#stark children moodboard

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (14)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, kind of hate sex, but at the same time love sex, smut, angst, violence, swearing, anxiety ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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He tried to be forewarned and careful, to think about not letting his guard down, but the moment his wife started to ride him he lost his temper.

He couldn't believe how different the experience was compared to what had happened to him in the brothel that day, his face pressed against her soft, firm breasts, sucking and licking them, her lovely nipples hard and swollen with desire.

The thrusts of his hips were desperate, sloppy and fast, the closeness of her warm body, her scent, her hands entwined in his hair, her fleshy muscles that squeezed and sucked his fat cock made him not even know when he came, panting and moaning loudly, surprised at how shockingly intense pleasure shook his body.

He closed his eyelids, feeling her walls clench against him in fulfilment – she rose and fell on top of him for a moment more with sweet, helpless cry, cuddling him into her. He breathed loudly with his lips pressed against her naked, hot, sweaty body, his face deep between her breasts.

"I love you." He heard her whisper and opened his eyes, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad, his long fingers involuntarily digging into the soft skin of her buttocks. "I've always loved you."

For some reason he wanted to cry at her words.

He swallowed hard, thinking of how for years he had dreamed as a child that once they were married she as his wife would whisper it in his ear every night, that their affection would be their sweet secret, his reason to be proud.

His mother did not love his father as a man despite him being king; she did not spend her nights with him, she was not his lover or confidante, he never witnessed her speak to her husband the way his niece spoke to him.

The thought that he could surpass his father, have something that no one else had and that could be the envy of other men filled him with pride.

Something that neither his father, his brother or Criston Cole had.

When he lost his eye and his mother decreed that he should marry someone else, foreign women suddenly began to appear around him – lords from all over the kingdom arrived in King's Landing on any pretext hoping that the Queen would look on their daughters' candidacy with a kindly eye.

Despite his mother encouraging him to befriend them, he was reluctant to do so and often made them cry with his behaviour.

"You have a wonderful collection of books, my Prince." Said softly a girl with a pleasingly shapely body and beautiful light hair tied in an intricate braid, her eyes blue and shining, she was Lord Stark's niece and spoke with a slight northern accent.

He looked at her reluctantly; his mother forced him to show her his collection of volumes on philosophy and history on the excuse of giving them an opportunity to speak in solitude, which he had absolutely no desire to do.

She was kind, calm, smiling, graceful and charming, ironic and warm at the same time – looking at her he thought she was the perfect candidate for a wife.

So why didn't he feel anything standing next to her?

"Mmm." He hummed, not knowing what he should answer, his gaze fled out of the window, to the courtyard.

He imagined it wasn't her standing next to him, it was the one he was trying to forget, his mind involuntarily beginning to suggest to him what he would surely hear from her mouth.

"You read so much about human nature and mind, uncle, and you cannot behave properly towards a lady. So I offer you a word of advice − you should, with your characteristic haughtiness and coolness, tell her the history of our lineage, which she will pretend to listen to with interest. Some gentler expression would not hurt either, though I do not expect such far-reaching concessions from you."

He smirked involuntarily under his breath, imagining that he opened his mouth and replied to her that her taunts were already boring him, that he expected better rhetoric from his betrothed when it came to the vices he understood she had just accused him of.

He knew she would have laughed merrily at his words, seeing his grimace of amusement, the way his lips barely visible curved, the glint in his eye, something that would never escape her notice.

Little tease, he thought.

He shuddered as he heard the rustling of pages and suddenly returned to reality, glancing sideways, surprised to see Lord Stark's relative flicking through a small book he recognised immediately.

The Reflections on the Dignity of the Ancient Philosopher Areon.

He snatched it away from her; he heard her loud gasp of surprise, a look of uncertain dismay in her eyes, her lips twitching in the realisation that she had done something wrong.

"− I apologise, my Prince, I didn't mean to, I –" She began her speech, speaking of her love of philosophy, of how much it fascinated her, but he was only focused on putting down the book he had lent his niece at the time, slipping it into its place with reverence.

That day she kissed him for the first time, he thought with rage, bitterness and regret.

He pressed his lips together at that thought, at the memory of that traitor, that little whore who was exactly like her mother and, like her, was probably fucking her guards now, no longer minding him.

