#Asmodea

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles - Masterlist

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut, with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

This is a post-game continuation of my bardlock series, which was mostly written in 2nd person POV, with the OC referred to as “Tav” where they had to be named. Rest assured it’s been about Asmodea all along. You can consider the oneshots a prequel.

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 [*]

[*] asterisks to indicate smut

Thank you @brabblesblog for the header! ♥

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x f!oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles #asmodea

[moiracolleenodell]

“A combination of Clive Barker and Neil Gaiman with a shoujo overlay”~Chris Sun Hwa

          What if the demons of Hell had nuclear families with children who went on field trips? Where would they go? What would they learn?

           Asmodea is a quarter-human elementary schooler who attends the Sixth Circle Common School with other young demons who are all studying hard to become assets to the legions of Hell when they grow up. Today (though there are no real days or nights in Hell) Mister Astaroth will take Asmodea and her classmates on a tour of the nine Circles of Hell, complete with - yay! - interactive exhibits.

Available as an ebook from these distributors now, including Amazon and Barnes & Noble; or you can buy the pdf directly from me for $2.99 through paypal.me/moiracolleen.

#asmodea #asmodea and the field trip to the petting zoo of the damned #writeblr #indie #torture #hell treated like a children's book #pinned post

[pillow-priestess]

eating is fun, but a fast track to getting fat would be so nice! shame that'd take a miracle... right?

sketch from @plastic_doodles! go check them out, they do great work!

#wg #fattening #deal with a devil #demon summoning #possession #veevee #asmodea #my commission!!!

[skarlette1]

Third Touch

Doctor Q, the Enchantress Exemplar of Earth, was used to casting demons out of other people’s bodies. When the presence of Asmodea, demon queen of vengeful lust, first brushed Doctor Q’s awareness, it was like a sudden rush of desire. Her skin flushed, her eyelids fluttered, her heart beat faster. Not understanding the implication, she put her hand to her head to try to clear the cobwebs. The…

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#Asmodea #Caption story #demon #Doctor Q #fd #ff #fs #lust #magic #mind control #pleasure conditioning #possession #seduction #skarletteone #superheroine #supervillainess #Throwback

[whereishermes]

Fantastic Vision | Francisco Goya

Original Title: Asmodea Asmodea (Fantastic Vision) | Francisco Goya     Original Title: Asmodea    Date: 1820 – 1823    Style: Romanticism    Series: Black Paintings (1819-1823)    Genre: genre painting    Media: oil, canvas    Location: Museo del Prado, Madrid, Spain    Dimensions: 123 x 265 cm  1Asmodea or Fantastic Vision (Spanish: Visión fantástica) are names given to a fresco painting…

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#1814 #artist #asmodea #atropos #black painting #black paintings #Critic #culture #evan connell #fantastic vision #female #france #francisco goya #french #goya #greek #history #horses #king #landscape #life #madrid #mental #mountain #museum #myth #Painter #painting #paintings #Perspective

[dresdencodak]

Dark Science #141 - The St. Elmo Slide

Did you know that one of the greatest gifts you can give this holiday season is the gift of an artist not starving to death? It’s true! I’ve checked the science.

Patreon | Gumroad | Store | Ko-Fi | Paypal

#dresden codak #dark science #comics #illustration #cyberpunk #art deco #sen #vonnie awning #asmodea harthrow #gayyyy #lgbtq comics

[tentakrool]

Drew a picture of Bereia with her bestie, totally-not-girlfriend Shensen hanging out together. They’re just friends! Friendly friends.

Bereia was my Pathfinder character in the AP Hells Rebels. I just wanted to draw her in some gay clothes, tbh. Shensen helped her pick them out.

#pathfinder #original character #shensen #TTRPG art #my art #bereia asmodea gavra merendus #oc art

[deciphered-narrator]

i love the black paintings they're so horrifying and evocative

and then they have titles like "two old ones eating soup"

#i have an idea for a wip where the chapters are titled after the black paintings #but i can't take this seriously #i mean the rest of them have titles like asmodea and fight with cudgels so its not that bad #idk who titled them tho since goya didn't i'm pretty sure

[celicerae]

ok @dihalectics i have to go to a dinner in a hour so this may be a tad rushed, but here's my thoughts on w359stuck:

dirk/hal as pryce/hera is really interesting, and i do admit that it works better in the context of homestuck, but i'm not sure how i personally feel abt it. i wanted to keep the genders mostly the same, since i like the pryce/cutter dynamic since i sort of liked the feminist angle of cutter (masculine, probably gay figure) co opting the labor and expertise of a woman. its very clear to me in the flashback that opens up episode 61 that cutter definitely... groomed pryce? probably not in a sexual way but nonetheless i thought it would be interesting to see how jade could have become a much more dark and much less altruistic figure than her usual self, sorta in the vein of grimbark jade (also i just love evil milfs (cough godfeels)). i definitely see the dirk/hal dynamic being quite interesting in this place, and i like the allusion to dirk and caliborn's friendship in hs, and dirk has a much more pronounced dark side than jade does. my problem is that i don't see jade (or really anybody else?) working as hilbert. i perhaps have more to say here but i can't think of anything

