#party slaughters archives

[holysonofthechapel]

It’s been a while since I posted some art here 🪓⛪️ here’s a teenager Palavas

[cosmerelists]

My Top 10 Favorite Stormlight Fights...That DON'T Involve Kaladin

I wanted to do an overall “top fights” list but I found that were all, uh, just Kaladin. So Kaladin’s best fights will be saved for a future post, probably, but for now--let’s give some love for those epic fights that DON’T involve our most dramatic hero.

[SPOILERS FOR ALL OF STORMLIGHT ARCHIVES!]

10: Adolin (and Renarin!) vs. the Thunderclast [Oathbringer]

This one makes the Top 10 for me mostly because of how cool it must have been in theory...although tragically we never do actually get to see Renarin fight the Thunderclast. I mean, Adolin's part is still very cool--gotta love the one guy without Radiant powers nevertheless trying to fight a giant stone monster from ages past. And then Renarin comes and defeats it off-screen, and that is cool enough to make this list even though we don't see it.

#9: Moash vs. Leshwi [Oathbringer]

This is such a short fight, and it probably wouldn't make the Top 10 for most people...but I thought it was cool. We have Moash facing off against a Fused--one of the first Fused we ever see--with a Shardblade, only to realize that he can't beat her with that weapon, so he grabs a simple spear instead (my heart!). Then he gets lashed to the sky...but pulls her with him and stabs her in the chest. And so he kills her, and Lewshi being Leshwi, she's like, "Okay. You're legit and I like you." So kind of a cool character-building moment for both of them!

#8: Adolin & Dalinar & Elhokar vs. the Chasmfiend [Way of Kings]

This fight didn't do it for me one a first read, because frankly I didn't care that much about the Dalinar chapters in Book 1 because I was always waiting to get back to Kaladin. But upon a reread and a re-reread, I liked it much more! Like so many early fights in Way of Kings, it felt like a sort of tutorial for how the powers work, here focusing on how Shardblades and Chasmfiends Work. You get to see Adolin & Dalinar work well together despite their conflicts, and you get to see Elhokar being, well, Elhokar.

#7: Adolin’s Duels [Words of Radiance]

Except for the last one, to keep this ranking Kaladin-free! But Adolin's pre-Whitespine-Uncaged duels were also very legit. Adolin is a great swordsman, and that makes him fun to watch (well, read about). And I loved the way that he had a different way to mess with his opponent in every duel, from unhinged battery to slowly picking apart the other guy's armor. It's great to see someone good at dueling get to do what they're best at.

#6: Szeth vs. an entire party [Way of Kings]

I'm referring to when Szeth assassinated King Hanavanar of Jah Keved...while the guy was holding a big dinner party. And while this scene is a little painful to read, since Szeth slaughters everyone while crying, if memory serves, you gotta be a little impressed by the way Szeth is able to kill an entire room of people, many of whom are armed with Shardblades or half-shards. At one point he even tosses his sword away and goes hand-to-hand with people holding deadly weapons and just slaughters them all, no problem. That guy is frightening good at murder.

#5: Navani vs. Raboniel vs. Moash [Rhythm of War]

Some fights are cool because they involve visually stunning moves or epic swordplay. Some are cool because they rip my heart into a million pieces. This is one of the latter! Navani killing Raboniel is gut-wrenchingly tragic but also so cool (the Fused are impossible to kill and yet, Navani does it)...and then Moash shows up. The confrontation between Moash and Navani was an emotional beat I didn't know I needed until it was happening...and listen, I am SUCH a sucker for self-sacrifice. Raboniel grabbing Moash to let Navani escape, even after Navani killed her? I'll never be over it.

#4: Szeth vs. Gavilar [Way of Kings]

I mean, this one is a true classic. It's the first fight we see, and serves as a basic tutorial on how stormlight and Shardblades work. We have Szeth in the opening of Way of King, going to assassinate Gavilar. He lashes people and things left and right. He's on the ceiling and the walls. He's burning souls and cutting holes in the building. He's desperately fighting Gavilar in what is probably Gavilar's only cool scene in all of the books. It's just classic.

#3: Shallan vs. An Entire Army [Oathbringer]

I'm not sure this would make a "Top Fights" list for very many people, but it is one of my personal favorites. This refers to the Battle of Thaylen Field (yes, Kaladin is in the background but that doesn't count as involvement), when Shallan, Veil, & Radiant summon hordes of alters to distract the Odium-crazed army. Not only does she fend off an entire army single-handedly (holy shit, Shallan), but she does so despite the fact that it is her being killed over and over again in thousands of forms. The image of her, Radiant, and Veil holding hands as she struggles to stay conscious is incredibly powerful to me. And Jasnah goes to help! A+ fight.

#2: Adolin & Maya vs. the Tukari [Rhythm of War]

This is one of my all-time favorite fights. It takes place in Shadesmar, when Adolin runs to help Notum who is being stabbed and beaten by a group of Tukari, Not only is it a heroic fight against grossly mismatched odds, which I always love, but it also demonstrates the bond between Maya & Adolin. And when the two of them fight back to back using the kata... *chef's kiss*

#1: Dalinar vs. Odium [Oathbringer]

I'm aware that Kaladin is, like, in the background here, but the actual conflict between Dalinar & Odium does not involve him. And this isn't a physical fight--there's no clashing of Shardblades or running on the ceiling--but damn if this fight doesn't hit hard. Dalinar fights with a book and with his whole soul, and he refuses to give up his pain or to absolve himself of the guilt of what he's done. This might be one of the most powerful moments in any book, so it gets the top spot here!

What are your guys' favorite non-Kaladin fights? Let me know in the comments, if you want!

[fanfic-obsessed]

Fundemental Cultural Misunderstanding

Can I just say that there is so much humor potential in Star as far as cultural misunderstandings go. 

Try this AU on for size. 

-Note:Though it is not necessary for this idea, it is important to me for you to know that in this world Anakin did not slaughter the Tuskens. He reached Shimi in time to save her and his focus was getting her to safety. Thus his relationship with Padme is much healthier.-

Anakin on a fundamental, and somewhat deliberate, level misunderstands some parts of Jedi culture. He believes that Jedi cannot get married.  In this world, this is not true.  

Marriage in this Jedi culture includes a marriage bond between all parties that, if not set up correctly, can do a fair amount of damage (and even when set up correctly doesn’t provide more than a sense of the other person's physical condition and emotions; rarely bonded might be compatible enough that that they can track each other through the bond). This is particularly true if one of the parties is not Force sensitive, or one of the parties is particularly Force Sensitive. So there is a lot of pomp and ceremony around getting married in the Jedi tradition to make sure the bond is correctly set up. Also consent is such a large portion of Jedi culture, so extra pains are taken to make sure non force sensitives understand what such a bond might mean…to the point where it freaks out most non force sensitives.  This all culminates in, by the time of the prequels, most Jedi just don’t get married.

-It should also be noted that marriage as a legal institution and marriage as a cultural institution are actually two very different things, though they are often conflated. Marriage as a legal institution means absolutely nothing to Jedi, and in fact many cultures, because the rights granted by the legal institution of marriage either don’t apply to Jedi or are covered by other Jedi related laws.-

This is also misunderstood by the Galaxy at large.  Also, because of this misunderstanding most cultures do not discuss their marriage customs with Jedi, sure it might come up organically but no one thinks that this is a cultural norm that the Jedi need to know. Which means as much as the Galaxy misunderstands the Jedi’s marriage customs, the Jedi misunderstand most other cultures' marriage customs as well.  In fact the Jedi, through generations of a benign misunderstanding, believe that most cultures will not discuss their marriage customs with Jedi, so all they can go on is their own observations. 

Picture if you will, little padawans vibrating their way into the Archives, up to the nearest archivist, who drops everything because the little Padawan wants to report that they ATTENDED A WEDDING. 

This leads to the archives being chock full of conflicting information about the various marriage customs throughout the galaxy, because anything that happens at a wedding now becomes a TRADITION of that planet, even things might be just a preference of the people marrying, or even a happenstance. The Jedi have all collectively agreed that they are just gonna roll with it, no matter how strange the custom or if it contradicts anything else (It is not like they can get information directly from the source after all).

Now when Anakin got married to Padme, he thought that Jedi cannot marry.  He thinks that his elopement would have to be a secret. He does not realize that he broadcasted his joy at marrying Padme to every Force Sensitive in the galaxy (no seriously, there are Force Sensitives on planets that don’t even have space flight yet, on the other side of the galaxy that felt an abrupt and incomprehensible wave of utter joy-some of those were physiologically incapable of feeling joy like near humans and had to lay down for a while). Also, not that he realized it, the part of his Force Signature (which Jedi are taught in the creche how to read) that deals with identity flashed with the equivalent neon lighted dashboard in Times Square that he was ‘Mr. Padme Naberrie’ from that point forward. 

So when Anakin leaves on a mission, unmarried, and comes back very married, but clearly hiding it, it is quickly noticed. But no one thinks that it is Anakin who does not trust them. Of course not, he is family. They decide that this must be some heretofore unknown Naboo marriage TRADITION, elopement followed by hiding the marriage. 

No one, not a single jedi in 10,000, thought to ask Anakin directly. 

Several Archivists promptly write some very well written papers on this tradition, and how it fits into their other knowledge, basically filling in the gaps to create a tradition out of whole cloth (even though they are acting in earnest). 

The war still starts, with all that entrails. But every Jedi knows about Anakin’s ‘secret’ marriage. The little ones all giggle about it. Most are eagerly waiting for the tradition of hiding to be complete, because surely ‘The Man Without Fear’ and his wife would also want to marry in the Jedi tradition.  There was so little to be excited about these days that everyone bought into this notion, even those that had long decided they would not go through the process of the Jedi Marriage. 

The children in the creche insist on making decorations for the eventual Jedi Wedding.  In fact there were multiple sets of decorations, depending on where the happy couple wanted the ceremony performed. Just rooms and rooms of decorations and drawings and artwork of all kinds. 