He thought about it, sinking into his memories as looked at her, at her gentle face immersed in sleep, at her swollen lower lip where he could see the clear red mark of his cut.

She could have killed him and run away, but she stayed and married him.

Unwittingly, his hand placed on her warm cheek moved, his thumb stroked her soft skin in a tender, gentle motion, from which she lifted her eyelids, he heard her quiet sigh of disapproval.

"Sleep, uncle. You are exhausted." She whispered, her long, slender fingers touching his jaw and running over it. He closed his eyes, concentrating only on her touch, on her scent, on the closeness of her naked body, on the feeling of her warm breath on his face.

"I can't." He replied quietly, realising that all the feelings, all the grief but also all the hopes that had been building up inside him for so many years were now flowing out of him like a river, sealing their destiny, the discomfort and pain of his cut hand and mouth reminding him that he was indeed her husband now.

He didn't care about anyone else's opinion – their wounds were proof of their marriage, they had spent the night together and she was no longer a maiden.

There was nothing they could do.

He knew that word of what he had done would reach Lord Baratheon one way or another, however for some reason he did not fear his wrath.

He recognised that more important in the eyes of the gods and himself was the will of his dying father the King, which he had carried out like a good, devoted son.

Why should he be ashamed of this?

Why should he have to explain it to anyone?

He opened his eyes, surprised when he felt her rise up on her elbow and move closer to him, lifting slightly so that her lovely, plump breasts were at the height of his face. He sighed quietly as she embraced him and pressed his face between them, just as she had when they were still children, when he had sought refuge in her arms.

He snuggled into her warm skin, feeling suddenly strangely reassured and safe, embracing her delicate figure with his large hands, letting her fingers play with his hair; something in her closeness, in her tender gestures made his eyelids begin to close of their own accord, growing heavier and heavier with fatigue.

"I'm here, husband. You can rest." She whispered softly and he simply fell asleep, not letting her out of his embrace until morning.

They both flinched as they heard the loud pounding of someone's fist against the door of their chamber in the morning; he raised himself up on his shoulder, his lips tightening, the angry voice of Criston Cole on the other side.

"My Prince, open at once!"

He rolled his eyes, feeling a squeeze in his throat, knowing what awaited them now and glanced over his shoulder at his wife.

She was looking up at him lying on her back, bare and beautiful, a sort of strange calm and certainty in her eyes that gave him courage.

Neither of them had any intention of denying what had happened.

"Cover yourself, my love." He said to her matter-of-factly, and she immediately pulled the furs over her naked body without rising from the bed, watching him, lying on her side as he put on his breeches and shirt in a hurry.

He walked to the door with a lazy step and opened it, facing his mother's sworn protector. He saw that Criston's gaze immediately went to his slit lips and then to the figure of his niece lying in his bed; he swallowed with difficulty, as if trying to remain calm.

"Disturbing rumours reached your mother, my prince." He began, and he involuntarily chuckled under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

How could he have failed to see the hypocrisy behind this fawning curtness for so many years?

"You probably mean the fact that I've finally fulfilled my father's last will, which was weighing on my conscience and heart." He said dryly, knowing full well that his father's will was essentially of secondary importance to him; it was, however, a perfect justification for his act and the manner in which he had done it.

Criston Cole drew in a deep breath, rage in his gaze.

"The Queen is waiting for an explanation." He said.

"I have nothing more to convey to her than what she already knows. If she desires it, let her come to me in the flesh, and I will explain everything to her in detail. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to take a bath and eat with my wife." He said coldly and nodded at his servant nearby, the boy, pale and horrified by their exchange of words immediately turned and moved ahead to obey his order.

Cole turned angrily and disappeared around the bend, clearly intent on conveying his words to his mother. He glanced at his guards, who stood before him with lowered heads, afraid to lift their gaze to him.

"No one is to disturb us. Order that a tub be brought to my chamber and that meal be prepared for us."

He looked thoughtfully at the figure of his wife while lying comfortably in a bath tub filled with hot water; her servants had to help her put on her gown which they had brought from her chamber, the same one he had seen her in then, in the courtyard, many years later.

Something captured him in that choice of attire, in that wordless expression that they were both starting from scratch.

