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#the vampire regent
pumpkincalico · 2 years
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So recently i got into an interactive book called the vampire regent and tadaaam here’s my regent Jacqueline Drummond who is super fancy and only wears expensive brand names!
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interact-if · 11 months
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Hi, im looking for a story where you’re a vampire/demon who runs a night club & you’re feared by everyone. Some call you monster, demon, devil etc. in the first few episode, a character tried to flirt with the mc but mc’s not interested. It’s not water to blood. I just can’t seem to remember the name.
Hi Anon,
Might you be looking for The Vampire Regent by Morton Newberry & Lucas Zaper? If so, you can find the full work here!
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alongtidesoflight · 1 year
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well when i called her evil, she just laughed and cast that spell on me, boo bitchcraft
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mtg-cards-hourly · 2 months
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Necropolis Regent
"Jarad fancies himself king of the undercity, but he's merely king of rot."
Artist: Winona Nelson TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link
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sketchesofchaos · 1 year
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Past art done for an ST in a VTM server
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choclateshortcake02 · 2 years
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Klonnie
Klonnie made the most sense, story wise and regularly. You have a powerful Original hybrid tyrant. And a Bennett witch with a dark side (that has barely been explored). Now, we all know Bonnie would never go for someone like Klaus, but truthfully, she was close, with Damon and Enzo.
Imagine the views TVD would have gotten if they put either Moral Bonnie or even Expression!Bonnie with Klaus. 🥵
That would be fire. And their kids. 🤯🤯
If she moved to New Orleans after season 5, I’m pretty sure, Vincent and Kol could have helped her with her magic. And she could’ve been Regent. A Bennett witch as Regent of the 9 covens while also having a coven of her own.
Bonnie would be the Witch queen of New Orleans and the world.
Bennett witches are the most powerful bloodline in the TVDU. Not the Mikaelson’s or even Davina. I don’t know why the show says that.
I’m already getting some Ideas for my Klonnie story 🤪
^ I stopped writing the Klonnie story. I just don’t have any inspiration to finish writing it atm.
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burritoni · 1 year
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Session 11 the coterie meets with the Regent of the Mobile, Alabama Tremere Chantry. Meet Daria. You do not know if Daria is her real name or not. She is very much into her studies and is House Carna, in where she is working towards modernizing and feminizing the Tremere Clan; to hell with traditions!
Keith (my SO) created her for me, including her entire background, and how her Chantry looks. I am exited for the coterie to meet with her. She is consumed with her research, especially history. She doesn't talk to you unless talked to first. Her responses are short and factual; Daria has no time for unnecessary problems.
She is not the Tremere to mess with. There's a reason why she is the Regent, and it's not because she is the most capable in terms of knowledge. Her Magister and her apprentices, if asked, will tell you of how she can quickly resolve "problematic kindred and other supernatural phenomenons".
Even though she is the one kindred in all of Alabama that can go toe to toe with both of the Princes, that bores her. She works with the Chantry to not only modernize and feminize the clan, but is also working on top-secret research and a huge project. Once done, she will leave Alabama and move on to other ventures.
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thedeadthree · 23 days
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TIS CYTHIAS BIRTHDAAAAYYYY 🌞🪞✨👑
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obssessive101 · 2 years
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I was playing vampire regent and was super far and had multiple saves but when I opened it back up just now it jumped from the screen I was on to the very beginning character creator screen??? And I completely lost all my saves and the character I spent the last several days making???????? Hi hosted games what the fuck????????
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huramuna · 3 months
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foxfaced, dragonhearted - oneshot.
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dark, mean prince regent aemond x wife reader
for my 200 followers poll, i've actually had this one cooking for a while so i'm happy this option won! this is absolutely filthy, i'm sorry in advance.
word count: 2.4k
i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!
content: slight dub-con, smut (specifics below cut), angst, mean aemond, toxic relationship, like in no way is this healthy, good god, smut with little plot, reader is described being from riverlands w/ auburn hair and brown eyes, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes
tonight you belong to me - patience & prudence • vampire - olivia rodrigo
warnings: p in v, choking, breath play, dom/sub, degradation, creampie, cockwarming, orgasm denial, breeding, aemond is so mean here thats its own damn warning
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Aemond knew what he wanted and the sacrifices that needed to be made to get such things. He wanted a dragon, it took an eye to get it. He wanted the Conqueror’s crown, it took his brother being burnt to get it. He wanted a legacy that would surpass his lifetime, etched into the very being of Westeros itself. The sacrifice needed for this would be to chain himself to a woman he likely wouldn’t be interested in.
That is where you came in. 
You were sweet, he supposed. Sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. Sweet in a way akin to a mouse and how it looked up at the cat just before his jaws snapped around the mouse’s head. 
He didn’t need to like you. Many marriages were forged in dislike or just plain indifference, set to a mutual goal. He supposed your mutual goal was children. All he needed was to use you as a vessel, a womb for his seed to take hold. 
You poor thing, you didn’t really understand that he didn’t truly care for you. You were nice enough looking, of course– hair that reminded him of autumn leaves, always styled in some intricate style with half a hundred braids, dozens of pins and decorative pearls. You reminded Aemond of a fox, dark eyes against muted auburn fur, lips always pursed, sniffing the air in search for hounds on your tail. You certainly were a skittish, jittery little thing.
The marriage was a quick affair, done at the Sept two days after Aemond wore the Conqueror’s crown for the first time. You weren't a part of some major house, all of the major houses were too close, too greedy, their breaths hot against his neck as they shoved their wedable daughters at him. The last thing he wished for was to be indebted to some trivial lord who thought his name elevated him to the same stratosphere as Aemond– a paltry lady of some low house bred in the Riverlands would do just fine, he expected his Valyrian seed to dominate any of their week genes anyhow.