The High Council, including Obi wan, started researching to make sure they knew all the steps and traditions for the Wedding backwards and forwards whenever they had the chance. The last time a Jedi Wedding had been performed was 200 years earlier and enough had happened since that even those who were alive during that time were a bit fuzzy on the details.  They wanted to be ready to support Anakin and Padme in any way possible.  Padme’s biometrics are quietly added to the Temple’s banks; ready to be activated as soon as the couple is ready. A plan is put together so that Padme can be quickly evacuated if there was an active threat against Anakin specifically, or Jedi adjacent beings in general. 

And the Archivists are practically having duels to see who would get to speak to the happy couple once the period of hiding is done. There is hope throughout the archives that maybe, if they ask really nicely, Padme would be willing to answer a few questions on Naboo marriage traditions (All the Archivists want to learn so badly, all they want to do is be able to learn. Can they please learn).

Perhaps if it had gone on much longer someone would have cottoned on to how stressed this secret was making Anakin. Maybe not.  Perhaps this world still could have ended in unimaginable tragedy. 

Perhaps in another world like this. In this world, we look to humor instead of horror. 

A little over a year into the war several of the youngling clans, ages ranging from about 4-6, got to go on a tour of the Senate.  One of the younglings (Age 4, species was Sabetue and was genderless) got separated and couldn’t find a clone guard or anyone they recognized. They were wandering and scared, but somehow made it up to the level where Padme’s office is. And the Youngling recognized Padme’s Force signature as Master Skywalker’s wife, so they knew they would be safe with her.  

So now Padme has a small Jedi child in her office. Thankfully she was not in a meeting. She manages to get a hold of the Guard, who send up two of creche masters, who had been beside themselves with worry.  While in her office the child said things that made it clear that the child knew about Padme’s marriage to Anakin and how they couldn’t wait to see how pretty she would be in the Jedi Wedding.  One of the Crechemasters very gently reminded the child that Anakin and Padme might decide not to get married in the Jedi Tradition, that it had to be their choice and followed up with:

“And if we forced them…”

The child piped back with a solemn “we would be meanies”

One of the creche masters brought the child back down to the group while the other remained behind. First to thank Padme for finding their lost child. Then also to apologize for the child breaking the Hiding Tradition, expressing a hope that this would not have any negative impact on Padme’s marriage. 

The Crechmaster seemed so proud at saying ‘Hiding Tradition’ that Padme did not have the heart to tell them that she had no idea what they were talking about (they are very proud of remembering what the Archivists were calling this tradition).  They continue to have a brief conversation where Padme learned a number of things:

The Jedi, every single one of them, knew about Padme’s marriage.

They are all, every single one of them, actively supportive instead of the at best disapproving she thought they would be.

The Jedi somehow believe that Padme and Anakin are hiding their marriage over a Naboo Tradition

There are rooms full of crafts created specifically to decorate for her wedding in the Jedi Tradition created by hordes of earnest younglings. 

The Jedi are very into consent. 

Anakin is not due back on Coruscant for another week, and during that week Padme made discrete inquiries (oddly enough these are actually discrete) that told her nothing important about what was going on and driving her to distraction. So Anakin comes back to Padme nearly screaming at him ‘Why do the Jedi think we are hiding our marriage over a Naboo tradition?’

Anakin very much does not know but suggests that they ask the Chancellor (Anakin has very much been conditioned by the Chancellor to turn to him first in any instance of confusion).

Padme stares at him for a moment, tells him that is a stupid idea and to call Obi Wan.

Anakin does not want to call Obi Wan. He does not want to tell Obi Wan about their marriage and get in trouble. 

Padme stares at him with the dead eyes of someone dealing with too much ridiculous information at once, then says ‘Call Kenobi’.

Anakin obeys. 

Obi Wan comes over, they all sit down and Padme very calmly tells Obi Wan that she and Anakin are married. Obi Wan immediately begins radiating blinding excitement.  He congratulates them and starts to ask about having a Jedi wedding before deflating again and asking if not pretending he was surprised would ruin anything. He offers to go out and they can do it again, he can pretend to be shocked. 

Padme reassures him. Anakin starts to express his surprised (in a way that would have made it really clear about why he was hiding his marriage) but Padme quickly interrupts him, asking about Jedi Wedding traditions and lets Obi Wan ramble really happily about the research that the High Council had been doing to make sure they can recreate those traditions if Padme and Anakin want.

Obi Wan leaves with a promise that Padme and Anakin would come to speak with the High Council to make sure all the legalities (making sure everything is set up so that Padme can come and go as she pleases at the temple, and have a login to access the Archives, and would it be possible for her to come in for a baseline check up so that medical their records are up to date) are taken care of. As soon he is gone Padme grabs Anakin by the collar and goes ‘we can never tell them’

Anakin goes ‘what?’ 

‘We can never tell the Jedi why we were hiding our marriage. I’ll contact my parents as soon as it is morning on Naboo. They can back us up. We can say it is an old family tradition to hide the marriage for the first year. It isn’t used much, but after being in the public eye and with the War I was feeling superstitious, ok?’

Anakin goes ‘What, Why?’

Padme shakes at the arm in her hand, ‘telling the other Jedi that you didn’t trust them with your marriage would break their hearts. Do you want to be the reason small children are crying?’

Anakin looked far too considering for Padme's piece of mind, and what little sanity she had left. 

‘Let me put it this way, do you want to be what finally break’s Obi wan’s heart? That man was vibrating with excitement to celebrate our wedding so hard I could feel in the Force.’

Anakin deflated, ‘Oh. No.’

Padme’s parents laugh their ass off that she needs to create a long held family tradition because she doesn’t want to admit to the Jedi that she had thought they would react badly to her marriage.  They agree to do it. 

<Somehow this does derail Palpatine’s plans. Personally I want it to be in a way that leaves people unaware that he is a Sith, so for the rest of his life he needs to maintain the kindly old grandpa look and suffer for it- maybe something that means he has to actually live a clean life; no more crime or torturing for him.>

Twenty four years later Obi Wan helps Leia Naberrie meet up with Han Solo in order to Elope in the long held family tradition (Bringing with them only R2 to follow the actual tradition closer than they realize). Obi Wan very carefully leaves before Han arrives, so that he can truthfully say he does not know that they eloped. 

Leia’s twin Luke does not need to elope, as he followed his Uncle Obi Wan into the Jedi (an unrelated note he also followed Obi Wan into the mindset of ‘Why Monogamy when Harems naturally occur’-From that day the war ends Obi Wan has no less than three clones with him at all times; he also appears to have a lover, a friend, or an antagonist that he has weirdly sexual dialogue with on every planet he visits. Or Hondo Ohnaka, who has a category all his own. The years that Boba Fett comes to the holiday meals as one of Luke’s plus 6’s-He couldn't choose just one and no one would think of making him- are among the most awkward of most of their lives.)

[themotherofblood]

Hey love! Can i request a rough sex with Daemon and reader .. like he had an argument with Rhaenyra so he takes it out on ms blood bag👀

absolutely, yes!!

masterlist | Bloody Baby Series | Vampire AU

warnings: major smut warning, dubcon headed to noncon, rough, blood drinking, broken bones, aftercare(if you ever consider it in a dubcon situation) mean!daemon eventual softie! daemon. this is also dark? I suck at tagging so I’m sorry

“hobres ao,” Rhaenyra exclaims at Daemon as she shucks as vase at his head, seething red hot anger from every pore. Over a millennia gone and yet the irrationality of hers never once dwindled. Fuck you

Daemon glared at her, teeth bared and ready to stop her from leaving this room. He was older than her, stronger than her. She would risk all that their identity was built upon for this. “We have been looking for over a century Daemon!” Her eyes watered with the thought their blood, her bloodline still living on, breathing fire into the mother that she once was.

“Rhaenyra— my love, knowing us will only endanger them more.” Daemon reasoned, hoping to sway her to leave them alone. Daemon had known all along, having found Baela’s bloodline in 432 AC, the Faith, all too knowing of their kind burned the one family he found.” The world ever changed and growing still, the knowledge of their existence a mere myth, a history watered down over generations. Such power was a farce, and the lived content knowing so.

“The Faith will burn them if you do not eat them first,” he barked. This time Rhaenyra was pissed, she took a deep breath— masking her surrender before whooshing towards Daemon and twisting his neck. He fell to the floor with a thud, Rhaenyra knew he was right, she was too proud to admit it. Years spent chasing the hidden Guild of the Faith, and watching just one Hightower spawn grow their family for decades. Only to slaughter them like pigs, leaving just one alive every time.

Daemon’s bones soon healed, he groaned. Shaking his head, willing away the pain as anger filled him this time. Rhaenyra long gone as he angrily stood to his feet, ready to go after her as he reached for his phone on the table. A text from his wife already docked on his screen. “I won’t visit them.”

Though the text should have soothed his bubbling ire, it didn’t. She fucking broke his neck and left him here on the floor. He needed blood, his head still pounding from his healing injury, not quick enough he groaned. He would have headed for the long fridges in the kitchen, stacked with bags and bags of blood from people of all ilks but he, no he craved something warmer. His teeth craved to sink into soft flesh, feel his prey thrash underneath him.

The stroke of midnight, a distant clock singing away the time as he climbed the steps to your bedroom. Prepared throughly for their little capture from the party, they hadn’t broken you yet, which was surprising. It had been a month. Something about the glint in your eyes just bubbled soften into bodies when they weren’t collectively violating you or having their dessert.

You lay asleep in your giant poster bed, cuddled and warm under the heavy duvet, a book laying idly by the other pillow as your chest rose and fell. He could hear the calm thudding of your heart, the blood under your skin and small gasp like breaths from your parted lips.

He shuffled onto the side of your bed, lifting the book away from your pillow. You stir, whimpering into the sheet as his heavy hands stroke at your hip. You flutter your eyes open as you sense his presence, you know it is him. Rhaenyra never wakes you so, it is always her lips you feel upon your temple, every morning.

When you open your eyes the room is still dark, bed curtains pulled and the moon high in the air, you frown, bottom lip jutting out “Daemon? Are you hungry?” you whisper, cuddling further into the sheets. He nods, his ominous figure still a shadowy silhouette sat next to you. You lift out your wrist from under the covers, offering him your hand as your eyes closed once more. You had gotten used to sting from when they fed from your wrist. The pain in your jugular and inner thighs still unbearable but for whatever reason you let them.