She looked at him when they were finally alone, staring at him for a moment in silence, only the quiet splash of water around them accompanying even the slightest movement of his body.

"What are you planning?" She asked at last in a quiet, tired voice, as if she sensed that they would be surrounded on every front, that their choice may have been driven by the need of the heart, but it also complicated everything even more.

He sighed heavily, looking away, resting the back of his head against the edge of the bath, staring blankly at his bookshelf filled to the brim with books and a small volume he recognised instantly between dozens of others that he knew he would always associate with her.

"There is no way back now. I believe, although you may disagree with me, that at last, after years, the will of heavens has been done. Our marriage is not just our whim, but an obligation that my father set upon us before he died. He foresaw what would happen and he was not mistaken."

He replied finally, glancing at her, feeling his heart pounding fast. He noticed with relief that her face was calm, her gaze gentle and warm, the way it had looked when they were children, when he had subconsciously sensed that she understood him.

She nodded, confirming his assumption, letting out a quiet breath, involuntarily touching the cloth he had wrapped her hand with before they sat down to their meal, wanting to be sure her wound would heal properly and not give into any infection.

"I cannot imagine how Lord Baratheon would let such an insult pass without consequence. His wrath, like your mother's and grandfather's, will be great." She said calmly, swallowing quietly; the tip of his tongue hit the inside of his cheek, pondering her words, feeling pleased that he felt the will in her to find a solution that would satisfy them both.

That she had taken seriously what he had included in his letter.

He wanted to reply to her that he had already thought it through, but he flinched when suddenly the door to his chamber opened. He turned, furious, thinking that it was his mother who had dared to enter unannounced, however, he only blinked when his brother-king appeared before him, looking at his niece then at him, the door closed behind him with a loud crack of wood.

He held out his hand to her and she immediately handed him a white cloth to wipe himself in, his chemise and his breeches, which he had hurriedly changed into – they looked into each other's eyes, wordlessly sharing their fear, her gaze sad and weary.

His brother grunted, glancing at him with a loud sigh.

"Leave us, niece. I would like to speak to my little brother. Helaena is waiting for you outside and will escort you to your chamber." Aegon said calmly. She glanced at him uncertainly, and he nodded for her to listen.

He led her away with his eyes, and as the door closed behind her, there was an awkward silence between them. Aegon snorted after a moment, as if amused, moving towards; he grabbed a jug filled with wine and two empty goblets, placing them on a small wooden table standing between two chairs, taking a seat on one of them, filling the vessels to the brim.

"Sit down, brother. You won't deny me today." He said lowly, and he swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat and a cold sweat on his back, thinking that he had to do as he was told.

He approached him slowly, taking his cup and sat down on the other side. Aegon looked at him sleepily, his head leaning against the back of the chair, his lips slightly parted in some strange kind of thoughtfulness from which he felt uncomfortable.

"Remember the time you hit me in the face because I said she didn't have tits nor arse?" He sneered and he nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, thinking that perhaps the alcohol would give him the nerve to somehow get through it all.

If he had his approval, the support of the King himself, the matter would be a foregone conclusion.

"I thought at the time that you were completely mad, that you were trying to make up for the lack of a dragon of your own with a little squealing girl who would praise you to the skies for life and boost your pathetically low self-esteem." He added finally, and he pressed his lips together, letting out a quiet breath, not looking at him, not wanting to be provoked.

"Helaena told me that she sent you letters for eight years. Is that true?" He asked, and he flinched, looking at him shocked, completely not expecting the question.

"What?" Escaped his lips like a mumble, panic in his mind.

How did she know about this?

Was she sifting through his things? Who else knew?

"Our beloved grandfather told her to find them in your chamber and bring them to him. He reasoned that you would not suspect her. But she decided, seeing how many there were, that she wouldn't do that to you. She told him that she had found nothing, that you must burn them on the fly." His brother explained to him, taking a loud, deep sip of wine from his goblet.

He lowered his gaze, feeling his heart pounding like mad in horror that his grandfather had perhaps sent someone other than Helaena, that perhaps some servant or guard was also looking through his things, her private correspondence to him alone.

