#(this is a drablet

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Hi, hello, hola! And a happy mid-Erotic Grope Fest to you all!!

Editing Ch. 2 of my EGF fic, Good morning, good night, good morning, continues apace! I was going to share a bit of that, but instead I found this tiny, completely unrelated story (a drablet?) when I was looking through editing notes:

Simon: (pauses in the middle of making out) Are we dating now? 

Baz: (falls out of bed) 

Baz: (slips on a banana) 

Baz: (tumbles down the stairs) 

Baz: (stands up) 

Baz: (smooths back hair) 

Baz: (puts on a suit) 

Baz: Yes. 

(tags & more writing blather behind the cut)

I'm at that Weird Point in editing Chapter 2 of my EGF fic so many times that I have lost perspective. Random thoughts will drift across my mind: "Is this funny? Why did I ever think this was funny?" and "This is 5K and yet it feels like nothing happens??"

I feel well-adjusted enough (at the moment) for this reminder to kick in: "My job isn't to judge whether the thing is good or bad. My job, right now, is just to edit." Writing Do Be Like That. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In other fun news, I found some notes from when I was editing Chapter 20 of Jelly Babies and my spouse (known on the internets as Earlobegreytea) was peeking over my shoulder:

Earlobegreytea: Was there kissin’ in this chapter? 

Me: No

Earlobegreytea: Was there kissin’ in the previous chapter? 

Me: Also no 

Earlobegreytea: No kissin’ Earlobegreytea: Just thinking about kissin’ Earlobegreytea: Just thinking about kissin’ a little Earlobegreytea: Keep ‘em in suspension 

And then he kept muttering about kissin' while he went to pick up milk. 😘🐄🥛

I've been up since six this morning, so I'm kicking off SSS with a long list of hello tags. Come out and play! (Or just rest and be cosy. Tha's cool too) @aristocratic-otter @artsyunderstudy @bookish-bogwitch @captain-aralias @confused-bi-queer @cutestkilla @dohrnaira @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hushed-chorus @ionlydrinkhotwater @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @imagineacoolusername @johnwgrey @larkral @martsonmars @moodandmist @nightimedreamersworld @onepintobean @raenestee @sailor-blossoms @shemakesmeforget @shrekgogurt @tea-brigade @thewholelemon @tectonicduck @technetiumai @theimpossibledemon @whogaveyoupermission @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

I wrote myself a permission slip to have fun and play this weekend, so I'm going to grab mini donuts and play pinball at an arcade called Phantom Amusements which is, sadly, not run by ghosts (as far as I can tell). Happy Sunday!

[farity]

Inspiration

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary:  Aemond finds out who is the inspiration for a scandalous statue

Warning: All fluff - I just wanted a happy little drablet.

It was declined, of course, the moment Alicent caught sight of it.�� 

“It is simply a representation of the human form, Your Grace, surely the maiden sees no sin in what the Seven have created.”

“That my be, but it will not have a home in the keep.  You might have better luck with the Lannisters, or perhaps the Tyrells.”

Aemond watched from the balcony above as the heavy statue was wheeled out past his mother’s critical stare.

“What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on that.”

He turned to see Aegon, already raising a cup to his lips.  “A woman like that might even tempt you, little brother.”

“A woman like that does not exist, Aegon.  It is an ideal put together by an artist.”

“Oh, she does exist.”

Both brothers turned at the sound of Helaena’s voice.

“Lord Penrose owed a great debt to the artist and paid it off by having his daughter pose for him.  I guess he made a few copies.”

Aegon choked on his wine.  “That’s Elyana Penrose?  The little shit who pushed me into the mud that one time?”

Helaena smiled.  “I liked her a lot.”  She looked back down at her needlework, then remembered.  “Oh yes, she’ll be here for the festival tomorrow.”

* * * * * 

Aemond remembered Elyana Penrose.  And he remembered why she’d pushed Aegon into the mud.  Aegon was mocking Aemond, as he always did, and Aemond was pretending to ignore him, as he always did, but Elyana grew tired of the taunts about Aemond not having a dragon and she’d turned and shoved Aegon so hard, he’d lost his footing and fallen into a big mud pit.

The gates to the keep opened and he watched as the crowd went silent, watching as Lord Penrose and his party rode in.  Everyone was staring at Elyana, who stared straight ahead, that same strange bronze colored hair he remembered braided into submission.  Aemond could see the men’s stares, the women pointing.

“Once everyone has seen you naked, there is no dignity left.”

He turned at his mother’s words.

“Poor girl.  She’s as good as a whore, really.  Every detail exposed in that awful statue.”

“It wasn’t her choice, mother.”

“Does that matter, Aemond?” Alicent looked around.  “Does it matter to them?  Why is she wearing that heavy cape wrapped around her like a tarp, then?”

