#bats only give you rabies

[no-context-nonsense]

It’s Saturday… we’re crying again.

[toughtink]

today, a lady at disney world tried to tell me that diseases that mosquitoes carry are worse than catching rabies

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @mrs-starkgaryen @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus

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Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you almost everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have rarely known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. “Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Bluejay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

[bunjywunjy]

Hello, I have an outdoor cat. That's something I type nervously as people tend to paint such a person as an irredeemable sinner with a special circle of hell waiting for them - I made the mistake of reading the comments. The more people are rude and righteous about it, the more I am inclined to ignore them. However, I saw one of your recent posts about the dangers of letting your cat outside. I was wondering what diseases and parasites are outdoor cats likely to get? You can give them preventative treatment for worms (round and heart), fleas and ticks. You can immunise them against cat flu, feline infectious enteritis and feline leukaemia virus. And you can spay/neuter to avoid kittens. Are there other diseases my cat is likely to get from going outside? I do think it is a very strong argument for not letting your cat out to protect the local wildlife and something I am strongly considering since she caught a bat. I restricted her to not going out from dusk during summer after that. The other arguments don't really feel all that strong to me - there aren't other dangerous predators around (unless you count dogs or foxes and I have only heard of a fox harming a cat once in my life). She is very unlikely to get killed in traffic where we are so that's low risk enough for me to discount it.

well, the big ones are FIV, FTP (distemper), rabies, and any number of cat-specific rhinoviruses. parasites like tapeworms and toxoplasmosis are also a concern, and a major issue is that free roaming cats can easily ingest lethal levels of poisons by doing things like drinking from puddles of antifreeze, or eating rodents that are dying of rat poison.

another real and pressing danger to outdoor cats is. outdoor cats. cats fight each other all the time, and fights can often result in some pretty gnarly injuries. the kind that cost big bucks at the emergency vet to fix, if your cat is lucky enough to make it home afterwards.

also, humans are terrible! strays and free-roaming cats end up picked up for use as bait cats or just harmed for funzies all the time.

and if any of these things happen to your cat, you probably won't ever know for sure. your cat just won't come home one day, which is what happens to the vast majority of outdoor cats eventually. it's often more a question of when than if.

[ddejavvu]

could we get some more Remus fluff? Maybe something with the prompt: “Are you a bat? Turn the lights on.” (I found it on Wattpad). Maybe reader has been studying too much or reading and has lost track of time so if just there without the lights on in the common room, bonus if she’s an animagi and her form is a bat.

provided your requests are still open (:

Remus purposefully shuffles his feet through the carpet to warn you of his arrival, but your shoulders are tucked so tensely around your ears they may very well have blocked the sound out. You're still completely engrossed in your novel when Remus sets a hand on your shoulder, and to your credit you only jolt slightly before you realize who's touching you.

"Hm? Oh, hi Rem." You hum, eyes itchy as they beg for sleep, "What are you still doing up?"

"Wondering where you are," He counters, "My goodness, dove, it's dark in here. Are you a bat, for fuck's sake? Turn the lights on."

"That's not funny."

"That's very funny," Remus grins, images of your leathery-skinned, nocturnal animagus form flitting through his head, "But really, you're only supposed to be up late in the dark when you're in your bat form, darling. Otherwise you'll go batty."

"I'm going to bed," You decide suddenly, ignoring his fit of snickering and dodging his attempts to tug you back towards him as you pack up your things, "Not because you told me to, but because if I do, I won't be able to hear anymore of your terrible jokes."

"James is worse," He defends, grinning as he watches you climb the staircase, "He thinks you sleep upside down."

"I'll give you both rabies," You warn, glowering down at him though fondness beats in your chest just the same as your heart does, "Spend less time bossing me around and more time howling at the moon, Wolfy."

[dinogoofymutated]

NSFW! Gambit/Fem!AFAB!reader SECOND FIC OF HALLOWEEN CELEBRATION LEHHHGOOO!!! I really hope you guys like this one, as I had a lot of fun writing it! Sorry if the smut at the end is a little barebones, I was running out of steam lol. Here's your meal my hellions!

A bat flies through your window one night, and although you're dreadfully afraid of rabies and scared to touch the little thing, it's in really bad shape and you can't stand by and just let it die. You spend the next few days nursing the little guy back to health, when one day he up and disappears. The next night you go out with your friends, and feel like you keep seeing a familiar pair of eyes in the crowd.

TWs: MDNI!!!!!! Smut, Mirror sex, bitchy neighbors, alcohol consumption, semi-public sex. vampire stuff, only half of this has been beta-read. I'll add more if I think of any.

    The bat hadn’t struggled once when you scooped it up into a spare shoebox. It didn’t scramble away, or even flinch, really. It hadn’t made a single sound or squeak, either. All it did was look up at you with strange, tired eyes. Black scelera, red iris, black pupils- paired with an exhausted haze. He was cut up, battered, and beaten. If it weren’t for how compliant it was, you might have thought the thing was feral. Which didn’t exactly help your shaking hands or constant flinching as you used the lid to urge it into the cardboard. But your fear be damned, you couldn’t just leave the little guy on the doorsteps of your apartment- the thought of the bat being crushed by clumsy feet, or poked and prodded by the little hellions that were the children who lived here was more than enough to give you the push you needed.

    Besides, it was almost… cute, for something you thought was so scary. A little vampire bat with those strange eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He never failed to perk up every time you came home from work. Despite the many struggles and attempts you had trying to find something he could eat, he never seemed to hold it against you. Happy to see you when you took the lid off the shoebox to check in on him, and not too upset with you when you inevitably had to put it back on.

    Well, before he escaped, that is. 

    You knew you were going to have to let him go at some point. You were just trying to do the right thing and reach out to a wildlife rescue, or something. Hoping that they’d do something more to help him before he was set back off into the wild. But one day you came home and he was just, well, gone. The lid of the shoebox had been tossed aside, the box itself a little squished and damaged, the bat nowhere to be found. You searched your apartment for absolute ages, unable to find any trace of his existence or escape aside from a window you were sure you had locked before you left for work that afternoon.

    You sigh as you look out the window of the Uber, thoughts drawn back to the bat as you pass billboards and cornfields, hoping he had escaped the city and found himself somewhere a bit safer. Ashley and Sophie, your neighbors from across the hall, are giggling about something in the seats next to you. The chatty girls are more like acquaintances than they are your friends, but on the surface, they seem sweet. When they invited you out tonight you had been surprised, if a little hesitant. You had wrestled with your anxiety every step of the way, but once you were strapped into the sexiest costume you could find and buckled into the almost-too-small backseat of the Uber, you had started to feel a little excited- despite the fact that you stood out like a sore thumb, with the girls having chosen matching costumes at the last minute and left you out of the loop. 

    “I think we should hit the corn maze first,” Ashley says confidently from the seat next to you. It’s enough to finally clue you back into their current conversation, debating on where the night should start once you get to the Halloween festival. -It’s an “adult only” event, with more than its fair share of alcohol and more than a few scare actors who linger around to give everyone a fright- and there’s a lot to do. It’s almost like the fair, just, you know, spooky. 

    “What? No! I’m telling you, it’s not a good enough photo-op until the moon comes out. We need to do it last!” Sophie sounds adamant, and you wonder how many times they've actually had this conversation leading up to tonight. You try not to snicker as Ashley rolls her eyes, Sophie pouting across the way. They bicker a bit more before Ashley turns to you, smiling slyly. There’s an unnerving way about the way she’s looking at you, something ticking in the back of your brain that you just can’t shake. 

    “What do you think?” She asks you, Sophie leaning over to stare at you directly, Puppy eyes full-throttle as she pouts. You don’t really want to be caught between the spat of theirs, so you take a moment to think, before shrugging with your answer. 

    “I think we should start with drinks.” You say after a moment, and both girls gasp in excitement. 

    “Girlie you are so smart!! I knew we invited you for a reason!” Ashley’s high-pitched voice cheers harshly in your ears as she lightly slaps your arm, but you smile at her anyway, despite the fact that her tone made it feel rather belittling. It’s fine. This is fine, it will be fine. Your anxiety feels like a ticking time bomb, but you know that when you get there and start having fun, it will eventually fade into the background of the noise and lights of the festival. At least, you hoped it would.

    The festival is pretty packed when you get there, but the wide walkways and plentiful games, areas, and events make it more approachable. After the first watery drink of the night, you start to relax a little. And as bitchy and frigid as the girls can be sometimes, they’re a lot of fun when it comes to a party! Carnival games, photo areas, rides, and jumpscares? You find yourself laughing most of the night as the three of you goof off and stumble your way through the corn maze, clown maze, haunted maze- a little repetitive in that area, but fun nonetheless.

    The funny thing was, despite all the people here, and everyone the girls have stopped to flirt with and talk to, you keep seeing this one particular guy. He was certainly one to stand out in a crowd, tall, dark, and handsome with what looked like a permanent smirk on his face. But the one thing you couldn’t seem to shake was his eyes. They had to be contacts, right? Black Scelera, red irises, black pupils… just, strange. And familiar, somehow. You feel like you see him everywhere you go, somehow always in your vicinity, but not really in a stalkerish kind of way. Besides, it was more than likely just a coincidence. 

    After a while of playing various games and a couple more watery drinks, you’re feeling pretty warm and a little crowded. Ashley and Sophie had run into some acquaintances they knew and had stopped to chat for a bit. They talk about some of the more busy and exciting things you haven't been able to check out yet, but the longer you stand there, the less appealing all of this starts to sound. You’re beginning to feel a little overstimulated, and go ahead and let the girls know you’d rather sit this one out. Sophie doesn’t answer you at all, and all Ashley does is wave you off. It sparks some annoyance in your chest, but knowing that you’re overwhelmed and everything feels like it's at 100% right now- you shrug it off. 

    You find a bale of hay to sit on where you told them you’d wait, relieved at the feeling of the cool night air that’s uninterrupted by masses of warm bodies and hot breathing. The sound of the crowd is a little muffled over here, and the slight breeze just gives you everything you need for a quick break from the chaos, eyes closed as you lean back onto your hands. Not for long though, as someone plops down onto the space next to you pretty much immediately. 

    “Busy night, ay, cher?” Your eyes flick open quickly, and the source of that thick Cajun draw just so happens to be the handsome man you had been seeing all night. You blush a little, both out of nervousness and from the fact that he was even more attractive up close. The cool air suddenly feels sweltering with his eys on you like this. 

    “...yeah, I guess so.” You say after a moment, pressing a cool palm against one of your hot cheeks for a quick moment. The stranger chuckles at you, a flash of a fake fang appearing with his smile. 

    “Name’s Remy, Remy LeBeau.” He holds his hand out for a handshake, which you take with a smile. “Pretty girl like you gotta name?” You can’t help but giggle a little, and tell him your name, butterflies in your stomach with the way he’s looking at you.

    “Nice to meet you, officially.” You say, and he cocks an eyebrow at you with that signature smirk of his. “I mean- like, I feel like I’ve been seeing you everywhere tonight! Not in a creepy way or anything, I just…” You take your hand back from him, covering your face in embarrassment as you apologize again with a sigh. God, why were you so awkward? You drop your hands into your lap as Remy begins to laugh, with you blushing furiously in a way you pray you can blame on the alcohol. 

    “ s’ good to know I make a lasting impression,” Remy says, and it’s charming enough to make you crack another smile. 

    “I promise I’m not normally this strange. It’s been a bit of a night.” The words come out like a sigh, and you glance over where the “stressors” of the night had run off to, strangely thankful when you can't see them through the crowd. You feel like your heart skips a beat when you look back over at Remy, with a smile on his face and a fondness in his eyes you feel like might be a little too friendly for someone you just met.

    “I don’t mind, Cher. You’ll find that I like strange.” He replies, sending you a wink. You let out a short laugh, cocking an eyebrow at him.

    “You know what? I believe you.” You say, all Remy does is smile wider. You glance at him again, looking at him from head to toe as you take in his appearance up close. You can’t really tell if he’s wearing a costume, or if he had just stuck on some vampire teeth and called it a night. Either way, he looks good, and you really do not want to make a further fool of yourself. 

    “What led you here, anyway? Costume catch your eye?” You flirt, hoping you don’t come off as nervous as you are- not really one to flirt with handsome strangers. But hey! When the opportunity presents itself… Remy raises his eyebrows, interested. 

    “Sure, Somethin' like that.”

