#turning vampires without the courts knowledge

[dayurno]

hey! so i read your fic casket fresh and i love it!!! i was just wondering if you could explain the vampire drop and transition thing? it happens multiple times? is it like a monthly thing is kevin basically on his period

BASICALLY ON HIS PERIOD GHNSDFJGSKDF nooo noo ok let me tell you. please bear with me for a second a lot of casket fresh was written from a hospital bed. suspend your disbelief with me ok

the transition is basically just the vampire venom spreading through his body and quite literally killing him a little more every time, with the drops being times where it is circulating at peak capacity. the transition should last at most half a year (it's longer for vampires than for werewolves, and more painful too; there's a reason they're such a small population and kevin is the only vampire in palmetto at the moment of the fic) (though you can guess yourself who is the other vampire still kicking post-riko's death) (it's jean) and it's a very vulnerable time physically and emotionally, which is why it's court-mandated that the vampire's sire stays with them and nurses them through the transition lest they become a danger to humans

andrew stepping in as kevin's sire after riko dies is akin to voluntary work for his community, and actually a really big responsibility. i can't for the life of me remember if i included this, but kevin *was* assigned other handlers before andrew, and it didn't end well because his position of vulnerability made him feel threatened and caged in. kevin actually attacked his last assigned handler, which is why the court allowed him to stay without a sire before andrew stepped in

[lizzyiii]

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

[s0fter-sin]

vampire au where they can only drink the blood type they were before they were turned. other blood has an almost poisonous effect, burning them from within like acid and drinking too much of it can kill them

in the old days, before the knowledge of blood types, it made humans they could feed on absolutely precious. they're kept safe, pampered and doted on; a vampire’s most prized possession

attacking another vampire's human is seen as the highest insult; not only is it a slight against them, it also carries the implication of "i want you to starve"

it's also used as the cruelest of punishments; starving a vampire for months, until they're feral with hunger just for their torturer to throw in a random human, watching them desperately suck down poison, their instincts begging them to keep drinking even as it kills them

ghost is one of the few who survived it; thrown in a pit so deep, he saw stars in the middle of the day, left with nothing but the dried bodies of the humans roba drained without care, others with their throats slit, blood he can't drink spilled out around them

a taunt of the one thing he needs but will never get

but ghost hasn't survived this long just to give up here

he refuses to die in this stinking, rotted pit

ghost is a force of nature as he descends over roba's manor; killing any who wander into his path until the halls run red. until he gets his hands on roba and tells him a secret:

vampires can feed on the blood of any vampire, regardless of blood type

it becomes a legend in vampire high society; if you starve another, you'd best make sure they actually die

otherwise you might end up piled in a dining room, the vampire you left for dead lounging on a throne of corpses with his fangs lodged in your throat

ghost decimates roba's empire, burning it to the ground until no one dares to speak his name in fear of incurring his wrath. it's incredibly taboo for a vampire to feed off another but ghost's too powerful for anyone to challenge him and the other vampires are too scared to try. scared of what he's willing to do, the lengths he'll go to; not that they'll ever admit it

soap is the first human he ever brings to court; delicately bathed in the finest silks and jewels, his throat always bare so he can show off ghost's ownership, his bite framed in lace

he's not like the delicate waifs the other vampires show off; he doesn't cling to his master, demure and submissive. he shows off his teeth as often as any vampire, fully willing to rip out the throats of any who insult him or ghost

a feral master needs a just as feral pet

[imagine-shenanigans]

werewolf soap who was raised in a pack/healthy dynamics etc etc and is very very well versed in wolf life because hes got neices and nephews and he's got cousins who had partners turn... and he discovers freshly turned werewolf reader

maybe a victim of one of the enemies, but werewolves and creatures and such are still largely hidden from the public eye so he scoops reader up and reader imprints on him without realizjng it but Soap just knows. Immediately uses all his knowledge to make it worse, make reader more dependent on him, his poor sweet pup :( Doesn't know anything about the world. No matter he'll teach them :)

And reader KNOWS something is wrong but the wires in their brain from not being helped by a sire and imprinting on Soap are all crossed and mangled in the early stages of their transformation. Most wolves nowadays are born into it, because it takes a signifcant effort to turn someone (not just a bite in this case. I'm imagining like. exchange of blood of varying amounts but typically a couple cups worth at least bc lycanthropy tends to be blood-bound like vampirism) so his poor baby is just so confused and distraught, all sickly and needy and confused :(

He's more than happy to help of course, and poor reader KNOWS that Soap isn't being normal about it, some gut instinct says this can't be right, and he's way too into this, but they also didn't know werewolves were real until like. a week ago when some douchebag kidnapped them.

So reader is trying to be understanding but can't because they're also feverish and the longer the month goes on the worse it gets as they get closer to becoming an actual werewolf.

By the time reader has any inclination that Soap has been treating them like a mate, not even courting, jsut straight into it, it's FAR too late for them, his metaphorical and literal jaws have snapped around their neck and he's never letting them go.

and if we're throwing a lil ghoap x reader into it, ghost as a vampire or some other creature who also knows jack shit abt werewolves other than Johnny (who is a bad example and has also been taking advantage of his ignorance to press Ghost's boundaries until Ghost asserts dominance. Soap swears one day he'll win, even if it means losing. Ghost thinks it's cute but narrows his eyes at Johnny anyway.)

And Soap is using this cute, disoriented civillian who he's got on him at all times to brush right past Ghost's boundaries because rhwy were ALL given the order to keep an eye on them. So Soap just walks up to Ghost and tucks reader into his arms with a blanket wrapped around them and presses reader's nose to Ghost's pulse point so they'll get used to his scent. Says soemthing about training recruits, and Ghost thinks its awfully cute the way reader sniffs so curiously like a new puppy at him, memorizing his scent. Thinks the smug way Soap looks when Ghost lets reader sleep on his chest is cute too, but instead of coddling Soap like he does reader a bit, Ghost wants to make Soap beg for forgiveness, the man grinding up into the sole of his boot desperately.

Ghost just snorts and says "Pushing it, MacTavish." and continues to let reader sleep on his chest, aware only that Soap is up to soemthing but hasn't quite figured out what yet. (He's not up to that chapter in the book about werewolves he's been reading, but Ghost decides he'll put in extra time later.)

Meanwhile poor reader who is literally in constant pain/feeling sick/etc is now undergoing a significantly more painful process of imprinting on TWO people, and the poor wires in their brain are so jumbled they'll never escape (which is what Soap wants)

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Epilogue)

summary: a year after their confrontation with the corrupted lords, a fleeting thought crosses astarion's mind as he watches you admiring the crack of dawn.

rating: E

word count: 4.5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: 18+. time skip, fluff (in my angsty fanfic? its more likely than you think!), emotional smut. full list on ao3

a/n: gods, what a ride! this was my very first long fic, and im very happy with how it turned out, considering i had NO idea how this would end up when i first started it! this ending was one of three, based on the poll yall have taken on the second chapter. i hope it lives up to your expectations and im looking forward to all the feedback! this is not my only work, if you wanna be tagged on my other works, feel free to let me know and ill add you to the tag list. thank you all for sticking along! <3

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You're part of the dawn where the light comes from the dark

You're a part of the morning and everything matters

And we are, an atom and a star

You're a part of the movement and everything matters

-

It has been a year since your transformation. A year since you officially died and came back as Astarion’s dark consort; his bride, his eternal love. Since the incident with the corrupted nobles, you’ve only grown stronger, as much as a vampire – and he couldn’t be more proud of you – than as a couple.

Your return among his court was gradual. You were reluctant at first: the lingering fear from the dreadful soiree you experienced still affected you, so Astarion let you watch from the shadows; he would never force you to do something you didn't want to. It's only after two more months that you asked if you could attend, and only if you could stay by his side; your social anxiety wouldn't let you be alone in a room with so many strangers without feeling as if you were asphyxiated. He was beyond thrilled by your request, as he wanted nothing more than to introduce the whole world to his beloved.

It took some more time, but you found yourself joining in on discussions with lords about the state of the city and its economic state. Your teachings were buried deep in your memory, but you retained the most important parts of them, using those to show your knowledge and bring forward ideas to save the city from its downfall following the mindflayer attack. To your surprise, you found yourself right at your place within the high society; it was in your blood after all, and what was the point of running from it when you were clearly a natural? You found out that it was never your title that you dreaded, but rather the association to your parents and contributing to their schemes — something you were glad to not be a part of anymore.

The change was almost seamless: one day you were attached to Astarion's arm, never leaving his side, and the next, you were strolling through the crowd, knowing everyone's name, their occupation, and how influential they were. While Astarion was able to persuade more nobles to ally with him, you’ve been very successful at swaying people to your advantage, using your charms and wits to redirect power from the right people for the good of the city; together, you’re considered the strongest couple in Baldur’s Gate.

You proved yourself countless times, and he was always delighted to present you as his partner.

His equal.

After yet another successful night of dancing and socialising, one where you had convinced a neighbouring lord to fund an orphanage for the children who had lost their parents in the attack, you met up with your lover in your chambers to celebrate the news. In truth, everything you accomplished was a great reason to celebrate.

To see you act with the might of a Lady, smart and witty, and use every tool you had to your advantage made him swoon over you, and one of the best ways to express it was to worship you in bed, spending hours and hours devoting himself to you.

It’s something you thought you would struggle with — the intimacy after the violence you had endured — but you found yourself easily melting in his embrace once you were back at the palace. Just like that first night you spent together and he had let you guide that dance; upon your return, he let you take control until you were the one asking for him to take you however and wherever he wanted, how you grew to crave his touch, the look in his eyes when a sinful thought was shared across your connection, and the faint blush you could spy on cheeks and ears as he painted his vision of you via your bond. The endless teasing throughout the evening sure made the meetings more interesting, and less dreadful, if you had to admit it.

