#Theme: Blood And Gore

[crimescrimson]

Red's Favourite Watch_Dogs Scenes: Enter Jordi Chin (1/2)

[six-demon-bag]

Oh, Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those peepers? Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those eyes?

JEEPERS CREEPERS (2001) dir. Victor Salva

[hisbodycorpse]

A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night. ⎯⎯ ⠀🪓

♰ຶ ⠀ㅤㅤ ▃ #𝕾͙̦ͥ̍𝐚̵͟𝐰̵ 🔪 , 寫的 第三本書. ᵋ 𝟑͟𝟐

[stil-lindigo]

motherhood.

[m1stm3]

now playing…

angel by massive attack

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

yandere asylum therapist! suguru x reader

my first ever dark content/yandere oneshot aaaaaa!!! plsss thoroughly go through the cw’s before reading ^^;

read the prequel here!!! :)

cw’s!!: non-consensual drugging, mentions of needles/syringes, medical malpractice, descriptions of violence (gutting, beating someone to death, etc.), mentions/romanticization of cannibalism, blood eating, medical abuse (???), gn! reader, no use of y/n, uhhhh freaky suguru. like he’s actually crazy (but so are u) and uhhh i think that’s it?? ^^;

wc: 1.3k (what.)

“how have you been feeling?” your therapists voice is soft, just barely loud enough for you to hear. it’s like he’s trying to grasp at any sense of normalcy, as if any of this was normal. your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you move to look at him, a deadly look in your dazed, slow-blinking eyes.

he completely disregards your glare with nothing but a growing smirk, shifting to adjust your position on his lap. “i see you’ve taken well to the sedatives.” his cold hand grazes your bare arm as he speaks and you have to resist the urge to use all of the strength you have left to throw yourself onto the floor just to get away from him. you decided against it. you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that.

suguru’s a charming man. every nurse, therapist, and criminal in this hellhole of an institution knew that. maybe that’s why he clung to you like this. you saw through him, had threatened to knock his teeth out just because you found his smile unsettling in the preliminary meeting (“a convenient way to find your perfect fit!” is what one of the brochures had read).

a few weeks later he was your primary therapist. the only one allowed to see you for sessions and the only one able to prescribe what medicine you took.

this time it was a strong sedative administered by needle, only given to you the one day a week you saw him for your “sessions”. he seemed to enjoy this one, considering how he hadn’t switched the prescription in almost a month (though you were sure he was upping the dose every week, there was no other explanation for the way the syringe seemed to get more and more full every time you saw the nurses holding it).

it’s only now that he seemed to notice the narrow-eyed expression you were giving him. “aw, don’t look at me like that… it’s for my safety, angel. i can’t have you lashing out and hurting me, can i?” his palm rests on your cheek and as much as you will the muscles in your neck to jerk away from his touch, it still doesn’t work. only a small grunt leaves you and that sound only heightens the amusement in his eyes.

“m’gonna fuckin’ kill you…” you manage to strain out. you despise how weak your voice sounds. you despise the way his eyebrow quirks up in interest in response to your threat. you despise how his voice comes out a low, patronizing purr when he asks “oh, are you?” because he knows you will. he knows that if he lowers your dose you won’t hesitate to hunt him down. he’s seen your files, he knows.

you let out a shaky breath at his words, that deadly glare in your eyes never faltering as your head nods in response to his question (though he’d barely constitute it as a nod, more like a subtle twitch of your muscles). “m’gonna gut you… cut you alllll the way from your bellybutton to your fuckin’ throat…” you can feel the delirium from your medication settling in when you’re halfway through speaking, but that doesn’t stop you.

“how gruesome.” is all he hums, a deep, twisted glint of admiration in his gaze. “you’ve certainly grown more creative.” the pad of his thumb presses into your bottom lip as he speaks. he seems almost satisfied with your violent description, like you’d just given him the greatest gift he could possibly ask for (to him, it was).

he couldn’t help but feel touched by your words, how you planned something particularly torturous just to bring him as much pain as possible. the way you hurt people — at least before you were admitted — was concise and unmeditated. someone made you lose your temper so you hurt them, plain and simple as that. you were only able to plead insanity because of the way you “blacked out”, only noticing the soreness in your arms (and the brain matter in your hair) after you had beat a man to death.

