#(OR perhaps not wanting to disappoint him?)

[novaursa]

The North's Fiercest Catch

- Summary: You challenge Cregan to hunt down a dragon. 

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Snow clings to your boots as you trudge through the wintry woodlands of the North, the biting chill cutting through even the thickest furs you’ve borrowed from House Stark. Winterfell is alive today with excitement, for Cregan Stark himself is leading the hunt, and you've persuaded your brother to join. Jace looks delighted, eagerly exchanging talk with the Stark men, laughing and jesting with a camaraderie that comes easily to him. Cregan leads, with his watchful gaze cutting through the snow-covered forest as he speaks in low, firm tones that captivate those around him. It’s hard to ignore the sense of command he exudes, a quality you’ve come to appreciate more and more since arriving.

The North’s chill is harsher than any cold you’ve felt on Dragonstone, and yet, you find warmth in the glances you steal at Cregan, the Warden of the North. His gaze meets yours often, and each time, there’s a flicker of something unspoken—a fire beneath the ice. But today, you’re in the mood for more than just glances. A bold idea takes root, and as you survey the surrounding woods, your lips curl into a mischievous smile.

"Cregan," you call, pulling your horse up beside his. He looks over, raising an eyebrow at the challenge in your voice.

“Aye, my lady?” His voice is deep, grounded like the Northern earth beneath you. You can hear the amusement in his tone, as though he’s already bracing himself for whatever scheme you’re concocting.

You tilt your chin, feigning a casual air. “Tell me, what does House Stark find worthy of a hunt?”

Cregan’s grin widens slightly. “Stags, bears, even wolves,” he answers, glancing to his men. “Northern beasts fierce enough to keep even our best hunters on edge.”

You shake your head, feigning disappointment. “Not fierce enough, then.”

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what would satisfy a Valyrian?”

“Dragons,” you say, watching him with a glint in your eye. “The kind that can outmatch a wolf in speed, wits, and fire.”

Your words hang in the air, catching Cregan—and the men—off guard. Even Jace has stopped mid-sentence, staring at you as if you’d grown another head.

“You want me to hunt a dragon?” Cregan asks, his voice a mixture of skepticism and intrigue. The men around him exchange uneasy glances, clearly uncertain about your jest.

“Yes,” you say, holding his gaze, a slight smile on your lips. “A dragon of flesh and blood, scales and fire… and daring enough to let you try.”

Jace chuckles, crossing his arms with an amused shake of his head. “Sister, you’ve truly lost your wits. You’re offering yourself as prey?”

"Only if Cregan thinks he can catch me," you reply, with a taunting edge in your voice.

A murmur ripples through the hunting party, a mix of laughter and disbelief. But Cregan’s eyes remain fixed on you, studying you with a careful intensity that sends a thrill through your spine.

“Tell me, Princess Y/N,” he says, leaning slightly toward you, his voice low and filled with the promise of a challenge, “are you daring me to chase you on foot? Or do you intend to make this a true hunt?”

His question makes the corners of your mouth twitch. “Well, where’s the thrill in staying on the ground? My dragon, Gallaex, is nearby. You’ll have to catch me on his wings.”

His eyes flash with the prospect of the hunt, and for a moment, you think you’ve finally managed to break through that Northern reserve. He gives a quiet chuckle, nodding in acceptance of your terms.

“And how will I know you won’t burn me to a crisp if I get close?”

“Consider it part of the challenge,” you reply, arching an eyebrow. “If you can close the distance, perhaps I’ll decide you’re worthy enough to let live.”

Jace bursts out laughing, clapping Cregan on the shoulder. “Oh, I’d pay to see this, Cregan. I doubt you’ll get anywhere near her, though. You might not realize it, but my sister’s fiercer than any dragon you’ve heard about.”

Cregan looks back at you, and his smile is wolfish, mirroring the stark wildness of his homeland. “Then let it be a hunt worthy of legend,” he says, finally accepting your dare. “I’ll catch you, dragon or no.”

The thrill of the challenge sends a shiver through you, as potent as the bite of Northern cold. You take a step back, glancing over your shoulder at Jace, who’s grinning like a fool.

“Make sure you don’t get hurt, sister,” he teases, though there’s an affectionate warmth in his voice. “Cregan here might surprise you.”

You lift your chin. “Then let him try. The North may have its wolves, but it has yet to meet a dragon.”

With that, you turn, feeling the thrill course through your veins. You know that Cregan’s eyes are on you, and as you prepare to summon Gallaex, the promise of this chase—the thrill of being hunted by him—ignites a fire within you that no winter could ever hope to extinguish.

The Northern wind howls, a relentless beast tearing through the forest as Cregan Stark and his hunting party advance through the snowy terrain, his men trudging in silence, eyes sharp as they scan the dense landscape. Even Jace, usually so full of laughter and jest, has fallen into a tense quiet as they all search for you and your dragon.

This isn’t any ordinary hunt, and every man knows it. Cregan has taken on your challenge to “catch” a dragon, a feat whispered about as mad by some, yet thrilling enough to drive the blood through their veins with fire. It’s no stag or wolf he seeks in this hunt, but a Valyrian princess—a Velaryon who has fire in her blood and the daring of dragons in her heart. And somewhere above, hidden within the vast white of the northern skies, waits Gallaex.

Gallaex is a creature of beauty and terror, like a ghost rising from the snow, pale and icy, his scales glimmering faintly under the light of the sun like polished pearls or the glistening frost on Winterfell’s towers at dawn. He is a dragon of pale white, the color of fresh snow—making him nearly invisible against the wintry landscape that sprawls beneath him. Massive, powerful wings spread wide, each movement a barely audible whisper in the cold, as if even the air respects his presence, too fearful to disturb him.

“By the gods,” mutters one of the Stark men as they catch sight of Gallaex in the distant sky, a faint, ghostly shape. “Are we truly meant to chase that?”

“Aye,” Cregan replies, his voice a low growl of determination. “And if you value your life, keep close, and don’t stray.”

Jace snorts beside him, the thrill evident in his voice. “I’d wager Gallaex has already spotted us. My sister wouldn’t let us draw this close without toying with us.”

“Toying?” Cregan asks, casting a glance at Jace.

“She likes to test people,” Jace answers with a grin. “And Gallaex… he’s as much a part of her as her own skin. They’re both cunning and know the land around them. The skies are their domain, and they’re waiting for us to enter it.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow, fixed on the faint shape in the sky. “Then we’ll give them the chase they want.”

Jace laughs, nudging Cregan with his shoulder. “I knew I liked you, Stark. A dragon hunts best when their prey is fearless.” He tilts his head up, calling into the sky. “Sister! Are you afraid to come down and face us?”

A heartbeat later, Gallaex’s massive form shifts, descending in a wide circle, just low enough that they can hear the beat of his wings echo through the frozen trees. The dragon’s pale eyes seem to glint with something akin to mischief as he hovers, each beat of his wings sending gusts of snow swirling around the hunters below.

And then, your voice calls down from above, as sharp as an icy wind, yet carrying warmth enough to stoke a fire. “You’ll have to do better than that, Jace. Cregan, if you truly mean to catch me, you’ll need to keep up!”

Cregan’s jaw tightens as he watches you, perched gracefully atop Gallaex’s back, with a look in your eyes that dares him to try. “You think I won’t?” he shouts back.

Your laugh rings out, bright and wild. “We shall see, my lord.”

With that, Gallaex gives a powerful beat of his wings, sending snow and frost flying in a blinding cloud, obscuring him and you from sight in an instant. By the time it clears, you’re soaring through the sky once more, a pale ghost against the endless expanse of white, leading them further into the wilderness.

Cregan signals to his men to move quickly, his voice steady, though his heart pounds with the thrill of the chase. “Follow close! She’s fast, but we’re not beaten yet.”

The party picks up the pace, breaking into a run through the deep snow, following the occasional flicker of white scales or a shadowy shape in the sky that betrays Gallaex’s movement. Cregan feels the burn in his muscles, the cold biting at his skin, but he pushes on, unwilling to falter. There’s something exhilarating about chasing after you, knowing you’re just out of reach, leading him on a path only you and Gallaex know.

Jace jogs beside him, panting but grinning. “You look determined, Cregan. I hope you’re prepared for what you’ve started.”

“Nothing has ever come easy in the North, Velaryon,” Cregan replies without slowing down, a fierce glint in his eyes. “Your sister wanted a hunt—so that’s what I’ll give her.”

Ahead, Gallaex begins to descend once more, vanishing into a narrow, forested valley where the trees grow close and the terrain is rough. It’s a clever choice on your part, knowing that the dragon’s pale form will be near impossible to spot against the scattered patches of snow-covered trees.

The Stark men slow as they enter the valley, glancing up nervously, unsure of where Gallaex might reappear. Jace leans in close to Cregan, murmuring, “She’ll try to keep us guessing. Gallaex is her partner in every way—they’ve been together since she was young.”

Cregan nods, his gaze never leaving the trees above. “I’ll catch her, Jace. You can tell her that if she means to toy with me, I won’t be the one to tire first.”

Just then, a blast of snow erupts from the trees ahead, and Gallaex swoops down in a dizzying dive, so close that the men stumble back, raising arms to shield themselves from the gust that accompanies his descent. For a moment, his pale form vanishes among the snow-laden branches, a creature as silent and relentless as the Northern winter itself.

Cregan’s eyes narrow as he sees you again atop Gallaex, your gaze locking with his for a heartbeat, and he feels the challenge in your eyes. You hold his stare, daring him to come closer. Then, with a swift pull on Gallaex’s reins, you steer him up, soaring back into the sky with a grace that takes his breath away.

“Is that all you’ve got, Stark?” you call down, laughter in your voice. “I thought the North boasted wolves, not hounds who give up the chase.”

“Giving up?” Cregan growls, a fierce smile breaking across his face. “Not a chance.”

As you circle above, Gallaex’s form barely visible in the falling snow, Cregan readies himself, feeling every muscle in his body coil with determination. His men are breathing heavily beside him, unsure of how this strange chase will end, but the look in Cregan’s eyes is enough to keep them going. This is no mere hunt—it’s a battle of wits, endurance, and will.

He shouts up to you, voice carrying through the cold air. “You can’t stay in the air forever, princess. And when you land, I’ll be there waiting.”

You laugh again, but there’s a hint of excitement in your voice now. “Then you’ll have to be cleverer than that, Cregan Stark. Catching a dragon isn’t so easy.”

Jace claps Cregan on the back, grinning. “She’s taunting you. Don’t disappoint her now!”

Cregan tightens his grip on his weapon, eyes blazing with the thrill of the hunt. “Let her run, then. It’ll make catching her all the sweeter.”

With a final glance at the sky, he sets off once more, determined to outlast the dragon and the rider who dares to challenge him, ready to prove that even the fiercest creature can’t escape a Northern wolf.