After a great season of events, Astarion cancelled all his meetings for the next tenday to devote his attention to you, and you only. No one was to disturb either of you unless they had a death wish.

And the night of that last meeting, any restraints had broken down, when you almost threw yourself at each other as soon as your last visitor had left the palace. It started out in the hallways, but you were quickly brought into his room to have the privacy you required. You spent the remainder of the night in bed, switching from making love to cuddling, until you were back to straddle him for more; unable to leave the other’s side or even spend a second without your bodies touching.

He kissed each and every part of your body, showing his devotion to you in such a delicate manner that turned you to putty in his hands, embracing away any pain your body had gone through. This past year, he had been the most attentive lover; always in the moment with you, making sure that your eyes met as his hips collided with yours, sharing the same breath that united you both, body and soul. As your bodies fused and you both came undone, you could sense the love, the utter adoration he had for you. Both of you grounded the other and reminded each other that you were not the result of your past; only you chose what to make of it.

There was no one else in the world who could understand you better than each other.

It’s only when you noticed dawn approaching as you nuzzled into his chest, that you realised how long you had been indulging in the other. You chuckled and commented on how you both could use some sleep, since if one of you was tired, the other would be too, and really, how impractical it would be to have you both incapacitated at once.

He took a look at you as he lazily caressed your hair and that’s when he was reminded of the one thing that had been on his mind these last few months. The one thing he dreaded, but couldn’t avoid anymore.

“There is a way, you know…” he said, his voice soft. “To sever the bond. Between creator and consort.” He pauses as you lift your head, frowning as you meet his gaze, and for a second he doubts if he should carry on, but quickly pushes the doubts aside; you deserved to know. To have a chance to decide for yourself, without any ultimatum.

“It is mostly painless,” he continued, “You would remain as you are, a full fledged vampire, but we wouldn’t share our connection anymore; no more mental discussion, no more shared sensations.” You looked at him with a thousand questions in your eyes, as this was the last thing you expected this morning. “I am willing to go through the procedure for you, should you desire it.”

You remained silent through your blinking, until you finally found the words that fought to get out. “You would… really do that?”

This proposition felt so unlike the Astarion who once had you chained up in his dungeons, something that he had agreed had been, and you quote, ‘impolite’, since you last spoke about it. He didn’t regret it — you wouldn’t be in his arms otherwise — but he supposed there could’ve been a better way to talk to you at the reunion.

“As much as I want to keep you all to myself, I can’t bring myself to keep you bound to me after what you’ve been through. It… wouldn’t be fair for me to make that decision for you. I want you to have the chance to make the choice yourself.”

You scanned his expression, and although you saw the sincerity, you also sensed grief. Breaking your bond would sever any type of connection between you both. A part of you would die along with it, and you would lose the possibility of lingering in each other's mind. Even though you understood his intentions, it didn’t make sense for him to propose this when he finally had you to himself. Against your best judgement, you peeked into his mind, searching for an explanation, and what you found completely shattered you.

By offering this to you, Astarion understood that there was a chance you might just… leave. With nothing holding you back, linking you to him, he thought you had no reason to stay. That the sole reason keeping you here was this bond, and even with how close you had become, how much you had grown together in your relationship, how utterly in love you were — in that moment, under all the false confidence, you saw right through him; he was convinced that once the bond was broken, you would leave. Run away from this mess that had been life at his side, and find someone who truly deserved you, saw you for your worth. That you could only degrade yourself if you stayed after what he had put you through. He didn’t believe for a second that you would continue to put up with this life if you had the choice, and yet, here he was proposing it to you, offering you this way out.

You gave him a soft smile, a reassuring one that you hoped carried the intention you had.

“I… would like that.” He nodded, understanding that this was a possibility, and he hoped you would take this opportunity, if only for your own sake, but it didn't hurt any less. “But I do have a condition.”

He smiled sadly, his features softening at hearing you bargaining, a bittersweet reminder of how all of this started. “Anything for you, my dear.”

It’s the warmth of the sun’s embrace that stirs Astarion awake this morning. Gods, he will never tire of it. If only for this reason, his ascension was well worth it, and no one will ever convince him otherwise.

You let your minds connect, telling him your request through your bond, and when you saw the light sparkle in his ruby eyes and his face light up, you knew there was nothing in the world he would like more.

-

That, and seeing his reflection again. He's lost count of the times he spent admiring himself; pausing at every mirror he had meticulously installed around the palace, stealing glances at his reflection, and lingering at the colour of his deep ruby eyes. Those same eyes that had sealed the fate of so many unfortunate souls; these deadly, beautiful weapons, that keep helping him charm the right people. How he went two hundred years without enjoying the sight of himself has him completely astounded. Needless to say, this was an issue no more, and long gone were the days of misery; Nearly two years later, he had everything he ever wanted, at long last.

Everything, and yet his most prized possession remained this little human fighter turned bride.

Really, the only person he ever truly wanted, that he ever loved, even. A feeling that had felt most foreign once upon a time. He never thought he could experience such a strong emotion, something that was forbidden to him just over three years ago — something he would’ve considered a weakness — turned into his greatest strength. A feeling that overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn’t restrain himself from physically expressing it; taking his dark consort in every room, every surface of the palace, until they were both panting, eyes half-lidded and lost in one another. That same feeling that would now have him chanting out her name all night long as he devoted himself to her; her body, her pleasure, her desire for him. How utterly blessed he was to have her just as enamoured for him as he was for her.

As he finally awakens from his reverie, he quickly picks up on the empty spot next to him. Curious, he thinks, she was never the early bird. When he lifts himself on his elbows, that's when he sees her on his balcony, and he takes the time to admire her; his consort, his love, still by his side through it all, blessed by the rising sun’s warmth. It took over a year more after their engagement, as Astarion couldn’t believe her decision to stay, but he finally got over the fear of losing her. After everything that had happened, and the opportunity she was given, she chose to stay and have a life with him. After everything, she still loved him just as deeply, and that day at the altar, she promised to spend the rest of her undead life showing him just how much she did love him.

Content with the sight of her, he finally gets up to join her on the balcony, without bothering to dress up. He sneaks up on her, snuggling her from behind, his hands wrapping around her waist, while he leaves playful kisses along her neck and shoulder to greet her.

“Mmmh, hello my treasure,” he murmurs in the crook of her neck. “Can’t sleep?”

“I was just admiring the sun,” she hums. “It’s funny, I never really bothered to appreciate it until I thought I could never be under its light,” she takes a deep breath as she closes her eyes, taking in the warmth she was basking in. “I never quite realised how beautiful this world is.”

She sighs in his embrace, but it's almost a moan, as she pushes back against him for more contact, “I didn’t think I would disturb you from your precious beauty sleep.”

He can hear her smile through her mumbling, and he smiles in return, “It’s your sleep I’m rather worried about dear.” His kisses linger on her neck, over the bite marks he birthed upon her skin an eternity ago. “And I think you should join me back in bed to remedy it.”

She laughs, “I’m not sure your idea of rest coincides with mine,” she turns around to face him and rests her hands on his bare chest. “Actually, I rather believe you will wear me out more than anything.”

He smirks as he presses her against the edge of the balcony, lifting her nightgown up before propping her up to rest atop it, guiding her legs to wrap around him. “Do you really think so little of me? That I would drag you to bed only to satisfy my carnal desires?”

“Well,” she rolls her eyes as she smiles, “you haven’t given me a reason that proves you would do otherwise.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her, and in the same movement, he wraps his arms around her waist and leans into the nape of her neck, resuming his sweet attention. When his smile widens, he feels the creases in his cheeks, depicting the countless moments of happiness she brought him since she has blessed him with her company.

“I assure you, my love, my intentions were most pure,” he purrs.

She tilts her head aside, offering him more liberties with her neck. “Were they now? Well, if you say so, then I’m sure I can trust you to carry me to bed where I shall resume my rest.”

“Ah, but I’m afraid the offer has expired. You see,” his finger hooks the string of her nightgown, pulling it down, “now, all I can offer,” he pulls down the other one, revealing your breasts to the morning breeze, “is a morning spent fulfilling our matrimonial duties.” “Matrimonial duties?” She exclaims ironically. “What unholy thoughts have you got in mind, I wonder.”

“I could show you, if you would indulge me,” his kisses over her skin become sloppy, his teeth softly grazing her skin while his tongue leaves a faint trail of saliva from her shoulder up to her ear, playfully nibbling it, while one hand reaches for her breast and the other finds its way in the heat between her legs.

“Ah– Astarion…” Her playful tone is replaced by soft moans as he takes a salacious pleasure in touching her in her most sensitive spots.

“What’s that, dear?” His fingers slide against her folds, not yet daring to dip further.

She groans, “You are incorrigible.”

“And yet, I don’t hear you asking me to stop,” he pinches her nipple between his fingers with the hand massaging her generous chest, while his other hand brushes over her clit, lingering near her entrance but intentionally avoiding it. As he hears her ragged breath, he pulls away, cutting any contact between the two of them, and languidly sucks on his fingers to taste her wetness, while his gaze focuses on her, before releasing his fingers with a pop. He tilts his head, with a playful look in his eyes, “Unless that’s what you want?”

She looks at him with lust clouding her vision, barely containing herself, “If you intend on teasing me, my lord, I hope you know what you’ve got coming for you.”

He leans back, assessing the vision of his consort completely lost in her need for him, with a salacious smile tugging at his lips, “My, my, is my little love threatening me?”