    You and Remy talk for a really, really long time. From the outside looking in, just about anyone would presume you were a couple with the easy-flowing conversation and back-and-forth flirting. You just clicked! It was so easy for your nerves to wash away, and for a long moment, all of your anxieties about the night were long forgotten. One of the two of you had scooted closer in the duration of your flirt-fest, not that you really noticed while caught up in his words and charismatic smile- your sides being pressed together and his hand resting behind you. He’s close enough to lean in and kiss you, and honestly, you certainly wouldn’t mind if he did.

    “So you want my number then?” The words are admittedly cocky, but damn did this guy make you feel so confident in your own skin.

    “You hear me say I didn’t?” Remy replies, cocking his head at you. You can't help but laugh, smiling like some cheesy idiot.

    “Do you flirt like this with every girl?”

    “Jus’ the ones I like.”

    You really hadn’t noticed how long the two of you had been sitting together, an hour? Maybe an hour and a half? Your phone had been long forgotten, and you weren’t really planning to check it either until you heard a giddy squeal from your right. Both you and Remy look over to the noise, only to see the girls, without their clique from before and presumably done with all of their roaming at the moment.

    “Hey girlie! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Ashley says, drawing you into an awkward side hug that you don’t return, confused.

    “I told you where I’d be?” She brushes you off, locking eyes with Remy for just long enough for her eyebrows to raise and a glint to light up in her eyes. 

    “Who’s this?” You don’t have time to answer before Sophie is in front of you, taking your hands and dragging you to your feet.

    “Come get food with us!! We need an excuse to sober up, and we’re not doing it without you, bestie!”  Both of them are being a little more friendly than normal, and it's enough to make you a little suspicious. But, food did sound pretty nice at the moment. You look back at Remy with a sheepish smile, and you find that he’s already looking at you. 

    “ S’ alright, Cher. I’m a patient man.” He gives you a reassuring smile, and you relax a little more, unable to keep yourself from smiling as butterflies light up in your stomach. The girls drag you away pretty much immediately, talking about some afterparty or whatnot, but all you can think of the entire time is the implications of that statement.

    “Where’d you find a man like that?” Sophie’s voice finally catches your attention while in line for the carnival food, and you give her a questioning look.

    “Sorry?” You ask, and both of them giggle in that way that just seems to set alarms off in your head.

    “I’m serious! Almost every guy we’ve seen tonight has been like, a seven. That one is literally a ten.” Sophie giggles again, sending Ashley a knowing look. You blush a little, thinking about Remy again, but there’s just something about this conversation that’s making you uncomfortable.

    “Well, I didn’t exactly find him. He approached me.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders. The girls exchange skeptical looks, before laughing again.

    “Really?” Ashley asks this time, a wolfish smile on her face. It’s rhetorical- and feels just plain bitchy. Your face screws up, and you think about confronting her, but they quickly and ignorantly delve into a separate conversation, and you reluctantly decide to let it go. What the fuck was up with them? You don’t fall into conversation with them for a minute as you try to collect yourself, knowing you’d rather ride home with them than pay for a separate Uber. And starting a fight was definitely not going to work in your favor, seeing as they were your neighbors. They had a pack mentality like no other, and after tonight you’d much rather be able to ignore them forever instead of having a neiborly feud. 

    Eventually, you do decide to join the conversation. The line for food was ridiculously fucking long, and although it was moving, you still felt so impatient. Your phone is dying, and you’d really rather save your battery for Remy’s number and the ride home- so you talk and hope for the best. Eventually, Ashley says she needs to go to the bathroom and hands her wallet to Sophie before she stalks off. She’s gone for a while. A really long while. As you’re finally inching your way to the end of the line, Sophie tells you she’s going to find her. You actually welcome the peace and quiet, and promise to hold the spot. 4th in line. 3rd. 2nd. You’re starting to get anxious by the fact that neither of them had returned, but you get to the end and they’re still not back. 

    You buy a funnel cake for yourself, almost worried about the two as you walk back to the hay bale where you left Remy. The crowd finally starts to clear a bit, and when the Hay bale is finally in sight, you actually assume that you were looking at the wrong spot for a minute- until you recognize the costumes, and then spot the brunette they are both latched onto.

    Ashley is in his space, her costume unzipped just enough for anyone walking past to get a view. Sophie is leaning across his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair and twirling the ends with manicured fingers You can’t see his face- but it didn’t really matter anyway. 

    You don’t mean to drop the funnel cake, but you do. There's a shot of ice through your veins when it clicks for you, finally, as you watch them from a distance- it was a ploy. A stupid fucking ploy. You were the ugly friend- If they could even call you that. You were invited to make them look better. The matching costumes, the conspiring looks, the whole thing about Remy. Jesus Christ, had you always been this blind? Your face is warm with humiliation, eyes watering as you desperately try not to cry.

    Remy had nothing to do with it- of course, he didn’t, you just met him, but as you look at the two draped over him�� You just feel like you can’t really compare. You know better. You do- but god, did it hurt. You don’t want to go over there for them to make fun of you again, and you sure as hell don’t want to feel the sting of rejection that will inevitably come when he ditches you for them. Before you know it, your feet are moving. You’re not thinking clearly- hardly thinking at all. You see a side entrance, or maybe a fire exit, not that you really care. You can’t read anything through your tears, closing the door behind you and plugging yourself into darkness as it clicks shut.

    Inside, you find a mirror maze- again, what was with all of the fucking mazes? The overhead lights are off, what little light that’s coming from the outside dimly reflecting through each and every silvery mirror. It’s completely abandoned, with not a single soul in sight. You step over some shattered glass as you make your way further into the maze, and understand it was probably because drunks and mirrors don’t mix. 

    You find a dead end in the maze, and it’s like your legs give out. You can't help but just sit on the ground and sob for a minute. The backs of your hands are stained with the mascara that you’re sure is streaking down your face. You feel like an idiot- stupid, dramatic, pathetic. And you looked it, too. Every mirror reflects the mess of what you have become until you can’t stand to look at yourself anymore, pulling your knees to your chest and tucking your head into your arms.

    It's a quiet reprieve. You sit for a minute, long after your tears have dried. Your breathing begins to return to normal as the humiliation really starts to settle in. You’re so tired, and exhausted, and find yourself wishing you had never come out tonight at all, visioning your comfy bed that waits for you at home. 

    “Pauvre ti bête. Looks like you need new friends, Cher.” The sound of the voice makes you flinch, the daylight scared out of you as a dark figure sits down by your side.    “Remy?” You wipe at your face again, knowing it was to no avail, and that the damage to your makeup had already been done. 

    “The one an’ only,” He replies. It’s hard to see him in the low lighting, but it’s not like you’re looking around much anyway. There’s a silence between you two, and your gaze is locked on the floor, refusing to look at him with your stupid pout and tear-stained face.

    “Sat for a while, waitin’ on you.” He says, after a long moment, and it makes you feel so much fucking worse. You curl into yourself a little more.

    “Sorry, I just… I dunno, I thought you looked busy.” The words are more of a whisper than anything, and he chuffs something that’s not quite a laugh in response.

    “I guess you could say that.” He hums, leaning back on his hands as you finally turn to look at him. “Hadda swat those girls like damn mosquitos to get 'em off. Felt like they were tryna swallow me whole.” You can’t help but laugh at that, rubbing your eyes a bit.

    “...Trust me, they were probably trying to swallow something.” The words are out of your mouth before your brain can really catch up. Remy laughs a full laugh, smiling brightly at you now that you’ve started to come back out of your shell once again. 

    “Sorry, that was crude.”

    “Sounded pretty funny to me,” Remy’s grin is contagious, not that you ever would complain. You roll your eyes at him with that big smile on your face, leaning your head against the mirror behind you.

    “I guess I can’t really blame them, either.” You mumble, eyes going wide once you realize that that was most definitely not supposed to leave your lips. “God damn, I really have lost my filter!” Remy begins to laugh again as you cover your face, flushed with embarrassment. He doesn’t seem to mind the comment at all. Pulling your hands away as he struggles to contain his laughter. 

    “I like you, y’know that?” He says, and it makes you smile. You sit in comfortable silence for a bit, and before you know it, you find yourself leaning on his shoulder, eyes closed. Your thoughts slowly begin to wander. Remy’s very sweet, and the fact that he still came looking for you despite everything… It meant a lot. You can only imagine how uncomfortable he had been with Ashley and Sophie hanging off of him, waiting, wondering where you had gone. If he notices as your smile slowly becomes a frown, he doesn’t say anything. 

    “I’m sorry I left you out there.” You say quietly, breaking the silence that had become so uncomfortable for you. “I hadn’t realized they invited me to be the “ugly” friend until right then and I just needed to get away from it all.” There’s a featherlight brush of skin against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, Remy pushes a few strands of hair out of your face, thumb lingering against your skin. You find yourself caught up in his piercing gaze. It’s almost like he’s looking into your soul.

    “Pretty dumb choice to invite you if they were looking for an ugly friend.” His voice is low, and his cool hand feels nice against your flushed skin. You can’t drag your eyes away from his, gazes locked together as the tension only grows- thick enough to cut with a knife and choke you as you breathe it in. It’s he who breaks the eye contact first, stunning red irises flickering down to your lips and back up again. 

    “Really,” You ask, but it’s less of a question and more like a filler, mind unable to provide anything other than that. You’re caught up in that little action of his, swallowing, unable to look away from him. Suddenly, you realize just how close he really is.

    “Mais oui,” He mumbles, close enough for you to feel the slight breath that comes with the words. His thumb and finger prop up your chin, but he moves no closer, waiting for you. It’s hardly a debate for you to decide to brush your lips against his own.

    It’s like fireworks explode behind your eyelids when the space between you closes, his lips melding against you perfectly. It’s soft and sweet. Gentle for a man as much of a flirt as he appeared to be. He kisses you a few times, just like that, until the kiss starts to develop into something a little more heated. He turns to face you a little better, the sharp fangs in his mouth grazing your bottom lip as he leans over you and licks at the seam of your lips- which you eagerly open for him. Fuck, he was a good kisser. 

    Before long, you’re leaning back on your palms, and one of Remy’s knees presses between your thighs. Your elbows buckle just a little, and he’s quick to catch you. One of his hands is on the small of your back as he keeps you propped up, the other one flat against the floor as he keeps both of you from falling. He nips at your lip- the tip of his canine just barely splitting the skin before he kisses away your yelp, licking the blood away just as quickly as it had appeared. As embarrassing as it was, the action alone was enough to get the attention of heat slowly building in your abdomen. His kisses trail from your lips down to your neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 

    Your eyes slowly open, half-lidded as you weave your fingers through his hair, tongue softly licking at the stinging soreness of that bottom lip of yours. He’s not as aggressive with the rest of you, kissing and sucking dark spots into you as the sharp canines only drag and graze. Your eyes wander to a mirror across from you- one just barely lit from what you were sure was a hole in the roof- the full moon lining up just perfectly enough to light the mirrored room.

    It takes a second for you to recognize what you see in the mirror.

    You see yourself. Just yourself, leaned over as if you were hovering, neck exposed with purple marks blooming mysteriously across your skin. It’s you. Just you. Only you.

    A gasp is ripped out of your throat, and if the way your spine goes rigid wasn’t enough to alert Remy, it was the fast, pounding beat of your heart. Your eyes are glued to that image reflected in the mirror, even as Remy removes himself from your neck and finds himself staring at that same image. He stiffens, an unreadable look on his face before he recovers with an amused hum. 

    “Well, Don’t we make a lovely couple?” He muses. And when you finally look back at him, his strange eyes and sharp fangs, you realize exactly what he is. A wave of familiarity washes over you again, but you can’t place it as the horror begins to wash over you. 

    “Oh my god.” You breathe, almost stuck in disbelief. This could not be real, could it? That smirk of his makes yet another appearance, and yet something feels off about it. Deceptive, almost. It does not reach his eyes.

    “What, you afraid?” He asks with a chuckle. You wonder for a moment about the situation you had put yourself into, held in the arms of what could only be a vampire. All you can do is look at him, wide-eyed. If stories were to be believed, he’d be caging you in his arms, holding you in an iron grip before he strikes- bleeding you dry without care… 

    But he’s not. Yes, he was holding you up, but the arm around you is loose. His body language is open- and you get the feeling that if you tried to make a run for it, he’d let you. He’s not vicious. He’s not snapping at you or pinning you down. Hell, he had the chance to bite you earlier while you were pliant and eager, and he didn’t. 