Alicent left, but Aemond kept his eye on Elyana Penrose, realizing too late that he, too, was one of the people she was so determined to ignore.

* * * * * 

You did not attend dinner.  You weren’t planning on attending breakfast, either, or any of the meals taken alongside the Targaryens.  In fact, the less people you had to see, the better.

“Lady Elyana.”

You turned at the voice to find Aemond Targaryen standing a few feet away.  He stood straight, hands behind his back, and nodded at you.

“Prince Aemond,” you wondered if he, too, was curious to see if the real thing matched the statue.  

“I noticed you did not join us for dinner last night.  I hope you are not ill.”

His eye stayed on your face, unlike most other people you had met recently, and your expression softened slightly.  You remembered how quiet he had been as a child, how relentless the teasing from his brother and cousins.  “You are very kind, Your Highness, I find I prefer my own company these days.”

“In that case, I shall leave you to your peace, my lady.”

“Oh no,” you stood, “I did not mean you had to leave, Your Highness.”

“Aemond.”

You swallowed.  “Surely you know, Aemond, why everyone looks at me lately.”

He took one step forward, lips curving in a small smile.  “You are very beautiful, Lady Elyana.”

You gave him a cursory smile.  “My prince,” you said quietly, “you know that is not why people stare.  You must know about the statues.”

He nodded.  “I do.  I am sorry for it.”

Something in his tone broke through the walls you carefully kept up around you, and much to your horror, you began crying.  First one tear, then another, until they were falling freely down your cheeks and you covered your face.

You felt the warmth of him as he gently wrapped his arms around you, stroking your back.  He said nothing, simply held you while you cried.  

“I am sorry, Prince Aemond,” you began, but he shook his head.

“There is nothing for you to be sorry about, my lady.”

It felt good, to be held.  To be comforted.  Your father saw you as something he could use, clearly, and now that you had solved his financial problem, you were to be married off for further gains.  

“I am so filled with shame,” you whispered.  “Everyone knows.  Everyone has seen.”

His arms tightened around you and you wrapped your own arms around his waist.  He began stroking your hair, tucking your head beneath his.  

“I am so sorry,” you repeated, “you must think me ridiculous.”  You looked up.  

His eye stayed on yours but you were intensely aware of how close your mouth was to his.  The smallest movement and your lips would meet.  You looked down and began wiping your eyes.  Aemond pulled out a small square of fabric from his pocket and handed it to you.

“You are absolutely not ridiculous,” he said, taking a step back to give you space to gather yourself.  “You have paid for others’ sins.  That is something I am familiar with.”

You finished dabbing at your eyes and looked up at him.  “After the festival we are going to Pyke, I am being wed to Lord Greyjoy.”

Aemond stared.  “Lord Greyjoy who just lost his third wife?”

* * * * * 

He couldn’t sleep.  He was well aware of how the world worked, children were to be married for the betterment of the family, that was how things were done and for the most part he’d never really given it much thought.

The thought of Elyana Penrose marrying that old barnacle-ridden goat filled him with disgust.  The realization that he could do nothing about it made him angry, and it was anger that kept him awake.

And if he was honest with himself, he liked her.  He had liked her as a child and he liked her now.  She was beautiful, of course, but she was as gentle and sweet as he remembered despite the notoriety that now surrounded her.  

He knew something about having people talk behind your back.  He knew something about being seen as something other than he was.  

Maybe he was wrong.  Maybe there was something he could do about it.

* * * * * 

You’d spent the previous night thinking about Aemond.  It had felt so good to be in his arms.  You had always liked him, finding him more sensible and clever than Aegon, braver than his cousins.  And now, he was so handsome, the scar and eye patch only adding to how striking he was.  

“Lady Elyana.”

You jumped in your chair and turned around.  Aemond stood there, one hand out and eye wide.  “I apologize, I did not mean to startle you, my lady.”

Your hand pressed to your throat, you smiled, catching your breath.  “No need to apologize, Prince Aemond.  I was lost in my own thoughts.”

“I wanted to speak to you, if you can grant me a few moments.”

You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, wondering what on earth the prince wanted to discuss with you.  “Of course, I would be delighted.”

“I feel there is an affinity between us,” he began, taking a seat facing you, “as children we got along well, and I dare say I always thought someday I would find someone like you to be my wife.”

Your heart started beating fast and immediately you tried to tamp down your response.  Expect nothing and you will not be disappointed, you told yourself.

“When I saw you again, and I spoke with you, it led me to think that I do not want someone like you to be my wife.”

And this was why.  There should be no disappointment at his words.  Why would he want someone like you, someone whose name was forever tarnished?  You straightened your back, determined to retain as much dignity as you could.