“Oh no,” her hands sneak into his hair to grab a handful of it before lightly pulling back and leaning into his ear, murmuring, “This is a promise.”

She lets go of his hair, leaving her hands wandering, and when their eyes meet again, they are darkened by their shared passion for each other. His voice comes out deeper, as he closes the distance between them, their lips now but a whisper apart.

“Then I believe I should make haste to tend to your needs, my lady.”

Their lips finally meet into a passionate kiss, the tenderness of it even surprising Astarion — considering the eager tone she had previously used — but he melts into it, pouring all of his longing into the kiss, just as she does when her hands pull back to hold his face closer. He picks her up from the edge of the balcony and carries her back into their room, where he lays her out on their bed and removes her nightgown, slowly unravelling her soft skin to the morning afterglow. The sight of her, bare before him — only for him; with her legs parted and inviting him in, her body bearing only the bite marks he had given her — is enough to break any restraints left in him. He couldn’t bear to tease her longer, he needed her as much as she needed him.

Licking his lips, he kneels at the end of the bed, crawling his way up to his wife. He lifts her leg over his shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses up to the apex of her thighs, until he reaches the centre of his desire. He breathes her in, the scent of her pleasure stirring something deep within him, before his tongue finds its way between her slick folds, where he finally licks her, from the bottom of her entrance right up to her clit.

She moans softly, already lost to the magic of his tongue, and that's when he lifts her thighs over his shoulders, locking her legs around him, and holding them in place to feast on his meal.

His tongue dives into her, reaching into the depth of her cunt and drinking in her nectar, the effects of it visibly affecting him, as his hardened cock throbs between his belly and the soft sheets of the bed. His hips move unconsciously, searching for a temporary relief as he moves his tongue out of her to lick his way back up, where he finds her swollen bud.

While his hand sneaks away from her thighs, into her dripping entrance, his eyes flick up to find her unravelling before him; her head thrown back, and her hands grabbing at the sheets, holding on for dear life.

“Gods, please…” she begs, her breathing failing her, and he smiles between her legs, as he pumps two fingers into her.

With a final flick of his tongue over her clit, he lifts his head up, still hitting that sweet spot inside of her, “Yes, little love?”

“I… I need you— gods, I need you.”

“You have me, my love,” he says, his voice soft like velvet. “All of me, however you wish.”

He knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it. He would never tire of having her melt under his touch, coming apart under him.

“Inside me,” she whimpers as she clenches around his fingers working wonders inside of her. “Now.”

The urgency of her tone was clearly noticeable, but Astarion wants to push her further, “But I am inside you, my dear.”

She lifts herself up on her elbows, her hair completely dishevelled and her chest rising with each deep breath, staring down her husband with a mix of fury and lust. “If you don’t fuck me right this instant— Ahhh ffffuck!”

While she was talking, Astarion went back to teasing her sensitive bud and accelerating the pace of his fingers thrusting in. “Oh, I’ll fuck you alright. By the time I'm done with your delicious cunt, you’ll only see stars, my sweet.”

He could easily make her go over the edge only with his mouth and his fingers; he had done it countless times in the past already, he was well aware of his abilities, but nothing compared to the feeling of her tightening around his cock and milking him dry while he pumped every drop of his seed into her. It was his favourite way to come with her, and he took great pleasure in making her shatter in every way imaginable. They had all the time in the world to discover the many ways she would cum under his touch.

“Mmh ahh— Pleasepleaseplease Astarion, I want to feel you inside of me, I’m begging you—” Her words get lost in her throat, instead replaced by cries as she nears her climax, until—

“Ah,” Astarion pulls away completely, “but how could I deny my lovely wife when she begs so beautifully.”

Her groans turn into small cries as his teasing starts to overwhelm her, and that’s when he drops her legs down on their bed and crawls over her, aligning himself with her swollen pussy, before linking their hands together to pin her down. He leans down and stops right before kissing her, simply to push her to the limits of her patience, and when she hisses at him for being just out of reach, he shoves his cock inside of her, stilling her.

He remains unmoving, always taking his time with his first thrust to take in the feelings of her tight walls, pulsing around him. Astarion rests his forehead on hers, their eyes lost in the other, carrying the words they had learned to communicate aloud after they had broken their bond.

Carrying on with this ritual had pushed them to communicate better and work on their relationship, creating a new type of bond with the other. They had learned to understand the other’s body language so well that sometimes, a simple look was enough to communicate their exact thoughts from across the room.

His fingers dig into the mattress as he tightens his hold on her, and he resumes his languid strokes, “Focus darling. I want to see every little expression you make while I fuck you. Can you do that for me?”

She tries to nod, but his depraved speech only pushes her further and faster to her climax, as she fights to keep her eyes open and focused on him.

When he feels her cunt’s grip thighten around him, he can barely contain himself anymore, “Fuck, just like that, love,” his groans and the wet sound of their hips slapping against each other gets only louder as he accelerates the pace, nearing his own climax, “Gods, you’re so tight around me— I’m gonna fill you up to the brim, and you’re gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

A few more thrusts is all it takes to send her over the edge, screaming out as her climax erupts through her like electricity flowing through her veins, followed quickly by Astarion who stills inside of her, shooting thick ropes of come that leak out from her, into their bedsheets. It was the least of his worries right now — he could always change them later, but they would be ruined in the following hour regardless.

They both remain panting, basking in the bliss of this aftermath, until he takes a look at their hands still intertwined. On her right hand, he spies the sparkling diamond ring adorning her finger, the public display of their unison matching his own, and he brings it to his lips for a brief kiss, before taking the time to admire it, thinking back to how it all started.

“I told you, Lady Ancunín suits you beautifully, my love.”

She smiles sweetly, eyes tired from their lovemaking, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

And he knew she spoke the truth. Their marriage didn't only solidify their relationship, but it protected her from solicitors who might've been tempted to try giving her advances after the news of Virric's death had been propagated, and by taking Astarion's last name, she was free from any remaining links to her family, a name she detached herself from completely years ago already, now legally unbinded.

She didn't even need to explain the extent of her reasoning; the second she proposed, Astarion was on his way to commission matching rings for them. Truth be told, he had wanted to make the proposal himself, but after knowing of her past with Virric, he didn’t dare bring it up first. She did give him the chance to announce the news at their next soiree, and it's the only thing he had spoken about that evening.

They would be Aeterna Amantes. Lovers forever, until the world burns down.

Gods know that he would burn the world down himself if she merely asked — not that she would ever, he knew her better than that — and she was the only one he would ever get on his knees for.

She was the goddess who finally answered his prayers that had gone unanswered all these years ago; the sun that made him feel alive once more; the brightest star that guided him throughout the night; the very reason he decided to live on, and yet, if it came to it, he knew he would die for her.

-

Pars avant l'aube

Quand la lumière veut nous voir

Quelque part dans le monde

Un oiseau s'endort sans bruit

Toi et moi

Dans la nuit on trouvera

Quelque part où déposer

Les fleurs qu'on a cueillies

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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[thoughtsandfiction]

Clocking in for my shift as part of the defence team in this trial:

If the vampire court seeks to establish parity regarding the enforcement of The Great Laws through these proceedings, then we move that the person on trial should be the alleged victim, Monsieur de Lioncourt!

I would remind the court that there is an established precedent in prosecuting violations of the first law. The prosecutor himself, the vampire Santiago, was made without the approval of the coven leader. The blame and punishment lay solely with his maker. We must, therefore, enforce the laws similarly in this case!

It is through Monsieur de Lioncourt that the vampires Louis and Claudia were made in violation of the first law (only a coven master may order the working of the dark gift) and the second law (The Dark Gifts must never be given to the crippled, the maimed, or to children). His reasons for these crimes are not the business of this court. But all other charges brought forth against the vampires Louis and Claudia stem from the carelessness of their maker and his reckless disregard for The Great Laws! This is the original sin! How can we judge these fledgling vampires who were created in a place so far removed from the history and culture that has governed vampires? How can we let the testimony of the man who kept them ignorant condemn them?!

On the charge of violating the 5th law wrt:Lestat de Lioncourt, we seek dismissal on the grounds that no crime has been committed. How could there be? He sits before this court! Are we to persecute vampires for acts of violence committed against each other that don't result in death? Volatile as you are?? It would mean the extinction of the species!

Furthermore, we move to dismiss all charges brought against the vampire Madeleine. The vampires Louis and Claudia received the tacit approval for her turning from the coven leader Armand. Though he did not work the dark gift himself, he had knowledge of their intentions and made no move to use his considerable power to stop them. She has violated no great laws and should be allowed to leave the theatre with her life.

Lastly, we seek extradition. The accused are American vampires. All alleged crimes were committed in New Orleans and should be tried under that jurisdiction. They can not be tried for alleged crimes committed in America by a European coven and certainly are not subject to the rulings of their Maitre.

[punderdome]

Infernal Jurisprudence: Chapter 2

Summary: Raphael keeps a watchful eye on his investments.

Rating: 18+

[AO3]

Chapter 2: The Mirror

Raphael had tasked Korrilla with following the Little Mouse and learning as much about her as possible.  Each day she reported back small pieces of information she learned from following the infected companions.

The Little Mouse's full name was Tavara Aureum, and she originally hailed from Baldur’s Gate.  She worked as a researcher of some kind at the university.   Now that he had better direction on her origins, it would be much simpler to find information about her and her history.  He tasked other warlocks with investigating her by both legal and illegal means.

Raphael paid close attention to how his prized adventurers were doing.  There was some kind of confrontation at the river’s edge with a flock of harpies trying to eat a foolish child.  The cambion preferred to keep informed of the plight of the refugees.  The odds were favorable that many of the adults would be willing to sign contracts to save their children, despite having just been freed from Avernus.  One of the older Tiefling children was a young girl who was thieving from the druids and scheming to run a crime ring.  She seemed of the reasonable type to take the unsavory path into his service, being the very being that sent the foolish child to the harpy nest.