so for you — a patient with uncontrollable violent outbursts — to plan something specific just for him? oh, he could feel the pleasant chill rolling down his spine. how would you do it, suguru wondered. would you steal a scalpel from the nurses or a knife from the kitchen? would the way you cut him open be clean — planned, even — or would you just hack at his skin until you were satisfied? he could almost imagine the way you’d pin him down (not like you had to, he’d let you see his insides if you asked politely enough) and run the cool metal over his abdomen before he felt the sharp contrast of the warmth of his blood trickling down his skin. he could only hope he would be alive long enough to see the crimson tainting the pretty skin of your hands, getting under your nails and sinking into the grooves of your palms, absorbing every drop of him.

suguru was so lost in his fantasies that he didn’t notice the way you had squinted at his far away expression, a muscle in your jaw giving a small twitch. maybe if you…

suguru also didn’t notice the way you had managed to slowly pry your jaw open, the tip of his thumb now resting against the ridges of your bottom row of teeth. at least, he didn’t notice until you miraculously willed your jaw to snap shut, the metallic taste on your tongue bringing you a primal sense of satisfaction (you would’ve preferred to bite the the tip of his thumb clean off to teach him a lesson, but this would do).

and oh, you would’ve laughed in his face if you could when you heard that strangled little gasp leave his lips. you relished in the way he watched you with a dumbfounded look, his usually piercing eyes opened wide in surprise.

your victory was disturbingly short lived, though. his shock quickly turned into something almost giddy with the way his eyes seemed to light up like a child who was just handed their favorite toy. he forced his thumb deeper into your mouth, his head cocking to the side almost observantly. “how do i taste, angel? hm?” there’s a crazed look in his eyes. you feel like you’re getting dissected. “maybe you should eat me after you cut me open, yeah? i’d let you, you have my permission.” he’s all too eager to give you more ideas, more ways to torture him even after death.

his arm snakes around your middle so he can press a palm to your stomach. “i’d be with you forever… wouldn’t you like that, angel?” he murmurs lowly by your ear. you don’t have the strength to answer anymore, your eyes blinking slower… and slower…

he holds you tight as you slump against him, (the sedatives make you intensely drowsy… it doesn’t help that he had prescribed you double the recommended amount) making a mental note to up your dosage once again. he can’t risk you building up some sort of immunity, can he? if the force of your bite was any indication, he’d have to find a new medicine for you within the next month or two (not like it was any hassle on his end. if anything, he was excited to see your adorably pathetic attempts to brute force your way through the daze of a new drug).

he just had to keep you here with him… you’d learn to love it.

to love him.

[theodysseyofhomer]

love a reading of odysseus that understands war will still traumatize you when you're not morally opposed to it, when you're good at it, when you desire it, whether what you desire is violence or the glory and profit that come with it, and when you win it

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Cry. Call. Curse.

Yandere! Vampire x f! Reader

warnings: gore, blood (lots of it..), dead animals, death, vomiting, infantilization, weird relationship dynamics, pseudo-incest, loss of teeth, forced capture, nonconsensual acts, dead dove: do not eat

word count: 3.6k

©Copyright -2025- thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

“Tear me apart. Piece by piece. Rip me open and bare my naked insides to the world. I wish to let the shadows feast on the blood I spill, to let them dig their greedy little fangs into my liver and womb, to taint what hasn't been tainted before. To let them touch what hasn't been touched. So, Sire, tell me, should you grapple with your own creation?”

The Cry

It was cold. The night was merciless and the forest even more so. It lashed at you, screamed in your face for daring to set foot outside at such late of an hour.

She wanted her spotlight, the moon, and you were robbing her of it with your quick-pace. Making this about you, when she was truly the brightest star under the Sun's watchful gaze, yet, insufferable, little you just had to run for your life at night! How rude.

Truly how careless of you to sever the trees loving embrace of another, cursing as you felt yet another twig catch onto one of your many skirts, hissing at the sizzling pain that came with each whip. And truly just how utterly ignorant of you to be frantic enough to be carelessly loud, snapping twigs in half, fighting back the thicket, crunching leaves all while your footsteps and ragged breathing fell into a messy symphony, disturbing the night’s peace.

How mean you were to take away attention from her beauty as you fled—not just from the past that haunted you like a mellowed ghost, but also from the very real mob chasing after you.