Aemond extended his hand to you.  “I want you to be my wife.”

You stared at him.  “I am, you- what?”

“I know I am not what most ladies dream of for a husband, I am disfigured and-”

You stood.  “Do not say that.”

He placed his hand back on his knee and looked up at you.

“I will not tolerate any such talk, Prince Aemond.  Not even from you.  Dear, dear you.”  You walked up to him, took his hand between yours.  “He would not let me write to you, after your injury,” you confessed.  “I wanted to, I really did.”

“I believe you.”

“And whatever ladies dream of, I do not know.  I find I have no taste for such frivolities.”

Aemond squeezed your hand.  “Then stay with me.  Marry me.  Make the realm better with me.  No longer your father’s pawn, he will not refuse this alliance, make a life here.  With me.”

You smiled at him, leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek.  “I will.  Maybe I will find a mud pit somewhere.”

He laughed and cupped your face so he could kiss your lips and you sighed.  A life here.  A life filled with joy and laughter.  

“I will have one built for you if you wish.”

* * * * * 

Tagging

@arryn-nyx​   @  girlwith-thepearlearring    @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle   @melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion    @watercolorskyy

Aemond fics only

@hb8301   @kaemond-zafiro    @arcielee   @castellomargot   @m-indkiller   @urmomsgirlfriend1

[shadowmaat]

I'm toying with the idea of an Archivist Maul story. Expand a bit on that drablet where Jocasta finds him in the Archives and decides to keep him.

He is a little sponge for knowledge and Jo is happy to indulge and encourage him. He's painfully shy, but he does gain a few friends. His favorite hangouts are the archives (natch) and the gardens, but he's also been known to sneak into the back of the auditorium from time to time to watch/listen to performances. He has also been mapping the abandoned levels of the temple and exploring any passages he finds. He's scared more than a few padawans and junior knights in his time. Accidentally, of course.

He likes retrieval missions, but they don't always like him. He has a knack for getting into unlikely problems no matter how much prep he does or how he tries to avoid them.

Kids tend to find him fascinating. It isn't unusual to find one or two of them trailing after him like ducklings, asking endless questions. Sometimes he answers them and sometimes he makes them do the research themselves, offering suggestions/assistance as needed.

Oh, and if he ever decides to start researching his old Master, Palps could be in for a very bad time, indeed. lol

[darth-sonny]

Permission to write a Leo and Kirby drablet in your inbox?

*grabs you by the shoulders*

[monpalace]

hello venom chapter i havent touched in seven months and new ordon kids drablet that magically spawned in my drafts

[minaa-munch]

Forgotten Chronicles: A Tale of ‘shrooms and Flowers

The earlier days of Konoha’s Ninja Academy weren’t as convenient as they were for the later generations; since the curriculum could still be described as experimental at best. Three generations of shinobi down the line from the time the Shodai reigned, still tinged with the brutal lessons of the past that they could only hope to spare the next cohorts from. 

Some of which, included field exercises in the form of mock scenarios. Academy students, often in their second year, would be divided in groups of two and left around some of the more thicker parts of the Hashirama forests surrounding Konoha where they would learn to fend for themselves. No food, no water and no jutsu - it was truly a survival of the fittest.  

“Mushrooms are better than shinobi grass.”

“I disagree.”

Currently however, two Genin in particular were in the middle of a...mild disagreement.  

"Look, I would know, wouldn't I? I spend half of my time in the compound gardens." Cue a sagely nod before teal hues returned to the expanse of brown heads poking through some shrubbery, “Besides, the color and the shape are similar to the Matsutake variety.” nimble digits plucked a single mushroom out of the foliage; turning it over akin to a connoisseur inspecting fine sake. After a brief pause, the Yamanaka gave a self satisfied nod and held it out to the Namikaze, “Its safe.” 

“I don’t know, Inoichi, it still reminds me of Waraitake..” Minato had read most of the books - plus, their Chunin sensei had warned them of the dangers of consuming shrubs they wasn’t entirely certain about, although they had yet to have a practical lesson on such kind of...plants, if they could even be called as such. His gaze flickered from the fungi to the older blond, “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure!” Inoichi exclaimed with a roll of his eyes at the Namikaze’s hesitation, “Look, if I’m wrong and we end up puking our guts out, you get to call me asagao chan. Deal?” 

Tempting. “If this turns out toxic, puking will be the least of our worries.” Minato replied dryly, though tan digits took the proferred mushroom regardless. The cap was large, more orange than brown. Closer inspection would reveal bright orange spores dusting the middle. 

He had a bad feeling about this. 

“Ano...Inoichi this isn’t a good idea.” Blue hues flickered to the Yamanaka a second too late, since the boy was already on his third mushroom. Both boys stared owlishly at each other until Inoichi deliberately sucked in the stem, holding his arms out as if the action itself proved his point. 