He grunts, flicking the bed side lamp on. You silently gasped the second you saw his face, eyes darkened as the veins around them popped out. He wasn’t here to leisurely drink from you, that was sure. “Daemon?” You asked once more and then squealed as he tore the blankets away from your body. The cool air of the room prickling your skin to goosebumps.

“I am hungry for something far more than blood,” he hissed as he pries you legs apart, your bare cunt just greeting him, ready to be fucked raw.

His nose wantonly took a waft from your cunny, before growling at the back of his throat and devouring the taste of you. His nose nudging at the hood of your clit as your back arched. More than he loved feasting on your sweet coppery blood, he loved this cunt. How it always swelled to his attention, the adorable bud peaking through it hood, begging him to graze his fangs upon it. The shudders and squeals it can elicit from you, though any other day he could spend hours, kissing and licking you away.

Today he was in no mood, he knew it pained you so, he wanted hear that pretty cry of his name. “Daemon!” you cried, the harsh sting radiating from your thigh as he sung his teeth deep into the supple flesh of your inner thigh, groaning as his craving graced the actual taste of you.

He unlatched, flipping you over as the open wound dripped onto the sheets. His hand immediately laying sharp slaps on your ass as he pulls you up by the hair. There— there it was, the hammering of your heart inside your chest, the arc of your back giving him a good view of your neck and that pulsing spot, calling to him, seducing him.

He undid his pants, sliding away his leather belt and wrapping it around your neck. He tightened the buckle, uncomfortably wrapped onto your slender neck. You gasped for air as the pressure of the blood started to make your ears ring. Daemon plunged his cock into you without a warning, hammering away his frustrations with his cock. One hand held firmly at your pelvis and the other holding your jaw. The harsh slaps of your hips meeting echoed through the room.

“D-daddy,” you gasped, Daemon smirked still pounding away, obident little pet of his, just as he commanded you weeks before, you keep his name— he would rather hear the “your grace” or “my prince” yelp from your mouth but that part of Daemon has laid dormant for over five hundred years. Plus it’s all the rage within the youth these day, he likes the sound of it, daddy, kepa—he would teach you soon.

“My little fuck pet aren’t you? Even when I do such horrible things to you,” his hold on your jaw loosened to lay a sharp slap on your cheek “huh? Just a broken slut, begging to be used.” he growled against your ear “my whore.”

The words modern to his tongue but his whore, he thought of Rhaenyra. Just as he fucked his ire into you, his body brought him back to the brothel’s of King’s Landing, his family, his children— gone. Cursed to out live everyone, even a pretty poppet like you. His hand ventured lower, laying three sharp smack onto your unsheathed clit. You wail, cry pretty girl. He was an ugly, violent man then and he is far worse now—breaking away yet another cunt, moulding it to his liking.

He was a predator and you his prized prey.

You nodded to his words, you were his. His whore, you were. Broken you were. Finding joy in something so violent, so ever-consuming you felt your pussy flutter, sobbing as you felt the bitter pinch of his finger upon your nipples as he tore the silk down from your torso. You babbled some nonsense to stir the bed play but you were too lost, fucked too small under his heavy hold.

Daemon still in another world, sweaty head rested upon your shoulder as he rutted into your hips, his eyes flickered upon. The sheets under you stained in the blood dripping from your thighs, your blood— his blood. His grip tightened, finding his bearing once more, he felt the flutter of your cunt as his finger worked swiftly against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“I better hear you beg, bunny. Cry louder,” he growled, knowing full well your orgasm pushed against its dams.

“Please,” you wheezed “please let me come daddy.”

“Louder!” He barked, a sharp, bruising smack against your ass

“Let me come please!” You screamed, praying he gives you his permission. Daemon slapped at your cunt.

“Go on, come from me slut,” he hissed, making your cry out as the pain of his stinging slaps mixed with the tingle of your orgasm. Your face covered in tears as you sobbed, your peak pushing through in waves.

Daemon once more sunk his teeth under his belt, that throbbing thud around your neck as you came undone. He wanted to feel it on his tongue, blood once more dripped down your torso as you screamed at the sting, reaching up to push away his head. Daemon caught a glimpse of the blood once more, not seductive, gore, the images flashing before his eyes as he drank from you.

His hold upon you had been so crushing, your yelps and hisses came to a sudden halt as a crunch echoed in his ears, and then your scream.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Daemon pulled away, his cock long spurted his cum into your cunt and creaming around the base of his cock. What he heard was worse as you fell forward crying out.

You cries of salacious agony turned fearful, he realized what he had done. He shook his head, looking over your body to see what exactly he broken with his crushing grip. You leaned to the left, hands trying to graze over your right. He broke your pelvic bone. He sighed, eyebrows scrunched, the violence long faded from his blood and replaced with guilt.

You cried harder as he turned you, he bit into his palm, letting his own blood trickle to the surface before pressing it against your lip, you groaned in distaste, getting fed on was one thing, feeding was another. Your teary eyes looked up at him as he coaxed the blood into your system.

The blood would do work its way to the injury as he had a servant draw a bath for you and prepare fresh pink sheets for your bed. You groaned as he readjusted your body and pressed his fingers against your pelvis, leading your hand to do the same as your yelped. You felt the bone realign with time within you. Your whimpers and mewls subsiding.

“I’m sorry, pet.” He pressed kisses to the side of your head before scooping you up effortlessly to deposit you in the blue bath waters, a fizzing bath bomb colouring the water as he sunk in along with you.

You couldn’t understand it, the fear, for there was none. You felt them countless times, Daemon nearly choking the light away from your eyes or Rhaenyra sucking your blood dry. You pouted “Daddy?”

Daemon let out a soft sigh, seeing as though you were still in your fucked daze, Daemon, I’m Daemon pet he wanted to say, you however needed your time. Instead he hummed as a reply.

“D- did you and mommy compel me?” you whispered, fingers dancing against the rim of the tub.

“For what?” He whispered against your ear.

“I’m not scared, so either you compelled me or I’m stupid.” you hummed, finding an idle entertainment in twisting the signet ring on Daemon’s left small finger.

“I’m afraid it might me the latter darling,” he hummed apologetically.

They did compel you, thinking they’d enjoy the hunt of breaking you into a perfect pet and here you were willing curled against him. The compelled you, to never leave the palace. Watching your torn face as you stood on the grass with the main gates open wide, you couldn’t walk out no matter how much you might ever want to.

Daemon kissed your shoulder, coaxing the life back into you as the last of your pain subsided. He rubbed your dry before helping you dress in another night gown before tucking you under the fresh sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder, you knew they never slept, they sat there all night with one another as you dozed in between them.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled sleepily.

Daemon was about to ask why.

“For what they did to you, to Rhaenyra.”

Ahh I typed this in one go at 4am, this is not proof read, I hate proof reading (I’m sorry not sorry) hope you enjoyed. Again I’m taking requests for this au, this au will be a weird mix of dark and lovely. Idk how to describe it. Anyways.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

[melandrops]

The Magnus Archives Entities as Greek Gods

The Vast - Zeus

The all powerful, infinite cosmic force that is both the king of the gods and the fear of insignificance. The fear of falling, and of openness. Pray that when lightning strikes, you will not taste ozone on your tongue.

The Buried - Poseidon

The ocean could very well be a part of the Vast, but they are fundamentally opposed. The same sides of a coin, one side pewter the other side copper. Two kings that rule next to each other yet are complete opposites. Pray that his brutal storms do not swallow you whole, crushing you under the weight of his world.

The End - Hades

He is the one inevitability of the world. He waits, passive, for victims. The other gods squabble and bicker and play their games while he looks on from the Underworld and knows that he is the ultimate winner. It is pointless to hope that he will not claim you eventually. Pray that you will be contented when he does.

The Web - Athena

The goddess of strategy, of weaving and trickery and cunning. She once cursed a girl to become a spider for her insolence. Pray that she does not lay her marionette strings over you, for then you will never know free will again.

The Slaughter - Ares

The god of war, and the gleam of bloodshed in your eyes and the eyes of the person on the other end of the battlefield. Pray that the blood streaking your hands and face is not your own.

The Corruption - Aphrodite

She is love, and the unbecoming of it all. The deadly force that eats away at your soul and changes you into someone you don't recognize anymore. She whispers that she is the most good and right form of the world, but her kiss is made of rot. Pray that her love will not break you apart piece by piece.

The Eye - Apollo

The god of the sun, who sees all the occurs in the daylight. Prophecy, truth, and the goings on of the world are the way he idles his time away. Pray that you are not intriguing enough to catch his vicious interest.

The Lonely - Hestia

She is the goddess of the hearth, of warmth and of family. Yet it was she who was foisted out of Olympus to make way for Dionysus. She tends to a hearth with no visitors to warm themselves by it. Pray that she does not beckon you to join her by the empty fire.

The Stranger - Dionysus

His parties are the raucous screams in the night, and people who walk in will never walk out the same person. There will always be something a little bit off about them. Pray that when the wine touches your lips you will still recognize yourself the next morning.

The Desolation - Hephaestus

Ugly, marred and disfigured. His wife refuses to look at him. He burns with a rage that he cannot distinguish as self hatred or as loathing for the world he lives in. He toys with the fire in his forge and the burns are the only thing that bring him joy anymore. Pray that he does not look at you with that fiery hatred in his eyes.

The Hunt - Artemis

She hunts in the dead of night, armed by the protection of the moon. Occasionally she enlists help. But always, she will dedicate herself to the next hunt. Pray you are not next.

The Flesh - Prometheus

He built humans out of clay. He built them with imperfections they would see in the mirror and insecurities that feel like a gaping pit in their chest. The god of innovation is also a god who wants their passions to hurt. Pray that when he creates you, your imperfections do not swallow you whole.

The Spiral - Janus

Doors and transitions and new beginnings but also endings all rolled into one. Everything and anything but also nothing and no one. He is a two faced god of deception and lies, and you can never trust what either face tells you. Pray for truth, but there is no point.

The Dark - Nyx

She's always there. Waiting for Apollo to leave. You're not safe from her. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, the most animal part of your brain will always fear her. Pray that she smiles at you without teeth as she watches while you sleep.