The snow-laden forest is silent, save for the soft rustling of wind through the pines and the faint crackle of distant ice. Gallaex’s wings cut through the cold air with practiced precision as he glides above the treetops. You feel the cold air biting at your face, but the thrill of the chase has filled you with a warmth that no winter wind could chill. Beneath you, Cregan and his men track your every move with a tenacity you hadn't expected; no matter how high you soar or how skillfully Gallaex weaves through the skies, you feel Cregan’s presence close, determined, like the winter itself.

You can’t help but smile, watching as he pursues you with relentless focus, weaving his way through the rugged Northern landscape with an ease that makes you wonder if the North itself guides his steps. You've taunted him, challenged him, and now, with Gallaex beginning to tire, you know the time is coming when you'll have to land. Gallaex gives a low rumble beneath you, his exhaustion evident as his wings grow heavy with each beat.

“Shall we give them one last challenge?” you murmur to him, stroking the side of his neck.

Gallaex answers with a soft growl, but you know it’s time. You guide him down into the forest, searching for a landing spot concealed by snow-laden trees, where you can disappear into the wood and maybe—just maybe—make Cregan work a little harder for his prize.

The moment Gallaex’s claws touch the snow, you slide off his back, patting his neck before sending him back up to circle above. You know he’ll keep watch, ready to swoop in if needed. But this part of the chase is yours alone.

You dart into the dense woods, your heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt. Every step you take is silent, your Valyrian blood lending you a lightness that allows you to move without leaving much of a trace. Yet even as you run, you can sense him. Cregan is close, his every step bringing him nearer, guided by some invisible thread that binds him to you in this moment. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat; it feels loud enough to echo through the forest.

Then, suddenly, a shadow moves ahead of you, and before you can react, Cregan emerges from behind a tree, his intense gaze locking onto yours. He moves like a wolf, silent and predatory, blocking your escape with a slight smirk that tells you he’s anticipated this move.

“So, this is where the dragon hides,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, thick with Northern timber. “I thought you'd make me chase you a bit longer.”

You take a step back, but your smile is defiant, unwilling to yield so easily. “Think you’ve won, Lord Stark? I still have wings.”

“And I have patience.” He takes a step closer, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. “I told you I'd catch you.”

With nowhere to run, you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “And if you have? What prize does the wolf demand for catching his dragon?”

For a moment, he’s silent, his gaze searching yours, as if weighing the depth of his own answer. And then, with a smile both fierce and earnest, he replies, “The North is in need of a wife for its Lord.”

Your heart stutters, caught off guard by the weight of his words. “A wife?”

“Aye,” he nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “A woman fierce enough to dare me into a hunt—and skilled enough to make me work for it.”

You’re quiet for a moment, feeling the tension between you both, charged with unspoken promises and a yearning neither of you had allowed yourselves to admit. “And you believe a dragon would suit the North?” you ask softly, a hint of challenge in your voice.

His expression turns serious, though his eyes remain warm. “A dragon with your fire would do more than suit it—she’d light it brighter than any flame, and the North would be all the better for it.”

The sincerity in his words is undeniable, and something within you softens, realizing that this is more than a chase, more than a game between hunter and hunted. The North is cold and harsh, but Cregan stands before you like a promise of warmth, a force as enduring as winter itself.

“So,” you murmur, tilting your head, “if I were to accept this… reward, what would you say to your bannermen? That Lord Stark hunted down his own dragon?”

Cregan lets out a low laugh, stepping closer so that he’s only inches away, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “They’ll sing of it for generations. They’ll say the wolf was bold enough to catch a dragon and wise enough to keep her.”

You chuckle, finding yourself drawn to his intensity. “And will the wolf promise to keep her warm in the North?”

He grins, raising an eyebrow. “The North might be cold, but my lady needn’t fear the chill so long as I’m near.” His hand reaches out, gently brushing a lock of hair from your face. His touch is rough, warm, grounding you in this moment as he leans in, his voice a low murmur. “So tell me, do I have your favor?”

You hold his gaze, feeling your pulse quicken. “Only if you swear to never let the dragon grow cold or idle.”

His smile softens, though the fire in his eyes remains, fierce and unyielding. “Then it’s a vow, my lady. From this day forward.”

Around you, the forest stands silent, as if bearing witness to the pact sealed between you, a wolf and his dragon, bound by fire and frost alike.

From that day on, the tale would spread through the North and beyond, whispered with awe and laughter by Cregan’s bannermen: how Lord Stark, the Wolf of Winterfell, had hunted down a dragon and claimed her as his own, binding her not with chains or force, but with an unbreakable bond, forged in the heart of winter. And the North would never forget how the wolf and the dragon became one, each fierce enough to stand alone, yet unstoppable together.

[eunimaybe]

; caught in the claws of love !

bestfriend!riki x fem. reader | a little date with your bestfriend riki at the arcade blossoms into something more

genre: fluff, friends to lovers (?) | wc. 0.6k EN- a/n: i dug this out from the deepest parts of my google docs it was a whole mariana trench down there

you watched as the plushie dropped once again from the metal claws of the machine, landing softly on top of its soft friends. you stared at it for a moment, disappointed and your pride nearly gone. you thought you would’ve gotten it since it had been your fifth try, but no such luck. the cheerful melody of the claw machine played in and out of your ears as you looked at the cute pink toy behind the clear wall. so close yet so far away. — more under cut!

“did you get it?”

you turned to meet the eyes of your friend, riki, whom you had come to the arcade with and shook your head.

“no. i suck at this, it keeps falling.” you said, eyeing the plushie once again.

“you still want it?” riki asked, following your gaze to the soft toy. it lies amongst all the other plushies, plastic eyes staring up blankly.

you let out a little huff, frustrated. “yeah i do. i don’t even know why - i could get that thing online easily.”

riki set down the cup of slushie he had been holding and took out a bill note from his pocket. “well, there’s always something about the arcade that makes everything more desirable than they should be. try one more time.”

you quickly waved off the money he thrusted at you. you shouldn’t take his money for something so stupid - you probably wouldn’t even be able to get it, considering your below average claw machine skills. but riki insisted, grabbing your hand to stuff the note into your palm before closing your fingers over it.

“my treat,” he said, grinning.

you gave him an exasperated look before inserting the note into the machine. the lights flashed on and off in a sparkle of rainbows, and you clicked the red button to start the game.

you started to move the joystick, shifting the claw’s position left and right for the pink teddy bear. you could feel riki’s gaze on your back, watching you play.

suddenly, his arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours gently as he helped you maneuver the claw machine. his let his head rest on your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck.

“here, let me help,” he whispered, moving the joystick along with your left hand to position the claw correctly. “you really do suck as this, but luckily for you, you have me. and i happen to be very, very good at this.”

you were suddenly hyper aware of how close you two were. how your back pressed against him, how his hands wrapped around yours. you felt warm inside, and you could practically feel the flush on your cheeks.

this isn’t how friends are supposed to make you feel.

you could barely pay attention, but you watched riki expertly control the claw machine, letting the metal contraption drop on the teddy bear and winning the game. and then his touch left you as he dived down to get the toy from the slot, leaving you empty and alone standing in front of the flashing claw machine.

“here you go,” riki said, handing you the bear. he smiled proudly. “you like it?”

you wordlessly took it from him, staring at the soft plushie. “you shouldn’t be doing that.”

you could see riki frown from your peripheral vision. “do what?”

you felt your cheeks warm again, and you pulled the plushie tighter against yourself. “do what you just did. we’re friends aren’t we? i think that just went over the blurry line between friendship and something more.”

riki smirked. “like i said, there’s something about the arcade that makes everything, and perhaps, everyone, more desirable than they should be.”

✉️: @icyy-hoon

[venusbyline]

Bleeding ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 20, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady in waiting!reader

— type: smut, angst, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: period sex + blood kink

— summary: Alicent did not want to be Queen Consort. She did not want to be King Viserys's second wife. She did not want to be Aegon II's mother. Alicent Hightower just wanted to love girls.

— word count: 2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 20th day, female!reader, young!Alicent, period sex, blood kink, light dubcon, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, rough sex, tribadism/scissoring, argument, nipple play, underage sex, light unconscious sex, mild hurt/comfort, mild angst, lactation kink, breastfeeding, light dumbification, overstimulation, degradation, choking, family issues, crying, dacryphilia, sexism, curse words, implied/referenced cheating, breast worship, religious guilt, sexuality crisis, aftercare, love triangle (Alicent Hightower x reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen), motherhood themes, mommy kink, Aegon Targaryen II mentioned, minor Alicent Hightower x Viserys Targaryen, minor Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, minor Gwayne Hightower x reader, ambiguous/open ending, lesbian!Alicent, bisexual!reader, sub!Alicent, dom!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

Ever since Alicent had given birth to Aegon, she had grown distant from her best friend, Rhaenyra, and had become more lonely. Rhaenyra did not like Aegon because he reminded her of the male children her father had lost, he reminded her of her mother's brutal death during childbirth.

Sometimes, not even Alicent herself liked her son. Every time she looked at those violet eyes, the rosy cheeks and the silver hair, she was reminded of King Viserys. How he had fucked her tight cunt without even worrying about her pleasure. How she had kept her eyes open throughout the entire act, hoping it would end soon so she could distance herself from the older man's sweaty body and return to her own chambers.

Looking at the little boy made Alicent think about how their fates were set forever. She would just be a brood mare until Viserys no longer had the strength to keep fucking her. And Aegon would be just a lamb in the midst of all that chaos from Targaryen family. An heir, or not. A king, or not. Perhaps just a stupid adult with stupid kids in the future. Just as she probably would be too.

She was so afraid that Aegon would stop being a cute baby and become an evil man. This happened to most men. Their mothers gave birth to them with so much love and they were destined to die little by little watching their boys' development, each maternal disappointment being like daggers inside their hearts and inside their wombs, who had bled so much to bring their children into the world.

Alicent could even picture Aegon in his future, visiting brothels, masturbating like a dog in heat, making bastards in the streets, being a shame not only for the Targaryen family, but mainly for Alicent, his own mother. She wanted to put him back in her womb and stop him from anything evil he could do or be.

"Your Grace, did you call me?" Your voice discreetly entering the Queen's private chambers, avoiding looking at her figure under the sheets. It was nothing you had not seen. You had helped her during Aegon's birth, but you also knew her body for other reasons. You were her lady-in-waiting since her childhood, always close to her despite being a few years older. Otto Hightower had entrusted his daughter's good reputation to you since the three of you moved to King's Landing before her and the King's marriage. You did your tasks splendidly, too perfectly.

Especially into her bed.

"I thought you would not come, love..." Alicent murmured with a more fragile way than she intended and you tried hard not to show any pitying face. You were still angry about your last argument.