“See? I’m fine. You’ll be fine too.” He said with a self satisfied smirk as he held out another mushroom like a trophy, “A good shinobi is always resourceful.”

“I...suppose.” Blond brows furrowed. Since Inoichi hadn’t started convulsing...well... 

What’s the worst that could happen, right? Cue an exasperated exhale at the thought before he too, gave the mushroom an experimental nibble. It tasted a little familiar; slightly sour with an earthly tinge - similar to most mushrooms. It didn’t occur to him then, that he should wait a little; perhaps trust his gut instinct more - you know, something actual shinobi would do? 

Instead, the near Genin, who was on track to beating the Sandaime’s legendary record, hailed as a genius the likes of which seldom had been seen in the last decade...ate it. 

An hour later would find both of them in the midst of giggling fits; with Inoichi apologizing to the mushrooms he had plucked (’I’m sorry shiitake sama’) while Minato stared incredulously at his palms; mumbling something about mokuton and dandelions. 

Needless to say, Tsunade, who had been an apprentice medic at the time and the only one they could call on short notice, has yet to let either of them forget about it. 

[primcrdialchaos]

Everywhere around the world, people are disappearing. Lady asking to speak to the manager, gone. Kids asking ‘are we there yet’ in a back seat, gone. The vampire drinking from a blood bag like it’s a capri sun, gonezo. Everywhere, anywhere, people are dissolving away into smoke and nothingness. Humans, animals, even little ants and bugs and birds and everything in between.

In a grimy alleyway, a rat scuttles along the shiny cobblestones before it, too, vanishes with a squeak. Something rustles in the alley, a pile of clothes and rubbish stirs. A can skitters across the side street, clangs noisily into the wall.

“Mmm,”  a soft, whiny, stubborn sort of noise comes from nowhere in particular, the pile of rubbish twitching again. A sniffing noise follows, before the pile twitches, rags and debris stirring as an arm suddenly flies out, swatting at air. “Quit it.”

The hand starts to vanish, before it somehow unvanishes, swatting at the air again. A grumble, followed by another sharp twitch. Suddenly the pile of rubbish is strewn over the pathway, a dishevelled man with bright red hair blinking stubbornly and still swatting as if he’s surrounded by invisible bees. Maybe he is.

“Fuck’s sake.” He rubs his face, shakes his head like a wet dog and then scrambles to his feet, before promptly vanishing.

Two seconds later he reappears, lips scrunched up into a scowl and his eyes glowing bright gold, brighter than the sun.

“I’m not even part of your fuckin’ story, man,” he grits out, still swatting at nothing as if it’d spare him from God’s power play. He flickers out of existence and then back in, laughing.

“I,” poof, “can,” gone, “do,” flicker, “this,” bye, “all,” bababooey, “day.” He folds his arms and stares up at the sky, eyes still blazing. “I beat Medusa in a staring contest. I can beat you in a measuring contest.”

As he continues to flicker, other things start to appear upon his re-emergence. Elephants, confetti, marching bands, giant floating blimps with similar appearance to the Winchesters and Castiel and other main characters. As if a large parade weren’t enough to flicker in and out of existence, bigger things start to happen. The sky turns pink. The clouds turn bright yellow. The sun actually wears a pair of sunglasses and starts to chant in a booming voice that sounds disturbingly like Mickey Mouse.

“Ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka ooga ooga...”

Theo, meanwhile, is skipping-- nay, prancing out of the alleyway and pointing at various things which explode into various piles of confetti, blood, foodstuffs and Beebos. (It’s the same network, even if it isn’t the same show) As the sun starts to sing the ‘aaaaaaaah’ portion of Blue Swede’s famous annoyingly catchy song, all of a sudden everything stops flickering and everything reverts back to normal with a snap of Theo’s fingers.

“I’m almost disappointed.” He shrugs, he was only really just getting warmed up, after all. He then dusts off his jacket and throws the nearest trash can into the nearest shop front window, before continuing his usual chaotic business.

[past-present-future-cable]

Getting eaten out by Thanos would be so good.

He has such a big tongue and he's so large. No matter how much you squirm he could just hold you down like it's nothing and keep licking and sucking long past the point you've begging him for a reprieve.

[sennokami]

@ketsuekki

“I think there’s something wrong.”

Minami looked down at her cup, frowning. Everything after that happened in slow motion.

She dropped her cup. It shattered against a stone, the noise drawing Sakuya’s attention in time to see her tip over bonelessly. She moved before her brain caught up but she didn’t reach her in time to catch her. Minami hit the ground in an awful, deathly sort of way, her eyes wide.

“Minami!”