The Extinction - Pan

He is the god of nature, and there is no length he will not go to in order to protect it. Mankind is but a blemish on the world. The wild, untamable forces of nature will conquer it eventually. Pray that you will be overlooked when it floods the cities and burns the crops.

[scuttlingcrab]

Raphael reacting to being given a surprise little peck on the cheek. Just a brief and sweet little thing and the kisser is already gone before he can really do anything.

I made it so Tav kissed Raphael on the lips instead, brief and sweet as you suggested; but still shocking to the Devil, hehe. Tav always seems to get Raphael's knickers in a twist.

Summary: Raphael is fuming after Tav shows absolutely zero decorum, kissing him in the middle of an important meeting between prospective clients. How will the Devil manage? 

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Only a Kiss

(Image via certifieddilfenjoyer)

The Devil gingerly sipped his wine, no longer cringing at its watered down consistency. Each taste allowed him to make a careful observation of the reception, a mere glance was all he needed to sense whether the evening was going in his favour. And it most certainly was, despite it feeling like he was stuck in an infinite loop of monotony.

Raphael stood in the dining hall of a soon-to-be forgotten Duchess. A group of Faerûn’s most politically influential women surrounded him, cramming into the room like fish in a barrel. These parties were all nonsense to Raphael, another trite characteristic of his role as the resident Devil. 

The establishment was stuffy, not due to the growing crowd, but from the obvious lack of taste. Paintings decorated every inch of the walls, statues filled every corner, and none of the art seemed to co-exist. Each piece was random, gaudy, and only attempted to achieve one thing to any unlucky guest who was smart enough to see through the facade. 

Wealth! Status! Luxury! A tawdry display and an overt cry for help. 

Raphael pursed his lips. Was he the only one there who had even a sliver of self-respect? Who understood the complexities of art?

But of course he was. 

The evening was growing late and these mortals were on the verge of tipping over, their goblets overflowing with the very wine that coursed through their veins. Raphael was stuck entertaining them until they signed his contract.

It didn't matter. He would consume their souls and move on; just a little longer and this next batch of cattle would be herded into their pens for slaughter.

Raphael opened his mouth as he prepared to continue the dragging exchange, but he was taken by a sudden gush of air. Within seconds, his mouth was locked with a stranger's in a delicate kiss.

He blinked, a pair of striking blue eyes within inches of his own. Soft hands cradled his face. Cloves and roses. That smell. Those eyes. The sheer display of indecency. Tav. 

The fleeting act stunned the Devil. Before he could speak, move, or incincinerate; Tav winked, quickly disappearing into the crowd. 

“Lord Raphael! I didn’t realise…” One guest began. 

The herd of women grew excited, sharing hushed whispers with each other. A few of them began giggling. 

“Far from it, I’m afraid.” Raphael cleared his throat, adjusting his collar.  

“Well, that kiss told me everything I needed to know.” Another woman continued. She raised her brows high, a suggestive glint growing brighter in her eyes. “Your reputation precedes you, my Lord. Perhaps we can look at adding something similar to our agreement?”

He was going to destroy Tav, remove them from existence once and for all.

A thousand deadly thoughts ran through his mind at once, causing him to go into overdrive. The things he could do to them. Would do to them. He would make them beg for forgiveness, in every way imaginable, before he would even consider giving them the freedom of death.

“Of course I'm always open to discussing terms with prospective clients… but I am unfortunately unavailable.” Raphael responded. 

The women groaned in disappointment, a few of them, the richest ones, dismissed Raphael almost instantly. As they began to break away from the group, he could feel the threads of his perfect plan unravelling. Chaos closed in, circling him, suffocating him.  

“No need to fret, my dears. I have something for you that I don’t offer to just anyone, guaranteed to exceed all expectations. You will find them a far more pleasant experience, I’m sure.” 

This not only stopped the women from disbanding, but actually seemed to excite them. 

“Oh my Lord, forever a tease. Do tell us more!” One of them shouted. 

Raphael’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the empty chalice. He could feel his internal temperature bubbling as it rose. The chalice began to bend from the heat, slowly drooping like a dying flower.

He bit the side of his tongue, bowing respectfully. 

“I operate under the shadow of discretion. If you will allow me, you’ll soon be able to have a little taste, and discover first hand what awaits you upon signature.”

As the women huddled closer to Raphael, devouring every word from his lips, he searched the room for the culprit. That vile, unhonorable creature. He spotted them at the far end of the room, chatting with an unfamiliar face. 

He continued to glare at Tav, hoping his scathing gaze would pierce through their chest. The longer he stared at them, the more he hoped they’d feel his eyes on them; daring them to glance in his direction.  

When there was no response, Raphael set the tip of Tav’s outfit on fire with a flick of his wrist. He watched in pleasure as the flames slowly grew, nearly reaching their knees before they reacted to the warmth.

Tav jumped back, quickly killing the flames with a spell. Their cheeks grew redder as they tried to laugh off the embarrassment. Tav rubbed the back of their neck, looking around the room until their eyes caught Raphael’s. 

The Devil tilted his head in acknowledgment, a smile filled with scorn and amusement overtaking his lips. 

Try something like that again, little mouse, his expression hoped to convey; and he’ll be sure to leave them with permanent scars next time. 

Raphael soon discarded Tav from his mind, he wouldn’t waste anymore time thinking about that creature. He gathered the rest of his energy for the upcoming engagement at hand, the final one of the evening.

“Madams,” he began, turning back to the women. “This soirée has grown rather dull. Perhaps it’s time we move things somewhere more secluded as we close our deal? I think my House of Hope would suffice, no? Besides, there is someone who is dying to make your acquaintance.”

[and-all-that-szasz]

Collaborative question to pose to fellow fans (or anyone who wants to add their 2 cents):

If you were planning a Magnus Archive themed party centered around the 14 fears, what would you do for each one?

So far I've got,

The eye: a scavenger hunt maybe? Or charades? I'm not sure what fun activity would evoke "being watched". Fallback plan is eyeball cookies

The buried: I'm real lucky to have a cavern system relatively nearby that does cave crawls, so this one was easy. But I'd love to hear other ideas

The dark: nighttime hide and seek, flashlight tag, maybe a glow-in-the-dark art activity of some kind

The desolation: bonfire. Obviously. Complete with roasting marshmallows

The end: I think the easiest rep here would be skull and bone shaped snacks or candy

The flesh: again, I'm thinking like halloween treats here. That fake raw meat rice krispy treat thing, jello brains, candy corn teeth

The corruption: this is getting repetitive, but I was really struggling I'm sorry. So again, halloween snacks Bug and Worms Edition. Maybe mushrooms if you're feeling adventurous

The hunt: hide and seek tag or some other version of tag, or again a scavenger hunt might work better here instead

The lonely: I call this game "sneaky ninja". It's basically dynamic hide and seek, where you actively stay out of sight but otherwise as close as possible to the It person.

The slaughter: Nerf War

The spiral: nearly any bluffing or lying game will do, but this is another one I was kinda struggling with

The stranger: same as spiral, you can do a bluffing/lying game OR some kind of dress up/costume competition

The vast: indoor skydiving, parasailing or scuba would work Very Well for this, but if we're talking about accessible options that's a little harder. Maybe a stargazing session with a telescope, or some kind of diving game in a deep pool

The web: guess who's back, back again~ creepy/halloween snacks, my beloved. I think spiders/spiderweb treats are easy for this one

[trollsficrecs]

Hello, I thought I might recommand this new author Inkedteeth, his/her/their work is really great and I think should get more view. The last is a werwolf AU which seems really promising (Mature though due to presence of blood). Their first fic was a wholesome "Groppy", set before the first movie with lots of feelings, you can feel the tension, the emotion in their writting (reason why I think they should get more visibility). https://archiveofourown.org/works/54884797/chapters/139124293 Hope you will like their work too !

Ao3 User InkedTeeth

Masking by InkedTeeth - ao3, 9k words - G

Ships Tagged: Branch/Poppy

Poppy crafts the perfect party for a certain grey troll. This time, he'll come for sure! Honestly she's excited to make any progress with the worlds most paranoid troll. What happens when a mysterious troll shows up to the party instead?

Sharp Teeth; Gentle Jaws by Inkedteeth - ao3, 5.8k words - M, Creator Chose not to Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions of Violence (Incomplete)

Werewolf AU

Ships Tagged: Branch/Poppy

The trolls of Pop Village knew the woods were dangerous at night, predators lurked in every corner, but they never came near their home. Not until a new beast emerged, mauling a gray orphan on the night of a full moon. Littered with scars, he sequestered himself away from the village that failed him. Years later the trolls hadn’t seen the beast for a while, only knowing it existed through broken fences as slaughtered livestock. When the news came that there was another attack within the village borders- well, the Princess had to do something, right?

There was only one troll for the job.

Would the gray survivalist help, or will his own burdens keep him locked away?

[clazberryk]

Sometimes the Unknown is Safer: Footprints on my heart.

Well here it is guys as promised, THE TIEFLING PARTY, the winning vote on the poll.

I hope you do like it and let me know if you did in the comments.

Footprints on my Heart.

Astarion watched as Taveleigha dodged and weaved throughout the party goers, stopping at every single member in the group, he watched as she clapped at Rolan’s light display and conversed with the Tiefling wizard and his siblings declining an alcoholic drink. He watched as she laughed at something Karlach had said, and at whatever Wyll had said, resting her hand on Wyll’s shoulder as she doubled over in bellyful guffaws. Taveleigha never laughed like that with him, it was snide comments and sideway smirks and glances. He happily went tit for tat with the Elf sorcerer but with a shock he realised he had never actually made her full out laugh.

Astarion marvelled at how quickly the one horned Tiefling and the Blade of Frontiers became quick friends, especially considering that only weeks ago Wyll had asked their group for help hunting Karlach. Honestly, he did wonder how the Blade of Frontiers could not acknowledge that Karlach was a Tiefling, and a kind souled one at that. Even he a cynical Vampire Spawn had to admit that Karlach’s ever boisterous and positive outlook on life was infectious, even if he would never say it to her himself. Maybe once this was all over, he and Taveleigha could travel to the areas in Faerun that apparently the Blade of Frontiers had been to, ensuring the hero had just killed devils and not accidentally mistaken Tieflings for slaughter.  Wait a minute? Him and Taveleigha? What was that thought? When did he see himself thinking towards the future or past everything that was going on right now?