"You call me, I come. It is always like that, is not it?" Your passive-aggressive accusation made her swallow hard with shame and self-loathing. She was not the best person to deal with feelings. Ever since her marriage to Viserys, Alicent had been confused. About her faith. About her sins. About her extramarital desires. About Rhaenyra. About you. Especially about you two.

Gods, she wanted both of you so much that sometimes it hurts. Alicent wanted not to be married to the King, she wanted not to have a child, she wanted to be free. She wanted to be a man.

The young redhead fiddled with her fingers for a few moments, sitting on the bed and still covered by the silk sheet. She wanted to apologize for the argument, to say that she would try to talk less about her chaotic friendship or situationship with Rhaenyra. However, she knew that none of this would help. You were angry by her past confession about sleep with Rhaenyra a few times before her marriage to the King. You thought you were special to her. You really thought you were the only one, since Viserys Targaryen was just a puppet in Otto's hands. The affair with her was special. Or at least it should be.

You sighed after her long silence, seeing how Alicent looked away, choosing to look at any part of the chambers that was already so well known to her. "Why did not you call your friend Rhaenyra?" Your mockery tone did not go unnoticed and she flinched.

"I am... Bleeding. Rhaenyra does not like licking my vaginal blood." She said embarrassed. You knew what that meant. Alicent always hated admitting how turned on she was when those days came. The days she was sure she was not pregnant again. It was a mix of relief and arousal. She was so sensitive, so fucking needy...

But this time, you did not lower yourself between her thighs. This time, you looked at her with a cold gaze. So cold that she did not think even the strongest Dracarys from any Targaryen could melt.

"Then you want me to lick all your pretty little cunt to ease your pain and arousal, just because the princess is disgusted by that?" You questioned without a hint of affection that was always there, tearing your light blue dress with gold details with an almost animalistic speed. Now there was only resentment that she was reaping due to her own actions.

Alicent's already big eyes widened, pink lips parted with complete shock, as if you had said the most perverse thing that could come out of a girl's lips. "A-are you insane? Mind your tongue and do not dare to use that kind of language with me!" She tried to growl, to look intimidating. Tried to look like a Targaryen. Tried to sound like Rhaenyra.

But she was not a Targaryen. She was Alicent. Alicent Hightower. The ambitious teenager who spent hours inside the Septs, kneeling in front of some statue. She was also Alicent Hightower, the teenager who begged the Gods for forgiveness and mercy every time she pictured her best friend and current stepdaughter rubbing the wet core with some silver hairs on her lips, while you, her lady-in-waiting, would eat her out until she squirt all over your face.

This thought had appeared in Alicent's mind so many times that she had already surrendered, fucking her fingers inside herself under the sheets several nights. Like a true pathetic whore.

"You have no right to treat me as if you were just my Queen." It was your turn to growl, lower but much more intimidating, checking if the door was really locked before walking towards Alicent's bed with long strides, not caring about her wide eyes as you pulled the sheets away from her body, revealing the semi-transparent nightgown that highlighted the curves acquired since Aegon's pregnancy.

"BUT I AM YOUR QUEEN!" Alicent yelled, trying to deprive your of her dignity, but it was too late. You had seen the dry crimson stain on her fingers, causing you to laugh instantly.

"You are nothing but a spoiled greedy whore. That is what you are." The whisper filled with sarcasm made Alicent curl up even more into the pillow. "How long have you been trying to fuck your disgusting needy hole without even being able to cum?"

Your question went unanswered and you finally snapped, losing your patience and grabbing her neck, pushing her further onto the bed as you climbed onto the bed while you climbing on top of her vulnerable body. "Answer me, Your Grace!"

However, now your plea sounded more desperate and hurt than angry. She could see how your eyes were full of tears and how you were trying your best to fight them off. You hated feeling so hungry for Alicent. She should be your responsibility, nothing more than that. You should not care if she was thinking about Rhaenyra or not, as long as she did not tarnish the reputation of House Hightower or Viserys' reign. "SEVEN HELLS, ALICENT! ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!"

"Over an hour ago, love. I was thinking about you two, you and Nyra..." Alicent sobbed after your shout, tears streaming down her soft cheeks as well, slightly losing consciousness for a few seconds from crying so much. She did not realize what you were doing with her body until you arched your head back, a strangled moan escaping your lips with pleasure and agony. It was then that she felt a different wetness rubbing against hers. It was not just your juices. It was... It was blood. Just like hers. It was the blood from your cunt mixing with her blood.

"O-oh, Gods. You are bleeding too..." Alicent whimpered, trying to move so she could keep up with the rhythm and give you even more pleasure, but your hands that kept her legs open stopped her. She moaned, looking at you with big sad eyes, which you ignored without any mercy, your gaze focused on the way your blood-stained cunts met each other, swollen clits pulsing against each other.

If it had been before, Alicent would have found it disgusting. She would find it disgusting how you started squeezing her breast when you increased the speed of your hips. Her breasts was still so large and heavy with Aegon's milk, she had created more curves and unfortunately some stretch marks, and you loved every part of all of this, playing with her nipple and smirking between moans when some milk flowed out.

She should find repulsive the way her own milk ran down her belly, some spots reaching the place where the two of you fit. You raised an eyebrow despite the haze of pleasure, as if you were asking permission for something. Instead of answering, Alicent also pressed her own breast, her hand now wet with breast milk, before she reached for both cunts, rubbing yours and then hers, getting them more overstimulated so you could move with more easily.

It was a disgusting mess. The gooey sounds, the blood and milk mixed on your buds, the way her nipple was still dripping. You were the first to cum, biting your lip until blood came out, avoiding moaning the Queen's name too loudly. Your cunt spasmed until your legs shook, your body falling on top of Alicent and the sight of your intense climax made her reach the release too. Even knowing the possible consequences, Alicent did not hold back. She moaned your name like a whore. Like the cheapest prostitute in the brothels on Street of Silk. Like the women that all the Targaryens fucked hidden from their wives. Like the women her firstborn and perhaps her next sons would fuck in the future. Like her future daughter would moan around some man's cock, if one day she had the divine blessing of giving birth to a little girl to try to protect her from all the evil in Westeros.

Alicent caressed your cheeks, grateful that you did not mind the mixture of blood, juices and breast milk that stained your face as she gave you affection, pulling your soft mouth close to her left nipple so that you could be breastfed like a baby. Her baby. You did not know what to say, you were too overwhelmed by the situation. Every argument with Alicent Hightower ended like this, feeding you as if you were a little orphan child and she a childless mother or a widowed wife. A widowed Queen.

"I wish we could be happy, love..." Alicent whispered with some melancholy, placing a kiss on your forehead and letting a tear escape. "B-but... But I hope my brother Gwayne will be a good husband to you. The husband you deserve. The husband I cannot be to you or to Nyra." You did not answer, nodding weakly and looking at your betrothal ring with the perfect green jewel on top. You did not want Gwayne Hightower. You did not want Alicent Hightower to be a man. You just wanted Alicent the way she was. A girl. Your girl. You wanted Alicent Hightower to be your wife. And she wanted that too.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

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[popjunkie42]

Hungry Thirsty Roots - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Chapter Two:

“We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?”

Christina Rosetti Goblin Market

Feyre faces the consequences of her poorly-worded wish as she returns to a mate enchanted to give her all of her desires.

Tags: just so much smut, mild magical dubcon, UTM stuff, light bondage

Thank you to my loves @climbthemountain2020 and @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta read!

I don't know, I just wrote you so many words of smut. I also don't want to let go of October. Don't look too closely at the plot or anything here. Please enjoy!

Read on AO3 and a snippet under the cut:

Feyre’s bare feet knocked uselessly against the wall, her hands pinned above her, firm pressure on her neck robbing her lungs of air.

In the darkness, all she could see was the flash of violet eyes, the bright glint of teeth.

Just as quickly as it came, the magic grip released around her neck and she coughed, still dangled off the wall, the tang of magic in the air.

“Rhys - what -”

“I believe I asked you a question, human.”

The High Lord hovered in the sharp silver light of the moon. His eyes - his eyes were swallowed up with deep swirling violet, not stars but whole galaxies rippling in them, undulating like waves on the sea. Not a black pupil in sight.

Feyre froze.

She could still feel the path the peach pit took down her throat, thick and rugged.

I wish for one night with my mate where things are back as they were, in the beginning between us.

Breaths came out of her in heavy pants. In the beginning between us. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Before she could sift through the enchantment at work on her mate, the cool tickle of smoky midnight tendrils caressed her bruised throat again. A reminder, laced with threat.

Sometimes she forgot what he had been like Under the Mountain. Something sickly churned in her stomach and she wondered if the enchantment would end if she threw the whole pit up.

“It isn’t wise to keep a High Lord waiting, darling. Or do you simply have no good explanation, and are attempting to save a shred of your dignity?”

Feyre blinked, the oxygen finally flooding back into her brain.

She had forgotten this too - how he could be such an insufferable ass.

Dressed as casually as he was, with a fine embroidered dressing robe over his bare chest and soft sleep pants, one might think he would be slightly less menacing. But even as his bare feet sunk into the carpet of their bedroom, Feyre couldn’t help the chills that erupted over her flesh. He cocked his head, all observant predator, and desire started to grow unbidden, a heat deep in her gut.

Surprising, and annoying, that he could always affect her so. Even this vulnerable to him - her body exposed for the taking.

Or perhaps because of it?

He clicked his tongue, disappointed. “So, I’ve caught the stubborn, vicious human girl sticking her pretty nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. The guards once told you I’d pull your skin from your body, strip by strip. A little messy for me, truth be told. Tell me Feyre, how would you like to be punished for invading a High Lord’s room without an invitation?”

The chill of fear turned into the crackling fire of anger - sparks that started to catch in her chest.

The joints of her shoulders burned, blood rushed from her fingertips, but she readjusted to straighten her body, lifted her chin.

First she was going to deal with her mate, and then she was going to hunt Mother Enfys down and repay her hospitality in kind.

His mind was trapped in an earlier time - her mate and his mask Under the Mountain. But it was fine. She knew him there, as well.

“I’m not afraid of you, Rhysand.”

He stopped his pacing, facing her fully. Dark features highlighted in the moonlight, haughty and beautiful.

“Stubborn, vicious…and foolish too.”

Feyre bared her teeth. Leave it to her mate to make her want to slap him and eat him whole.

And he stood so far away she couldn’t even feel the heat of his body, could barely catch his scent.

Unacceptable.

“Is part of my punishment being tied up and forced to listen to you talk to yourself?” Feyre asked.

The High Lord quirked an impatient eyebrow, flicked a piece of lint off of his shoulder.