    “...I don’t actually know, right now.” You finally respond, and something shifts. His breath catches in his throat, and the barest glimpse of vulnerability is gone within a second as he leans back a little, giving you a chance to sit up a bit more. You do so hesitantly.

    “I’m not here to hurt you, Cher. Just wanted to give you a proper thank you.” He rumbles. He takes one of your hands, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles, gaze never leaving your own. Black, red, black. Where had you seen that before?

    “Proper… what?” You furrow your eyebrows, trying your damndest to make sense of it all. Black, red, black. Black, red, black. Sharp teeth. Vampires, bats, Vampire bats. Vampire bat. Vampire bat. For the second time tonight, it all clicks for you. 

    “Holy shit. You-? The bat?-” You feel like you’re at a loss for words. Remy smiles again, fangs catching the low light of the mirrored room.

    “That’d be me.” He admits, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “ ‘Thought I was done for until you showed up. Most vamps like that? They don’t make it inside ‘fore the sun comes up.” He chuckles, but the seriousness of the situation is not lost on you. Saving the life of an immortal being rather than the life of a small bat is something huge, it felt like it, at least. 

    “Did you follow me here? Is that why I kept seeing you around tonight?” You ask. Remy simply shrugs his shoulders, letting your fingers go as he inches forward, looming over you once again. 

    “Think of it as more of a happy accident.” Remy sets his arms on either side of you, leaning close enough for his nose to gently brush against yours. You think he’s going to kiss you as his hand comes up to cup your chin. Instead, Remy runs his thumb across your lower lip, which you hadn’t even realized had started to bleed again. He brings the thumb to his mouth, licking the smear of blood. The sight is seductive. Arousing. You find yourself staring at his lips, conflicted. He sets his forehead against your own, hovering over your lips. There’s a heated look in his eyes when you look back up at them.

    “Tell me to leave, Cher, And I’ll go.” You swallow as he says the words, a flutter in your chest and a growing warmth within you. You bite your lower lip, your hesitance quickly being overshadowed by want.

    “... You're not gonna suck my blood or anything?” You ask, lips beginning to brush against his own. He chuckles, and this time he’s close enough for you to feel the sound as it rumbles through his chest.

    “Not unless you want me to…” He’s teasing you now, making you chase his lips until he’s fully sure you really want this, and you do. When they finally meet, his lips press against yours just as spectacularly as they did the first time. One of his hands snakes around the back of your neck, shielding the lower part of your head as he lowers you to the floor. You find yourself lost in his kisses, thinking of only him and the way he treats you so gently. 

    He props himself up with one strong arm, the other cupping the side of your face rather reverently, his thumb stroking across your cheekbone. Your hands can’t help but wander up and down his torso, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. You feel him smile against your lips as you do, kissing at the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, before the fluttery movement traces a path over each and every discolored spot on your neck, kissing the marks he had given you not even twenty minutes earlier. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair as the kisses venture further. His cold face presses into your open cleavage, an open palm dragging up from your thigh and sliding beneath your top, softly squeezing the bare skin of your waist. You find yourself arching into his touch, eager for his soft caress. 

    You have goosebumps down your chest as his fangs graze the skin, his fingers hooking around the neckline of your shirt and the bra underneath it from the inside. The cool air hits your bare breasts as he tugs it down, your nipples pebbling at the frigid draft. Your breath hitches at the feeling as his lips venture down your sternum, his free hand moving out from under the fabric to palm and toy with one breast as he begins to tease the other. He chuckles at you when you let out a whine, fingers tugging on his locks.

    “Have a little patience, Cher.” There’s a seductive lure to his voice as Remy tells you to have a little faith in him, pressing one last kiss to the swell of one said breast as he moves back up. He easily draws you into another long, heated kiss. He continues to play with the breast in his hand, pinching and testing the supple give of the skin. Your muffled whines and moans are music to his ears as he presses his knee against your heated core, only relenting with his playful touches when he slides his palm under your spine, forcing you to arch your back. He lets go of your lips to drag his attention back to your breast, now sucking at the stiff peaks, careful of his sharp teeth. 

    “Remy,” His name comes out inadvertently, the sound making him groan against you. Your hands have slid down from their hold on his scalp, now resting against his wide shoulders with a tight grip on the fabric of his shirt. His palm wanders up and down the expanse of your back, thriving off of the feeling of your hot, flushed skin against his cold body. 

    The feeling of your top being bunched around your waist starts to become uncomfortable and suffocating. You squirm to try and take it off yourself, but Remy is quick to stop you. He pulls it off of you slowly, kissing every inch of skin it drags against as it goes. Once it's off, he leans back to get a good look at you, cursing under his breath as his hands find your thighs. You know for a fact you’re flushed and red from the neck down. The sight only encourages Remy further, quickly sitting up and removing his own shirt, keeping his gaze on yours throughout the movement. 

    It’s not surprising when his upper body catches your attention, the lean muscle impressive for a man who’s basically dead. Or was he? When he’s back within reach, you run your right hand from his happy trail till you reach his collarbone, fingertips pressing into the cold skin as you try to feel for a pulse. He hums, a mischievous glint in his eye when he realizes what you’re doing. 

    “You won’t find a heartbeat, cher. Not from me.” Remy confirms your thoughts. You can only hum in response, leaning up to press a soft kiss where your hand had been, over his heart. Remy lets out a low groan at the action, inciting a slow grind of his hips against yours.

    “Merde.” He mumbles.“You play a dangerous game, makin’ a dead heart flutter.” 

    “Do I really?” You ask, biting your lip. Remy leans in, just far enough to teasingly brush his lips against your own before he moves down the length of your neck, never touching you in the way to crave so badly. 

    “I get the feeling you like dangerous games.” There's something sharp against your neck, the tips of his fangs gently dragging across the skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but not out of fear. He grinds his hips into you once again, your hips eagerly bucking to meet his own. You swallow deeply at the sound he makes at the action- realizing that you just might want him to bite into you. It’s crazy. You feel crazy. It must be so tantalizing for him to be pressed against you like this, fully aware of the red-hot blood rushing through your veins and the constant pounding of your heart. And yet, he never takes the bait. 

    Remy’s lips meet your own again right as your hands meet the buckle of his jeans. He sighs against your lips as you undo it, sliding your hand underneath the stiff fabric to feel the hardness he hides underneath. He’s… big. Not necessarily long, but he’s thicker than you had expected him to be. You stroke him over the fabric of his boxers, feeling his length twitch under your touch. When he separates from the kiss, he tucks his head into your shoulder. You can’t help but giggle at the action as you begin to pull both garments down, his cock slapping against his lower abdomen once freed. 

    “Are you sensitive, Remy?” You ask him, turning your head to bury it in his hair. You wrap your hand around his cock, hearing him moan before cursing quietly when you give him a slight squeeze. 

    “Sometimes.” He mumbles, one of his calloused hands coming up to one of your breasts, gently rubbing his thumb over your nipple to encourage it to a stiff peak. You can’t help but let out a surprised moan as he pinches and teases, feeling his smile against the skin of your shoulder. 

    “But I got nothin’ on you.” Remy kisses your breast, before taking a long, slow lick across the sensitive skin. He takes the nub into his mouth, giving it a short suck before he lets go of it with a pop. 

    You almost want to whine and complain when Remy removes himself from you, but quickly lose the thought as you watch him remove his pants and boxers in one movment. Once he’s done, he slowly slides his hands from your ankles to your hips, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric of your bottoms. He kisses the space beneath your belly button, red eyes trained on your own as he slowly drags the clothing down, undressing you until you’re bare. He licks his lips at the sight of you, slowly spreading your legs as he begins to kiss from your knees to your…

    “You don’t- you don’t have to do that.” You stutter out once you realize what he’s doing. You’ve never been eaten out before, and the sight of him between your legs has already got you flushed and nervous- embarresed, even. Remy’s eyes shift back up to your face, his fingers sliding between your admittedly slick folds as you try to hold back a moan.

    “Vampires are creatures of desire, cher. Thirsty ones at that.” He rumbles, and it’s like everywhere he touches you is on fire, his cool hands stroking you into a lustful heat. “Should I beg for you to consider?” He’s got this knowing look on his face, watching you as you bite your lip, face twitching with pleasure every time those fingers of his graze your clit. He slides a finger into you without resistance, curling it just right. You buck your hips into the feeling, nodding vigorously as a final go-ahead. 

    Remy dives into your cunt like a man starved. 

    Every lick of his tongue and curl of his fingers has you seeing stars. Fuck, did it feel good. He touches you expertly, finding spots within you that you didn't even know you had. He lets a moan slip now and then, fully immersed in the warm wetness of your pussy. 

    Your legs are hooked over his shoulders, a hand splayed across your lower abdomen to keep you from bucking up into his mouth as he enjoys himself. You feel close to cumming embarrassingly quick- quick in a way you had never known yourself to even be capable of.

    “Remy!” It's an urgent call of his name, your hands tangling themselves in his hair as you attempt to warn him. He hums in response, right over your clit, and it does nothing but push your body further. You come with a rather embarrassing noise, hips twitching and thighs pressing into the side of his head. You can't help but assume that not needing to breathe was only a bonus for the man currently suffocating between your pillowy thighs. 

    He lets you ride out your orgasm with enthusiasm, pressing sweet kisses to the skin around your sensitive cunt as your breathing begins to even out and your legs begin to relax around him. 

    He looks absolutely wrecked when he sits up. His hair is messy, a pussydrunk smile he's certainly not afraid to hide spreading across his face. 

    “You feelin’ alright, cher?” He asks. You eagerly nod in response, leaning into his touch when he crawls back over you to place a kiss against your lips. You've never been one to taste yourself, but you find that you don’t mind tasting it on his lips. Remy's cock begins a slow grind against you, grazing your clit with every stroke. You moan into the kiss, a string of spit between your mouths when you separate long enough to catch your breath.

    “Fuck.” The word is whispered, but that doesn't stop Remy from catching it. He lets out a low laugh, collecting your wetness as he grinds. 

    “You ready for me?” He asks. You nodd, closing your eyes as you eagerly wait for the stretch of his cock. Exempt, he stops.

    “I need you to give me a yes, cher.”

    “Yes-” He swallows the rest of that word in an eager kiss, finally sliding into your heat inch by inch. You both moan in union, feeling every inch of that slow stretch. He's cold. Not freezing, but cold. It's unlike any feeling you've felt before, and surprisingly, you want more of it.

    His body begins to warm a little more everywhere the two of you touch- and god, does it feel good. Remy favors a steady pace, with powerful thrusts that hit you right every single time. It felt like he was made for you, and he most definitely felt the same. Remy kisses you like a man in love, fucking you in a way that makes you see rings instead of stars. 

    Every smack of his hips against yours is rather careful, measured even. It's only when he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach like a ragdoll that you realize the kind of strength he holds- suddenly grateful for his caution. He's quick to go back to rearranging your insides once he has you on your knees, front pressed against your back as he kisses at the nape of your neck and slides his arm around your front, palm splayed under a boob with his thumb on the valley between.

    “Look at us, love.” His chest rumbles against your back, and it's not even a whole minute before the position changes again, Remy pulling you against him as he sits up onto his knees, holding you steady as he makes you face the mirror. 

    You wish that you could see his reflection in that mirror as you gaze upon the sight of you, red face flushed and needy. You don't see the way he holds you pressed so tightly against his chest, or the way he admires that evocative image of you, shaking with each thrust. 

    “Aren't you a sight, bele.” His breath is cold against your ear, his hand coming down to circle your clit as his thrusts pick up in pace. You can tell he's close, reaching that peak just as fast as you reach your own. You grasp at his hands, moans and whine only getting louder as that pleasure gets ever-so-close.

    His groan against your ear is unnecessarily hot, his thrusts stuttering right before he pulls out of you. His cock rests just below your lower lips, using the friction of your thighs as he reaches that high. He cums in thick streaks, your own release following directly after.

    There's a buzzing sound right as Remy sits back, placing you in his lap as he kisses across your shoulders sweetly. You relax against him, boneless as you both try to catch your breath. The buzzing stops for a moment before it continues again. You hardly register the noise, and are certainly in no condition to try and find the source.

    When Remy looks over to the sound, he finds your phone hiding beneath the scattered clothes on the floor. It's his shirt, and he reaches over to grab it. The phone is set to the side as he maneuvers you around, dressing you in his shirt like a gentleman.

    “Cher?” You hum, only halfway aware at the moment as Remy calls your name. He hands you your phone, and you open your eyes just enough to unlock it and see the fifteen missed calls from Ashley and Sophie. 