Torches lit up and went down, cries declaring your nearing end sounded and faded, while they trampled all over everything on these sacred grounds — as father David liked to call the crust of the earth — like a herd of wild boars.

“Catch the witch!” he had commanded so fiercely and unleashed demons that resided in them; normal people to annihilate you.

Yet the game of cat and mouse only went to the borders of the forest, where it met the forbidden woods. You knew how easy people believed and how blindly—so you collapsed next to a tree soaked completely in darkness, leaving behind the only sources of light in the other holy parts of nature to curse and sardonically laugh at you.

“You dumb wench!” the mob cleared, dissipated until the last crazed person left, leaving you there, sat under the proud mahogany tree. All while you triumphed that you managed to survive another day unharmed. Danced another dangerous round of tango with the devil.

You had done your usual routine: trespass into a town to sell readings, prophecy of a made-up future, claim to be god’s third eye only to quickly be uncovered as a cheap charlatan with even cheaper tricks. You sighed. Dipped your fingers into your pocket to fish out your little treasures; your cards.

Your gaze flitted over the illustrations; your ‘pa had paid good money for them back in his day. Sort of family heirloom at this point. Funny.

You traced over the engravings on the back of the deck, letting your thoughts drift.

Life was tough and this made easy money. Fast money. Money you needed. Yet would it really be of use if you were killed because of it? You scoffed. “’Pa would scold me.” you couldn't help but blurt, while chuckling dryly, lungs still burning with the fear of capture.

Clouds were crowding the darkened skies. Their faint grays overlapping into a blur, clothing the moon in metal silk that hung off her rounded form loosely; some might say tempting. Yet she wasn't satisfied with it, how could she ever be? When something so disruptive stayed planted to the soil she laid claim on. So—some may say it is fate and others luck, but few would point their fingers at the real culprit; the moon.

Her light was your downfall.

You were cloaked in black under that wistfully swaying branch, yet the moment you rose—decided to search for a better place to spend the night at was when you had just unknowningly lost the chase.

Because, let's be truthful here, the game of cat and mouse hadn't even started. The mob not the real evil in your miserable story. You were glowing so beautifully tempting after all; like you were a piece of her after all and perhaps that's why she had decided to dress you in silver from head to toe and present you to him.

You hummed while you walked; a nervous habit of sorts. Sure it was dangerous, but you liked—no breathed danger! That's just what you always had known.

“I wonder if those green mushrooms grow here too.” you mumbled, chewing on the inside of your cheek, while rolling a flower bud you had plucked from the ground between your thumb and index finger. A sort of game you had developed and carried on from childhood.

Yeah, that was what it was.

A game.

For him at least.

“Mushrooms! Thank god—” relief was close to soothe you, to let you gnaw at the glowing bunch of mushroom heads you gathered greedily in your outermost skirt, so close to satiating the deep hunger clawing at your guts, when someone else beat you to it.

There was pain before you could even blink; raw, throbbing, angry pain. The kind that grabbed you by the scruff and turned you limp like a kitten. That kind.

“It will be over soon.” there was a murmur, something ominous and eerie. It was difficult to understand just who—or what spoke, when your entire neck was set ablaze; vicious red spraying all over you. It was blood, you realized far too late. And it was yours.

“Stop! Help!” the realisation came all too late and crushing, too slow. You were being drained, robbed of your very essence. You trashed and turned, kicked and fought, cried out, yet clawed hands only tightened around your shoulders pushing you into place as if you were dough this creature could mold to its liking.

“No! No, let go of me! Not like this—not this.” you protested, rather promised yourself, fighting against a face you didn't know and a strength that was everything but human. And perhaps in that very moment the moon took pity on you and that's why her shine dimmed and you ripped your throat free and with it your life.

“Humans.” the creature clicked his tongue, glaring down at your limp corpse oozing the delicious liquid in an admittedly very tantalising way; yet something about you was calling out to it. The curl between your brows, the restlessness still there on your frozen features—and your insistence on not dying at the hands of a monster, so much that you killed yourself. You were a special one.

He could feel it.

So lapping up at your neck, he thanked the moon for her graciousness and kissed your brow like a father would to say goodnight, only for him, this wasn't a goodbye.

The Call

Your skull throbbed. The tendrils of something painful curled around you, dirt laid heavy on your tongue and before you knew it you were frantically clawing your way out of a casket. Which deranged villager possibly would bury you alive—why would anyone bury anyone alive?