Raphael picked up his scrying mirror and viewed the camp of his band of infected adventurers and observed quietly, looking for information he could use to his benefit.  

The Gith, Lae’zel of creche Kliir, was frustrated by their lack of any progress towards finding a useless Githyanki creche that would certainly only reduce the number of competent members of the little group.  The naive warrior had never known the actual fate of any who had experienced a zaith’isk.

There was the sanctimonious Warlock, son of Duke Ravengard, who wore hypocrisy on his horned head after sparing the Tiefling and then demanding some kind of sympathy for it.  He knew which agreement he signed and the consequences for default.  The least he could do was to stop pouting over his own foolishness.

There was a poorly-concealed Sharran cleric brooding in the camp.  She carried the Astral Prism on her person and smugly demanded complete privacy while also wearing Shar’s sigils on her armor. Shar’s worshippers were supposed to be more subtle than that.  That lesson was something that the cleric apparently had also forgotten.

The vampire spawn was pretending to be a magistrate while also displaying an aptitude for larceny.  The courts in Baldur’s Gate were not quite so corrupt as to demand both of those skill sets.  

The burning Tiefling was generally unproblematic, despite her lack of trust in Infernal beings.  

The former chosen of Mystra, Gale of Waterdeep.   He was much diminished in power but not knowledge, and could be a powerful vessel if tamed for an Infernal purpose.  Should he prove malleable, he could present a stronger Warlock than whatever pitiful pact the ‘Blade of Frontiers’ was offered.

Tavara Aureum.  Draconic ancestry.  Researcher.  Speaks Infernal.

Raphael took out his scrying mirror to check on his investments.  Tavara and the Warlock had managed to talk down a decrepit village full of goblins.  The pathetic little wretches fled from the broken buildings without much fuss after inviting some wrathful threats.  A second group of goblins was keeping their camp up by the windmill, gleefully torturing a Deep Gnome by affixing him to the windmill blades.  The Gnome's screams and calls were sweet and delicious.  Raphael pondered this version of torture for his own dungeons.  Spinning screaming debtors around and around, faster and faster.  He would make sure to save that particular punishment for the debtors with acrophobia.

How many revolutions of the mill would it take before his debtors screams would cause their vocal cords to hemorrhage?  Blood flicking from their lips with each turn of the grindstone.

The ridiculous little band of fools and the sorceress found the dark below the village and the arachnids lurking down in the dark.  Raphael wondered which of them feared spiders and how many of their limbs would appear black from poison.  Those unlucky fools would have fouled and melting flesh while they screamed trapped within the sticky silk of a spider's web.

The matriarch was a fearsome creature, turned by Lloth.  Many of the Archdevils of the Hells had sought out their own spiders for their dungeons.  Giant arachnids made for extremely efficient torture devices and allowed for exquisite punishment of debtors en masse.  Fearful debtors would crush and tear each other to pieces, provided it meant they escaped their own encasement in web and slow desiccation into husks.

It was amusing to watch the mortal band as they battled the giant spider, sticking to the webbing below them as other smaller spiders clicked and danced around them.  Sprays of poison had infected the wizard and Tiefling, leaving them coughing and gasping for breath.  The band of adventurers had so much promise, but Raphael could and would not do all of their work for them.  They would have to regain their powers on their own.

The matriarch bit deeply into the Little Mouse’s shoulder, and the Little Mouse squeaked in agony as the poison spread through her veins.  Raphael found those noises to be less agreeable than he expected.  The spider recoiled in pain as shards of ice shredded her exoskeleton in decisive retribution.

Before long, the little band of fools had slain the matriarch and each of her spiderlings.  The sight of gore, charred web, and splattered hemolymph were all that remained of the beasts in the dark beneath the well.  The dark, dank cavern had fallen silent once more.

The Little Mouse was hunched over in agony from the force of the bite and the poison spreading through her weak mortal form.  One of the other fools thrust a potion of antidote into her hands as the ridiculous Sharran cleric assisted in mending the bite from the spider’s fangs on her shoulder.  Many of the others had also looked weary and in pathetic shape, bearing wounds and scratches of their own or reeling from the aftereffects of spider venom.  Raphael cared little for their wounds but as long as the Little Mouse was healed first, the Sharran could waste her energies on the others as much as she wanted.

Seeing that order had been restored to the cavern, Raphael went back to work.

****

Raphael paced through his study, with several contracts unfinished.  His gaze occasionally went back to the scrying mirror, wanting to see how his investments had fared.  Not well, for some of them but presumably better after forcing healing concoctions down their fragile mortal throats.

The Little Mouse had been bitten by a spider instead of a cat.   Raphael snapped to summon Korrilla.

“I have updated instructions for you,” Raphael informed the trusted Dwarf.  “Continue to surveil Tavara Aureum, but if the sorceress appears in mortal peril, intervene by either eliminating the threats or bringing her back here to the restoration pool as a last resort.”

Korrilla’s face was blank.  “Of course, Master Raphael.”  She snapped and disappeared to resume her duties.  Raphael sat back at his desk to resume his work.  Korrilla was ever the diligent employ, unlike her contemptuous sister.

Raphael continued to work on his schemes but found the sorceress constantly coming into the forefront of his mind.  He occasionally took quick breaks from his contract work to see the Mouse in his scrying mirror, hoping she had cleaned up properly following the spider’s bite.  It would be such a pity for the puncture of fangs to have permanently marred her form.  Even if the bite had left scarring, Raphael could easily fix it for her for a simple price of a peek at the bare flesh.  Tavara had just stepped out of a bath in the river that evening and was barely covered up, rivulets of water still trickling down her arms that glittered like the scales on her cheeks in the setting sun.  He watched the gooseflesh appear on her arms and legs as she shuddered.

The odd little creature appeared so different with her hair disheveled and weighed down with the damp.  She seemed much smaller to him than when she had stood in front of him in the House of Hope and so very soft.  It was a much appreciated change from her defiance and Infernal challenges that she had presented to him at their feast.  How much discipline would it take to tame a Little Mouse?

Tavara was pulling a wooden comb through her curls, the ragged cloth serving as her towel slipped slightly to expose another small area of flesh around her breasts and a patch of scales between them.  Her nimble hands worked diligently over her long hair.  Her nipples were hard from the chill, barely covered by the cloth she had covered herself with.

Raphael watched her for some time.  He pondered where else on her body she had scales.

One Little Mouse in evening light

The sun shines brightly upon each scale

Readies herself for a peaceful night

Sleeping bare under a moonlit pale

Raphael set the mirror down and paced around his study.  He was half-hard and slightly straining in his trousers.  He walked swiftly, trying to burn off the energy and arousal.  He needed to get back to work, but the image of Tavara barely covered was seared into his mind.

The contracts could wait.

Raphael snapped and arrived in the Boudoir in a swirl of embers.  Haarlep was laying on the bed, writhing like a cat atop the red silk sheets.  Their fingers traced seductively over the black leather harness and slipping beneath the straps to stroke their warm skin, trying to lure in their master.

“Master, have you come to play?” Haarlep purred, stretching and arching their back.  They wore the Archduke’s form, but Raphael had no interest in that today.

“Change into the Archduchess,” Raphael ordered, and the incubus complied without complaint.  Haarlep perched neatly on the bed awaiting naughty instruction.  Raphael snapped and his clothing disappeared.  He laid down on his back next to the waiting incubus, his wings splaying over the sheets.

Raphael said nothing else and merely motioned to his cock.  Haarlep took the invitation greedily and lowered their mouth, eagerly taking the Master and licking their forked tongue up and down Raphael’s entire shaft, flicking cheekily at the head and making him groan.

The cambion closed his eyes.  He pictured a soft, wet mortal tongue pleasuring him.  He wanted to fuck into the sorceress’s wanton mouth.  He imagined fucking himself deep into her throat until she was gagging on him as punishment for her disobedience in his dining hall.  Raphael pulled Haarlep’s head further down by their hair until they took him into their throat.  Haarlep let out a frisky, excited moan, nothing like the Little Mouse would have sounded like.  Haarlep seemed to be enjoying the roughness, but Raphael wanted the sorceress to be taking his punishment obediently, so he could reward her with his pleasure.  He pulled Haarlep’s hair harder and thrust quickly into their mouth, trying to get the incubus to elicit the gagging noises of punishment that he expected from the Little Mouse.  Every tug only seemed to make Haarlep more excited.  Raphael twitched slightly, wanting to hear lewd little sounds from the Little Mouse.

The Little Mouse would want mercy, begging for it with her big green eyes.  Raphael was nothing if not humane.  When the Mouse was gagging on him, he would stop and let her please him more gently.  Her gentle mortal mouth would need to be given a gentler punishment or else he would accidentally break her.

Raphael felt Haarlep’s feminine hand wrap around his shaft and give firm, pleasurable pumps.  He opened his eyes and the spell was broken.  Clawed incubus hands.   Haarlep looked up at his gaze, their look filthy and lusting.  Raphael moaned in pleasure again as his incubus took him deeply into their throat.  If he wasn’t being so rough and pulling on her, the Little Mouse would eventually adjust to the depth he found most appealing.  Such an obedient little creature.

Raphael closed his eyes and savored the Little Mouse’s warm, sweet lips around him.  He gripped the sheets in his clawed hand as he felt his orgasm approaching.  Her green eyes were looking up at him, eagerly awaiting his pleasure.  Haarlep hummed gently with his cock deep down their throat, and Raphael felt himself starting to lose control.  She would enjoy it as much as he did.   Haarlep kept a firm, consistent rhythm.  Her desire for him was wound into every thrust of him deep into her mouth.