She wanted him so much, annoyed as she was, it made her feel light headed again. The lack of his touch - his careful distance - was primed to drive her mad. Combined with the insistent thrum of the mating bond in her chest, to protect, protect - any distance from him was somewhat unbearable. And any panic and fear were eaten up into something else, stoked inside her belly - a thrill, a need, to break through his walls.

What do you dream of? Mother Enfys had asked.

“You haven’t answered my question yet, of what you’re doing here. And dressed so deliciously.”

A little scoff escaped her mouth. He might be enchanted, but he was still her mate.

Her eyes roamed over his form as he regarded her, haughty and bored. Besides the enchantment in his eyes, he seemed…fine. Body whole and unharmed, at least. Personality matched to his dark mask.

But would he remember this in the morning? Would he be angry with her? If the roles were reversed, would he have locked her in a closet, kept safe and alone until morning broke the enchantment cast over them both?

Guilt welled up under her racing mind, under her desire. This was her fault, her foolish bargain.

Feyre took a breath, trying to calm her thoughts.

Whatever might happen, he was hers and she was his. He could trust her, always. She wouldn’t let any harm befall him.

And maybe, just maybe, he could be convinced to let something like this go, in light of his past transgressions.

He stared at her, still waiting for an answer, his annoyed menace filling the room like smoke.

“What if I’m here for you?” Feyre spoke aloud into the cold.

Rhysand smiled, incisors flashed. “Now you want me to believe you enjoy my company? Tell the truth now. I can read your mind, you know.”

She licked her lips, plotting, weighing what she knew of her mate - “You’ll laugh.”

“The alternative is you’re punished for lying.”

“Oh.”

Feyre wondered if he had noticed her scent changing, the way she watched his powerful thighs as he paced. The way her mouth was parted, tasting the air for his scent.

Speak your desire, and it will be fulfilled.

She breathed deeply, wet her lips. Spoke, voice a quiet whisper:

“How would you punish me?”

Rhysand went still.

The air between them charged, like crackling lightning. She shivered, muscles taut.

Ribbons of darkness slowly unfurled against her skin as she was released, and she dropped her arms with a sigh, blood rushing back to her fingertips.

Frowning, the High Lord strode towards her. A voice in her whispered: finally.

He towered over her, standing above her like a looming shadow.

Feyre let herself feel the thrill of fear again. If this was her role, then she would play it, and well - the human plaything of the dark High Lord.

“What are you scheming, Feyre?” he asked, his voice low between them. “You know how dangerous it is when you get silly ideas in your head.”

Prick prick prick. “I think they’ve gotten me this far.”

He snorted, very un-High Lord-like. “Not without ample amounts of my assistance, if you’ll recall.”

Oh, he was infuriating, and oh, how she loved him. Warmth spread in her chest as she remembered his assistance. The knife’s edge they walked underground. The way he loved her, even now…how even now he was protecting her. Even from himself.

Feyre didn’t know how much he remembered, perceived about their changed circumstances under the enchantment. Perhaps she was glamoured in his eyes - rounded ears, shorter limbs, that hungry, fierce human look. But she would play her part - and she thought she could lead him to what they both wanted.

“Why did you come to my room, Feyre?”

She was silent a moment, and she pressed her wrists together in front of her, as if she longed to be bound again. “I got lost looking for the kitchens,” she lied.

He stepped closer, his breath brushing her hair. “Stop playing games. You’re terrible at them.”

In her mind, Feyre carved out a small room, right at the surface, for him. Filled it with her feelings, her desires, her needs. Shielding over all the memories, her amusement, her plots barreling towards seduction.

“I’m not playing games.” Wasn’t she? What might one call a drunken bargain in a magic market, a fumbling and inelegant wish spoken into the air? If not a game then a foolish mistake - but one she had to see through to the end now.

She had to be bold - be brave. “I wanted -” the faltering of her voice was not an act. “Just one night. Just for one night, I want you to help me feel something different. Something…” she stuttered, grown shy again, missing the words to what she wanted. Rhys’s jaw was clenched tight in front of her. She tried to capture her feelings, send them down the bond.

Something to banish away the memories of Under the Mountain, of her bleeding to death in a bed. But also something controlled, something that might be frightening but where her life wouldn’t be at risk…flesh she would trust under his hands.

Rhysand’s eyes flickered back and forth across her face, unsettling under the enchantment. “You believe you can trust me enough for that?”

“Can I?”

His eyes shuttered. Then closed.

“You’re a fool to trust anyone down here, any of us at all,” he said, his voice quiet, opening his eyes again to see her face.

“No, I’m not. Not with you.”

He was so close to her now, his scent in her nose. The darkness poured from him like water.

Feyre leaned up on her toes to kiss him, but he twisted his face away from her. Still uncertain.

“Please,” she whispered against his cheek. That hammering need inside of her roared to life, overcome with wanting him - his skin, his heat, his body - as much as air, as water.

He growled, and for a moment she was afraid he was angry. He swooped down so his teeth were next to her neck, her pulse thrumming in her veins.

His breath was warm and wet on her skin, and she shivered.

“I like it when you beg.”

Feyre couldn’t help her grin.

“I know.”

Halting, testing, Rhys placed a gentle kiss on her hammering pulse, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin, and she whimpered.

She could feel his smile against the skin of her neck, the pleased hum from his chest.

“Now darling, how do you think a High Lord should punish you for lying?”

[stargodau]

Chapter 1 Proposition

         Bill stared at the ceiling feeling utterly empty. His afterlife now consisted of nothing but pain and misery, tests, needles, medications, and physical abuse. The Theraprism a place of ‘healing’ and ‘redemption’ did nothing but break him apart, slowly. The crack across his body had expanded to both sides now, breaking him into five pieces. He lay on his cell floor staring at the incandescent light overhead. It burned his eye but he didn’t mind much, pain was the only real thing he had felt in a while.

          A click. The door opened to show one of those nasty therapists standing there. This particular therapist reminded him of someone who had far too many eyes. They took on a sort of sky blue color with darker blue frills. 

       “Patient #323322 the great Axolotl has requested your presence. Do not make it wait any longer than necessary.” The therapist’s shrill voice and calm tone, made him wish they had given him medication to deafen him along instead of just subduing him.

          “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He groaned getting up off the floor. Cuffs were of course immediately fastened around his wrists and two guards accompanied them as they walked through the halls to Axy’s office.

          “Do not disappoint the Axolotl.” Was all that was said to Bill before he was shoved inside the office to face the lizard on his own. The Ax’s office was cluttered, papers stranded on its desk and around the floor. Books were stacked against the walls stretching up to the ceiling. Each book, Cipher knew, contained the knowledge of countless dimensions, crammed in using magic.

          “Have a seat Bill.” Rumbled the Axolotl in its low, cheerful voice. Bill obliged. The Axolotl itself looked quite haggard for it being an all knowing benevolent god. There were slight creases under its star filled eyes, though those too had lost some sparkle to them.

          Bill considered before starting conversation. “What’s the word frills? Finally taking me outta this dump or do I need an extended stay?” He really hoped he was being released, he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

          The Axolotl cocked its head at him, the responded, “ We are here to discuss your inability to accept the Theraprism’s help. You know your therapists only wants best for you, though no matter how much they try you seem to stay the same.” Bill stared ahead at the amphibian, confused. What help? The therapists had never even extended an olive branch.

          It continued, “You seem to in fact, gotten worse as we can see from these cracks here.” A hand was extended towards Bill’s left side where the cracks had grown onto.

          Instead of groveling or apologizing like the Ax probably hoped he would Bill became glowing red with anger. “Getting worse? GETTING WORSE? All I have been trying to do is get better while here but those ‘therapists’ insist I’m not doing enough, and do you know what happens? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS? I get shoved into a void for ‘wellness’ and to think about how I can ‘change’ and ‘be better’. I’m a lost cause already but the only person who can’t seem to figure that out is you! Perhaps using these dimensions worth of knowledge you can get a brain!” He didn’t have any powers but oh boy did yelling without immediately getting beaten feel good.

          Once again the Axolotl didn’t react harshly, just sighing before it spoke. “Bill I know you are suffering that’s why I came here. The Theraprism won’t teach you anything, it’s not  what’s right for you. I just came here to tell you that I’m coming up with a solution. Please be good for a few days and I will contact you to let you know the new arrangement.” It smiled at him, prompting him to answer.

          “Well, how could I say no to that Axy? I accept your deal with open arms! What’s the catch though, I know you aren’t stupid enough to give this to me for free.” Bill narrowed his eye at the amphibian, something was up and he was going to find out what it was. The Axolotl was staring at him with a strange look he couldn’t quite decipher.

          “I will contact you once I figure out the exact details of this new deal Bill. Be good and may you have star filled days.” And with that the Axolotl disappeared from sight. The guards grabbed him before leading him back to his cell to wait in agony until the Ax contacted him. Waiting, with no hope at all.

[odyssean-flower]

the winding path of fate chapter 18 sneak peak

The first drops of precipitation landed on Neuvillette’s face. It took him a second to register it before he looked up at the grey skies.

“Aah…” he let out a sigh. While the rain and damp air soothed his mind, it also brought a heaviness to his mind. I should try to restrain myself for today. A birthday party should be a cheerful occasion, with sunny weather and clear skies.

Besides, he didn’t want to disappoint you more than he already did.

The trials had proceeded faster than he expected, though it was now late afternoon. They were mostly over petty offences and disputes. Even the Oratrice seemed to issue its verdicts a little quicker than usual, as though it was also impatient to get the day over with.

And now he was back at the Palais, standing in a corner outside the doors. He absentmindedly watched the people rushing about, looking for shelter from the rain.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, imagining the flat surface of the sea. It seemed to work somewhat, but the sky remained leaden.

Throughout the centuries of his existence, Neuvillette had learned a few methods to settle his emotions after a trial. One of them was to distract himself with work, which was why he returned to his office even though he technically had the rest of the day to himself. He could have also returned home, but with Marie visiting family and you away for the whole day, the thought of going back to an empty, silent house seemed almost unbearable.

Yet another oddity that he noticed within himself recently. He usually relished quiet and solitude.

Shaking his head slightly, he entered the Palais and greeted Sedene before heading into his office, where he was met with a surprise but very welcome guest.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sigewinne, the head nurse of Meropide, waved her hand merrily at him from the couch. Feeling his mind lighten considerably at the mere sight of her, he strode over to her quickly. There was a tray of tea and cakes in front of her.

“Sigewinne, what a pleasant surprise. I did not know that you had a day off today.”

“Hee hee, I wanted to keep it a surprise!” she bounced over to him with two small boxes. “The Duke also sends his greetings, as well as two boxes of tea.”

“How generous of him. Give him my thanks when you return,” Neuvillette accepted the boxes and studied them. He recognized them as black tea leaves from a high-end brand. He could smell the fragrance of the tea leaves even through the packaging.