Vines clutched you, kept you in place; tendrils of death. You were chained by an indescribable force and forbidden to breathe free of dirt—it stung your lungs and scratched the back of your throat. God, you were drowning. Drowning in a pile of fucking dirt.

You howled; frantic, loud, desperate.

No one heard.

You tried louder; nothing.

You were swallowed up. You were dying. Your skull throbbed.

“Won't you raise, my love?”

You gasped for air, trashing and turning only to rip your eyes open to a foreign scenery. Dirt was replaced with pale silk and the casket with the largest bed you had ever had the luxury to lay upon. You glanced down at your hands, felt up your throat—nothing. There were no vines snaked around you like shackles.

You were alive, alive and well and—

“Little one.” you flinched. Dread coiled in the bottom of your stomach. You knew that voice.

“You—it’s you.” terror danced in your blurry vision as the monster from that night took shape in front of you. It was a man. A tall one with broad shoulders and slender wrists. And hair as silver as the moon that dressed him in her shimmer and skin as white as snow. Yet with two glowing balls of red for eyes.

Red. Like the blood he had made you shed.

“Little one, you’ve awoken.” he stated, almost relieved. He took a step closer, as if familiar, as if this was somehow excusable.

“Stay back!” you screeched. You had to flee, to call out for help, to do anything. This was a monster and who knew what he would do—

His shoulders dropped.

“Little one,” he sighed, “Is that any way to talk to your Sire?”

As if on cue, pure agony pumped through your veins straight to your stomach, as a hunger spread inside of you like a disease; something insatiable and maddening. Something you had never felt before. You yelped, eyes squeezing shut as you gripped the foreign piece of fabric that covered you in such fevor that you nearly tore it apart.

“Oh, dear. It seems to be happening already. What a fast fledging you are.” hadn't been standing at the foot of your bed? Why was he suddenly looking over you; watching you cry bitterly in confusion. You had been a normal human, free of the sins the villagers had accused you of—but now, you felt it deep inside of you, that what was happening to you would not let you remain untouched from evil.

“Don't worry, your Sire’s with you.” his words were little comfort when you felt one of your teeth loosen, cooper on your tongue, and then another one, until you spat out a half dozen of them into your open palms.

You were sobbing at this point, throat tight and gaze blurry with the fear of what you were becoming. God you hoped this was just another nightmare. That you were just too creative for your own good. Please.

“That's just part of the process, my love.” he muttered as if that would reassure you, as if anything could when you were in a monster’s bed with his arms around you. And the worst thing? You knew no one would be out there looking for you, because you were all on your own, shunned by your own kin.

“Shh, shh. It's okay, little one. I’ll give you a gold coin for each tooth you gain. Your kind likes shiny things, right? Now, don't be upset. C’mon sleep some more. The shock will fade soon.” he cradled you against him; neither cold nor warm, just uncomfortable and strange. Strange in the sense that he had nearly finished you and had dragged you here, yet now held you amidst the ache in your gums, as if you were the most fragile thing to have ever graced the earth.

Red tainted your hands. Angry and bold. A red that was out of reach from the moon’s grasp, hidden in your palms. The same colour that had sprung free from your neck that fateful night—were you dying? Was this death’s call? You couldn't tell.

“Hush, little one.” he rubbed your back as you wailed like you only ever had before in childhood. And finally you let yourself melt into the monster with claws for nails and eyes that of a predator and let yourself be lulled back into a dreamless slumber.

The Curse

You had lost all your teeth. In a matter of three bedridden days.

It was as if you were regressing back into a time you couldn't recall anymore, where your Ma’ still had been alive and when your only worry had been suckling on her breast.

Only as an infant you had been crazed for milk; something natural and god-given, but now you were screaming for something else entirely — out of a sort of thirst you had never experienced before, one that could only be satiated through the death of innocents —

blood.

Angry red that would curl around the corpses of wild boars and deers in swirles as he plopped them down in the middle of the room you were residing in, moreover kept captive in—but you didn't have the ability to protest, quite literally.

He would sit you at the edge of your bed, that grew colder everyday, then take a dagger with engravings on its hilt to slit the animal’s throat. Every time without a fail, he would then take the same goblet decorated with green jewels—little stones that he claimed represented you well.