    “God damnit. Can't I have any peace?” You curse. Remy laughs, watching from over your shoulder as you check the additional excessive Snapchat messages from them. 

    “Maybe we should send them a message, no?” Remy reaches over to your phone, swiping over to the Snapchat camera, angling it to where both of your sweaty, disheveled faces are inframe, along with the line of purple hickies that trail down your neck. Jesus christ, you were about to fuck him all over again for even suggesting this. Who knew you were into revenge like that?

    “Oh fuck yes.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Vampires of a Feather | Yandere Pomefiore

Think about modern life no magic

And you own an apartment with your loving and adoring boyfriend Rook

Unbeknownst to you 

On one of his oh so familiar nature strolls Rook found himself poking around an abandoned mansion

He won’t bother to say anything about the lovely boy he finds resting in there almost certain a dead body

Such luscious pale skin, such dark lipstick

He feels such beauty deserves a kiss even if their beyond the grave

But he won’t tell you that 

He’ll return home and kiss you as deeply as he does every time he sees you

You two will go on eventually settling down to have dinner 

When you hear something bang against the door

“Uh don’t worry babe, I’ll get it!”

“Be back soon beau trésor!”

Thinking it’s a failed knock you head for the door to open it 

Something small but sturdy whizzes past you 

Ricochetting off the walls and into some boxes you hadn’t unpacked

“Oh my Gosh Rook!”

“Oh my!”

“Ah Rook don’t go over there I think it’s a bat!”

“Oh how cute!”

“Not cute they have rabies!”

Despite your protests he’s forging on with you worriedly at his back

Come to find it’s that fellow from the abandoned mansion

And his name is Epel

“Oi what’s this weird place and why am I around a bunch of humans?”

“It’s a man!”

“Si magnifique! The joli monsieur from the house!”

“From the house?!” 

After explaining himself Epel explains how he a vampire found himself skyrockettng into your home

He unfortunately mistook the pheromone that would have led him to his pod for Rook’s scent

Thus he ended up here

“Vampires travel in pods?”

“Yes that’s how-”

“Like dolphins?”

“I guess…”

“That’s kind of cute!”

“No it’s not!”

“I agree mon chéri!” 

“IT IS NOT CUTE!”

From then on you and Rook help Epel blend in to the modern world

“Come on Epel no need to freak out!”

“No! Keep that terrible creation away from me!”

“It’s only a camera!”

“Come Pomme de poison! It’s a glorious tool (Y/n) and I are intimately close with!”

Slowly getting to a comfortable place where you both share your blood with him within reason

“Mmm Epel?”

“Yes (Y/n)?”

“Do you really need to lick my neck so many times? I’m ready for you to just get it over with.”

“Shhh let me enjoy this! Let me take my time.”

“Well okay…but does Rook have to sit so closely?”

“Don’t mind me, my Love! I’m only enjoying the enticing dance of life happening on your lovely neck!”

It’s only until a while of the domestic life along side him that you come to a sad realization

“Rook…he can’t stay with us.”

“Where is this coming from, mon chéri?”

“I was thinking…Epel’s going to outlive us.”

“Darling.”

“Then he’ll be all alone.”

“(Y/n).”

“We have to help him find his pod.”

Rook’s face drops every time you give him that look

Spending your free time devoting to properties his pod might own 

Your acutely aware that he’s not as enthusiastic 

But this isn’t about him 

This is about Epel

Who in the mean time doesn’t mind finding his pod 

But he doesn’t really care

“I’ve found two humans I like quite a lot. Besides I don’t really care about my pod especially since they’e a bunch of stuffy snobs. But it (Y/n) wants to find them I don’t mind.”

By the time Rook actually gets this from Epel you’ve already sent a letter to the one you’ve tracked down

“(Y/n)--!”

“--We have something to tell you!”

“Oh! Welcome home you two! You’re just in time to meet the vampire I found that's from your pod!”

“Oh no!”

“Wow!”

“Hello again Epel, I’ve come to take you home.”

It’s Vil Schoenheit a reclusive idol that’s supposed to be an old decrepit man you were sending letters with 

But alas he was a vampire 

And a very powerful one at that

He immediately begins critiquing Epel and subsequently Rook

“But at the very least you’ve found some decent hosts…for humans at least.”

“Hey! Don’t talk down to my humans!”

“Your anger is just as unbecoming on you as it was all those centuries ago.”

Ultimately it’s decided by Vil that Epel will be going with him 

To the country he quietly runs, where hundreds of lesser vampires serve him loyally

“I-I’m not going without Rook and (Y/n)!”

“Wait what–”

“C'est mieux que de te traquer!”

“Ugh I understand (Y/n) but this other one I’m not sure.”

Vil since he received your letter had been intrigued

A mere human who was so straight-forward with something many would call conspiracy 

Not to mention he’s absolutely enamored with ‘fixing’ you before properly elevating your status

To a vampire of course

He’ll find out he likes Rook too

but that's later

Until then he’ll just drag him along until Epel looses interest

With a snap of his finger tons of other vampires arrive taking your stuff and loading it in trucks

“Wait hold on! What are you doing?!”

“Do you have problems listening (Y/n)? You are coming with us.”

“But we can’t–We’d never live as long as you, it’s just not right!”

“As humans you won’t but once you’re a vampire that will change.”

“But I don’t want to be–”

“Hush. Rook if you’re good for anything you’ll help (Y/n) pack their bags.”

“Yes my Queen!”

“Rook!!”

No sooner than you could register 

You’re unofficially decided as one of the newest members of their pod

You’d like to think you weren’t alone in this confusion

But Rook doesn’t seem to have any of the same concerns you have

“Oh Epel isn’t this perfect! We’ll become members of your pod with the Queen!”

“Ugh! Not you too! I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t ruin you and (Y/n) completely.”

[margokesses]

Cannot stop thinking about thresh and reaper in the hunger games movie. Two black boys who are shown to really strong and could easily take out the other tributes. And how they're precieved as violent because of it.

But when they enter the arena they're seen as the exact opposite. The only death that we see thresh take on screen is clove bc she kept bragging about rue's death. Which we can tell hurt him bc if you look at scenes before the games he seems to be protective of her. And he could have easily killed katniss but he spares her life because katniss humanized rue.

And with reaper. We're told that he killed a peacekeeper in his district and he threatens snow but in the arena its shown that the only thing he cares about is protecting dill. He even defends her from attackers in the beginning and tells her to stick by his side.

And I cannot stop thinking about rue's death. And how although it is violent (a spear through her body) it's not shown in a grotesque way (I don't think we even see blood when she pulls it out). And with dill it's a similar situation. A girl with tuberculosis who drinks water that she doesn't know is filled with rat poison. And when she drinks it she doesn't convulse or do anything dramatic she just lays down and dies.

And I can't stop thinking about how those deaths are instantly humanized. Katniss and reaper both scream in anger when they find out about it. They cry about it. And then they instantly mourn her. Katniss stays with rue until the end and sings with her until she passes and then gathers flowers to give her a proper burial. And it's the same with dill. Reaper grabs her body (and the other tributes and removes their weapons) and he covers them with the flag of the capitol. To show that they're the cause of tributes deaths.

And then katniss and reaper bodly faces the camera and expresses disdain for what's going on. Katniss raises the 3 finger salute and reaper screams "are you gonna punish me now??"

And I cannot stop thinking about how when thresh dies you don't see any of it you just hear screams. And when marcus is in the arena he is tied up and beaten and shown as an example bc he ran away and he could have easily died a violent death from the other tributes. But he is given a mercy killing by another tribute. And when Jessup dies. It's because he has rabies from protecting Lucy gray from the bats on the train. But he also dies in a non violent way bc he was given water to scare him away and he just ends up accidently falling. And how when reaper dies its him being engulfed in snakes because he finally accepted his fate.

And idk this probably doesn't make sense bc it's currently 4am in the morning but as a Black fan I am glad that in a world where my people are constantly dehumanized and our graphic deaths are released in video format for the world to see and be desentized too....

It's nice to not see anything violent and dehumanizing about us in a series about kids dying to the death. Like everyone knows that the black kids are gonna die but they could have done something really violent with them and it's nice to not see that happen.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 1.7k | tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, soft boys, Steve takes care of Eddie, Vecna aftermath | @steddielovemonth Love is a warm hug by @unclewaynemunson | AO3)

They made it. They really did it.

Corroded Coffin play in front of thousands of people in a sold-out Madison Square Garden. Every single person seems to know their songs by heart and is singing them back at them loudly. They cheer and scream their names and Eddie feels like he's flying so high he's on his way to the moon.

This moment right now, right here, is what he has been dreaming of ever since Wayne gave him his old acoustic guitar for his fourteenth birthday and showed him how to play his first song. He always knew he'd end up here, deep, deep down. Never lost hope.

Well, that's not exactly true, but nobody knows that but Steve.

Because it was Steve who helped him to find that precious hope again, to rekindle the wild spirit inside him that only wanted to be heard with his music. He had almost lost that gift along with his left nipple.

The bat bites had been bad, of course. Pieces of his flesh were missing, gnarled scars littered his body, even as he decorated it with a plethora of new tattoos. They'll always be there.

But the worst part hadn't been the flesh wounds. It had been the infection. Robin hadn't been so far off in her fears back in the Upside Down, because while neither he nor Steve had gotten rabies, the bat's saliva hadn't been the most sterile substance to get into his wounds, and more than one bite had become infected as a result. The worst one had been on his left forearm and had caused some severe nerve damage.

The doctors had been able to save his arm and most of the feeling in his hand, but relearning how to play the guitar had been excruciating. The pain had been really bad, but even worse was the frustration, the white-hot rage he felt at this cosmic injustice. It wasn't enough that he was basically an orphan (because his father could be dead for all he knew, Eddie hadn't heard from him in years at that point), living in a trailer park and being labeled the town freak who everyone still thought had murdered several people. No, he also had to get mauled by demonic bats in an alternate dimension, nearly die, and fight his way back to his feet only to find out that he couldn't do the one thing that had always given him at least some peace of mind. His ticket out of this hellhole of a town, just gone. Poof.

It had been one of those summer days, so hot and humid that it felt like warm water was filling his lungs and dripping out of every pore of his body. He had been sitting on his bed in just his boxer shorts and a crop top because any clothes were too much, with his guitar on his lap. Eddie had been so focused on getting this one simple tune right for hours now, his fingers raw and aching, his nerves screaming at him to please stop. Only he couldn't.

He couldn't stop, because to stop would be to give up. It would mean accepting this new reality in which Eddie Munson had lost a vital part of himself; his music.

The pain had been almost unbearable for the better part of an hour by now, but it wasn't until his fingers cramped so badly that he couldn't even hold it anymore that he threw his beloved acoustic guitar off his lap and onto the floor with enough force that it was a wonder it didn't break.

"Fuck," he yelled with bitter resignation, rising like bile in his throat and spilling out in the form of hot tears from his burning eyes, and then "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," a repetitive mantra of pain and sorrow as sobs broke from his aching chest.

He was brought back from the brink of a meltdown by the pressure of a warm hand on his knee, another hand cupping his burning cheek.

"Eddie, hey, man, you're scaring me. Can you look at me, please?" Steve's voice filtered through the anger and grief that constricted his chest, and Eddie lifted his wet eyes to meet Steve's hazel ones. They were bright and warm, even with his eyebrows knitted with worry. They had become close friends over the past few months and Eddie could read his face like an open book.

"That's good, you're doing so good," Steve's voice soothed some of the ragged edges of the broken pieces that had once made up a whole person. His warm hands found Eddie's left hand, still bent into a misshapen claw, and began to massage it gently.

It felt heavenly, even if it still hurt, the gentle but firm pressure slowly loosening the tightly curled digits. Eddie's breathing had slowed, as had his heartbeat, and by the time Steve had finally stopped massaging of Eddie's hand, the sun had begun to set outside.

"Thanks," he had whispered, suddenly ashamed of his outburst, "you didn't have to do that." What he meant was, 'You shouldn't have had to do that. You shouldn't have had to see that.'

Still holding Eddie's hand loosely in his, Steve simply said, "I know. I wanted to. I always want to." The hazel eyes searched and held his again. "You want to tell me what happened? You don't have to, but I have it on good authority that I'm an excellent listener."

That had made him laugh. "That's only because Birdie speaks for both of you when she starts rambling."