“Little Mouse,” Raphael grunted as he spilled himself down Haarlep’s throat, drunk on the intense pleasure that her tongue was continuing to coax out of him.   The Little Mouse obediently swallowed all of his seed and cleaned up any excess left on his cock.  Her sweet little tongue licked him gently and rapidly, igniting every nerve near the tip of his cock, and made Raphael’s eyes roll back in his head.

Raphael opened his eyes and saw the incubus grinning up at him.  “Master, you really enjoyed yourself,” they purred.  “Would you like some venom, so we can continue to play?”

Raphael rose from the bed in the Boudoir and snapped again, redressing quickly.  He ignored Haarlep’s pathetic pouting and returned to his study without another word.

He grabbed the scrying mirror and summoned the image of his Little Mouse.  She was sitting by a campfire, completely dressed in a comfortable set of loose pants and a white, linen shirt.  They were both too large for her and hid her form far more than he liked.  Raphael imagined her in an elegant nightdress made of white silk.

Silk.  Soft.  Just like her tongue.

A/N: This fic is definitely going to be significantly smuttier than the sister fic. I'm pretty sure no one thinks that's a problem. Raphael, our favorite Archdevil Supreme, has a Tav surrogate, and he is definitely not going to be constantly using their Archduchess form. I also think it could be fun to explore the other little details from Fine Print like Raphael's reaction to Astarion stealing Tav's panties from her laundry basket, his absolute disdain for Gale, how fucking tired Korrilla is of Tav, and lots of other machinations and schemes that you'll learn about from Tav's perspective later.

[aphrogeneias]

have we talked about how vamp!eddie & his slayer met?? was it irritation at first sight?

i was talking to @intrepidacious about this today! when we talk about vampire!eddie and slayer!reader we can't leave werewolf!steve behind, they have a situation going on

eddie came back to hawkins for steve, and steve was the one who fell first for their slayer. they vaguely knew each other from high school, and when he caught wind of her presence he had to see it for himself. he'd already had a crush on her from a distance, and it only grew after he saw the woman she turned out to be, he was truly infatuated, much to his partner's chagrin

and it's not that eddie was jealous, they had a fair share of shared lovers in the past, but eddie couldn't stand her. so he took it upon himself to taunt her, stalk her during her nightly duties, torment her, try to kill her multiple times (without steve's knowledge, who was desperately trying to court her somehow). what he wasn't expecting was that he started to admire her strenght, how steadfast in her beliefs she was. something he thought he didn't believe in anymore, not since he died for the first time

he ended up falling harder.

[terristre]

Could we perhaps get some info on your OCs? Their designs are so cool and they seem really interesting :)

jidsajidoasjiodas SCREAMS sorry its been like a week im just so happy i needed it to be good

uhh heres a good place to start for lore-grounding! alexander graves is a ghost from the 1500s who now serves in the court of the queen of monsters, notably being the only male member of the high court. hes far from a strong fighter, though his strengths are that as a ghost he cannnot die- and that for a ghost, hes VERY good at pretending to be alive

he has a confident, well-spoken air about him but its not hard to pin him as a more introverted, even shy person under it. the sort of person who would prefer keep their head down and go back to their business quietly, but one who holds the people close to him in an adoring regard. (hes NOT in the high court for his power after all- his value is in his kindness) hes been a diligent seamster since a young age & in-canon most of the clothing designs of characters under the queen can be credited to him lol

marcus deangelo THE BIRD BOY OF ALL TIME is alex's notably more introverted angel son. he tends to take the role of the silly goon/errand boy in the queens court & forms a light-hearted team rocket-esque duo with the plague doctor to take back pandora's box, stolen from the queen & brought to the monster hunters

marcus is an immediately curious character because he fits the high-energy genki archetype like a glove & has nothing but positivity for others- but his philosophy towards his own life & future are absolutely bleak. and the thing to pin about him is, he isnt really all that dumb- its more a mix of lack of worldly knowledge & this ascetic fold of catholicism where Bad Things Happen To Me Because I Somehow Deserve Them so he has LITTLE self-preservation & accepts misfortune without a fight

alexander holds the same self-poisoning principles, but marcus is the only one naive enough to say the quiet parts out loud. its not something the man ever pushed upon his sons but rather something they adopted themselves after seeing it from their role model. congrats to them for inheriting all their fathers positive traits AND his negative traits theyre both adopted btw

YES THIS IS AN INTERGENERATIONAL TRAUMA PLOTLINE anyways marcus talks to animals all the time & it makes other people think he actually has the power to communicate with them but He Does Not. also sometime his misinformed beliefs about the world will coincidentally line up with what europeans thought in medieval times & its like. who told you that buddy. HOMESCHOOLING if i dont know it you dont either LMAO

OUR BAT FRIEND IS THE PLAGUE DOCTOR! appearances can be deceiving my friend shes a recently-turned vampire whose only powers, really, are turning into a bat & burning in sunlight <:3c she refused to swear loyalty to the queen of monsters but couldnt bring herself to return to her old life Now Thats Shes A Monster so shes just kinda been. tossed around the court until she tragically rattled down to The Fuckers Whose Entire Personalities Are Being Catholic

if there is a musical episode the plague doctor is the one who goes WOAH WAIT WHATS GOING ON every day she wakes up & tries SO HARD to understand whats happening around her. shes definitely struggling to keep her miserable life together but despite that her kindness & good humor tend to shine through, most of the others actually quite enjoy her company the problem is shes always like "IM BETRAYING YOU GUYS FIRST CHANCE I GET"

but yeah as mentioned she makes for a good duo with marcus, hes great at fighting & she actually understands human society so together they make One Functional Person when venturing out of monster society lol. curiously for someone who doesnt want to be there, the plague doctor chose to assist in the chase for pandora's box of her own free will

[ladyofspoons]

My kid has informed me she is a fairy. Can you recommend us resources on faedom?

Also she tells me that fairies get "infinity power ups every day" so that sounds nice

cidysgebgkigudhwb ok wow that’s awesome and i’m so happy that you have a wonderful fey child and i’m happy for her to have a wonderful accepting parent. this deserves neither of you but desperately needs both. also, i’m incredibly honored that you would turn to me for this information. that said i don’t have a lot in compiled resources, more just accumulated knowledge, but i will provide you with what i can.

some here are some things every fairy/faerie/fey/etc should know:

first off, you’re gonna want to stay away from iron, especially cold iron. the effect if cold iron on a fairy is akin to silver for werewolves or vampires, so try not to touch it if at all possible.

you also want to make sure that your full, true name is known by as few people as possible, and anyone who has this knowledge about you will be able to control you completely. a true name is a summary of who you are in totality. it may change over time, especially if you choose a new name, but to prevent someone from knowing it, i recommend multiple middle names or aliases.

on the topic of names, powerful enough fey are able to steal the names of others, or trade them (like i do). this works on the principle that for the fey, any exchange, agreement, or gift is a contract. if you say to someone “may i have your name” and they reply with their name, that name is yours now, since you asked for it and they gave it to you. this principle works with anything really, so be fairy careful. the realm of fey is one filled with contracts, the terms of which do not necessarily need to be explained to all parties.

the majority of fairy lore today is based on irish or welsh stories, so knowing some pronunciations for either language is super helpful. for instance ‘sidhe’ is pronounced the same as ‘she’ and often refers to the fey, but technically just means hill.

you’ve probably heard about fairy courts, which are moderately important in determining when and where any given fairy is most powerful, and where they have jurisdiction to act, but unless you want want to get into otherworld politics, you needn’t bother with their inner affairs too much. it’s recommended to ally yourself to one of the two major courts, seelie (whimsical and mischievous) and unseelie (mischievous and vindictive), as well as one of the four seasonal courts (winter, spring, summer, autumn). these might change what abilities you’re proficient with, but again, unless you’re looking for the magical bureaucracy, you don’t need to get too deep. there are also many smaller courts (like mine, the Court of The Evening Star) that hold less power and are typically sustained by individuals to host their own little slice of the feywild and ally themselves with others on a more direct scale, without having to wait for approval from higher powers. of course all of this is entirely optional, you can do whatever you want forever.

ultimately, being a fairy is about indulging in the freedom of whimsy, imagination, and fantasy as a whole, so whatever you find leads you there is probably the right thing for you. make up your own rules and have fun with it

finally, here are some actual written resources:

Tree and Leaf by Tolkien, specifically the section “On Fairy Stories” which is an interesting exploration of the origins of the fantasy and fairy tale genres if nothing else

Dnd monster manuals are always a fun read, and can be helpful if you want more modern examples with specific abilities and lore

Celtic Fairy Tales collected by Joseph Jacobs is a fairly decent collection of some classic stories of the sidhe folk

and if you don’t want to do the reading, i’d at least recommend checking out some of the videos by Overly Sarcastic Productions, links below, for a basic overview of some myths and folklore concerning the fair folk, as well as just being entertaining.