Sakuya cut her knees on the shards of her cup but she ignored the pain. She grabbed her, pulled her onto her lap, shaking her shoulder. “Hey -- hey! What’s wrong? Minami!”

She’d known about her condition. About what it meant. But knowing wasn’t the same as feeling it happen in your arms.

[aeaean--bliss]

hi! i was wondering if you could do a kind of blurb (? i guess) where reader and eddie swap rings? i have a few that are like frogs and stuff and i wanna know how you think eddie would react or if he would ask to swap first 🤭 if you can’t, that’s no problem! have a great day 🫶

eek this turned into a drablet rather than a blurb but here you go! i loved this request so much, thank you so much for sending it in!! i really hope you like it!!

fair exchange | eddie munson drablet

summary: you and eddie swap rings. pairing: eddie munson x reader word count: 875 warnings/tags: established situationship, fluff, pining?, moistness.

masterlist

“Hm.”

You frown softly, pulling your gaze away from where it’s been fixed on the fan on the ceiling. The spinning blades impress a shadow on your retinas, and you screw your eyes shut.

“What is it?” you mumble. The tip of your nose brushes against his hair as you turn to look at him. Dark curls lie softly against the pillow; they beckon you forward in your sleepy daze, and you bring your fingertips up to trace the strands carefully. 

He grunts, before extending his arms to each side in a big stretch, yawning loudly. 

“M’melting,” he says, mid-yawn. You scrunch your nose at the volume. 

“You want me to open the window?”

“Mm.”

He moves his arm away from where it was resting heavily across your belly and brings the hand up clumsily, stroking your cheek softly with his knuckle. You allow him a couple of seconds, revelling in the domestic intimacy of his touch, before you grasp at his hand and pull it away gently. 

He groans in complaint as the mattress beside him grows cold with your absence, arm flopping petulantly back against the sheets. You slide the window open, taking a moment to appreciate the deep oranges and pinks that have begun to decorate the edges of the sky. You spent most of last night helping one of Eddie’s neighbours move to a town a couple of hours away, and by the time the two of you pulled up outside his trailer again, the sun was creeping along the line of trees ahead of you. 

That same sun is sinking now, and you curse yourself momentarily for falling asleep for so long. You’re gonna be up all night, now. 

He groans quietly as he shifts, bringing you back to the present. You climb over the mattress, settling on top of him and resting your head on his chest. His fingertips stroke against your forearm as his hand slips down to clasp yours.

Fingers intertwined, you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a soft kiss to his knuckles. Your eyes drift to the ring adorning his finger, a plain, black thing, glinting softly in the setting sun. 

You just lie there, in near silence, the crackle from the television just beyond Eddie’s bedroom trickling in through the gap under the door. 

“Can I try this one on?”

The pad of your fingertip traces the metal band gently. His brows knit into a soft frown, not an angry one, more… confused. 

“Sure.”

You twist the ring you’re wearing off your ring finger, a slim, quirky thing with frog motifs that you bought at a garage sale two years ago, and drop it onto your belly in lieu of another flat surface.

He watches silently as you slip the ring off his ring finger (it doesn’t come quietly so you end up twisting it a bit, grimacing at the thought of causing him any pain), and slip it onto yours. It’s too big, but instead of laughing, he just reaches over with round, solemn eyes and slips it back off your finger. 

“Here, try here.”

He places it on your middle finger. It sticks, almost stuck but not quite, tight enough that it won’t fall off. 

“There,” you murmur, fingers outstretched. It looks a bit foreign against your skin; you’re so used to seeing it on him that you don’t really know how to feel. You like it, though, even if it does make you feel a bit territorial. 

Maybe that’s why you like it. 

And the thought makes you feel a bit guilty, and maybe a bit embarrassed. Is it a bit childish? You’ve never been the type to borrow stuff from guys you’ve dated, not really been close enough to feel comfortable enough to ask… And it’s not like the two of you are official, anyway.

You twist it carefully off your finger. 

“Here you go.”

He pushes your outstretched palm away gently, expression unreadable. He’s been watching you intently ever since you asked, more energised than he’s seemed for hours. 

“Keep it.”

“What? No, I’m not gonna steal your ring,” you say, the tips of your ears beginning to burn with embarrassment from having asked him in the first place. 

“It ain’t stealing if I’m giving it to you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He plucks the band out of your palm and grasps your fingers with his to slip it back on. “I want you to have it.”

There’s nothing but sincerity in his eyes, something oddly intimate. It makes your heart hurt. 

“‘kay.” 

You stare at the ring for as long as you think you can get away with without making it weird. Then you put your hand down, eyes catching on your own ring. You pick it up, twirling it around in your fingers as an excuse to direct your attention to anything other than the ring currently on your finger. 