He had met you once before, many years ago before he lost his eye. When he was forced to tag along on some meager diplomacy meeting with his grandsire– he remembers it as being forced, but in reality, he wished to attend. What else was a second son with no dragon to do? – and you had been there, hiding behind your father’s trousers. You had been wearing a blue dress, he remembered this distinctly, as it stood out against the ruby red of the apple you had offered him. 
Aemond had tried to speak with you, but you only communicated in nods and soft noises– something you only partially grew out of. He never understood why he remembered this girl, as you were insignificant in the seas of faces he’s met over his life. Mayhaps it was your quiet nature that he remembered, something that, now at his age and state of mind, struck him as malleable, easy to mold into what he needed you to be. 
And so it shall be. 
It was about two and a half moons after your marriage, he returned from a late council meeting. Rubbing his eye, feeling the familiar thrum of pain right behind the socket, he was already in a particularly sour mood. The council meeting had gone south, ending in most of the lords bickering over one another like children. 
It irritated Aemond to no end, the strain of an oncoming headache ever looming. He still struggled with intense pain from his eye, or rather, his socket and severed nerves. The pain was debilitating at times and if anyone dared to test his patience when it was particularly bad, he would snap at them like a cornered animal, no matter who it was. 
Raising his head, he noticed the hearth was still going strong, multiple candles still lit in the solar, despite it being late at night. The now familiar crop of auburn hair was peeking from behind the couch— his wife was usually never up this late. 
“Why are you still awake, wife?” he asked as he took off his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists. 
“… reading. I was waiting for you.” you murmured in your usual hushed tone, the sound of your book closing was louder than your voice. 
“I told you not to do that. It’s unnecessary.” he grunted in response, undoing the latches of his leather doublet. 
“I-I don’t mind it… I just sleep a bit easier…” you continued, no doubt twiddling the end of your braid between your fingers— an anxious habit.
“You need proper rest. I won’t have my wife looking like a sleepless, sloven mess,” Aemond chastised, discarding his shirt. “Now, what are you reading?” he was becoming increasingly irritated with you, feeling as if he had to force you to take care of yourself and unlatch you like a leech from him. When you looked upon him with your wide eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, he felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until you passed out or mayhaps went limp, like a doll.
“Oh,” you slid the book towards him on the side table, it was a book on the history of Old Valyria and its language, usually used for children to begin speaking it. “Nyke j-jaelagon… naejot ēdrugon… va ao.” I wish to sleep next to you. 
Aemond’s brow furrowed. “What use do you have to learn High Valyrian, wife? Issa dōna ābrazȳrys mijegon nykeā notion isse zȳhon bartos, wanting naejot gūrēñagon mirros ziry daor.” My sweet wife without a thought in her head, wanting to learn something she cannot. 
You reached for the book, your comprehension not skilled enough yet to pull what Aemond was saying to you. Before you could grab it, he slammed his hand down on the book, effectively snatching it from your grasp. You pouted her bottom lip. “I want to learn… mayhaps it might bring us closer together.” 
Aemond scoffed, the sound sending a sting of pain right into the core of your chest. “We are as close as we need to be, little one. We are married in the eyes of Gods and men and we fulfill our marital duty by trying to produce heirs, hm?” He placed the book back on the shelf. “This nonsense of wanting to be closer is moot. I won’t hear of it anymore.” 
A glaze of sorrow flashed through your eyes before you got up from the couch, tightening the housecoat around your shoulders. 
“Come to bed,” he said, moreso as a command than a suggestion. “I know you are cold, ābrazȳrys.” Wife. 
You made a small noise of discernment, crawling into bed after him. 
He looped his arms around you, pressing you to his bare chest. He radiated heat like a furnace and was quick to warm you up– you were always so cold, he noted. He surely hoped that your children together would inherit his fiery blood and not the weak-willed, uninsulated Andal blood you possessed.
Aemond bounced from being indifferent to you, paying you no more mind than a maid or a whore, to needing you, every part of you. He didn’t see you as a person, moreso an extension of himself, latched onto his body until he consumed you entirely, your bones fusing together as one. To him, you were a doll or plaything to entertain him, testing the mettle of your will, to see if you were of poor craftsmanship and would break. He had always broken his toys as a child.
You could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, he wasn’t going to sleep just yet– you’d become very attuned to his moods, his small intakes of air against your neck causing your skin to prickle into goosebumps. His lips ghosted over your throat, one of his arms coming up to wrap near the base of your windpipe, not yet applying pressure, but the threat was there. 
No, it wasn’t so much as a threat than it was a promise– he quite liked applying pressure to your airways when you coupled, his lone violet eye centered intently on yours as they went from wide to half-lidded, soft whimpers of pleading to stop, sometimes for more, more. He relished in holding your very life in his hands and you let him. 
“Mayhaps I should get you a collar, wife,” he hummed, his voice husky and deep, reverberating deep within your chest as your heart pounded. “But I think you like my hands much better, don’t you?” 
“Y-yes,” you breathed, the small swallowing bob of your throat felt against the palm of his hand, causing him to grin. “... I fancy them– on my tender neck… between my legs…” you responded, feeling slightly bold at the notion you put forth. The heat of his body permeated your skin, warming your core into an ever familiar feeling.
Aemond all but growled at your comment, positioning the both of you to where you were laying with your back upon him, as if you were lazing upon him like a chair. “Feeling courageous tonight, are we? No matter, my dear, you will break all the same,” his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe. “Like every night before, and every night to come– your life is in my hands,” he enunciated this with a squeeze to your neck, eliciting a small mewl from you. “Is it not? Say it.”