on the topic of hic/caliborn. my main thing is that hic has like, one proper speaking line in the whole comic, and having to extrapolate an entire personality/manner of speaking from that would be a pain. (also some ppl have said that hic's portrayal and manner of speaking is stereotypically black. i can't say much here but i definitely wouldn't wanna step my toe in that end of the pool). i definitely like the fact that she's the head of betty crocker corp (and skaianet too?) since that translates well to goddard futuristics. and i can also see cutter's speech as "building minkowski" from the finale to be especially interesting if jane is minkowski. i also think her wanting to make contact with the dear listeners makes more sense than caliborn (wanting to find her home species, whereas caliborn could theoretically have the same motivation, but he doesn't have that connection to cherubs like hic does the troll homeworld, and i guess you could say caliborn doesn't know about cherubs' lack of society, but idk i see him just being a frontier pushing asswipe. what do you think?) my main reasoning for putting caliborn as cutter is that he's very gay and is very much a stand in for toxic masculinity.

also im just not sure if i wanna make caliborn/hic aliens, since cutter is explicitly a human in w359. i guess ultimately i'm fine with just changing this aspect but idk if i'd want to humanstuck them, tho i see that possibility more with caliborn than hic.

#if you ever wanna talk about this privately my discord is #asmodea(hash)3999 #i still have tons more ideas i just dont have the time to type them all out right now alsdkjklasdkljs

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Lonely Weekend Fic Rec List

I read, once again, a ton of phenomenal fics over the past week or so and I'm dying to share my favourites with you (red for NSFW content):

Blood in the Mortar & Dhampir Dreams by @bardic-inspo Megh is a phenomenal writer, be it for Mr. Vampire Lord Astarion or "Ima put a dhampir into her"-breeding-kink Astarion. I, personally, am here for anything Megh writes. Dhampir Dreams is also getting a part two, so check out part one while you're waiting patiently! Field Study @grandmother-goblin Ok, so, regrettably, this ongoing fic was on my TBR for way too long. I'm only a few chapters in, but this fic is a gem—Granny has such a deep understanding of Astarion's character and his many issues. Later chapters will be NSFW. Devil's Diary by ChildOfYuggoth & Raphael Simp (AscendedMuse) on ao3 (ongoing) Look, I have raging daddy issues and Raphael is not helping. At least not with the issues. Devil's Diary is a very fun, hot, not too smutty (yet) read with a snobby devil and an equally bratty Tav. Communication by @vixstarria I'm obsessed with the way Vix writes Astarion and I love her Tav, Asmodea—together they're the perfect gremlin couple and so so much fun! Communication is a brilliant read about Astarion having to make up his mind about ascension, when he's long made his decision. Life Essence by @nyx-knox Feeling like a bloody mess? Your body is in pain? It's that time of the month? Worry not, Astarion gotchu, babes (even if it's not your time of the month right now). Where were you, when I was new? by @kittenintheden Ok, I read this one a while ago BUT I think about it at least every couple of days. This is a brilliant pre-spawn law-student VirginTM Astarion fic that is masterfully written.

Don't forget to show your fandom creators and their work some love and by that I specifically mean comment, like and reblog said work! ✨

#astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate 3 #raphael x tav #raphael #emisficrec #other people’s writing #what do we do against the saddies? #right! good soup—no literature! #better yet: both

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 4

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Series masterlist | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

Chapter word count: 4,100

Chapter summary: How in the hells are they managing to run a theatre, anyway? Also, we slowly begin the descent into smut.

Sometime in the past five years

“It’s perfect!” Asmodea burst into the bedroom above their tavern.

Astarion had been lying, corpse-like, in bed in the darkness of drawn curtains and shuttered windows, staring off into space, as he was wont to do of late.

He knew he could have gone downstairs - everything was arranged in a way that made it perfectly safe for him during daytime, but he simply could not bring himself to play the amiable host role just then. It wasn’t necessary, anyway - someone else was down there looking after things. He wasn’t necessary.

“It’s in a heavily impacted area and most of the buildings around it are damaged - must be why no one has snatched it up yet - but it’s completely intact.”

Her arrival was a sudden explosion of noise and activity, drawing him out of his lethargy. Candles throughout the room lit up with a flick of her wrist and a murmured incantation. He sat up as she continued.

“A little bird told me that the area around it is going to be cleared for other entertainment venues. Restaurants, taverns. A brothel or two. Just what we want nearby. No temples. No solitary manors.”

She threw her jacket onto a nearby chair, kicked her shoes off and hopped onto the bed next to him.

“I can’t wait to show you - we can sneak back in once it gets dark.”

“As much as I enjoy skulking around abandoned buildings with you, I’m starting to feel like I’m a pet you take out for walks,” said Astarion, his tone sour.

“You’re not-” Asmodea began with a sigh.

“Shh, I’ve already heard everything you’re about to say,” Astarion cut her off, shaking his head. “Just tell me about this new place you’ve found.”

Asmodea gave him a concerned look, but continued.

“What the seller’s asking for is already reasonable, but I’m sure I can get them to knock it down further. It’s huge, more than what we need - but that’s hardly a problem. We can tear down some walls, erect others…” She went on, describing the building she’d located as a potential site for the theatre she wanted to open.

The expression on Astarion’s face thawed at her excitement, before growing sombre again.

“I suppose you have an answer for how we are going to pay for all that as well..?”