Suddenly, it’s plucked from your hand. Without a word, he slips it onto his own pinky finger and lies back, head hitting the pillow again. 

“There. Fair exchange.”

You turn your head to look at him, but his eyes are already closed.

“Fair exchange,” you murmur absentmindedly.

© @aeaean--bliss; please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works.

[farity]

After the Battle

Some smut, some funnies, because it be like that..

I didn’t choose the drablet life.

Aemond walked into his tent, the sounds of his men as they drank and checked in on each other fading as he closed the front, leaving the guards outside for the night. 

The battle had been hard won but it had been won, which is what mattered to him, and now he would write his reports and in the morrow, the ravens would fly home to his brother and grandfather.

In the morrow, he thought.

In the morrow he would go home, find his beloved wife, sink his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs and bury his face in the fragrant valley of her breasts, he would-

“Aemond.”

He whirled, sword in hand, and then let out a long breath.

“What in the seven hells are you doing here?”

Despite his surprise, she was a welcome sight.  Unlike him, she was fresh and clean and her clothes were tidy.

She took a few steps toward him.  “Are you hurt?”

His eye never moved from her face, and, ignoring her question, he reached out and pulled her in.

If the filth and sweat on his skin bothered her, she never said.  If the blood in his hair repulsed her, he would not know it from the whimpers and moans that fell from her lips.  If his men heard, he did not care.

She laid on his cot and spread her long legs for him, and when he pushed her thighs open and began to feast, she fell back, her fingers grabbing at the rough bedding.  She tasted like glory itself, and when she pulled on his hair, her frantic cries growing in volume, he began to suck harder, pulling her sensitive flesh against the edge of his teeth until she screamed.  He did not stop, one large, bloodied hand on her pale belly to keep her still, the other tugging at ties and fastenings until he could remove most of the armor and feel her legs shaking against his skin.

“Aemond, I-” she began, but the words were choked off as he began working her faster, mouth and tongue driving her to madness, her stomach quivering under his hand and he knew she was so close.  The taste of her consumed him and he groaned, sending her into a second brutal release.  He stood back up, the sight of her spread out for him making him smile.  There were tears in her eyes and she barely opened them in time for him to knee her legs further apart.

“Here,” he indicated, and she immediately put her arms at her side when he took out his dagger.  One quick slice and her gown was split down the front.  He tossed the dagger aside, drove inside her, and the sight of her breasts bouncing had him reaching out to cup one full, pale mound.

He kissed her lips, murmured, “home” as he deepened the kiss, tongue tasting the spicy warmth of her mouth.  His hips slammed, hard and fast, swallowing her little gasps and cries.  She reached down, fingernails digging into his ass, urging him on.  When he came, strangled cry buried in her hair, she wrapped herself around him, her mouth on his filthy temple.

* * * * * 

“You broke the cot,” you finally said softly.  You’d felt the thin blanket underneath you drop on one corner, but it was only afterwards, with Aemond in your arms, when you reached out and touched the floor, that you realized what had happened.

Aemond lifted his head, his beautiful hair matted with blood and other things you did not wish to know, and glanced around.  “Hmm.”

“They might banish you,” you added, trying to suppress a laugh, and he looked at you, eyebrow raised.

“You were the one screaming like a wild spirit,” he replied, nonplussed, “guess which they will remember.”

You laughed out loud.  “Either way, it’s your fault, Aemond.  But I shall be a dutiful wife and take all the penance if it comes my way.  And you need a wash.”

“You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

“Oh, I very much didn’t.  I was otherwise occupied.”

He smiled at you, fingertips gently stroking your cheek.  “Coming home to you is all I ever want.”  He suddenly looked at you.  “How did you get here?”

You pursed your lips, “mmm, I was here since you left this morning.  In one of the back carriages.”

“Gods help us all.”

He stood up slowly, helping you up, and you went straight to the ewer and basin set at the far corner.  “It is cold, but I would like to see if you have any wounds.”

He let you fuss over him, brush out his hair and rinse it, clean his skin as you darted out of his reach when he tried to grab you.  He had some spare tunics and breeches and gave you a set.

The tunic was tight over your breasts but the breeches worked once you tied them twice around your waist.

“I know what we will call the next Targaryen ship,” Aemond said, tying his hair back.  He looked at you and smiled.  “The twin moons.”

* * * * * 

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My Ko-fi

[kiaraspeaks]

He saw a girl standing on the ledge looking down over the city and knew he had to save her. He ran up six foot that's of stairs pushed past two couples making out in the stairwell and when he finally reached the roof she was still there, she looked at peace as she looked down at the city, those were always the worst cases.

"Don't jump." He called out between deep breaths of air.

"What?" She questioned but didn't turn around.

"There's more to live for, please....don't jump." He begged but she only laughed, it was a high pitched, wheezy type of laugh.