“M-my life– belongs to you, husband,” you managed to squeak out.
“Not husband, not now. You know the rules.”
“M-my king, your grace,” you rephrased quickly.
He clicked his tongue in slight admonishment. “A bit slow on the take tonight, little one,” Aemond muttered, slotting his leg between yours and kicking your thighs apart. “Keep them open.” his voice was dripping with something between venom and sticky sweet honey. He felt akin to a God every time he was in the sky, every time he sat the throne with the crown on his head, and every time he rested his hand on your pretty little throat as he sheathed himself to the hilt inside of you so easily, so free of resistance. “So slick for me, just from the smallest of chokes– fucking whore.” he hissed, starting a slow, deliberate pace as his hips met against your bottom. The pair of you were like two threads, intertwined with his legs pretzeling around yours, keeping you spread open. 
Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued to bully that sensitive, spongy spot within you– but you craved so much more, feeling waves of heat emanate from your sensitive bud as it screamed at your brain, begging to be touched. You made the critical error, thinking your husband was too focused on his own pleasure to notice you going for your own, as your hand slowly descended between your legs, rubbing small circles upon your pearl.
How wrong you were.
His arm came up further, his bicep pressing to the bottom of your chin, his free palm slapping your hand away from yourself. “Are you truly fucking stupid tonight, wife?” he spat, stilling his thrusts. “When did I say you could touch yourself? Have I fucked you stupid already?” Aemond huffed in frustration. “My poor, dumb wife– you cannot do anything right, can you?” he slid you off of him, then flipped over to loom atop you, taking both of your hands within one of his, his large hand encapsulating your wrists with ease, trapping them above your head. 
You sniffed, tears welling at your lash line, threatening to spill– not just from his downright mean admonishments, but from your stolen gluttony, your pleasure stolen so close to the precipice. “‘M sorry, your grace,” you cried, “Forgive me.”
“You’re lucky you have such a sweet cunt,” Aemond mused, his immodest and downright sinful language going straight to your core as he nestled inside of you once more, menacing atop you like a darkening cloud. “I forgive you– and will even pleasure you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To come?”
You nodded fervently, your lamenting tears spilling over and running down your cheeks.
“I’m feeling quite generous, then– I’ll let you. If you beg me.”
“P-please–” you blubbered, “Please let me come, my king.”
A sickly smirk came over his face once more as he pushed forward again, not bothering with the slow and meticulous pace he had before. His hips slammed into yours as he surged into you, as if you were nothing more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure. And yet, and yet– his hand didn’t move to the apex of your legs, chasing his own high before he would give into yours.
“Aemond, please, please– please touch me, f-fuck, your grace– my k-king, please!” you were all but wailing now, half in ecstasy and half in pure beseechment, pleading for just some semblance of the lecherous, stimulating and lewd sensation that only he could give you.
He took mercy on you, the pad of his thumb zeroing in on your leaking folds, giving your clit a cheeky pinch. It was a delightful pain– that was what being with Aemond was, what it came down to. Every waking moment with him was thrilling, sublime, agonizing, unending torture– and you fucking loved it. 
Your mouth hung open, you were sobbing freely now, your lips quirked into a euphoric and maddened smile. “Thank you, tha-nk you, t-thank you, I love you, I love you,” you gasped, your lungs ballooning with air as you begged him further, “P-please, around my neck–” 
Something animalistic came out of Aemond at your request, his hand draping around your throat like a necklace. “My sweet, dumb wife– you don’t know what to do unless I tell you, unless I let you, unless I guide you to your release, hm?” he prostrated each word with a deep thrust. The combination of his ministrations on your bundle of nerves, the head of his cock callously beating into your sweet spot, and the squeeze of his hand around your neck– it was enough. 
With a garbled string of words, prayers, denotes of love, pronouncements of his prowess, his titles, his name– the coil inside of you snapped, lighting every nerve you had in your body on fire. You saw stars as your climax wracked through you like a tempest, the absolute vice grip of your core sending Aemond into his own completion, his seed painting your walls and then some.
In your fucked-out delirium, you thought you might’ve heard him say something– you didn’t decipher it until later when you were half asleep, his softened member still lodged inside of you somehow as he curled you into his chest.
“My love, my wife– I love you.”
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thebrandondowning · 2 years
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QUEEN OF FRANCE (2022), 5 ½" x 8 ½"
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pumpkincalico · 2 years
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heres how i imagine fav pretty cowboy advisor Juarez Loyola from the vampire regent! he's Jacqueline's fav but dont tell anyone that- 
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pursuitseternal · 1 month
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“Unmask Me:” 🎭 NSFW Masquerade update for “The Rogue You Were”
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Ascended Astarion x f!Reader |E| 4.7K of revealing smut
🎨by @glorious-void 🌹
Summary: Music and masks, dancing and deception. It’s so easy to hide your identity beneath a mask, but for you, as Regent Consort while Lord Astarion is away on his travels, everyone knows you. Everyone wants to be with you, particularly your love and Lord. Once he returns and is unmasked, of course.
CW: Mistaken identities, jealous/aroused Astarion, Dom!Astarion, outdoor sex, playful punishment, spanking, oral sex female receiving, rough fucking and regal engagements afterwards.
Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist
🎭🩸🎭🩸🎭🩸🎭🩸🎭🩸🎭🩸🎭🩸🎭🩸🎭
Regent Consort. That is your title, at least until your love’s return. You flounce your ebony skirts, that sultry hint of burgundy beneath a little nod to your beloved vampirism. You adjust the many layers of petticoat that fill out your gown. Alone in the ballroom, you pace by the window. Weeks of Astarion away, and he is due to return any hour now.