“Come, little one, feed.” he called you today, like all the other ones, watching you like a hawk as you padded your way through the trails of crimson on weak knees—probably assessing your state; if you were recovering.

His lips curved upwards seeing how much more agile you were today. You didn't slump into yourself even once! “Good. You're improving.” he held the goblet to your lips, not trusting you enough yet to hold it up yourself. Putting a hand on the back of your head he guided you to drink—like one would lead a horse to water; like a mother squeezing her tit.

“Don’t worry, dear, your teeth will grow back in no time. You will have fangs such as mine.” he flashed you his own horror-inducing pearly-whites. So that was how you were going to look? Like a monster. Like your Sire? The creature that called himself your father.

Tears spilled over your lash line, sick to the stomach again; but even as you attempted to escape the wrongfully deliciousness that cooled the insatiable hunger inside of you—he didn't let you. He was unmoving, much like a statue.

“Shh, little one, don't cry. I know you must be upset. To not be able to express your gratitude to such a kind and refined gentleman such as I am for saving you from your old miserable existence. But don't worry, father will take care of you now.” he promised with those two rubies for eyes and streaks of whites that draped over his shoulders.

He looked young, as young as you. Still the creature claimed himself to be your guardian, acted dotting when he had cursed you with something you never asked for—and expected acceptance, gratitude even for it.

Your teeth grew back over the course of one week. Of one agonizing torturous week where you teethed on everything you could get your hands on like a little baby, whining and crying into the chest of your capturer, while suckling on whatever type of relief he provided, may it be blood to fill your stomach or meat to chew on or his own slit wrist; for his own sick and perverse enjoyment.

It wasn't until you regained all your teeth and with them your strength that things shifted, that he no longer regarded you a fledgling. Because you no longer were—with your proud canines and glowing gaze. You were a monster now, of his kin.

And his kind was oh-so rare, oh-so scarce, like grains of rice plucked from fields and he was oh, so, very lonely.

Which is why he just had to do what he did.

“If you had just listened,” he cooed.

Heavy gaze bearing down on you. Disappointment. Resignation. Contempt.

He looked at you as if truly you had been at fault for trying to escape, for the splitter of hope that had possessed you the moment you had fully grown into your new state, accepted that you no longer were woman or human, but monster instead.

“Stop! Please!” you could do nothing but cry as he continued to feed you what once had delighted you, made your mouth water at thought of the savoury taste; human food—the kind that made a grown Vampire hunch over to puke onto whatever he could find.

“Open wide, little one.” his voice was so sweet in tone, so innocent, concealing the torture he inflicted on you as you sat between his thighs, quivering as another glop of mashed up potatoes was dropped onto your tongue and pushed down your throat with his claws.

You gagged again. Like with ever other bite, stomach churning in protest, growing shades paler than you already had become. His hold on your soul was the only thing that kept you still and frozen there, even as bile rose up your throat, inch by painful inch—while he watched, unashamed gleefully.

Vomit sputtered from your lips, gagging and gurgling on it, nearly choking from how stiffly frozen you were. Only you knew you could not choke because you did not breathe. Not anymore at least. Not after he had robbed you of breath and now of decision, commanding your body to loosen only when his amusement turned to sympathy at the way you had swallowed nearly half of the yellow goo, only for your stomach to puke it all out again.

“Oh poor you.” he cooed, hand on your crown, brushing away strays, before he lifted you up as your stomach emptied for the last time onto your silken dress—it had to be something expensive. And he just let you ruin it.

“Little one,” the castle moaned again as it did so often, with the tiles creaking, “We’ll get you cleaned up.” The moon your only steady companion, graced your features once again, but this time in a gentle caress—for she once had held spiteful vengeance against you, envied you for your quick feet that carried you over earth’s surface; an annoyingly carefree little thing, but now she pitied you, for she could see your future was all but dim.

He carried you outside. As if to shame you publicly. No fear of you attempting to escape behind his back—for he knew that he could simply command you back. But just the thought that you had dared to, enraged yet hurt his brittle heart.

Setting you down at the pond’s edge like you weighted less than a feather, he made quick work of unfastening your bodice; some dress of a noble woman now long rotting under soil.

“Oh little one.” he purred, something odd in his tone today—something terrifyingly depraved that would send a shudder down your spine if you weren't sick, vomit drying on the corner of your mouth, shame once more finding you even after you had tried to cast her away. Like the moon that shone so brightly and could only watch your plight. Because unlike the times he had forcefully bathed you and ripped raw terrors from your chest—this time he striped himself too.