"I'm not gonna jump, I'm waiting."

"On what?" He asked, he could still feel his heart pounding in his ears, or he thought it was his heartbeat. The world below them began to rumble and shake. It couldn't be an earthquake, could it?

"Them." She pointed to a star that seemed to pulse and glow, and for some reason seemed to be getting closer and closer.

"What are you talking about? What's going on?" He asked as he approached her bar the ledge.

"My friends are coming." She said and turned quickly, grabbing him by the front of his jacket and dangling him over the edge of the building, she had more strength than a girl her size should have had. "Meet me here tomorrow."

"Hey let me up! Don't drop me!" He called out but instead she dropped him and waved as he fell six feet below into an open, flaming hole in the ground. When he opened his eyes he was in bed, his alarm was blaring, was it all a dream?

He could still remember the girl, her playful disposition and the building she told him to meet her at.

"You just gonna lay there all day, Marquis?" His roommate, Sean, said. He was standing I. The doorway eating toast with his gym bag slung over his shoulder. "You've got that big case today, right, Mr. Lawyer guy?"

"Oh shit you're right!" He said and hopped out of bed rushing around the room. The dream, the woman, and the glow of the star all faded from his mind.

[jhelenoftrek]

Drab-let Series (Guess it, pick next) - “The Reality of Breath”

This one is from/for @ailtara.  407 words.  I’m not sure it’s exactly what she was looking for, but it’s a start to build from. I’ll likely continue this story, because I will never have enough words for this episode.  

For now, first person to identify the ep gets to pick the next. And if you can’t tell, then I’m either horrible at this, or you’ve never actually seen Voyager.

He can taste the champagne on her lips.  Intoxicating wisps of alcohol spill from her breath.  

Her cheek in his palm is warm and soft.  Her arms wrap around him, dragging him closer with each prolonged second until he is unsure where he ends and she begins.  

He is basking in their every movement, relishing the feel of her supple skin as he presses his hand along her thigh.  He memorizes every sigh that escapes her love-drunk tongue.

Until.

Everything changes.  The lake grows dark, the boat ends its rhythmic swaying.  The ground is hard beneath his knees.  

Her lips are still.  

He rushes, not to savor and enjoy them, but to breathe life back into them.  His hands are gripping greedily, not to explore, but to claim her as his and chase away death.  He is pressing on her now, moving life-blood around already failed systems, forcing his own stale breath from her lungs.  He shakes her and holds her and cries out for only the wind to hear.

And then.

He is awake, hands clenched around fistfuls of sheets.  He closes his eyes, leans back on his elbows and tries to ignore the hollow wail of anguish ringing in his ears.

But he does not succeed.

The chronometer by his bedside assures him it is sufficiently late.  She will be asleep by now, certainly.  And it’s too early to wake her.  But he has to know which reality he is living in.  

As he dresses he makes peace with this inappropriate, but extremely necessary, thing he is about to do.

He passes no one enroute to her quarters.  Elicits no attention while he overrides her door lock.  Is silent as he steals into her bedroom.  

He watches as the covers rise and fall.  She is just the right amount of peaceful.

Turning to leave, he sees the rose in a glass vase by her bedside.  He remembers how soft and supple it was when he picked it for her. He takes one single petal from the blossom.  

Back in the appropriateness of his quarters he regards the stolen treasure.  It is delicate peach at the edge bleeding down to deep rose and every shade in between that he knows she blushed to.  The same, fleshy softness is weightless in his palm.  A similar, sweet smell is light in the air.

He rests.

Until it is time for her to breathe life into him once again.

Another note:  Like many of these drab-lets, this one started out way over word count and I couldn’t imagine cutting it down.  But I’m telling you, fellow writer friends, crafting a story to a specific number is SUCH an insanely awesome lesson.  Please try it with me sometime.

[mvncesa]

I feel weirdly unsure about the drablet I wrote you yesterday, and I hope it wasn't awful (I know it was short Dx), or that Geralt's knee-jerk reaction to being annoyed (it's affectionate, I swear lol) isn't getting old. He really is soft for Julian, that's just what came out yesterday and idk why I'm stressing so hard about it but HERE WE ARE :| Anyway, you're rad af.

listen … listen …

I love that drabble so much ? I’ve looked at it like multiple times in the last 24 hours - because 1. I love your geralt 2. I love the drabble & 3. I’m soft for these dumb boys. it was so good so there’s nothing to stress about especially since everything you write is like chef’s kiss so fucking good!

[minaa-munch]

According to legend, the stars told stories of eons past. Days of when the heavens were still young and the various Kami would descend from their celestial abodes to grace the mortal realm; drawn by love and the occasional promise of trickery. Their forms were so grand, so great, that the burning lanterns adorning their outwardly haunts had no choice but to shift in their image, align in a way that suited them and served as a forewarning to those below. 