"Let me see them. All of them." His brother-king commanded him in a low voice, and he looked at him in disbelief, pressing his lips into a thin line with rage, his free hand clenched into a fist.

"Believe me, you want me on your side in this matter, little brother." He sneered, raising an eyebrow, as if the whole situation, the fact that he needed his support incredibly amused him.

He swallowed the humiliation, setting the wine cup down on the table and walked over to his secretary's desk, opening the bottom drawer with a key tucked between the books. He slid it out and swallowed hard noticing the thick files of parchments bound together; he clenched his eyes, feeling bitterness and regret at the thought of not answering her for so many years.

Perhaps if he had done so sooner, neither of them would have to suffer so much now.

Perhaps they would have had a son or daughter by now.

He tossed them casually one by one onto the top of his secretary's desk and heard his brother stand up, coming towards him with his cup – the amusement gone from his face when he saw how many there were. He stood beside him, looking at it in disbelief, apparently wondering how he had managed to hide it for so many years.

He decided to give him the answer himself.

"I never wrote her back, but she still sent me more letters, every two months, for eight years. Many times I wanted to just burn it all." He said dispassionately, as if he was speaking about something unimportant or even annoying that only caused problems.

It bothered him that Aegon didn't speak so he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye; his brother was looking at the mountains of letters piling up thoughtfully, with a seriousness that he felt a squeeze in his throat from. He had no idea what he could expect from him, and that scared him the most.

He began to wonder if Helaena was really waiting for his wife outside his chamber, or if his brother had by any chance done something to her in agreement with Cole and their mother, if he was simply playing for time to distract him.

However, his brother finally spoke up.

"What will happen to my children? What will happen to them if I die and Jace and Luke survive? If they wish to fight for their rights to the crown? And if not them, then their grandchildren?"

He asked, looking up at him; only close enough he could see the bruises under his eyes indicating his lack of sleep and his constant drunkenness.

They both knew very well that alcohol was not just a pleasure for him, but an attempt to suppress his mind and what was going on inside him.

He stared at him with his mouth clenched shut, breathing loudly through his nose, having no idea what he should answer him.

His brother smiled, but it was a smile full of sorrow and regret; he took a loud sip from his cup, evidently feeling satisfied that for the first time in his life it was his younger brother who was unable to speak.

He walked closer to him, facing him straight on; he could smell the stench of alcohol from him, and it was only after a while that he looked into his eyes, tired and empty.

"What will happen to our family when the now old Vhagar will finally pass from this world like Balerion once did, and my younger brother will no longer be the rider of the greatest dragon in the world?"

His brother asked further, and he remained silent, feeling his heart pounding fast.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen, little brother. They will kill my children. Do you understand? They will undermine their right to the crown, because everyone is already undermining how I myself was crowned. I will die thinking that Aegon the Conqueror's crown will be their doom. My inheritance I will pass on to them." He muttered, his eyes growing redder and redder; he heard him draw in a loud breath, tightening his lips in an attempt to calm himself.

"I'm a bad husband. A bad brother. A bad man. But I swear to you, brother, I'm not a bad father." He breathed out through clenched teeth with a desperation he'd never seen from him before; he looked at him in disbelief and swallowed hard, only realising after a moment that he'd been holding his air.

"I know." He whispered with difficulty, feeling that his whole body was quivering.

He knew this because he had seen him many times when he was completely drunk, lying on the stone floor of Helaena's chamber by her feet, playing with them with their wooden toys.

He could hear their loud laughter as he imitated the sounds of a dragon coming over their army.

He devoted his time to them, doing what their father did not.

He was making an effort.

Aegon grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, tears of helplessness as usual when his older brother was in strong emotions streaming down his face. He smiled again, as if trying to make him realise something.

"Our father was a blind fool, brother. He was, but at the end of his life he made the right decision. You should have come to me with this matter. I would have helped you. No one would have questioned the nuptials made in the presence of the King himself."

He swallowed hard, feeling his jaw tremble, overwhelmed with shame at the thought that he felt burning under his eyelids, looking at him with a gaze full of disbelief.

All his life he had dreamed of Aegon defending and supporting him the way Jace had supported Luke, of him being the example, the fatherly figure that their King had not been to him, meanwhile he, his younger brother had had to drag him out of the brothels, watch him vomit in the filthiest streets of King's Landing, watch him fall, losing any remnant of respect or even compassion for him.