“What are you—” you shut. Eyes enlarging at the sight—too deceiving was his physique; that of a young man when his soul was nothing but that of a beast that took and only took in every shape or form.

“I will bathe with you this time. Why the grim face?” he spoke so casually you wanted to flee or attack—a true vampire you had become at heart.

“It’s only my duty to take care of you, little one. Look at all your teeth, aren't you proud? They all grew so well because of my blood.” he captured you in the water, caged you in between two pale and slender arms, ones that looked unassuming but could suffocate in the blink of an eye.

“Little one,” he whispered with red rubies for eyes and you felt something terrible poke at your thigh. “Little one—won’t you thank me for taking such good care of you?” curling his claws under you, he shifted your core towards his so dangerously close to a place you had once innocently believed he would never make you touch. Thinking that the words he muttered and the tender gaze of his only belied an obsession to have a child—but he didn't want that, now did he? He wanted a woman, he wanted you.

But in secret he craved both wife and child. Yet none were ever granted to him, even when he had forcefully took and pillaged, until you.

Oh you were perfect—and he was so depraved of love, that the lines blurred and somehow he wasn't sure what was decent and what not. He was your Sire, but still, you had been an adult, with a figure of that of an woman but a hunger that of a little darling—the lines blurred. And who could blame him for it, when he had spent centuries wallowing away alone? Alone until he had met and captured you.

So even as he made you a woman again, he could do nothing but cry in bliss, both a guardian and a lover, fervent as he tore at your scar; the evidence of your death, sinking his fangs into it as he moaned, while letting the entire forest and the moon witness the depravity he put on show.

“My love—” he rasped, groaning like an animal, panting like a beast “you will never escape your Sire.” he sunk himself deeper into you.

It was another biting cold night, another one filled with the howling of the wind and the swaying of trees. And with the moon, who watched again.

Yet this time she shed tears for you.

[crimescrimson]

The Evil Within & Favourite Bosses: Laura | The Keeper | Haunted Joseph | The Shade | The Amalgam

[aftgficrec]

Anonymous asked: Hiiii is there any andreil fics with a medieval or post apocalyptic setting? thank you in advance

We are pretty loose with what constitutes medieval and tend to include fics with swords and steeds unless the author specifies a different time period. For more stories and pairings try these ao3 aftg tag searches: royalty here, kings and kingdoms here, fairy tales here, medieval here, and fantasy here. 

Andreil apocalypse aus will follow in another post. -A

previous recs:

‘An Assassin's Guide to Romance’ here 

‘eclipse’ here

‘The boy is a pipe dream’ here

‘Vanilla Twilight’ here

‘All the King's Men’ here

‘On the Edge of a Knife’ here

‘One page prompts’ ch 6, ‘Admirers And Visitors,’ ‘Knights of the Fox Table,’ ‘Silver, Secrets and Steel’ series, and ‘this isn't home (but it's close enough)’ in our foxes with swords! ask

you may also like:

‘That One Time Neil Ended Up In a Fairy Tale’ series here (updated)

‘Winter Woes’ series here

‘If I Don't Keep Up My Light’ here

our tags for medieval, royalty, historical, dragons, fantasy, and fairy tales

A Cruel Twist of Fate by nvrhrdofhm [Rated M, 10941 Words, Complete, AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2024]

Twenty years ago, Aaron’s mother had become pregnant, the father was unknown, even to herself. Fearing for what the birth would mean for her future, she sought counsel from a soothsayer. She stole away in the middle of the night and received the curse; “Started as one but separated soon. A reflection of the other, always to be doomed. Stolen too early, returned far too late. The two’s lives will be a cruel twist of fate.” A fantasy AU focused on the Minyard twins. It's a short but fun time. Yes, I know that sounds like an innuendo, let's just ignore that.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

NB: fic art by @flightyfoxart here

Reign & Fall by maydaykevin [Rated M, 32847 Words, Complete, 2017]

“It is quite simple what I am asking of you, Neil.” Stuart’s voice, however pleasant, was laced with an underlying venom. “Retrieve what they have wrongfully taken.” Neil is given a quest. Chaos ensues.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: canonical character death, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: choking, tw: noncon kiss