"Takes one to know one," Steve had teased back, and the rest of the tension had seeped out of Eddie's body. He had told Steve everything then, about his hand, his fears, his shattered hopes and dreams. Steve hadn't lied, he was a great listener. Attentive and calm, he let Eddie talk without once interrupting.

After Eddie had finished, Steve had been quiet, clearly thinking about what Eddie had told him. After a while of comfortable silence, Steve finally broke it by asking, "Is it possible that you want it too much?"

"Huh?"

"To be able to play the guitar like you used to, I mean. I feel like maybe you want it so much that all the pressure you're putting on yourself is making you so tense and stressed that it's only getting worse."

Eddie wanted to protest, to tell Steve that there was no such thing as wanting too much, but then he stopped himself. Steve had proven himself to be far smarter and more insightful than anyone had ever given him credit for, so instead of denying the possibility outright, he had asked, "What makes you think that?"

Inexplicably, the question had made Steve smile. "When Nancy left me for Jonathan, I was kind of desperate. It sounds silly now, but I thought I needed to find a girl to help me get over it, to prove to myself that I was still attractive, still a catch. Still lovable." The smile had vanished from his face at those words. "I tried so hard, it wasn't even funny anymore, just kind of sad. Robin even had a whole board dedicated to my failures. She told me to just be myself, to let it come to me instead of chasing it like a dog after a bone. It was hard to hear at the time, but you know what? She was right."

Eddie only ever knew the Steve who never had any trouble picking up girls, so it was strange to hear him talk about a time when he clearly didn't.

"So all I'm saying is, maybe take it easy on yourself. Play for the same reasons you started, not because you want to recreate someone you no longer are. None of us is who we were before. None of us ever will be. But you can become someone new. It's up to you who you want to be instead."

After his little speech, Steve had gotten up to get them a couple of beers, and they had just hung out for the rest of the night, the guitar forgotten. It stayed in a corner of his room where Eddie wouldn't see it for a week, until Eddie felt a genuine desire to play something that had been stuck in his head whenever he thought of Steve.

It was the first tune he could get through on his guitar. It was the first song he ever played just for Steve, before he leaned in and caught Steve's lips in a soft kiss for the first time. It became the song he hums whenever Steve wakes up from a nightmare, either while holding Steve in his arms or over the phone when he's on tour.

So it's no surprise that this is the song they play as an encore at Madison fucking Square Garden.

"Hey everybody. This last song is for someone very special to me, so please let's hear it for the love of my fucking life". The crowd goes wild and Eddie winks at the camera that projects his face onto the big screens behind them. "This is for you sweetheart, thank you for always believing in me. You knew I could be someone new long before I did. I wouldn't be here without you and I don't want to be. Nothing makes sense without you. This song is called 'Someone New' and someday I want to play it at our wedding."

He gives it everything he's got, forgetting the last 90 minutes he's been on stage, to make these four minutes the most intense of their whole set. Everyone holds up a tiny flame with their lighters, and when they're done, there's a reverent silence before it breaks into thunderous applause. They cheer, they whistle, they scream.

Eddie doesn't hear any of it, his senses attuned to just one person he's spotted at the edge of the stage exit. He puts down his guitar, walks over to the tall man waiting for him with open arms, and sinks into them as if coming home.

"You did it, baby," Steve whispers into his ear and Eddie just buries himself deeper into his boyfriend's body. "I'm so, so proud of you."

"I love you," he replies simply, the only thing that matters with strong arms wrapped around him, the familiar scent of Steve filling his senses, and the steady beating of Steve's heart against his, the metronome of his new life as sure as ever.

It doesn't matter that they made it, not as much as the man holding him tightly, lovingly.

Eddie's new life is right here in his arms.

[ask-a-vetblr]

Hi I’m starting a book set in Australia (I’m an Aussie!) and it’s about Rabies getting loose in Australia but going to be like a sci/fi and horror novel. I thought I’d ask actual vets if you knew what could happen if rabies got loose in Australia?

gettingvetted here.

Our founder and native Aussie, drferox, is on hiatus, so I will give this a go.

Unfortunately for your book, rabies is one of the easiest diseases to control and eradicate, especially on a small scale and especially if you know the animal of origin. Vaccinations literally have to be upwards of 95% effective (at least in the US) in order to become licensed for use, and the immunity derived from rabies vaccines is long lasting at 1-3 years at minimum; it probably lasts longer but official studies to license vaccines for that long have not been done due to expense. Likewise, the vaccines are usually inexpensive compared to other vaccines like Lyme, as you can vaccinate a cat or dog for 3 years for roughly $25 per vaccine. You typically have plenty of time (weeks to months) after a possible exposure to determine if the biting animal is rabid, and even if you never find that out, rabies vaccination will prevent rabies in an exposed individual as long as they themselves are not showing symptoms (aka, there's a handful of known rabies positive animals in the country and you/your dog just got bitten by a kangaroo? get vaccinated, you're going to be fine even if they can't find the kangaroo again). The symptoms are pretty obvious and pretty classic, making the animal easily identifiable even among its peers, and once the stage of being symptomatic has arrived and thus transmission is possible, the animal will die in a handful of days, thus self-limiting the spread. The only "treatment" is humane euthanasia and as wildlife are the usual reservoir of the virus, there isn't much of an uproar when a select few are euthanized for testing or prevention each year. An interesting factoid is that while the US still has rabies, we *only* have wildlife strains present (not canine rabies). So even if a dog gets rabies from another dog, they will still have acquired skunk, bat, or raccoon strains of rabies. This is due to years of regulating that cats, dogs, and ferrets (domesticated carnivores) be vaccinated for rabies and euthanized for biting if unvaccinated until the canine strain was eradicated. Canine rabies is still an issue in countries with lots of feral dogs.

As a vet in the US, it is a MAJOR headache to ship animals from rabies-endemic areas to non-rabies-endemic areas. Even Hawaii is extremely difficult to pull off. Not only do they have to be vaccinated early (usually within 6 months of travel), they also often have to have rabies titers performed within the same time frame or sometimes even closer to the travel date. An extended quarantine period (I seem to recall that it is 6 months in some cases?) is also required prior to entry for countries such as Australia so that even if the rabies vaccination and titers were incorrect or forged and the animal has rabies, they would still show symptoms prior to entry into the country. Also, while unrelated to rabies, Australia requires veterinarians (not animal owners) to personally administer very specific parasite prevention to animals at very specific intervals to prevent certain parasites from entering the country too, so the amount of prep work required for export itself is often long enough such that if the animal had rabies, you would find out before they left the country. The regulations also differ depending on country of origin - countries with less control over their rabies status are either banned from importing animals or face even stricter import regulations. If any of these steps are performed incorrectly or without pristine official evidence of doing so, the animal gets right back on the plane and goes back to its country of origin, or is held in official government quarantine at customs. So it would be quite difficult to get a rabid animal into the country. Humans are a different story of course, so that may be the best way to bring rabies into Australia in your story. However, humans getting rabies is extremely rare, and considering the excellent healthcare in AUS, a human would probably seek care and be diagnosed before they could become insane enough to start biting wildlife (again, the only real scenario I could think of that could feasibly bring rabies to AUS, because if a rabies positive human bit another human or even a dog, you simply vaccinate that human or dog for rabies and they will be fine).

So, let's assume that you got rabies into the country and a handful of wild animals of various species are exposed. We'll even assume that it was a dog that somehow brought it in despite all the red tape designed to make it impossible, and that dog is ownerless or escaped so there is nobody to tell officials what type or how many animals it bit before it died of its symptoms. It would probably take a significant amount of time for anyone to figure out what was going on. Vets who are educated in countries that have endemic rabies are taught that any animal with any neurologic symptoms should be treated as if they have rabies unless they recover. I.e., if a neurologic animal dies without a definitive diagnosis of some other neurologic disease (such as EPM, distemper, etc) and especially if that animal is unvaccinated for rabies, you MUST assume they had rabies and send them for postmortem testing so that any human or animal who was exposed to the potentially rabid animal can be vaccinated if necessary. However, vets who are educated in non-endemic countries are of course aware of the disease, but probably wouldn't have it on their radar for a neurologic animal. It would probably take a few wildlife or pet animal cases being sent for necropsy and testing after sudden neurologic death before rabies was diagnosed, which probably wouldn't happen until a few months to a year after the first case arrived in the country, at the earliest. Then a few things would happen.

First, the owners of the pet animals and the organizations dealing with wildlife would be extensively interviewed to determine location and possibly the species of animal that bit the now-dead-and-necropsied rabid animal. These areas would be surveyed extensively and unfortunately a lot of local wildlife mammals would probably be preventively eradicated especially if positive cases were found in a given species. Import/export of ANY animals from the country would be immediately halted and mandatory vaccination of all owned animals in the country would likely be established and enforced. Travel of humans likely wouldn't be stopped, but rabies vaccination would be added to the list of recommended vaccines for travel to AUS, similar to malaria vaccines in endemic countries. Again, the excellent and affordable healthcare system of AUS (at least compared to the US) would probably lead many or most Australians to be vaccinated for rabies prophylactially, which can cost thousands of dollars in the US and is usually not covered by health insurance. There would probably be a huge push for vaccination of wildlife with rabies vaccines dropped from aircraft, which could be done both within the area that suspected exposed or definitively positive animals have been found, as well as a radius around those areas as prevention. Vets would be mandated to report any neurologic or behaviorally abnormal animal even if rabies wasn't the suspected cause, and unfortunately would likely be forced to euthanize many animals that were not rabid. There is a chance that with these measures, rabies could be eradicated, but it wouldn't be certain, probably ever. Longer term, surveillance measures would be taken (and I don't mean surveillance like the FBI, I mean epidemiologic surveillance such as monitoring cases that pop up and physically checking on and sampling the typical populations of wildlife that carry the disease). Regardless, it would be extremely difficult to cause any kind of fatal epidemic using a standard rabies virus. Ounce of prevention/pound of cure and all that, but Australia currently chooses a pound of prevention.

Definitely an interesting concept for a book, but I would go with a carnivore parvovirus or canine distemper virus that mutates quickly enough that it can't be vaccinated for, and is transmissible from animals to humans. Parvovirus, specifically, is extremely hardy in the environment and is far more contagious than rabies. Without effective vaccines, I'm betting that either distemper or parvo would cause more death than the plague, especially among pediatrics. I'm not familiar with hendravirus given that we don't have it in the US, but to my knowledge that is also a horrific and contagious disease that is already present in AUS.

Hope this helps!

[tomahachi12]

Hello I love the murder drones virus au that your working on i definitely love how your giving it a infectious disease like pattern.in middle school before Covid I actually wanted to be a epidemiologist a person who studies the pattern of outbreaks of diseases,so I have a bunch of random knowledge on diseases so I’m loving this au.I also love how you are putting different stages of the illness and different side effects and the stages of transformation.

also what real life disease were you inspired by to make this au,to me so far it looks to be inspired by rabies considering that it’s transferred through bites and the infected individual is in a bit of agrresive like state?also if it is inspired by rabies do the infected experience something similar to that of hydrophobia that humans that get rabies experience?

also my question is uzi transforming into a bat cause that will be cool and very fitting if the virus is inspired by rabies cause bats here where I live in the US are the number 1 carriers of the rabies virus?also do the infected have traits left over from when they were infected like the body changes?one last question was the virus idea also inspired by that of stories of rabies from way back in the days where people thought people infected with rabies were werewolves and would transform after getting bitten?

anyway I hope you don’t mind this long message I just really love your au and I love learning about diseases and watching murder drones so this is one of the greatest aus I’ve came across combining two of my interests.keep up the great work.

oh goodness!

I'm glad you're enjoying the AU!

It was more-so inspired by the werewolf thing, but I can see how it could be similar to rabies as well!

as for the effects, no, they don't become hydrophobic. It's just a highly contagious data virus that only effects Solver drones, increases aggression (makes it easier to spread) and causes physical changes to their bodies,

mostly just werewolfy stuff (:

I'm a huge nerd for werewolf/transformation shit, it's just so much fun!

Uzi transforms into a bat cause it better fits with her Solver form having the bat wings anyway.

Even after being cured they may still have some lingering traits that stuck with them. V still makes biscuits and purrs (she gets embarrassed by it), N chews on things and sometimes get caught chasing his tail (though he probably already did all that before the infection), J idly whistles or chirps and starts using her wings more often. Uzi get a little more bitey and sometimes prefers to sleep upside-down, but she'll fall in the middle of the night/day whenever they sleep (N places pillows or a mattress under her or he'll join and hold onto her.)

