound to the rock.

Like YOU—left with nothing but your chart, your name, and your pain.

This is Occultation.

A term whispered in Islamic mysticism and gnostic grimoires.

The idea that the most powerful force must disappear before it returns—transfigured.

The Astrology of Sacred Severing

Let’s speak in our sacred tongue now:

Saturn in the 12th House: You were exiled by your own subconscious. No one could help you—because you were never meant to be helped.

Pluto square the IC: The roots of your soul were burned. You had to start from ash.

North Node in the 12th or 8th: Your destiny required you to be emptied of ego before you could be filled with fire.

Chiron in the 1st or 12th: Your entire identity was built around a wound. And to heal it, the universe kept reopening it.

Jupiter Retrograde: You had to carry your own gospel in silence. No help was coming. You were the prophet and the sacrifice.

These placements are not "hard."

They are holy.

They are the markings of those who were chosen to suffer early so they could speak later.

The Freemasonic Trial: Crossing the Threshold

In esoteric Freemasonry, the initiate must knock three times.

Not on a door—but on the threshold of their own madness.

They are blindfolded, led into darkness, and told NOTHING.

The Master does not speak until the silence is complete.

Only then is the Eye opened.

Only then is the Light shown.

In your life, this appeared as:

Spiritual betrayal

Energetic silence

False prophets

Starvation of validation

The death of all your former identities

This was required.

The old “you” would’ve never survived initiation.

So the universe had to strip you of every disguise.

From Isolation to Apotheosis

This is the part nobody talks about.

The Divine Fracture leads to Divine Fusion.

Once you are cut—once you have bled and wept and walked the desert of your own silence—

the gods begin to speak.

They show up in the form of hidden knowledge.

They whisper through synchronicities that only you understand.

They teach you things that no book can.

You begin to download rituals, spells, invocations, and signs like code.

This is Apotheosis.

The ancient concept of rising to godhood through suffering.

It’s Prometheus reborn. It’s Lucifer carrying Light. It’s YOU—becoming myth.

And So...

If you are alone,

If your magic has dried up,

If your chart looks like a battleground and your mind feels like a warzone...

You are not broken. You are becoming.

This is your Sacred Severing.

And only those marked by fate are permitted to walk it.

Prepare yourself.

The Temple awaits.

© PhoenixRisingAstro. All Rights Reserved. 2025.

Do not plagiarize, reword, or water this down. This is a sacred transmission.

[mya-valentine]

Hi! And Happy Lantern Rite!

So there is a lot i wanted for these characters: I would like to request a Diluc, Razor, Xiao, Kazuha, Cyno, Al Haitham, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Freminet, Lyney, Kinich, Ororon, Dainsleif x reader (seperate (Ik this is a lot 🥲)) a headcanon of them what it would be like if they were in Disney movies (basically Disney Princes) you can make parts of this to make it easier and take a break part 1 - Diluc, Razor, Xiao, Kazuha part 2 - Cyno, Al Haitham, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Neuvillette part 3 - Wriothesley, Freminet, Lyney part 4 - Kinich, Ororon, Dainsleif

Have a nice day and Happy Lunar New Year!

Headcanon: If They Were in a Disney Movie

A/N: I'm sooooo sorry this took so long and a very happy super delayed lantern rite to you as well.😅 I was actually thinking of doing something like this anyways (I'm a HUGE Disney fan) but couldn't really figure it out, so thank you for this.😁 Hopefully you enjoy this.🩷 ALSO, do you want Wanderer or Scaramouche or both?

Diluc – The Dark Prince of a Fallen Kingdom (Beauty and the Beast/Sleeping Beauty Hybrid)

A dark fantasy romance similar to Beauty and the Beast mixed with Sleeping Beauty, where Diluc plays a brooding yet noble prince fighting against the curse placed on his kingdom.

Diluc was once a beloved prince, known for his warm heart and unwavering sense of justice. However, after his father, the king, was betrayed and assassinated, Diluc turned cold and distant. Consumed by grief and a thirst for vengeance, he abandoned the throne and disappeared into the depths of his family's grand but now abandoned castle. Rumors spread that a curse had befallen him—one that made his soul as fiery as the flames that once protected his home.

The kingdom fell into despair, overtaken by darkness, while Diluc became an elusive, near-mythical figure. The heroine stumbles upon his castle, seeking shelter or answers. At first, Diluc is cold and distant, but as they spend time together, she begins to see past his bitterness.

Wounded by betrayal, he carries a heavy burden of guilt and self-doubt. He isolates himself, believing he failed his father and kingdom.

Despite his cold demeanor, he secretly cares deeply. He feeds birds in the garden at night, fixes broken items around the castle, and ensures the heroine is safe, even if he won’t admit it.

The heroine teaches him that he is not defined by his past, and he eventually finds the strength to fight for his kingdom again.

In the final act, he rises from his exile, wielding a sword imbued with flames, leading a resistance against the tyrant who took over his homeland.

Razor – The Wild Prince of the Forest (Tarzan / The Jungle Book Hybrid)

A Tarzan-inspired story where Razor, raised by wolves, must choose between his primal world and the human civilization that threatens it.

Razor was abandoned as a baby deep within a vast, enchanted forest. Raised by a pack of mystical wolves, he grew up learning their ways, speaking their language, and understanding the balance of nature. He is the unofficial "Prince of the Wild," guarding the forest from outsiders who seek to exploit its magic.