NB: the major character death tag refers to a series villain

Land of Reverence series by shadowdreams [Rated G/T, Collection, 2 complete works, Updated 2022]

Part 1: Would You Rescue Me [G, 37691 Words] Previously recced here His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Nathaniel of Baltimore has been tasked with rescuing the shy Princess of Palmetto from a dragon as part of a marriage ritual as old as time. The only problem? That’s definitely not a princess waiting for him in a dingy cave in the mountainside.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Part 2: I'll be there anytime you call [T, 31264 Words] Previously recced here “You have to go back to Baltimore.” Andrew looked up at his brother, halting his move to reach for one of the water pitchers. Watching Aaron nervously shift in place, Andrew took in the uncomfortable silence settling over the large room they all had gathered in. This couldn’t be good.  Or, what happens after Andrew and Neil finally make it to Palmetto after the Royal Liberation.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced abuse

All for the Royal Court by AL_fiction [Rated T, 75902 Words, Complete, 2023]

Previously recced here 

“Abram has recently fled to Palmetto, the capital city of the vast country of Foxcourt after the loss of his mother in Troy. Earning himself the title Library Thief and a wanted poster with his name on it in his first few days, Abram survives by pickpocketing and hiding, skills he's gotten good at on the run. This all changes when he gets himself hired by Day, Head Assistant to King Wymack himself

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: graphic injuries, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: canonical character death

Queens by Fire_Bear [Rated M, 10110 Words, Incomplete, Updated 2020]

The courts of the kingdoms hold great power, from the rooks to the bishops, the knights to the kings. But none are as powerful as the queens. Anyone with the magical power levels of a queen is highly sought after in the courts. They are coveted, revered, feared, hated, loved - and trapped. There was once a kingdom that held four queens, some hidden, others known.

tw: implied/referenced abuse

Of Dark Wizards & Knights by justdk [Rated T, 3400 Words, Complete, Andreil Week 2019]

Previously recced here

Neil just wants to live in his cave and do magic and raise his cute little fox kits but nooooo. In which Neil meets the legendary Sam of Wilds, Tiggy, and Gary... and a short knight with blonde hair and great arms

tw: scars

Of Solstice Sweets & Kisses justdk [Rated T, 1940 Words, Complete, 2020]

A companion piece to Of Dark Wizards & Knights, above

When Andrew had asked for leave to visit Neil, he had not expected them to spend the entire day roaming the Dark Woods collecting branches, greenery, holly, nuts, and rocks. He had assumed they would spend the day and night tucked away in Neil’s cave, eating, cuddling in the surprisingly comfortable nest of furs, and playing with Sir and King, Neil’s domesticated foxes. Neil had assured him that all of that was still on the menu but that first he needed to prepare for his annual Solstice rituals. [or magical Midwinter fluff]

pre relationship andreil

Doubt Truth To Be a Liar by sunrise_and_death [Rated T, 793 Words, Complete, Andreil Week 2018, Locked]

It was the ghost that tipped Neil off. Or, a snapshot of All for the Game meets Hamlet.

tw: implied/referenced murder

becomings by jemwrites [Rated M, 3310 Words, Complete, 2020]

A Witcher, a Mage, a Fox Cub, a Warmonger: four individuals in a horrifying world, and how they came to be. (In other words: how Andrew became a monster, how neil became a sorcerer, how Kevin became a legacy and how Riko's bloodthirst will lead to chasing all three) No knowledge of The Witcher (tv show, game or book) required.

tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: vomit, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: child abandonment, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture

Art

Aftg, Empire and palace dramas AU art by @anthemisarts: headcanons and character sketches | Lady Renee and Lady Allison | Kevin, the young emperor | Neil, a fugitive prince | Andrew and Neil first meeting preview | Andrew, knight of the fox kingdom detains a suspicious Neil

AFTG Royalty/Medieval AU art by @nicknizzard: Andrew swearing his oath to Neil | Aftg medieval AU part 2 | KevAaron in the medieval AU | more Medieval Andreil

[bluehairperson]

GORETOBER Day 1 and 5: Slit Throat and Nosebleed

[crimescrimson]

Favourite Gothic Horror Women in Videogames: Laura Victoriano | Bela Dimitrescu | The Shade

[luna-is-lost]

It's you?

[crimescrimson]

Red's Favourite Watch_Dogs Scenes: Aiden V. Maurice