You know he will be hungry, he will desire you more than anything. He will be feral, wild. Untameable until he’s drunk his fill of your blood and fucked you enough. If he isn’t exhausted from his travels to the far East… alliances and silks from Cormyr and gems and… it was enough of a burden for him to shoulder. You have been left with enough to handle here in the City, his Right Hand to rule in his place, his Regent Consort on his throne. Your tasks have been ceaseless since he left so many tendays ago: Council meetings and trade deals to twist towards your benefit, not to mention cajoling Duke Wyll Ravengaurd enough—enough for him to remain oblivious to the fact that you and your love had far surpassed any authority he thought he held.
You smirk, gazing out into the night’s sparkling darkness. Of course you decided the best course of action was to stroke your old friend’s ego—and nothing touts a symbol of friendship and your own wealth and power like a good masquerade ball.
Of course, it just happened to fall on the same evening as Lord Astarion’s long-expected return. But your heart leaps in your chest, if it could beat faster, that is. Every detail has been carefully laid, and all with his secret knowledge. He approves of this wholeheartedly, those little flashes of his affection quaking down your bond as Master and Bride keeping him informed. You feel his love, his approval and his hunger. Your bond of heart, mind, and blood is enough only to coax his hasty return just a little faster.
His presence had long disappeared from your mind, leaving you without word, his journeys consuming enough of his power to claim his concentration. And so you wait, on baited breath, for his return. Soon, he had said. Tonight.
At long last, your guests arrive in your wide and sprawling drive, carriage after carriage emptying with elegantly clothed couples and painted faces. A parade of colors and paper and decadence. A night in honor of the Duke, a demonstration of the Vampire Ascendant’s immense affluence. The grandest host on the Sword Coast. The most powerful, handsome being in this whole realm.
Yes, you smile, releasing your folded arms to adjust your own demi-mask, Astarion will revel in the extravagance.
Once he finally fucking arrives, of course.
But you force a smile on your face as your guests parade into your presence, all fanfare and pomp and circumstance as befitting a ball for the Duke… as befitting a party hosted by the Vampire Ascendant and his Consort. Couples sweep into the grandeur, each pair, each guest more sumptuously dressed than the one before. You make your way to the head of the dais, your black Demi-mask in place, but you are certain your own scarlet eyes and your fang-toothed smile will surely make certain not a hand is laid on you.
No mistaken identity as to who you are tonight. You are Regent Consort, the Ascendant’s Lady. You are his.
And if your vampiric qualities aren’t enough to drive away would-be admirers, the decadent, gold and bejeweled crown on your head certainly will. A quaint little symbol of the power you tend in his absence. Your eyes scan mask after mask, even as you stand before his throne. Nodding greetings, formally and cordially welcoming guest after guest.
You scrutinize the most gallant looking, the most ostentatious of males. If he were to disguise himself, to play one of his little games with you… surely he would spare no expense on his costume. Even arriving from his travels… it dawns on you now, looking at this primped and preening man. You know why he has gone as silent as his empty grave on his end of your bond.
He’s planning something. A surprise, a seduction. Something that will surely set your slow, undead heart racing and make your folds drench down your thighs.
Once you unmask him of course. There would be… some clue. He wasn’t that clever, never one for details. He prefers to lure you in with honey-sweet words and a grind of his bulge somewhere on your body. Sensual, sweet thing that he is.
Your gaze has grown distant, your pleasant smile fixed on your painted lips. It’s only once the musicians strike up the music that you slowly return to your surroundings.
And it’s only once the drums begin pounding so loudly it shakes in your rib cage that you notice one male lingering at your feet. Richly brocaded damask, deeper crimson than what runs in one’s veins, his costume is breathtaking. Cut so perfectly around his waist and hips, drawing the eye towards that gusset between his thighs.
You quickly raise your gaze, realizing you are licking your lips as you scan this male’s body.
And you’re met with eyes that are so deep set in his golden Bautta mask, you can’t see the color. But you drink in that intensity. That gilded cover hides every sharp, pale feature, even covering his sly and sultry mouth. But all he needs are his eyes boring into you, already undressing you. It’s… delicious.
He would come in regal colors and damask, in a mask that’s inlaid and filigreed with real gold. That feathered cap on his head is a nice touch to hide his telltale silver tousles, as well. Slowly, this man turns towards you, and you can feel it, the way he is drawn to your power, eager to be your thrall.
He wants you, and you know it must be his plan, a master of stirring your body for him alone even in disguise. Feet treading up a stair or two in your direction, he gives an elegant bow, a swish of his scarlet, silken cape as he extends his gloved hand for yours.
Your feet follow him into the mass of people, the center of the dancing as couples begin to form in patterns and forms. Ready to dance.
He doesn’t need to say a word, only giving a deep, muffled laugh beneath that pointed mask as you sweep with your supernatural grace in his hold. A merry dance, one that weaves you around other couples at a clip, one that makes your own silken, gloved hand pass into the palm of every male on that dance floor. Spin after spin, pass after pass, and your flesh practically ignites with each time you cross with your golden-faced lover.
Your mouth salivates, and you wonder why he hasn’t whisked you away to your chambers.
As the music begins to slow, you feel a pinprick at the back of your neck, even as he… the man with the golden mask… your lover pulls you in one last spin. You see nothing in the crowd, but you feel… something. Something hot and sharp, eyes on you from somewhere in the masses.
Then again, all eyes are on you. You and your Lord do tend to turn every head in the room. And you do so as you pull him through the double glass doors and onto the open aired terrace.
Lit by only the moon and stars, you keep your hands on his arm and his waist, leading him as far as possible from the crowds. You don’t even know if the Duke has arrived, nor do you care. You need sating, need to indulge the tension that has flared between you two in that ancient way you always have.