“We’ll get a loan,” she answered, with the intonation of one explaining something to a child.

“And what bank is going to give us a loan big enough to cover all that..?” he asked, copying her tone.

“Any bank, with Duke Ravengard as the guarantor,” she answered.

“Is His Grace aware of his role in this enterprise..?” Astarion asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll have dinner with him later this tenday and inform him,” she said, leaning in to give him a peck on the lips before getting up again.

“You’re so sure of all this..?” Astarion sighed, laying back on the bed with his hands under his head, to look up at the ceiling.

“You know Wyll’s got a soft spot for us,” she said.

“A hard spot, you mean,” Astarion snickered despite himself.

“Probably best not to bring that up over dinner,” Asmodea cautioned. “We’ll promise to donate part of our proceeds to an orphanage or a hospital or some other cause he’d approve - he won’t say no.”

“If you say so,” he assented. “Have you made any other devious plans I ought to be aware of..?”

“Well…” she drawled, “there is one more thing.” She disappeared in the adjacent room. It sounded like she was rummaging for something - for what, he had no clue. “I need your name,” she called out, offhandedly.

Astarion gave pause, frowning.

“My name is Astarion.”

“I need your surname,” she said, appearing in the doorway.

“What’s wrong with yours?” he asked, genuinely dumbfounded.

“I can’t. Use it. Due to my pact,” she gritted through her teeth. “You know this. And buying that building and all the construction work required would be a big undertaking - much bigger than just unofficially renting some dingy tavern space - and I can’t sign legal documents as simply ‘Asmodea’.”

“So why would your dear patron allow you to use mine, if it prohibits your own..?” he blinked.

“Fuckface said that marriage would fall under exceptional circumstances, and they would allow it,” she said.

“Mar-!?” he cut himself off mid-word. “Now… Hold on. Wait a minute,” Astarion started to grin. “Let me get this straight.” He sat up again, looking at her. She had coloured, he noticed. “Although I applaud you for your guile, using your patron as a means of trapping me into marriage… Did you just propose to me..?”

“I would never!” She disappeared back in the other room, making a ruckus with gods know what again. “You can do that yourself. Like a gentleman.”

“What?!” Astarion let out an involuntary giggle.

“And make it romantic!” she shouted. “I’m thinking midnight, someplace nice outside. Moonlight reflecting on water, that kind of thing. Maybe swans. I like swans.”

“Swans?! Is there anything else I should arrange - perhaps some jugglers and mimes..?” he tittered.

“Absolutely not! But a nice ring would be in order. One that no lady is going to grab my hand for, saying she’s recently had one gone missing that looked just like it.” Asmodea reappeared in the doorway. “And make it all a surprise, will you? I don’t want to see it from a league away.” She continued as Astarion got up and off the bed, making monumental efforts to keep his face straight. “If you manage all that within the next few days Wyll might even be compelled to provide us with a nice engagement gift when we see him.”

She made to disappear again, but Astarion reached out and grabbed her, drawing her against him by her waist before she could get away.

“Will you stay still for two seconds..?” He gently tilted her face up to make her look him in the eyes. “You sweet, ridiculous fool… So that’s what you want, is it..?” he murmured, tenderly stroking her face.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He kissed her, unable to contain a smile. His teeth clacked against hers mid-kiss, clumsily, as she also couldn’t keep from spilling into a wide grin. They both dissolved into giddy laughter as he pulled her after him, stumbling backwards to the bed.

Present day

Asmodea made her way to one of the stairwells leading down into the theatre.

The entire top floor of the building consisted of private apartments. A large section was used by her and Astarion, their rooms being connected to a private terrace. The rest were offered to visiting artists and other guests. It was much easier to secure an act whilst an entertainer was in the city, if your offer included lodgings.

A downside to this was that there was always a high likelihood of bumping into someone within what they considered to be their home. There was always someone around, whether in the guest rooms upstairs, in the theatre or in the kitchens, no matter the time of day or night. The Dancing Siren never slept.

After descending, she passed by the dressing room, pausing to greet the performers who had begun arriving.

Asmodea usually carried out her own preparations upstairs, but Astarion had an honorary vanity at the far end of the room. Lacking a mirror, instead it sported a multitude of drawings pinned to the wall, ranging from an impressive charcoal portrait of Astarion - its depiction of his semi-profile uncanny in its realism - to a doodle of a stick figure with fluffy white hair, fangs and red eyes.

She moved on towards the auditorium.

The audience section of the theatre was filled with plush, red velvet couches arranged in clusters around small tables, in tiers. Raunchy art lined the walls. The lighting in this area was perpetually dimmed. It was vulgar and decadent, but intentionally, even brazenly so. There was no room for subtle, alluring sensuality - the raucous bawdiness slapped the attendees in their faces. Their guests immediately knew what they were stepping into.

Astarion had been sceptical about this venture at first, having about as much enthusiasm about taking part in anything as he did back when Asmodea unwittingly forced him onstage with Dribbles the Clown’s doppelganger.

He did not have a single creative bone in his body, he said. He had no idea what he was doing. And, above all, he had had enough of being on display - he did not want or need any more eyes on him.

Blatant lies, all of it, it turned out.