“The Duke says he’s giving you two so that you’ll have more to share with Madame. Oh, actually, he said ‘your friend.’ Don’t worry, Monsieur Neuvillette, I didn’t breathe a word about who Madame is to you. I doubt he knows anything.”

Neuvillette raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t pursue it any further. I suppose it’s alright if it’s Wriothesley, he thought. He is not the type of person to engage in idle gossip.

“He also says that he hopes Madame will like it, and that if she doesn’t, then feel free to ask him for another variety from his collection,” Sigewinne added.

“I do think she would enjoy it,” Neuvillette assured her, though he wondered about it. He didn’t believe he saw you drinking tea very much, except during the meeting with Furina. He did, however, remember seeing you drink Fonta on numerous occasions (it appears his endeavours to introduce you to the many varieties of water hadn’t yet borne fruit). Perhaps you preferred sweeter beverages. He tried to recall the pantry back home. Do we have enough sugar cubes or milk?

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” his musings were interrupted by Sigewinne’s voice. She was gazing up at him in confusion, her face tilted slightly.

Neuvillette shook his head, clearing it. “Pardon me, I was lost in my thoughts.” he said, then followed her to the couch, where they engaged in their usual conversation, which inevitably ended in her listening to his water commentary.

“Oh, by the way, Monsieur Neuvillette I really am looking forward to the sunflower viewing party in a few weeks. I can’t wait to finally meet Madame!” Sigewinne said after he finished talking about the properties of water from Mondstadt’s Cider Lake. “She sounds wonderful from what you’ve said of her. Did she come and watch your trials today? Has she already gone home? I don’t see her with you…”

“No…no, actually, she is currently attending her sister’s birthday party back home.”

“Oh, I see…” Sigewinne peered at his face, then glanced out the window. The rain seemed to have stopped completely, but there was no sign of the sun either. She suddenly turned back to peer into his face. “You must miss her.”

“Miss her? No, of course not. She will only be away until tomorrow,” Neuvillette said, almost automatically. But it was the truth. Besides, it was not as though he saw you every second of every day. In fact, it was rather common for him to only see you in the morning and at night. It should not be any different for this time, except for the fact that you would not be at home to greet him when he returned, or bid him good night or good morning…

Before I knew it, I’ve come to expect these things…

“Oh dear,” Sigewinne remarked as thunder rumbled. “Monsieur Neuvillette, how about we take a stroll through the streets? I’ve been wanting to check out the new beauty products on sale anyways.”

“Yes, let us do so,” Neuvillette agreed, then stood up. Guilt welled up within him. He didn’t feel himself lately, and he was letting it affect his emotional state far too much. He was even making Sigewinne worried about him.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. “While we’re out, allow me to introduce you to a new drink called an ice cream soda. Madame introduced it to me yesterday. The flavor is quite intriguing. I do think you’ll like it.”

“Ooh, if you’re saying that, then I have to try it!” Sigewinne clapped her hands together excitedly.

A short time later, the two of them walked out of the ice cream shop with their drinks in hand, leaving behind astonished employees and gawking patrons. They sat down at a table in the back. Thankfully, the surrounding tables were empty due to the bad weather.

“This is good,” Sigewinne commented after she took a sip. “I especially love the fizzy soda bubbles. I’m going to tell the others about this later. …Monsieur Neuvillette, what’s wrong? Your brow is furrowed. Do you not like yours?”

“No, that’s not it…” Neuvillette murmured, staring at his soda. How peculiar. He was sure he had ordered the same flavor you had bought for him. It tasted the same as well. He could tell that objectively, nothing had changed. But what was this sense of wrongness. Is it the soda, perhaps? Did the shop change the variety they used today? Should I inquire about it?

Neuvillette glanced at the shop entrance, which now had a line of people stretching out of it, and decided against it. The staff should not waste their precious time on his trivial question.

He turned back to Sigewinne, who was watching him closely. “There is nothing wrong with my drink, exactly. It is just that it doesn’t quite taste the same as it had yesterday, even though it is the same drink.”

“That is strange…” Sigewinne tilted her small head to the side, as if in thought. “It’s unlikely they would change the recipe in just a day, right? Maybe Madame asked them to add a little something extra. You should ask her.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Neuvillette nodded, then took another sip of his soda. It wasn’t just his imagination--it really did taste different. It had been so hot yesterday. Perhaps that affected things.

All he knew was that the sweetness of the ice cream soda you bought him lingered in his mouth for the whole day.

“What I mean is, Monsieur Neuvillette, you should go and ask Madame now.”

Neuvillette blinked. “Now?” he repeated.

Sigewinne nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. We both know that you can reach the other side of Fontaine in just a few minutes, and Sedene told me before that you don’t have anything important scheduled for the rest of the day.”

“That’s true, but…I cannot simply show up at her family’s home unexpectedly for such a trivial reason. It will only draw unnecessary attention, and it is already so terribly late in the day…”

He found himself making excuses one after the other. They sounded empty to his ears, even though there was sound reason behind them.

He was no stranger to the clash between emotion and logic--it was something he struggled with all too often. This was no exception. He didn’t understand why that brief look of disappointment had flashed across your face when you asked him if he would like to accompany you to the birthday party. Surely you knew that it was better for you two to not be seen together too much. He did not understand why you had asked him in the first place, nor why the first thing on the tip of his tongue was to say “Yes,” nor why your subsequent justification for his sake had stung him.

If he went to you right now, would he find the answers to those questions?

“Monsieur Neuvillette…” Sigewinne crossed her arms. “It seems to me like you’re making excuses for yourself. If I invited you to my party, I would be happy that you showed up no matter how late. But if you’re worried about it, then…” she rummaged through her bag and took out a small vial. “Here! Give this to Madame’s sister.”

Neuvillette took the vial and examined the label. “A skin serum?”

“I made it myself! Skincare is all the rage among young ladies of the Court these days. Tell her that it’s from me. Everyone loves receiving gifts on their birthday, after all, so maybe this will help soften the blow of your lateness.”

“I’m still not sure if I should take leave for such an inconsequential matter,” Neuvillette hesitated, even as his mind was calculating the time it would take to go from the Court to your hometown near the mountains in the northeast. I do think I’ll be able to get there before dark. “What if an emergency comes up?”

“The Gardes can handle anything,” Sigewinne assured him. “And I don’t think it’s inconsequential at all! You were invited as a guest. I’m sure your presence there will make everyone very happy, including Madame.”

“If you say so, Sigewinne, then I suppose I could stop by for a little bit and give your present,” Neuvillette was already standing up. “I do apologize that I can’t spend more time with you today.”

“Don’t worry! We’ll see each other again at the sunflower viewing party at your house,” Sigewinne smiled at him. “I can’t wait to meet Madame.”

“I feel the same way. She would be delighted to meet you as well,” he said, and meant every word of it.

After saying his goodbyes, he quickly strode away, back to the Palais. I have to write a note of absence for Furina first, and then collect some things. What sort of water would be appropriate for a birthday party, I wonder…

“Monsieur Neuvillette is already very cute, but he’s gotten even more adorable lately,” Sigewinne murmured to herself as she observed the sun breaking through the dense clouds at last.

[ladytauria]

Oh I see what we are doing now *ahem*

-Abyss left the ask box-

-Person with the most perfect Mustache you've ever seen-

*Strokes it* Trick or Treat my fine lady

*squinting* that’s a very fine mustache you have there, dear, but I SWEAR I’ve seen your face before

hmmm… well. while there are still several ideas hidden in my documents for some reason I feel compelled to give you my OTHER idea I had for my dear friend @deepwithintheabyss

jumping into this one without a lot of worldbuilding to try and curb the length dfghjk also this is a little rough/messy… i’d love to flesh it out a little more perhaps. call this a first draft version haha

It’s not until after Zatara has left that Tim gets to process how odd all of this is.

Alvin and he stand across from each other in Tim’s living room. It’s almost like looking in a mirror—both of them dressed in the same loose sweats, the same ratty Gotham Knights sweatshirt.

Alvin tilts his head. “So… are we going to fuck?”

Tim chokes. “What?” Of all the questions he could have broken the silence with—

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Alvin’s lips twitch. “I know better.”

If Tim is always this smug-looking when he’s right about something, he can understand why Steph says he has a ‘punchable’ face. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it,” he grouses.

His objection is mostly on principle. In a world of alternate universes and time travel (proven multiple times over now, Bruce), it’s hard not to consider, to think about, what might happen if Tim was faced with another version of himself. Hell—Tim has met another him. Though, granted, that meeting didn’t go particularly well.

But. There was always the possibility of meeting another him, someone who wasn’t a fascist asshole. Someone, well—

Someone more like Alvin.

A magical doppelganger, created by an artifact related to Tim’s latest case. A perfect copy of him, down to his last memory at the time of creation. It answered a lot of questions Tim had—but more immediately… it opened up entire realms of possibilities.

Alvin steps closer, and then closer still, until they're almost touching. “Do you really want to keep arguing?” His voice is low. Husky. Tim has heard himself sound like that before, but always—always from inside his own head.

No. No he doesn’t.

But Alvin knows that already.

There is no hiding from him, Tim realizes. Alvin knows him better than anyone ever has—or ever will.

The thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

Rather than answer, Tim steps even closer, crossing the distance between them. He tangles his fingers in the hairs at the back of Alvin’s neck, gripping his nape. Their mouths crash together, both of them making the same soft sound. They almost harmonize. Tim feels his belly tighten—his nipples harden, rubbing against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. He shivers, his skin tingling.

Alvin’s hands slip under his shirt. Tim gasps. Alvin’s fingers are cool against his skin; his grip steady, firm.

The slide of their lips is slow, unhurried. It’s good. Not the best kiss Tim has ever had—their lips are chapped in just the right way to catch against each other. But… even despite that, it stokes the steady warmth growing in his belly, making him sigh against Alvin’s mouth. He gives into the urge to lick into Alvin’s mouth and Alvin lets him, slackening his mouth so Tim can lick into him and taste.

Alvin tastes like nothing at all.

It would be disappointing if it the reason why wasn’t so thrilling. Of course Alvin’s mouth doesn’t taste like anything—it’s Tim’s mouth.

His grip tightens in Alvin’s hair. Alvin moans. He sucks on Tim’s tongue, pulling an echo of the sound from his own chest. He steps forward, slotting his leg between Alvin’s. His thigh presses against his groin. He can feel the shape of Alvin’s cock, hot and half-hard, through their sweats. It makes his mouth water. He swallows—Alvin’s tongue chases his back into his mouth as his hips roll, grinding against Tim’s thigh and groaning. His nails bite into the skin of Tim’s waist, and Tim gasps.

“A-ah—” He has to break the kiss to pant.

Alvin takes the opportunity to bury his face in Tim’s neck, biting at the delicate skin there. Tim is sure that he’s leaving bruises. It’s something he loves on a good day, but the idea that the bruises would match the shape of his own mouth—

“Fuck,” he says, his twitching, cock rutting against nothing, nothing at all.