Welsh-Pywll, Prince of Dyved

Scottish-Tam Lin

Irish-Book of Invasions

many origins-Wild Hunt

that's about all i've got, so i hope it is useful information. both you and your child have a place in the Court of The Evening Star if you so desire. be safe, and happy pride month

[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ꒰❀꒱ 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆! 𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒖 ❜࿔ 

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ “ character sheet ’

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur⠀〳 reader⠀ ៸៸ vampire themes ៸៸ blood mention ៸៸ biting, so much biting ៸៸ some violent themes ៸៸ dark fantasy ៸៸ royal aspects ៸៸ victorian esque ៸៸ various other tags  to be listed as the au ensues ❜࿔

꒰❀꒱ please ensure that you have thoroughly read the vampire legendarium before, otherwise, this will be confusing 

  ( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔

purebloods: individuals that were born vampires 

high-rank halfbloods: humans that were turned into vampires by purebloods 

low-rank halfbloods: humans that were turned into vampires by high-rank halfbloods 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ manwë, 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 

the highest standing position of the vampire kingdom, alongside his brother. he is the younger of the two and a pureblood vampire. some time ago, he was considered the kinder of the two. especially with his caring attitude, even growing to hate his own vampiric instincts — but that was all brought to an end after the death of his parents to hunters. the prince began to twist into someone far more sadistic and cruel as the years went on and he convinced himself that it was the only way to survive as his species. much like his brother, he now feeds for the sake of it and enjoys playing mind games on his victims and even developed a worse bloodlust than him. however, this does not mean that he and his brother are on civil terms. manwë is the more strategic type, especially when it comes to the royal court and vampire politics. he believes that vampires should rule from the shadows, unlike his brother’s more active approach. as such, there is an internal conflict within the court. he has developed a sort of abandonment issue due to the loss of his parents.

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ melkor, 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 

as stated, he and his twin hold the highest standing position within the vampire kingdom. he is the older of the two and a pureblood vampire as well. melkor has always been the crueller of the two growing up, having a strong belief that humans should be beneath vampires. this was only enhanced when his parents were killed off by hunters. he is now hellbent on ensuring that the vampire kingdom rises in might and dominates the world, be it of the supernatural or the mundane. his beliefs directly contrast his brother’s, and he actively works against him — the majority of the time without his knowledge. as such, the vampire court is split between the two, with subordinates taking either brother’s side. the conflict between him and his twin only grows when talk of deciding who the new king should be begins to fester. he too feeds for the sake of it and has no mercy towards his victim — often getting high on the smell of fear and bloodlust in general. yet unlike his brother, he can ironically control his better. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ námo, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕 

a high-rank halfblood, and the writer of the legendarium that you read in the previous part. he was once a prestigious scientist of the human world who sought to document the lore of vampires in an effort to stop them — after his younger sister had been killed in an incident with them. unbeknownst to him, that his bloodline is of the isilhini — which drew the attention of vampires. however, his dealing with the creatures of the night is ultimately what led to his turn, along with his brother’s, courtesy of manwë. he now serves the royal court as the head scientist, aiding the vampires in their search for the remaining saplings and fruit of the tree of laurelin, with the use of his isilhini blood that was unfortunately tainted with the vampire virus. he secretly searches for a way to reverse vampirism, so that he and his brother can be cured from this life that he now deems a curse. námo actively works against the royal court and vampires in general, yet he does this in secret; with the aid of his brother. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗  irmo, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓

the younger brother of námo and a high-rank halfblood. he aided in the research and some of the experiments of the vampire legendarium — which is what looped him into this mess in the first place. as a human he served as a well-known, exceptional doctor, with his main goal being to aid the less fortunate and be a helping force wherever he can. after his turn, he was devastated — as it hindered the humanity he once had. irmo is still a doctor and fights with his, now natural, instincts as a vampire. however, it tends to be a challenge for him, at times he cannot help but make his patients his victims; much to his own horror when he eventually snaps out of his bloodlusting state. like his brother, he too actively works against the royal court and vampires in general, aiding námo wherever he can. considering he is still in touch with the human world, the royal court also uses him as a spy. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ eönwë , 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 

a high-rank halfblood who has served the vampire royal bloodline even when he was a human, due to his family being sworn to serve them. at a young age he became manwë’s personal guard and since then has been beyond loyal to him. he has always fought with honour and gave his opponents a quick death out of respect, regardless of who they were. unfortunately, after a particularly bad incident he was left on the verge of death — leaving manwë no choice but to turn him out of desperation. eönwë sees mortality as a blessing and hates what he has become, but he serves the royal family with pride regardless. he still attempts to give his victims a quick death and follow his knightly code, but his vampire instincts outweigh his wants at times. over time, he grows to disapprove of manwë’s change in behaviour and finds him to be cruel. however, he continues to serve him as he has sworn to do. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ mairon, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒂𝒊𝒏

melkor’s personal guard and a high-rank halfblood who was initially a human scientist, one who in fact, outed námo’s research efforts. mairon has always had an obsession with vampires, so much so that he actively sought them out and tried everything in his power to gain their favour — going as far as to even act as their spy in the human world, as he was fascinated with the thought of vampirism. whilst he did aid námo in some of his studies, he was ultimately the one who exposed him to the royals, which led to the turn of the two brothers. as a reward for his efforts, mairon was turned by melkor and now serves the royal court with pride. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ tilion, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑 

a pureblood vampire who presents himself as one of the royal knights, yet is actually the caretaker of the silver tree, telperion; something that only the royals are aware of. he keeps an eye over the vampires of the royal court and ensures that all their actions are postive towards the court. tilion also serves as a spy for the royals, particularly manwë. in doing so, he obtains information on secret orders sent out by melkor that work against his brother’s plans. his silly and comedic personality is quite often an act to throw people off and lead them to underestimate him — which is an advantage for his spying antics.

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ vairë, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒓 

a high-rank halfblood who was an eruva. after the creation of vampires and the realisation of their nature, she was one of her people who rallied with few others to protest against the conflict between vampires and eruva. she wished to learn about them instead and find a way in which both races could coexist. unfortunately, she was caught in the crossfire and killed by her own kin. the vampires appreciated her efforts and turned her. vairë would go on to serve as as an advisor to the royal court and sought to teach newborn vampires the way of their kin. she is a bit vengeful towards the hunters, her former people who betrayed her and is thus merciless towards them when they come in contact. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ amaurë, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 

the count of the court and a pureblood. during the raid of hunters on the kingdom that took not only the life of the former king and queen but also various other vampires, his parents were unfortunately caught up in the mess and were slain. spotting him upon his escape, manwë snatches the child and flees with him. as a result, amaurë was raised amongst the royals and given the title he now has after serving them with great loyalty and dedication. his memories of that fateful day never faded and he grew malicious towards hunters — going as far as hunting them down himself. he serves as a spy at times in the human world, using his deceptively kind attitude to lure not only victims, but potential hunters. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ vanimóre, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅

a high-ranked halfblood who formerly was a hunter, turned out of spite and malice. he has always been particularly bold when carrying out his duties as a hunter — always eager for the next hunt and finding pleasure in what he did. he always has had strong opinions on vampires, especially after the disappearance of his sister which was tracked back to the night creatures. due to his excellency and arrogance, he became a thorn in the court’s side which is eventually what led to his capture and turn, courtesy of amaurë. he now serves the royals as an assassin, albeit begrudgingly. ashamed of what he has become and his bloodlusting instincts that bring back the thrill of the hunt, yet for all the wrong reasons. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ erulissë, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈

the high-ranked halfblood who as a human was cast out not only by her kin: the hunters, but was also accused of black magic due to her abilities as an eruva. due to her race, she did not die as intended and luckily for her, amaurë just so happened to be in town that day. taking pity on her, the count turns her and offers her to join the court; which she gladly accepts. she has a vendetta not only against her former people but humanity in general, finding them to be a corrupt and vile race. she often joins amaurë in his hunts, going undercover in the human world as the friendly-neighbourhood town girl — deceiving her victims before having her way with them. 

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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 

known as laurëmá, the golden hand

“aurë entuluva’’ is their motto

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ varda, the brilliant 

the leader of the hunters who prides herself in continuing the legacy set out by those before her. she has a very black-and-white moral code, believing that vampires do not have a good bone in their body — as she has been conditioned to think. she shows no remorse for what she does and plays an active role in the science field of her people, looking for new weaknesses for vampires whilst also finding ways to hopefully resurrect the power of their destroyed tree through the saplings and fruit that they managed to salvage.

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ arien, the guardian 

second-in-command to the hunters and varda’s opperation. she too is exceptional in the science field and is one pf the lead scientists as well as caretaker of the descendants of laurelin. she often serves as a bishop of sorts, leading the worship of the tree that is now lost. due to her bloodline having such a strong connection to the tree, her well-being is directly linked to it — thus making her vengeful towards the vampires to destroyed it in the first place: purebloods. arien is another one of her people who takes great delight in ridding the world of vampires and just like her lady and mistress; is ruthless. 

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ㅤ.°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ oromë, the bounty hunter 

not only a member of the laurëmá but also a bounty hunter — he travels the land not only vanquishing vampires but also taking up odd jobs: particularly that of bounty hunting. this is, however, unbenknownst to the rest of his kin as he often extracts vampire essence and sells them when needed. while he does agree with his people, there are certain aspects about them that he cannot settle on — such as their strict codes and conducts. he seems to bash heads a lot with the leader, which is why he is always out and travelling the lands. deep down, oromë yearns for something more, and is slowly but surely beginning to realise that vampires are not all that his people have painted them out to be.

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( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ next up: prompt page | prev: vampire legendarium

[transman-badass]

13 from the icebreaker asks because how could I read “the vampire god known as the Scarred Man” and NOT want to know more

Ohhhh boy! Okay so if you wanna see more stuff about this WIP I've actually got a blog for it over at @runner-owen. I need to properly organize it because it's hard to find stuff rn but there are some gems in between the pretty pictures

But since you asked, let me tell you all about the Scarred Man ❤️

13. Who or what is stopping the protagonist from their goals?

This got long, I am very passionate about this story whoops --

The Scarred Man's true name is unknown, but his reputation is so potent, the mere hint of his involvement makes even the bravest tremble. He is a malicious deity reborn - God of Evil to humans, Grandfather of Vampires to his kin. Not everyone believes he is a god - some vampires consider the idea blasphemy - but he has powers that no others have, and memories that call back to an era long forgotten.