It took some time for him to let go of his apprehension and inhibitions, but he eventually found himself diving headfirst into this new endeavour. Apparently attention was addicting when it was on his own terms, as was receiving genuine appreciation for his craft. Swaying an audience to laugh with him was gratifying and empowering. …As was having the authority to direct others and actually having them listen. Having recognition and respect.

Seeing him thrive was a joy - Asmodea only wished that most of the day to day minutiae of running the Siren hadn’t fallen on her shoulders, especially at the beginning. She’d spent her days organising advertisements, luring in performers, or crunching numbers with their accountant until she dreamt of requisitions, whilst Astarion spent his time planning choreography or getting costumes just right. Oh well, she thought. They had hired help for most of the mundane details now.

Asmodea found Astarion lounging on one of the couches, in the company of their stage manager and assistant director.

A rendition of a classical play was being portrayed on stage. Unrequited love between a maiden and her pining lover, cruel fate disallowing them from being together; the story concluded with a tragic suicide pact that somehow culminated in half a dozen dead bodies - everyone in Faerun was familiar with and sick of the story - that didn’t matter, as it wasn’t the focal point of the performance.

Instead, everyone’s attention was intended to be drawn to the shadows projected onto a screen behind the actors. As the actors performed their sorrowful dialogue, their shadows - in reality silhouettes of other actors behind the screen - displayed them doing anything but talking.

“How did you get the shadows to be so sharp?” Asmodea asked, impressed.

“Matrim devised some trick with mirrors,” Astarion answered.

Matrim was, quite possibly, the worst wizard they had ever met. The man was hopeless in everything but illusion magic, which incidentally made him highly sought after for high end spectacles and performances. He provided lighting and visual effects for the theatre, and in turn he was provided with a living and working space in the Siren’s basement, on top of his wages. His lack of proficiency in other schools of magic did not prevent him from stubbornly pursuing them, often with near-catastrophic results. Still, between spending much of his time in the company of scantily clad dancers, and Asmodea and Astarion ignoring the occasional explosions that shook the building, he was likely the most self-satisfied wizard in Baldur’s Gate, despite his professional shortcomings. 

As it happened, it was Matrim who managed to conjure a perfect mirror image of Astarion (much to Astarion’s shock), absentmindedly, almost as an afterthought, just as Gale was informing Astarion that he had exhausted all avenues and deemed it impossible.

Gale politely commended the achievement which had eluded him, but ultimately dismissed Matrim as a one trick pony. Regardless, as far as Asmodea and Astarion were concerned, the man was worth his (rather abundant) weight in gold.

As the actor portraying the male hero onstage performed a heartfelt monologue, professing his undying love for the heroine, his shadow was shown to grow an enormous but otherwise anatomically correct phallus.

Asmodea’s patron hummed in approval.

“If Fuckface’s reaction is any indicator for how our audience will respond - this is great,” said Asmodea.

“It still baffles me, some of the things it finds to be funny,” Astarion murmured.

“I’m still under the impression that the concept of gender is alien to them, but they can appreciate a dick joke as well as anyone.”

Fuckface made no comment.

As the scene went on, the shadows began ravaging one another in progressively creative and obscene ways, performing acrobatic feats of increasing complexity.

“It’s good! And now no one will be able to say we don’t pay tribute to the ‘great works’,” Asmodea went on as the female’s shadow was picked up and flipped upside down by the male. “The only thing that concerns me is- OH! By Shar’s tits!” Asmodea gasped as the female suddenly opened and held her legs in a perfect spread eagle split, her crotch level with the man’s head.

“Indeed…” murmured Astarion. “Can you do that?” He glanced at her with curiosity.

“If I ever feel like dislocating a hip I’ll give it a try,” she muttered. “Who’s behind there?”

“The new girl,” Astarion answered. “Elora.”

“Hmm. I hope she sticks around. …Anyway, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this might actually be too crass,” winced Asmodea. “Aren’t they teenagers in the original work?”

“We could give them both beards,” offered Astarion. “Or add a line at the beginning about them struggling to pay their taxes - it will make their state of distress all the more plausible.”

Astarion stood idly swirling a glass of red wine spiked with blood, observing the crowd from behind a curtain off the side of the stage, concealed by darkness. He had been very pleased to learn that drinking wine this way was still enjoyable for him, even without the tadpole.

“See anything you like at the buffet tonight?” Asmodea purred in Astarion’s ear, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

He wore a corset beneath a bedazzled suit jacket, together with an obscene amount of jewellery. He preferred to keep his scarred back concealed, when he could. And apparently it was a pants day. Some nights he felt more conservative than others.

He made or altered everything he wore himself, just as he did many of the more outlandish costumes worn by their performers.

Asmodea herself wore her usual rendition of the evening attire she kept to when she wasn’t appearing onstage - a relatively simple red dress tailored to her figure, complete with a high thigh slit. A balance of sophistication and practicality - she made it a life principle to never wear anything that might be too constraining for her to be able to deliver a swift kick to anyone’s groin, should the need arise - all whilst keeping with the theme of the Siren.

“There are a few tempting options…” Astarion responded. “But why don’t you choose tonight?”

“What about the new bard? Devyn. He’s not performing tonight, just watching.”

“You always go for the men,” commented Astarion. “Should I be worried?” he teased.