Astarion could not deny it, in the past several weeks he had never felt more alive, truer to himself instead of what he had done in the past two hundred years. Taveleigha had shown him kindness, he felt that constant weight in his stomach is not as heavy as before, lightened by the regular feedings from Taveleigha but also by her showing that there was kindness in the world. Yes, her altruism was frustrating sometimes having to save anyone and everyone they met, but she had also been cold, and calculating a side to her that he marvelled to see more. The way that she talked and swindled the Gur into a trap before allowing him to stop the wretched man in the eye and supporting him when Gandrel fought back. Not even once thinking of handing him over so he could become Cazador’s slave again, just twisting and weaving words that even took him by surprise. He did question and worry for a second, but he had no need to. Taveleigha had never made him do something he did not want to do. Even if she was doing it unintentionally on her part, not knowing his history. Even when she got the adventuring group in fights and situations, he still revelled in spilling blood and backing up their de facto leader. Taveleigha was a natural born leader, a little rough around the edges, not a true hero type maybe a grey area, but he had to admit he was growing to like the amnesiac elf. He found often seeking out her company in camp, staying closer to her in the fights. He found when they were travelling or fighting, he was looking for her first after the blood, guts and dust settled.

Taveleigha was now talking to Gale, they were probably hypothesising the benefits of innate magic and study learnt magic. He did not really care about the magic, but he did find he was appreciating how Taveleigha when using her spells was aware of where her companions where, ensuring she did not hit any of them with her Area of effect spells, she did some amazing damage with her spells unlike Gale she did not accidentally hit some of them with those spells. He would hate to be on a receiving end of a witch bolt again, or even a magic missile. Astarion sipped on the horrible vinegar wine, and watched as Taveleigha walked towards Halsin, the new resident of the camp, and Astarion perked up, the two were closer to where he stood at his tent, and he could hear a little over the music Alfira was playing and the general chitter chatter from everyone else in the camp.

“Go on, enjoy yourself you’ve earned this” Halsin smiled, and that smiled made Astarion grimace, he could imagine what Halsin was thinking, he could not even deny that Halsin could see. Taveleigha was a lovely looking Elf, smaller than most, seeing the two standing opposite each other Astarion had to laugh at the size difference it was remarkable. Halsin the Wood Elf Druid, larger than most Elves, and Taveleigha the mixed blood elf sorcerer smaller and soft than most elves, curvier, her hair tumbling down her back, in rivulets of red, he could Imagine her multicoloured eyes expressing mirth, and happiness, shining that bit brighter tonight because of the party and the fact the Tieflings were safe. She would be oblivious to Halsin’s wants and desires. Taveleigha was not one to shy away but she also did not see what everyone else saw when they looked at her. This was one of the first reasons why he chose her to bit, unintentionally at first but realising, that maybe there would not be a sexual or carnal connection the two of them. However, he found that when he did drink from her in the middle of her trances, her body still reacted to him, as his body reacted to her, both unintentionally, and maybe even subconsciously. 

Taveleigha started heading over towards Astarion, declining the drink that Halsin had offered her, she smiled a polite smile, not one to upset anyone. Astarion watched as she swayed over to him and wondered what the declining of drinks was? Come to think of it he had never seen her drink anything alcoholic always preferring the teas, he often found her making first thing in the morning or tisanes throughout the day and water, but never anything alcoholic. He knew it was not an age situation, from the little he could gather with Taveleigha she was about his age, maybe a few years younger give or take half a century, but still he had truly never seen her with an alcoholic beverage. Astarion leaned forward as Taveleigha got closer to he

“So big day tomorrow, the travel to Moonrise Towers” he said as a way of greeting, the two of them never really said hello just started a conversation, continuing from where the last one left, it filled him with excitement, and made him feel a little less lonely. He liked how they could execute a conversation even if there was several hours in between each converse.

“Yep, big day, of travelling, and getting lost and wondering where the hell we are” Taveleigha sighed, Astarion knew he head was already going over scenarios and the possibilities of members of their party getting hurt. He could not lie it did seem daunting and that everyone was against them. The Gur, The Goblins, the three leaders, hell even the Githyanki seemed against them, however still he could not find his way to worry about them. Maybe Taveleigha could take a night off from worrying of if, what’s and maybes. Astarion saw her eyes flitter to the floor, a habit he noticed she did when she was thinking or when her thoughts were heading into a downward fashion. This could not do, he did not want this for her, he wanted her to enjoy herself. Maybe he could help with that. Help her, help him. All part of the plan. You keep telling yourself that. That insipid voice was back, always questions his motives.

“You know, I never pictured myself as a hero” Astarion smirked, waving the wine bottle in his hand about “never thought that I’d be the one they toast to save so many lives.” He took a sip of the vinegar wine “And now that I am here” He had her attention, she looked at him, eyebrow cocked, head titled, a slight smirk on her face “I hate it. This is awful” He grimaced, he was not sure if he was talking about the wine or the party itself.

“Aw come one, it cannot be that bad” She smiled up at him, twisting her hands together “Think of all those goblins you got to kill” She smirked, he could see her eyes shining again, she was enjoying this fencing match, spit for spat, intellect versus intellect, he couldn’t not deny he was enjoying it as well.

“True that was fun” He smirked, gods it was so easy to converse with her. It gave him a sense of tranquillity, of relief. He found he was wanting to converse with her, and he was maybe a little apprehensive about what could happen tonight, but it was not for the same reasons as before. It was because he was worrying what it would do to their future relationship. Could he keep this up if he wanted a true friendship with her? He was growing to like the full package of Taveleigha, and he found he was wanting to hear what she was going to say. A sense of nervousness, but he pushed it down. Afterall he was the king of deflection.

“Still, I would’ve liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine” Astarion knew that his vampiric tastebuds made him taste food and wine differently, but even he could tell this was cheap wine. He however was taken by surprise when Taveleigha grabbed the bottle from his hands and took a sip of it, swallowing, he watched as her neck muscles contracted pushing the wine down her oesophagus, he was mesmerised for a second, as well as taken aback, in the weeks they had been travelling together he had never once seen Taveleigha take an alcoholic drink, or even be so bold. She was always tentative, when sharing personal space, she liked her own personal space was not much of a toucher, or a hugger. Only touching people, she was comfortable with, and even then, it was a hand on the shoulder, still an arm’s length away from people.

Astarion had started noticing little quirks of the elf, like when she was caught unawares, she would flinch ever so slightly, or when someone was behind her, she would turn her body a certain way, to ensure she could see if an attack were coming. How she would twitch if he moved to quickly, or if he raised his arms too high above his head. They were all idiosyncrasies he knew all too well. Her mind might not know what had happened to her, but her body certainly remembered, and it was protecting her. He had made a conscious effort to not be so elaborate in his movements with her, he knew he had flare when he was speaking, knew he was quite animated but with her he was conscious of her reactions.

“See what I mean?” She handed the bottle back to him, grimacing slightly “Awful” She nodded, but kept quiet, that arched eyebrow in place again, that smirk in place, this encouraged him to move onto his next part of the plan “All I want is a little fun. Is that too much to ask?”

“Are you not having fun?” Taveleigha stepped back slightly, taken aback by his pouting. He did not answer and took another long drawl of the drink again, which she had to admit was a bit too sharp for her liking. She liked wine, she drank wine when she was in Baldur’s Gate, but it was exceedingly rare for her to drink often. Never sharing her bottle with anyone else, until now. She had to admit there was a little bit of satisfaction when she saw the look of surprise on Astarion’s face when she took his bottle, satisfied that she could still surprise people, and she was not as predictable as what Astarion often reminded her that she was. “What is your idea of a little fun?” She pressed again, genuinely intrigued by his answer, and a little upset he was not having as much fun as everyone else clearly was at this party.

“By the hells!” he leant forward something he often did when he was saying something to her, when he was slightly irritated “Sex, my dear. A night of passion” He smirked; he knew he had her now. He lowered his voice, knowing that her body would react to the lower timbre, and he did not miss the slight reaction her body made, and the speed up of her heartbeat. Her heartbeat always gave her away, and the minuscule micro movements her body made, when he knew he had made the right assumption, but her face never gave her away, apart from her eyes, were they darker? He stepped closer to her invading her personal space, but still a few inches between their bodies, she did not step back so he continued “Let us wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep, we will find each other” He smiled his roguish smile, the rakish rogue mask slipped easily on, or was it a mask with her? He lifted his hand, eyes trained on her reactions, watching as her eyes trailed the hand and he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering slightly on the sensitive skin at the back of her ear, he felt her almost imperceivable shudder. She titled her head down, eyes trained on the floor again, he could practically hear the cogs turning in that little head of hers.

“Wh…what?” She seemed flustered and confused.

“I know a little clearing just away, away, we can indulge in some carnal lust.”

“I know what sex is” She smirked, and looked up at him, he looked down at her, her expressive eyes pulling him in, he could read them so easily. She was unsure, she was questioning, and she was confused. “What do I not understand is why me?” She whispered, she seemed so lost, she was fidgeting again, something she did when she was unsure or when the attention was on her. Honestly, he found it adorable. Their fearless leader was so very unsure of herself, it was almost laughable.

“Why not you?” He stepped back then, taking in her flustered body, the way she shivered against his fingers, and smirked. She closed her eyes for a minute and nodded ever so slightly.

“Okay” The whisper danced on the wind and the music of the camp and Astarion smiled, not a smirk, not a lopsided smile, a full-blown smile, teeth, fangs, and all.

“Later then” he leaned down and grandly planted a kiss to her knuckles causing Taveleigha to chuckle, and squeeze his fingers slightly, before stepping away and heading towards Shadowheart.