In all of his elaborate fantasies, Tim had never imagined rutting against his doppelganger like he’s still a teenager. But now that it’s happening—

Why not?

Why not get off just like this?

Like Alvin is thinking the same thing—and fuck, he probably is, because they’re the same—he slots his own leg between Tim’s. They’re tangled together, pressed so close they’re almost one person.

Alvin bites—Tim shouts, his hips stuttering forward, and moans breathlessly when this time, he meets the hard muscle of Alvin’s thigh, the friction sending a wave of feeling skittering over his nerves. He pulls at Alvin’s hair, good and hard, the way he knows makes his nipples feel tight, his scalp tingle. His other hand drops down to Alvin’s ass, gripping the swell of it, pulling him forward to rub against Tim’s thigh.

Alvin gasps, moans. He scratches at Tim’s back, his waist, and abruptly, Tim needs to be naked. He lets go of Alvin to grab the hem of his sweatshirt and pull it off, over his head. He tosses it aside carelessly. Nothing crashes, so wherever it landed is probably fine. Alvin makes a soft, eager noise, then he follows suit.

They’re identical, of course. Lean and wiry and covered with a dark dusting of hair, thickest at his belly. Scars litter their skin—some of which only they can see, too faded for anyone else to find without serious exploration. There’s a mole next to one of his nipples. Tim’s only really ever seen it in the mirror before; it’s too far down for him to pay much attention to when he’s lying in bed, touching himself.

Right now—

Right now, it’s like his vision has narrowed down to it, and he shoves—gently—at Alvin, until his knees hit the back of the couch. Alvin lets himself fall, lets Tim crash on top of him, gripping at his shoulders while Tim trails a rough, wet path from his neck to his chest. His knees hit the floor. Alvin’s legs lock around his middle, ankles crossing at his back.

He knows just how to touch himself… with his hands. With his mouth—

With his mouth it’s clumsier, messier. He doesn’t know quite how roughly he can bite, how hard he can suck. But he figures it out, letting the gasps and moans Alvin makes guide him. Alvin’s fingers find his hair. He tugs, that perfect way that Tim likes, and he moans. His hips rut forward, against the couch.

He feels dizzy with want.

It reminds him of his task, just a few moments ago. He pulls off of Alvin’s nipple and shucks his pants. The position makes it awkward, clumsy. He would feel embarrassed if he didn’t know that Alvin was just as messed up as he is.

He reaches for Alvin’s pants next. Alvin’s belly tenses, showing off the muscles in his abdomen as he lifts his hips, letting Tim slide them over the swell of his ass and then down his legs. Tim doesn’t bother with their socks, climbing back up to plaster himself against Alvin instead. They move, the two of them, until they’re horizontal; Alvin lying under him, his head propped up slightly on one of Tim’s throw pillows. The other one is kicked to the floor. He can feel Alvin’s cock against his belly, hard and hot and leaking precum.

Alvin looks up at him, his face flushed, his eyes dark, hazy. This is what Tim looks like when he’s having sex. His cock pulses. He needs— He needs to see what he looks like when he comes.

He holds his hand up to Alvin’s face. He doesn’t have to say what he wants—Alvin knows, licking over Tim’s palm, holding his gaze as he does. Tim’s mouth is dry.

As soon as his hand is wet, he shoves it between their bodies, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks. They moan in perfect unison; the exact same breathless, desperate pitch. Tim starts slow, smearing spit and precum over their cocks until the glide is slick and smooth. Then he speeds up.

If he was masturbating alone, he would alternate between slow and fast; keep himself hovering over the edge until it was almost too much to take. Then, and only then, he would let himself cum.

Later, he’d be more than happy to test both of their limits. To act out every filthy fantasy they’ve ever had, but never had anyone else to to try it with.

Right now, though—

Right now, he’s getting an outsider’s perspective of his own orgasm and he wants nothing more than to see it through. So he does, hitting that perfect speed, that perfect tightness, twisting his wrist—pulling out all of the stops until he can almost taste his peak. Alvin writhes under him. He claws at Tim’s back, leaving streaks of red over the smooth skin there. Tim will look at them later; compare the spread of his fingers to them and flush at the idea that anyone else would look at him and think he’d found some random hook-up to take home.

Only Tim would know the truth.

Well.

Tim and Alvin.

“C’mon,” he whispers. “C’mon, baby—wanna—I wanna see you cum.” He shifts slightly, bracing more of his weight on his knees. He gets his other hand involved, then; tugging and twisting at his nipples, starting with the neglected one from earlier, the one without the mole.

Alvin grips Tim’s shoulders so tightly Tim is sure he’s drawn blood, and then—

He arches, mouth opening, panting their abdomens in white. Tim barely refrains from following him over the edge—staying as present as he can as he drinks in every detail. It’s not the same as watching himself on video. Even his highest definition camera can’t capture the rush of blood under Alvin’s skin, the glisten of sweat on his skin, the way his eyes move under the lids and his lashes flutter against his cheeks.

He gentles his hand, stroking Alvin until he collapses against the couch, chest heaving as he pants. He looks up at Tim with hazy eyes—his expression lazy, fucked-out. If Tim cared to psychoanalyze himself, he’s sure he could think of several interesting notes about the way he leans down to capture Alvin’s lips in a kiss.

Tim isn’t interested in digging that deeply.

Not this time.

Alvin only lets the slow, lazy kiss continue for a few minutes before he threads a hand in Tim’s hair and tugs him off. His lips curve upward, and then his legs tangle with Tim. He’s suspended in the air for one breathless moment before his back hits the couch, knocking the remaining air out of his lungs.

“Your turn now.” Alvin’s voice curls around the words in a low, dark promise.

Tim shudders, arching into his touch.

He can probably get away with taking a few days off. If anyone asks— He can just tell them it’s for science.

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 2 - A Mourning Crow

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: Lucanis invites Rook for coffee ;3. Arrangements for Caterina's funeral are made. Lucanis and Rook share feelings over cookies.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Spoilers, cursing, mentions of death

A/N: A shorter one for some bonding <3

Chapter 1 DATV Masterlist Chapter 3(wip)

Meeting with the Shadow Dragons didn’t go quite as horribly as I’d expected. Tarquin looked more surprised to see me than anything. “Welcome home, Rook. Try not to get yourself run out of the city again,” he said.

“No promises,” I told him with a smirk.

We set off to take care of the relic that had fallen into the Venatori’s hands. Lucanis and Neve trailed me as we made our way through Dock town.

“You didn’t tell me you were a Shadow Dragon, Rook,” Lucanis said.

“It was only a couple years. Just long enough to have to leave,” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “They didn’t want to risk taking out a slavery ring, so Varric and I did it ourselves. Every magister in Minrathous was hot on my tail after that,” I chuckled. “It was the first job I ever did with Varric, and it was the day I joined him.”

“The day he picked you up off the streets, more like,” Neve teased.

“It sounds like he means a lot to you,” Lucanis said thoughtfully.

“Of course he does,” I said simply. “He saved me.”

“You. Saved. Us!” Spite’s voice hissed through Lucanis’s lips.

I shrugged. “I had help.”

Neve grinned. “Shadow Dragons stick together,” she said simply.

After trekking all over Dock Town and fighting a Tevinter Magister asshole who got off the hook cause his daddy’s got money, we were back at the lighthouse. I was exhausted but I also did not want to see Solas. That was something Lucanis and I had in common, not wanting to sleep and unwanted tenants in our heads. 

I went across the courtyard to the dining room. The table was now set for the whole team. Next to the fireplace was a hanging grocery list in Lucanis’s handwriting. The assassin had tucked himself in the pantry behind the dining room.

I suppose it would be odd to expect him to adapt so quickly to being out in the open after spending a year in the prison. I just hoped he was comfortable.

I knocked on the door and he opened it, cup of coffee in hand. He smiled a bit when he saw me. “Rook, Illario sent word. He’s got intel on Zara. He wants to meet up. Fancy a trip to Treviso?” He asked.

“Sounds like fun,” I smiled. “We can head out soon.”

It was hard to know what time it was in the Fade. The sky never really changed and there was no indication of the sun. When we left Minrathous the sun was setting. I wasn’t disappointed about getting to see Treviso at night. The barest piece I had seen when we met Teia had captivated me more than Minrathous ever could.

Lucanis and I stepped through the eluvian together into the Cantori Diamond. He led me through the tower and down the spiral staircase. There was a zip line across to another rooftop that I clung to while we swung across. I jumped down to the lower roof beside it before sliding down the lattice. If I remembered right this was the same way Teia had taken us on the way in.

Instead of going across the bridge, Lucanis veered to the right and took us down an alleyway leading to the market.

“Illario will meet us at Cafe Pietra, it’s not that far from here. We have time before he arrives, I wouldn’t mind looking around a while,” Lucanis told me.

“I wouldn’t either. I’m sure Treviso has lots of sights to see. What I’ve seen of your city is beautiful,” I answered. Something in this place sung to my soul.

“The markets are open… good. I have some things I need to get,” he said. “Treviso… I barely had time to look around after the Ossuary.”

“Has it changed much?” I asked curiously as we browsed the stalls.

“In some ways more than I expected. But then… perhaps it’s me.” We wandered for a moment before Lucanis made a stop in front of a stall.

“A potted plant?” I asked.

“For Harding’s garden. Spearmint is supposed to calm bad dreams. It’s good in desserts too.” I nodded thoughtfully. He led me to another stall. “Bellara mentioned a danish seafood recipe she wants to make,” he said.

“The Demon of Vyrantium is grocery shopping for the team,” I said with amusement.

“Have you seen what they eat? It’s a miracle you didn’t all starve before you hired me,” he said exasperated, leading me to a produce stall. “Fresh fruit,” he sighed. “Neve only eats fried fish. You’d think a detective would have discovered scurvy by now.”

I laughed. “Is that everything on the list?”

“Yes, and Illario should be here by now. Let’s go meet him before he gets himself into some kind of trouble.”

I hummed, walking back through the market. “Just one last thing,” I said, approaching the blacksmithing stall. My eyes roved over the selection before a tossed some gold at the trader, picking up my gift.

I smiled, handing it to Lucanis. “You can’t buy something for everyone but yourself. Here this is for you.”

“A wyvern-tooth dagger?” His eyes went wide when I handed it to him. “I loved wyverns as a boy. Caterina would never let me have one of these, though.”

I just smiled at him before he led us to the cafe to meet Illario.

When we entered, the air was warm and thick with the scent of coffee. It was enough to make my mouth water. I sat down across from Illario and Lucanis sat to my left between us. 

“Finally! I thought you might leave me here all by my lonesome,” Illario said as we sat down. I shifted in my seat, keeping my gaze on Lucanis. The presence he put off made me feel calmer.