“They’re more likely to follow through, and less prone to suddenly catching feelings and expectations in the morning,” shrugged Asmodea. “And I like watching you make them squirm,” she whispered in his ear, as he smirked. “But if you’re not up for that, what about that new dancer? Elora?”

“I thought we decided to avoid regular employees after the last fiasco?” Astarion lifted an eyebrow, glancing back at her.

“I’ve noticed she’s been making doe eyes at both of us - I think the other girls have been gossiping to her. Wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”

“Hmm,” hummed Astarion. “Maybe next time. The bard does look appetising.” He downed what was left of his wine. “I’m up.”

The way it started was unintentional. A wood elf ranger visiting their tavern, years back. Warm, guileless, companionable. Perhaps he reminded them of a younger, unburdened Halsin. They were drawn into a conversation with him late into the night. He had recognised Astarion for what he was, and was not frightened by it. Rather, he was curious. Unlike the blood merchant at Moonrise, there was something genuine and almost naive about his curiosity. He wanted to experience being bitten.  

They’d explained to him the way it would affect him – the aphrodisiac-like element of being bit by a vampire. It only further sparked his curiosity. Of course that thought wouldn’t deter a wood elf, Astarion would roll his eyes later. They explained the way it would most likely affect Astarion, for that matter – thinking creature blood still tended to go straight to his dick, no matter the source. ‘You can’t argue with your nature’, was all the ranger said. ‘No, but sometimes nature needs to be ignored, replied Astarion. 

He brought the ranger’s wrist to his lips, holding his gaze, and bit into it. It was meant to be an arrogant, snarky gesture. An “I told you so. Happy now?”. Instead, the moment the blood hit his tongue, something passed between them. Astarion found his eyes locked with the other elf’s, unable to look away and break the unspoken sultry exchange. No, this could not so easily be ignored.  

An indeterminate amount of time passed. It couldn’t have been long, but each moment seemed to hold the significance of a lifetime. ‘Shit,’ thought Astarion, breaking away at last and glancing back at Asmodea, hoping she would write off any change she might have noticed in his demeanour as irrelevant and beyond his control.  

Instead, she palmed his cock through his trousers, encouragingly, spellbound by the sight of them. He rutted against her hand, involuntarily. No, it could not be ignored at all.  

‘Do you want to continue this upstairs?’ the wood elf breathed, shakily, taking in both of them.  

They did.  

Words of re-affirmation would follow between Astarion and Asmodea the next day. Was what had occurred fine? Yes, it was. Should it happen again? They didn’t see why not. Ground rules would be set out. Only together. Only with each other’s unwavering consent. Any hesitation meant no. Astarion would drink from their ‘guest’. If they did not want him to – they would not bother at all. Procuring sufficient blood for him to be able to dull the eternal gnawing hunger was still problematic back then. After, it had simply become part of the custom.

The new bard lounged between them in their booth, happily chattering away about his recent travels. He wasn’t scheduled to perform until the following evening, and was spending the night enjoying the evening’s show, at the invitation of his hosts.

Asmodea laughed and talked with the bard, as Astarion mostly kept his eye on the stage, interjecting at appropriate moments. This didn’t require his full attention.

The young man seemed fine. Jovial. Unpretentious. Slightly awkward. Suggestible. Undeniably attractive. He was tipsy, but not sloppily so. In other words, perfect.

Astarion shifted his attention to Asmodea, catching her eye over the bard’s head, as he babbled something about his recent time in Waterdeep. Asmodea held his eye, as he raised an eyebrow at her. She tilted her head slightly and smiled. He had her approval.

The rest was a game consisting of a multitude of little probes, trials and tests, one of several they’d worked out for themselves.

‘Doesn’t this remind you of… ‘before’,’ she’d asked him when they first started getting into this routine.

Of course it did. That was the point. Finding his own ‘prey’ for himself, by his own volition, without pressure, without anyone’s death, without pain or fear of punishment, knowing he could stop any time he wanted, and all of it with her every step of the way. It wouldn’t erase centuries of horrible memories, but having sufficient pleasant experiences might just throw a veil over them, eventually, or so he hoped.

Asmodea reached for a bottle of wine on their table, placing her hand on Devyn’s thigh, as though for balance, and kept it there.

The bard stammered mid-sentence and looked up at her, surprised but clearly pleasantly so. The hand stayed, as she smiled back at him, gazing at him through lidded eyes. He was attracted to her - that much was obvious. One of the little boxes ticked. He went on talking, until he suddenly froze, a touch of panic writ on his face, and turned towards Astarion - as though suddenly remembering that his hosts were a couple.

At that point Astarion had half turned towards him, his arm thrown over the back of the booth’s seat, above Devyn’s shoulders.

Devyn found Astarion’s carmine eyes inches from his own, when he turned. All he could do was look into them, hypnotised like a mouse before a cobra.

Astarion ran a single finger up the back of Devyn’s neck, making the bard’s breath hitch and the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. He briefly toyed with the idea of further petrifying him, perhaps by insinuating that the bard had the audacity to flirt with his wife in his plain sight, but decided against it.

At that point Asmodea had inched her hand further up the young man’s thigh. He let her, and had even spread his legs further, all while continuing to look at Astarion with a mixture of trepidation and a growing excitement. Bold. Promising.