When the heroine—an adventurous noblewoman or explorer—enters the forest in search of a rumored lost city, she encounters Razor. Their worlds collide as she introduces him to human customs, and he, in turn, teaches her the beauty of the wild.

Razor is fiercely protective of those he loves. He doesn’t trust humans easily but will fight for those who prove themselves.

He is fascinated by the outside world, especially the concept of family and home, yet fears losing his identity.

When greedy hunters threaten the forest, Razor must decide whether to stay hidden or fight back.

In the end, he blends both worlds—becoming the bridge between nature and humanity.

Xiao – The Cursed Guardian of the Mountains (Mulan /Hunchback of Notre Dame Hybrid)

A Mulan-inspired tale with elements of Hunchback of Notre Dame, where Xiao is a guardian cursed to protect his land forever.

Once a noble warrior blessed by the gods, Xiao was tasked with defending a sacred mountain kingdom. However, after a great war, he was cursed to wander the land as an immortal guardian, bound by duty and unable to rest. Many fear him, calling him a vengeful spirit or demon, though he is simply a lonely protector.

The heroine, a warrior or pilgrim seeking knowledge, meets Xiao after unknowingly trespassing on his domain. Though he initially warns her away, fate continues to intertwine their paths, and she learns the truth behind his sorrow.

Xiao acts distant and formal, but his concern for others is immense. He watches over villages from afar and eliminates threats in silence.

He carries guilt from a past battle, believing he is unworthy of peace.

He struggles with emotions, unused to kindness or attachment. The heroine's presence challenges his beliefs.

By learning to forgive himself, he finally lifts the burden of his immortality, choosing to protect his people not out of duty but love.

Kazuha – The Wandering Prince of the Sea (Pocahontas/Moana Hybrid)

A Pocahontas-esque story with elements of Moana, where Kazuha is a prince without a kingdom, forever sailing the seas in search of a new home.

Kazuha was once the heir to a peaceful island nation, but after a terrible storm and political betrayal, his people were forced to flee. Now a wandering prince, he sails the endless seas, searching for a new land where his people can live freely.

One day, he encounters the heroine, a curious and adventurous young woman who longs to see the world beyond her shores. Drawn to his poetic nature and the sorrow in his eyes, she joins him on his journey, learning the beauty and hardships of a life adrift.

Kazuha sees beauty in everything, writing poetry about the wind, the waves, and the stars.

He carries the weight of his lost home but refuses to let bitterness take root.

No storm can break his spirit—he adapts, survives, and continues to hope.

In the end, he realizes home is not a place but the people he loves, choosing to settle with the heroine and his people in a newfound land.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Pairing: Softish Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn Note: It is/will be mentioned Tav is a draconic sorcerer

Rating: Explicit 18+ [Slow Burn]

Setting: Post End-Game Please note: Written before epilogues were added, so may not be congruent with that content

Warnings [more will be added] - expect mature content/read at your own risk.

Blood drinking. Sexual Themes/Tension. Slow Burn. Eventual Explicit Smut. Pining. Suicidal Thoughts. Biting. Violence.

Small Notes:

I am not well-versed in DnD 5e and it's rules as it pertains to this world, so although I'm going to try and keep it as accurate as possible, some aspects may not align or may be completely made up for story reasons.

Mentioned of in-game content that I've made resolve a certain way for this Tav.

Fabricated camp events.

Tav is named in later chapters (15 +), will have her own backstory, which we may explore eventually.

Details of Tav's appearance have been made up, but I've tried to keep details to a minimum so you can imagine your own Tav.

Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy!

Big thank you to everyone who reads and/or comments/follows/likes/reblogs - it truly does make my day to know you're finding some enjoyment in my story :)

Chapter 1: Lost Between Night and Dawn

Chapter 2: Reunion

Chapter 3: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 4: Little Lamb

Chapter 5: Rebellion

Chapter 6: Dancing with Darkness

Chapter 7: Rogue Desire

Chapter 8: Free Fall

Chapter 9: Beneath the Veil

Chapter 10: Soulbound

Chapter 11: 'Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 12: Catharsis

Chapter 13: The Fallacy of Power

Chapter 14: Devil's Ploy

Chapter 15: Reclamation

Chapter 16: Riddles

Chapter 17: Unearthed

Chapter 18: Unleashed

Chapter 19: Hark Thy Plea

Chapter 20: I Forgive You

Chapter 21: Preparations

Chapter 22: This is Our Sanctuary

Chapter 23: Way Down We Go

Chapter 24: His Hands Hold My Heart & He Won't Let Go Until It's Scarred

Chapter 25: Darkside

Chapter 26: The Edge of Erasure

Chapter 27: Sin and Shadow

Chapter 28: Blurred Lines

Chapter 29: A Lonely Kind of Love

Chapter 30: A Brand, A Tether

Chapter 31: Ice Meets Fire

Chapter 32: Adrift

Chapter 33: A Breath Between Worlds

Chapter 34: If We Are to Be Lost

Chapter 35: Writ in Flame

AO3 [cross-posted]

If you're interested, I also write a spawn Astarion x Tav fic - Shadows of the Past

I also write a much darker fic for named Durge and AA that I post to A03 exclusively. It's dark, gory, and not about fixing AA but about them becoming an evil power couple if you're interested - Lie to Me