“Please,” Lucanis said. “You think I’d ever pass up Cafe Pietra’s coffee?”

“You see, Rook? My cousin is all stomach and no heart,” Illario said.

Lucanis grinned, looking over at me. “Don’t mind him. Illario cannot appreciate anything but himself.” There was a light in his eyes that made him seem younger. A light that likely disappeared in the Ossuary. “They serve a specialty roast here: Andoral’s Breath. Bitter and sweet like a kiss goodbye. You should try it,” he told me.

“Bitter’s good. Chocolate is better,” I said with a grin.

“They have cioccolata calda. It was my favorite drink as a child,” Lucanis said, amused.

“I think you’re shaming me, but I’m ordering the choco-chico thing,” I crossed my arms. Lucanis tipped his head back and laughed. “Two Crows and a Shadow Dragon walk into a cafe. It sounds like the beginning of a very bad joke.” Even Illario cracked a smile with that one. “To business?”

“Our final listener left when Lucanis started making out with the idea of coffee,” Illario crossed his arms, shifting in his seat.

Lucanis grinned. “What can I say? I take it very seriously. So. You have something?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows braced on the table.

My eyes trailed the leanness of his body, built for agility and precision, unlike me. My body was a conduit for my power despite my preference of a dagger in combat.

“The Crows I sent after Zara have picked up her trail. They say she’s gone to Vyrantium,” Illario said.

My eyes flicked over his face. “If she was here in Treviso to kill Caterina, she can’t be in Vyrantium already.” I glanced at Lucanis, and the corners of his lips twitched.

“Rook’s right. Zara’s given you a false lead, cousin.”

“You have better information?” Illario questioned.

“We’re compromised,” Lucanis said simply. “There’s no other way Zara could even touch Caterina. You need your eyes here. In Antiva.”

“Zara would never be foolish enough to stay. Not with you out for blood,” Illario said.

Lucanis put his hands together. “Of course she would. If the Crows protecting her are here.”

Illario looked to me. “Rook, reason with him, would you? He’s being paranoid.” Something about the way he purred that made me uncomfortable.

“I am not paranoid! She came after me. She came after Caterina. She will come for you, too,” Lucanis pushed.

Illario scowled. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll clean house, all right? Leave this to me.” He stood and left the room. 

I walked him out, leaving Lucanis to think. He looked at me, nodded and shook my hand before heading off. As I walked back into the cafe, I wiped my hand on my leathers. “He’s gone,” I said as I sat down next to Lucanis.

“Of course he is. Illario always caves under pressure,” Lucanis scowled.

“Your cousin only seems to hear about one word in ten,” I said, picking up my chocolate drink that Lucanis had ordered for me while I was out.

“He’s always been this way. He hears what he wants to hear.” Lucanis swirled his cup, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep inhale of the brew, sighing. He took a sip, eyes closed in contentment as he savored the drink. He looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.

I grinned. “Bitter and sweet, you called that blend. Like a kiss goodbye. So what would a first kiss be?” I asked thoughtfully.

“Honey and lavender cream. Sweet, intriguing…” He said smoothly. “And you? How would you describe it?” He asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I’ve never had one. There’s just never been… well…” What was I even going to say? A person? No. An opportunity? A choice? 

Lucanis smiled softly. “In matters of the heart, one must be discerning.”

“When it’s right, you know,” I said.

“I’ve always thought that to live truly is to live fully. But even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been determined for me,” he told me.

“You must have found time for a little trouble along the way. And if you didn’t, I can find you some now,” I smiled.

“We’ll see. You don’t know how much trouble I can handle yet. How’s your cioccolata calda?” He asked.

“Just sweet enough to intrigue me.” I took another sip, sitting back and letting my shoulders drop. I felt Lucanis’s eyes on me. “Thank you for this,” I said. “For getting me out of the Lighthouse. And for the drink.”

“Anytime, Rook,” he said. “I mean that.” And I believed him.

“Ready to head back?” I asked.

“In a while,” he said, looking off into the distance, swirling his coffee. “Do we have a minute?” He asked, looking back at me.

My brow furrowed. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“Teia wants to meet,” Lucanis said.

“I’d never pass up the chance.”

“She wants to plan Caterina’s funeral,” he said darkly, looking into his drink.

“Oh,” my face fell. “Right.”

“If you don’t mind, I… could use some backup. In case Spite gets out of hand,” he said carefully.

“Of course, Lucanis. Let’s not keep her waiting.” I stood, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. His muscles were taut, and I pulled away. “Sorry.”

“No,” he said. “It’s alright.” He looked up at me and stood. “Thank you.”

—-------------------------------------

Illario and Teia met us at the Cantori Diamond.

“Good! You’re here,” she said upon seeing us.

“Thank you for making the arrangements, Teia,” Lucanis said.

“For Caterina… how could I do otherwise?” She said with a frown. “I’m so sorry, Lucanis. This must be such a blow.” She looked over at me with a smile. “Rook, thank you for coming with him. I need one Dellamorte to plan this. His cousin has been no help at all.” She put her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry, Teia. This is just… too much right now,” Illario said.

“If there’s anything I can do, just say the word,” I told them.

“You’re such a dear. I hope these two are paying attention,” Teia smiled at me.

“Teia. Don’t flirt with my… colleague,” Lucanis said, looking wounded.

“Jealous?” She smirked. “Fine, to business then. There’s a lot to plan. But first, I need the ashes.”

“Ashes?” Illario asked, dumbfounded.

“Maker help us, yes, the ashes! Caterina’s ashes. From the cremation?” Teia asked.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. I’ll get them to you right away,” he said.

“Illario… what happened?” Lucanis asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Caterina. How…? How did the Venatori get to her? When? Where? In the estate? In the city? How did they get past our people? What did they use? Poison? Blades? I need to know,” Lucanis questioned. 

“Cousin, stop,” Illario chided. “You can’t dwell on this. It’ll drive you mad.”

Okay, I’ll be the first to admit, that pissed me off. Illario couldn’t dictate how people handle grief, and Lucanis had perfectly good reasons for needing to know those things.

“I’m not dwelling,” Lucanis argued. “Zara killed the First Talon. I have to know how if I’m going to stop her.”

“I told you, I’m handling it.” I glanced sidelong at Illario, trying to gauge if it was just me getting annoyed or not. This wasn’t even my group of people and he was pissing me off. It felt dismissive. Lucanis had earned more respect than that, even from his cousin.

“Boys!” Teia said. “Enough of this. We have other things to discuss.”

“My apologies, Andarateia. Continue without me. I’ll… get you the ashes,” Illario excused himself.

Lucanis had a scowl on his face when I looked at him. “How are you holding up?” I asked.

“I’ll be fine. Better, once we kill Zara Renata. It’s him I’m worried about,” he told me.

“Illario can be a handful, but this… the only time I’ve seen him like this was when Lucanis died,” Teia told me. She looked over at Lucanis. “You’re worrying, aren’t you? What will people say if they hear the Demon of Vyrantium has a big soft heart?”

“He’s been careless at times, but never when his own life was on the line. Zara took down the First Talon. Anyone could be next. And my cousin doesn’t want to think about it,” Lucanis said, frustrated.

“You have a point,” Teia said. “It’s not like Illario to ignore a knife coming at him.”

“What do you need from me for the funeral?” Lucanis asked.

“I’ve already handled everything, I just wanted to run it by you,” she smiled sadly.

“Our house owes you for handling all of this,” Lucanis told her.

“Caterina was family. Can you imagine what she’d say if she saw us all like this?” Teia questioned.

“She’d be furious. Especially at Illario. As usual,” Lucanis grinned.

“I barely know your cousin, and he already seems like trouble to me,” I told him.

“Oh, he is,” Lucanis nodded. “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to pull him out of the fire on the job.”

“He’s a good assassin. Most jobs don’t have as many fires as yours do. I’ll have my people keep an eye on him for you,” Teia assured him.

“Thank you, Teia,” Lucanis said. The grief he carried was evident in his voice.

“Go on,” she said to us. “I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

—-----------------------------------

Flour coated my hands and clothes as I mixed the dough between my hands for the cookies I was making. I couldn’t sleep, or at the least didn’t want to, and I had my thoughts to myself while my hands were busy. 

Soon enough, I had them baking. Lucanis eased out of the pantry, squinting into the dim glow of the kitchen. The sweet, buttery smell of baking cookies was unmistakable. I smiled at him from where I leaned against the counter. 

“Perfect timing,” I said as I set the fresh batch in front of me. “Midnight snack?”

“You bake?” He asked, coming over to eye my handy work. “You never cease to surprise me.” His eyes trailed over the cookies, leaning against the counter beside me, gaze lingering on me as I worked.

“I’d hate to become boring,” I said with a smile. “I don’t really like sleeping these days,” I told him. “I… I can’t seem to escape Solas when I do. He invades my dreams. It’s like I’m trapped in them, and nothing feels real when I wake up.”

He studied me for a moment. “We are more similar than I anticipated.”

He reached for a cookie, and my eyes went wide, “Careful–!”

He picked it up with a smirk. “I can handle it,” he said, taking a bite. “This is delicious.” His eyes slipped closed and I laughed.

I brought the tray of cookies to the dining table. Lucanis sat across from me. “How are you feeling about everything?” I asked him.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know. After the Ossuary, nothing feels real.”

“What about Caterina?” I asked. “What was she like?”

“Caterina was… strong,” he said slowly. “She was fierce and never backed down from anything, sometimes to our detriment. She never stopped. Not until she was forced to,” he told me.

“She seemed like someone who could calm storms or raise them,” I said to him. “I could’ve used someone like her in my corner.”

Lucanis’s gaze softened, and his fingers twitched as though he fought the urge to reach out. “She would have liked you,” he said quietly. “I think she would’ve seen something in you, something… worth protecting.”

“Varric used to say that. Do you know what he said when I asked why he chose me?” I couldn’t help but smile thinking about my friend and mentor. “He said, “There’s a reason I brought you into this mess. You’re clever. Adaptable. And you don’t know when to quit”. He said it was my best and worst quality.”

“He was right in that regard,” Lucanis said with a smirk, and I rolled my eyes.

The quiet stretched between us, and the sound of Spite’s voice filled the space before his aspect appeared in the chair beside Lucanis. “How sweet. Two poor souls, drowning their feelings over cookies.”

“Okay, but, have you tried one?” I picked a cookie up, reaching to hand it to Spite.

“Rook—” Lucanis began.

“Smells like. Chocolate. And Rook.” Spite sniffed the cookie.

“Yes, I made them. Try it,” I urged with a grin.

I watched Spite try a tiny piece before shoving the whole cookie in his mouth. “More.”

I laughed. “By all means, Mischief,” I said, pushing the tray toward him. “There are plenty to share.”