Astarion learned further in, slowly, to gage Devyn’s reaction. The bard stayed entranced and did not shrink away, although Astarion heard his pulse quicken.

It was all as good as sealed.

Astarion finally leaned in for a kiss, which Devyn returned eagerly. The little tease actually got cocksure enough to cover Asmodea’s hand with his own, encouraging her to go higher along his leg. 

This left just one little detail.

Astarion slid his lips along the bard’s jaw and up to his ear.

“Do you know what I am..?” he whispered against the shell of his ear.

Devyn let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve heard many rumours… I don’t know which might be true,” he managed, voice thick with desire.

“Many rumours..?” Astarion smiled. “Seems I’m gaining notoriety. But I’ll give you a hint.”

His lips dipped lower, trailing along his neck, nibbling on it softly as Devyn gasped and threw his head back, to give him just the slightest nick with a single fang. He drew only the tiniest drop of blood - only enough to make Devyn crave more, and just enough for Astarion to determine that the blood was appropriate and untainted. He had learned to identify disease - he’s had plenty of test subjects over the past few years after all. Not to the point of determining what was wrong with his target, but enough to be able to tell when to stay away.

Devyn let out a low moan as Astarion continued to lick and lightly suck on his neck, no longer breaking the skin.

Astarion reached out to place his hand on Asmodea’s knee. She covered his hand with hers. They had developed little silent, basic tactile signals for each other. Sharp staccato taps - caution. Intertwined fingers - stay, more. Nails digging into skin - stop immediately. But she only caresses his hand back, reassuring and encouraging him. Everything was fine. She would take it from there.

“Would you like to join us after the show..?” she purred into Devyn’s opposite ear.

“I’ve never done this before,” he stuttered.

“What?!” she teased. “And you say you completed bardic college - I thought lewd indecency was a prerequisite for graduating.”

“No, I mean with-” his eyes darted between Asmodea and Astarion.

Astarion never learned whether he meant vampires, men, women or a combination thereof, as at that point he had to excuse himself and get back onstage. He got up with the strongest feeling of deja vu taking him back to their time with Wyll.

He left as Asmodea was cooing at the flustered bard, promising to teach him whatever skills he was lacking. She found this type particularly entertaining, for whatever reason. It didn’t matter: if she was happy, he was happy.

His new little snack and entertainment for the night was secured, and would eagerly await him.

Asmodea was interrupted by Ban, one of the bouncers, who looked uncharacteristically apprehensive.

“Madam, there is a man at the door asking to see you or the Master. He said he’s a friend of yours.”

“Did he give his name?” Asmodea asked distractedly.

“He refused to, but he is very persistent about seeing you.”

“Can you describe him?” Asmodea frowned.

“Human male, somewhere in his 30’s. Long brown hair. Not your archmage friend. And he has a small child with him.”

Asmodea racked her brain trying to remember anyone they knew that fit that description, who happened to have a child and might act this way. She shook her head.

“Ask him to come in, I’ll attend to him soon.”

Ban leaned in closer to whisper to her.

“He said he won’t enter without the express permission from the lord or lady of the house.”

Fuck.

Asmodea got up, smiling apologetically at Devyn.