For a bit of context to the setting: this is set in a world that was once ruled by vampires, with humans treated as food or pets. Without warning however, humanity was collectively visited by the Goddess of Suffering, who shared their pain, and encouraged them to rise up against their tormentors. She granted them the knowledge of nature and human magic that had been long stolen from them. With her as their guardian and patron, humanity overthrew the vampires and reclaimed their world - but the vampire elders cursed the planet itself in their last moments, dimming the sun and casting the land in endless night.

Despite this, humanity persisted, and so did the planet. And it's said that on that fateful day, at the very moment the sun was stolen, the Scarred Man was born.

The Scarred Man is charismatic and often disinterested, even dismissive, in the whims of the mortals around him. He feels a bit restricted even, bored of the mind games and politics of the vampire courts, and the rules of the church. Of all the people who needed to join the efforts to reclaim humanity, he was the last of them. As a priest, a scholar and mage, he could be living a comfortable, luxurious life as a member of his society. But what god would be satisfied with that? Not him. He wanted so much more.

What he wanted, to his own surprise, turned out to be Lord Aurum Vim-Calyx. The teenage prince who would grow up to become Sire Commandant of the Knight Hunters, the royally appointed soldiers who defend the people of the capital against vampires like him. By the time the story starts Lord Aurum is an adult, and his rivalry with the Scarred Man long established. Lord Aurum, as the descendant of one of the original leaders of the revolution, a man gifted with magic comparable to the mythical sun, was an almost perfect match. The kind of man the Scarred Man aches to snuff the light from - not in permanent death, but eternal life, as a vampire by his side.

So why is it that he keeps being drawn to this damned young man, Owen Rosedown? Even before joining the Runners Guild of detectives for hire, the Scarred Man felt an odd fascination for him. He rationalized it. Owen was a favorite of Lord Aurum, after all, and more so, the likely unwanted and unplanned result of a vampire - human coupling. But as the boy became more notorious, and more skilled... The Scarred Man began to wonder... And he began to want.

Side note: the Goddess of Suffering just so happens to be the wife of the God of Evil. (Not by her choice, but that's a long story in itself.) The Scarred Man is quite sure she too has reincarnated. He's not sure where, but he knows in his bones, his cold unbeating heart, that she too walks the planet, unaware of her nature. And the Scarred Man, he wonders... Yes, he wonders, if his suspicions are right...

Rough concept of the Scarred Man using the Gentleman of Hera picrew.

[thecampjuicebox]

Pre-game Elbereth story while I plan her fic (hopefully starting it this week) + a bonus photo of her half brother at the end

 Born into nobility, Elbereth was raised amongst riches. Her father married her mother as part of a bargain between the two families, promising lasting wealth and high social standing. The Dusath family owned a string of mines, and the Ravenshade family were dealers in precious gems and fine jewelry. Elbereth was the first (and only) child of her two parents, but her mother, Cellica Ravenshade, passed away in childbirth. Elbereth has never known a true mother. Only the various ladies her father, Nieven Dusath, had courted over the years. Nieven and his first relationship after Cellica passed, a woman named Chamylla of the Silvershield family, bore a son by the name of Elrohir. Elbereth and Elrohir were very close, only differing in age by 5 years. Chamylla fled their home shortly after the birth of Elrohir and disappeared without a trace. 

Often called the “Raven Haired Princess”, Elbereth captivated many men in the city with her charm, beauty, and intelligence, one being the well known Cazador Szarr of the wealthy merchant Szarr family. The last “living” member of his kin. Cazador was extremely close to the Ravenshade-Dusath family, who knew he was a vampire, and would often visit Elbereth, bringing her gifts of jewels and books and expensive wines. His love for the elf grew strong during their time together and he even asked her father for permission to marry her, Nieven hesitating because of his knowledge of Cazador’s affliction. 

Elbereth almost succumbed to a deadly illness that swept through Bauldur’s Gate just after her half brother contracted the same illness and died just days later. In a hasty decision, her father asked Cazador to turn her so that she could live forever, as he didn't want to watch his daughter die. Cazador happily agreed, turning Elbereth while she lay dying in her bed. Nieven agreed to allow Cazador to take Elbereth back to Szarr’s palace where she would live out her days as the vampire’s partner. Unfortunately, Nieven fell ill as well while Elbereth was in Cazador's care. Cazador was fully aware of this, and never told her because the agreement he had with her father was that if she got to stay alive, she was never to see her father again. She was favored by Cazador amongst the other spawn, and was treated as if she were his wife. She’d sleep in his bedchamber with him, and the rest of the spawn would refer to her as “Lady Szarr”, even though the two were not married yet. 

A decade after her turning, Cazador introduced a new spawn to the family. A pale, white haired elf. Astarion Ancunin. He was beautiful, and seemingly around the same age as Elbereth before she was turned. His looks and charm made him the perfect lure for Cazador’s meals, as the vampire was entirely too swept up in other matters to hunt for his own food. He’d often sup of Elbereth’s blood when the desire arised, but otherwise he’d rely on his other spawn to fetch their meals.  However, Elbereth fell in love with Astarion during their time together in the palace. He cared deeply for her, and she for him. She was the only one who treated him as something more than a pretty thing to look at. Cazador became so enraged by this that he began his horrendous torture toward Astarion, and doubled down on Elbereth belonging to him and only him. He would keep her locked away in his boudoir while he went about his days. 

Once Astarion devised the plan to escape Cazador, he asked Elbereth to come with him. They slipped into the night together, hand in hand, with nothing but a dagger at their hip. They were both scooped up by the nautiloid soon after, and thus began the in-game events. The insertion of the tadpole destroyed their memories of each other, so the entire time they’re traveling to find a cure, they’re falling in love all over again. Little bits and pieces of their memories flit back every now and then.

Elbereth's dream guardian shows himself to her in the image of her half brother.

[bawdabaw]

Snippet of writing to show my skillz. This is from the story @thatsmyfetish and I are writing, Of Suds and Fine Suit Coats about Unseelie mobsters. I'm drawing it to turn it into an online comic.

Holmgren is the leader, a rogue prince of the Dark Court and he owns a restaurant called the Babadock in the city of Vestal, New York. It was recently hit for robbery by some vampires and this scene is him dealing with the problem. Cade, Pastel, and Devon are Unseelie on the crew. Simon Morgan is the new kid, a human and sidhe-seer, and he's Fetty's character.

Reblog, like, comment, or message me or @thatsmyfetish ! Anons accepted. Just enjoy!

It'd been a long night. First, huntin' the basterds down, then questioning and punishing them. After all, it was extremely unlikely that a plan to hit the Babadock would have gone underway without a whisper filtering through the Otherworld channels. And Holmgren had bargains with those he expected to keep him abreast of any such hints and gossip. 

His suspicion that his own men had been bought off had proven correct. Two sidhe sat tied in chairs, wings broken, faces and bodies a mess of bloody cuts, burns, and shadow bites. Both dead, heads lolling on their necks, loose and lifeless, merely sitting up straight because of the structure of the chairs they were strapped to.

A third sidhe, a pixie, sat still alive, trembling in his restraints, sobbing bloody and pleading for forgiveness. His wings were broken and he was bruised heavily from the beating he'd taken. "It were oh-oh-only three days, m'lord," the pixie whimpered sadly. "I needed the money and it was only supposed to be a burglary.... I figured, it were you...what could they possibly do? Nobody can hurt the Dark Bargainer... They'd get caught and killed and no one would be the wiser. I'd have the money and nothin' bad would happen..."

Striding up to him, in a button up shirt, collar undone and sleeves rolled up, Holmgren smoked placidly, looking down at the pitiful, fearful creature with dispassion and apathy. "Ye thought wrong, Galen. After all, our bargain wasn't a choose and tell type of arrangement. Ye owed me all yer secrets, all yer knowledge. Every murmuring ye had on the street was supposed to be mine. And ye broke it."

Smoke in a slender snake curled up from his spiced cig as he reached down to touch the brand of 3 bats marking Galen's chest, laying exposed by his torn open shirt. "I release ye from my debt...and my protection. We are nothing to each other now."

A kick in the balls to the pixie who's face crumpled and he wept in humiliation and sorry, knowing he'd failed. After all, Holmgren could have taken retribution through the mark if he wanted. The contract obeyed his will and the boundaries he had set. The fact that he removed it meant Galen wasn't even worthy of paying the price the normal way. Letting go of the pixie, Holmgren looked over his head to the fiery standing behind him and merely nodded. Then he stepped back and turned away as Cade reached forward to grasp the pixie on the side of the neck and a burst of hot light and flames came from where his skin touched the little Unseelie. The pixie screamed as he was burned, finally going quiet and slumping when he was dead, the side of his neck and shoulder just a mass of smoking, melted flesh, bits of it charred in the shape of Cade's long fingered hand.

Finishing his cigarette, Holmgren started to put on his suit jacket again. "Don't call the cleaners fer this. If their contacts among the blood suckers learn they were tortured and killed for information, it might show our hand too early. And everyone knows I use the brownies. Best to keep the cleanup as tight as we can."

"Aye," Pastel said, with only the barest sigh. It was gonna be a night of hard work but he was here for it. "I'll make sure they'll never be found."

"Take Morgan with ye."

"The new kid? ...Devon can dig holes faster."

"I don't care about speed. I want him involved. See how he does with handling the dead," Holmgren said, drawing one last time on his cig before flicking it away.

Cade grinned, "Ye think he'll get sick? Get a bit shy?"