“Spite doesn’t scare you?” Lucanis asked, watching the encounter play out curiously.

“We’re up against gods. No, Spite doesn’t scare me. And you two didn’t deserve what you went through in the prison. I can’t fault him for being angry any more than I can fault you.”

Lucanis studied me, his gaze softening with a touch of admiration. “You’re far more understanding than most. I think it’s why Spite has taken a strange liking to you.”

I shrugged, popping another cookie into my mouth, scoring the sweet warmth as Spite continued to wolf down more. “I don’t know about that.”

Lucanis’s eyes lingered on me as I leaned back in my chair, and for a moment, the weight of the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… familiar, like the calm before the storm, or the soft hum of a connection that was only beginning to form.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” he asked quietly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding that so often showed in me.

I paused, unsure of how to answer. It felt easier to just nod. “A lot more than I ever wanted to, and yet… here I am. I think I’ve gotten used to it. Surviving. Trying not to let the nightmares take over.”

Lucanis leaned forward, his elbows on the table. His gaze was intense, but not in a way that made me feel cornered. It was as if he was searching, but not with a sense of urgency. He wasn’t probing; he was simply trying to see. “I know what it’s like to carry that weight,” he said quietly, his voice lowering. “The fear. The doubt. The need to keep moving, even when it feels like it would be easier to just stop.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “You’re not alone in this.”

“I’m not alone, ever,” he said with a pointed glance at Spite who just grinned menacingly.

“You know what I mean.” I reached over, taking his hand on the table and rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. “We aren’t alone. Any of us. Something to think about,” I said before standing. “Thank you for tonight.”

“You know I’m a sucker for good food,” Lucanis smirked slightly. “Even when the world outside is a bit chaotic.”

“More than I bit,” I laughed. 

But for now, the cookies were still warm, and the night, however fleeting, was ours to share.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm so tired ;-;

Let me know if you wanna be added to a tag list!

[teecupangel]

I wasn't able to remind you guys that this poll was ending because we lost power OTL

Anyway, Altaïr won so this means Desmond will be a dragon fucker

So have the first two scenes (draft) as a 'preview' of how this fic is gonna start (if there's any mispelling or grammatic error, sorry, absolutely first draft XD)

The oldest memory that Desmond still clearly remembered was his father showing him his bearer-father’s portrait when he was very young.

Aita Bartholomew li Jupiter, third prince of the Isu Empire.

The last living child of the late Tinia Zeus li Jupiter before his death.

He died a year after Desmond was born, weakened by the stress that led to Desmond being born prematurely two months before he was supposed to.

Stress compounded by the news that the Isu Empire’s royal family had all been killed in a bloody coup by Juno Romania, distant cousin of Tinia Zeus li Jupiter.

She crowned herself empress and took the name Juno Hera vi Jupiter.

His father had been sparred because he was married off to King William Miles of the Monteriggioni Kingdom, a small kingdom west of the empire. What they lacked in lands, they made up with their location and resources.

They had a thriving economy due to being the main exporter of mana stones used for magical devices that non-magically inclined people could use and any invasion proved hard because of being at the center of a coiling mysterious mountain range called Dragontail Mountain Range.

Legend say that the mountain range coiling all around their kingdom for more than 600 kilometers was the tail of a powerful evil dragon that was vanquished millennias ago.

And their kingdom was built over the corpse of the dragon with their bountiful mana stone mines being blessed by dragon blood that had seeped through the very soil.

His bearer-father survived a bloody coup because he was lucky.

Yet he died while holding Desmond in his arms.

Having drunk poison mixed into his favorite tea one sunny afternoon.

And everyone pointed their finger at Empress Juno.

Empress Juno answered such rumors with sweet poison of her own.

“Why would I kill my dear sweet Aita when his only sin was being born of that wretched man’s loins? His death gains me nothing.”

“Perhaps the kingdom should look into who would gain from his death in their own peaceful land.”

“Ah. I know… why don’t I show how much I love my beloved Aita?”

“I’ll make his son the next emperor consort.”

.

His engagement to Loki Laufey vi Jupiter was engraved upon his future when he was barely a year old and he had never met the child that was to be his emperor and spouse since.

He knew his place.

He was to be a political hostage, given freedom by the mercy of Empress Juno to stay in the kingdom until he was ten years old.

Nine years filled with training and lessons.

To be the perfect ‘consort’.

“They will attack you if you are weak so you must be strong.”

“They will mock you if you are a fool so you must be intelligent.”

“They will use you if you do not see their schemes so you must be wise.”

“They will find faults so you must not have none.”

He met his father daily after his father had read his tutors and instructors’ reports.

Desmond had cried the first time his father was disappointed at him.

And he stopped crying in front of his father after his father told him that crying was a sign of weakness that he cannot ‘afford’.

He learned to apply makeup on his face to hide the dark lines under his eyes.

He learned to smile even as he felt nothing.

He learned to squeeze any pain he felt watching his cousin, Ezio Auditore, visit the palace every weekend to be taught the duties and responsibilities of the crown prince of their kingdom.

He learned to accept the fact that Ezio Auditore was the son King William wanted.

I just… would like to request some altdes monsterlovin’. Any type, any previous monster desmond thread, I just. Your writing is SO GOOD. I would deeply appreciate reading some miscellaneous monsterlovin’ if you’re up for sharing some

Well, you're in luck, nonny. I read a story that promised some dragon 'loving' and did not deliver so Imma write my own as part of the "Desmond's DeathDay Megaposting" this year. (this does mean you gotta wait for a month XD)

So I'm opening this to everyone XD

Yes, this means the other person is gonna be our monsterfucker XD

Just in case someone is curious, the story I read wasn't a fanfic but I'm not going to say more in case someone likes it (if you do, I'm happy that you found enjoyment in it)

[sunbloomdew]

olric is aroace and happy being single btw, he told me himself

[scene-iii]

—YOU & ME; MOONLIT SCENE (0-1)

[ but I know you ]

“You’re awfully excited,” The prefect whispers, eyes wide behind cracked lens.

The taller boy grins, cracked lips stretching to reveal missing teeth; it’s charming, in an off-putting way. The boy tilts his head to the side, his glasses nearly rolling off his nose and revealing his blood-orange eyes. He offers a hand to Dinah.

“How could I not be…?! It’s the most perfect time of the year.” The boy hums dreamily, his voice quiet to match the blond’s. It’s clear that it isn’t his natural volume, and the gentle gesture is appreciated.

Dinah nods shakily, blond locks draping over his glasses; his headband snapped on the way here. Hesitantly, the prefect places his hand in the pale stranger’s, and gets pulled to his feet instantly.

“Don’t tell me you’re not a fan?” The boy’s words flutter down to Dinah, and the ramshackle prefect realizes just how vastly different their heights are. Dinah cranes his head upwards, the cool metal rims of his glasses press against his face; they provide little solace in his new environment.

“I…” Dinah isn’t quite sure where to begin. This is supposed to be his first Halloween in Twisted Wonderland, a hauntingly exciting day to spend with friends and acquaintances. And yet, here he stands with moonlight as the only familiarity.

Dinah shakes his head, not minding that his hand is still in the stranger’s hold. “I’m worried, this year…?” His words are choppy—he’s had Halloween before back at home, right? “I’m… Alone, right now. Scared, to be honest.”

"Scared?"

His smile is warm but odd; Dinah has never seen this face before.

The boy presses his glasses up his face, hiding his eyes once more. His fingertips drift to his chest as he leans down, placing a kiss upon Dinah's gloved hand.

"Your fear is most appreciated, a true harbinger of the Halloween spirit...!"

"Yet," his voice drops, and he shifts his hand in Dinah's until their palms are flush. "The fear you hold isn't quite right."

"Won't you allow me to twist it to perfection?"

banner cred: thoselethalarts

[orlesianhennin]

I am actually Very Concerned now about how they are going to handle the Inquisitor in so many ways, mainly because I do not just want two cookie-cutter attitudes towards Solas... like if your Inquisitor was an f!Lavellan and romanced him are her two settings going to be either Still Pining After All These Years or Woman Scorned and Out for Revenge...?

[fragmentedblade]

I have so many screenshots of Kalpas' face I could reconstruct his face at this point, and I'm afraid to say I'm not sure his face is scarred

[gregmarriage]

always sunny was actually soooo sick for having dee tell mac that he should get a boyfriend (while glancing at dennis)

then, literally the NEXT season, mac has a boyfriend and it’s DENNIS.

except, it’s dennis posing as someone else, and getting jealous of HIMSELF. truly incredible television fr

[moderatetoaboveaverage]

.

[blankticket]

"Ah." Vash's expression, unfiltered and in rapid succession: frustration—disappointment—pity—weary acceptance.

It doesn't strike him as fair for Wolfwood's husband to expend most of his lifespan, for Wolfwood to die and for Livio to live, just for the Punisher to be used in the way the Eye designed anyway.

So it's clearly not the answer that Vash had wanted to hear. But he makes no move to insist further, despite previously expressing a wish to be more assertive. He's careful to nod politely, to stifle the sentiment before it bled into anything else.

If Wolfwood wasn't yet ready to unburden himself with that cross, to let it be the tombstone of the life he used to live, then that was that.

Besides, it's hard not to relate so heavily to what Wolfwood must be feeling right now. Given… Everything.

But—not once had Vash ever wanted to take another life. Even his predecessor had confessed to living decades of murderous rage aimed at his own brother. Yet he'd changed. With that in mind, Stamps figures that Vash must be hurting terribly from this, perhaps worse than how either of these two feel right now.

Paradoxically, the sympathy helps in distancing himself from his own feelings. He'd rather keep others in mind anyway.

The wind returns, gentle and pleasantly refreshing. He reaches over to snag the empty taffy wrapper before it's blown away, crumpling it in his left palm.

"…It'll be alright," Vash assures, trying to elaborate on earlier. "I figure you probably feel awfully lonesome about all this. I'm not unaware about how cruel my brother can get. How he must've got to you.

"But Vash n'Nicholas love you a lot. 'M sure they'll come around."

No, don't cry, fuck—

His own smile, equally as empty, falls, and Wolfwood sags forward again.

What a question; a difficult one to answer. The Punisher is a symbol for a lot of things: his pain, the abuse he suffered, his loss of childhood, the lives he's taken, his own gravemarker. Of course he would spend his days carrying the same thing he'd be buried under on his back. It was only fitting.

It was handed to him after he was taught to kill. Only a few in existence, he was told, and it should have been an honor to wield it. But he was only a boy, it had been so much bigger than he was then.

A lot of people died while staring up the barrel of it.

But it's a part of his life he doesn't think he could just... give up, just like that.

"It's..." Wolfwood hesitates, uncertain of if he should say it. "It's part of me, y'know. Always will be. I can't let it get into the wrong hands."