“Another time.” She turned back to Ban. “Thank you. I’ll get Astarion myself and will see him.”

~~~~~

Thank you for reading. PS. If you’re wondering whether anything mentioned about the theatre or play is a reference to something that exists irl - the answer is most likely ‘yes’.

Thank you @elora-the-slutty-songstress and @brabblesblog for the OC cameos. 😁

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles #asmodea

[moiracolleenodell]

“What if the demons of Hell had nuclear families with children who went on field trips? Where would they go? What would they learn?

“ Asmodea is a well-mannered demoness who attends the Sixth Circle Common School with other young demons who are all studying hard to become assets to the legions of Hell when they grow up. For this special class session, her teacher Mister Astaroth takes the children on a tour of the nine circles of Hell to study and interact with the sinners in each circle.”

Warnings: intense violence, gore, they are taking a trip through Hell and all that entails

This book will soon be available as an epub on multiple platforms including Amazon and Barnes & Noble; or you can buy it directly from me in pdf format for $3 through paypal.me/moiracolleen

#asmodea #asmodea and the field trip to the petting zoo of the damned

[miseryscrowned]

Introducing my Pathfinder WOTR ocs 🌿

🗡 Angrboda (Angra)

She / Her, half orc, freebooter, chaotic good, Arueshalae romance

Angra is a pirate, she loves to travel and never turns down a fight or a good feast, she was visiting Kenabres and happened to be there just in time for the festivities, when the demons attacked the city she didn’t waste time fighting them back. She decides to stick around to help repel the demon attacks but she wasn’t prepared to be appointed Commander, nonetheless Angra does her best to not let her new friends down.

🔥 Asmodea (Saga)

She / Her, tiefling, flame dancer, chaotic neutral, Woljif romance

Saga grew up in the streets of Kenabres where her guardian, a cunning tiefling woman who took her in as an infant, taught her how to survive and how use her powers not only to fight but to entertain. She picks the virtue name Saga as she had always been fond of stories and she always knew she wanted to be a singer. Saga joins Angra’s crusade in the hope to find protection and that things can go back to normal so she can go back to singing (and stealing) in taverns, but so far the young girl is enjoying the chaotic adventure she’s got caught up in and the friends she’s making along the way.

#oc: angra lievens #oc: saga firestorm #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wrath of the righteous #pathfinder oc

[sprovod]

FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED

Sam Winchester is a Priest and the reader is a powerful demon who plans to break him. Female reader, implied smut, dark themes! If enough people would like a part two, ill do it :-)

The sun shone through the large stained glass windows of the Church, painting its marble floors and ornate walls in different colors and designs. The Priest, Sam Winchester, sat kneeling in front of the alter, praying. He had a lengthy history with hunting, and decided to change his ways and repent, becoming a priest and spreading the word of the lord. He left his previous life behind after yet another near death experience, and swore he met Christ in the process. He decided to break away from his once violent lifestyle, changed his name, took an oath, and now found himself baptizing babies and conducting a mass every Sunday. He was content now; and for the first time, he felt as though his life had purpose and structure. And at the end of each day, such as now, he would thank God for changing his ways and making him the man he is today.

Latin hymns reflected on his knelt figure from the windows as he prayed, his hands clasped together and his eyes closed. Soft swirls of incense floated among the floors and across the decorated walls, the scent of Frankincense and Myrrh wafting throughout the cathedral he often called home. He mumbled to himself; or really, to God. The vast wooden doors to the church creaked open from, disrupting the large man from his one sided conversation. After looking up to the quartzite statue of Mother Mary, he turned back from the alter, letting go of his hands and standing up. Confused, he watched as the girl entering shut the heavy door behind her, the light that momentarily flooded the entrance once again hiding behind the ornate mahogany panel doors. “Father Wesson,” The girl started, the sound of concern lacing her words. His brows twitched in confusion as he tilted his head, watching her walk towards him. The sound of her shoes clicking against the cold marble echoed through his house of worship as she got closer to him. “I’m so sorry to disturb you after traditional hours, but I must speak to you urgently.” She said, her brows laced with worry as she looked up to the towering man.

“Please,” He started, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized how hoarse his voice was from his hours spent alone praying. “What’s troubling you?” He asked concerned, raising his brows and tilting his head to her. She sighed gently and smiled, looking relieved, “I have a confession, and I can’t bare the thought of living with my sins. Please, I need to confess my sins and repent.” She said, her eyes welling up with tears. His face grew soft as he nodded, “Of course. Have a seat.” He smiled warmly, nudging to one of the many pews behind them. She returned the smile, “I can’t thank you enough, Father.” She said, turning around and walking to one of the benches. He followed, sitting next to her on the uncomfortable wooden seat, the plastic cushions letting out what sounded like a sigh beneath the two from the sudden weight.

He couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut; maybe he was just paranoid. He didn’t recognize this girl, he was sure he met most of the people from living and praising in this small town for well over two years. He pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind, shaking this feeling of uneasy off and readying himself for her confession. “I’m always here to listen. What’s your name?” He asked, head tilted. A sly smile grew on her lips, “Asmodea,” She said. She saw him visibly tense up, “But Dea works fine.” He swore he heard that name before, and every single siren and warning light was going off in his head. He paused, looking forward and furrowing his brows. He was deep in thought, trying to remember, but he couldn’t. “Father? Are you alright?” She questioned, looking up at him with concern. He quickly cleared his throat and nodded, “Yes, Yeah, uhm.. Everything’s fine. My apologies.” He stammered, smiling, “Dea, confess whenever you’re ready.” He said, a soft look of patience painted on his face.

“I’ve been having these.. thoughts.” She started, trailing off. “I can’t seem to control my anger and lust. I need help.” She said, looking down guiltily. He nodded, raising his brows, “Okay. And.. these thoughts. What kind of thoughts are these?” He questioned, his interest peaking. She inhaled sharply and continued, “All I can think about is sex and violence.. I can’t get these thoughts out of my head!” She whimpered, defeat all over her face. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, “You need to let the lord in,” He smiled gently, “You need to forgive yourself for these thoughts, and then he can forgive you.” He nodded. She smiled and looked up at him, ��I understand.” He straightened his posture, “Have you acted out on these thoughts and feelings?” She tilted her head and pursed her lips, “Not yet.” His gaze hardened ever so slightly, giving her a quizzical look. “What do you mean by ‘not yet?’” He asked, his throat going dry. “Tell me, Father..” She started, standing up and walking out of the pew and towards the altar ahead. His eyes were locked on her figure, fear slowly starting to sink into the pit of his stomach. The sound of her shoes clicking against the floor bounced off of the vaulted ceiling as she approached the sanctum. He rose slowly as she began to speak, a hand on the pew in front of him, “Have you ever tried to run away from a life of sin? It just always seems to catch up to you.”