He stops once you both reach the shadows, arms wrapped around your elegant dark dress, its gauze and crinolines dusky burgundy and black as you practically bleed into the shadows yourself. “My lady,” that voice whispers from behind the mask, muted and strange. A trick of his disguise.
“My lord,” you lilt back, taking a single finger to stroke the bare flesh of his neck where it peeks above the bright collar of his jacket. “I need something from you, ever so badly.”
“Then take it, my lady,” he tilts his head, baring more of his pale skin. Your eyes are wide, ravenous. You haven’t fed from living blood since his departure. For his was the only vintage you drank, the only kind that would fill you. Craning your head, standing on the balls of your toes, you lick your lips, barely restrained enough to take a little bit of time.
Your fangs finally bite, and warm, coppery essence fills your mouth… but only after a few swallows does it hit you.
Smack in the face.
Blood strange on the tongue.
And then you feel someone drawing closer behind you, soft footfalls that make your stomach flutter, your bond snapping taught. He’s here at last.
And this man beneath your mouth isn’t him…
“Darling, I’m hurt,” you hear Astarion’s voice, perfectly clear, breath brushing down your shoulders and back, “I thought we had something special…”
You round so quickly, spitting out the stranger's blood from your mouth in utter disgust.
He’s there.
Astarion.
You curse yourself. You should have known… how did you not? He was perfect in his disguise, he was…. Your rogue. Just as he was on those nights in the camp… simple and elegant and mouthwatering. A familiar frilled shirt, ruffles of embroidered silk framing his pale and perfect chest… tightly cinched breeches that hug his every sinew and line of his thighs and bulge. A mask, black as night, gilded with embellishments shaped like the rays of the sun—a little nod to his Ascendant power.
His greatest disguise as the Vampire Ascendant— the Rogue he once was.
But it’s his lips pressed in a hardened smile, his eyes practically glowing with power, swirling with the concoction of jealousy and arousal that makes you tremble before him. Both emotions strike you in your belly, launched at you, a blade from his mind thrust into yours.
You let out a whimper, your mouth fluttering at the sight of him, your elegant rogue, your vampire lover and lord and husband and master. “Astarion,” you gasp, feeling the man’s mortal blood seeping down your lower lip. Gaping in horror at what you have done.
“Tch,” he sucks his teeth, keeping his distance, totally giving no heed to the man who staggers a bit behind you. “Well, darling, it seems you have found your entertainment for the evening already. A pity I wasn’t more forward… more aggressive to catch your… hungering attentions.”
You feel it… knowing he feels it too. Your belly aches to begin feeding once more. “No, no…” you protest, drawing a step closer, wiping your bloodied chin on the back of your sable silken glove.
“Really, my Consort, who am I to deny you your hunger?” he’s hissing. Defensive. Eyes heavily lidded, jaw tweaking as he watches you unravel before him.
“Hungry? Yes,” you pant, a feral need unlocking inside you to be so close to your love, your maker, and yet kept at arm's length. “For you, my love. I thought he was you, Astarion.”
He sniffs, derision seething in that one breath. Disdain turns playfully at his lips and darkens his crimson eyes. “I forget sometimes how new to your vampirism you are, darling,” he chides, none too gently. “You have no idea the pull you have on others… the natural way your charms will command the weakest minds to bend their necks for your teeth. No matter what ignorant fools they are, trying to take what’s mine.”
And with that, he snaps. Uncontrolled aggression embodied, a growl in his throat, Astarion flies at the poor male. His bare hand locks around the other’s bleeding neck. “Get out of my sight, out of my palace… out of my city, if you wish to survive this night, you fool.” His voice is death itself, bone chilling and sharp. And the man waits not one second more before fleeing into the night, back through the crowds.
Turning back to face you ever so slowly, he pulls off his mask, fingers tugging swiftly at the black silken ribbon behind his head. You see it in his face, the darkening of jealousy… but also the arousal in the way his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate so wide. “Well, my treasure, I’ll admit… power never looked so good on another… on anyone that wasn’t me.”
You force yourself to inhale, lungs shaking as you try to breathe. “You’re not… mad?”
“Darling, I am furious,” he hisses, closing in on you swiftly, clenching his grip hard around your throat. “You’ve done remarkably well in my absence in most ways, such a lavish soirée, even I am impressed. But,” he thrust his smirking, snarling face into yours until your noses brush, “you clearly need a swift reminding, darling, of just what you’ve been missing… of what parts of me you’ve missed.”
Grabbing at your hand, he thrusts your palm against his cock, so hard and hot through the well-oiled, skin-tight leather.
“Just like old times,” you rasp under his clutches.
“Tut, tut,” he chides you, all honey in his venom. “Nostalgia for your vampire rogue isn’t going to work on me…”
“Well,” you smirk, rubbing your hand up and down against his twitching erection, “something has…”
His lips crush yours, certainly ruining what was left of your lip paints, licking off the remnant of that poor fool’s blood from your chin, your fangs. And most assuredly, making your lips swell and bruise as he works ravenously in his kiss. He keeps your palm pressed hard on that aching rise between his legs, slow little rolls of his hips against the pressure.
“Watching you touch another… dancing with another… watching your eyes batting at him…” He breaks from his words to dart his tongue inside your mouth, licking again and again until he’s replaced all traces of that offender’s blood with only the flavor of him. “Watching you beckon him into the privacy of your presence… your lips on his skin…” His body seizes, that blend of jealousy and arousal crashing into you again four-fold. “I’ve never wanted to kill and fuck more than I do right now…”
You watch his pale chest heaving, watching every one of his veins beat with his ascendant heart, perfectly perched under his beautiful skin. Head cocking, he grips the ruffled collar of his silken shirt, tugging it wide.
