#flea pierced

[fleaworld2]

accidentally got two of the most painful piercings at the same time

(apologies for the clickbait ass title. idk if these are actually "the most" painful, but they ain't the least I can tell u that.)

was bored and gonna hang with old high school friend, ad just went through a breakup, so I was like ok time to get pierced. the night before, i book an appointment for two ear piercings I think look sick. i show up the next day ready, high as fuck with my friend and ex with me.

we go in. i sit on the table. i mull over the decision I'm making for the first time and start to freak a little. i pee. i come back a stronger man. the friend with me is a doula so when after i've been prepared and laid down by the piercing man, she is on my side, holding my hand, ready to go.

we decide to do the Daith first. if you dont know, this is a ring that goes through the very dense cartilage in your inner ear! and that shit is DENSE. and the piercer has to FORCE a needle through that shit as hard as they can!

it was a little different than getting my ears pierced when I was 10, I can tell you that.

The worst part is the noise, which I didn't even consider until people asked about it after. The crunch as it goes through... *shudders*

and my second piercing? a helix, on the same ear. which I barely even remember because I was so dissociated from the first piercing!

Was actually very grateful I did no research and no one warned me about the pain, because I would've chickened out and I wouldn't have gotten such dope piercings.

[satans-knitwear]

Me: *trying to show u my nice necklace*

Sabine: GUYS LOOK WHAT I GOT! IT SQUEAKY!

Treat me ~ Tip Me ~ More of me

[t00thpasteface]

a lot of people say it hurts to rewatch mash from the start because it means putting hawkeye back at the start of his eleven years of three years in the torment nexus. not me. going back to the early stuff feels like grabbing a new crisp sheet of bubble wrap to pop. rip his arms off again let's go babyyyy

[tintenfischie]

Constructive comments in the Tacoma subreddit

[spacealiencafe]

bad morning bad morning bad morning

[tiyawnyana]

The idea credit goes to @hell0-ki55y, and tagging @naabbie 🫶🏻

A/N: saw this and 👀 immediately had to write something while it was slow at work tysm for the idea!!

Characters: Sevika x (fem) reader

Warnings: nipple piercings, surprise, praise, dirty talk, thigh humping, nipple sucking, cunt slap, hint of strap usage

Men and Children DNI

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Surprise

You had kept a surprise hidden for months now from your partner; meticulously wearing mesh bras to hide them, only engaging in sex where your shirt or bra stays on (you both were so busy- quickies being the only way to really fuck for the last few months), or straight up complaining about your tits aching.

Granted, the last one wasn't a lie, sometimes they were sore. Because of the new nipple piercings.

Your partner would most often offer to relieve your pain- stepping behind you and smirking into your neck as she cups the underside of your boobs, lifting, but her fingers would get too close to one of the piercings so you'd thank her- by dropping to your knees, tugging her pants down to distract her from your chest.

Finally, you got the okay that your nipples were healed- thank Janna for it only taking a few weeks, so you planned to surprise her.

You're perched up in your shared bed, a new lingerie set bought from the brothel- they had good quality stuff too, besides the workers-

Sevika is showering. You'd made a nice dinner, got her favorite things from the flea market and after, sent her to shower.

You assumed today had been a particularly rough one, the smell of bionic fluids wafting in on her clothes.

You'd washed those for her, too, hung up to dry on the small balcony.

You hear the shower stop, finally, nerves now settling in to your bones before you shake your head.

Sevika will love this. She will!

The door in the hallway creeks open, her soft footsteps coming closer.

She's towel drying her hair, clad in boxer briefs and a loose cropped shirt before groaning at the sight of you.

"Fuck, baby," she murmurs eyeing you up and down.

"Hi, Sevi," you smirk coyly, watching her step closer, dropping her towel before she kneels before you, large, rough hands grasping your knees and spreading your legs before moving her hands up your thighs. Her hands trail over the soft fabric, a hum of satisfaction heard in her throat.

"Fuck," she repeats,"This for me?"

You nod, peering down at her,"This- and something else.."

She quirks a brow in question.

"Why don't you take these off and find out?" You manage to speak with a sultry tone.

"Fuck- I want to fuck you with this on-"

You giggle softly,"Then just the bra.."

She looks momentarily confused before reaching up behind you to unclasp it, sliding the straps from your shoulders and tossing it aside before her eyes go wide.

Her mouth is slightly agape, eyes drifting back and forth between both piercings before she licks her lips.

"What-"

"Got them pierced a few weeks ago.. wanted to surprise you," you cup the side of her neck.

She swallows, lifting her hands and carefully thumbing over your hardened nipples and the piercings going through them. A tingle rolls down your spine.

"How did you hide these-"

"With a lot of meticulous effort," you snicker softly.

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head fondly before tugging out the box beneath the bed, ruffling through the various toys before grasping her strap belts and looking to you to choose.

"Hm.. the blue one," you murmur.

She smirks up at you as she places it down beside you before rising, hands place on either side of your legs as she leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

"You're too good to me, Baby," she murmurs against your mouth before pushing you back against the sheets.

You giggle softly before quieting down as she hovers over you, admiring the piercings.

"Are they sensitive?"

"Unbelievably so," you respond.

She smirks at that, before blowing over one of your nipples.

You jolt, sucking in a breath before moaning softly as she presses a soft kiss over it, then licks over it boldly. Her other hand comes up to rub over your other nipple, thumb and pointer finger pinching over it slightly.

You're already so turned on, have been since Sevika had walked through the door with water droplets dripping down her body.

"Mmph- Sevi," you speaks softly, head tilting back against the sheets. You grasp her shoulders carefully before grunting as she presses her thigh between your legs, grinding right up against your cunt.

"Think you could cum just from this?" She hums against you, nipping over your flesh,"Or do you need to hump my leg, like a dog?"

You huff, hips bucking against her leg in embarrassment,"Please- fuck," you groan,"Don't tempt me-"

Your cheeks are rosy with embarrassment, desperation evident as you cling to her shoulders.

She huffs out a soft laugh, then leans down to take your nipple into her mouth, sucking with a smirk. Her tongue flicks, curling around the bud and it has you whining breathlessly.

She pulls back and leans in to slot her lips against yours again, tongue pressing in between your lips with a quiet greed.

She's grinding her knee into you, taking delight in your desperate little humps and feeling how wet you were for her.

Her fingers trail up to pinch and flick at your nipples as she tilts her head to kiss you deeper, huffing into you with a satisfied hum.

When she pulls back, she bites on your lower lip, pulling just slightly then releasing with a smirk.

"C'mon, baby.." she hums,"Hump my leg, you can do it- you're always so good to me.."

You release a soft whine, eyes fluttering up at her and watching as she maintains eye contact whilst ducking down to give attention to the other nipple.

Her metal hand moves down to grip your hip, guiding you over the muscle of her thigh, her hold tight and getting quicker by the minute.

"So wet-" she mouths against your tit,"Fuck, these looks so good on you-"

You smile with a soft, breathless laugh before moaning, clit perfectly grinding down on her thigh.

"Sevi, please-" your hands grip her shoulders tighter, eyebrows scrunching up as you buck your hips,"Fuck, touch me already-"

"I am touching you," she smirks, tongue licking broadly over your nipple.

You narrow your eyes at her, panting as you growl out,"You know what I mean-"

"No, I think I like you like this," she lightly bites over your nipple then releases it,"Knowing you're so desperate for something, you'll hump my leg.."

She grinds her thigh into you harder, grip tight and unforgiving as she helps you hump against her, clit rubbing onto her muscle deliciously.

"Mmph- fuck, pleasepleaseplease-" you ramble, face tensing as you get closer to that peak.

"That's it," she coos, leaning closer to your face and brushing her nose against yours,"Almost there, hm?"

"Yes- yes, fuck," you moan, tilting your head up to brush your lips against hers but she pulls back, a cocky smirk on her lips as she pinches over your nipples, reveling in your punched out moan.

Your hips grind harder, whines and moans becoming louder and she just watches you unravel.

"Cum on my leg," she murmurs,"You're so good for me."

Your eyes peer up at her, almost teary at the overwhelming pleasure, both new and usual.

She then lifts her metal hand from your hip and carefully but firmly tweaks your other nipple, the stark contrast of her warm flesh hand to her cold metal hand, along with her thigh pressing against your cunt harder has you crying out, clinging to the blankets below you as you cum.

She admires her work. You're slumped against the bed, a slight blush to your cheeks as you pant softly. Your eyes flutter, gaze settling back onto her.

She pulls her leg from between yours then with a cocky smile, smacks her hand over your cunt, smirking at your yelp.

"C'mon, baby," she lifts up her strap, placing the toy into position in the garter,"We're not done yet, need to repay you for this thoughtful gift of yours."