He seemed almost stunned at the question the girl asked. This was supposed to be her confession, not his. He went to speak, but nothing came out. He knew something was wrong, and he had nothing to defend himself with. As the girl faced the cross in front of her, she began to speak once again. “I just feel like.. No matter how many times I confess, and no matter how many times I try and reform myself in the eyes of god, I just can’t escape my right of passage.” She sighed, looking down. He slowly and cautiously walked towards her, “Dea.. What do you mean by right of passage?” He questioned, “You still have time to change your life around and give yourself to the lord.” He said optimistically. “You and I are very, very, similar, Father.” She smiled, “The both of us just can’t seem to escape what we were put on this earth to do.” She said. He stepped closer, clenching his jaw, “I don’t understand what you mean by that.” He said defensively; the reality he feared slowly began to sink in. She laughed softly and turned around, revealing her once innocent looking doe eyes to be pitch black, such as a void. The reds, blues, greens, and yellows from the stained glass washed over her from above, and an intense gust of wind seemed to rush through the aisle of the church, blowing out every candle of remembrance and honor in its way.

He stepped back in shock, his eyes wide as he faced the demon in front of him. He clenched his fists, sweat beginning to form in his palms and between his fingers. Before he was able to retort, she spoke, “I love this new look on you, Father Winchester.” His face grew pale as he trembled with both anger and fear, “Who are you?” He asked sternly, breathing heavier, “What do you want?” He growled. She laughed and walked towards him slowly, “You know who I am, Winchester. Don’t play stupid.” She grinned. It all hit him at once; years ago, both him and Dean came across a dead end on a case of what seemed like a succubus case. They beat themselves up over their loss for days until a new case hit, then they had no choice to move on. He remembered during his countless hours of research seeing her name somewhere in a demonology book, but chalked it up to a succubus that managed to escape the two. “I want you, Sam. And ill do anything and everything in my power to have you.” She said, inches away from him now. The smell of frankincense and myrrh was quickly replaced with roses and what he could only assume was pheromones. He shuddered as she placed a hand gently on his chest, “Please, father.. Forgive me for what I must do.” She said, looking up at him.

He snapped out of it and placed his hands on hers, pushing her off gently and backing up. “I’m a different man now, Asmodea. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to preach what I believe in.” He said, gulping as he nodded towards the cross behind her. “Oh, Father,” She said in a sultry tone, causing him to shift uncomfortably. “I don’t want to fight either.. I just want to show you how badly I want to worship you.” She said. She blinked up at him, her eyes returning back to a human facade. He shook his head, “No. Absolutely not.” He whispered, still in shock over the situation. “How did you find me?” He asked, backing away from her. “I’ve had my eye on you since you were hot on my tail a few years ago with Dean. You came really close to finding me, but I managed to stump you both.” He hadn’t heard someone mention Dean since he stopped hunting and turned his life around. Anger was visible on his face, “It was you. I knew it was you.” He snapped, only making her smile more. “Aww, Father..” She sighed, her brows furrowing, “Please, Forgive me for my sins.” She grinned, once again placing her hands on his chest and planting a kiss on his now dry lips; which of course wasn’t returned. “No. Get out.” He growled, to which she smirked and placed gently kisses on his jawline and whatever parts of his neck were exposed. “Please, Father,” She whispered. He let out a strained groan, looking away in disbelief. “Let me show you how sorry I am for being such a filthy sinner.” She begged gently, lowering her hands down to his waistline beneath his shirt and looping her fingers in his belt loops.

He groaned, his head rolling back, “This is wrong.. This is so wrong, we can’t do this.. You can’t do this to me.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He refused to look at her or at any of the Church decor. He swore that if he opened his eyes, Christ would be glaring daggers at him and the statue of Mary would be crying. “I know you think its wrong, Father.. But I need you to save me, I need you to fix me.” She answered, “Only you can help me.” She said, slowly lowering herself down to her knees in front of him. She smirked as she placed her cheek against the large bulge in his now tight black slacks, running her hands gently up and down his thighs. Her pleading was almost too much for him to handle; and her scent was driving him insane along with those pretty words she was using against him. “Please,” He whimpered, his voice strained. He managed to muster up the courage to look down at her, his hands down at his sides, “Please don’t do this, its against all I believe.” He said, shaking his head. “I thought you believed in saving others, Father.. And you know as much as I do that you want this.” She laughed softly, slowly pressing her cheek a bit harder into his now raging erection. She intertwined a hand with his, and guided his other to the back of her head. He couldn’t help but tighten his grip in her locks, clenching his jaw as he looked down at her.

“Forgive me Father, and absolve me of my sins.”

#supernatural #sam winchester #sam and dean #spn #castiel #dean winchester #spn text post #dark fantasy #fanfic #fantasy #fandom #content warning #18+ content #mind break #demon girl #demon #crowley #tv #tv series #television

[eenurgl]

Asmodea🩸 Based on the mask by Edward Jekyll

#eenurgl #demoness #painting

[asmodiyanashop]

MY ART asmodiyana [ in stock, for sale ] - Payment method - Swift transaction, or adding funds to my tinkoff account by link or using the Korona by phone number.../// Territorially I am located in Russia and not from all countries swift payment available. The rest of the methods are discussed personally.

✧S.ZHVK.✧ ✧༺༻

Thank you for being interested in my work. Paintings are the most common way to decorate any room... ◌

Asmodea for 2024 Canvas on cardboard,, oil 30×40 "Red evening for many" Without the baguette comfort, as it is :Please look at her!

#traditional art #graphic design #art #artwork #artists on tumblr #my art #traditional painting #my shop #oc adopt #character adopt #auction #auction open #auction adoptable #sold #auction character #character design #character art #furry character #expressions #stylization #color study #colour #auction art #selling character #selling #selling art #selling traditional art #buyadoptable #open adoptables