Licking your lips, you feel his command: If you’re starving, daring, then feed.
You don’t need him to offer again, don’t need any other influence on your mind. Your stomach assumes control. Crown tilting askew from the pile of curls atop your head, you bite his warm and tender flesh.
And you bite hard.
Lewd, loud, trembling as if you just came… you moan right under his ear. Your mouthful of his rich, powerful blood almost spills over your lips, but you don’t dare let a drop be wasted. His hand presses harshly against the back of your neck, your curls and pins tugging at your scalp with the force. But you don’t care. Not as one hand grips into his arm to hold him steady, your other bracing on the other side of his neck to feel that raging pulse under your touch. There is nothing now that matters more than his ascendant blood on your tongue and his warm flesh beneath your lips.
“Careful, darling…” he speaks, vibrations from his silken voice shaking your lips. “I can’t be too bloodless to finish satisfying our hunger. Bad form to have the Ascendant unconscious at his own gala.”
One last, long drink and you pull off the wounds from your fangs with a pop. “Yes, my lord, how else do you think I hunger?”
Oh, he catches you by your neck once more, more playfully this time, long fingers wrapping up around your jaw. “What a stupid question for one as clever as you, my pet. You’re going to take my cock so nicely, another nice warm welcome that I know you’re craving too, darling. But first, you’ll pay nicely for your charming little transgression.” He pulls you further from the chaos and din inside your palace, deeper into the shadows. You can smell the gardens below you, the heady scent of blossoms in the air, lilacs and roses and lilies, just over the waist high wall.
And it’s over that wall you feel him spin you, laying you out carefully over its wide edge.
“Bad girl, my consort,” he leans over, his body crushing you from behind slightly to rasp right behind your ear. “Though, it was rather… intoxicating… to watch those lips redden with another’s blood… to scent your arousal so potently at the mere thought of my return. I shall be lenient, my love.”
“You liked it, didn’t you?” you jeer sweetly, a little roll of your ass against where he presses you down into the stone. “Of course, I only indulged thinking it was you playing some cheeky little game…”
He sinks his fangs into your neck, making a sharp cry pierce your words and stutter your voice.
“… should have known your games are much more fun,” you manage to add as he sucks from your veins. One hand grips behind where your crown perches, yanking at the roots of your hair and tugging your neck to a wider angle. And then he drinks quickly and deeply.
“What am I if not fun, hmm?” he purrs beneath your ear, one hand clasped around your wrist, the other begins to lift the pile of your skirts, tulle and silks and crinoline piling high on your back until you feel the night air on the back of your thighs.
Until you feel the breeze on your ass as he slips your undergarments to your knees.
“Feel free to scream, my pet. There is no one out here but us creatures of the night now….”
Smack.
His palm lands sharply on your bare cheek. A gentle rub follows the pain, fingers angling their dexterous touch slightly between your pressed thighs.
Smack.
Harder this time, fully on the other side, he spanks you. And while you grunt, muffled into your bent arms beneath your head, Astarion groans.
Loudly. Full throated.
His hand massages that freshly reddening ass this time. You feel his body bracing along your side, spank after spank making you shake with pain, only to be brush away quickly with his tender touch.
It’s maddening, making your core heat even more than before. Your hips wiggle under his fingers, hoping he might accidentally slip one or two between your folds.
But nothing Astarion does with his skilled hands is accidental or blunt— refined, precise. Perfect. “Feeling sufficiently contrite?” he purrs, moving behind you. One single hand splays on your lower back, the leather of his breeches presses behind you, almost like skin against your bare flesh.
“Yes, sorry,” you mumble into the gauzy sleeve of your dress as you bury your face.
His touch slips just a little between your cheek, your arousal running down your thigh as he spreads you just a little. “What was that, darling? You have been awfully quiet in your penance, you know…”
A single finger, nail first, creeps to where you clit lies. “Yes…. S- sorry,” you groan, lifting your head, turning just enough to see where he crouches behind you. He looks delicious in the moonlight, if you didn’t feel your bond, know your body teemed with undead power, he would look as he did all those nights on the road. That same devious smirk, same glinting, feral gaze that wants to eat you right up….
Say no more… he purrs into your mind, a delicate brush of his power making you shake. Reading your thoughts as you gaze at him.
He slaps your thighs apart, burying his face between them to do just that.
Eat you right up.
That thick tongue of his sweeps from your clit to the end of your seam.
“Scream for me,” he bids you. Your back arches, your head lifting, like a wolf in heat, you howl. Your voice ricochets off the garden wall, followed by another whimpering sound as he keeps that mouth of his sucking on your clit. Fingers spread you wider, thrusting your body back and forth as his tongue slides into your channel, his breath hot each time he breaks to swallow you down. That bliss begins to swell, relief from longing for his body for so long finally within your reach.
Until he stops. And you pant and growl in frustration as that precious wave of orgasm washes out of your reach.
One last, long sweep of his tongue, and he moves out from under you. His hands squeeze hard into your ass, marking your pale, cold flesh with his nails, just a bit. Just enough for him to know you’ll sit with hidden discomfort for the rest of the night.
“You’ve earned my forgiveness, my lovely consort,” he raps, leaning over you, crushing you to kiss against that sensitive spot behind your ear. “And I’ve been wanting to this since the moment I left your bed, my pet…”
Recognition spikes up your spine, you know that warm, blunted head that slowly begins to enter you. Contented. Happy. You sigh and arch to look back, unable to see anything below his chest beyond that ridiculous pile of your skirts over your back. His gaze is fixed on your thighs, watching your folds swallow him up, the little tip of his tongue licking the corner of his mouth.