Taveleigha watched as the party goer’s wound down after a full evening of drinking and debauchery, Karlach was snoring loudly outside of her tent, Shadowheart had passed out near the campfire, and Wyll was off somewhere, Taveleigha was unsure where. Astarion had left moments ago, heading into the forest, an extra sway in his hips, she was sure. Taveleigha chuckled to herself as she turned towards her tent, even though she had said yes to Astarion earlier was she was still so unsure of herself. What did he see in her? He was so beautiful, so funny, so clever, traumatised, and broken for sure, that was given. He hid his pain under a façade, a mask, something she understood all too well. The weight of that mask, that everyone had to protect their true selves from the cruelty of the world. She understood cruelty, and bared witness to it for the last hundred and fifty years. She understood the pain and hardship, and yet Astarion still hid. In the brief moments where he let his true self be, in the small bursts of laughter and honesty, the vulnerability in allowing her to be his first warm blooded drink, the trust he had in her, weighed down in her heart. Added to the pressure of this motley crew of adventurers that if she were being truly honest, she would not give a time of day to most of them. She knew he was starved but not just of blood or nutrients, he was starved of connection. True connection. No friends, no life just surviving. A mirror of herself.

Taveleigha laughed a bitter, humourless bark, because was she not just as starved? Starved of connection, of physical connection, of a sense of home. Where was her home? Who was her family? She was all too aware of how mixed her blood was, of how tainted. High elves liked to remind her with every interaction. When was the last time she had been touched. Skin to skin? Had it ever happened in her life? Poor lost little elf. So desperate for anything you would go to someone of whom you are not worthy. The vampire spawn that the world has beseeched, and yet you cannot get enough. Tainted blood indeed.

The voice was back, it was always there, rearing its ugly head at the most opportune time for the beast. She did not know the voice but there was a reverberation of familiarity in the voice that echoed her deepest fears in the void that was her mind. He kept her memories under lock and key and yet used them to torment and taunt her. She was a slave to the voice, as it was her truest companion. Her only friend, as twisted as the relationship was with this voice.

The logical in Taveleigha knew it was her mind, her own mind voicing those words, twisting them against herself, she understood the fear and hatred she had of herself, but she also understood that her own body had its own memories. The shivers, the flinches, that even Astarion himself had noticed, and adjusted his mannerisms for her comfort. Surely that was something? Surely it meant he cared to a degree. Maybe not to the extent she did. She knew how stupid it would be, but she had fallen fast for the Pale Elf, she knew the minute he killed Gandrel she had truly fallen for him. She would allow him to fight for his freedom, and she would be by his side, in whatever capacity he asked for. Allowing him to fly free once the chains had been shattered from his master. What was a few months of pain when he could live an eternity of freedom? She would shoulder this pain, harbour it around her and not tell anyone. This was her own burden, one she had to shoulder alone as always. Always alone. Poor lost little elf girl.

Astarion heard and smelt her before he saw Taveleigha, her blood singing her musical song, just for him, taunting him, tempting him, and acknowledging his connection to her. In the many years of his undead life, through small snippets of freedom when his mind was free of Cazador and his body was his own he researched vampires, drinking from thinking warmbloods, everything Cazador forbade him to do, his reading, his sewing all little rebellions against his chains.

He learnt of regular bloodletting between warmbloods and vampires, even a spawn like himself, a connection was made, had been made between the two of them, even he could not deny weeks of drinking from Taveleigha, and he had become intimately aware of her body, her blood, her heart, her Lifesong, he was addicted, and he was not letting go anytime soon. When he drank from Taveleigha he did not only get sustenance he knew Taveleigha on a level nobody else could truly understand, he saw glimmers of her past, faint wisps of unfocused memories fighting to reach the surface, but her mind had protected her, he tasted magic, her emotions, knew when she was happy, annoyed, angry and aroused. There was a possessiveness in him that he had not felt before, a want to put himself in front of the danger between him and Taveleigha without regard of his own life. There was also an ember in him, a heat radiating that he craved, a wish, a want, a need, a craving that only she could satisfy that was not sustenance, it was lust, that, he was sure. Lust at the very least. He also found that he liked their friendship however unorthodox.

It was this ember which stopped him from doing what he did to every other mark, every other conquest, he moved out from behind the tree, marvelling at how the moonlight bounced and reflected off her strands of hair, how her heart rate picked up speed when she laid eyes on him. He was dressed just in his camp trousers, bare chested and bare foot, but he said nothing, he waited. Holding his breath unsure on how to proceed but knew he wanted to proceed, of which he was most sure. Taveleigha was not the only one that wanted this, it almost made him shy, made him feel like a virginal boy about to embark on his first sexual encounter. He watched as she took another step towards him, and another and another, until finally she was stood in front of him, looking up at him, her eyes searching his, a silent question. His answer was to gently brush the stray strands from her cheek to behind her pointed ear, giving the tip a gentle squeeze, she closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into his hand.

“Are you sure?” She whispered, there seemed to be a hush to the area, a gentle silence that even she did not want to break or ruin with her voice, they were within a bubble. Terrified that if she rose her voice another octave it would burst the bubble, the tension she could feel between the two of them.

“Yes” he whispered back his lips a ghost on her skin, as he brushed them against her lips, she reached up for his shoulder, on her tiptoes pressing her lips harder into his and he complied, brushing his tongue against her lower lip begging for entrance, she answered and his tongue followed, they stood there for a while tasting, feeling each other until Astarion’s hands trailed her shoulders, her ribs, her hips and finally circled her thighs and lifted her up against him, she giggled, which caused him to smile back, he turned and pressed her against the tree, his strength his weight at her hips, holding her in place.  She ran her hands through his hair, letting her nails scrape hi scalp, and he shuddered, there was a tilt and before she knew it they were on the floor, hands grasping at clothing and whatever they could, he kissed her again, she felt the incessant bulge in his trousers at the apex of her thighs and she pressed harder, rolling her hips into the bulge causing Astarion to gasp and moan into her mouth. She smiled. She had not received a reaction like that before, from what she could remember.

Taveleigha looked into his eyes when he pulled back to place kisses down her throat her shoulder, collarbone, her skin felt like it was on fire, she could feel her magic reacting and it was glorious, her mind was quiet, for the first time in forever long.

“As…As…Astarion” She groaned when he did something particular with his tongue, and he moved back to look at her a smug grin on his face, she smiled back, at some point she had lost her camp top, and her trouser ties had been loosened, she could feel her nipples stroking across her skin and the friction was glorious, she closed her eyes and moaned, bearing her neck for him, which he gently bit down and took his fill of her. Blood song and body.

The sorcerer and the vampire gasped and panted basking in the moonshine and after glow of there activities, a sheen of sweat on their skin, both sated in many ways. Astarion moved away from Taveleigha who fell boneless against the dew riddled grass, barely conscious from feeding Astarion and their evening activities, her mind was finally quiet no thinking of the future, or of her lost past, or her insecurities and inadequacies. She was finally quiet. She did not even acknowledge Astarion moving away, trusting that he would not leave her defenceless. She quickly fell into a peaceful slumber.

Astarion did not turn back around until he heard Taveleigha’s heart rate slow to an even staccato letting him know that she had fallen asleep. He had enjoyed their dalliance, he enjoyed it more than any of his other lovers, his marks, what he did not enjoy was trying to make sense of those feelings. Over the past several weeks he found he was softening to the sorcerer, and it had taken him by surprise, it was overwhelming to him, and he did not know what to do with this information. The act himself was easy he could slip into the role easily, but to actually find himself enjoying and reacting emotionally was surprising, and the afterwards, the intimacy the ants on his skin returned. The conflicting emotions of what he has starting to try and feel and understand, and the revulsion he felt for himself was too encompassing. He was surprised in the act his mind had not separated from his body, he was aware for every gasp, every groan, even sigh. Every finger trail, he closed his eyes just remembering was enough for his body to react. Well, that is certainly new. However, you know you are no good for her, you are not worthy of her. Cazador’s voice again taunting him informing him of his deepest fears and truths. He could not let her know. He had to figure out these emotions himself, learn these emotions again before he even said anything to Taveleigha.

Astarion looked over Taveleigha, she was curled up on her left side, her right leg thrown over her left, guarding her womanhood, her arms curled up against her chest tucked under her chin, her face for once slack and peaceful, no longer grimaced in pain or worry like every night he came to her tent to feed, after being given express permission from the little mage. She shivered from the cool night air, and Astarion gently laid the blanket he had taken acquired for their night, neither of them making it to the picnic area he had laid out for them, when he decided to go with what felt right instead of the practiced and true that had worked for him for the past two hundred years. He had made that split decision when he heard her heartbeat, it was time for authenticity. It was time to no longer be a slave to his master but to fight.

Oh, and Fight he would!

@roguishcat @shewhowas39 @snumlik @asweetlovesong @trashpandasaga @batttygirl @kkbennett338 @kelseyxoxily-blog @nyx-knox @nymphtml @olivesmom7 @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 44 - Look for the Light

Chapter Summary: Church has a tense first meeting with He Who Was and the Raven Queen. They entrust him with a first task (or is it a test?) and it seems he has little choice in the matter. Before Astarion can get any answers out of the warlock, their party runs into another group of mysterious fighters — along with a whole lot more trouble amid the shadows.

Featuring @the-cutest-deviant’s OC, Evael! ✨

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 213K+ words; Chapters 44/65

Excerpt below:

The pale raven alights upon a tree before them. It peers down at the adventurers with an unnerving intelligence even beyond a typical corvid. When the raven opens its beak, its voice once again has that oddly velvety and resonant quality to it.

“Oh Church of the Hearth…” the raven calls down to them in Common. “Will you not take my child up on his task?”

“You mean your task?” Church retorts. 

The raven chuckles, pointing its beak significantly up towards where He Who Was no doubt still awaits them. 

“Naughty boy,” the bird coos. “His mind has been addled by the curse. He seeks selfish vengeance, and in due time he will need a reminder of his place. But for now… I will let him have his fun, and you will help him.”

“Will I, now?” Church replies, unimpressed. 

“Yes,” the raven lilts. “It is not an order — it is a premonition. I simply know you. I know that your anger and grief boils at the sight and stories of these lands. I know you will crave justice for the Selûnites slaughtered here. I know you will go to that tavern to find the missing piece — all because you can’t help yourself, child. 

“And that is what I love about you. For all intents and purposes you should not be here in this world, and yet are here leaving such… monumental impressions in your wake.”