Mortals, as limited in vision as they were, could only peek at the bright silhouettes swathed in shades of soft purples and blues; peppered with crystalline dust that fell off their grand robes.  

Thus was the night sky; strokes of colour painted with a demure hand; shades no man could ever hope to imitate. The moon was but an all-seeing spectator, revelling in heights none could hope to reach, bathing the landscape in ghostly curtains of wispy shafts dyed an almost delicate silver. They descended from the sky, desperately clung to leafy treetops before the crisp night air banished them as wayward mist. 

It wasn’t too rare a sight during this hour; between a stray dream and a fanciful thought, a toss and a turn - a lover’s caress and the cruel disposition of reason whispering it was all a mere illusion. 

Ah, but if one were awake enough to catch it. 

Seldom a shinobi would be caught in the training fields like this, yet the sky witnessed two. One, a prone form against the dew-kissed grass, fingers knit together behind a wild blond tuft whereas the other, a crimson smudge against the landscape; wound like a child hiding under a kitchen table with her knees drawn under a smooth chin, a melodious hum escaping with each breath. 

Her tune was ancient; an old folk tale native to Uzushio, one with enough sorrow to rival the sea foam that crashed against its moss covered rocks. Akin to siren song, yet oddly peaceful and all the more irresistible. 

It beckoned his senses, lulled them dull without even trying. 

Had he always been this tired?

Routinely sleeplessness had brought him here, and she had sniffed him out momentarily after - and now said nuance turned traitor. Minato could feel an ache in every wavering pitch; one that translated into an odd sort of weariness that settled deep in his bones. It bled from every pore and sinew until his limbs felt as heavy as lead. Her humming was too distracting, too-- cue the timely buzz of cicadas that bloomed from somewhere on the left, the sound somehow complimenting the grief that spilled from her smiling lips. 

The prophetic cries in his head were but a mere, dying echo and he didn’t have the will to entertain them.

“...”

When was the last time he had slept because he had wanted to, and not out of sheer, physical need? Cerulean hues peeked past half drawn lids; at stray, beautiful locks framed by the lamp-lit sky itself. Red slipped into lilac, before leaking into shades of blues and greens, flowing into cloudy wisps and tainting the very moon with its swarm of colours... 

Maa, what a ridiculous weakness.

Eyes slid shut on their own accord, and for once he didn’t know how or when -hadn’t counted the minutes, or forced his breaths to slow while keeping stock of his surroundings to keep paranoia at bay. For once, it just happened and the only witness was one lone, knowing Uzumaki. 

Gloved digits slipped a strand of hair behind one ear, a small grin on her face. Pale arms wound around dirty knees as Kushina's gaze flickered from her now sleeping partner to the miasma of colour painting the horizon, siren song continuing to breathe anew, albeit more hushed than before. 

Peace was an abstract concept, and unbeknownst to fate, she had found hers the same eve she had lost all hope - a lofty summer morning whispering promises of a future.

“You would have liked Uzushio, ne.”

As the same fate would have it, one Namikaze Minato had found his nestled between bloodied tresses and a tantalising curve of chapped lips which could probably unravel him with a mere syllable, if they so wished. 

What a ridiculous weakness indeed. 

[narutoheretic]

Do you have any Danzo fic recs you'd be willing to share?

Alright so… these are THIN on the ground, as I’m sure you know. Here’s what I got. 

outlier by theformerone (inspired by a post by yrs truly I’m delighted to say) is a Danzo-POV oneshot about an alternate timeline where he is told to get an apprentice, and runs into a young Sakura. 

this is why the men in black don’t outsource by PandaFlower is Hiruzen-POV and technically more a fic about the whole Team Tobirama, in a modern lab AU, buuut Danzo’s there and he’s delightful and honestly this whole oneshot is a lot of fun, so I decided to include it. There’s a touch of MadaTobi at the end, but it’s nowhere in the main body of the fic if you’re not into that.

here, beneath my lungs by gloriousmonsters, aka me. Kagami-POV, Danzo’s there for like a third of it and there’s also talk about early Root and a Root OC I’m particularly fond of. 

whoever has learned to listen to trees by gloriousmonsters, a fluff-ish drablet with Kinoe and Danzo. 

So yep, there’s two fics by me because it’s hard to find fic where he’s a major-ish character to begin with (talk to me about how he’s usually tagged in fics where he’s an antagonist for 2 chapters in a million-chapter fic) and when he is, is written without ‘ah yes there he is, the source of all evil’ characterization. 

If anyone out there has recs, feel extremely free to add ‘em on or tell me about them. for the moment, hope you enjoy!