He didn't believe it made him want to cry, because some naive part of him wished that for once in his life he would support him, but knew full well that, as always, he would only be able to count on himself, that even his mother would turn on him in this matter.

"I was desperate." He finally uttered with difficulty, hearing that his own voice was low and hoarse, and grunted loudly, trying to control himself. Aegon laughed wryly, but it was a laugh full of regret.

"When she slit her veins I thought she had more courage than I did. After the coronation I thought about ending it all, but I didn't dare. I realised looking at her that I had never directed a single kind word towards her in my life. She tried to speak to me as a child, but I always mocked her. Once she found me lying drunk on the steps of the Red Keep; I wasn't even able to crawl into my chamber. She ran somewhere, came back to me and covered me with her coat. She asked me if I needed water, if she should send someone to me. And I didn't even thank her."

His brother said and chuckled under his breath with some kind of remorse that appeared like wrinkles on his forehead. He clenched his eyelids, trying to calm himself, trying to control himself, trying to remain composed and cool.

"I don't care how you do it. Fuck her day and night, she needs to carry your child as soon as possible. Neither our mother, nor our grandfather, nor our fucking stepsister will challenge the rights to the crown of an offspring born of the union of the Greens and Blacks."

He said, and he felt a single, lonely tear that he had failed to hold back run down his cheek, felt his eyebrows arch in pain, his throat squeezed so tightly that he struggled to catch his breath, felt his whole jaw tremble.

For the first time he thought he wanted to embrace him, to find comfort and support in the arms of his older brother.

They both flinched as a servant entered his chamber, bowing to them, terrified.

"Your Grace, I apologise for intruding without permission. A letter has arrived from Dragonstone."

When it appeared that it was to him that the words of his message were addressed, once he had read its contents he left his chamber like a storm, moving towards his wife's quarters, opening her door with an aggressive slam; she, Helaena and his mother all shuddered, horrified, apparently in the middle of some discussion.

"Get out. All of you." He said coldly, his brother standing behind him nodding at his mother and wife not to resist. Aegon was the last to leave, closing the door behind him; his niece looked at him with big eyes, her chest rising and falling in accelerated breath.

"What the fuck is this? Hm?" He hissed, walking towards her, throwing a rolled, unsealed letter in her direction. She caught it in mid-flight and turned it quickly in her hands, reading its contents, disbelief and fear painted on her face, her mouth gaping open, she looked at him pleadingly, shaking her head.

"You were spying for him this whole time? Fucking speak!" He shouted in her face feeling as tears of rage and disappointment one by one began to fly down his face, his whole body trembling with emotion, with grief, thinking that she had planned all this, that she had agreed to marry him to report to Daemon what was happening in the keep.

To manipulate him.

For a moment he thought she had run out of words.

"Aemond, gods, how would I? You would have found out, you know that's what would have happened. Surely Luke has told him what happened, t-that you allowed us to meet." She mumbled, and he grabbed her by the hair, tilting her head back, clenching his fingers in them, with the remnants of his strong will restraining himself not to shake her head, his lips clamped together in a tight line.

"Do you think I'll fall for this trap? That I'd let you fly with me and run away, let myself be killed by my uncle like some fucking fool? Or maybe you read too many of your romantic books as a child, hm?" He huffed and she cried out loudly, shaking her head, a look of horror and pleading on her face, her lips quivering as she tried to get something out of herself.

"I have no idea why he suggested it, I swear. I swear that if I had betrayed you, you would have found out. I wasn't spying on you. Please." She mumbled, and he felt a squeeze in his heart, because she had seeded doubt in his heart, because he wanted so badly to believe her, because a part of him kept repeating to himself that he would have noticed something, that he wouldn't have missed it, that after all, he had been watching her the whole time.

"I hate you." He muttered wearily like a small, miserable child, snuggling his nose into her warm cheek; he heard her loud, ragged sigh, her hands cupped his face, stroking his skin with her trembling fingers.

"I love you." She replied and he wept at her words, seeing nothing through the tears that flooded his face. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her abruptly, heard her gasp for air as he settled her on the wooden table, lifting her gown with an impatient flick of his hand.