Holmgren shrugged, smirking as well. "He might. It'd be a simple test of his resolve for this kind of business. Also, I want ye to get a read on him, pix. Ask him questions, get him to loosen a bit, see who he is underneath, yeah?"

Pastel nodded, itching the back of his head. "Soft interrogation. The kind where he doesn't even realize. I gotcha. Anything I'm looking for?"

"Just anything off or that doesn't sit right," Holmgren said with another shrug. "Report everything to me, afterwards."

Agreeing to that, the pix was left to deal with the bodies but his first order of business was to text the human.

*Yo Morgan! I need your help with work tonight! Dress in street clothes. I'm pickign you up in half hour!*

When Pastel showed up to Simon's place, he pulled up in a thick, black SUV, his high riding baby with the roomy back. Pastel wore an olive green bomber jacket, jeans, blue and yellow shirt, with a newsboy cap on his head. Not the most disguising of gear but enough to make him not stand out. Despite the nice ride, candy wrappers littered the front of the vehicle and Pastel was eating dark chocolate caramel pieces(basically sticky caramel squares with silky chocolate creme inside) from the console between seats. Behind him and behind the last bench seat in the back, the bodies of the three fae laid piled together, laying on plastic sheets. On the backseat were several large kettlebell weights with folded up lengths of rope ready for use. Two for each body.

[nvrcmplt]

What is the opposite to werewolves? Beasts of the night, the moon and pack mentality… Some would say Humans, Vampires out of rivalry for the night, but what if I told you it was in fact beasts of the Savannah? Sandy beige pelts and manes as thick as the forests wolves run through? With eyes wide and amber, glowing with the stretches of the Earth under the unforgiving sunlight? A place Wolves wouldn't dare venture without plans and knowledge. Where paws a large as dinner plates pass over sandy grasslands, venturing miles of their homelands to protect their families from the more determined of creatures.

Where the ritual to become a beast of the night is done upon pregnancy, a shaman that is blessed by the gifts of Abedemak The War God but also Fertility God. To share the bleeding and to be birthed within the same week of this, guarantees the powers of the Lion God within the nature of the newborn. Proven by the fast growth of claws and the furless tailbone extending. Upon such successes, rituals and festivals are thrown for the women, praised to the high heavens and held with nothing but reverence for their gifts upon the world. The men blessed and fed the first meats of kills to thank them for protecting their family in the hours of need.

It's said these tribes folk are prideful as any lion and if not more, facing stronger, larger and plentiful of enemies but unlike Lion prides where the risks outweigh the pros of a singular catch. The blessing of Abedemek invigorates them. Taking on the mantle piece of fur, muscle and strength - with hunger in their gums and prey in their sights but they keep the wisdom and tactics of humanity in their minds. Extending in both length and height, weight and power - with claws and tails for balance. The Tribes folk welcome on the changes of Abedemek's gifts, a blessing from the Sun itself fuels their shifts and in turn… They become unstoppable.

Running upon four legs and two, spear, dagger and bow - claws, fangs and might.

The bestial shifters of the Savannah, once more evolve - taking down the bodies of buffalo in sets of threes, not enough to diminish their supply but to let it heal for longer. With full adults being pulled to their homes, dissected and cleaned by the elders and women in training for becoming warriors - the meat is sun dried and salted. Shared amongst their bloodline and praised in sharing with the Lion God themselves.

Oluwayemisi, she stood tall amongst them all, learning from the Shaman since young to take their role when time came. It was a hard job, to keep the pride in faiths grip, but it wasn't undoable. With the voice of Abedemek flowing through her veins and his light in her bones - she spoke and worshiped with ease. Teaching with gentle motherhood and with the strength of a leader.

Even so, when she was given a vision upon the eve of celebration. Through the blood and plant mixtures in clay pots, her visions were vivid. A warning, a hellish sight of bloodshed and grief - but her vision cut with knowledge of a new beginning. Fate, was a realization of life, but she knew it wouldn't be long until it would come. To save her grief for another time, her youth was still hers… and with the warning given. She leads her Pride as she knew best. To make them thrive in happiness and to find their own ways… and hers, was with him. The latest warrior who has been making eyes upon her since he hit puberty and had his tenth victorious hunt.

They courted, they married, they gave each other their everything and they were blessed by Abedemek three times - until that fateful vision came true. Their newborn son, Osakwe - cherished like his brothers, Oyekunda and Olabisi , born before him and just as strong in their bloodline - the pride was attacked. Gunfire and violence, technology and weaponry that surpassed their own - though they couldn't withstand the physical monsters that they were. Death on both sides tipped the scales back and forth, but the damage was done upon a backup army of sorts. Poachers of their own tones and greed science. Questions that could have been answered if asked in the right manner… but no. Death on her tongue and Oluwayemisi promised her name to her love.

His rage sang with Abedemak's wrath - his war charge took several vehicles out. The fire high as his fangs bared, and his claws clenched through throats and spinal cord. His size doubled that of humans with their weaponry but it was not their machines that ceased the beast's rampage - but the pathetic and cowardly hostage holding. His son, the newest born - held within arms and threatened with a gun in his face. The crying was like nothing but knives in his heart - he could hear his eldest and second born roaring in defiance themselves but everyone else was mute. After all, death upon the females, these humans knew that they held the true power of these species…

But they did not know of the power between giving names. Oluwayemisi --- held his jowls tight, bleeding from the tension but allowed his grief and promise to take his beatings in silence. When strapped down and chained up with his two other children, he watched them all retreat with needles and laughter on their faces as his son was taken away separately.

Rage rattled their bones.

They shared the same thoughts… the same promise, in blood and death.

Break free and find each other.

Oluwayemisi watched his children be taken apart. Separate tents and containment, handshakes given, and the engines roared to life to take them away from the bloody scene.

Oyekunda and Olabisi taken for science.

Oluwayemisi taken by the army.

Osakwe taken for trafficking.

[edenjacobs]

My Current WIP

is a novel called The Rook of Crooked Wood. I've been working on this novel for FOREVER on and off and I might actually be able to give it an ending I don't hate this time.

This is the cover I made in Canva and photoshop for nanowrimo. I'm currently at ~28k with it, hoping for 30k before the end of the weekend.

I guess I'll just copy and paste the blurb I made for nano as well.

There has always been a Rook in The Crooked Woods. It’s said that without her, the custodian of the Rifts within the Woods, the known realms will collapse without her. Emma Rook is the latest, albeit reluctant, custodian. For generations, a woman bearing the name Rook has been gifted with the power to open and close rifts in the veil between Realms, a rare and dangerous talent for those who wield it. Emma’s grandmother’s dead at over a hundred and fifty something means she has to leave behind the life she loved, her best friend Sage and their thriving hair salon. If she didn’t, the rifts will open and Riftwealds, the realm The Crooked Woods leads into would collapse. Our world and the others beyond will be overrun by those who might do them harm. It sounds like hard, boring and lonely work. Emma knows for a fact it is, she spent summers with her granny Peg in the wealds helping her do her riftwork. Emma didn’t want to be a Rook. She even took her mother’s maiden name when she left for at eighteen and much to Peg’s bitter disappointment. She was Emma Madden, hair stylist and party girl. She loved her life, every minute of it… But something always called her back to The Crooked Woods. Or should that be someone? She dreamed of him every night, the boy with the wintry eyes and green skin. The one who showed her the way home when she got lost, the first time she ventured into Riftwealds on her own, chasing a cat-sith kitten. He gave her a kiss, and she promised to find him again. A promise that wasn’t kept. She was eleven years old, and the same day she found the love of her life, she lost her family. Emma was never told the full details of their death, nor did she want to know. Moving to the city was a fresh start, a new life. Leaving their tragic legacy behind was one Emma fought hard for. There was no escaping fate, no matter how hard to ran, was there? Grieving both Peg & the life she left behind, Emma is woken by someone knocking on her door. She opens it and faces someone she never thought she’d see again. The boy in her dreams. The boy—now a rather handsome and tall aelf is looking for her grandmother. He needs the Rook Witch, he tells her. Someone is killing his people, the native aelves of Riftwealds, The Court of Ferns. Turning them into monsters and burning their sacred tree groves. When he storms out, after realising she is now The Rook Witch and the girl who never returned for him, Emma is faced with the knowledge that the boy in her dream is real, and so are the monsters her grandmother warned her about. She is reluctant to step into her Peg's shoes as well as truly step into her new life. But people rely on the Rook to keep the realm safe, she already feels bad enough without that on her conscious too. She’s attacked by a bunch of white skinned, red eyed feral vampires and rescues a toddler with green skin, orange hair and red eyes. He looks like a princeling of the Court of Ferns, and as Rook it’s up to her to return him home, whether she wants to face Fhion or not. She is Rook whether she likes it or not. It's a burden she just has to bear. A duty she and no other can fulfill. Her first adventure as The Rook of The Crooked Woods will teach her things about herself she never thought possibly true, as well as discovering devastating truths about her family’s deaths and Peg’s past. And one fact: Not only can you not escape destiny, sometimes the past kicks your arse too.

So far there is plenty of magic and stuff but no romance and my lead seems to be leading me around in circles because we're both too scared to approach the end because it means trouble for the both of us: She sort of dies and I sort of have to write the next sequel!!

But I do love it, I'm writing in first POV for the first time in a full length project. It's hard considering how I love to head hop. And it's also hard not making Emma a know-it-all overpowered god-mode type character since I know (sort of, I'm totally pantsing this draft) what happens so she does too?

So I'm trying my hardest not to do that, and to start making Emma make things happen instead making things happen to her. It's absolutely chaos trying to mix a cosy, foresty witchy story with a vampire apocalypse story with a goddess from Ancient Egypt mixed it. Chaos, but mostly fun lol.