Sweat gathers under your mask, and you know your tints and kohl and paints are wrecked by now. But you don’t care. No one would notice under your demi-mask. And it was so worth it, to feel him buried deep inside you again.
That paradox of pressure and relief. To be so full and so happy again. A belly sated by his blood, a cunt brimming with his cock. Your delicate fingers grip into the edge of the balustrade, bracing yourself to ride his thrusts. The soft whines of music a merry tempo, one he almost seems to match as he fucks you. You groan, knowing it’s just a taste of the rest of your night, knowing that once your guests have basked in your presence for long enough, you’ll steal away, spending the rest of the night in each other’s arms.
For now he ruts into you, no holding back, no mercy or tenderness now. Just that blind drive to finally join with you after so long apart. If you close your eyes, you might as well be in some clearing near the Emerald Grove, addicted to giving one another your bodies. His sweet words in your ear, little grunts as he fucks with each snap of his hips.
Same cock… same arrogance… same moonlight-bathed faces twisted in pleasure as he takes you from behind. Even the scent of blossoms in your nose… truly just like when you knew nothing more than his charm and his vampirism. And didn’t you come to love all he was… all he became… the same and yet now so much more to you.
“I missed you…” you whisper into his mind, feeling how his body has wound tight through your bond, sensing his cock’s throb, his sensation of how good it feels inside you flooding your own body.
“I know,” he replies, a growl inside your ear, a caress of fangs in your mind. He chuckles into your thoughts, until his laughter turns into real breathless pants as that tension in his body claims its release. He slams into you, once… twice… until all you feel is the twitching head of his cock emptying inside. Leaning over your once more, Astarion places a kiss into your neck one more time. “I missed you too, my love…” he whispers for your ear alone. “Never again, my treasure. It was too long… too many horridly boring, ugly people. Why waste my time with riff raff when I could have just brought you with me.”
“At least you know better now,” you simper, moaning as he pulls from inside you, those skirts brushing over the raw, tender skin of your ass. You hiss, straightening.
“As do you, my naughty consort….” He’s already slipped himself back in his breeches. Bringing you in for a devouring kiss by grabbing your reddened and punished ass. Yelping, you kiss him back, feeling his wicked smirk against your lips. Pain shoots up your spine as he crushes the hard fabrics of your skits against your flesh… nevermind that your undergarments are abandoned on the ground now…You shrug, let them be.
You have no need for them, now that he’s returned.
He pulls you by your hand back towards the gala, retrieving his mask from the terrace, quickly replacing it on his handsome face.
You smile, shaking your head at his antics, his games… his rakish, seductive smirk. Licking your thumb, you clean the lingering streaks of your blood and cum from his chin. “There now, you look presentable, my Lord,” you speak in dulcet tones, regal and refined. “The Vampire Ascendant ready for his festivities, no longer unmasked like some feral, rutting monster.” You wink, a sly smile at him.
Hand braced at the back of your neck, he crushes you once more to his mouth, one more kiss, one more cleaning lick of his own tongue on your lips and chin. “And you, a radiant Regent Consort,” he grins, hands quickly, assuredly straightening your mask and crown. As you turn to enter, he whispers against your temple one more time. “Let’s turn some heads, shall we?” He offers you his arm, a gentlemanly bow at the waist, as if he hadn’t just been ramming into you on the terrace moments ago.
You flash him a smile, head held up high, as you enter the crowd and din and lights. They part like water before you, heads bowing… even the stony-gazed face of Wyll, new Duke Ravenguard, tips slightly in deference. He knows your power, cautious to upend the delicate balance you and he have established.
But Astarion… Lord Astarion… he carries you right past the Duke’s contingent, right up the dais stairs until he’s stopped before your thrones. He stops short, says nothing but a wave to the music to continue the festivities.
They promptly obey, and he sits in his throne… and before you can sidle over to yours, he wraps an arm about your waist and settles you on his lap.
You hiss, the bone of his thigh pressing hard on his bruises and bite marks that riddle your rear.
“Something the matter, my lady?” Wyll’s formal tone hasn’t changed a bit since your days on the road.
You glance up, smiling and demure. He’s grinning politely back, concern in his stone eye. Always that suspicion underlying his gaze, that mistrust of your new… vampirism. You widen your grin and give a little bubbly laugh. Assuaging the monster hunter. “Just so pleased to have Astarion back from his travels. I’ve felt so… empty… without him.” You hide the double entendre with a regal simper and a pat on his chest.
“Not too exhausted to enjoy your evening, I hope,” Wyll asks, pausing a bit too long until he adds, “my Lord?”
“Nothing I can’t manage to savor in spite of it, Wyll,” he jerked his head with a smile, shifting you higher up on his lap, dragging those raw marks to center over his still softening cock. “Now, enjoy your festivities, old friend….” He drags his fangs over the shell of your ear sucking it between his lips, a display of his desire for all to see. “We know we will.”