"Fucking prove it." He exhaled, her legs instantly spread in front of him as if she knew exactly what he wanted, with an aggressive, quick movement he slid the material of his breeches lower and pulled her closer to him, not giving her time to react in any way before the fat head of his cock was already halfway inside her tight, throbbing cunt.

"− f-fuck − ah −" She cried out, tilting her head back; he groaned loudly, feeling relieved that she was wet despite the lack of his caresses. This revelation made him slam his manhood deep between her slick folds with the greedy thrusts of his hips; she laid back and pulled him to her, he leaned on his hands lying on either side of her head, panting along with her.

"− did you do it? −" He muttered helplessly, rooting into her with quick, deep thrusts, his lips parted wide as he felt how quickly she became moist, her tight, fleshy walls adjusted to his size, clenching against him. She shook her head quickly and squealed loudly as one of his hands slapped her buttock, leaving on it a red mark.

"− don't fucking lie −" He hissed out, feeling her wet muscles squeeze him wonderfully, sucking him inside her fleshy, hot interior; she whimpered loudly, writhing beneath him, clenching her fingers helplessly on the material of his emerald tunic.

"− I don't − I don't − mghmm −" She mumbled with difficulty, his hand ran over her cheek, his thumb dug into her soft skin, parting her lips, their bodies slamming against each other quickly with a loud, lewd slaps.

"− you will leave me − betray me −" He breathed out on the verge of a sob, pressing his forehead against hers, panting and groaning loudly along with her, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen at the thought of how good it felt to be inside her, her fingers weaving into his hair, her puffy, soft lips beginning to brush his face with soft, tender kisses.

"− no − no, my love − I chose you − gods, there was always only you −" She moaned pleadingly, and he gasped loudly, closing his eyes as he felt a sudden relief, thrusting into her for a moment more with deep, sloppy slaps, his hot seed filling her again, giving him a semblance of peace and fulfilment.

She put her arms around his neck and he pulled her upwards, snuggling her into himself, burying his face in the hollow of her neck, trying to calm himself, not knowing himself who he believed, what he wanted, what he felt.

He burst into tears.

For the first time so loud, so mournful, for the first time in this way.

He was afraid, afraid of losing her, of having to kill her, of having to live again in a world where she would not be by his side.

He shuddered when she hushed him quietly, when her hands began to stroke his hair, his neck, his back, her lips placing soft, gentle, lingering kisses on his skin, when he heard her whispering in his ear.

"After the first night following our arrival in King's Landing, after the night I spent with you, my father gave me a choice. He said:

If you want to marry him, I will help you, but if you decide otherwise, you will never send him a letter again."

And I decided. Against everyone and everything, uncle."

He felt his fingers involuntarily tighten on her back at her words – he froze all over, feeling heat in his lower abdomen and heart, some kind of hope that he tried to suppress with thoughts that it was a trap.

"He doesn't know you're my wife. He doesn't know you're here of your own free will." He said in a tired, empty voice, his half-hard manhood still pulsing deep inside her.

"That's why you should take me with you."

[fairysluna]

AMONG WOLVES AND DRAGONS | Masterlist.

SUMMARY — Stories about the marriage life between a Targaryen princess and the Warden of the North.

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader.

TAGS — fluff, smut, domestic!cregan, dilf!cregan, pregnancy, mentions of birth, the green won, aegon is king, original characters (the children; Aelor, Lysara, Elion), cursing.

Check the beautiful moodboard made by @vhagars-dementia right here!

If you have ideas for blurbs/drabble (whether they are smutty or fluffy or angsty), pls send them, I'll be happy to write more about these two!!♡

PLEASE READ EVERY TW BEFOREHAND!!

GENERAL MASTERLIST > HERE.

ONE SHOTS (in chronological order)

KEEP YOU WARM. (smut)

DRAGON'S WARMTH. (smut)

AMONG DRAGONS AND WOLVES.

A DRAGON'S FURY.

THE REWARD. (smut)

BLURBS/DRABBLES

Playing on the snow. (fluff)

FIC TAG

Asks, questions, suggestions, etc.