That strange, ethereal giggle spills out of its beak. “I will enjoy having you in my collection. Soon.”

Church keeps his face impassive, although his heart…

“Oh yes, your heart, your heart!” the raven caws ardently. “You will follow it to the bitter end, won’t you?”

Church hears Astarion quietly knock an arrow. 

“Don’t!” the warlock thinks sharply at him. 

“What?” Astarion replies indignantly. 

“I want to know what she means,” Church says. 

“I watch you,” the Raven Queen whispers excitedly, the raven hunched down and shifting restlessly upon its perch. “I watch you eat. Sleep. Drink. Fight.

“And he will be there, too,” she adds, tilting her head at the scowling Astarion. “Oh yes. ‘I will eat you up.’ Delicious, delicious!”

“So, why exactly are we talking to a fucking bird?” Astarion interjects indignantly. “Why are we humoring this at all?”

“You cannot hide anymore, ‘sweet boy,’” the Raven Queen croons. “I know your face. I know your heart. I know…”

She gasps. 

“…o-oh, such heartbreak,” she whispers. “And I will witness it all.”

“That’s enough,” Church says coldly. “You can look all you want, but I will not be yours.”

“By the end of this week, you will beg to be,” the Raven Queen croaks forebodingly. “I will wait for you on the other side, child.”

Start from the beginning

[plethomacademia]

Update: this is now chapter 2 of my fic that lets me roll around in the concept of the bard urge, sorry and/or you're welcome

Original post: I had this idea and it came out. I guess I'll have to finally make an ao3 if I keep this up huh. Tweaked a touch from my original posting to make it about planning the House of Wonders heist instead of the crown heist. Content: fem Dark urge (based on my high elf bard) and Gortash have their first one on one chat to plan the heist on the Hall of Wonders. 1700 words of Gortash being thrown off when the vicious Chosen he's seen leading a murder cult takes advantage of a rare excuse to listen to an orchestra. This is the song I listened to while writing this:

When the Chosen of Bane had asked the Chosen of Bhaal for an in-person meeting, he had expected her to decline. Up until that point, they had communicated solely through coded letters. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her in person, each from a distance while she was leading her followers through some kind of slaughter. So when she had not only agreed to the meeting, but suggested they pick a neutral ground not owned by either party, he had been stumped. Where did one take a woman who was usually covered at least partially in blood?

In the end, he had picked his box at the opera house. It was more secure than a random tavern room by far and he often brought guests to it, so a mysterious woman would not bring any kind of notice. Not to mention the entertaining room behind the actual box had plenty of space to lay out a few maps, maybe even enjoy some wine at the same time. All he could hope was that she remembered the clean the blood out from under her fingernails.

He arrived ten minutes to curtain while the orchestra was warming up in the pit. He had expected some kind of guard for her to already be present, but the door was unattended. Perhaps she wouldn't show after all, he thought before gesturing one of his guards to their post. His other guard stood behind him as he knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by an older woman he kept in his employ.

"My lord, the lady arrived some time ago. She is in the box seats." The servant swung the door wide to allow his entrance.

Sure enough, there was a figure seated out in the last row of the box seats. She did not turn despite having to have heard the noise of his arrival. He took that moment to look at the dark brown hair piled on her head, the long column of her neck, the point of her ears. He had seen her before, of course, knew that despite being a Bhaalspawn she was a surprisingly fragile looking high elf. An attempt at Bhaal for once to maybe have a bit of subtlety in his progeny, he thought. But from this angle, she truly could have been any other tryst, whisked up to be ruined in the opera box of a lord.

He dismissed both the servant and his guard with another gesture, walking the short distance to the box. He sat down beside her, expecting her to look up then, to acknowledge that he, the host of this evening, had arrived. But she continued looking down at the paper in her hand. That's when he realized it was the playbill for the opera that would be starting shortly.

He waited a moment. When she didn't look up from her playbill, he cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting --"

"Have you seen this one before?" She turned toward him finally.

He could see that it was her, of course, the Chosen of Bhaal that he had seen disemboweling a person while leading a congregation in ritualistic chant. The hands that he had seen several times up to the wrist in dripping blood, now holding a playbill. Her head that he had seen held back as she shouted about the ecstasy of murder to a rapt audience, now looking up at him expectantly. But at this distance, in this place, all he could think was how had he never noticed before that her eyes were silver. He realized after staring for a moment that not only had she asked him a question, but that the question had been of all things about the damned opera.

"I don't tend to pay much attention to them."

She smiled. "No, I imagine not. I've heard what you tend to get up to in this box." Before he could ask what she meant, she continued. "I haven't seen this production, but it's supposed to be good. The Gazette had a write up about the conductor, apparently he has quite a way about him."

She had already turned her attention back to her playbill and he found he missed it. "And how is it you know what I do in my opera box, Miss … ?" He actually didn't know her name. No one did. She was simply the Chosen or the Slayer to anyone who even knew of her. It was any wonder his first missives even made it to her in that temple at all.

Her nose wrinkled. "Maeve will do. Not a lot of use for formality where I come from." She put the playbill in her lap, folding her hands over it before looking at him again. "You have to know I have people watching you, of course. Just as I know you've been watching me."

"Is that why you brought no guard?"

She shook her head. "Lord Gortash, of course I have a guard. You just didn't see them. That and I know you wouldn't jeopardize our future alliance, of course."

The lights began to dim in the theater as the ushers began to douse the candles. That's when he realized the orchestra has stopped warming up quite some time ago. In all honestly, he hadn't had many expectations when he left for his evening with a Bhaalspawn but this, well. Who could have ever expected this? He found himself on the back foot and yet somehow enjoying the sensation.

"I know this is a business meeting, but I hope you'll indulge me the first song. I promise it's worth it."

He found himself whispering as the crowd settled down. "And you aren't worried about --" He gestured to the crowd.

She shrugged a shoulder. "They'll think I'm like the other women you bring here, I'm sure. Nothing worth noting at all."

Before he could reply, the first note rang out. It was a slow song, starting with just a few instruments, but building until it was thick and full and rich with dissonance. He was hardly a musician, but he had been to enough of these to know that she was right, it was quite good. The song seemed to ebb and flow, swell and retreat, building up the tension only to sigh in relief as the chords resolved. He made an effort to look at the conductor for a while, but in the end his gaze drifted to her.

She never took her eyes off the orchestra, her hands remaining together in her lap. As the song continued, he noticed that she had started to move just slightly in time with it, her shoe slightly moving with the beat without a sound. He saw her hands clasp together in her lap, her fingers tightening together, her throat working as she swallowed, her eyes eventually closing so she could focus solely on the sound. She was absolutely transfixed on the music and he was absolutely transfixed on watching her.

After the last note, the audience broke out into applause. Lord Gortash snapped his face away as Maeve came back to herself, seemed to even remember where she was. There was a flush on her cheeks that felt almost indecent to look at. He made a show of turning towards her, hoping she had been distracted enough to think he had been looking at the show the entire time.

She sighed. "Almost like it had magic in it," she said to no one in particular, before finally turning toward him again.  "Thank you. It's been years since I've heard that."

He nodded. "Happy to oblige. An unexpected surprise, really, that some like you actually enjoys the opera."

If he hadn't been a practiced politician, a person that had scraped and fought his way up the political ranks, he would have likely missed the way her expression changed. He could see the mask sliding in place, her eyes turning distant,  her smile turning sharp. "I've always thought it would be a beautiful thing, to lull so many people into the warm embrace of a song like that, then end all their lives at once. But we're here for business, of course. To discuss our heist."

The moment had been dismissed. And it was for the best, the crowd was settling again and the opera was about to begin in earnest. When they stood, the long slit of her moving skirt caught his eye, along with the flash of a dagger strapped to her thigh. He had seen that dagger before, plucking out a man's eyes as he screamed. A reminder that this woman, despite her pleasure in song, was dangerous.

They retired to the entertaining room, sending all the other people outside for complete privacy. After all, there was no need for security since neither of them would benefit from starting a scene in the middle of an opera house. Not yet, anyway.

The opera was a long one, he had picked it for that reason, and they spent that time pouring over maps, discussing the guard schedule at the House of Wonders, going over the broad details of where the Bhaalists and Baneites would position themselves. She sipped his wine and ate the finger foods left by the servant. But for the subject matter, she truly could have been any kind of tryst.

"That's the last song starting."

He looked up from where he had been gesturing at a diagram. He hadn't been paying any attention to the music at all. "My guard --" he started before being interrupted by a knock at the door. As he had been about to say, he had instructed his guard to let him know when the opera was coming to a close. "Good ear," he conceded.

She stood, smoothing her skirt, making sure her blade was not visible. "Well, Lord Gortash, the plan is sound. You have our thanks for helping us take back what was stolen from us."

He couldn't help but smile. "Splendid. I'm happy to have convinced you to take our aid and, of course, to have finally spoken to you in the flesh."

She nodded. "I expect another letter with details, soon, of course." She was already at the door, opening it, leaving this bizarre evening behind her.

"Maeve?"

She turned, looking at him through the half closed door, her eyebrow raised in question.

"Feel free to use this box any time. I'll send those instructions along as well."

Her eyes rounded a bit in surprise and he caught her looking just to her right, to somewhere he couldn't see. To someone he couldn't see, more likely. But the mask was back on after a moment.

"How generous, Lord Gortash. I may take you up on that." And with that, she turned and left his sight.

[holysonofthechapel]

Illustration inspired by @mothercain album cover for her late album preachers daughter ( album of the year tbh ) with my oc Charmeine in 1961 France.

@mothercain 🤍⛪️ love you

[voxofthevoid]

Hey Vox, for no reason whatsoever, what are your five favourite scenes from any JJK fic you've written and published to AO3 or Tumblr?

How Do I Choose

Alright, with the caveat that between my hole-y memory and general recency bias, this probably isn't set in stone, here we go!

In no particular order—

The intro scene of (this is also part of the story) how the story changes, where alt!Yuuji crashes the Shibuya party. It's very self-indulgent and smashes all my dimension swap-related buttons. I call it Yuuji porn for a reason.