[itsthesinbin]

Sins in Stardust [Chapter 8: Not in the Job Description] (Bill Cipher/Reader/Stanford Pines)

I like that Gravity Falls just has so much random bullshit that I can make silly "episodic" bonding chapters like this. It's a nice break from main plot stuff while also still forwarding the story via relationships.

Read the fic on AO3 here!

Reblogs and feedback appreciated- if you like it, reblog it!

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

You and Bill settled into a little routine during that first week on the job. You went first, on the off chance some stragglers were around, and swept or mopped. Bill followed behind either dusting or picking up trash. He complained about how messy humans were, when they left soda cans or food packages around. You had to agree with him about those complaints. It was ridiculous how little people cared.

You were laughing at Bill, who had stepped in yet another discarded wad of gum and was losing his mind, when Soos found you guys. He couldn’t help but smile at the scene, even if he was still wary of Bill. The week he had been here had been tense, but considering the guy hadn’t ACTUALLY tried to kill anyone- or was caught slipping on the possible “faking amnesia” act- Soos decided to tentatively take things more at face value. Less waiting for the impact, so to speak. Just taking it slow and watching for signs of a storm.

“Havin’ fun, dudes?” You jumped at your boss’ voice, before giving him a wave. Despite the suspicions he had about you both, Soos had been the coolest boss you’ve had. He was friendly, lax, and willing to compromise. Bill still thought he was a moron, but started keeping those thoughts more to himself.

“NO,” the triangle screamed as he used a paper towel to wipe gum off of his foot. “You humans are DISGUSTING, leaving your bacteria-filled WADS on the FLOOR!” Soos did cringe, giving a little shudder at the idea.

“Gross. Well, you guys can get away from the gum for a bit! Need to get some raccoons outta the attic. I think they’re raccoons anyway. I kinda just see a bunch’a fur before they’re outta sight.” Soos motioned for you guys to follow him. He passed by a little closet, pulling out a bat for you. Bill got a hammer, since that was small enough for him to hold properly. He immediately took a swing at Soos’ kneecap. The big guy was more agile than you thought, thankfully, and dodged it. You threatened to thwack him with the bat when he raised the hammer to do it again.

Soos led you to the stairs up to the attic. He turned to you guys, Bill quickly hiding the hammer behind his back. He totally wasn’t gonna try and hit Soos in the leg. Absolutely not. He was a perfect little angel.

“I gotta finish cleanin’ the showroom since you guys are doin’ this. Dunno how many are up there, good luck,” he laughed. He left you two there, completely oblivious to how much neither of you wanted to do this.

“I really hope I don’t get rabies,” you grumbled, getting the bat ready. Bill snickered.

“Can’t be any worse than those gnomes. At least they can’t tie me up!” You sighed, already feeling exhausted. If it came down to it, you’d go get rabies shots after work. You had no idea if Bill needed rabies shots. Better to just keep him out of biting range.

You opened the attic door, realizing now that you had no idea how you were going to chase raccoons out in a way that mattered. This place sucked. Why couldn’t he just call animal control? Costs? Cheap ass.

You didn’t immediately see anything. No fur, no nesting material, nothing. Just some old beds and some posters stuck to the walls. Looks like some kids had stayed here- a boy and a girl, if gender stereotypes still rang true in this situation. The only thing that caught your eye were some weird stuffed animals with beards. Completely normal plushies like bears and unicorns, but had full beards. Little girls were into weird toys, so you didn’t think too much about it as you entered the attic fully.

Bill followed behind you, holding his hammer like you were holding your bat. You did a sweep around the room, even opening the mostly-empty closet. Bill peeked under the old, unused beds. Nothing in either spot. Bill groaned.

“This is stupid. Can we just tell him we didn’t see anything and take a lunch break? I want my leftover spaghetti.” You also wanted your spaghetti, honestly. You also didn’t want to fight fucking raccoons over minimum wage. You leaned on the bat like a cane, sighing.

“Yeah okay. I also want spaghetti.” “Can I keep the hammer?” You gave him a sideways glance, not even bothering to answer. He’d keep it no matter what you said. You just shook your head and started to leave.

Then you both heard something move behind you. After the gnome incident, you both were on high alert to sudden noises.

You whipped around, but didn’t see anything. You looked up at the roof, just in case. It was only the ceiling above you. Nothing suspicious.

“You heard that too, right?” you asked, looking around slowly. Bill agreed that he did. He was quiet for a second, before pointing to a stuffed unicorn.

“Didn’t that thing have a beard?” Your eyes snapped to it. Your shoulders drooped. Then you spotted movement. Something shuffled out from under the bed, before jumping at you like a facehugger.

“THIS TOWN FUCKING SUCKS,” you screamed, swinging as hard as you could with the bat. It hit with a sharp crack, sending the creature through the window. You flinched as the glass shattered. You panted, looking down at Bill. He gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up. Then you both heard more skittering.

When you turned back, you couldn’t stop the creature from flying at your face this time. It latched onto your face and you were knocked onto your back. Bill jumped back, raising the hammer out of instinct. But then he remembered your face was under it. You wouldn’t make a deal with the guy who bashed your teeth in and COULDN’T fix it. Damn. He dropped the hammer and tried to pry the creature off, but it was stuck fast.

You stopped struggling after a minute, instead just laying there wheezing. Eventually you sat up. The creature was still now, looking exactly like a lumberjack’s beard. Bill was silent as you stared at him in horror. He didn’t know if it was because he almost made room for dentures, or because there was a sentient beard attached to your face now.

Bill started cackling. He was laughing so hard he fell to his knees, tears squeezing from the corners of his eye. You pulled at the beard, but the creature wouldn’t budge.

“You l- holy FUCK- look great-! You should keep- you should keep it,” he wheezed out between laughs. You grabbed him by the bowtie, catching him off guard. His hammer fell from his hand with a clatter. Another beard flew at you, so you did the only thing that was appropriate now.

Bill yelled as the flying beard latched onto him. You dropped the demon and watched the struggle, picking up your bat and standing. Your new friend made your face itch. You scratched at your face as you waited.

He finally stopped fighting with the creature, standing up. It was your turn to cackle. The beard creature was as big as he was, almost, so he just looked like Cousin It with a top hat and bowtie. You coughed from how hard you inhaled, doubling over with the bat as support. Even under the beard, you knew he was turning red.

“QUIT LAUGHING BEFORE I TEAR YOUR VOCAL CHORDS OUT AND WEAR THEM, MEAT SACK,” he roared, voice going so low your ears rang. You would’ve been scared, if he wasn’t just covered in fur.

A few more beards appeared from their hiding spots, making you both stop. With Bill fully covered by one of their friends, they all began to advance on you. You stepped back and gripped your bat. The beard already attached to your face moved, covering your eyes. You screamed and tried to rip it off. Your bat clattered to the ground with a metallic thunk.

“BILL,” you yelled, panicked. Bill was also panicking, though you couldn’t see it. You heard the tell-tale snapping of him trying to use any power he may have. Then you heard the metal bat scrape against the floor. With a grunt of effort, you heard it clang against something. Bill had all but dropped it onto one of the beards that was on the floor.

You fell backwards, hitting the wall hard when you tripped over his discarded hammer. You heard small feet hurry to your front.

“I gotcha- FUCK OFF!” Another thwack, and a skittering noise in the opposite direction. Frantically, you began searching your pockets. You didn’t have many options, and doing this to your own face was stupid. You fished out your lighter. 

If you had a nickel for every creature you’ve set on fire to escape it, you’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird it’s happened twice. 

Bill hit another one hard, and you heard a sickening crunch. You couldn’t help but balk. Crunch. How does a beard crunch?

“Do these things have fucking BONES?” Bill let out a startled, disbelieving laugh- both at your yell and the revelation.

“That makes this so much more FUN!” With all of his strength, Bill swung again and got a similar result. You cringed. Bill was good at holding them off, but you could tell he was getting tired. That bat was heavy, and not made for people his size.

You fumbled with the lighter, feeling with your other hand for part of the beard. You held the lighter to the creature. The smell of burning hair hit instantly, but the creature didn’t move at first. You grew worried that it wouldn’t matter. That your efforts were useless and you’d just be covered in gross, parasitic beards.

Then it screeched. It jolted away from your face, scurrying out of the busted window to get away from the fire- to put out the small fire that started on itself. You scratched at your face furiously, getting rid of the itch and the stray hairs that stuck to your face. Bill heaved and gave a much weaker hit to the ground to intimidate the creatures. One was dead on the ground. He looked back at you.

“Well, look at that! Fire DOES solve all your problems,” Bill laughed. You rolled your eyes and took the bat from him. You handed him the lighter so he could get his Cousin It cosplay off. Please don’t let him light the building on fire.

Giving Bill a break, you charged and swung at one of the creatures. The bat cracked off of it, and sent it rolling. It crawled out of the window with pained chirps. The other few beards were getting wary, especially with one of its own dead. The smell of burning hair seemed to set them off, as the one on Bill screeched and ran.

The last few decided to bail, hurrying after their injured comrades. You ran with them, following them to the window to make sure they actually left. Bill was behind you, climbing up to see them run as well. You two watched them break for the treeline. Both of you stood there, breathing heavily and covered in beard hair. You moved, sitting on the boy’s bed to catch your breath. Bill sat with you.

“Can we tell Soos we got rabies?” You looked down at him, exasperated. Bill kicked his feet, trying to hide how tired he was. You could see the slight slump to his form, the way one of his hands rubbed at the cracks on his body like they were sore. You frowned.

“We can sneak down to the kitchen and get the can of whipped cream to make it more believable,” he added, nudging you with his free elbow. You sighed, picking some hairs out of his bricks.

“Yeah okay,” you finally relented. He got a mischievous look in his eye as you both left. He was happy you finally went along with one of his schemes. He was also ecstatic to finally fuck with someone other than you. And you had to admit: after all the grief you’ve been through, a mindless prank sounded good.

You two took turns spraying whipped cream onto your faces, then went to find Mister Mystery himself. He was outside, looking at the broken window in confusion. You took the “sick and needs help” approach and began to shamble towards him.

“Boss,” you moaned to get his attention. Soos turned, his face dropping when he saw you covered in fur and, supposedly, frothy drool. “I don’t feel so good…”

He opened his mouth, but Bill had taken a different approach to you. He sprinted towards Soos like a bat out of hell, bright red and snarling. It made you break character as you let out a startled snort and began to laugh. Soos screamed like a little girl, foot coming out as soon as Bill got close. Directly into Bill’s eye. Deserved, honestly.

“MY EYE- THAT HURT YOU TUB OF LARD-” He fell over, wiping the whipped cream off and holding his eye. Soos stood there, sheepish and flustered. You wheezed, unable to stand up. Your ribs hurt.

“Attic’s clear-” you managed to get out. Soos caught on that it was a prank. The guy was good natured and couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Good job, dudes. And uh… Sorry about the eye, Bill.” “I WILL TWIST YOUR BONES IN THEIR SOCKETS-!” Soos stepped around him, smiling sheepishly. He patted you on the shoulder and thanked you guys, letting you take care of your now-injured companion.

Bill’s eye was bloodshot and the lids were beginning to swell. You got him on his feet, but he couldn’t see straight. You decided to put him on your shoulders for now.

“C’mon, let’s get some ice on that and eat our lunch,” you snickered. Bill groaned, dropping his upper half onto your head.

“This town fucking sucks,” came his muffled declaration. You hummed, partially agreeing. It was interesting, at least.

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Motivation (Discord Drabble)

Robin rushes through the back sliding door of Steve's house, squishing herself inside before she can even pry it open properly. She paws at her chest, catching her breath as her panic increases at the dead silence of the house.

Plus she is more than a little breathless after biking across town at break-neck speed, jumping the Harrington's side fence and then pushing the aforementioned backdoor with full force until it skipped over the lock.

But this is an emergency, she thinks as she abandons the door and crosses the kitchen.

Steve didn't answer her seven calls. Or his walkie-talkie.

Maybe his AC broke in the heat? Maybe some year-and-three-month-late bat bites finally gave him a case of Fatal Rabies.

Maybe –

Robin stops in her tracks at the sight of a very much alive Steve lying face down on his gigantic couch in nothing but his underwear. A pair of unfortunate tightie whities that leave nothing to the imagination.

She shudders and looks away, only to find Eddie looking very much the same.