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A/N: again ty for the idea!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[deadboyfriendd]

Just had a legitimate meltdown trying to change my septum by myself. Called in piercer-friend for reinforcements. Thank god she loves me enough to do house calls.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Ānogar ānograro ⭑

Translation title: Blood of my blood

Masterlist

Request: Yes, this one

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Newlywed!Niece!Reader

Warnings: Porn ofc, Aegon being an ass, High Valyrian dirty talk, Aemond having a breeding kink, sex addiction, Alyssa x Baelon wedding night inspo, kissing, p in v sex.

Summary: Aemond was obsessed with his niece, and now she was officially his, his to breed, his to claim and the entire Red Keep gets to enjoy it too!

Word count: 1.3k

The sun was shy that morning, its pale rays slipping timidly through the heavy crimson drapes that adorned the chambers you now shared with your new husband. The room smelled faintly of dragonfire. It was a mingling of stone, ash, and something distinctly Aemond—a scent you couldn’t yet name, though it lingered in the furs and pillows that surrounded you.

You stirred first, blinking against the soft glow of dawn. For a moment, you forgot where you were. The bed was grand, with its towering posts and velvet hangings embroidered with dragons in flight. Your fingers idly traced the scales of one such dragon as the memories of last night came flooding back. The ceremonial feast, the vows spoken before the lords and ladies of the court, and finally, the intimacy of your union.

“Look at you, sucking in my cock like a whore from Flea Bottom, are you sure you’re a maiden?” You could only nod as he fucked into you on top. The whole bed slamming against the wall with his rough thrusts.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you recalled the way Aemond had looked at you then. His singular violet eye had been piercing, yet cautious, as if you were something fragile he feared might shatter under his touch, yet he couldn’t control himself. And now here you were, lying beside him in the aftermath of it all.

Aemond lay still, his chest half-turned to you. His silver hair spilled like molten light across the pillow, stark against the dark linens. The blanket had slipped to his waist, revealing the expanse of his bare chest. Eye patch on the nightstand and sapphire glimmering in the morning rays.

Your new husband shifted behind you. The bed was so warm and comfy and the way he was holding you was right out of a dream. You smiled to yourself when he peppered your neck with kisses.

“Good morrow my beautiful wife.” He grumbled lowly in your ear, making goosebumps ripple over your skin. “Good morrow, husband.” He too smiled at your words, and his grip around your waist thightend. You could feel his half hard cock bare against your own nude form.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed as many times as necessary, you’re mine now and I will not stop until your belly is swollen with my child and even then I would not stop.”

“What are you thinking about my love?” His honeyed voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Nothing- just last night, the ceremony and the feast…” He chuckled at that, his cock hardening fully at the thought of how your walls clenched around him last night.

“You mean when I split you open on my cock?” His words made you blush and hide your face in the pillows. “Don’t be shy now my love.” Aemond mumbled in your neck, placing some kisses to make you face him. Once you did he wasted no time in crashing his lips against yours.

Already hungry for another taste of your lips. He turned you sideways and then on top of him, grabbing your arse cheek and smacking it, making you gasp. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, dizzying you with desire. 

You could already feel the pre cum sticking to your stomach, making butterflies swirl inside. He smacked your arse once more, recalling how loud you moaned for him last night when he first did it. You were both sure the entire Red Keep heard your coupling, but according to your uncle husband that was good. 

Everyone knew Aemond was secretly obsessed with his niece, he tried to hide it, hate her as he hated her brothers but that was quite hard for him. And so when your betrothal was announced he couldn’t hide the smirk at supper, making sure to send it Luke’s way. 

The wedding night was filled with love as well as passionate fucking, he had taken you two more times after taking you maidenhead, each time making sure to fill you with his seed. He was already obsessed at the thought of breeding you, even the morning after it already consumed his mind again.

“You’re still slick with my seed, do you think you could take me already now?” You nodded at his words, his hand now caressing your arse. “Good girl, so good for her uncle, aren’t you?” You whined, “Yes uncle, so good- only for you-” His thumb that was now circling your clit, made you lose your entire vocabulary. 

“Kessa ao sagon sȳz syt aōha kēpus bisa jēda hae sȳrī?” Will you be good for your uncle this time as well? You nodded again at his words. “Ȳdragon.” Speak. “Kessa kēpus, kostilus tepagon ziry naejot nyke-” Yes uncle, please give it to me. He smiled, “Sȳz riña.” Good girl.

Then you felt the tip of his cock grazing your hole, you were still sensitive from last night but you were already addicted to his cock, to his voice, his kisses and his smell. Without a warning he slipped inside, eager to feel your cunt again. 

“Sīr ȳrda syt nyke.” So tight for me. You moaned at his words, starting to bounce yourself on his cock. You had no patience either, and the one time you got to ride him last night was euphoric. You loved when he spoke your mother tongue to you, it made you feel close and connected to him.

But it was even better when he used it to whisper filthy words in your ear while you bounced on his cock. Skin smacking filled the room, as well as your mixed sounds of pleasure. You held steady against his chest, switching from grinding on him to bouncing on him. 

He grabbed your breasts in his hand, obsessed with the way they bounced up and down with your movements. Pleasure consumed both of you and you knew he was getting closer by the way he held his breath. He however held patience no longer and put his arms around you, holding you flush against his chest as he started to fuck up into you harshly. Making your walls contract and come hard around his cock.

“Kessa māzigon syt nyke- Tepagon nyke iā riña, hōzigon syt nyke-” Yes come for me- Give me a child, swell for me- He grunted, a sheen of sweat now glistening on his skin. You could only moan and whine above him, letting him take you. With a couple more pounds, he filled your cunt with a loud growl. Making sure to fuck his seed deep into you.

Your morning activities had made you both completely forget about the arranged family meal, you were to break fast with the king and his wife as well as your mother and father, not forgetting your uncle, aunt and siblings. The two of you rushed to get ready, both hurrying down the halls with a smile. 

When you entered the room, knowing looks were passed. Of course Aegon couldn’t help himself. “So...you don’t need to tell us how the wedding night was, we could all enjoy it with you.” He grinned. “Aegon.” Alicent warned. He just laughed. 

You blushed deeply, you were raised a kind and modest princess, and for your intimacy to be on display like this was quite embarrassing. Aemond held your hand and you joined them at the table, both of you praying that that would be the end of Aegon’s commentary, how wrong you were.

Tag: @summerposie (Completely forgot 😭 sorry for the late tag)

[sanctus-ingenium]

What role/niche do dragons fulfill in their environment? Or, if that is [secret]/redacted/Unknown [by universe parameters], are there other, smaller beasts - creatures not within our world, but common in theirs?

I've been meaning to draw a lot of these for a while now and this was a nice prompt thank you :)

Dragons support a large and surprisingly diverse community of animals. The primary producers are the unique photosynthetic cyanobacteria which are found lining the transparent flotation sacs of cloud fleas. 'Cloud fleas' can refer to any type of airborne zooplankton - that is, animals which do not actively fly but rather drift. Pictured is a daphnia type but there are a few others. The bacteria produce lighter than air gases as a byproduct of photosynthesis as well as nutrients for their hosts. The daphnia type pictured retain their large claws and use them to cling onto other individuals, sometimes producing really large structures which can form fantastic shapes at times. This is how they reproduce also (unlike in the water, they can't just externally fertilise eggs because gravity exists)

When they aggregate in large numbers (swarms reaching billions and billions of individuals), they become easy prey for dragons. The dragons capture the fleas using a dense array of rictal bristles. Living in and among the bristles are the monkey birds, a unique species of flightless bird which act as kleptoparasites, stealing the clumps of fleas bound up in dragon mucous before they can be transported to the dragon's mouth. The bristles are so dense that in order to get in there where the fleas are most concentrated, you wouldn't be able to fly. They spend their lives clinging among the bristles with their feet and wing claws, and they make their nests out of woven strands of mucous. New individuals join the birds' colonies when dragons are mating and their bristles come into contact with one another. Bird populations are controlled by hive serpents, who pick them off for a nice snack.

Barnacles and other filter-feeders are common on the windward-facing side of the dragon (what you'd call the front of the dragon). These do not harm the dragons and offer not much useful food for serpents while being very annoying to eat so they're usually left to their own devices.

The vampire chiton exoparasites can be found basically all over a dragon. They find a piece of cuticle that is thin enough to pierce and drill their siphons down into it to suck the watery connective tissue beneath. They are about a foot long and the main food source for hive serpents.

The serpents themselves are mammals. Nearly every dragon hosts a hive. Despite spending most of their lives on their hosts, they are quite strong fliers; they need to be, in order for the young queens to set out to make their own hives. The 'hive' consists of a reproductive pair and 20-50 of their offspring, with the queen being 1.5x larger than the others and by far the most aggressive. They have one tooth, a single elongated tusk which is used like a crowbar to lever the chitons off the dragon's cuticle. When working on the underside of a dragon, it takes a certain amount of skill to catch the chiton before it falls away. The serpent's neck and legs are very strong to produce enough force to dislodge a chiton, which are often so deeply attached that a human with a pickaxe would struggle to knock one off. The chiton is swallowed whole, and the shell digested.