The drunken noncon scene in (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered, which was something that originally spawned its own fic, except that went in a whole other direction. The entire scenario, with varying shades of non-consent and shifting power dynamics, is something that I just really enjoyed conceptualizing and executing.

The "teenage whore" sex scene in the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, and I'm sure you can guess why. It lit up my brain when it came to me, and from the reader reactions, I ain't the only victim.

The first scene of the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too)—the entire chapter, really, though only this scene is up right now. The reason is tied to how the rest of the fic develops, but let's just say I like me some tragedy.

The final scene of little lamb to the slaughter, specifically the post-coital conversation Gojou and Yuuji have about love—whether it's a curse, whether it's worth it.

(I was going to include the scene from your resistance, prophetic self-destruction in which Gojou interrupts Choso and Yuuji, but Tumblr has deleted that post. Did I know of this? No. But I scoured my blog archive, and it's just #gone. Only 2 of the 3 Vore Wednesday snippets are live. A very sincere fuck you to Tumblr.)

Thanks so much for asking! This was fun 💗

[spiderh0rse]

got around to mag 146, Threshold. the whole intervention thing- eh. let me see if i can order this well.

Jon isn't entirely human anymore, may not be human at all, not entirely clear on that. Point is, he is currently relying on the Eye to keep him alive. Statements, written or taken directly, seem to keep up his health. He says outright that he felt weak when he began hunting. We've heard Jude Perry's say on the matter, "Feed your patron, or it will feed on you." This isn't hunger, it isn't addiction, it's mutualism of a horrible sort where one party cannot choose to back out. If Jon were still human, the Eye would outright be a parasite. Point is, the Eye will eat at him unless he feeds it. At that point, most people would give in.

Daisy underwent something similar, and we've seen what it took to even loosen the connection between her and the Hunt. She had to go into the heart of a completely different entity, and even now that she's out and actively trying to resist the Hunt, she's weak and very clearly in poor condition. And she was still human.

Basira and Melanie are correct that feeding off of people's fear and trauma is a terrible thing to do, but I'd bet anything Basira wouldn't mind if Daisy got right back up to her Hunting shtick and started killing avatars again. She has an intense bias about the situation. Daisy's situation was easier than Jon's, in some ways. Daisy is able to back down. Melanie has felt an entity, been influenced by one. She didn't get a choice in having it excised from her, and has lost trust in everyone involved in the situation. She was the least afflicted of any aligned human in the Archives, and still had a rough time getting back to who she was without the Slaughter.

The situation as a whole is terrible, but Jon is being accused of being a monster, a terrible person, because he is doing everything he has to to avoid being eaten alive. He was tricked into all of this, everyone in the Archives was tricked into being there, but Jon had the least agency in the situation, and still does.

[mikeylivesattheend]

Jason Todd but Not! (AU's)

If you want to read AUs that give you different versions of Jason Todd, this is for you. These 8 fics are all categorized as gen, and I tried to include lesser known works here.

I'll be listing

Word count

Any rating above teen

Archive warnings

Major relationships

Mind the specific tags on a work before you read

~~~

The We in I by forestgreen

12,680; Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

There never was a Jason.

A fic exploring Jason Todd through the lens of him having DID. There's so much care put into this fic, and it genuinely changed how I thought about certain canon events. I also love the voice forestgreen employs for Jay. They capture the magic of 80s Jason Todd perfectly, while making him sound correct in the modern setting.

I have no tongue and I must scream by Sassaphrass

5,242; The Batfamily Hunger Games AU: Former Victor Jason Todd returns to his District for the first time in a long time. Something is troubling his fellow Victors and he gets a surprising recruit to his murderous crusade against the Capitol.

AND

Red, and Terrible, and Red by Sassaphrass

13,075; Rape/Non-Con, Underage; Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Talia al Ghul/Jason Todd On a journey from Victor, to Slave to Rebel (with just a short side-trip through insane vengeance fueled serial killer), for Jason Todd winning the Hunger Games was only the beginning.

I can’t decide which of these to recommend first. They’re part of the same series, and if you get invested you’ll want to read both anyway. The first fic in the series sets the general DC/Hunger Games premise, while the the other one is purely Jason’s backstory. I find myself re-reading Red, and Terrible, and Red because his backstory is immaculate, but you probably should read the setup fic first 😅

Whisper Closely In My Ear by KangaRou

8,518; Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne The words went in one ear, rattled around like bees, before ramming out the other. The doctor was sitting painfully close, only two feet away. The tone of voice implied he was talking louder, not quite a yell but something nearly there; it sounded like a whisper to Jason. So quiet, with every third word unintelligible, except for that first phrase: "Mr Wayne, I'm afraid you're profoundly deaf." --- Jason is profoundly deaf. He learns to cope with it.

The premise is exactly what it sounds like, but so much more. The author goes into detail regarding Jasons treatment, how Bruce (isn't) being helpful, and the genuine fear he feels when he's with his family. It's separated into small scenes that connect beautifully. A must read honestly.

We'll Never Get Free (Lamb To The Slaughter) by AquamarineMemeBender

4,286; Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death; Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne & Colin Wilkes, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne "He keeps throwing kids into his own self destruction and never understands that he'll never be able to save them." "I know," she gasps. "I know. I already know. He didn't save me, he didn't save my mom, he didn't save my best friend or-" "You know," Jason assures her, and rests the end of his gun on her forehead as gently as possible. "He doesn't." Or: Bruce keeps making Robins. Jason keeps killing them.

Very dark, and also relies on the Lazarus Pit. BUT! The pit is used differently here, adding to the surreal horror of this fic. Reading this is like watching a car made of hope, love, and familial trust crash into a brick wall.

Turning Point by Neocolai

4,310; Not Rated; Graphic Depictions Of Violence Hood had one standard as a hired gun — he didn’t shoot kids. The Joker should’ve known better than to involve him, even if the party in question was Bat-trained.

Aaand a fic that is the complete opposite of the last one.

I love seeing how people make Jason the Red Hood without the ‘I am a better Batman’ angle or the bruce daddy issues. This is a solid read.

keep on haunting me by Littlearrows

4,090; Dick Grayson & Jason Todd After his time as a mob boss, Jason opens a private detective agency for Gotham's ghosts, investigating their deaths and helping them find justice. A case leads him to getting justice for his own ghost haunting him. (aka a supernatural noir detective AU)

This is a banger noir fic that sprinkles in intriguing worldbuilding, and gives the characters a really cool vibe. Jason feels like a legitimate detective & I could easily imagine this being a slice from a video game.

The Zombie Robin by Penglaive

36,301 Nearly half a year after Jason Todd was murdered by the Joker, Scarecrow launched a plot to delve six feet deeper into the heart of fear. Whether this plot went ultimately right or horribly wrong is a matter of perspective, but everyone involved could agree it went weird quickly, even by Gotham standards.

Jason must deal with his unknown zombie status in this fic, and it has more depth than you might imagine. Penglaive strikes a nice tonal balance between serious and lighthearted, switching perspectives giving context to the greater impact of Jason's return. This one is uberly underrated.

~~~

Sooo that’s my list. Obviously there are a lot more fics that fit these tropes, but this is just a cheese platter of different Jason Todds......

ANYWAYS I hope you enjoy these hidden teasures, like ken.

Ken out 😘

[power-chords]

After the war, as a student first at Brooklyn College and then at Columbia, Hilberg was quickly drawn to the academic study of the fate he had escaped in Europe but that many of his relatives had not. "Briefly I weighed the possibility of writing a dissertation about an aspect of war crimes, and then I woke up," he explained in his autobiography. "It was the evidence that I wanted. My subject would be the destruction of the European Jews." He was soon spending long hours in a torpedo factory in Virginia that had been transformed into a repository for countless boxes of captured Nazi archives. Hilberg’s decision to study this material was not considered a professionally prudent one at the time, which may seem odd in the current era of Holocaust movies and proliferating Holocaust studies departments. But in the late 1940s and ’50s, the genocide of the Jews was a subject ignored in academic circles. History books of the era focused on the cult of Hitler and the Nazi terror but generally did not identify the slaughter of the Jews as a central part of the story of World War II. In the United States, the first college-level course dedicated to the subject of the Holocaust was taught in 1974–by Raul Hilberg. More than twenty years earlier, when Franz Neumann, Hilberg’s adviser at Columbia, learned of his dissertation topic, he quipped, "It’s your funeral."

Hilberg’s study opens with a bold statement: "Lest one be misled by the word ‘Jews’ in the title, let it be pointed out that this is not a book about the Jews. It is a book about the people who destroyed the Jews." Hilberg toiled for nearly a decade in the archives of the Nuremberg trials and other collections of recovered German documents. During his last lecture, which he delivered in Vermont just a few months before his death, he recalled the void that engulfed him at the outset of his research. "I was transported into a world for which I was totally unprepared," he explained in his dry, austere manner. "I would read a document, but I would not understand what it meant. The context had to be built record by record."

In Hilberg’s telling, the murder of the Jews was not a product simply of Hitler’s anti-Semitic rage (as Dawidowicz would later argue), nor was it preordained the moment the Nazi Party coalesced or even by the terror of Kristallnacht. "The destruction of the Jews was an administrative process, and the annihilation of Jewry required the implementation of systematic administrative measures in successive steps." Hilberg presented a staggering picture of the bureaucratic machinery of extermination, which developed slowly over time and inundated every sector of German society–not just the Einsatzgruppen and the SS but also the finance ministry, foreign office and railways; everyone knew what was happening, and everyone cooperated.

Hilberg defended his dissertation in 1955 and submitted it to prominent publishing houses. It was roundly rejected until 1961, when a young press in Chicago, Quadrangle Books, decided to publish the work, printing it in double columns on cheap paper. From there, the massive tome began quietly and slowly to win over admirers. In a glowing review in Commentary, the British historian Hugh Trevor-Roper wrote that Hilberg’s book was "not yet another chronicle of horrors. It is a careful, analytic, three-dimensional study of a social and political experience unique in history: an experience which no one could believe possible till it happened and whose real significance still bewilders us." Michael Marrus, the foremost historiographer of the Holocaust, says that it is now generally agreed that before Hilberg "there was not a subject. No panoramic, European-wide sense of what had happened. That’s what Hilberg provided."