Eddie is lounging on the recliner, a piece of furniture Robin had always been told was not allowed to be used by anyone, a Harrington House rule that flew out the goddamn window the second he and Steve started dating.

He is upside down, his mop of hair tied up (hanging down?) as Robin's own Emergency Scrunchie stretches out to its limits.

"Uh... guys?!" she yells.

"Eh..." they both hum in unison.

Their eyes glazed over, glued to the television set as they watch –

Robin looks at the screen –

Sports... Something.

A guy swings a bat.

Baseball!... Something.

She frowns.

"Steve! You didn't answer the phone!"

"Too hot," he mumbles through fish lips squished against a rather uncomfortable-looking embroidered pillow.

"I called seven times!"

"Eh..."

"Are you guys seriously not going to take full advantage of this bright sun-shiny day?" she says, incredulous as she realises the blinds are drawn.

"Nope," they answer, both popping the 'p' with the same amount of pop!

"So, no Pool Day? Even though it's right there in your backyard."

"No," Steve grumbles but doesn't move as he instructs, "And whatever you do, don't let the Asshole Brigade in."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, "The lost Little Sheepies can stay lost."

He follows up with a laboured sigh – a usually cutting remark now taking monumental effort to speak into existence.

"Can I at least take a dip?" Robin wonders aloud, hopefully not giving away that she did, in fact, hide her beach bag up in Spare Bedroom No. Three last time she was here.

"Eh..."

[rate-every-bat]

If you haven't done it already, you should rate the Hoary Bat 💞 They're my favourite and I would love to see your opinion on them

Absolutely, let's do it!

Today's Bat: Hoary Bat

The Hoary Bat has always put me in mind of a little powdered donut. There's an abandoned mining cave that's been turned into a museum and nature preserve in my area, and bat spotters frequently find these frosted babies hanging out there during the summer. I'd really love to spot one in person, but for now, I'll settle for this precious picture:

Environmental Impact: The Hoary Bat has an incredibly wide habitat range across North and Central America, even reaching as far as Hawaii. With such a wide range, it's no surprise that they've split into several subspecies (which is so, so cool). They migrate from north to south in the autumn, or hibernate for short bursts using a "butt blanket" and torpor state to withstand cooler temperatures. Interestingly, they predate several pest species, but have a relatively restricted diet compared to other North American insectivorous bats. These guys also catch rabies fairly frequently, which is another hit to their score here.

🦇🦇🦇/5

Beauty: Oh, these guys are angels. Their wide faces and perfectly round eyes make them look like Precious Moments dolls with wings. Their coats, multi-colored with a delicate white frost, are the peak of winter fashion. I can't think of a single thing that would make these guys more appealing... top marks!

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇/5

Power: Hoary Bats are largely solitary throughout the year. Upon mating in the autumn, the female retains sperm in her reproductive tract. She'll reserve it all winter, and come spring, she will fertilize her eggs and give birth by early summer. Delayed fertilization allows them to choose whether or not conditions are right to rear young, and controls for their generally lonesome nature. I first learned about this ability with bears, and I continue to find it fascinating. I will have to deduct points from the Power score, however, for their decidedly anti-clean-power stance: their leading cause of mortality is striking wind turbines.

🦇🦇🦇/5

Overall: This upcoming summer, hit your local mine. Maybe you'll find a Hoary Bat... or me, with a camera.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇/5

(Today's sources: Animal Diversity Web, Bat Conservation International)

(PS: I couldn't find a convenient spot to mention this, but the Hawaiian Hoary bat is actually endangered. They're the only remaining native land mammal in Hawaii according to the National Parks Service. BCI lists some conservational efforts, which I'd recommend reading up on and advocating for if you're able. Thank you!)

[bittercoffeeonmykeyboard]

Pushing Buttons

The Riddler x Fem!Reader

Summary - The Riddler pushed a few too many of your buttons, and you accidentally pushed a couple of his. Pent up frustrations lead to... surprising developments.

Authors Note - Reader is referred to as "Kestrel." Genitals and pronouns for the reader aren't specified, but reader is also referred to as "Ma'am," so I figured it would be alright to specify fem!reader and FemDom. Can be read as GN!reader. This Riddler is not from any specific media, but inspired by ArkhamVerse and CodotVerse.

Warnings - NSFW 18+, Canon-Typical Violence, Dub-con, Hand-job, Hair pulling, Blood, Grinding, Biting, FemDom, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Enemies to Lovers and back to Enemies, Hate-Fucking (without actually fucking), Degradation, Reader Insert, Kinda verges on OC Insert, No use of Y/N

Word Count - 3.1k

Beta Reader/Editor - @timesnewreader

The crackle of a shitty connection stabbed your ears suddenly, as you were crouching in the rafters of the warehouse.

"Is that the sound of a bird trapped in my warehouse? Someone call pest control!" The Riddler quipped, invading your earpiece. You clenched your jaw.

"Watch out, I might have rabies." you shot back, thoroughly over this already. Your eyes scanned the building from your perch, searching for a hidden entrance or exit.

"Hah! Only mammals can contract rabies, Kestrel. And here I thought that was common sense?" Fucking hell. Time to find him, sooner than later preferably.

"You think you're so fucking smart-" You began.

"Think? No, I know I am, darling." He grinned through the radio, ego echoing in the earpiece.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you." You growled as you started to leap through the rafters as quietly as possible.

"You're welcome to try, if you can find me! Too bad you can't keep up with my marvelous intellect."

His grating voice and laugh echoed in your coms.

"Kestrel. Everything alright?" Batman's voice broke over the Riddler's fading laugh.

A heavy sigh. "It's fine. Everything is in control." You reported. "We should have Oracle check our radio security. Riddles keep finding their way into my ears, so to say." A pause.

"Understood. I'll bring that up to her soon. However, the sooner you find him, the sooner that stops happening. Good luck." A beep followed his words, and Batman closed the line.

Really. Really?

"'The sooner you find him, the sooner that stops happening', oh fucking hell, Bats." You mocked. It's not your fucking fault he keeps escaping, and then deciding to make it your issue. A bubble of frustration rose in your chest.

You started to close in on a vent above a well-disguised room, dropping down next to it as silently as possible. Which, considering how frustrated both Riddler and Batman just made you, left you quite impressed with yourself.

You fiddled with your coms controls for a second, opening a channel with the rest of the group on patrol. "I'll be off coms for a while. I have a bone to pick with the Riddler." You paused, before adding "I shouldn't be long."

You closed the line and pulled the earpiece out, readying yourself. With a loud bang, you opened the vent and dropped into the room.

"Well would you look at what the Bat dragged in-"

He was cut off by a grappling hook to the ankle, accented by a thud when his body hit the ground. Your fist would have met his face if he hadn't rolled out of the way, scrambling to his feet. "I have to give you credit-"

Your foot interrupted him with almost breaking his nose. Just glanced him. Damn.

"You found me! And quicker than expected-" He levied his cane and swung for your skull. You ducked, and hooked his ankle out from under him. He hit the ground again, but hooked your own ankle and you landed on your ass. He shuffled to try and get to his feet again, and you flipped over to claw at his leg, dragging him back towards you. He swiftly tried to kick you, and landed a solid kick on your shoulder.

"Truly, one could say-" You reached to grab his arm, and he whacked your head with his cane. "Your intellect is almost on par with-" He managed to roll away form you again. "Your viciousness!" He landed a strong kick to your ribs, making you roll and groan.

You both staggered to your feet, a good six feet between you now. "You talk too much." He brandished his cane like a baseball bat. You lifted your fists, feeling rage and excitement mix in your chest.

"Now where's the fun in silence?" You barked out a laugh, before lunging forward. He swung his cane for your ribs, and you blocked it with your hand, grabbing it and pulling him into a punch, cracking his nose. "AH!"

To his merit he recovered quickly, staggering into a defensive stance as you went to kick at his ribs, managing to dodge with a jump backwards. You both still had a hold on his cane and you used both hands to drag him forward, off balance, twisted and threw him over yourself and onto his back. He landed with a cough, the impact releasing his grip on his cane.

You quickly followed him down, pinning his arms down with his own cane and straddling his waist.

"You are the most annoying man in the world. Your puzzles are shit, your ego is shit, and you deserve to get the shit beat out of you." Riddler seemed dazed, his breathing was quick and blood was starting to trickle out from his nose from your punch. "You're weak, your whole ethos sucks, and the only thing moderately acceptable about you is your sense of style, if only you weren't focused on inflating your own sense of self worth by ruining people's lives."

You spat each word at him, glaring down at him. Your breathing came heavy, filled with the adrenaline of the fight and fire of your words.

The Riddler stared up at you, eyes wide and face flushed. His face kept twitching, as if he was stuck between two expressions, unable to settle on one. "Is that all?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he smirked.

You removed one hand from the cane, leaning forward to pin him more securely as you grabbed his face. "You wish." You sneered down at him, piercing his eyes with yours. "Every single one of your stupid riddles and puzzles has been solved, every time. Makes you think that maybe, oh, they aren't that hard? Your riddles are easy and if you're trying to be a villain, you're failing. You're a nuisance at best, and a danger to society at worst. Maybe you should like, get better? Get better at doing the thing you made your entire identity around."

He was taking short panting breaths, face thoroughly flushed. You let go of his face and he licked his lips, catching some of the blood from his nose and smearing it. Your eyes caught on the motion, before pinning his eyes once again. His pupils were blown, and he chuckled. "Well! That's not very nice, now is it?" His legs shifted behind you, and you felt the movement from where you sat on his waist. He swallowed. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that words hurt?"

You scoffed. "You're one to talk." You leaned back, releasing some of the pressure on his wrists, and instead placing your free hand over his throat. Not pressing, but threatening to. To your surprise, he didn't immediately try to break free from his position. Shifting slightly, you felt something press against you from behind. His eyelids fluttered at the pressure and a quiet exhale left his lips. Realization dawned on you. "You're fucking disgusting." A disbelieving chuckle left you, as you suddenly found yourself nervous.

"Never claimed I wasn't, darling." He lilted, a smirk on his lips. "What can I say? Your physical prowess and verbal assault left me defenseless. I pushed your buttons, and you pushed mine." He breathed out a chuckle, and you felt it resonate beneath your hand. "If, if you'd like…" He hesitated, gazing up and down your body, before meeting your eyes again, half-lidded. "We could push each others' buttons some more?"

The suggestion sent blood rushing to your face, and loathe were you to admit it, warmth began pooling between your legs. Your hand twitched and tightened over his neck briefly, drawing a tiny moan from the Riddler. Shock at the noise caused you to release the cane and his neck, leaving his hands free suddenly. He took this opportunity to grab your wrist and roll the two of you, flipping positions.

"Ooo, see? This could be fun!" He pinned your wrist, and traced his free hand down to your hip. "A little push, a little pull, and we're off to the races." His face came close you yours, breath ghosting over your cheeks as you felt your chest stutter. Arousal mixed with anger at his audacity, heating up with a dash of shame at letting him flip your positions.

A smirk that came off as more of snarl danced on your face, and you hooked your legs over his hip and gripped his hair, dragging him down as you flipped the two of you yet again, landing him beneath you with a breathy groan. You hand firmly found his throat again as you grinned. "Bold of you to assume you'll have any control." You punctuated your statement with a harsh grind of your hips against his, drawing out a pathetic moan. "You'll do as I say, brat. Understand?"

He nodded and swallowed, breathless.

"Speak up."

"Y- yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes… ma'am?"

Another grind of the hips. "Good." A fire was lit in your abdomen, seeing him like this. Oh, the things you'll do to this man.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him up to face you, noses nearly touching. "You're pathetic." Your lips ghosted over his, before meeting as you went to bite down on his bottom lip, keeping it trapped between your teeth as you rutted against him, reveling in the friction and his gasping moans. His hands fluttered at your hips, unsure. You slapped them away, and started pulling at his jacket and shirt. He quickly started helping you strip him until he lay before you, bare-chested. You released his lower lip to instead start trailing bites down his neck. He damn near moaned with every bite, and it was driving you wild. When you reached the junction of his neck and shoulder, you bit hard and rolled your hips, listening to the pretty little mewl he let out. You continued rolling your hips as you licked the bite, savouring the friction against your core. You could practically feel him twitch beneath you.

"Does it feel good, brat?" The Riddler nodded. "Are you so pathetic that me grinding against you is enough? "

"N… Not enough- please…."