Serpents viciously defend their dragons, controlling parasite populations and fighting off and attacking humans or large metal creatures they perceive as a threat. The name 'serpent' is given to them in the Mezian theocracy because they are associated with sin; hive serpents can be among the most dangerous combatants a holy beast might face. When the dragon has been killed, its serpents will flee and, more often than not, restart their hive on the ground if they aren't killed first. Outside of the theocracy, humans do raise serpents and use them for various tasks - a baby queen is taken from the wild (by killing every other hive member) and raised to imprint on humans. If their diets are not heavily supplemented with calcium carbonate, they fail to thrive.

[sonnet009games]

Is there a reference sheet for fleas character design? (Color scheme, full outfit, piercings, etc)

If the artist has one, he didn't share it with me. These were used for the Chapter 1 and 2 covers and are probably the best reference pics:

[alemap4]

Of dinosaurs and non dinosaurs

ミ✫A Tsukishima x sad reader✫彡

Tsukishima notices everything. From the way you didn’t speak at all when he picked you up from your house so you two could walk together, to the way you haven’t said a word all day at school. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he knows something has happened between now and last night after he dropped you off at home.

He knows your home life isn’t the best, and that sometimes you just get moody, but this feels different. He doesn’t want to worry, he trusts that if something was really wrong you’d come to him, but it’s now lunch time and you haven’t made any move to come to him, instead you lay your head down atop your desk, not even bothering to get out a lunch.

This worries Kei. You’ve never missed a lunch with him, a tradition that started before you two started dating. Even on sick days you’d video call just to “have a lunch date (with third wheel tadashi)” . He knows that no matter how terribly you feel right now, you’ll regret missing lunch. Both for the senamintal and the fact that you haven’t eaten.

“Here” he says, throwing a packaged muffin on your desk, as he pulls up a chair in front of you. It’s your favorite. He specifically buys them just to give them to you, and he’s hoping that one of your favorite snacks will help to cheer you up. “I’m-“you’ve got to eat” he says, interrupting you and peeling your hands away from your face. Now you can see him, even if you don’t want him to see you.

You're okay. There’s nothing really wrong, you just woke up this way. You want to talk to Kei, to fill his world with laughter and be the y/n he fell in love with, but you just can’t bring yourself to. Not today, not right now.

Pulling your, Keis, hoodie over yourself you burrow into it, making sure the hood covers your face. Hoodies are safe, hoodies that smell like tsukki are safer. In a hoodie no one can see you if you cry, in a hoodie you can pretend that your enjoying the muffin you once loved that for some reason taste’s bland today. The muffin like the day, like your emotions, is dull.

“Y/n” Tsukishima says, “you’ve been acting weird all day… is something wrong?”. There’s the million dollar question. Is something wrong? If so, what? Isn’t the problem just what’s going on in your head? If so, how can you just explain that to him? “It’s nothing Kei” you say dismissively. You just want to eat your lunch without thinking, wishing you could just turn your brain off.

You can feel his eyes on you, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe that there’s nothing wrong, but he doesn’t press it anymore. He’s smart. Smart enough to know that you wouldn’t want to get into anything in a crowded room in fear of a potential breakdown, smart enough to know that if you feel too much your subject to just leave the room and not come back, he wants to help you, not scare you off. The next words that come out of his mouth shocks you.

“Did you know that pterodactyls are not dinosaurs? They’re close in families and stuff but pterodactyls are just flying reptiles.” He recites. This is the kind of thing you need right now, dumb dinosaur facts , or well non dinosaur facts, from your reptile loving boyfriend. “Did you know that dinosaurs had really big fleas? The fleas of then being almost ten times bigger than current ones.”

This one brings a laugh and smile out of you. The thought of giant fleas attacking a town Godzilla style finally brings light to your dull day. The sound of your laugh makes Tsukishima crack his own smile, happy that he finally gets to hear the angelic sound of your voice and your blinding smile. He loves you and he’d do anything to see you keep smiling like that, even tell you every possible reptile fact he’s got stored up.

“Did you know that reptiles don’t have external ear openings?” He questions. “Hmm that must make it hard to get ear piercings” you say, “no swag for turtles” you frown. “I think turtles are pretty cool, maybe not swag but cool. I’d be down for owning one” Tsukishima responds. “I guess we can get a turtle one day in the future, though I’d get to name it” you smile.

Your future with Tsukishima, like the day as of now, looks bright. Your mental health hasn’t just completely fixed, but as of right now the voices are quieted. You feel better even if it’s just for the end of lunch. Class is doomed to start again in five minutes but for now you have Tsukishima who’d do almost anything to make you smile, fun reptile facts, and a future with a turtle. Maybe things just aren’t that bad, maybe you’ll be able to be happy.

A/n I wrote this while sitting in bed sad lol:/ idk what’s wrong and I kinda wanted to put that into something without getting deeply into what I’m feeling, I’m not good at expressing myself anyways lol, so I did this! I love learning fun facts or hearing lame jokes when I’m sad they always work to cheer me up! I wish tsukki were real :) also I hope you enjoyed! Comment and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated <3

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Eight

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Eight: Revelations

(Daemon’s POV)

Word Count: 3,513

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daemon navigates the growing complexities of fatherhood and his place in the ever-changing Red Keep. The delicate balance between duty and personal desire becomes clear as old alliances and hidden truths come to light. Daella, now embraced as a Targaryen, faces a new chapter in her life, while Daemon finds himself torn between his past and the responsibilities that come with his newfound role.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

↞ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ↠

Daemon Targaryen

“Is it not bedtime for you too?" Daella asked, her head tilted in confusion as she gazed up at Daemon, her violet eyes reflecting the dim light of the chamber.

Daemon smiled faintly, catching the quizzical look on her young face. There was something about the innocence of a child’s question that had the power to pierce through the world’s weight. “Not for me,” he replied, his voice firm yet laced with the warmth that had grown in him since Daella entered his life. “I have business outside the Keep. You’ll be fine, little one. A guard will be stationed right outside the door if you need anything. Now, get some rest.”

She continued to stare up at him with wide eyes, still unsure, as if sensing there was more to his late-night departure. Daemon hesitated for a brief moment, feeling the tug of something unfamiliar: the urge to stay. It gnawed at him, but duty—an old, familiar companion—called louder.

He leaned over and tucked a strand of dark silver hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her warm skin. She didn’t flinch away, her trust in him already unspoken and complete. He stood back up, his towering figure momentarily casting a shadow over the oversized bed before he turned toward the door. The heavy wooden frame creaked as he closed it, but his hand lingered on the handle for a moment longer than necessary. His mind was awash in thoughts of her—no longer just a bastard girl from Flea Bottom, but his daughter. His blood.

They had been sharing his childhood chambers ever since Daella’s arrival at the Red Keep. It had been his idea to keep her close—he told himself it was simply for convenience, but the truth ran deeper. He found comfort in her presence, watching over her as she slept, the rise and fall of her little form under thick blankets a reminder of how fragile and important she had become to him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this quiet protectiveness, but it had rooted itself firmly in him.

Fatherhood had a way of creeping up on even the most untamed of men. Daemon, known for his reckless abandon and disregard for attachments, now found himself caring for this little girl more than he had ever anticipated. She had become the single tether in a life that had long been untethered.

These chambers had always been his refuge from the swirling politics of the Red Keep, a place he had once found solace. Now, they served as a barrier from the growing Hightower influence. Every day, the Keep felt less like the seat of Targaryen power and more like a fortress of the Faith. Alicent’s grip on Viserys—and the Keep itself—was tightening, and despite Otto’s removal, her presence had only grown stronger. The Faith of the Seven had crept into every corner, displacing the symbols of Old Valyria. The walls, once adorned with dragons, were slowly being overtaken by depictions of the Seven’s icons. It was as if the very soul of the Red Keep was being eroded.

Daemon clenched his fists as he made his way through the corridors. His boots struck the cold stone floor with sharp, measured steps, each echo a reminder of the battle that was being fought within the Keep’s walls—a battle without swords or blood, but one that was just as dangerous. The few servants still awake lowered their heads as he passed, avoiding eye contact with the Rogue Prince, their wariness a reflection of his simmering temper.

Once outside, the cool night air hit his face, offering a momentary reprieve from the tension knotted in his chest. He inhaled deeply, letting the crisp breeze fill his lungs. For a moment, he stood still, gazing up at the moon as it hung high over King’s Landing, casting long shadows across the sleeping city. The streets below, though quieter at this hour, still thrummed with life—merchants peddling their last wares of the day, shadowy figures slinking through alleys, the distant clang of the harbour.

He tightened his cloak around him as he moved through the streets, his silver hair hidden beneath the black hood. To most, he was just another shadow slipping through the night, but to those who recognized him, his presence was unmistakable. His reputation preceded him—the Rogue Prince, the Lord of Flea Bottom. Names earned through years of rebellion, of pushing against the chains of authority that tried to bind him.

But there was something different about him now. His steps were no less purposeful, but the fire that had always driven him was tempered by something new. He was no longer just a man acting on his own whims; he had a daughter, a child who was both his responsibility and his legacy.

Daella.

Her name repeated itself in his mind, a steady rhythm that beat in time with his footsteps. The thought of her stirred emotions he had long buried. Fatherhood was not something he had ever sought out. He had lived his life without attachments, without ties to anyone or anything. But now, everything had shifted. She was his, and that simple fact had rearranged the very fabric of his life.

The familiar streets of Silk soon came into view, the tension in his body winding tighter as he neared his destination. He had not felt this particular brand of tension in some time. Mysaria awaited him—the White Worm. She had been many things to him over the years: lover, confidant, spy. Her network of whispers had proven invaluable more times than he cared to count, but lately, something had changed. There was a distance between them now, a suspicion that had begun to fester ever since Daella’s presence had been made known to him. Had Mysaria known? Had she kept the secret from him all these years?

Daemon’s thoughts burned with the question as he neared her compound. The White Worm had always known more than she revealed, her words laced with riddles and half-truths. But now, with Daella in his life, the stakes were higher. If Mysaria had known about Daella—had hidden it from him—there would be a reckoning.

As he approached the dimly lit entrance to her chambers, the guards at the door said nothing as he passed, their silence expected. They had seen him come and go too many times to question his presence.

Inside, the familiar scent of incense and spice greeted him, a mixture that clung to the air, heavy and intoxicating. Mysaria’s chambers were draped in silk, the flickering light of candles casting long shadows across the room. She was there, waiting for him, draped in her customary white, her pale face framed by the soft glow of the candles.

"Daemon," she purred, her Lysene accent curling seductively around his name. She reclined on a low couch, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "You’ve come late tonight. What is it you seek from me?"

Daemon’s gaze was sharp, his patience worn thin. "You know why I’m here."

Her smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—in her eyes. "There are many things I know, Prince. You’ll need to be more specific."

Daemon moved faster than she anticipated, his hand shooting out to grip her throat, pulling her close with a force that left no room for games. "Don’t play games with me, Mysaria," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Did you know about Daella? Did you know I had a daughter?"

The tension in the room thickened, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Mysaria didn’t flinch, her dark eyes holding his without fear, though his grip tightened around her throat. "I knew there was a girl," she rasped, her voice just above a whisper. "But I did not know she was yours. Not at first."

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his fingers pressing harder against her neck. "You’re lying."

"I’m not," she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. "I didn’t know her parentage until recently."

With a sharp shove, Daemon released her, sending her sprawling back onto the cushions. He paced the room, his mind racing with the implications of her words. How many people had known the truth before him? How had it been hidden for so long?

Mysaria rubbed her throat, her eyes flickering with irritation, though her voice remained calm. "Daella was hidden well. Elyse kept her secret, and I only pieced it together when she was dead."

"Elyse," Daemon muttered, the name cutting through the air like a blade. "What did you know about her?"

Mysaria’s expression flickered, a brief moment of hesitation crossing her face before it vanished. "Elyse… was more than she appeared," she said slowly, her words carefully measured. "‘Elyse’ wasn’t even her real name. That was just the name she adopted when she came to King’s Landing."

Daemon’s brow furrowed, confusion tightening his features. "Then who was she?"

Mysaria sighed, leaning back into the cushions with a faraway look in her eyes. "I don’t know. She was secretive about her past. Our bond wasn’t built on trust, Daemon—it was born out of survival." Her fingers smoothed the silk of her dress absently before she turned her gaze back to him. "Did she ever tell you where she was from?"

"She said she was born in Dorne," Daemon answered, his voice tight, controlled. "A bastard. That’s all she told me."

A faint, knowing smile touched Mysaria’s lips, her eyes gleaming with something unspoken. "Dorne? No, but close. She was born in Volantis. And she wasn’t just any Volantene bastard, Daemon."

Daemon’s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of Dark Sister, his pulse quickening. "What are you implying?"

Mysaria’s tone softened, her voice more thoughtful now. "Did you never wonder why her hair and eyes were so… familiar? Did her manner never strike you as peculiar? The way she always had silver coins for the City Watch?" Her eyes watched him closely, as if trying to read his every reaction. "Both you and your brother saw something in her."

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. Elyse had always been a mystery, a puzzle he never bothered to solve. She had been beautiful, and he had enjoyed their time together, but she hadn’t mattered to him beyond that. Until now. Now, she was the mother of his child—his legacy.

"What are you saying?" he demanded, his voice low, though the question was more for himself than Mysaria.

"She was more than a simple woman from Volantis," Mysaria continued, her gaze never leaving his. "I don’t know the full story, but there were whispers that she had connections to families of influence"

"Enough, Mysaria!" Daemon barked, his voice filled with frustration as he resumed pacing, his boots echoing against the stone floor. The flickering candlelight cast jagged shadows on the walls, mirroring the chaos in his mind. "I don’t have time for your riddles. Speak plainly!"

Mysaria’s eyes followed him, her expression calm but unyielding. "Elyse wasn’t a common whore, Daemon," she said, her voice steady as she leaned back, watching his every move. "There were whispers before she started dying her hair—whispers that she was of Valyrian blood."

Daemon froze, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy cloak. How had he not seen it? The dark silver hair, the striking purple eyes—traits Daella now bore. He should have known. Perhaps, on some level, he did. Perhaps he just didn’t care. After all, one silver-haired whore was as good as another in King’s Landing.

His fists clenched at his sides, his anger surging through him like wildfire. "Why didn’t she tell me any of this?" he muttered, more to himself than to Mysaria. "Why keep Daella from me?"

Mysaria tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening just a touch. "I can’t answer that for certain, but perhaps she feared what it would mean for Daella—for you. Perhaps Elyse thought it best to keep Daella hidden, to raise her as a child should be raised, away from the prying eyes of the court. She didn’t want Daella used as a pawn."

Daemon let out a bitter laugh, though the sound was devoid of humour. "And look where that got her. Dead. And Daella? A scared, lonely child living in the squalor of a brothel, so terrified that when the maid washed the dye out of her hair she nearly ripped her own hair out." His voice grew harsher, the bitterness seeping into every word. "You could have told me this sooner. You could have done something! You could have let me help her."

Mysaria’s eyes hardened at his accusation. "And what would you have done, Daemon? Elyse feared what your involvement would bring. She didn’t want Daella to live in the shadow of your name. She didn’t want her past or yours to devour the child."

Daemon spun toward her, his eyes blazing with anger. "I could’ve saved her!" His voice broke, just for a moment. "I could’ve kept Elyse alive."

Mysaria held his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the weight of the secrets she had kept. "Would it have changed anything, Daemon?" she asked quietly, her tone almost regretful. "Elyse made her choices."

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his fury simmering beneath the surface. Elyse’s secrets—the ones Mysaria had revealed and the ones that had died with her—no longer mattered. What mattered now was Daella. His daughter.

"Daella is my daughter," Daemon muttered fiercely, his voice low but resolute. "Whatever blood runs through her veins doesn’t change that."

Mysaria’s expression softened once more, her familiar tone slipping back into place. "Be careful, Daemon. The past has a way of catching up to all of us."

Daemon stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "If you’ve kept anything else from me, anything at all, you won’t live long enough to regret it."

Mysaria met his gaze, the tension between them taut as a drawn bowstring. "I’ve told you what I know," she said evenly, her tone calm yet unyielding.

For a long moment, Daemon’s eyes lingered on hers, the weight of unspoken threats thick in the air. But he said nothing more. With one final, cold glance, he turned and stormed out of her chambers, the door slamming shut behind him. As he passed through the familiar streets, Mysaria’s compound fading into the distance, Daemon felt the weight of his life shifting. He had been the Rogue Prince for so long—untethered, wild, a force unto himself. But now, he was something more.

He was a father. A protector. A force to be reckoned with, not just for himself but for Daella. His daughter. His future.

By the time Daemon reached the Red Keep, the sun had already begun its slow rise over the city. The early morning light cast long shadows across the courtyard, and servants bustled about, preparing for the day. But Daemon moved through them with a newfound sense of purpose. Nothing—not the past, not the whispers, not even the enemies lurking in the shadows—would take Daella from him.

He could picture her now, awake and preparing for her first lesson. He had arranged for the Maester to begin teaching her High Valyrian, as every true Targaryen should learn. Soon, she would know how to read, how to write, how to stitch and play music. She would learn the history of their house, the names of the great lords, and the powers they wielded. And one day, when the time came, he would teach her to ride a dragon and hold a sword, just as he did.

As Daemon walked through the gardens, heading toward his chambers, he spotted Rhaenyra in her usual spot beneath the weirwood tree. She sat with a heavy tome in her lap, her brow furrowed in concentration.

His footsteps were almost silent as he approached, though Rhaenyra, sharp as ever, glanced up from her book. Her violet eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze sharp as it landed on him.

"Back so soon, uncle?" Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the quiet of the Godswood, her tone laced with sarcasm, though beneath it was a softer edge, almost teasing.

Daemon smirked, but didn’t respond immediately. His eyes lingered on her, taking in the way the morning light caught in her hair, making it gleam like molten silver. Even in the simplicity of the Godswood, she looked regal, carrying herself with a natural majesty that both captivated and irritated him. She reminded him too much of himself.

"I had business to attend to," he finally replied, his voice neutral, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. A subtle tension simmered beneath his words, one she hadn’t heard before. "Not that it’s any concern of yours."

Rhaenyra closed the book resting on her lap, setting it aside gently as she met his gaze, her eyes sharp, searching. She could read him too well, sensing the storm beneath his calm exterior. "And what business was so pressing that it kept you out all night?" Her voice was light, but her eyes—hard, inquisitive—demanded answers.

Daemon’s lips curled into a sly grin. "You know me, Rhaenyra. I don’t answer to anyone."

"Not even my father?" she shot back, her tone sharpening like a blade. "Or is it just me you feel the need to play games with?"

The tension between them, simmering for so long, flared like fire meeting oil. Daemon’s smirk faded, his expression darkening as he stepped closer, looming over her. She remained seated under the weirwood, regal and unmoved, but his presence was undeniable.

"Viserys has always been weak," Daemon said, his voice low, heated. "And you—"

"What about me?" Rhaenyra interrupted, rising to her feet, her book forgotten as she faced him. "Do you think me weak, uncle?"

For a moment, the Godswood fell silent, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Daemon’s eyes flashed with something unspoken—longing, regret, or perhaps both. He had always been drawn to her, admiring her fire, her defiance. Yet the distance between them had grown wider, especially since that night in the city.

"You’re far from weak," Daemon said at last, his voice softer now, though the roughness remained. "But you’re playing a dangerous game, Rhaenyra. One you’re not ready for."

Rhaenyra scoffed, her eyes blazing with defiance. "And you think you know everything, don't you? You think you can decide what I'm ready for?" She stepped closer, her chin tilted upward, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—hurt, frustration. "Do you think I didn’t know what I was doing that night?"

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his gaze locking with hers. "You were a girl playing at being a woman, Rhaenyra. You didn’t understand what you were stepping into."

Rhaenyra’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I understood more than you give me credit for," she shot back, her voice trembling slightly, though she stood firm. "You didn’t force me to do anything. I wanted to see your world. I wanted to be free."

"Free?" Daemon echoed, his voice a low growl, almost a sneer. "You’ll never be free, Rhaenyra. Not as long as you’re tied to the Iron Throne."

"And neither will you," she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "You may pretend you don't care—that you're some rogue prince who doesn’t need the throne—but I see you, Daemon. You're just as trapped as the rest of us."

Daemon’s eyes flickered with something dark, something dangerous, as he stepped closer. His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Perhaps," he admitted, "but I know how to bend the rules when it suits me."

Rhaenyra held her ground, her breath quickening as he loomed over her. She could feel the heat of his body, the scent of smoke and leather clinging to him. For a brief, reckless moment, Rhaenyra reached out, brushing her fingers against his chest, her touch light, almost daring. Daemon’s hand shot up, catching her wrist in a firm yet controlled grip. His eyes bore into hers, a smirk tugging at his lips once again.

"You shouldn’t provoke me, niece," he whispered, his voice rough, filled with a challenge that sent a shiver down her spine.

Rhaenyra’s lips parted, her defiance wavering as the fire between them burned hotter. "And what will you do if I do?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.

Daemon’s grip on her wrist tightened, just enough to remind her of his strength. He leaned in ever so slightly, their faces mere inches apart. His breath was warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming, and the tension between them reached its breaking point.

"Father?"

The voice was small, hesitant, cutting through the charged moment like a splash of cold water. Daemon turned sharply, releasing Rhaenyra’s wrist as he looked toward the source.

Daella stood a few feet away, her violet eyes wide with confusion as they flicked between Daemon and Rhaenyra. Her dark silver hair cascaded around her shoulders, and she seemed so small, so innocent, standing there in the soft light of the Godswood.

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[tribbetherium]

Lepidopterans, the insect clade including butterflies and moths, were among the invertebrate species seeded onto the planet's biome, in order to act as pollinators that allowed the numerous introduced plants to survive. While most of them adhered to this lifestyle and ecological niche, as ravenous leaf-eaters that metamorphosed into flying pollinators, a few began to experiment with more unconventional lifestyles.

Some of the stranger kinds included the caterpedes: a group of neotenic species that matured simply as larger larvae and skip metamorphosis altogether: filling niches as forest floor detritivores, folivores or occasionally even predators of other insects. And perhaps more unusual are the clade known as the Hemimetamorpha, or "half-changed", which do pupate and emerge as adults with proboscises: yet retain their silk glands ejecting silk through a spinneret located directly below the proboscis and between the labial palps, allowing them to construct nests or wrap their eggs in silk sacs for protection.

Many of the Hemimetamorpha do not develop wings, and instead, thanks to their piercing and sucking mouthparts, fill the niches of true bugs on Earth: as sap-suckers akin to aphids, leafhoppers or cicadas, predators of small arthropods, or even as as flea-like parasites on larger animals. And in the case of one clade, the spooders, they use their retained silk glands to spin webs to catch their prey, in a manner akin to their arachnid namesake.

The red-spotted skeeter (Arachnopapilo rubrum) is one widespread Middle Temperocene species, ranging well across the tropics and temperate zones of Gestaltia and Arcuterra. Despite appearances, it sports two ocelli, one next to each compound eye, large feathery antennae possessing olfactory receptors, and a proboscis, albeit a short, sharp one rather than the long, coiled ones of nectar-feeders, all of which mark its lepidopteran ancestry despite the otherwise lack of resemblance to them.

Female red-spotted skeeters spin webs among grasses and branches, waiting to ensnare flying insects that they then immobilize with digestive enzymes in their saliva, while males are smaller and nomadic, instead hunting by pouncing on their prey and traveling across larger areas of territory compared to the more sedentary females who prefer to stay in their webs. They are also more brightly colored, in order to entice a mate, as the larger female is not above preying upon a suitor she does not like, though occasionally, a male may resort to restraining a female with his own silk, immobilizing her long enough to successfully mate and fleeing before she escapes.

Once mated, the female wraps her eggs into a silk pouch, searches out a safe place with plenty of food, and leaves the egg sac there to develop with no further intervention. The young hatch out as fairly typical caterpillars, yet are carnivores like the adults, tracking down and ambushing other small insects, in particular ants due to their foraging trails being a reliable source of food that comes to them as they lie in wait, as well as their toxic compounds being sequestered by the larva for its own defense. With a nutritious protein-rich diet, the larva matures faster than a leaf-eating caterpillar, and is ready to pupate within a week or two, producing a camouflaged chrysalis that is attached to branches and stems and further disguised by bands of silk. After another 5-7 days it emerges as an adult, and is immediately ready to hunt for a meal within minutes, being wingless and thus bypassing the long vulnerable phase of waiting of their wings to unfold. Within the span of a month, another generation is fully-fledged and ready to breed: a rapid turnover vital for a species with high mortality rates and many enemies-- including members of its own species in both their larval and adult forms.

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[ssruis]

whar are yuor opinions on emurui ..

(Talking abt the platonic dynamic here) THE SILLIES… my silly geese… the dreamers… I like them a lot and I really wish they had more moments. The backstage behind the scenes duo… I think it’s really cute that he gets what she’s saying and has always taken her & her outlandish ideas seriously. Emu has always always been treated like she’s simple minded or ditzy and her ideas were never taken seriously but rui took her seriously from the beginning!! Bc he can make the impossible possible!! And he knows that being joyful and whimsical doesn’t mean you’re unintelligent because he is just as goofy.

I like that emu has always had faith in rui’s crazy ass ideas and even volunteered for them. I’ve talked a lot about tsukasa & rui and that but emu has zero sense of self preservation and is always like ohhh i wanna try out the lightning machine i wanna do an underwater show. She encourages his whimsy. I really wish there was more I could say about emu supporting rui but colopale won’t let them hang out and it makes me sad… + even though emu can tell when he’s sad and hiding it normally nene is on rui duty by virtue of knowing him the longest. I do think that she has a remarkable ability to simplify the over complicated thoughts running around in his head. She can cheer him up easily and offer a perspective he was too caught up in the weeds to consider. They’re on the same wavelength of clown to clown communication all the time.

Them also being the ones who want to cling to wxs the most… auhhhh… eueueue…. Especially because they were the two members who (almost) left first, with rui accepting the arcland offer and emu wanting to stay at pxl. And notably in both scenarios someone else had to step in and say that’s not what you really want and/or that’s not what’s best for you (Asahi with rui and emu’s brothers with her).

I don’t think they’re allowed to be left alone together at wxs sleepovers because one time nene woke up at 3 am went to the bathroom and found them about to fuck up each other’s hair and give each other new ear piercings. What did I say forever ago. Hour one of emu & rui sleepover “let’s cut each others bangs” hour three of emu & rui sleepover “the nature of all good things is that they’re ephemeral.” hour five of the emu & rui sleepover “1) do you think pigeons could be trained like a flea circus 2) how can we get started on that right now”

[cerezzzita]

Wish You a Devilish Christmas! ★ A Fluffy Fic with the Sparda Family

Hello, @queenmuzz! I am your Secret Santa for @dmc-secret-santas of this year! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing and so sorry if the ending is kinda wonky, I managed to finish it all today and didn't had much time. I, myself wish you all a Devilish, Merry Christmas!

1) Pandoro is an Italian type of bread, culturally and usually made on Christmas, covered in sugar, tasting like vanilla and shaped like an six-pointed star.

Pat!, Pat!, Pat!, the wooden floor responds to the bare footsteps of tiny feet. On that newborn morning of the first day of the joyous month of December, the little Nero had risen even before the sun broke through the skies in his flavescent chariot, timidly piercing the thick curtain of gray clouds and the crystalline winter veil, venturing to run through the extensive corridors of the mansion in search of the right door. There were so many of them! He vaguely remembered the moment when his grandfather, Sparda, a great demon in human skin but always enframing a gentle and inviting smile on his face, had told him that his own demonic sensors were as young or younger as he was; and for Sparda, someone equally vivid and prolonged as time, Nero was very, very young. And despite his best efforts, the little one was unsuccessful in his hunt for his father’s bedroom door.

Pouty, Nero increased the weight of his steps and opened the first door within reach of his large, glacial eyes. His chubby cheeks widened again. It was his grandparents’ room. Blazing like a lightning, soon the boy was vibrating with euphoria, jumping on the bed without hesitation to snuggle into his grandmother’s lap, who until then was comfortable in the physical arms of her husband and in the dreamlike arms of the solemn Morpheus.

“Nonna! Nonno! Wake up, wake up! It’s already Christmas!”

Faced with the significantly strong shaking for a seven-year-old child with a quarter of demonic blood in his organism, Eva was forced to wake up from her pleasant sleep even in the heat of fright; she blinked, bewildered, slowly adjusting her blurred vision to the current scene in front of her — and to her side, where Sparda had already raised his robust figure, presenting them with his usual smile. 

“Nero, darling…” She stammered at first, rubbing her heavy eyelids with the back of one hand, the other cradling the little boy against her chest. “What are you doing out of bed so early?”

“Good morning, little Nero!” Sparda saluted, with an exciting glow in his eyes, something alike someone who hadn't even really slept. Soon, the grandfather’s long, robust arms cradled his wife and grandson. “I take your grandmother’s question as mine: What are you doing out of bed at this time? Don’t tell me that the fleas of an Cerberus invaded your bed?” The theatrical gasp at the end of the speech made Nero laugh, unfolding himself on the sheets to fit in among the adults. 

"No, no!" He vehemently denied it. “Didn’t you hear what I said? It’s Christmas!"

Eva, already a bit more awake, drawing an arch in her blonde eyebrows and an amused smile pulling at her lips, giggled as she said: 

"Christmas? As far as I can remember — and for the last time I stopped to look at the calendar before going to sleep — today is the first of December.”

The little one looked at his grandmother as if something very obvious was being declared — as or more obvious as someone exclaiming that his hair is white. Silver, actually, but he liked to compare the coloring to mounts and mounts of fluffy snow, too.

“And that means it’s already Christmas, nonna!” Nero threw his hands up, trying to reinforce his point. “We have to decorate the house! And make cookies for Santa and pandoro¹! Oh, and hot chocolate with cinnamon rolls! We have to buy presents and call Uncle Dante!” 

“Agreed,” says Sparda, preparing to leave the comfort of the sheets and his wife's redamantic warmth with his grandson in his arms. Automatically, Nero hugged the kind demon’s broad shoulders. “Nero is right, my beloved Eva. We have a lot to do until Christmas Eve!”

“Yeah, nonno!”

“How can I disagree and say no to two stubborn people consumed by the Christmas spirit?” Eva blows, also planting her feet on the woody floor of the room. She placed a kiss on the boy’s forehead and another on her husband’s lips, to which Nero was instinctively reactive when he vocalized an “Ew!”. “But one thing at a time, you hear me? Come, Nero. Let’s see if your father is awake while your nonno calls your Uncle Dante.” 

“At this time, he shouldn’t be up,” Sparda pointed out, transferring the child into the woman’s arms. “Our son has a peculiar sleep, or as some say, a ‘stone sleep’.”

“He had someone to take after…” She said, vulpine. The demon gasped again, breaking the drama with the giggles exchanged between her and little Nero. 

That was the cue to leave the room, Sparda cutting through the distant corridors towards the retrograde and central telephone in the living room, Eva and Nero going towards the door of the room furthest from the others. With three knocks on the fine mahogany and without immediate response, it was concluded in the matriarch’s mind that Vergil was no longer enjoying a good morning sleep; not that it was like him, after all his biological clock was quite… peculiar. All this to say that her eldest son and father of her precious grandson had a practically incurable case of insomnia.

“I already know! He must be in the kitchen, nonna!” Nero pulled his grandmother back from the noospheric halls with his high, childish tone of voice before something else waltzed into them. 

Eva nodded, her pair of hazel irises sparkling, a small smile adorning her face. 

“Let’s see if we can guess what he might be doing: pancakes?”

“I highly doubt it,” the boy wrinkles his nose. In a glance Eva remembered her boys, sometimes unhappy and discordant with each other. The similarities between Nero and Vergil were striking on many occasions. “Dad doesn’t like pancakes unless they have blueberries in them.”

“That’s right, how could I forget? You have a point, dear. So, it seems that he must be drinking tea while leafing through his favorite book of William Blake poetry for the umpteenth time, right, Vergil?” 

The man who held the steaming cup with a minty aroma — ah, mint tea, usual refuge for his taste buds — centimeters in front of his mouth frozed, his thumb wrapped around the page that was about to be replaced and his characteristic glacial eyes expressing surprise at the scene that his mother and son witnessed when they arrived not far from the kitchen counter.

“Good morning to you too, Mother,” he hissed, his voice a fine line between caution and annoyance. The journey of his field of vision went from Eva’s candid face to the glimmer in the blue of her son's orbs. Vergil sighed, sewing a tiny smile on the corner of his mouth. “Good morning, Nero.”

Just like that, the little boy jumped off his grandmother’s lap and sailed towards his father, grabbing his legs, the limit he could reach at such an age and height. Vergil stroked his hair and for a moment he thought that the shy sun of that morning was actually hidden between Nero’s broad and peachy cheeks, so bright and lukewarm was his beaming. 

“Morning, dad! Dad, dad! We’re going to start preparing things for Christmas! Nonno is already calling Uncle Dante and we’re going to decorate the house, make cookies, and hot chocolate and-”

“Nero… Breathe, one thing at a time.”

“That’s what I told him,” Eva said, laughing, with her back turned and in the background as she poured herself a cup of tea. “And there’s no point in making that face, Vergil. Your brother is coming to spend Christmas with us like he does every year, so I ask of you two is to behave, please. You’re already too big for your beaking.”

He widened his eyes. “But I didn’t-”

“Vergil, I am your mother. It’s the least I can assume what’s obviously going through your head.” 

Nero hid a not-so-subtle laugh in his father's pajama pants.

“She’s got you!” He laughed, with his finger pointing towards him. 

Sparda burst into the room before Vergil could react, the phone hooked to his ear. 

“Yes, son, we need to decorate the house! Well, the sooner the better! Soon Christmas Eve will be at the door! As long as you don’t eat half the ingredients for supper — because I know what you and little Nero are capable of doing when Eva isn’t looking — and don’t fight with your brother... Dante, my son, now exactly is..." He paused for a moment to glance at the clock high on the kitchen wall. “Seven in the morning. What do you mean you won’t be in time for breakfast? I know the roads are covered in snow- Oh, of course! Activate your Devil Trigger! No, no one will see! We’ll be waiting for you in twenty minutes!”

“Tell him I sent him a kiss and a punch because he doesn’t call us often! And that I will make pancakes now!” Eva shouted, albeit jokingly. 

“Yay!” Nero rejoiced, sitting next to Vergil. 

“Your mother sent you a kiss and a punch for not calling us often,” Sparda clearly swallowed a laugh. “And she said she’ll make pancakes now. Eva, he said to separate the ones with strawberries.”

“And mine with blueberries, please,” Vergil vocalized, between pages and sips. 

“Can I talk to Uncle Dante, nonno? Please?” 

“Son, Nero wishes to speak to you,” and the phone was gently passed into the boy’s little hands. 

“Hi, Uncle Dante!”

With a yawn, Dante exclaimed on the other end of the line: 

“What’s up, kid! So that means you’re now responsible for the family’s Christmas spirit, right?”

“That’s on me!” Nero used a pompous tone in his voice, a chuckle soon after. “Come quickly, Uncle Dante! We have to put up the Christmas lights after breakfast!”

“Relax, Devil May Cry Express is already sending the package. A really nice package, I must say. Adios, my favorite nephew!”

“Hey, I’m your only nephew!” He protested.

But Dante had already ended the call. Pouting, Nero handed the phone back to Sparda — who was hiding a petit smile with the back of his hand — and went to help Eva with the pancakes. 

Half an hour later, the youngest son returns to home. Dante was ultimately hugged by his parents and exchanged playful faces with his twin brother, not for long before the matriarch intervened and pulled his ears; “And no coming at me with your sweet forehead kisses! You still owe me for not calling often!” she said at some point during the reunion. Of course, Nero threw himself into his uncle's arms and then the two promptly volunteered to be Eva’s sous-chefs with the Christmas meals, although they were removed from such duty and placed to help Sparda with the lights and garlands throughout the mansion. Vergil was selected to help his mother instead, much to the duo's chagrin. 

“Learn that life is not always fair, dear son and little brother.”

Winter dragged the crystals from its veil through the days until Christmas Eve. Days filled with hot chocolate, the infamous hazelnut cookies made by Eva — much appreciated by the men in the family, by the way —, toasted marshmallows and sweet, vanilla-tasted pandoros in just the right amount. When the twenty-fifth day finally arrived, the family was settled in the living room, by the fireplace, surrounded by thick, soft blankets, more cups of hot chocolate and precious cinnamon rolls. A silent Christmas, yes. Pacific, too. Not very common in the Sparda family, but comfortable nonetheless.

Little Nero couldn't ask for any better gift.

“And we, from the Sparda family, wish you all a Devilish Christmas!”

[osohchoso]

Blood and Chains

Chapter Six- Bleeding Hearts

Choso x F!reader

Previous | Chapter Index | Next

Content: Multiple POV, trust issues, stalking, blood and violence, cursed techniques

You followed him in silence, the only sounds to be heard were the light drizzle of rain pitter-pattering on the sidewalk and the occasional car passing by. Each step you took with careful confidence, doing the best to minimize the sound of boots scuffing on the concrete. Slinking around in the shadows as you followed your boyfriend through the city streets. Losing track of how long has passed and just how far you have wandered from your apartment. 

When Choso reached an alley, he stopped and looked around, maybe he had a feeling someone was tailing him, but you were out of sight. He hesitated, staring off in your direction for a second that felt like it lasted a year, before finally disappearing around the corner. Should I turn back? You question yourself over and over, frozen in place as you watch the darkness of the alley swallow him whole. But it's too late, your curiosity and fears have already pushed you this far. Might as well see this through to the end, or the anxieties in your mind will never forgive you. Staying a constant nagging fear, living in the back of your head. The only way to extinguish the dark storm plaguing your thoughts is to follow through with your personal mission. So you push on, entering the alleyway Choso walked down. The alley was even darker than the city streets. Not a single light to illuminate the path, no longer able to see the outline of his pigtails as you made your way through what you hoped was the correct way. 

As you walk, you bump into something hard, hitting your hip on a sharp corner. Shit. His clunky shoes stopped in their tracks, he heard the clamoring of the large item you ran into. Pressing your palm to the side, feeling cold metal and something sticky and rotten smelling stuck to it. A dumpster, you ran straight into a dumpster. Standing in fear beside it, you could almost feel his piercing gaze scanning you, even in the dark. Heart beating wildly against your ribcage, holding your breath. This is bad, this is so bad. Closing your eyes tightly, you hope and pray to whatever higher being is out there, that he can't see you in the darkness.

His thick shoes take one step closer to you, but by some wicked twist of fate, you are saved. The lid of the dumpster shakes, and a raspy meow of a street cat echoes off the alley's brick walls. The click-clack of its untrimmed claws on the pavement grows quieter as it walks further away from you, toward the direction of Choso. He lets out a low chuckle, his clothing crinkling as he lowers himself to the ground.

“You scared me little one,” he whispers. The cat's loud purr fills the air. Even during your distrustful stalking, you can't help but smile. Finding it cute how your secretive boyfriend stopped to pet a stray cat on his late-night stroll. “Was it you following me all along?” He asks the cat. The cat responds with a loud meow, rubbing its head harder into Choso’s petting hand. 

“Go home,” his voice brings you back to reality. A shiver runs down your spine that you try to suppress. You're not sure if he's talking to you or the cat at this point. Surely, he has no idea that you're there hiding beside the dumpster? Muscles tense, not daring to move an inch. You half expected him to say something more, to call your name out and question you. It isn't until you hear his footsteps pick up again, that you realize you're in the clear. The clunk of his shoes grows quieter as he makes his way through the alleyway. You wait until you can barely hear him before you make another move.

The cat turns and makes his way toward you, purring as it rubs around your ankles. Bending slightly, you scratch him under his chin. Feeling the greasy fur and flea bites, typical of an alley cat.

“Thanks,” you whisper, “I promise to come bring you treats, you saved my skin.” You tell the cat, who lets out a content meow in response like he understood every word you just said before he jumps back up on top of the dumpster. 

This is so stupid. Hesitating before you follow him once again. Hearing Choso's words replay, go home. And you almost listened, almost turned your body toward the way you came and let your feet carry you back to the safety of your home. 

But you didn’t.

You push forward through the alley and spot Choso on the other side. Walking on a beaten-up sidewalk that leads to a neighborhood. This time you are even more careful, creating a bigger distance between him as you follow. However, it seems he is more relaxed now, not constantly checking over his shoulder to see if he's being followed. Walking quicker than before. You wonder if he knows he's on the bad side of town, if that's why he's picking up pace. You were always careful to avoid this street, not wanting to get caught up in the violence you've seen on the news. 

As you continue, you follow Choso through the neighborhood. Many of the houses look abandoned and worn down. Which confuses you, why is he here? What could be so important about this place that he had to abruptly leave you? You continue to follow, a few of the homes you pass do have lights on, signs of life inside. Though even the lived-in houses look just as bad as the abandoned ones. 

He finally stops, pausing in the front yard of a large house, lights on inside but the tattered curtains are drawn. Whose house is this? You crouch down behind an overgrown bush at the edge of the yard as you watch him stand there. Blood roaring in your ears as you jump to conclusions. He’s cheating, he's just like the other men. Hot tears prick your eyes as you wait to see the woman he left your home for. 

“Hey!” Choso’s head turns to the sound of the voice and you follow his line of sight. Instead of seeing a pretty woman, you see the cheerful pink-haired boy.

Yuji.

And now you have even more questions than before.

Yuji approaches his older brother, too far away for you to hear their conversation. You know Choso well enough by now that you can read his body language, his shoulders slightly slumped, his weight shifting back and forth between his feet. He's irritated. If it's directed at his brother or something else, you have no clue. You can hear the loud sigh leave Choso’s lips from your hiding place. The two boys then turn and enter the home, leaving the door wide open. As you watch them disappear into the house, guilt immediately floods you. Guilt for not trusting him, for thinking he would cheat. Still not sure what he's up to with Yuji, but you are now certain it's nothing concerning you. Maybe he really was on a last-minute call for his work.

You should have turned and left the second you saw them turn their backs, but you still had more questions. And maybe, if you stayed and observed just a bit longer, maybe there would be answers.

So you stayed, watching from the bush as you heard them run around inside the house. Incoherent shouting. The curtains hanging in the windows blowing as they run past. A splatter of blood decorates the downstairs window like a Jackson Pollock painting. Maybe your theory about Choso being an assassin wasn't so far off after all. Though it's hard to believe, golden retriever boy Yuji is also caught up in this line of work. Another thick splotch of blood hits the glass, causing you to flinch. I shouldn't be here. The danger of the situation really starts to sink in. 

Rising to your feet quickly, you give the house one last look. Not wanting to stick around and see the faces of the victims inside. Or to see the look on Choso’s face when he realizes you followed him all the way here. 

Too late for that.

Choso stands in the doorway, his eyes on you. Shouting your name as he begins to run out of the house in your direction. His voice loud enough to shake the earth you stand on, but not out of anger. Out of fear. From the corner of your eye you see a hunch-backed humanoid figure rushing toward you on long legs. It's moving at incredible speed, Yuji running behind it as he reaches forward. His fingers trying to grasp purchase on its wrinkly pale skin. Yet the creature remains faster as it barrels toward you. Yuji’s eyes wide with terror while the three eyes of the creature twinkle with blood lust. 

Everything happens in slow motion, your blood roaring in your ears as you stand still. A deer caught in headlights. Unable to do anything but watch. Watch as the terrifying monster runs at you, its arms shaped like curved blades. Watch as Yuji tries and fails to reach for it again and again. Watch as Choso cries out your name, sounding as fearful as you feel. You look down at your feet, trying to send a signal to move. Knees daring to buckle beneath you when all you want to do is run away.

A sharp press to your back, a pain like you've never felt. Still looking down, you can't seem to tear your eyes away as you watch a deep hole open up in your abdomen. The blade cut straight through to the other side, accompanied by unbearable pain. The once pale green skin of the creature now a deep crimson from your blood. Red drops pool on the flattened grass below your feet. The sounds of the world cut out, muffled and numb. Like your ears are underwater. You lift your gaze up and find Choso, his face paler than ever before and his face tattoo almost looks distorted and sharper, crossing over his eyes as he glares at the creature with unmatched anger. The last thing you see is him standing across the yard, his palms pressed together as his mouth moves. Your heavy eyelids flutter shut as the head of the creature explodes, painting your hair in warm blood. The blade arm exits your body and you feel Yuji catch you before you collapse to the ground. 

“Choso…I’m sorry” you manage to weakly get out before completely losing consciousness. 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　Choso's POV　 . ✦　　 . ★⋆.

~A few minutes before~

Choso looks down at the purple skin of the transfigured human as it stills on the ground, blood leaking from the fatal wound he gave it. The call was right. Mahito had been here. This poor family had enjoyed their last dinner together before the curse waltzed in and transformed them all. Choso sighs as he checks the time. He was thankful for Yuji meeting him here. The faster the brothers took care of the two curses, the faster he could get back to his girlfriend. He really wanted to send Yuji on his own and stay home with her, but the risk that Mahito could still be around scared him far too much to ditch him. Yuji runs down the stairs toward him, his shoes hitting each step loudly.

“Finished yours off?” Choso asks. Yuji nods, though there is a touch of sadness. No matter how many times he does it, having to end the transfigured humans always seems to break a piece of him.

“Yup. Was kinda a small one, so it wasn't much trouble.” He claims. Yuji bends down to pick up a family portrait that fell from the wall, his thumb smearing the blood across the glass to reveal the picture underneath. It shows three of them. Mother, father and a young girl. 

“Choso…” Yuji trails off, eyes wide. Choso takes a step closer as Yuji turns to him. “I think there is a third-” Yuji can't even finish his sentence before a tall pale green figure runs out the back door. Yuji instantly drops the frame, glass shattering as it hits the floor, and chases after it. Choso lets out an exaggerated sigh as he walks toward the front door. He’s confident Yuji will finish it off, but just in case, he wants to prepare for backup. Just one more and he can return home to you. 

You, who should be back safely at home, snuggled into your blankets as you await his return. You, whose beautiful eyes stare at him across the yard as you stand from behind a bush. Choso blinks. Once. Twice. Hoping you would disappear like a figment of his imagination. Three times, and you're still here. He can’t imagine why or even how you knew where he was. Did you follow him? Do you not trust him? He should be angry, but he's not. Not when he knows the weight of the situation you're now involved in. He’s absolutely terrified. 

From his peripherals, he sees Yuji chasing after the transfigured human, running straight toward you. His worst nightmare, this is why Choso swore off relationships. He didn’t want you hurt because of him and his dangerous lifestyle. He shouts your name, as loud as possible. Hoping that will activate your fight or flight, hoping you pick the latter and you can run faster than you did the day he found you in Shibuya. Yet you don't move, still as a statue.

He cries your name over and over, desperate for you to move as he quickens his pace toward you. Vocal cords straining as he tries to reach your thoughts hidden away in the unmoving husk of your body. Yuji is gaining on it but this transfigured human has longer legs, moving at a slightly faster speed. It's going to be close, unable to tell if Yuji will reach it first or if it will reach you first. Choso is rushing forward, but the wet sound of the blade stabbing through the left side of your stomach makes him pause. Time froze as he stared at you, the gaping wound and the creature's sharp arm stuck through it. This is worse than a nightmare, this is a living hell. 

No…no no no no no! This can't be happening, this isn't real! His breath is caught in his throat. Narrowing his eyes at your attacker, he sees red. He hasn't felt this angry in a long time. Clapping his palms together, fingers pointed at the head of the transfigured human, gathering all his strength. 

“Piercing Blood!” He releases the condensed beam of blood, shooting straight through the middle eye of the creature. It’s head explodes on impact, coating the back of your hair in thick, sticky blood. Yuji pulls the transfigured human away and catches you in his hands, gently lowering your body to the already red-stained grass. Choso hurries forward, falling to his knees before you.

“Choso…I’m sorry” He barely hears the words leave your dry cracked lips. 

“This can't be happening…this isn't happening” he mutters to himself, picking up one of your hands and holding it in his. “Yuji, tell me this isn't real,” he lifts his gaze to his brothers, tears already streaming down his cheek. Yuji frowns, dropping his gaze to the serious wound. 

“It is, Choso.” He can't lie to his brother, not when you're bleeding out right here in front of both of them. “I’ll call Shoko, she should be able to save her.” Yuji says, gently adjusting you so your head lays on Choso’s lap. Then standing, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and dialing Shoko, pacing in the yard a few feet from Choso.

Choso is holding your hand tightly, trying to get you to wake up and say something, anything. He doesn't understand why you are here, why you were apologizing. But he doesn't care. He just wants you back, alive and safe. Seeing your smile, hearing your laugh. He needs you back.

“Wake up, little flower.” He whispers, bending to place a soft kiss on your brow. “Please…please…wake up, stay with me. I ca-can’t lose you,” his voice cracking as he pleads for you. Tears rain on your cheeks as he watches your lifeless expression. 

Your hand grows cold in his blazing hot palm, fading further and further. No, no. Not again. Please not again. Choso looks over at Yuji who is still talking to Shoko. 

“We are losing her!” Choso cries out.

“Shoko is on her way” Yuji does his best to stay calm, not wanting to heighten Choso’s anxieties further. 

“There is no time, she is losing too much blood!” He’s yelling back at him, there is no calming him as he eyes the deep wound in your stomach. Blood oozing out. “She…she’s not going to make it.” Choso swallows hard.

“She will, Shoko is hurrying. She will be here soon I promise,” Yuji assures him, even though he isn't certain. He truly doesn't know if you are going to be fine. But Choso panicking more isn't helping anyone. “Hmm? Yeah, I'm still here.” Yuji continues pacing as he talks to Shoko, giving directions to their location. Choso looks down at you, watching each shallow and labored breath, seeing the last signs of life drain from your face.

There has to be something I can do. He tries to think of an idea, he knows you won't last another five minutes unless he can do something. He racks his brain trying to formulate a plan, willing to try anything if it means he won't have to watch you exhale your last breath in his arms.

Then, he forms an idea. Maybe a stupid one. Maybe one that won't work. Honestly, it might get you killed or worse. The risks are high, with maybe a 1% chance your body will respond positively. Choso doesn't care, he would take any risk if it meant he doesn't lose you today.

He glances over at Yuji, his back turned to the both of you. He doesn't bother asking his brother for his opinion on this plan because he already knows what Yuji would say. No.

But you need blood, now.

Choso grips one of your hands tightly with his, holding the other hand up, palm to the starry sky. Gathering his blood into a small sphere in the center of his palm. Taking a shaky breath before he begins.

He's never attempted using his blood manipulation for a blood transfusion before, and certainly never even considered doing this on a regular human. His blood is considered poisonous, and if this doesn't work he may be the reason you end up dying. Desperate for any chance at life, even a slim chance that the toxin won't instantly kill you, he takes the risk. If he can give you just enough until help arrives, just enough to replace what is necessary, you may survive. Afterward, Shoko can probably just give you something to counteract the negative effects. He doesn't think too much about the consequences of his cursed blood and won't allow him to think about what it might do to you.

He places his palm with the sphere of blood to the hole in your stomach. Letting his blood mix with your own. Flowing freely through your body, traveling to every limb and organ. Filling you with life, his life. He would give his whole life for you if he could, if he knew it would keep you breathing. Wouldn't even hesitate to sacrifice himself for you. He closes his eyes as he takes control, his blood pushing alongside yours. Mixing inside you like a cauldron creating a potion of endless love. His other hand, the one clutching yours like a lifeline, starts to feel a hint of warmth radiating from you again. A sign you have been granted at least a few more minutes of life, hopefully, that's enough until a real doctor can stabilize you. 

“Choso?” Yuji’s shocked voice cuts into his thoughts, causing him to flash open his eyes. Twisting his head to look over at his brother, whose eyes are wide with horror. Mouth agape as he witnesses the act.

“What have you done?” Yuji asks him.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @angel04-01