🌹 thank you to @glorious-void for the fanart, and to my consort coven: @marimosalad and @brabblesblog
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lovelykhaleesiii · 3 months
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Aemond Targaryen | MASTERLIST #1
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HEADCANONS:
His & Yours. [fanon!Aemond, fluff | smut]
A Figure in the Shadows... [vampire!Aemond, angst | smut]
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ONE-SHOTS:
Betrothed [angst | smut | fluff]
Have You Missed Me? [smut]
Remedy [fluff]
Lead By Example [Modern AU | Dad!Aemond | angst | fluff]
Never Again [Dad!Aemond | angst | fluff]
Always Meant to Be. [angst | fluff]
Divine Beauty [Dad!Aemond | angst | fluff]
Serve Me. [Dark!Aemond | angst | smut]
Comfort This Agony [fanon!Aemond | fluff]
A Flower to Ruin... [cruel!Aemond | angst | smut]
Dearest, Ruthless Husband [Prince!Regent!Aemond | angst | smut]
The Spoils of Lies [angst]
Twisted, Beautiful Minds. [Dark!Aemond | angst | smut]
Comfort Zone [Modern AU | boyfriend!Aemond | angst | smut]
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SERIES:
Work For It [fanon!Aemond, angst | fluff | smut] - Chapters 1 | 2 love
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mtg-cards-hourly · 1 year
Photo
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Westgate Regent
Artist: Mike Jordana TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link
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deadlyflames · 3 months
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Dec 31st: 1910s in NOLA: Lovers in Denial
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But even that hardest of hearts unhardened Suddenly, when he saw her there Persephone in her mother’s garden Sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair The smell of the flowers she held in her hand And the pollen that fell from her fingertips And suddenly Hades was only a man with the taste of nectar upon his lips
Klaus Mikaelson has been attempting to bring the four main species of New Orleans together in order to create the Faction. In order to succeed in this endeavour, he needs to broker a peace with the Regent of the nine covens.
However, this plan is endangered when he meets the Regent’s granddaughter in the old witch’s garden and an attraction sparks between the two of them.
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Love was when he came to me Begging on his bended knees To please have pity on his heart And let him lay me in the dirt… I felt his arms around me then We didn’t need a wedding bed Dark seeds scattered on the ground The wild birds were flying around
After secretly meeting with the original hybrid in her grandmother’s garden for months, Klaus asks Bonnie to be his wife. She says she won’t become a vampire and he tells her he would never ask that of her. He’s met plenty of witches who can forestall aging process over the years. While she may never be an immortal, he would protect her from anything that may harm her. So moved by his declaration, Bonnie follows him into the darkness.
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He fell in love with Persephone Who was gathering flowers in the light of the sun And he took her home to become his queen Where the sun never shone on anyone The lady loved him and the kingdom they shared But without her above, not one flower would grow So, King Hades agreed that for half of each year She would stay with him there in his world down below
After Sheila Bennett discovers that her granddaughter has eloped with an ancient vampire, she falls into despair and the ancestors shake the foundation of the city. Wind, rain, lighting, earthquakes and hurricanes.
When Bonnie sees the destruction her absence has brought, she attempts to return home. But Klaus to refuses to let her leave.
It is only thanks to Elijah that New Orleans manages to survive the litany of disasters. Through a negotiation with the witches, terms were determined for the marriage to continue. Bonnie would go home and live among her people for one half of the year and then stay with Klaus for the other half.
After days of being persuaded by both his brother and his wife, Klaus Mikaelson reluctantly agrees to the terms.
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But the other half, she could walk in the sun And the sun in turn, burned twice as bright Which is where the seasons come from And with them, the cycle Of the seed and the sickle And the lives of the people And the birds in their flight
Klaus stood at Bonnie’s side through the entirety of Sheila Bennett’s funeral. Even as witches hiss and glare. He had never gotten along with Sheila, but he had respected her. And he knew Bonnie loved her.
However, he was not allowed to attend the meeting of the witches choosing their new regent. The witches want Bonnie to be their leader. After all, a Bennett has served as regent for the past 100 years.
Bonnie only accepts the responsibility of becoming Regent if the witches agree she can keep her arrangement with Klaus. Bonnie will lives among her coven for six months until the autumn equinox. Then she would return to Klaus and live with him in his compound during the next six months. Until the spring equinox, her friend Vincent Griffith will act as Regent in her stead.
Neither Klaus nor the witches are pleased with this decision.
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Hades is king of oil and coal And the riches that flow where the rivers are found But for half of the year with Persephone gone His loneliness moves in him, crude and black He thinks of his wife in the arms of the sun And jealousy fuels him and feeds him and fills him With doubt that she’ll ever come Dread that she’ll never come Doubt that his lover will ever come back
Klaus is certain the witches made their decision to spite him. Sheila was gone and the deal should have been broken. He would no longer need to send his wife away for half the year. Bonnie should have been his alone now. But the witches and the ancestors have ensured that their claws will remain buried deep in her.
When his wife leaves as the season turns, Klaus indulges in blood and mayhem. When his family inquires about his behaviour, he refuses to give voice to the fear that crawls into his mind every time Bonnie leaves. The fear that she may be gone forever this time.
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When the sun is high, brother, so am I Drinking dandelion wine Brother, I’m as free as a honeybee In a summertime frame of mind And when my man comes around Oh, I know he’s gonna bring me down But for now I’m livin' it Livin' it, livin' it up
Over the years, the relationship between Bonnie and Klaus becomes strained. He is filled with possessiveness and jealousy each time she leaves him. She is filled with frustration and restlessness when he tries to keep her caged.
Vincent suggests that Bonnie should return to the covens indefinitely. As a Bennett witch and their Regent, she is expected to lead them and to do what is best for the witches.
Bonnie assures him that she is thinking of what is best for the witches. Klaus will fight for her if she never returns and the fragile peace between the factions will crumble. Witches will die and she can’t allow that. If she gives up the leadership to be with Klaus, the ancestors will cause chaos, especially now that her Grams is among them.
Bonnie does not tell him the true reason engrained in her heart that she will always return to Klaus. She does not want to leave him.
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How long? Just as long as I am your wife It's true the earth must die But then the earth comes back to life And the sun just goes on rising And how does the sun even fit in the sky? It just burns like a fire in the pit of the sky And the earth is a bird on a spit in the sky How long, how long, how long?
All hail the King and Queen of New Orleans.
Neither wants to admit how much they miss the other. So they are trapped in the cycle of leaving and returning. The cycle of loneliness and love. Until someone brings the world back into tune, that is how it is.
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