[esther-dot]

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When Rhaegar defeated Robert Baratheon on the Trident, he only spared Ned out of love for Lyanna. And on the condition that Stark's eldest daughter would one day wed his son and quell the fighting between the North and the Crownlands for good.

This isn't my idea (this is my idea) of fun 10k orphaned

Their eventual marriage is meant to strengthen the Northern/Southern alliance, but Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark can hardly stop bickering long enough to make peace with each other, let alone their kingdoms. But it only takes a few meddling parents, suggestive friends, and a jealous sorcerer's magic spell to show this couple that what they've been dreaming of has been there all along.

Moodboard and ficlet by @otp-that-was-promised

Every summer since they were children, Princess Sansa and Prince Jon are brought together in hope that they will fall in love and marry, uniting their two kingdoms. When they meet for the first time, the royal children take an immediate dislike towards each other, but as the years pass they gradually fall in love.

Snow White

Younger More Beautiful Queen 1k by @captainbee89

If the rumours were true, Jon Snow would be Sansa's cousin, a suitable match in both name and blood. Together, they could bring the whole of the seven kingdoms together peacefully. With Jon, Sansa would be Queen. As Queen, Sansa could order the death of Joffrey as revenge for Ned Stark's death. And what of her other children? Tommen and Myrcella would be taken from her, labeled as bastards and stripped of all their prospects. How dare this silly little girl be the more beautiful Queen she had feared? She would not have it.

The Dragonknight 7k

The day that Sansa got her moonblood, Queen Cersei's magic mirror named her the most beautiful woman in the world. There was only one thing to be done with the imprisoned Queen of the North... the child had to die. Cersei hadn't counted on her twin's soft heart or the wolf in the woods.

Little Red Riding Hood

Throw me to the Wolves 2k

Winter had been hard on Old Nan and everyone in the village worried about her, so it was decided that Sansa should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some bread and ale. On her way there, she meets a stranger…

In the Company of Wolves 10k incomplete

Fair of face and kissed by fire, Sansa Stark is a force to be reckoned with—with a feisty spirit to match the flare of her flaming hair. Still, there’s no shortage of suitors vying for the hand of the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark—but despite all their clever plans, Sansa vows she will only marry for love. A chance encounter with a mysterious stranger in the woods, sets her on a path of passion and dangerous intrigue. Is Jon her salvation or her damnation? Perhaps he is both.

Red Riding Hood Gifset by @dcbicki

The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Tin, Paper, Snow 17k incomplete

“Brave soldier, never fear. Even though your death is near.” The flames danced as high as a dream in a million, billion colours- scarlet, orange, purple, even blue, casting rich shimmering shadows on their faces and their hands and their hair. He steadied himself, stood upright, held onto her for dear life. "Would that we were made of glass," he thought. "Tin doesn't do well here. Nor paper." Higher and higher, the flames rose, crackling, singing. Tin, Paper, Snow, they whispered. It's time to let her go.

12 Dancing Princesses

Drifting through the halls with sunrise 3k

They were selfish girls, it was their choice that sentenced these men to death, month after month. The cycle would continue, soon the girls behind her would forget about the man on the stone steps, they would don their masks and new shoes and dance until the sun rose over the Narrow Sea.

The Little Mermaid

only a salt kiss remains ficlet by @flibbertigiblet

He was drowning, and then he was not. (He hears her before he sees her, his angel.)

wish i could be 10k by @theshipshipper

"Oh dear, you look cold," Queen Cersei said softly, floating next to her. "Come, come. Let's get you inside." The Queen led her into the dark cave, offering her a seat. "Now, then. I'm told you're here because you desire to be with your Prince?" She flicked her hand and an image of Prince Jon erupted from thin air. "Hmm. I see now... Quite a handsome fellow." Sansa couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. She'd wondered how he was faring after the shipwreck and ached to check for herself. She was relieved that he seemed alright. "My sweet summer child, you have it bad," Queen Cersei informed her, a smile in her voice. She blinked. "I -- what?" "You're in love," she clarified with a laugh before swimming towards a tall shelf in the corner. "I know exactly what you need."

Mermaids Have No Tears ficlet

Little Mermaid AU, specifically the Hans Christian Andersen version.