You dragged your hand down his chest, his stomach, and down further as you drank in the flustered look on his face. His lip was caught in his teeth, trying to reign in his gasps. You shifted from straddling his pelvis to one of his thighs, guiding your knee to put gentle pressure on him. He blinked heavily and gazed through his lashes up at you. A cheeky grin crossed his lips.

"If I knew you had this in you, I think I would've tried harder to piss you off, darling."

Your hand reached the hem of his pants, tracing them. You popped open the button and slowly, slowly dragged the zipper down.

"If I knew you would've tried something like this, I would've cuffed you earlier."

With that you shove your hand past the hem and down his pants, cutting off whatever reply would've left his lips and replacing it with a choked moan. He shuddered and threw his head back. The touch of your hand had his dick twitching, you could feel his pulse as you gripped his length. It was hot in your grip. A single pump from base to head and you could feel the precum leaking from his tip. He brokenly mewled and grasped at your suit, finding purchase on your shoulder. His expression was wrecked, pupils blown and eyebrows pinched, chest heaving as he leaned his head towards your shoulder.

"Hah, so needy. I've barely touched you, and you're about to cum? Poor little touch starved fuck." You carded your fingers through his hair, gripping and tilting his head back so you could gaze at his expression better. "Riddle me this, brat. What do you want?"

His eyes locked with yours. A shuddered sigh. "Please, touch me, please, please…." he whimpered. Your hand stayed still in his pants.

"Please, what?"

Your hand tightened on his hair, and he gasped at the sting.

"Please, Ma'am! Please…"

"Good boy." A sweet, sadistic grin passed your lips. You started stroking him in an even tempo, rolling your thumb over the head with each pump. His breath stuttered and his eyelids drooped. Each stroke of your hand had little moans spilling from his lips, his hand gripped tighter on your shoulder, digging in just shy of painful. You kept his head craned back, facing the ceiling, watching every expression flicker on his face. Increasing the tempo you pull a depraved moan from his chest. Your own breaths came faster enraptured by his reactions. The air felt like fire as it passed between the two of you, charged with energy. You started pumping faster, faster as you drank in every moan and gasp, fixed on watching him come undone with pleasure. He was so close, so very close now. He was completely flushed, cheeks and chest rosy as he panted. Whimpers and mumbling falling from his lips, shuddering underneath you. "Please please pleasepleaseplease-" fell from his lips in a chant, begging. His dick was throbbing now. His eyes met yours.

"Almost there, brat. Stay with me," a firm tug on his hair as you kept his gaze pinned with yours. His hand slid from your shoulder to the back of your neck as his face started to pinch in pleasure. You kept the pace fast and steady, watching with bated breath. His eyebrows furrowed and jaw went slack as he tipped over, eye lashes fluttering as he tried to keep eye contact with you. He let out a strangled keen, moaning as he climaxed, hot cum spurting and landing on your hand, his pants, and the floor. He went nearly limp in your grasp and you supported him with the hand in his hair, letting go to wrap around his shoulders instead. His head fell forward and into your shoulder. "Sh shh shhh, good boy, you did so good for me." You held him as he caught his breath, inhaling slowly as he came down from his high. You let go of his cock and wiped the cum off your hands with his pant leg as he raised his head back up, his rational mind starting to return. Similarly, you began to realize exactly what just happened. You looked him in the face, making sure he was alright (he was grinning), before briskly letting go and backing away from him, standing up. "Shit." "I'd say that was quite the contrary, dear. Definitely not shit." He let out a breathless chuckle.

"Put your fucking clothes back on." You turned away from him. What the fuck did you just do?? Gave the Riddler a goddamn hand job right after beating the shit out of him, that's what. Fuck it all what were you thinking! You heard the shuffle of him putting his shirt and coat back on, and only turned around once you heard the zip of his pants. He recovered quite well from the mess of a man he was on the floor mere minutes ago, the only tell being the cum stains near his crotch and the specific smell of musk emanating from him. "Well now riddle me this-" he starts. "Don't-" "What gets longer when pulled, fits snugly between breasts, slides neatly into a hole, and works well when jerked?" He grins back at you, delighting in the riddle and watching your inner turmoil flash across your face. "Oh my god. Bubble gum? A cigarette? Fuck off." You paced away from him, setting distance between the two of you. "Certainly not your dick," you called over your shoulder. "Is that your final answer? Really, I expected more eloquence but I guess you can't win all the time, now can you?" He sighed over dramatically, picking up his cane and inspecting it. The Riddler rubbed at a tiny scratch on the handle.

You could feel your blood pressure spike again. Your jaw clenched as you glared back at him. Attempting a sardonic smile but really only succeeding in a snarl, you tilted your head at him. "Eloquently, I hope rats turn your mattress into a refinery of their trash, and you wake up in a pool of your own piss." You started to stomp back over to him, anger pumping into your bloodstream, thankfully masking anything else you might be feeling at the moment. "In-eloquently, fuck off and suffer." You stabbed your finger into his chest for punctuation. He clasped your hand between both of his. "If you keep telling me to fuck off, you'll start to give me the wrong idea about us, darling." the Riddler cooed with an exaggerated pout. "You already have the wrong idea; there is no 'us'." You snatch your hand away from his. His eyes narrowed, even if his horrible, snarky grin remained. "No us, huh?" He clicked his tongue. "How disappointing." his finger found its way to your chin resting there for a moment. Next thing you know, his hand is behind your head and he's kissing you hard, more teeth than lips, and keeping you tight there against him. Shock flashes through you before the rage kicks in again, and you promptly launch your knee straight into his crotch. He releases you with a pained groan, gasping as he doubles over. Between gasps of pain, he starts a stilted laugh. You grab his arm and kick him behind the knee, pulling his arm behind his back while he's still reeling in pain. He jerks, but not before you manage to cuff both of his hands behind his back.

"That's enough of your bullshit, to the GCPD you fucking go." You haul him around and start half dragging him, half leading him to the door. Once he's fully got his feet under him, he smirks down at you. "Aw, but we were having so much fun! Truly, Kestrel, sometimes you are such a killjoy." "If you know whats good for you, you'll shut your mouth." You growled out. "Ah, I've heard that before. In fact, if I had a nickle for every time someone's told me to shut up, I think I could rival Bruce Wayne's wealth!" He chirped. Opening the door, you shove him through first, reaching to turn your coms back on. Before you can, The Riddler tilts his head back at you with a smile. "For the record, the answer is a seat belt."

big thank you to times for being a true bestie and helping me make this legible lol. they're a great beta reader!!! she has a lot of good recommendations if y'all would like to check them out!!

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love part 2 (new steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part one here Also on AO3 (where it's tragically in need of some love *sobs*) Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Chapter Two

Steve POV

Steve blinks his eyes open. Fear lurches then fades. Leaning over him, kinda blurry, are… Robin? Munson!?! He’s at home. Lying on the couch in his parents’ living room, to be precise.

“Steve? You back with us?” Robin appears wild-eyed, spooked out. She’s holding a bloodied cloth over his bat bites, which stab like new again.

Steve presses the heel of his hand to his brow, disguising his pained whimper with a shaky, “Yeeeeah.”

“Phew! Not delirious? Only a bit woozy, huh?”

“You seriously still shitting yourself about rabies?”

“To be honest, no. That’s slithered so far down my list of things to lose my mind over, I’d forgotten. Trust me, he’s as likely to have it as you now.”

Eddie, who hovers at her shoulder, pokes out his tongue, kinda jokey. The rest of Eddie’s face is still slightly blood-smeared. Haunted. His hair is a mad mess, his bandana repurposed as a bandage about his elbow. Steve glances down his own aching body, which is damp, vaguely shivery. Near naked, in fact, with a towel tucked around his waist.

Oh yeah. He went for a swim, and then… 

“Shit! Are you seriously mopping my blood with Mom’s linen napkins?” Steve tries to push himself up, and flops back down, humiliatingly fast. On top of that, his head throbs—when does it not, these days? He makes a more concerted effort to sit, forcing himself through a wave of nausea and dizziness, then notices: “Shit, shit, SHIT! I’ve bled on the couch—this cost a thousand bucks!”

“I knew there was a reason Wayne avoided white faux leather,” says Eddie, as he and Robin share a look. “Oh, and a Munson never splashes less than fifteen-hundred bucks on soft furnishings.”

“You’re hilarious,” mutters Steve.

“Your Pops can chew my head off,” says Eddie. “Some of that blood is yours truly’s. I mean, I got got bad. Really bad. And theeeeen… I got better.” He narrows his eyes to inquisitorial slits, which bewilder Steve, given how rough he feels.

Robin lifts the ruined napkin. “You’re bleeding like before Wheeler first bandaged you up. It makes no sense.”

“Nothing’s made sense for about two and a half years,” Steve points out. Actually, scratch that. Little of his life has made much sense. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen, with proper bandages. Where did you think I got the Hibistat towelettes from? Didn’t you morons think to look?”

Robin hurries off. Eddie takes over holding the now thoroughly disgusting napkin over Steve’s bites. “Woah, he’s not lying,” she calls. “His parents keep an actual first aid kit with actual useful crap in it.”

“Yeah, in case you forgot in the last thirty seconds,” says Steve, “the Harrington family bleed.”

“It doesn’t even come out green,” Eddie says. “Totally destroys your ‘rich folk are aliens’ theory, Buckley.”

“Haha,” snarks Steve.

“This might take a minute,” calls Robin. “I had no idea there were so many sorts of dressings. We don’t want a triangle one, huh?”

Left alone, Eddie doesn’t seem able to look Steve in the eye. He’s giving off such awkward vibes that Steve takes pity, nudges Eddie’s hand away, holds the napkin himself.

“I guess this is where I thank you for saving my life,” says Eddie.

“From what I could gather from Dustin, you’d only gone and done the same for us. Not a hero? Total bull.”

“Those weren’t normal circumstances.” 

Eddie’s so squirmy, Steve flinches away too. He’s felt drawn to Eddie for some time. He likes the guy way more than he’d expected, finds he likes looking at him too, crazy rocker tresses and all, but… Jesus Christ! Talk about shitty timing.

It’s not the first time Steve’s been blindsided by a crush on a guy. Plus, he knows Eddie is queer; he’s one of the few other friends that Robin’s lately ‘come out’ to. However, Steve’s simply not gotten the energy to figure out if the weird fizzle of chemistry he feels is all in his head. What he really wants is to stagger upstairs to bed and sleep for a week. No time for that, though. He groans, threads the fingers of his free hand through his damp hair.

 “We need to take advantage of this earthquake chaos. Get you outta town right now before somebody comes looking.”

“Yeah. I figured as much.” Eddie sighs hard. “No more facing down ferocious monsters. I return to being Eddie the Banished.”

“Not much choice, man. Look, we can bring bedding, whatever supplies we need from here. Take one of Dad’s cars and find a place to lay low till we know what’s happening and what the next plan of attack is.”

“You were worried about the couch and now you’re suggesting we jack your Pop’s wheels?”

“I don’t give a crap about the furniture—it was a dumb knee jerk reaction. I mean, things change. People change. Last time I looked, we weren’t exactly bestest buds.”

Now we’re off saving each other’s lives.

A loud crash from the kitchen slices between them. “Sorry!” yells Robin. “Kinda dropped… everything.”

“Need some help there, Rob?” Steve tries to push himself to his feet. His head rush is instant and epic; his vision blacks out, nearly taking his entire consciousness with it.

“Easy, easy!” Eddie’s arms are around him, clumsily guiding him back down. Steve whimpers before he can stop himself; his stomach churns and he feels painfully sick. Eddie wedges a cushion beneath Steve’s head, presses the cloth back to Steve’s bleeding side. “Robin’s right. You need those injuries looked at. I go alone.”

“No.” Steve snatches a shaky breath. “Way I see it, we’re both deep in the shit."

“I’m the one with the murder rap snapping at my butt, Harrington.”

“And I’m the one who’s been harbouring a known fugitive, stealing Winnebagos, and Christ knows what else. Crap, I bet they’ll blame me for Nance’s sawn-off shotgun. While the rest of those underage brats get off light, I’ll be dragged to jail as sure as you.”

“Your daddy can afford a lawyer, man.” At least Eddie’s looking at Steve now. His words still feel like a punch in Steve’s already bleeding gut—with those knuckle dusters that’d gotten lost somewhere on the ride.

Steve retaliates with as daggers a glare as he can conjure: “You wanna thank me for saving your life, Munson? Then stop trying to ditch me.”

Part 3

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

...

tags: @estrellami-1 (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, I would probably cry... in a good way, honest! Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :)