#he's a bastard man. I will die on this hill

[sleepyfan-blog]

First Ripple

Author’s Note: Part two of Baby Primarchs being raised by the Emperor AU! Previous. Next

Warnings: dehumanization of primarchs, dehumanization of infants, manipulation

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets

Summary: Erda inquires about the visions that two of the baby primarchs were so distressed by. The Emperor explains, after some cajoling. 

"Neoth it's been a week and a half, and you've yet to tell me what the contents of the visions that Eight and Nine had that caused you to decide to pull all of the primarchs from their incubation chambers until they were infants, like we had previously agreed. Don't think I haven't noticed the increase in security in and around the gene labs, as well as the entirety of the palace as a whole. You're preparing for something. Let me help. The only psyker stronger than I am on Terra is you. But I can't prepare for what I don't know is coming." Erda demanded, staring directly up at Neoth, hands on her hips as the two of them were overseeing the final touches being done to the Primarchs' nursery. All twenty of them would be sleeping in a single, heavily fortified room within the Imperial palace. The room in question was itself a secret known to herself, Amar, Neoth... And the entirety of Neoth's hand-crafted Custodes. This room had been repurposed from a large storage room to a multi-bed play and sleeping room. This room was positioned within one hallway of the throne room and Erda's own personal rooms. The room had one active Gellar field protecting it at all times, and had two separate back-up Gellar fields ready to activate, should the first fail or waver for the slightest moment.

Neoth briefly looked at her before staring at the last of the preparations - several of his younger Custodes were carefully setting up the last of the infant beds with deft and steady hands, though the small furniture looked almost comical in their large hands. He sighed before saying "If we left them to continue to grow within their maturation pods, within a year... Chaos would take them." 

Erda froze for a moment, her eyes widening in horror and confusion "But... But how, the Gellar fields keep The Enemy at bay!"

Neoth looked down at her, a troubled expression furrowing his brows "The visions were overlapping and unclear, but The Enemy sent agents that destroyed the Gellar fields protecting their pods, and -" He hesitated, looking searchingly at her. He still does not see or feel any Chaotic taint within her. "... For reasons I do not know, you were the one to rip open a warp portal, and cast the primarchs into that infinite abyss. You were trembling with rage and sorrow, and many died in the ensuing rampage of The Enemy's servants rampaging around the palace, as the gene-labs were collapsed as reality temporarily collapsed."

"I...  I would never cast our beautiful children away! Especially not into the Warp, the domain of The Enemy, to corrupt their souls and twist their brilliant little minds to cruelty... If they wouldn't kill our children out of spite." Erda spluttered, taking a half-step back in shock.

Part of him wanted to correct her, remind her that the Primarchs weren't their children, not truly. They were weapons, tools for galactic conquest and to bring the disparate colonies of humanity back under one unified banner. The rebuke was on his tongue, but caution stayed him. He would let her cogitate on her future self's potential betrayal - let the utter foolishness of such an act, no matter how well-intentioned she may have thought it to be in a moment of wrathful sorrow, before reminding her what the Primachs, which they had spent over a thousand years in genetics research, testing and experimenting, in order to create. "I am glad to hear that, Erda. I cannot say what drove you in their visions to such an act... But-" He deliberately hesitates, looking her in the eyes before letting his gaze sweep around the room, to the twenty-one bassinets arranged in neat if uneven rows around the room "I... Have a request to make of you, Erda."

She tensed at that, trying to catch his gaze "What... What request is that, Neoth?"

He lets her catch his gaze. He slowly reaches out to her physically, one hand coming to rest lightly on his hand, the other cupping her cheek. "You are a dear companion of mine, Erda. In these long, endless days and nights, and your keen mind and insights have been invaluable beyond words. I see you now, untouched by The Enemy, and I want to believe that-" Carefully, gently now. A light squeeze to her shoulder, allow his eyes to soften as his face shifts to a look of worry that he does genuinely feel. His gilded companions shift a little, ready and listening for the command. 

Good.

Hopefully he won't need to give it, but for the future he sees for mankind, and the necessary sacrifice and bloodshed that must be spilled for it to become a reality, he cannot allow his Primarchs out of his grasp. For eleven of them to become corrupted in one way or another by The Enemy or filthy xenos... No. He will not allow that to happen. He's keenly aware of the power she wields. Which is why this conversation is happening here, well before The Enemy's servants invade the palace and far from where his little generals are slumbering in their pods. "- whatever reasons your potential future self did that, you believed it was for the best. But the glimpses into their futures that I saw... Seventeen lands on a world of chaos worshippers and is slowly corrupted from decanting. Eight lands in a world of literal - and figurative - darkness and is forced to survive on it-his own, killing animals to feast on their flesh. Twelve is beset by Xenos upon decanting, and is then thrown into gladiator pits, with neural implants forced into his brain that torture him into madness. Fourteen lands on a world ruled by necromancers, found by the dread lord of that world and cruelly experimented on until it-he escapes. Twenty-A and Twenty-O are separated during the warp trip and Twenty-O is raised by pirates. Sixteen-"

she raises a hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, shaking her head, tears threatening to fall from her eyes "Please... No more. I can guess what you are going to ask of me. You want me to leave the Primarch project? Perhaps even leave the palace entirely. To avoid whatever temporary madness, or Enemy-fueled temptation I somehow fall for, yes? There is much I can do outside of the palace. Or would you rather I leave Terra entirely? I can assist in dealing with the tech-priests of Mars, or the Jovian shipyards."

Neoth kept his face and body posture gentle, regretful, though he allowed a small smile to lift the corners of his lips. "That I am, I am glad that you understand why I am asking this of you. Which would you prefer? To interact with the tech-priests, or wrangle the disparate forces of the Jovian shipyards? For security purposes, I would not be able to inform you of their growth and development until they are ready to be introduced to Terra and the Sol system at large. For their own protection."

"I... Of course, that makes sense, though I will demand that you take plenty of pictures and keep a log of how each of them grow and develop! Despite not being able to be there for their childhoods, I still want to have some evidence of them growing into the strong, handsome beings I know they will one day become. I would rather deal with the Jovian shipyards and deal with the Negotiator clans, rather than the worshippers of the Omnisiah. No offense meant, Neoth." Erda decided, a small and teasing smile appearing on her face.

Neoth rolled his eyes and huffed, grumbling "While it's convenient they decided I am their Omnisiah, it is not something that I encourage them. Of course I will be having their growth and development well documented by trusted people, which I will share with you once they are ready." The promise came easily to his lips. Whether or not he kept that promise depended on whether or not Erda turned to the Enemy in the ensuing years or not. 

"Very well. I’ll start to pack." Erda responded with a nod "I should be ready to leave by the end of the day."

Neoth hummed, nodding and said "I'll have Constantin help you pack, and see you on your way to the shipyards."

She chuckled a little and swatted at him playfully "As if that boy doesn't have enough to do! You don't need to have him fussing over me while I pack my things."

"I insist. He's currently at loose ends, and you know the mischief he can get up to when bored, Idle hands and all that." He responded, keeping his voice and body posture light and playful.

"Oh, alright. Send him to my rooms, and I'll get packing. Don't bully Malcador too much! Goodness knows that boy is entirely too serious as it is. Or Constantin! The lad thinks the galaxy of you." Erda hummed before she headed off.

"I know. I'll keep that in mind, Erda." Neoth responded, suppressing any wayward emotions behind the mask of calm he was projecting. It wouldn't be a true victory until she was off Terra.

Six hours later, and he got the confirmation from Constantin that Erda was well on her way to the Jovian shipyards, none the wiser of the two shadow keepers sent on the same ship to monitor her and report back to him.

[cryptid-crawly]

can’t sleep. thinking about how fandom characterization of eraserhead is off the mark and we need more canon Aizawa appreciation.

the core aspects of Aizawa Shouta are: tired, Bastard, boring old man.

he may have dad energy but he’s a reluctant dad that doesn’t get that his neurodivergent kids need extra help bc he doesn’t realize he himself is neurodivergent and needs help. he’s the middle-aged dad that says we aren’t getting a pet dog and then he’s the pet dog’s favorite. he’s a rational downer that poops your party. he is the most boring man alive. this man does NOT fuck. he barely eats or sleeps or talks to other people. if he has free time that he isn’t spending napping he MAYBE goes out to pet some stray cats. you think this bitch goes to clubs? has one night stands? he can barely take care of himself why would he ever have prolonged interaction with another human being that wasn’t for work? and also he’s a total bastard. will fight for his kids? yes. absolute 100% bastard that causes grief on purpose bc he can? also yes. he’s trying, sure, but also he has his head up his ass and deserves to be put into a little jar and shaken a bunch.

i’m tired of sexy-wonderful-teacher-perfect-husband-material-best-dad fanon aizawa. I want more asshole-boring-mess-of-a-man canon aizawa

[leona-hawthorne]

so many people write mattheo to be a cold-hearted, womanizing bastard and while i absolutely love reading that mattheo (🙈), i am a firm believer that he’d be the biggest sweetheart when you’re dating him.

don’t get me wrong, he would absolutely be a cold hearted womanizing bastard… at first. after meeting you, he’d still be reserved, arrogant, rude. but somehow, you manage to sneak past the steel barriers he has surrounding his heart.

and when he realizes this, he’d push you away in every way possible. you offer him your notes when he misses class? “fuck off, i don’t need them. trust me, i’ve got a hundred other lap dogs doing that shit for me.”

and his heart would break a little when he’d see your confused frown, but he’d push the guilt down. love is vulnerability. vulnerability is weakness. that’s what he was taught and that’s what he lived by.

but oh, you’re just too perfect. your pretty little face, your sweet voice, the way your eyes light up when you’re talking about muggle studies or baby rabbits, the way you refuse to leave your dorm without your lucky jewlery. it melted the ice around his heart. he never stood a chance.

so he’d give into your affections at some point. and yes, he’d be the scary, possessive boyfriend everyone expects. he’d throw a punch at anyone who dared to touch you wrong or even look at you wrong. but that’s just the mattheo everyone knows. the mattheo you know is a sweetheart. never allowing you to open your own door or pull out your own chair, braiding your hair for you or helping you put it up at night, spoiling you with every candy, piece of clothing, and stuffed animal you want, tying your shoelaces for you, calling you princess.

and let me tell you, this man is the biggest whore for cuddles. he tells you that sleeping in your presence keeps the nightmares at bay and while that’s true, the real reason why he won’t sleep without cuddles is because he simply needs to feel you as close as possible. he needs your hands playing with his hair or your nails scratching his back. and you can’t even try stopping the movements of your hands because trust me, he is an incredibly annoying whiner. “babyyyy keep going.”

skin-to-skin cuddling is even better. he’ll take his shirt off and force you to do the same, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your back into his chest. it’s not sexual; he just needs to feel you as close to him as possible, and your bare skin against his just happens to be the closest thing he has to crawling inside your skin and living there.

my point here is basically that mattheo riddle is a soft boy when he’s in love and i will die on this hill!

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist

[ophelieverse]

Hii there Lia,i’m a little embarrassed because i’ve been following you since the beginning and i loved all of your posts,this time i wanted to be brave and ask for a request.I’m a Daemon girly,so can I request an imagine where he and reader kinda have a thing going on?Like it’s not official but they do😏😏things?Thank you for your service and your works,luv u💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

✦ ⟢balance

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

—Summary:reader is a dragonseed,the daughter of bastard child of one of the Targaryens,when the Rogue Prince went to search for dragon riders to fight in the war he sets his eyes on her for more than one purpose.

—Warnings:poor smut writing,reader will have the valyrian silver hair,kinda of incest,Daemon cheats on Rhae with reader(i apologize my Queen i love you)age gap(reader is legal)and Daemon being himself as always.

•—thank you so much for requesting and let me know what you think🫶🏻🩷

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If as a child they had told her that balance would be one of the basic requirements to ride a dragon,Y/n would never have believed it.

Because after all,even though she could have guessed it with the strength of the intellect,she was just a child who loved to dream and saw soldiers as heroes who had become such thanks to the strength of training.However,the truth was in the middle:it took talent and strength to become a good soldier,then a good dose of willpower and finally balance.

Y/n had lived her whole life on the island of Dragonstone and she was pretty sure that she was also going to die of old age,maybe in her warm bed or with her feet deep in the sand,in the place that she had always called home.

Her father was a fisherman from Essos,Volantis to be exact that loved to take her on his boat and tell her stories about his home in the other continent.A simple man,an insignificant part of sand in the sea.Nothing special.Her mother however,was definitely something more special and it could be seen in her wild silver hair that danced in the morning breeze.

The white tangle of mess that crowned her head was the only thing that Y/n had inherited from her mother.The stained and not pure Valyrian blood that circled in her veins,the proof that the fairy tales about dragons,princesses and castles that her mother used to whisper to her at night before putting her to sleep,were part of them.Her mother was a bastard child,daughter of the princess Gael Targaryen.

And Y/n was her granddaughter,her mother made sure that she remembered that before her death,that she was also the blood of the old Valyria and that the dragons that she had saw on the island were hers by birth right.That she shouldn’t be settling down for an ordinary life but that she could be so much more.A dragon rider.

Balance.

And she would have never believe it as a child that that word would be one of the keys to her entire future:of choices made on the spot that could aim for the balance of the situation in just a few seconds.

But also of balance merely on the physical side: she remembers how long it took to find the balance necessary to stand straight on Vermithor,the bronze fury who seemed to have taken a liking in her choosing Y/n as his new rider. When from the bottom of her eight years and with a few teeth missing it seemed so easy to her for the Targaryen to fly up there.

She had spent years of her life,running up and down the docks,nose up in the air,eyes never leaving the sky and the beautiful creatures flying back on the hills of Dragonstone.Never in her life Y/n thought that one day she would have been up there with them,riding King Jaehaerys dragon for the coming war.

She remembers it as if it were yesterday:the heavy wood on her shoulders, the suspenders pulling on her dress,the smell of sweat and fish -by who stood still under the sun,like her,to look at the Rogue Prince,Daemon Targaryen walking through the dirty streets.She remembers the gravel under his feet,the clean smell of his clothes,the way his purple eyes seemed to shine under the light and the way they were studying her whole body from the top of her head to her bare feet.

Y/n could also remember the way she felt her skin catch of fire,they way her father trembled next to her without saying a word,as the prince took a strand of her hair between his fingers.Carefully,as if he was counting every single hair,he brought them to his nose to give them a sniff.

«Yes.»his voice was low,it made her shiver,his eyes never leaving hers«You smell like a dragon.»it sounded like he was disgusted but on his face there was no trace of it.

It’s been months since then,but Daemon hadn't aged much from that day,or at least,she remembered him exactly with that aspect.The long pale hair styled to perfection,the nails well-groomed,the voice deep.Clean clothes.The blade of his sword shiny and sharp.Purple eyes with pure fire behind them.White skin and beard shaved to perfection.

He is sitting in front of Y/n with his legs apart at the foot of the bed as he finishes reading a report.The war was closer each day and they needed to be ready.Y/n slipped into his room like every night.

Daemon was married to Queen Rhaenyra,but he didn’t spend much time with her.He had a war to prepare and to win.He was the one that suggested to find more dragon riders,the one that went searching for them and the one that trained them.All of them,four to be exact,were simple people before a dragon had claimed them.

Y/n was chosen by Vermithor,a massive creature with more teeth than anything else,whose roar shook the very foundations of Dragonstone.

«The best for the best.»Daemon had commented,holding her hand as he helped her getting down.

«I’m sure he is.»Y/n had muttered once she was steady on her feet,on the solid ground«But i don’t know if i will be able to be of any help.He will be better without me on him.»she said,placing a insecure hand on the dragon head.

The Rogue Prince observed the way the creature nuzzled against her touch«You have blood of the dragon in you.He knows it,you know it.You exist and there are no more excuses,you were born to do this.»his voice was more gentle this time.

He hadn’t been this caring and careful with Ser Hugh or Addam,keeping his face stoic and his eyes cold while he was telling them what to do with their dragons.But the war was closer each day and the last thing he needed was a scared little girl that didn’t knew how to ride a dragon.

Y/n was young,naive,soft and pure.Everything that he wasn’t,everything that he saw in his niece when he was just a child,everything he took from him previous wife,that he had lost in the daughter he didn’t met and in the one that he ignores.Everything that he craved and wanted,that was pulling him to her like a moth to a flame.

In the beginning he thought it was because of that.Y/n was much younger that he was,she didn’t had any manners,he would think of her as a ignorant and savage girl that didn’t knew how to read or write,which silverware to use at the dinner table,how dress properly or how to take care of her beautiful moon hair.

So he took care of her.He thought her how to read and write,how to sit at a table,how to hold a sword .Once her face was clean from the dirt and her skin smelled of roses and vanilla,dressed in one of Rhaena pastel pink dresses,he saw in her the purity and familiarity he had lost in those years.The innocence that he took from the women in his life without asking,the perfect immaculate skin that he didn’t stained yet,the hair,just like his,that he didn’t pulled,the beautiful heart shaped lips he didn’t tasted.

It was like looking at a ghost from his past,as she was in front of him so unsure and with the desire to please in every possible way,to make him proud,to have him pay attention to her,to just become his favorite.

«The key is in the balance.»he had explained to her,his big hand covering her lower back as he walked her back to the castle.

«Balance?»Y/n asked confused with a little voice.

Daemon nodded«Once you will find your balance and be steady on your own feet,everything will be easier.»he said.

Balance.

Y/n marks it in her mind,every letter as a stepping step.It's what she thinks she's found for the first time in her life:Daemon gives her a sense of calmness,peace after the battle,even after the biggest losses,even if he seems more broken,more broken after every defeat or every time that he has a fight with Rhaenyra.

But his presence is still reassuring.It's like a hot tea when you have a sore throat.Like honey in milk.Reassuring,comforting.Somehow.

Daemon was the first person that had spent so much time to take care of her and Y/n knew it was wrong.It wasn’t proper the way he would sit next the bathtub while she was washing,in the way he would brush her hair every night,kiss her forehead and cradle her head on his chest before falling asleep.It wasn’t proper when he was married,to the Queen no less,it was treason and it mean death penalty.But that didn’t stop them.

He had a perfect balance between Y/n,the young and virgin girl,the pure maiden,the new thing in his life and Rhaenyra,the old mad Queen,the one thing he already had possessed and had nothing else to offer him.

Daemon is all Y/n knows about life.He made sure to teach her that.It is the balance of the spirit and the balance of the body.It's the beauty of his armor and in the way he stands proudly on Caraxes,the way he spend his time to clean Dark Sister.The shirt just opened and messy hair on his head.

He is tired.He is already half undressed.The cloak hung him on the chair.

Y/n,on the other hand,is not as balanced as he is,she had tried for him but she had failed:she still feels the adrenaline running through her blood, running through her veins and singing her soul.She knows what she wants to put out the fire,to turn off the brain,to regain balance.

And she waits with all her might just like Daemon with patience.

Balance.First duty then pleasure.He had talked with Rhaenyra about the battle plans and then he went to call for Y/n to spend the night with her.

Y/n is learning to be patience,so she observes him:she looks at his long silver hair tickling down his neck,the first buttons of his shirt open and his lips reading.His purple eyes are hidden behind the paper in his hand:he has a curved back and his arms resting on his thighs.

Y/n can't help but think about how much he likes Daemon,even with sweaty hair,especially like that. So human,so true.In that little corner that is created between them,in the late evening,in that room.

It seems to her that everything else does not exist,that the world is not that terrible place dominated by fire and blood,that human beings are free,that she can love Daemon and that Daemon can love her.

And so she wait impatiently on the bed with her bare feet rubbing placidly on the sheets«Do you still have a lot of those?»she whispers not to be heard outside the room and perhaps not to be heard even by Daemon himself,because she knows how this war is important and how easy he is to piss off.

«Yes.»Daemon answer was short and he didn’t moved a inch from his previous position.

Y/n didn’t responded.She barely snorts and drops her head on the pillow.Her mental balance is quickly faltering.After that day all she wants is Daemon,she wants to forget,she wants sex and to hold him.

She wants to tell him all those things that can only be said in bed.Where she could pretend to be princess,the only woman in his life,the only one that he has ever touched and wanted like this.

«I'm almost done.»Daemon then adds without saying anything else.

But Y/n smiles.She knows that message.Daemon does this when he realizes that he has been too rude,too unpleasant or cold especially after a battle.

«Alright.»Y/n lifts her back from the mattress and leans with her forehead against his.

It's hot.She breathes his perfume and goes straight into her veins and it's like wood on the fire:she can't do it and grabs him by the jaw and makes his head turn to the side,she kisses him with her tongue,puts it in his mouth as much as she can and then bites his lip.The breath hiss against her cheek because there is not enough room for the air to pass through.

Y/n hears him moaning with annoyance but he doesn't move.And the balance is lost in that fire of souls and bodies that is being consumed.

He puts a hand in her hair and kisses her again.He wants it,he wants it more than anything,more than revenge,more than blood.Daemon indulges her because after all he needs it too,he needed the taste of skin,the smell of her body,that balance was broken,broken like them.

Then he turns around and puts a hand around her neck and pushes her forcefully against the mattress.That's enough to start to make her feel the familiar warmth between her legs.

Daemon notices it right away.He knows she likes it,he knows it excites her.He blocks the air in her throat and sticks his index finger in her mouth.

«Do you want me to fuck you,little girl?»his voice is far more gentle than the one he use to commands armies,but still it made her shiver«Is that what you want?»he could still sound so authoritative.

«Yes.»Y/n mutters with his finger in her mouth and the air that lacks in her lungs.

«I told you that I’m almost done.»he reminded her,referring to all the papers that were now on the cold floor.

Y/m mumbles something similar to a «I’m sorry.»her eyes are shiny.She’s red in the face and looks so desperate.

Daemon loosens his grip«Never mind,you made me want it too.»he said.

He kisses her without taking his hand off her neck,he kisses her vigorously,his tongue that caresses hers and in that moment she knows that Daemon has also lost control,the balance.

Y/n stretches her hand on his dressed erection and squeezes it,feels it hard,feels it warm and tense and this makes her arch her hips while they still kiss.

He once told her that dragons prefer heat and right now she feels like she's in a hot bath:her body is on fire.Daemon is able to do that to her,she doesn't understand it,she doesn't control it.She can't.

Y/n bites his lip and slowly unbuttons his shirt, discovers his chest like the first time and finds it – like every time – beautiful.

Even after a battle he always looks so clean,in this he reminds her of her mother.But Daemon more, he’s cleaner,more beautiful,more like fire and balance at the same time.He’s is the greatest contradiction of her life;yet,her greatest certainty.

Daemon hikes the material of her nightgown up her soft legs,keeping them open with his beautiful and muscular thighs.Trapping her in his spider web of pleasure and warmth.

Before Daemon,Y/n had never been interested in sex,or men.To anything that wasn't living another day on the island.Then he came looking for her,first as a soldier then as a man.

And he killed and at the same time gave birth to a part of her.By now her life was divided into before and after of Daemon.

He let the nightgown slide over her rib cage,his fingers feels like fire as they trace a path on her pure skin leaving goosebumps all over it.Her breast,her perky little nipples,the way her chest rise and fall so fast was enough to drive him crazy.He takes the nightgown off and leaves it at the foot of the bed with the grace that distinguishes him.

He leaves her neck flushed just to place a messy kiss on her puffy and rosy lips«It's really too easy to get you excited,little girl.» he murmurs,perhaps more to himself than to her.

However,Y/n is not embarrassed because she sees him in the same state:then with a tacit look she asks him for permission to undress him and finishes untiening his shirt, in a hurry as only she can do,then she moves on to his belt and pants.

He feels her skin on fire when his naked body matches with her own,when his erection and her wet flower meet and dance like their tongues.There is something poetic in that dirty dance,because everyone knows they shouldn't do it,but it's the only thing that makes it stable in that life devoid of any meaning,devoid of balance and certainties.

Daemon and his body,Daemon and his perfume,Daemon and his mouthpiece.Daemon and his tongue digging into her mouth as if to want to suck even the last particle of oxygen into her lungs.Daemon and that rude and delicate way of doing things at the same time that sends him into ecstasy when he fights and fucks her.

He takes his time preparing her,caressing and tasting the sweet wet flower in between her legs.The purest ambrosia gifted by the gods,the most delicious sounds of pleasure.She feels his hot erection pressing against her little entrance,ready to ravish her.

Y/n tries to relax just like he taught her but her heart is stally and suddenly she feels like she is in a battle:she clings to Daemon hair,loses her balance on her elbows and leaves herself totally to him.

Daemon enters her with a blow drier than his hip,he mutters something in her mouth,as he bites her lips red as blood and she scratches his back.There is no need for words:he begins to push,and she feels her flesh give way,widen for him and make room for him,squeeze him in that welcoming way that vaguely reminds Daemon of home.

He pushes and Y/n tries to breathe as best as he can,she looks for oxygen that is not there,touches him on his back and spreads her legs more:she wants it more,more,more.She doesn't even have the strength to call his name for how strong the thrusts are and he touches that point so sweet and secret inside of her that makes her tremble.The one she,sometimes,looked for on her own but never found.Daemon knows how to touch it,he knows how to loosen her every uncovered nerve.

He knows how to make her lose her balance and then find her in that bath of sweat and moods,saliva and scratches.

The bed squeaches and no one cares,not even that anyone can hear them at that moment because,when they are together there is nothing else.The sheets are a disaster under their bodies, they are the perfect synthesis of what is going on in that bed.

Y/n welcomes the thrusts of Daemon,welcomes the moans with her mouth,squeezes him between his thighs and does not let him go but indulges him in that fluid and dancing movement.

The hands that squeeze her neck,then her arms and then her ass.

And then the orgasm comes like a thread that suddenly breaks;like a rubber band that breaks and bounces into the body and mind.He hits her deeply and can't help but indulge in those sensations.To that sea that invests her at the same time while Daemon comes inside her but she no longer understands anything.

Y/n feel like she is on a cloud,she feel like she is flying.The sweat-soaked back doesn't touch the bed but the sky.

And all of a sudden everything becomes calms and quiet.

Daemon kisses her shoulders as if to console her because he knows her thoughts,he knows his little girl.He cautiously gets out of her and moves to her side.And the balance in silence returns,as the beats of their heart slow down.

Because after all,life was a game of balance,and that was the perfect balance for them.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

This part in Jon III AGoT when he’s realizing that he means to swear his life to a celibate institution at only the age of 14, before he could explore all the options the world has to offer him.

“I don’t care,” Jon said. “I don’t care about them and I don’t care about you or Thorne or Benjen Stark or any of it. I hate it here. It’s too… it’s cold.” “Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.” “Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

This part in Jon V, only two chapters later, when he’s finally about to become a man of the Watch but he can’t get too excited because he’s realizing that there’s a great big world down there, yet he’s all the way up here at the Wall - a cold, unwelcoming home; a prison with no escape unless he wishes to die.

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isle of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road… and he was here. Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. “I have not sworn yet,” he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay the penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely… until he said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers. Your half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King’s Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He wondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her. Because she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or else why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her? Jon Snow turned away from the kingsroad to look behind him. The fires of Castle Black were hidden behind a hill, but the Wall was there, pale beneath the moon, vast and cold, running from horizon to horizon. He wheeled his horse around and started for home.

Yes Jon could leave the Watch, but he has no place! Because where would he go, bastard that he is?

That’s why the most underrated endgame theory is ‘Traveling Diplomat Jon’. Yes he’s a talented politician and he would do very well as a ruling lord, but there’s so much he’s yet to discover because he struggled to see where his illegitimate status could take him. But even in his bastardy, Jon is connected to so many important locations all around Westeros. Forget Winterfell. He could visit Harrenhall where his parents met. He could go look for rubies in the Trident and see where his father died. He could visit the Vale, the place that raised his adoptive father and the man he’s named after. He could take a trip to Starfall and visit his milkbrother, then visit the Tower of Joy’s ruins. He could got to Dragonstone and Summerhall, his father’s birthplace and home. If he wishes, he can cross the Narrow Sea and visit his friend (and personal banker) Tycho Nestoris in Braavos. And if his suicidal tendencies get stronger, why not visit the smoky ruins of Valyria where sleeping dragons were once brought to life, just like himself?

Jon has spent five books earning his ‘Lord Snow’ title. And though it’s an oxymoron everyone, from baseborn bastards to mighty kings, calls him that and not all of them do it as a sign of mockery. He’s put in a lot of work towards coming to terms with his bastardy. So it’s finally time for him to take that in consideration and realize that there’s a great big world out there that’s ready to welcome him, bastard as he is.

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [3/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond, a little angst cuz Aemond hates himself :( and they keep making fun of Aemond.

WC: 3307

Summary: If Aemond told his old self that he was interested in a wildling’s offer, he would laugh at himself.

He remembered it like it was yesterday.

Marked by a sense of decay and neglect, Harrenhal stood there with its ruins as the sky turned grey and Vhagar’s roar was heard all over the riverlands. Aemond Targaryen has overtaken Harrenhal, slaying everyone in sight. Proudly standing as his men dragged every enemy they could find, he smirked. Looking down to his opponent, ser Simon Strong kneeled before the one eyed prince. 

“Where does your loyalty truly lies?,” Aemond asked to the aged senior of house strong. “My loyalty is only to my house. I shall do what is needed to survive,” Ser Simon admitted, panting and slightly disheveled after losing the duel. “You take me as a fool, old man?” Aemond angrily said. “The day you surrendered Harrenhal to my uncle, Daemon Targaryen was the day you pledged your loyalty to the blacks. Which makes you a traitor to the throne.” With a scowl, he ordered his men to drag the remaining strong family away from the castle. “And you know what happens to traitors?” With a grimace smile, he leans down to ser Simon. 

“They perish.”

Aemond walks ahead, leading his men towards the hill where Vhagar rests. Ser Simon knew of prince Aemond’s cruelty and insanity, his family cried with pleas as they were dragged into their deaths. 

“M-my prince..I beg of you,” ser Simon pleads, rushing to grip Aemond’s cloak. 

“Spare me. Spare my family. M-my great n-nephew sits on your council-,”

“–And what does that have to do with your treacherous act?”

“Please! He will ask you to spare us–,”

“–That toad has abandoned you long before the war. He does not care for you or your family’s safety,” Aemond said, pulling his cloak away from ser Simon’s grip. “Harrenhal is yours, my prince! We have surrendered, what more could you ask for?!” Ser Simon pleaded once again. Abruptly stopping his tracks, Aemond turned his body towards ser Simon. Glaring at the old man, for he saw red when a strong dared to ask him what they could ask for more for his mercy. 

“House Strong has tainted my family more than enough!” His voice boomed, making everyone freeze at their place. “The day your family stepped into my father’s council was nothing but a mistake! Especially when poor Lyonel Strong brought his two sons. One of them bedded my half-sister producing her deceased bastard son that took my eye. Then the other, who is a crippled and a rat,” Aemond spat. “How many more Strongs shall ruin my family, hm? Not to mention you pledged your loyalty to my uncle, Daemon Targaryen. Where is he now? He has abandoned you. All of you.”

Ser Simon could not say a word at first after seeing the kinslayer’s wrath. But he knew his reason. 

“Then you’re here to kill us. To cover your sins after murdering your nephew, Lucer-,”

“If you dare to say his name one more time, I shall give you a slow and torturous death, you old toad,” Aemond warned. 

“Our fate has been sealed the day your family step foot into Harrenhal. I do not expect less from you,” ser Simon bravely said. Aemond could only hum and ordered his men to continue drag them up to the hill where the old dragon stood. 

To cover his sins. 

To wash away his sins with fire and blood. 

To wash away his guilt. 

Convincing himself that what he’s doing is right. 

The Strongs must perish under his hands. 

“Naejot Māzīs, Vhagar,” Aemond called out. 

The old dragon was awaken, putting itself up with its feet. His men lined the strongs in front of Vhagar. As Aemond took his time, he stood between the strongs and his dragon, looking down upon the house he loathes proudly, he spoke with a cocky grin, “Any last strong words, house Strong?”

All of them were silent, refusing to speak for they don’t want to gain satisfaction from the one eyed prince. But then ser Simon opened his mouth, “I shall tell Lucerys what you have become. For he is lucky to not witness the war that you’ve started.” 

That you’ve started.

That Aemond have started.

Gripping his sword, Aemond saw red. 

“Dracarys.” 

Splash. 

Aemond was brought back to the present. 

Sitting on the floors of castle black, his hands were tied as he gasped when the cold water touched his skin. Surrounded by the members of the watch, the Lord Commander hovers above him, “Thought we lost ya there for a second,” he mocked. Then it all came to Aemond’s senses. When he failed to kill or even capture the wildling, he was taken to the Lord Commander to be punished. He recalled the Lord Commander shouting at him for nearly hours to the point it gave him a pain in the head. But when he thought he was done for the day, he finds himself being dragged away. 

Facing the consequences. 

Got a nice beating till he passed out. 

“You hear me, Targaryen?”

The Lord Commander gripped Aemond’s hair, forcing him to look up to the northener with his one eye. “I said, what were you doing with that wildling?” Aemond knew that he could’ve just told the commander what the wildling has offered him, yet his mind told him not to. For he does not know what the northerners would do to him if they knew of the wildling’s offer. He was assumed as a traitor already, what use of him to make them doubt him even more? “She said nothing,” Aemond grits, holding his pain when the Lord Commander gripped his hair all the way to his scalp. “Then why did you fail to capture her? Or to even behead that wildling with your sword?” The Lord Commander asked him once more. 

“She was fast–,”

“–And I thought you were a skilled warrior! They told me you were ruthless and a killing machine!” Aemond felt a hard kick onto his stomach. Groaning in pain his body gave up and rested itself onto the ground. “I’ve now realized that you’re nothing but an ordinary man who just happens to have a dragon. Without it you’re not even worthy to be called a swordsman,” the Lord Commander mocked, crouching down to the one eyed prince. “You live under the watch now, boy. You may aswell leave your title for no one here has a higher rank than the other.” When he reached out to touch Aemond’s hair to get a good look of the Targaryen, he saw nothing but anger painted on his face. “If it weren’t for the Starks, I might have to repeat myself but, you have no use for us.”

“I do not know what sort of pact you made with that wildling. Whatever it is, if you dare to betray the watch we might aswell take your other eye out,” the Lord Commander warned. “I shall cut your arm before you could even do such thing,” Aemond spat at him. “You are allowed to try.” Patting Aemond’s cheek, the Lord Commander stood up looking down at him. “And they say that the Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Now I only see a Targaryen closer to the animals than men.” The other members of the watch laughed at the commander’s words, agreeing. 

Aemond closed his eye as he heard them starting to leave, their footsteps fading away from him. “Oh and you are now a steward, boy. Start cleaning the horses’ shit by dawn!” They all cackled, satisfied that now a Targaryen prince shall clean horse shit and cook in the kitchen. If only Aemond could burn everything down. He sighed in defeat, cradling himself as the cold air of the north has no mercy on him as well.

What could Aemond ask from the gods?

No matter how hard he pray, he knew that this was a punishment from the gods. If the gods had mercy on him, they would’ve let him die in that lake. Yet they put him in a place to feel how his enemy felt in his hands back in the war. But what he went through in the night’s watch was nothing than what his enemies had endured. He was starving for power at such young age. But what did it cost him? 

But what if his only escape was that wildling?

Will she keep her promise?

Helping him to find his way home, away from this nightmare?

Did the gods send her to play with him or to save him? 

He does not know. 

But deep down, he hoped that she was the key to his freedom.

Three moons have passed, he has spent his days more in the stable more than he spent his time in bed. At first the stench of horse shit made him puke countless times. Some of it got into his hair to the point he could not let it loose anymore. But he got used to the smell to the point he can’t smell shit no more. At Least he is better at feeding the horses than cooking in the kitchen and feeding the men. Even he loathed his own cooking. 

Stabbing a pile of hay, he tossed it into the stallion he was caring for. He saw how the horses had gotten used to his presence as well, staying still every time he got close to them. Horses aren’t as loud as birds or chickens, that was the thing that made his job easier. It’s better to stay with them than interacting with those northerners, especially when every member of the watch keeps an eye on every single move he makes.

For after what happened that night changed their perspectives on him. He could not walk freely without someone following him. Everytime he got too close to the forest for whatever reason, the watch would accuse him with any accusations and it was only a matter of time before they would throw a punch and an insult . He looked out seeing a few watch members passing by, and a brief view of the haunted forest. 

In secret, he stayed in the stable longer than he should have. Hoping for the wildling to return and take him away. But he wouldn’t even admit that to himself. It was a foolish wish for him to make. Two moons have passed and no signs of that wildling. He believes it was only a joke made by the gods so they could be entertained by his demise. 

“The gods work in mysterious ways. Yet, seek for them when you feel lost. For they are always around you.”

His mother’s influence for religion secretly affects him. He was never a devoted man to the seven, but living under the guidance of his mother affected his life. Aemond entered the small sept when the sun sets. When everyone was asleep or away to their posts. He finds himself kneeling down lighting a candle like his mother always does, he prayed. 

To The Father, to protect and guide him in the watch. 

To The Mother, to his loved ones. His family. 

To The Warrior, to give him strength in every battle he will face. 

To The Smith, to keep his sword strong and sharp

To The Crone, to ask for guidance and to lead him to the right path in life

And to The Stranger, to one day take him away when he finds peace.

Standing up, Aemond sighs still feeling unedged. 

When he looked up, he saw the symbol of the seven looking down on him. 

What is it that you want from me? 

He let out an agonising scream, not caring if anyone heard him. 

He just wanted his misery to end. 

Aemond stayed in the humble sept for awhile, trying to find his peace before he could continue his life. Dragging himself out of the sept, Aemond looked up seeing the moon shining above him. A light of hope even in the midst of darkness. 

Then he heard it. 

A horse neighed. 

It kept stomping. 

And it didn’t stop at one stomp. 

The stable was not far from the small sept so he could hear the loud stomps of the horse. Something was disturbing their peace. Aemond hurried towards the stable, expecting to find a critter bothering the horses. Yet he heard a voice. A familiar feminine voice he had not heard for a while. “Shh shh! Here’s a treat for ya! Sorry for startling ya,” he heard the voice said. At first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but when he took a closer look, he saw her figure with her fur coat he saw on the bridge of nightfort. 

“You,” he pointed at her. 

The Wildling turned to his direction as she fed a horse with a toothy smile.

“Snow haired! You fed these horses well!” 

What is this? 

A trick?

To mess with him again?

Aemond was angry as he stomped towards the wildling pulling out his dagger. “Careful now, we don’t want to startle the horses,” she said, pulling out her own. “What is your business here, wildling?” He snarled at her, headlocking her in place. “Ow! Hey! I have a name y’know!” Aemond took her dagger away from her grip. “You bring nothing but bad omen upon me. SPEAK!” He grits his teeth, wanting to end his misery of being played by the gods. But he couldn't, for he needed to know her reasons. 

“My offer still stands, Targaryen!” She exclaimed, before swinging her feet and locking Aemond’s ankle to flip him over, releasing herself from his grip. “I am not here to bring trouble,” she said again, lifting her arms up. “Your offer is nothing but a trick! How can you, a stupid wildling, take me back behind the wall?” He asked, standing back on his feet with his dagger still gripped tightly. “I-I admit I do not know. But I can give you the chance. Rather than you being stuck here, watched by these crows every single day! You have more chance to escape outside of the crow’s nest.” She tried to step closer yet Aemond stepped back. 

“Believe me, I loathe these crows as much as you do,” she said. 

He stared at her as she still kept her hands open, like trying to tame a wild beast. 

“And how should I know that you will not kill me?”

“I might be called a savage but I promise you, I’m- we are not that bad. Especially to things that could benefit us.”

“And how could I benefit you?”

“You have lived in the nest of the crows for three moons by now. You know more of their ways than we wildlings have for years. Yes we know their strategies, but what do you think is the reason for us not passing through them?” 

Her words made him think. 

“We are outnumbered, our weapons and resources aren’t as much or dangerous as the crows. With you, we can rely on your knowledge and we could also need a little help. Not to mention, I’m sure you’ve made several acquaintances.”

Aemond rolled his eyes. 

“It is not that easy, you fool. The crows aren’t as stupid as you think they are.”

“But we have tried everything. What is the harm of trying?” She asked, yet when she touched his arm, he tackled her down. His dagger once again close to her throat.

She was the one he prayed to come to him all for the past moon yet when she came why is he like this?

Afraid to be betrayed.

Afraid to be abandoned.

Afraid that this is only a game once again from the gods.

”Please, come with me,” she pleaded.

Her eyes enchanting him as it never leaves his healthy eye, not even a blink. Afraid to be lured and enchanted by her, he closed his eyes.

His breathing was ragged as he gripped the dagger to the point his hands started to shake. He wanted to go home. He just wanted to escape this hell. Was she his answer?

“Aemond?”

He looked up, how did she- no, it wasn’t her voice. He turned his heads towards the entrance of the stable as he still has the wildling underneath him.

“Jack,” Aemond said in horror. 

Jack saw him with the wildling. He would tell the others and he would be seen as treason- he would be beheaded- shit Jack’s running away now. “Jack, come back here!” Aemond exclaimed in frustration when Jack started to run from the stable. Thankfully Aemond was faster and tackled the young boy to the ground. “Let go! Let go of me!” Aemond shuts Jack’s mouth with his hand.

Shushing him.

“I am not your enemy,” Aemond tried to say, holding Jack in place as Jack squirmed and kicked trying to let go from Aemond’s strong grip. The wildling catched up to them, curiously looking peeking her head behind Aemond’s shoulder.

Jack lets out a muffled voice. 

“And she…is not here to harm anyone.” 

Aemond’s words made Jack give him a confused stare. 

“I knew I heard something.”

The Lord Commander. 

Aemond turned around and got back up to his feet, holding Jack in his grip as a dozen men surrounded the three of them. “Can’t believe you made an allegiance to those savages,” he chuckled. The wildling pulled out her dagger, keeping her feet steady. “Let us leave, and the boy will be spared.” Aemond threatened. The Lord Commander scoffed, “Go ahead. Kill another innocent boy, kinslayer.” 

Aemond felt his jaw clench. 

Lucerys. 

He shook his head to snap out of it. 

“Stop it,” he warned, gripping Jack’s throat. 

With one nod, the watch suddenly gripped the spearwife’s arms, making her squirm and screaming to let her go. Aemond watched as he was once again cornered by these fucking northeners. “Your one way ticket to ‘freedom’ is in our hands. What will you do, Targaryen? What is your plan now?” The Lord Commander asked, stepping closer to Aemond and tapped his forehead. “You can’t even think of an escape plan. You are a fool.”

Aemond reached out the dagger he took from the wildling. 

Swiftly letting go of Jack and stabbing The Lord Commander’s chest. 

He saw the horror that succumbs the Lord Commander’s eyes when he buries the dagger deep into his chest. He had to. He had no choice. Before the watch noticed, he quickly dragged the wilding out of the men’s grip that were frozen because of shock, running towards the stable. 

“Wait! The boy!” The wildling said, as Aemond dragged her into the stable choosing a random horse that he could trust. “What of him?” He asked, picking up his sword he left beneath a pile of hay. “We- we can’t just leave him to the crows!” She shouted at him. “Oh so now you care for the life of a boy?”

“I always have! I may have killed a couple of crows but I know who is innocent and who is not!”

Ignoring her argument, Aemond puts a saddle onto the horse. “We must hurry.” 

Before she could even argue with him, he picked her up and placed her on the horse. “It was not my fault that this night became eventful-,”

“–Stop talking,” he sternly said as he climbed up to the horse, making it gallop away from the stable. 

“Stop them!” They heard a crow said, some flying their arrows towards them. Yet the stallion was fast, leading them away from the attacks. Ahead, they saw how the gates were starting to close and their horse was galloping as fast as it could but with the distance, they wouldn't make it. But then someone shot an arrow to the man's leg, stopping him from closing the gate any further. 

Aemond looked back, trying to find the source of the arrow. 

He was surprised to find Jack being the culprit. 

Standing not far from the gates of castle black lowering down his bow. 

He could only nod at the one eyed prince as he watched them escape from the watch. 

Hoping for the best. 

The horse kept galloping as Aemond looked back at the black fortress that he claimed was his prison. It kept shrinking from his sight, so he looked ahead, finding the opening path of the haunted forest welcoming them. For he knew he had made a choice and he could not turn back around. This was the path he has chosen and Aemond Targaryen could only pray to The Crone for guidance as he awaits for his next journey.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a bit overwhelming to write cuz I was a little bummed out when writing this. It’s not that proof read so I do apologize for any typos or bad writing lol🎀 Anyways, let’s just say we’ll have more scenes with Aemond and our wildling reader in future chapters<3 I want to take this series on a steady pace rather than a hurried series yk, I want to build the relationship between Aemond and the reader so you’re in for a ride☺️🌷

🍰current tags: @suntizme @8812-342 @ladytargg @barnes70stark @magpiewritingsforonce @thesadvampire ( if your username was bolded it means I can’t tag you and idk why😔🐦‍⬛)

[viterbofangirllovestheuntamed]

So.

According to @demiace-wen-ning​‘s iconic post, every MXTX novel has:

A red/black, morally ambiguous, all-powerful bastard man

A fan wielder who is much more than meets the eye

And a fucking Jiang Cheng

Now we, as a collective fandom, have decided with our communal braincell that in SVSSS, the “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ character is Liu Qingge. And on the surface, this seems Right and Good:

HOWEVER! I posit that these aspects are only the most superficial and external aspects of the vast and multi-layered Dagwood sandwich that is fundamental “fucking Jiang Cheng”™yness. “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ has LAYERS. And for all that I love Liu Qingge, I love him in the same way I love the Sonic franchise’s Knuckles the Echidna:

This is emphatically NOT how I love Jiang Cheng. Furthermore, this is demonstrably NOT the sort of character that a fandom becomes viciously divisive about. This is the sort of character you either like or dislike and move on with your life because he is not deep and complex enough to Die On This Hill for defending. (This is a Feng Xin or Nie Mingjue sort of character.)

So what makes for a “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ character? What are the quintessential “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ characteristics that result in a complex and divisive character? I propose:

ambiguous/unexplained actions

refusal to explain motives

canon selfless actions missed or negatively interpreted

socially over-conscious while still socially detested

harsh and contemptuous outward behavior

honestly, naturally is an asshole, but holds back just enough to get away with it

hard-working but overshadowed by upstart prodigy

childhood trauma that fundamentally affected behavioral patterns

aggressively focused on their cultivation and consequent social status

secretly heartbroken about a perceived betrayal regarding the protagonist

yay, war crimes!

These attributes all describe Jiang Cheng. All but the last one describe Mu Qing, with the second-to-last applying in a way where HE is perceived as the betrayer. None of these attributes describe Liu Qingge. But you know who they DO describe in SVSSS?

Shen Jiu.

The ORIGINAL Shen Qingqiu.

An undeniable asshole who nevertheless gets punished for every good deed he ever did, who clawed and scraped his way to the top of the cultivation world and ensured he stayed there no matter how many bridges he had to burn or enemies he had to make along the way, who acts like a bitter tsundere to the person who matters most to him because said person broke their promise and never explained why, whose childhood was a never-ending parade of trauma and abuse that molded him into a harsh and suspicious individual, who (though we don’t find out until the extras) shows no sexual interest in anyone, whose own path to cultivation was so difficult and traumatic that they could not stop themselves from jealously lashing out at the heaven-blessed prodigy standing right next to them.

Shen Jiu is the TRUE “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ of SVSSS, and I cordially invite any haters to bring it on because this is My Hill and I am ready to fight for it.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

I can’t get this thought out of my head.

CoD ML

The taskforce has gotten used to Ghost saying “Can’t wait to get home to the missus.” It came as a surprise at first because he’s not the best, if not the downright worst, at expressing his emotions. Nonetheless, they’ve gotten used to the phrase and any other variation of it.

However, no one was prepared for this time. “Finally going home to my lady and the kids.”

Kids?

KIDS?!

When did this happen? Simon didn’t mention you were pregnant and neither did you. John is absolutely baffled because surely you would’ve told him since he’s the second to know this type of stuff. After all, he’s the closest to you after your man.

Soap is overjoyed, already fancying himself the fun ‘uncle’ and congratulating his mate. “Didn’t think you’d ever be a father, Ghost, but look at ye! I do hope your daughters get the looks from their bonnie mother. Unless you’re handsome.”

“We had this convo before, McTavish. I’m quite handsome.”

“I still don’t believe ye.”

Kyle is absolutely gobsmacked, but keeps it at a polite “congrats, sir”.

Little do any of them know the ‘kids’ have four sturdy legs, whiskers, and gorgeous thick fur. You’ve even deemed them the most handsome fluffy children of the neighbourhood.

Simon and you adopted two Norwegian Forest Cats before he had to leave on deployment, named Ragnar and Rollo. He wasn’t a fan of the names at first, but agreed to them to please you. Then again, he’d let you pick the names for your children if you ever decide to start a family.

Until then, this is more than enough.

Simon quietly slips beneath the covers beside you. It’s a bit of a struggle to manoeuvre his large frame around your two sons, who are quick to pounce on their father and loudly start purring.

“You’re back,” you drowsily murmur, awoken by Ragnar’s and Rollo’s sonorous purrs. Your subconscious registers his presence so you instinctively turn onto your side and snuggle up to him. “Should’ve said you’d come. Would’ve-“

He kisses your forehead. “Shh, go back to sleep.”

He knows you’d have shown up at the airport. You always do since he usually lets you know in advance whether he’s home bound and at what time he expects to be back in England. However, tonight was a very late flight though the shift in time zones made it a very, very early morning one.

Whatever the case, Simon would rather you stay at home, in bed with your sons, than be out in the dark. If he could, he’d forbid you to go out in the evening after sunset unless you’re taking him with you. Fortunately, despite never having explicitly agreed nor have it actually mentioned, you’re of one mind when it comes to that. After all, it’s hard to miss the posters and flyers against sexual assault and intimidation of women.

And you do feel safer when Simon’s with you.

Vice versa is also the case. Indeed, your big burly bastard of a man shares the sentiment.

He’s been doing a lot of mental work recently to work on his emotional intelligence. One thing that’s been helping a lot in opening up and trying to form connections, well, an even deeper connection to you (he’s not a people person so you’re pretty much the only one he talks to outside the taskforce) is gaming.

Yup, Simon Riley is a gamer.

A massive Assassin’s Creed fan too. This is a hill I will die on, you can’t convince me otherwise.

So imagine his surprise when after breakfast you slip a present across the table to him. How his eyes light up, the delight banishing the suspicion that cast a darkness over them, when he sees you bought him a special edition of AC: Mirage. Little does he know you placed a pre-order the moment he told you Ubisoft was coming out with a new game in the franchise.

“Thought you might like this. As a ‘welcome home’ prezzie,” you say, hiding the smile spreading on your lips behind your coffee mug.

“Thank you, love.” He stands up and walks over to your side. You get up too, arms outstretched in anticipation of one of his rare bear hugs. In spite of his stone cold persona, Simon seems to radiate heat whenever he’s home. So you stand there for a few moments, simply enjoying the feel of his arms around you.

After cleaning up and changing into a pair of sweats, he turns the PS5 on. Ragnar and Rollo plop down on the couch on either side of the both of you, freshly returned from their habitual morning stroll around the yard. You snuggle up to Simon, basking in his warmth while watching him play.

A perfect lazy family day.

[manjiroscum]

LILY OF THE VALLEY

Character/s: snow leopard hybrid!Rindou Haitani

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, dark content, canon typical violence, blood, murder, dub-con, marking, mentions of mating, hybrid au, kidnapping, yandere!rindou, dom!rindou, sub!reader, cockdrunk reader, implied multiple rounds, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding, blackmailing/threats, pet play, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by @httn 💜 thank you love for trusting me with this! i hope you like it 🫶

Synopsis: Only fools come out to play with a feral cat.

WC: 6.1k

Crimson specks marred the freshly fallen snow akin to wine spilled all over a white linen cloth. The bullet wound on his thigh was slowing him down. Nevertheless, Rindou trudged up the small hill to reach the other side of the forest hoping he would escape his pursuers that were looking through his busted car for any signs of life. With his teeth gritted, the lost man was sure he might die today. After getting separated from Ran and the others, a car chase occurred as he fled from the warehouse when a bomb about to blow up the building was shouted out. In all his years of doing the same song and dance, one could say Rindou got used to the chaos that has intertwined into his life since the day he was born with the need to experience thrills.

But, fuck, he could never get used to getting shot or bleeding out. The first time hurt like a bitch and the second time it happened made him want to pass out. It was more irritating to face than shoot those who dare touch his tail. Now, Haitani Rindou was sure he will die. Whatever plan those bastards cooked up that would confirm his demise, he had to give them props because they might succeed. Car dead, his phone without any signal, the temperature dropping fast, and a forest that may span a thousand hectares was just the starter pack he needed to die in these woods.

Rindou can’t die here. It would just be pathetic. So pathetic that they might make jokes out of it. His death would only make people say he deserved it or it is the consequence of having an unpleasant lifestyle. And honestly, fuck them. He has to live. He has to get out of here and seek shelter before the frost bites his fingers, ears, and toes off. What would his enemies think? What would Bonten do? What would Ran do?

What should he do?

A million thoughts raced through his mind as his knees finally gave away. His eyes fluttered close for a moment, inhaling the cold air sharply that he was quite sure it could cut his nostrils like blades made out of ice. A trail of blood followed him from where he started all the way to the top of the hill. In contrast to the icy atmosphere around him, his lungs burned. During these times, delusions would enter his mind to distract him from the impending doom that was looming above his head. Death was now breathing down his neck as if they were old friends. Its voice called out to him through the chilly breeze that brushed past him and the strong trees that appeared like shadows of those whom he wronged and killed to survive. If he had to guess what hell looked like, this was possibly the closest description minus the flames. Why would such a cold environment bother him in such a way? This has never happened before. He could think of countless reasons why a hybrid such as he who was meant to thrive in such an environment was slowing down.

Ah, that’s right… He never had to be out much to do his dirty deeds. It was always his underlings. Pawns who would readily obey him for various goals. He and Ran, without fail, get away from taxing jobs. After all, meaningless fights never appeased their appetite for violence. Something always had to interest the brothers for them to act. Looking back on those memories of merely partying and finding someone to toy with, Rindou couldn’t help but exhale deeply. His lips were chapped due to the lack of moisture in the air.

If my life is flashing before my eyes, perhaps I am indeed dying…

And yet, amidst the snow and harsh winds, a merciful angel came into view. Rindou thought he was already a goner for his eyes to conjure such a beautiful sight. Vivid colors murked into a blur as his vision steadily failed him due to exhaustion finally catching up to him. However, the second that angel spoke, voice soothing despite the panicked tone evident in it, he realized this was reality.

“Sir? Oh my god, w-wait. I need to call an ambulance—”

“N…o.” It took all of his strength to move his lips and tongue. The woman before him met his dazed stare, shifting her attention between Rindou and something behind her. “No am…bulance…”

“W-what? Why? No, you need immediate attention…”

Haitani Rindou, one of the infamous criminals Bonten has in their arsenal and the fearsome younger brother of Ran was still vulnerable to things that exude innocence. Perhaps it was just in his nature to be drawn toward something he can never be and so he tried to push away the person who came out on a snowy night to help him. This earned him a surprised expression and more questions he couldn't answer. Rindou’s efforts were in vain as his eyelids finally shut, and the last of his energy left him unconscious in the hands of a stranger.

I’m sorry, Ran…

There was a sea of trees you had to drive by to reach your parents’ house. The road was slippery due to the snow but you had to go after promising to drive carefully. After a hearty dinner and entertaining their inquiries about whether you will get married or not, you were set on heading back to your apartment. Tomorrow is Monday and you had to wake up early for your nine-to-five job at the cafe your cousin owned. Normally, your schedule ranged from mundane to the occasional unexpected events that usually revolved around your job or your parents. Yet they were never anything spontaneous or something that will make the hairs on the back of your hair stand until you had to rescue this man now sleeping on a makeshift bed in a veterinarian’s clinic.

Ignorance could sometimes save a person’s life. The second you saw the hanafuda tattoo on his neck, you knew the shit you were about to get into could get messy. Never had you ever thought of bringing an infamous person, let alone one of Bonten’s henchmen, into your home. The veterinarian you called for help swore his secrecy after he commended you for doing first aid, but commented that men like him shouldn’t be saved. Yet, your conscience wouldn’t let you sleep soundly at night if you left him there on a cold winter’s night to bleed to death or get feasted on by bears.

“Are you… his girlfriend or somethin’?”

“No, I’m not,” you responded while cleaning up the bloody clothing and gauze after Rindou’s wound was stitched up. “However, as a human being, I couldn’t just leave him there. I’m… not capable of such cruelty.” The man shifted his attention back to the dangerous person fast asleep and then squinted hard as if his patient was just pretending. Grunting, the veterinarian gathered the last of his tools into his bag and made his way to the door, but not before leaving you some sound advice.

“Be careful because this choice you made might just bite you back. I’ll be back as soon as possible when I find a doctor in the area. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure this secret doesn’t reach the authorities.”

Thinking back to what happened earlier, you were sure your blood ran cold at the sight of a broken car by the road. Initially, you thought the vehicle broke down and that the owner must be somewhere nearby since it would take around twenty minutes to get to the nearest town. Unless they had to hitch a ride because it was freezing and decided to leave the car. But the second you saw what seemed to be bullet holes in its body, uneasiness coated your nerves like thick molasses. The dread of finding a dead body doubled upon seeing blood on the snow, leading up to where you found the dying unknown man.

Damn it all. He wouldn’t harm someone who rescued him, right?

No, scratch that, this man wasn’t a stranger to you. You were the stranger—not him. Everybody who worked in Tokyo and heard the news was all aware of Bonten, the most dangerous gang in the country to date, enough to rival the yakuza. Those hanafuda tattoos they branded on their flesh bear the symbol of their loyalty to the man who founded the group, Sano Manjiro. The Haitani brothers were as famous all by themselves. It didn’t have to take you long to know everything they committed under the sun or the veil of night. Rumors of the brothers and Bonten always circulate on the internet. In short, they were individuals you had to avoid to live long.

Eyes glancing at your phone sitting by the couch, you debated whether to call the cops and turn him in. Maybe getting Rindou off your hands will be the first step to having your normal life back… Or will just cement the death sentence he shall bestow upon your unfortunate soul once he recovers.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” you groaned into your hands. Sleep was out of the question. You had to monitor Haitani Rindou for two obvious reasons—one because he might wake up and two because he might silence you the second he does. Gruesome pictures of your death flashed on the television screen ran across your imaginative mind and honestly, you were scaring yourself. Clearly, you didn’t think this through. But, what’s done is done. There was no way you could throw him out now. “Let’s… just make sure he’s fine enough to walk out of here on his own. Y-yeah…”

Exhaling a defeated sigh, you sat down on the floor and stared at Rindou’s unconscious form. For a man as big and bad as him, you bet he would snore loudly. Yet, he looked almost like a corpse—unmoving and quite fragile. The biggest shirt you had at your disposal appeared tiny in his huge frame. The veterinarian even gave up on giving him something to wear on the lower part, muttering how he shouldn’t even be bothered to clothe the criminal. The thought of Rindou being naked down there was slightly distracting, making your eyes wander down from the hanafuda tattoo on his neck to the intricate design on his torso until you slapped your cheeks to make you stop eyeing the muscular hybrid.

What the—don’t do this to yourself. He is a criminal, for fuck’s sake!

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your phone to check for any messages. There was only one from your mother, checking up on whether you arrived home. A humorless laugh escaped your lips as you lied to her. Besides, she will definitely panic if she knew you were looking after a criminal in a vet’s clinic. You hoped to distract your mind from spiraling into endless regret by watching adorable videos of dogs. A good turn deserves another… You just wished Haitani Rindou was a person who would reward good deeds.

The morning was rough on you. With a stretch or two, you cursed your aching back while you proceeded to order breakfast for three. Your cousin was kind enough to give you a day off after phoning in with a fake cold. The minute you finished offering him apologetic words after lying through your teeth, you then grabbed the takeout and sped off to the clinic Rindou was moved to. Caffeine and sweets were the things keeping you sane save for the veterinarian and a doctor, whom he roped into the situation, present in the room. Dr. Hinohara was silently observing Rindou’s body while giving a blood transfusion to the still-sleeping hybrid. Compared to last night, the younger Haitani looked slightly better. He still appeared like he crawled out of hell and survived, though.

“I guess we don’t have to bring this man to the hospital,” the doctor spoke after some time. “There doesn’t seem to be a bullet stuck to his thigh. He did lose a lot of blood. I’ll just make sure to monitor him in case he needs more blood transfusions and if there could be any infections on the wound. If he does turn for the worst, I will have to bring him to the hospital—”

You were quick to object, leaving your cup of coffee to stand up. “H-he told me he shouldn’t go to a hospital. I’ll pay you, Sir. I’ll make sure to pay you for treating him. J-just don’t bring him there. Please…”

Dr. Hinohara sighed at your statement, sharing a glance with the veterinarian. Just as you were ready to shoot down their suggestions of you putting an end to your good samaritan role, the doctor then nodded solemnly in resignation. Appeased, you backed away before sitting yourself down once again. Seeing that there wasn’t anything left for him to do, the veterinarian excused himself and left the establishment. A few minutes later, Dr. Hinohara did the same to attend to his outpatients. It wasn’t until lunchtime when he came back that you decided to head back home to catch some sleep after a long warm bath. To be in a room alone with Haitani Rindou, awake or not, was making you anxious. Your eyes were often fluttering close, trying to stay conscious and alert in the presence of an infamous gang member. To let your guard down would be serenading death.

“You can come back tomorrow afternoon,” Dr. Hinohara said with a gentle smile upon seeing you out. “I don’t think Mr. Haitani would wake up today anyways. Go home and get some rest. I’ll call you if anything changes about his current condition.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hinohara.”

If you knew that the day you saved Haitani Rindou would be the last time you could ever experience a normal life, perhaps the future wouldn’t turn out like this—with you almost sticking to a corner whereas Rindou glared at your quivering form. Dr. Hinohara was nowhere to be found on the second floor and your mind concocted various scenarios at the sight of the trashed room. How could the man be up and ready to threaten you with his sharp claws when he was just barely conscious days ago? You even recall Dr. Hinohara remarking about Rindou being too weak to open his eyelids. So just how?

Irises sharp as his claws remained on you, hues of ultra violet hoping to unmask your intentions by staring right into your soul. Behind his predatory gaze were promises filled with violence and a whole world of pain if you so much as make a single move that he will deem a crime towards him.

Haitani Rindou was not a man to be trifled with.

“You… Didn’t I tell you not to bring me to a hospital?” he questioned in a demanding tone, taking a step closer to you which prompted your weak legs to fall back. This is the very thing you hoped to avoid. Maybe if you were given the foresight that Haitai Rindou would recuperate enough to stand today, you would have come prepared to negotiate. Negotiate with him not to kill you and to leave you alone because you did what he asked. However, he didn’t seem happy at the idea of recovering in a clinic, afraid his location would be alerted to the police. “What’s the matter? Suddenly can’t use that tongue of yours? From what I remember you weren’t mute—”

“This isn’t a hospital. Y-you’re in a clinic, can’t you see?”

The hand you used to gesture at the area shuddered upon seeing him move. Rindou was obviously confused as he surveyed the room, unsure whether to take your word or not. You couldn't blame him, though. Blood rolling down his thigh akin to raindrops on a glass window captured your attention, taking away the assertive statements off of your lips. Your fear for him was outweighed by your concern for his wound that might have reopened due to his carelessness.

Rindou was quick to create distance between you two. Your eagerness was mistaken as an act to lunge and subdue him which was something you couldn't do. He realized this the moment he winced in pain, hand applying pressure on his bleeding thigh. You clicked your tongue and hurriedly helped him back onto his bed. His hostility towards you disappeared with each pang of pain that erupted around his injury. Of course, he just had to be slowed down by this and for you, this was a blessing in disguise.

“Stay here, okay? I’ll go see if Dr. Hinohara has returned.”

Any deity above must have heard your silent prayer for the doctor announced himself inside Rindou’s room, eyes wide at the condition of his patient and the messy room. Minutes passed, and the hybrid was now waiting for the pain to subside once his wound was attended to. Lips in a tight line, you sat by the side, waiting for the doctor to say something—anything that will get rid of the awkward air that settled in the room. Instead of something positive, Dr. Hinohara approached you with a dejected expression that caused your heart to momentarily stop beating. His next words almost had you wishing you were sitting down due to the implications of it.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t do this since I am a practitioner of medicine and should have empathy for my patients no matter who they are… But I can’t have Mr. Haitani stay here any longer. You must understand. My other patients have caught a whiff of his presence here and are too scared to come over. I-it’s bad for me.” Dr. Hinohara then added to soften the blow, “If he stays over at your place, I-I promise to visit and check on him from time to time. Although, I doubt I could do much since he’s close to full recovery.”

Bullshit.

It was utter bullshit. There was no way his other patients knew about Rindou being treated in the clinic. Based on the days you visited the hybrid when he was still unconscious, everyone who visited the doctor didn’t display any signs of uneasiness. Yet, you couldn’t do anything to appeal for Rindou anymore since the doctor was more than eager to kick him out. For all you know, the hybrid trashing the room was his last straw.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, you turned the stove off and poured the hot soup into two bowls. The Bonten executive sat on the living room couch, watching a daytime show. He was unbothered by the small space of your apartment, thankfully. Rindou barely fussed upon arriving, probably because he did not have any other choice. Even with his infamous reputation, throwing him out was inhumane.

You wanted to help him, but it has been years since you took care of someone sick or injured. Plus, your mother’s temperament was far different from Rindou's.

“You okay with miso soup?”

Rindou merely grunted in response, avoiding your gaze while he took his bowl from you. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his moodiness, you took the seat across from him prior to drinking the soup you made. For the hybrid to keep sulking like this, you figured it was because his wound hasn't fully healed, and limped every time he walked. Men like Rindou hated weakness. To display his vulnerability to you like this must be torture to the mighty snow leopard hybrid—someone who isn't used to being on the other side of the spectrum.

Yet, he never dismissed your acts of assistance. No matter how much you teased him in an attempt to lighten the mood or receive his narrowed gaze, Haitani Rindou never made a move to hurt you during his stay here. Or at least that is what he's trying to do—to lure you into a sense of comfort before he strikes like an apex predator. Nevertheless, you continued to meet his needs.

“You okay?” you asked him when his spoon fell to the floor. Your legs were up and running to get a towel once you saw what happened. He dropped his spoonful of miso soup on his bandages because his limpid eyes couldn’t be torn from the show he claimed was too boring. “Mr. Haitani, you shouldn't pay attention elsewhere while eating.”

“Can’t help it,” he answered with a scoff. A ghost of a laugh slipped past your mouth at the thought of him acting almost like he was a big cat distracted by the pretty colors that led to this situation. Shaking your head, you wiped off the droplets of miso soup from his thigh. After you tossed the towel to the side, you stood up straight and placed your hands on your thighs. Rindou’s tail went stiff at your stare which was accompanied by a smile. “What?”

“Are you… enjoying the show? I thought you found it boring?” The giggle that followed your inquiry did not go unnoticed by the hybrid. The tips of his ears turning red were proof of that. Hearing no reply, you continued to tease him. Your hands are busy fixing up the couch before taking your bowl once more. “I mean, it’s alright to admit you like these soap operas. My mom enjoys them too, you know. Well, not enough to be—”

“I wasn't distracted,” he huffed and averted his gaze at your silly smile. “I was just… surprised.” Rindou never elaborated further on whatever stunned him. You merely shrugged and slurped your soup, content with sitting next to him on a Thursday morning. This has been your life lately—taking care of breakfast and Rindou in the morning, going to work afterward, and then coming back during lunchtime. Despite the reasons you came up with, your cousin never questioned you as to why you requested to come in later than your usual hour. He did, however, tasked you to stay until closing time. A small price to pay. After all, this isn't going to be the norm forever. Rindou will have to go back home and disappear from your life as soon as his wound heal.

Somehow, the reality had sorrow creeping up your heart. Rindou staying in the apartment and seeing him every day made you think he has always been there. His sulky expression softens up whenever his guard is down. He wasn't even aware the corner of his lips was curling up once. The way he dismisses you the second he realized he was showing happiness was cute in its own way. You were used to stifling your laughter at his displeased face that did not match well with his tail swishing side to side. His silhouette blended into your little space, making himself at home. And unbeknownst to you, Rindou felt the same way.

“Don’t act like such a big baby. It’s good for you!” You pushed the plate of rice with natto on top. His irked expression eased down while he took his chopsticks. The smell of the fermented soybeans did not sit well with his nose as he ate to appease you. Yet, he willingly ate, especially with you grinning in front of him. “There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it? Can’t believe a gangster like you dislikes natto.”

Innocent things like you were bad for his health. You were poison to his system—having him think of stuff he never gave a second thought on. Rindou lost count of how many ideas of him whisking you away where no one else can see you crossed his mind. Everything about you exuded a normal and peaceful life—a luxury for him who couldn’t afford it anymore. He should’ve turned you away and let himself die that night because now he didn’t want to leave. His wound was almost closed up and he didn’t have to limp around or ask for your help whenever he bathed. Rindou has grown far too fond of you to merely go back and forget about your kindness. For your sake, he held himself back and enjoyed you doting on him despite the numerous teasing you’ve thrown his way. Pretty but lethal flowers were only meant to be admired from a safe distance. Preferring to keep his claws hidden and the space between you wide, Haitani Rindou liked it this way.

Until he didn’t—until he got greedy.

Dr. Hinohara just had to burst the bubble Rindou protectively held with a single statement that the hybrid was free to go. You couldn’t describe the emotion that swirled within you, ignorant to the deathly stare Rindou gave the doctor. Dr. Hinohara swallowed thickly at the heat of his gaze, slowly taking a step back in case the hybrid decided to kill him on the spot. The younger Haitani wished he could turn back time and stop the old bastard from revealing his secret. Despite sabotaging the stitches for so long to keep it from healing too fast, Rindou’s game was up. And yet, not all of his cards were played.

His trump card has yet to fall onto the table.

Ran came over to your apartment the second Rindou rang him up after a month of no contact. The reunion happened under the stillness of the night where not a soul could be found on the streets. The chloroform his older brother brought was put to use to make sure you wouldn't scream or do any trouble as he placed you in Ran’s car. Rindou then discarded the baton hidden at the back of the trunk, already cleaned off of Dr. Hinohara’s blood, into the nearest waste bin before letting Ran drive down the road heading south.

The moment you woke up from what you thought was a terrible nightmare, you were chained to a bedpost in an unfamiliar room in someone else’s bed. The collar on your neck was a bit tight and the chain attached to it wasn't long enough for you to reach the door. A little bell was hanging on the collar and it jingled with every movement you made. You thanked your lucky stars that you were still fully clothed but that feeling of relief waned away too fast. Your head pounded while your eyes frantically searched for signs of where you are. Rindou entered the room with a tray of food. His eyes slightly went wide at the discovery of you greeting the conscious world then his lips broke out into a grin.

“I see you’re awake.”

“R-Rindou? W-what… Where am I? What’s going on?”

Your inquiries fell from your mouth like the teardrops on your cheeks at the realization. Rindou hushed you multiple times while he set your meal down on the nightstand but you never took heed, fearing for your life. It wasn't until he took out his phone to show you a picture of your parent’s house that your tongue felt like it was made out of metal. Your hands balled up into fists at the image.

“Don’t hurt them. P-please…”

“Looks like you're smart enough to guess what I’m implying here, huh?” Rindou chuckles at your horrified tear stricken face. “I guess calling you a big baby right now won’t be satisfying.” Hand underneath his chin, the hybrid let out a contented sigh. “I knew I was right. Other girls I’ve met before weren't as intelligent as you. Saves me from explaining what will happen to your family if you try to escape.”

“What do you want from me?” you demanded, nerves and voice shaky. His irises shone brighter than amethysts as he observed you on his bed. After a month of nursing him back to health, Rindou was intent on returning the favor—just without outside interference, of course. There was no way your parents would allow him to date you and to see you with a faceless nobody would be the icing on top of his cake meant to insult him. He can't have that. “Rindou, what do you want? I-I’ll do anything! Just please leave me and my parents alone. If you want an apology for all those days I’ve teased you or said something wrong, I’m w-will to do so!”

“Nothin’ much, angel. I’ve passed the need for anything.” He then pulled you up by the collar of your shirt. Leaning down to whisper into your ear, Rindou’s lips curled up. “I’ve already got you.” The second he spoke those words, a shiver ran down your spine. Not giving you any time to collect your thoughts or to wipe the tears from your cheeks, the Bonten executive took a step back and gestured at your clothes. “Strip.”

Hands trembling, you did as he said. More tears exited from your glossy eyes which Rindou couldn't wait to lick away. As soon as you got rid of your pajamas, you covered your exposed stomach and breasts until he clicked his tongue. You winced at the sound of it.

“All of it, angel.”

You heaved a deep breath. Your panties slid down your legs agonizingly slow. The rest of your body burned in shame under his piercing gaze. It was as if Rindou would be struck by lightning if he dared to look away from your gorgeous form. You steeled yourself once he took away your clothes.

“Go and eat your meal. I’ll be back.”

Rindou shut the door behind him. You couldn't stop crying even while you ate the meal he prepared. It was hard to know where you were as the window was bolted shut and barely let natural light in. Your heart beats wildly inside your chest whereas you stiffened at the sight of him returning. His violet irises landed on the empty plate before nodding approvingly.

“Good. I’m going to give you a drink now.” He took off the chain from the bedpost and pulled it for you to follow him. But not before commanding you to do it on all fours. His sharp canines peeked out when he smiled at your obedience. The fear strumming its chaotic cords to have you obeying the hybrid. “That’s it, angel. Make sure not to bump into anything on the way to the kitchen.”

Even with Rindou as your sole audience, your soul was close to dying out of shame. Your pussy folds were out in the open, clit throbbing uncontrollably for the wrong reasons as you followed him from behind. It didn't take you long to figure out this was Rindou’s house—or his temporary home. You were too busy making sure you were keeping up with his huge steps and not falling behind to scan your surroundings. The hybrid then paused and turned to you. His hand gestured to a bowl made for a pet sitting on the floor. It was filled up with what seemed to be milk.

“Go on. Drink it all up, angel.”

Cheeks burning, you hesitated for a second. It was when he walked behind you that the panic kicked in again and you unwillingly bent down. Your tongue was stuck out, ready to lick up the milk to appease Rindou, deaf to the sound of unzipping. The palm of his hand was cold against your cunt, causing you to yelp. His free hand was quick to keep your head from turning around to see him.

What the fuck is happening?

“You’re not the only one who’s thirsty… Shit, you’re wet?” He was more amused than disgusted at his findings. This was fucked up. There was no way you were turned on despite what occurred. Maybe you were sick in the head all this time and Rindou’s actions just brought this to light? You would never know as your mind started to grow hazy due to the pleasure of him rubbing his palm across your slit. You were no virgin but it has been a long time since you’ve done it. Perhaps that was the reason why?

Why does it feel like that’s a lie?

Retracting his claws, he plunged two of his fingers into your warm pussy that parted easily for him. Front teeth digging into your lower lip, you kept back the moan bubbling up your throat while Rindou rubbed his fingers against your tight walls. Slick coated his hand which made it easier for him to feel around your gummy walls. His pleased groans were too much for your ears, his hard length brushing on your ass. His tail swished around before curling around your leg. Your hands keeping you upright were trembling as the onslaught of bliss was increasing, gaze glossy.

“Fuck, this pussy is so tight… Are you going to let me fuck you, angel? Huh? Does my pet deserve this dick?” he questioned with mirth in his tone. Another finger was added, widening your hole. You couldn’t help the whine leaving your lips, eyes shut as you fought back more from coming out. Rindou held you by the waist when your legs gave out, cooing into your ear. The hybrid brought up his hand coated with your juices, inhaling it then tasted your slick. “It’s that good? I’ve waited so long. Held back and let you have your way. You’ll let me have you, mhm? Been good, angel. The least you can do is return the favor…” A silent gasp was what Rindou earned when he tapped the head of his cock against your pussy folds, rubbing his length on the damp flesh. Slowly, he entered you.

“A-are you gonna—ah!” You were sure he was going to tear you apart. It stung as the girth of his cock stroked your tight muscles, molding its shape there. Rindou took a few seconds to get accustomed to the way your pussy enveloped his dick, hissing under his breath at how heavenly you felt. And now that he has finally held you, Haitani Rindou was damn sure he has found his mate. Now, he will make sure to keep you by his side whether you want to or now. He’ll just have to give you something that will make you reluctant to leave… Or fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk out of this place without him. Maybe getting you pregnant will be the solution to this problem. “Ah, fuck… S’ big. R-rindou!”

“Angel, wanna give you cubs. You’d want that, huh? You want to be mine?”

His thrusts were hard and rough, causing you to moan and squirm. Lust rendered you blind as you took and took what Rindou gave. Time was no longer relevant at this point. All you could remember as he continued to fuck you like a savage beast during the mating season was the way his claws dug into your skin, marking you as his. The place’s layout slowly etched itself into your mind as he made it his mission to fuck you in every area with the endeavor of filling up your womb until all you could feel was his cum running down your thighs. Your breasts and nipples hurt after going through the abuse done by his mouth. Hickeys littered your torso and the skin of your neck. Clit and folds puffy, you couldn’t tell how many times you have squirted. Rindou always patted your head each time before tugging your nipples in a teasing way. The collar still wrapped around your neck jingled along with your breasts, soaked with your sweat and tears.

“R-Rindou! I-I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, angel. You can take more.”

He never gave you a break or a minute to rest and catch your breath. The moment he finished inside you, his balls emptied another load, replacing the cum he spurted into your cunt that dribbled out. Mind all in a mush, you sobbed at the overstimulation. Finally, the hybrid set you down on the couch, panting above you. A puddle of your essence and Rindou’s cum sat around your ass. The furniture wasn’t the only unfortunate victim of its owner’s quest to impregnate you and claim you. Mouth wide open, your eyes were fluttering shut due to exhaustion. Yet even as you stared at Rindou with those tired eyes, he held his cock glazed with both of your fluids right in front of your face in expectancy. The tip was red and super sensitive after hitting your cervix countless times while he fucked your brains out.

“Don’t tap out on me, angel,” he mumbled. Mustering up all your leftover strength, you sat up and licked on the reddish tip, earning a pleased groan. His hand reached forward to brush away the strands of hair from your face then carded his fingers through them. “Good girl. Always remember this, okay? Good kittens should clean up after playing. Good kittens shouldn’t make a mess.”

[kings-highway]

look i understand the UshiOi ship from a tropes standpoint but I will die on the hill that their canon relationship is so fucking much more funny than any other possible dynamic.

like can you imagine being oikawa??? i, too, would have become a feral bastard if someone had such complete faith in beating me that he sincerely misunderstood my confidence as being incorrectly informed of the rules. I would have started stabbing on the spot. "only one team can go to nationals," he says, kindly, as a favour to this poor misinformed man. Who even is that?

meanwhile Oikawa has a 10h playlist of every stz game and a corkboard filled with red strings trying desperately to figure out what the fuck happened. Its like playing 4D Chess against someone playing checkers.

[helsensm]

I cannot hold it in anymore I am absolutely OBSESSED with your art and the way you draw Lao.

I also would like to inquire….. just perhaps… what are your top head-canons for him, and/or your opinions on popular ships for him/which ones you like?

No pressure!! I hope you are having a wonderful day 🧡

me, trying to act normal every time an awesome artist I look up to says something nice about my art

Thank you so much! first of all, please take this Lao with you, he's yours now~

now let me preheat my bad english.....

Most of my Lao headcanons (if they are not related to a particular art I made) were yoinked from another ppl, because DAMN FELLAS your brains are sexy. 😏 So you might have heard some of them already, but here's my top general hcs for him.

NOTE: we are talking about the current timeline mk1 Kung Lao

- Lao is very expressive with his hands and he's THE TOUCH person. Just look at how many times he took Raiden by the shoulder in the first chapter alone?? He'll be pushing, and patting, and shoving, and punching you all over while telling about his breakfast or something.

- Lao is struggling with inferiority complex. Since childhood he was under a tremendous amount of pressure, he has to do things right, to be better, or else he would be mocked or punished. Now he believes that he should be the best, or he would not be taken seriously. He's constantly seeking validation in his peers, causing him to act cocky and over-confident.

- Anger issues, usually when someone questions his skill.

- People call him lazy because he tries to act like everything comes naturally to him. In reality he trains hard and takes things seriously. Like, he's fighting with a RAZOR RIMMED HAT fgs, it's not something you can master in a day! Also he always got energy running through his veins, lucky bastard... *cries in iron deficiency*

- He makes his hats by himself. With his hands. He designs and creates. ALL of them. I will die on that hill.

- He's a slow to trust, but ride or die as a friend.

- He's a trouble maker FOR SURE, but not a bully. He's respectful and polite to most of the people (if they don't provoke him), also drinks his respect-women juice.

- Master of sass and sarcasm. And yes, I think he swears, but in the right circumstances or the right company.

- He's got rizz NOW, but in his teens he had zero game because he could not keep his mouth shut and would scare off the person with the most ridiculous piece of idiocy.

- I read it in one fic and really loved the idea that Liu Kang "told the blossoms" about Kung Lao, and they really liked him 🌸 so now they are following him around and bringing him news and gossips, that's why there's always those goddamn petals aroung him aasghGHHHj 🌸🌸

- He's rolling his eyes at Johnny, but they quickly become besties.

- He actually has a cold relationship with Liu Kang. Don't get me wrong, he trusts him, respects the hell out of him and will run into a wall for a man. But I think Liu will distance himself because of all the memories of HIS Lao and how badly they sting. oTL

- That smile and a bow Lao did after loosing to Raiden? He meant that. Loosing hurted BAD, but the pain was pushed aside by the sence of pride and happiness for his best friend.

oh shit, this is getting out of hand, I'm starting to think about the other timelines and dynamics, we'll be here all week hhhhgh

About the popular ships... Well, I'm a big fan of railao (yeah NO SHIT who would have thought), but I am a multishipper, so I'm just happy to see my fav characters feeling good in someone's hands. 😊

I really like the liulao and laoliutana for several different reasons. 👀 The johnshilao (or is it laojohnshi..? erm) was the one that didn't impress me at first (love the Lao just third-wheeling with a tired expression <:'D), but recently I'm starting to warm up to all the different dynamics these three can have. And that is, in no small part, thanks to you and your kenlao agenda 👀💖 damn you created such a nice cozy universe for them I'm 🥺💕💗💖

Bi-Han/Lao is a bit random, but I love how catto did them, they are such a cute pair of assholes! >:3

ummm, yeah, so I'm going to stop there ahahhH. Thank you again for asking and for all the nice little feels your art provides, I admire you tremendously~

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 1

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 6.5k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, neglectful parenting)

Summary:

“I must thank you for your company. I fear you have been the highlight of my night.” Astarion gives your hand an affectionate squeeze before he’s dropped it and disappeared into the night.

You stand there for a moment, dazed and coming back to your senses. Your skin is still flushed and hot as you imagine again what Astarion’s lips might have felt like against the back of your hand. Or perhaps pressed against your own? You think of Astarion and his sweet words and beautiful face. Perhaps it was possible to marry for love, after all. Perhaps Astarion would be your saving grace. For who couldn't resist ending the night in love with that man?

Read on ao3 here

The carriage creaks and groans as it makes its way up the hill. You feel the stern eyes of your father pressing into you like a heavy weight, a reminder not to forget the importance of the night, a reminder to know your place, girl.

Your entrance into society had been underwhelming, to say the least, and you could rapidly feel your father reaching a point of resentment that he still hadn’t been able to marry you off. Being the youngest daughter and with your mother passing when you were a young girl, you were simply a loose end that your father needed to tie off before he could go back to doing whatever it was noble men liked to do in their free time. You always assumed it was a lot of drinking and hunting.

You didn’t particularly want to be married, so you hadn’t really been entertaining suitors. What was the point of shackling yourself to someone if not for love? What was the point of allowing a man to own you and control you? You’d much rather spend your time alone with a little house, to garden and read as you please. 

But, an unmarried woman is a dangerous woman, and that cannot be allowed. 

So, you were in the carriage, attempting not to shrink under your father’s gaze as you headed off to a ball that seemed to be a last ditch effort to see you married. You stare down at your dress, instead, intently studying the shimmery embroidery and beadwork. It truly was a stunning dress, perhaps the nicest you had ever owned. The corset was pushing so hard at your chest that your bosom threatened to spill out of the top. You were not an arrogant or boastful person, but even you had to admit that you were breathtaking when you saw yourself in the mirror. A ripe fruit ready to be plucked by a husband, as your father had said. 

The carriage rolls to a stop and you would prefer to jump out and take in a deep gulp of air to calm your nerves. But, you must always remember your manners first and so you patiently wait for the door to open and the escort’s hand to assist you down from the carriage.

The manor is fantastical, beyond even your wildest dreams. The entryway is full of candles in gold and gem encrusted candelabras, flowers blooming everywhere you look. The brilliant red and white roses fill the summer air with a sweet, perfumed scent. The House of Ancunin was always known for their opulence and it appears the newest young lord plans to continue the family legacy.

The Ancunins had been around for generations, their secrets and mysteries kept locked away in their manor on the hill, doors only opening for the occasional, extravagant party. It had been a long time since a ball had been hosted at the manor. For many years, it appeared that the noble family line had threatened to die off and fade into obscurity. 

But recently, the new Lord Ancunin had made his presence known and celebrated his arrival into society. There were rumors that he was a bastard or that he had bought his title as the last ‘real’ Ancunin had died off. But nevertheless, this was the first time the manor doors would be open to the public again since the days of your grandparents- and everyone will be flaunting their wealth tonight like desperate peacocks. 

You try to keep your mouth from falling open as you gawk at the ornate entryway, littered with art that it would take hours to fully appreciate. You would rather stop and admire, but your father rushes you into the ballroom. You’ve been reminded again and again what your job is for tonight- to dance and flirt and stop chasing nice men away. 

The ballroom, with its giant windows and chandeliers seemingly floating in the air stuns you when you walk in. You’re immediately swept onto the dance floor as the orchestra swells in a symphony of music. You catch the way your beaded skirt reflects the light in the mirror as you twirl and for a moment, you’re stunned when you see yourself. You look radiant. Perhaps the only person in attendance who seems to match the grandeur of the ballroom. 

Your first dance partner is dull, to say the least. And the next speaks only of himself, hardly paying any attention to you. You catch a break every now and then with a man who is at least light on his feet, but your night seems to be doomed to a vicious cycle. Dull and selfish, dull and selfish. 

As you continue to lament in your head, you’re glided into the arms of a new partner. It takes a minute to pull yourself back to reality. You had expected yet another brainless Sergeant regaling you with stories of his military prowess that you would be forced to pretend to listen to. When instead, you’re met with silence, you finally turn to look up at your new partner. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you feel your heartbeat quicken dangerously. The man’s stunning eyes quickly dart down to your throat before returning to your face. Or perhaps he was looking at your cleavage? He certainly wouldn’t be the first man tonight to fall victim to the wonders of corsetry. And was it just a trick of the light, or are his eyes red?

This man is undeniably the most beautiful person you have ever seen. The light from the room catches against the white curls meticulously framing his face, creating a halo. It seems impossible that this apparition might be human and not some hallucination conjured up in your boredom. 

“Forgive me for intruding,” he says, in a sweet, melodic voice that seems to lilt in time with the music. “But I could no longer endure your absence from my arms.”

You’ve somehow managed to keep in step while you’ve been waxing poetry in your head about the stranger in front of you. Perhaps it was a testament to the many years of dancing that were drilled into you growing up, or perhaps it was because this angel was so good at leading you. But your footsteps do falter at his words, only a step or two before he’s guided you back on track. He’s still looking at you expectantly and you remember that you need to talk, that you can’t just keep staring at him in awe. 

“Well, now that you’ve caught me, what do you plan to do with me?” You sound ridiculous, you think. Voice timid and tapering off a bit at the end from nerves. This is not who you are, some silly girl, driven half-mad the first time you’re given attention by a man.

But the man looks down at you through his pale lashes, eyes deep and dark with hunger and you think you might drop to the floor and weep and beg for him. A part of you wants to offer up your neck so he can rip your throat open with his teeth. 

His voice is low and dangerous, like a predator, and it fills your stomach with a warmth that spreads through your veins. “Darling, I plan on never letting you go again. They’ll have to tear you away from me at the end of the night.”

You can’t quite remember when your throat got so dry, but a breathless, strangled sigh involuntarily leaves you at his words.

“Nor would I want to be anywhere else,” you manage to squeak out and the satisfied smirk that spreads across his face is worth it.

The music swells again, the song coming to an end and you dip as the dance requires. The man bends with you and you feel his breath against your neck. He must be nervous, too, you think because his breath comes out as sharp puffs of air. Deep in your mind, a part of you wishes that he would close the gap and his luscious mouth would make contact with the delicate skin of your neck. You have to remind yourself that would be ridiculous and improper in the middle of a dancefloor.

You stay dipped in his arms for a few seconds longer than necessary, much longer than what is considered appropriate in polite society. Your eyes fall closed and you feel your tongue wet your lips as he breathes against your neck. You savor that moment, locking it away in a secluded part of your mind so you can relive it forever. All too quickly, you’ve been lifted upright again and twirled on your feet. 

“You’re an exquisite dance partner, madam,” the man compliments. You realize he’s trying to politely ask for your name and you give it to him. You would gladly give him anything he could ever want. You’re half desperate to rip the heart from your own chest and offer it to him on one of the gaudy platters that waiters are serving drinks on. 

The man repeats your name with a wicked grin and you feel said heart stutter in your chest.

“My father would preen to hear your compliment but in truth, I believe a woman is only as good of a dancer as her partner, sir,” you reply, truly shocked at the coherency of the words managing to tumble themselves out of your mouth. “May I ask your name?”

“Lord Ancunin,” he replies and everything connects. So, this is the mysterious lord of the manor. You can see why he keeps himself locked up in secrecy. He could bring the world to ruin with that handsome face. 

Lord Ancunin twirls you out and pulls you in close to his chest, his breath a deep whisper against the shell of your ear when he says, “Though, I hope you will call me Astarion.”

“Fitting,” you giggle when you turn to face him again and he quirks a pale brow up in question. You give him a dazzling smile of your own as you say, “A face as beautiful as yours belongs up in the night sky next to all the other stars.”

You did know how to be charming if you wanted to, even if your father never seemed to believe you. 

“Ah, so you do know how to spin honeyed words back at me. Have I finally met my match?” The smile he gives you is mischievous and it makes you feel like you’re in on some inside joke with him. You like that feeling, you realize. The feeling of just you and Astarion, wrapped together in a world all of your own. 

“If all it takes is a few sweet words to impress you, I am lucky you have found me so early in the night, before the crowd can woo you away from me. For surely everyone here will sing praises meant to dazzle our mysterious host,” you offer him a teasing smile of your own. He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, but darling, the words only matter when they come from your sweet lips. The rest of this rabble is nothing compared to you,” Astarion’s hand has dipped ever so slightly lower along the curve of your waist as he speaks in a low, rich voice. His touch, combined with his words, send your head spinning. You’ve received flatteries and had your flirtations like any woman, but there’s something about Astarion that is addicting and leaves you craving more. 

Astarion has guided you to the edge of the ballroom floor by the massive windows overlooking the gardens, exploding with all varieties of blooms. Even in this darkened view, they’re stunning and a part of you wishes to go out and explore them. Perhaps you can convince Astarion to join you and you could walk with your arm tucked in the curve of his, letting your fingers ‘accidently’ sneak down to feel the sinewy muscles in his forearms. 

Your mind wanders, questioning if Astarion spends much time out in the gardens. Or what he does all day up in his manor on the hill. As any noble Lord, there’s bound to be servants, but you doubt Astarion has any family. The Ancunin line was about to die out before Astarion seemingly appeared out of nowhere to revive it. It’s sad to think of him spending his days up here with no one who loves him, a fate you had grown intimately familiar with yourself after the last of your brothers moved away.

“Is it lonely up here by yourself?” You ask brazenly. Your own voice surprises you as you speak the question you’ve been wondering aloud. Astarion’s mouth opens slightly and he’s silent, as if you’ve managed to shock him to his very core. The shake of his head is nearly imperceptible before he’s schooling his features again, lips curling back into a cutting smile.

“Perhaps I’ve simply been waiting for your company,” he says, but you’re a bit disappointed by his empty answer. Though, you suppose it was rather rude of you to ask a deeply personal question in such a public setting. 

“Do you like the gardens?” Astarion redirects the conversation, noticing how you’ve been staring intently over his shoulder at the greenery through the enormous glass windows.

“I’m quite fond of roses,” you tell him, a bit shy at the confession. Your mother used to have a few bushes that she cherished when you were a little girl, but they had died with her.

“Roses are very beautiful, as long as you don’t mind a few thorns.”

The double meaning behind his words is obvious to you in that moment, though Astarion is far more beautiful than any silly little flower you’ve ever seen. His beauty is just as sharp though, just as deadly. You wouldn’t be surprised if people had killed for this man, if people had died for him. 

“I’ve always had a special talent for avoiding them,” you give him a teasing smile back and his eyes sparkle with glee at your response. They’re such an unusual shade. In this dark corner of the room they appear an unnatural brown-ish red. They suit him, obviously, as if every feature on his face was carefully selected to create the most perfect man imaginable. But those eyes give him a dangerous gleam that makes you want to drown in him.

“I don’t doubt that at all, little flower,” Astarion says with that low voice that sends arousal pooling deep in your stomach.

Your heart stutters at the endearment. Little flower. Not a practiced, rehearsed platitude, but something just for you. Something based on a moment you had shared together. You hope against hope that you aren’t making this moment up in your head but no, Astarion is here and he’s real and maybe everything will work out alright. Maybe marriage doesn’t have to be a curse that plagues you for the rest of your life. 

Before you can speak, a man with dark, graying hair approaches Astarion, whispering quickly in his ear. Astarion’s gentle smile leaves his face as he listens intently. When the other man steps away, Astarion’s blazing gaze returns to you.

“I do apologize, my lady, but I have an urgent matter I must attend to,” Astarion’s lips are still turned down into a tight frown as he sweeps into an elegant, over-the-top bow. The motion looks so natural on him. 

When he rises, he takes your hand in his own. You feel your breath catch in your throat as his lips brush against the back of your hand. You really wish you weren’t wearing your stupid gloves and could truly feel the softness of his lips against your skin.

“I must thank you for your company. I fear you have been the highlight of my night.” Astarion gives your hand an affectionate squeeze before he’s dropped it and disappeared into the night.

You stand there for a moment, dazed and coming back to your senses. Your skin is still flushed and hot as you imagine again what Astarion’s lips might have felt like against the back of your hand. Or perhaps pressed against your own? You think of Astarion and his sweet words and beautiful face. Perhaps it was possible to marry for love, after all. Perhaps Astarion would be your saving grace. For who couldn't resist ending the night in love with that man?

You don’t know how you’re expected to dance with or entertain anyone else the rest of the night. Not after Astarion. Not after you had met perfection. You spot your father, head bowed and distracted in conversation with a short, greasy man.

You sneak out of a large glass-paned door into the garden. The roses out front were just a preview of the true beauty hiding here. Blooms of every size and color swirl together. You follow the well-maintained paths, entranced, noting the flowers you recognize and staring occasionally at a flower you’ve only seen drawn in books.

You’ve wandered quite a ways from the party when your ears pick up a quiet rustling, compelling you to investigate. Your curious nature had always been a curse: it had gotten you chastised by tutors when you read books that were not meant for a young lady’s eyes, and had earned your father’s ire when he discovered you sneaking in to watch and learn from your brother's sword fighting lessons.

In this moment, your inquisitive spirit wins out again, and your feet move, almost of their own accord, in the direction of the sound. You hear it again. It sounds like a person, or perhaps… was that a moan?

You find yourself in a secluded area of the garden and debate whether you should turn back for fear of intruding on a couple’s private moment. As you turn to leave, you freeze, eyes catching the glimmer of pale silver hair in the moonlight. 

Your heart sinks to your chest. Of course. Astarion is so beautiful it only makes sense that he would have lovers clawing the doors down for just a moment with him. In retrospect, it seems rather cruel of him to praise you as the highlight of his night when he was leaving you to meet with another woman. 

Unable to look away, you see Astarion holding a beautiful woman in his arms, dipping her just as he had dipped you only a short while ago. But this time, he’s closed the gap and his lips are pressed against her, kissing her neck. Her eyes are closed in what you assume to be ecstasy. 

And all you had gotten was a kiss over a gloved hand. An angry, jealous wave flares within you and you have to take a deep breath to calm yourself. The last thing you need is to reveal your hiding spot and make even more of a fool of yourself tonight than you apparently already have. 

You’re hidden out of their sight, positioning yourself strategically behind a bush. Not that they would even notice you with how enraptured they are with one another right now. You don’t know why you’re even staying. Perhaps there’s some masochistic part of you that wants you to remember this hurt, remember that this is why you don’t hope, that marriage born from love was a lie that only fools believe. 

You watch, ignoring the emotions boiling inside you and the gut wrenching pain that makes you feel as if you’ve been stabbed. Only… the more you watch, the less Astarion seems to be kissing her neck and the more he seems to be sucking at it?

Astarion parts from the woman and when he tilts his head up, the moonlight glints against the dark rivulets of blood running down his chin, his hand reaching up to wipe it clean. 

You can’t help the shocked inhale that manages to escape you and you see Astarion’s eyes open and whip over to your hiding spot. You had questioned if his eyes were red before, but you’re sure now as they practically grow crimson in the darkness. 

Your mind is reeling,  you need to get out of there. You aren’t even entirely sure how you got to this part of the garden, but you rush back toward the direction of the manor as fast as you can on your trippy, heeled shoes, doing your best to only stumble minimally on your flowing skirts. 

There’s no way it can be true, but you’re certain Astarion had been drinking that woman’s blood. You had heard the myths and legends about vampires, but it seemed impossible for the creature to exist in real life. Vampires were just scary monsters used to keep children from roaming in the dark, weren’t they?

Suddenly, everything clicks. Astarion’s unbelievable beauty was nothing but a farce, a trait evolved by a predator to draw you in. And of course, you had fallen for it like the silly little girl you were. A few minutes ago, you would have been willing to split yourself open for him to devour. He could have offered you the knife and you would have gladly let yourself bleed for his affections. 

Now, your heartbeat pounds in your ears, so loud you can’t tell if you’re hearing the thud of your own heart or of Astarion’s footsteps chasing after you. You think back to the woman. Did he mean to kill her? Did he mean to kill you, too, now that you had caught him?

The doors to the manor are finally in sight when you brave a peak over your shoulder. Sure enough, Astarion is rounding the final curve of the garden as you slip through the glass-paned doors. 

You force yourself to focus, to think. You can’t help wondering if this is how a rabbit feels when it’s being hunted. How it must know that its very survival depends on its ability to think quickly and get away.

Attempting to disguise yourself in the dancing crowd, you wind artfully between different partners and move in confusing, zig-zagging patterns so Astarion cannot follow you. But, you keep catching glimpses of white hair out of the corner of your eye, Astarion never falling too far behind. 

Your new dance partner is twirling you to the next person when you see the vampire’s red eyes over their shoulder. As he stares at you with a barely stifled rage, you can’t see anything but the red that was dripping from his chin a few minutes ago and it sends a new wave of urgency through your veins. 

Your head whips around and loosens a few pins from your intricate hairdo. The strands fall in your eyes as you frantically scan the crowd for an escape, or at the very least, your father.  His disappointment and rage at your lack of a marriage prospect tonight is certainly preferable to the death you are certain you will face if Astarion manages to catch you. 

When you look up, there’s a silver mirror in front of you. You look rattled and a bit disheveled, but Astarion is nowhere in sight behind you. Finally, you allow yourself to let out the breath you’ve been holding, shoulders dropping in relief. 

A cold hand curls heavily around your shoulder, sending goosebumps skittering across your skin and you look up into Astarion’s angry eyes which shine a brilliant ruby red. Your mind reels and you glance between him and the mirror a couple times because he is standing right next to you but is noticeably absent from the mirror’s reflection. You hate yourself for making such a stupid mistake, for forgetting the rules about vampires, the monsters who didn’t have a reflection. 

“Come with me,” Astarion’s voice is cold, so opposite of the sweet tone he used earlier while you danced. He uses his grip on your shoulder to start pulling you away from the crowd. To kill you without making a scene. 

“No,” you cry out and try to pull away from him but his fingers dig into your collarbone even harder and it starts to hurt. He’s supernaturally strong as he drags you beside him further and further away from the dancing crowd, further and further away from any hope of salvation.

You should let out a scream, alert someone, do something. It’s not in your nature to go down without a fight. 

“Stay quiet if you wish to live through the night,” Astarion hisses against the shell of your ear, like he could tell what you were thinking. You hate that his voice still sends a warm tingle down your spine.

Astarion pulls you around a corner to some sort of secluded closet where he flings open the door and pushes you inside. He’s got you crowded against the wall, his forearm angled so it’s pressing against your windpipe. He isn’t pushing hard enough to restrict your airflow, but his arm is a heavy reminder that he could if he wanted to. A reminder of the threat of death looming over you.

“Whatever you think you saw, you didn’t,” Astarion tries to rationalize with you, his eyes hard and unwavering as they stare into your own. Like if he says the words with enough conviction, he might just convince you. 

“You’re going through a lot of trouble if I, in fact, didn’t see anything,” you point out, which is maybe not the smartest argument to make in the face of certain death. You always had a bad habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. To keep yourself from making this bad situation even worse, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep quiet. 

“Impetuous woman. I was trying to hel- I mean…” Astarion grits his teeth in frustration. He seems to be recalculating in his head, figuring out what to do with you. “I had hoped to settle this civilly.”

Even though you feel like you’re growing to throw up, you close your eyes and force yourself to act nonchalant as you speak, “If you’re going to kill me, I’d prefer it if you didn’t drag it out unnecessarily.”

Your eyes are still closed, but you feel Astarion’s forearm drop away from where it was pressed against your throat, though his body still keeps you pinned tightly against the wall. This is possibly the closest you’ve ever been to a man and a dark part of your mind enjoys how his thigh is pressed against your own, only a few layers of fabric separating you from his pale skin. 

You bite a little harder at your cheek to focus your thoughts and are overwhelmed by the metallic tang of blood on your tongue. When you open your eyes, Astarion is staring at you like a man possessed, his eyes glued to your lips, pupils blown so wide his eyes appear black. 

Oh, right. Blood and a vampire are not a good mix if you hope to stay alive. You try to quickly swallow the blood down, as if Astarion hadn’t already noticed it. He lets out a sinful noise, something between a chuckle and a groan. 

“I’m not going to kill you, darling,” his voice is deep and hungry as he carefully traces one finger along the pulse point in your neck. “Why would I kill you when I can keep you all to myself?”

You blanch at his words, seeing your future laid out in front of you. Chained up in the dungeon as a vampire’s slave. Kept alive, but barely, a source of constant food for a greedy monster. For a moment, it almost makes you laugh to think that of course this dramatic manor would have a gaudy dungeon. 

“You’re a monster,” you say to Astarion, an angry sneer across your face. 

“Oh, don’t act stupid, pet,” Astarion scoffs at you, his hand now moving up to tuck the loose piece of hair behind your ear and his cheek brushes against yours as he leans in impossibly closer to whisper. “It’s unbecoming of you to pretend to be something we both know you aren’t.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek as he pulls away from you and your mind is in such turmoil, you can’t even revel in the feeling of his lips finally pressing against your skin. 

“Tell me, what am I really? A monster, yes, but what kind?” His voice is so smooth and silky as he taunts you, like a spider spinning you into its web. The time for escape has passed.

“A vampire,” you whimper out, the emotions finally catching up to you. You think again of the woman in the garden. “Oh god, that woman. Did you kill her?”

“Hardly,” Astarion replies, with a roll of his eyes. “And I can assure you, she was a very willing, very well compensated participant. The worst she’ll have is a bit of a headache tomorrow morning from the blood loss.”

He didn’t kill her? That doesn’t make any sense. 

“For the record,” Astarion speaks again, interrupting your train of thought. “I have no qualms about killing people, but it’s such a hassle having to figure out what to do with all those dead bodies. I’ve found it’s much easier to get blood if you maintain a few snacks for the occasional top up.”

You’re still staring at Astarion, trying to understand how the man you met earlier tonight could be the same man pressing you to the wall and threatening you - when the door handle starts to rattle and turn. Astarion moves impossibly quick as he tilts your chin up and presses his lips to your neck, in the perfect imitation of a lover’s embrace. You can’t help the panicked noise that escapes you when you feel a sharp fang prick against your skin. It reminds you of the thorns of a rose. You know that this is Astarion telling you to play your part if you still want to stay alive. 

The intruder clears their throat and Astarion parts from you with an exasperated sigh, as if he’s just been pulled away from a delicious feast. 

“We’re busy,” he shoots over his shoulder, but when he turns his head, you can clearly see the outline of your father standing in the doorway, with the greasy man that he was talking to earlier beside him. A shock of recognition flashes in your fathers eyes before the hard mask of anger settles in.

“Lord Ancunin,” your father speaks, and you recognize the tempered fury that’s flowing in his words, threatening to erupt any second. The carriage ride home with him tonight was going to be unbearable if you managed to make it out of this. “Might I ask what you’re doing in this closet with my daughter?”

Astarion sighs again and finally, finally steps away from you, though you can see the reluctance he feigns in an attempt to keep up the act. Simply two lovers caught together at an inopportune moment.

Now that you have your own space, you feel like you can finally take a deep breath. You hadn’t realized how Astarion’s heady scent of bergamot and rosemary had been clouding your senses. Still, deep in your mind, there’s a small, shameful part of you that misses how the hard line of his body felt pressed against you. 

“You had said she was a virgin!” The short man next to your father yells, his face an ugly, tomato red. 

“She is,” your father swiftly attempts to placate the man. “She’ll still make a good wife, I promise.”

“The deal’s off, I don’t want damaged goods,” the greasy man turns swiftly on his heel and storms away. So, that’s what your father had been up to all night, scheming to sell you off by any means necessary.

When your father faces you and Astarion again, his eyes are flaming with anger. This night was not going to end well for you even if you did manage to escape. Astarion shifts a half-step in front of you. 

“Lord Ancunin,” your father hisses again. You can tell it’s taking everything in him to keep his words polite and befitting of his station. You know that what he really wants is to relentlessly hurl insults at Astarion until he tires himself out. “I trust you don’t make it a habit of tricking naive young girls into following you into dark closets?”

“Your daughter, a young woman,” Astarion emphasizes the word. You feel a bit vindicated by this as you had been fighting your whole life for your father to see you as something other than a foolish child. “Is capable of making her own decisions and dealing with the consequences of those choices.”

The second part of his sentence was directed at you. You chose to follow him out into the gardens, to go where you were unwelcome, and you would be expected to accept your upcoming fate with grace. Your heart twists again and you feel hatred for Astarion blooming deep within you. You had not imagined the beautiful man that you danced with would be capable of such cruelty.

“I will not allow this insult on my family’s honor!” Your father’s voice continues to rise. “If the next words out of your mouth are not asking me for my daughter’s hand in marriage, then you will have made a very powerful enemy.”

“Powerful enemy,” Astarion laughs at that and turns to you as if you’re in on the joke. It is rather funny that your father thinks himself anywhere near the same standing as Astarion, but you’re having a hard time finding the energy within yourself to laugh at the moment. 

“Oh, this is all going wonderfully according to plan,” Astarion claps his hands together in glee, face painted with a devilish grin. You think you catch the light glinting off one of his fangs in the dark closet. “For I had hoped to come speak with you about marrying your daughter. It seems you’ve already beaten me to the point.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the puzzle finally fits together. So, this was Astarion’s new plan. Keeping you as a slave must be too boring in his eyes, the vampire lord who wants for nothing, who has people falling at his feet for the chance to drink some of their blood. No, Astarion plans for you to keep his secret by controlling you. And everyone knows that the best way to control a woman is to marry her. 

You feel like your soul is slipping out of your body. Nearly an hour ago, you would have been weeping with joy to be married to Astarion. Now, it just feels like an extended death sentence.

Astarion’s fingers brush against your arm, pulling your attention back to him, though you can’t bear to look him in his eyes. 

“Dearest, would you like to go out for another dance? Or perhaps I can call someone to escort you to a room for the night?”

You nearly scoff out loud at the false choice. Both options presented by him, neither of which you really want to do. Either you go out on the dance floor and perform the act of a happy, loving couple or you’re sent off with one of his servants to be kept under guard. But, the chance of escape does seem higher if Astarion isn’t constantly by your side. 

“A room, please,” you manage to choke out and Astarion gives you a polite nod. He grabs someone’s attention in the hallway and another beautiful woman with long, dark hair arrives to lead you to a room. Why is it that Astarion seems to only be surrounded by beautiful people?

Astarion’s gaze follows you until you round a corner and are finally out of his sight. You don’t doubt that he will be returning to the party to flirt and dance and drink blood while you are caged in a room like an animal. There’s an spiteful, jealous part of you that threatens to lash out. You’re jealous of his freedom, you remind yourself. You’re certainly not jealous of the people who get to dance with him the rest of the night. 

You keep following after the dark-haired woman, but you can feel your father close at your heels. You curse the world for not just letting you mope in peace and quiet. Why does everything have to end in a fight with your father? Although he hates you, thinks of you as nothing but a burden, you know he is one of your last hopes of getting out of here. 

When you’re finally deposited into a bedroom, you turn to him, pleading. “Father, please don’t make me marry him. He’s not a good man, he’s not who he appears to be.”

“No,” your father cuts back. “That is exactly what you will do. You have brought shame to this family. What would your mother think if she knew you were galavanting around like some common whore?”

You stare down at the beautiful embroidery on your dress and try to hold back the tears. Why did you expect this to end any differently? It never does when it comes to your father. And he always does love to bring up how much shame your mother would feel about you if she were still alive. You stay silent, waiting for this to be over, waiting to be left alone. 

“You’re lucky” he continues, “somehow this is still better than you deserve. You will have a title and wealth. But do not think I will ever forgive you for this transgression. You will no longer be a stain upon this family.”

With a stern nod, he slams the door shut behind him, leaving you in an eerie silence. You aren’t surprised your father thinks you are undeserving of a title and wealth, though those are of little concern to you right now. You’d rather not be married, not expected to be subservient to some man. And worst of all, what you’d really rather have back is the person you thought Astarion was earlier in the night, the person you thought you might be able to love. 

You reach for the doorknob but it has predictably been locked when you test it.

Leaning against the hard wood of the door, you sink to your knees. You can feel the tears burning at your eyes as you pick at the beading on your beautiful gown. How horrible this night had turned out. The tears start with a whimper against the wooden slats of the door and soon you’re weeping, crumpled into a sobbing pile of your skirts. Between hiccuping cries, you mourn the loss of your family, the loss of your life. From now on, you are cursed to be the bride of a monster. A bird trapped in a gilded cage being constantly circled by a very hungry cat.

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

Notes: Hehe and that's chapter 1! Get ready for a whole lot of angst, yearning, and misunderstanding as these emotionally repressed weirdos try to navigate their feelings for one another in their new marriage. This is the first fic I've ever actually posted so I'm super nervous, but I have a whole 10-part plan set up for this fic because the Astarion brainrot is real. It's almost like… he's a tadpole that's wormed it's way into my brain…

For reference, I tend to picture everything as regency era since that is my favorite, but I didn't specify because I know everyone has their own favorite time periods they love to imagine!

Hugest shoutout ever to my amazing friend who helped me edit and let me bounce ideas off her. She was the hugest help imaginable and has been subjected to my constant ramblings about my ideas for this fic. Check out her wonderful writing on ao3 at AliensNSuch!

Chapter 2 will be posted next Sunday, 12/24.

[oonajaeadira]

I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T. 

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war. 

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute. 

Now power, that could fill the void. 

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[fazedlight]

Medal (post-canon Dansen)

That’s my wife, Alex thought proudly. She tugged Kelly closer as they entered the room - a large gala-style event, with Kelly’s name and face blazed on a poster. Alex smiled as she noted everyone who was already there - Kara loading her plate with potstickers as Lena whispered in her ear, James shaking hands with General Hanson who would be presenting Kelly’s award that night, Nia smoothing over a conversation with Brainy and a soldier where Brainy had almost certainly said something mildly awkward.

Kelly herself was all smiles as she entered the room, tugging at Alex’s side to point out an old buddy from bootcamp, waving across the way to a friend from her deployment in Afghanistan. Alex hadn’t gotten the chance to meet so many of these people - spread across the US after their time in the army - and found herself happy to finally be putting faces to names from Kelly’s stories.

And then Kelly’s jaw tensed.

Alex turned to her wife, noting her suddenly stiff frame and plastered smile. “What is it?” Alex murmured into her ear.

“Nothing,” Kelly said.

“Kelly…”

Kelly glanced to Alex. “I just didn’t expect that he’d be here,” she murmured. “That’s Dixon.”

Alex glanced over. Kelly’s former commanding officer, she thought, tensing. The homophobic, misogynistic bastard who had made Kelly’s time in the army hell - not to mention a large part of the reason she had to hide her relationship with her fiancee at the time. At least, as Alex had learned, the man’s career had crashed and burned years earlier.

“I’m not going to let him ruin my night,” Kelly said. Alex turned back and smiled.

They continued to make their rounds, meeting more people, eventually giving the superfriends a hug when they reached them, enjoying the cacophony of voices and the ambience of the evening.

“Dr. Olsen,” a voice said, as another man approached Kelly, “We’ll be starting soon, we’ll need you backstage.”

Kelly nodded, planting a kiss on Alex’s cheek before turning away, following the man for whatever prep work was needed backstage.

Alex - alone - wandered around the room, making a beeline towards the bar for a nice scotch. But she stopped when her eyes landed back on Dixon.

The man was exiting a corner door, out towards an empty and unlit balcony area that Alex had seen earlier in the evening. Alex’s jaw tensed, and she turned towards the door, slowly ambling through the crowd until she reached the quiet balcony.

Dixon was alone, the shadows only lit by the cigarette he had pulled out, burning smell dissipating in the cool night air. Dixon blew smoke out in a huff, seemingly annoyed.

The tap of Alex’s shoes on the tiles alerted Dixon to her presence, and he turned towards her. Disinterested, he looked away again. “Here with your husband?”

“I’m Alex Danvers,” Alex said, “Kelly’s wife.”

A sneer appeared on Dixon’s lips. “Suppose you are.”

Alex glanced at Dixon, mulling over the washed up man in front of her. She had been curious, once upon a time, to meet him - to understand the jackass that had once made Kelly’s life a miserable hell. 

But there was nothing to understand. No hill left to die on. Kelly had fought and won her own battles, and this man was left in the dust.

Alex turned to leave, but she paused when she heard footsteps coming towards her. “She’s here because of me,” Dixon said, standing toe-to-toe with Alex as he threw his cigarette to the floor. “It’s fucking biology, women aren’t cut out for military shit.”

If it had been a few years earlier, Alex would’ve thrown a fist in his face then and there. The insult, the gall, of a man trying to grab all the credit for Kelly’s hard work and brilliance?

But she didn’t throw a punch. Maybe it was the calming effect of age. Maybe it was the years of hearing Kelly’s psychological talk. Maybe it was that Dixon himself didn’t even sound convinced of his own words, trying to intimidate with desperate bravado. 

So Alex chose the weapon that all fragile men feared: She laughed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She didn’t wait to hear Dixon’s answer, turning to walk away and rejoin the party. But before she could go far, she felt a hand grab at her arm, roughly yanking her back. “Fucking dy-”

Alex didn’t let him finish his sentence, instead sending a swift knee to the man’s groin, causing him to grunt in pain and keel over. “You bitch,” he gasped.

“You’re done, dude,” she sniped back. “You realize there are cameras on this balcony? If you want to make a shitshow of how you tried to assault me and got beat, I’m happy to go there.”

Dixon gasped again, and Alex turned away, reentering the ballroom. Dixon is in Kelly’s rearview mirror, she thought to herself, watching as General Hanson took the stage, so he’s in mine too. 

“Good evening,” General Hanson greeted, as Alex made her way to the front of the crowd - between Kara and James, looking at the corner of the stage where Kelly patiently waited. Kelly glanced in Alex’s direction, smiling with nerves as Alex gave her an encouraging thumbs up.

“Dr. Kelly Olsen’s groundbreaking research has opened up new avenues in the fight against PTSD,” General Hanson said. “Her dedicated service to her country is only outshined by her endless pursuit of helping her fellow veterans. We present this medal to honor her astounding achievements in aid to our soldiers, and all who wrestle with this illness.”

The room burst into applause - Alex was the loudest - as Kelly strode onto stage, receiving her medal with a wide smile. That’s my wife, Alex thought again proudly, and she’s a fucking badass.

[19burstraat]

anyone want to hear my six of crows x jane austen's emma au. yes of course you do don't be silly. the only person allowed to be silly is me as I descend into madness in the course of trying to cast this. (if you think 'I've heard this before' yes I've posted abt it before tho I think it was on my main)

kaz is emma, a bored, overintelligent rich bitch stuck in a country house with a bunch of shit idiot neighbours and almost no one to entertain or match him. fucking useless dad per haskell / mr woodhouse is a weaksauce hypochrondriac, and jordie / isabella has gone and got married and ditched kaz, the bastard. the only consolation is their neighbour inej / mr knightley, who is rich, sensible, popular, and elegible as hell... glory be, an intellectual equal for kaz!

in order to be less bored, kaz takes on a protege, mysterious randomer and natural son wylan / harriet smith, who kaz decides to mould in his own image and make a good match for. wylan is in love with gentleman farmer jesper / robert martin, but kaz is a snob and tries to push him towards local vicar kuwei / mr elton (I KNOW. I'M SORRY KUWEI), but that all goes tits up bc turns out kaz is a fucking terrible matchmaker, who'd've known.

meanwhile, unassuming and a little cold, but locally well-liked matthias / jane fairfax has arrived back in the village, and kaz busily commences hating on him because he's another accomplished young man and he makes him feel inadequate. hot on his heels comes the mysterious nina / frank churchill (NINA I'M SO SORRY I FUCKING HATE FRANK BUT THIS IS WHAT WORKS FOR THE COUPLES YOU CAN BE A NICE FRANK CHURCHILL ): ), who kaz is kind of fascinated by and enjoys sparring with, and hence kind of misses the really obvious signs that nina and matthias are secretly engaged, even though inej, ever thief of secrets, has lowkey noticed something's up, like matthias getting mysterious gifts from someone. kaz ends up being convinced that possibly it's inej that's pursuing matthias, which nina encourages because it helps her cover, and kaz kinda panics.

everyone has petty village drama which culiminates when kaz sneers at pekka rollins / miss bates (LISTEN. LI actually you don't need to listen bc I laughed out loud when I thought of this comparison but hear me out, if you just think of it as the equivalent of the church of barter scene except instead of 'I buried him' it's 'when have you ever stopped at three?' it kind of works. sorry to miss bates tho who is still kinda my fave austen character) at box hill, which culminates in inej going BOY WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM and kaz is like wow she kind of has a point should I be a better person :/

uhh what else even happens. there's a ball after nina massively encourages one, inej saves wylan from being partnerless and later dances with kaz (think of the gloveless dance scene from the 2020 adaptation? yeah? yeahh??). the regency gender conventions here are getting so messed up lmao, never mind. in emma harriet fancies herself in love with mr knightley and emma is forced to realise that she likes him, so let's say that wylan pretends to be after inej, in order to strong arm kaz into realising that he's wanted to marry inej this entire time. wylan's dad turns out to be minted (I'm stretching the book here to make it work w SOC but never mind) but that's after kaz has admitted he fucked up and sent wylan off to marry gentleman farmer jesper, yaaay. nina's relatives who are stopping her from marrying matthias die and hence there's a massive revelation with 'oh they were engaged this whole time lol', kaz is PISSED bc he didn't clock it. uh. everyone gets married and now kaz can escape the shit village and actually go places. the end.

[hawkdisaster]

I'm so conflicted about Aegon II as a character. He's a drunk, he's a rapist, he let his bastards childrens to fight against each other, there is so much things about him showing he's a bad person and yet, i can't bring myself to fully hate him. Hating someone like Joffrey was easy because Joffrey had no redeeming qualities but Aegon ?

His parents never show him true love so he tries to hard to be loved by his people.

He's an usurper who never really wanted the trone and yet, he tries so hard to be a good king. Nobody believe in him and yet, he try so hard.

Jaehaerys, Jaehaera (Aegon also love his daughter, that's the hill i'm willing to die on) and Sunfyre are probably the only things who brings him true joy. He's grieving his son and yet, he can't share his grief with Helaena, the only person truly able to share it. Aegon is not a good person, i fully admit it, and yet, there glimpse of the man he could have been in another universe.

The truth is : I pity Aegon II way more than i could ever hate him.