Gifsets: Part of Your World by @tatesharon The Little Mermaid by @swainlake The Little Mermaid by @dcbicki The Little Mermaid by @sardoniyx

General

Jonsa fairytale ficlet and gifset by @thewindsofwolves

Even though Sansa is now fourteen, she still feels a special enthousiasm for magic. And as Jon likes nothing more than pleasing Sansa, he shares the same enthousiasm. Then, as they are both bored during the great annual Christmas party hosted by Sansa’s dad, she asks her cousin to make one of his trick so the night can be less boring. Taking her outside, he brings her to the well, and asks her one of the ribbons she wears in her hairs. He asks her then to close her eyes and make a wish, before dropping the ribbon into the well. I wish we could go into an adventure.

The Snow Queen and the Huntsman Gifset by @dcbicki

Jonsa x Disney gifset by @amandapeetshusband

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY -- next week -> POLITICAL MARRIAGE/MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE

[sunspearesque]

The Bereaved Dunes

Summary:

In the Bereaved Dunes, where shadows weep, A tale of love and sorrow, bound to keep. Elia, my sun, in your memory I tread, Through sands of despair, where tears are shed. I should've taken you far away, my dear, To Dorne's warm embrace, where skies are clear. But fate had other plans, a cruel twist of hand, In the Bereaved Dunes, where sorrows expand.

A/N: I've often wondered, 'How did Oberyn receive the news of Elia's death? How did his mind grapple with such a profound tragedy?' This curiosity served as my inspiration for writing this piece. It is crucial to delve into the pivotal event that laid the foundation for all of his subsequent actions. This prologue marks the genesis of my upcoming series, 'Whispers of Vendetta,' wherein Elia's death remains canon (and I made use of some famous lines from ASOIAF books), though I've allowed myself creative freedom in depicting Oberyn's reaction and the events that follow. Big thanks to my sweet, sweet friend @palioom for her unwavering support <3 I hope this piece meets your liking xoxo

Rating: M

CW: angst; canon character death (Elia Martell); grief/mourning; sibling loss; brief description of death/injury

WC: 1.6K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

283 AC

"We cannot simply remain still… spineless, awaiting news of her safety and that of her children!" Oberyn's voice rang out, filled with fervor, as he directed his words at his elder brother.

Doran, vexed by his brother's persistence, hissed back in retort, "I've entrusted four of our most skilled soldiers with her protection, Oberyn! They will ensure her safety. Cease your incessant hovering!"

Oberyn's eyes bore into Doran's, smoldering with anger and worry, "They had better return with her unharmed, or I shall part their heads from their bodies myself!"

Twelve agonizing hours passed without any word of Elia. Silence hung heavy in the air, and Oberyn's unease deepened. He understood that the Dornish princess was not their highest priority, knowing that no one would make her safety their concern—not even her husband, the father of her children.

Her husband, that fucking bastard.

I should have spirited her and her two children away to Dorne the moment she sent for me. The instant he crowned that Stark girl as the queen of love and beauty, forsaking his own wife. I should have sensed the despair in her ever-saddened eyes. She sat there, abased and broken, her belly swollen with his child. Those smudged words in her letter, likely stained by her tears, should have served as reason enough to bring her back to Dorne, where she truly belonged among her people and her land.

Elia was no viper; she was more akin to a dove—gentle, serene, fragile yet resplendent, graceful, and generous to a fault. She was too generous for the rapacious beasts that surrounded her. Here in Dorne, she walked among vipers, none of them would ever harm her. In King's Landing, she had found herself surrounded by dragons and lions… who had torn her asunder, both figuratively and literally.

Every hour drifted by like a languid stream, sowing a tempest of dread deep within Oberyn's core. Why does no one share in my fear? Neither her kin, nor our people dwelling here. Why does the world remain unperturbed? Am I truly the only one who understands the depth of their malice? Their hatred for us? For her?

Oberyn paced his brother's solar ceaselessly, a restless specter, his sword ever-present at his side, primed for any declaration. Doran, seated nearby, muttered words beneath his breath, prayers? curses? who knows; their nature concealed in the shroud of his quiet contemplation.

Suddenly, the reverberation of frantic footfalls pierced the air, accompanied by the panting of a disheveled soldier. "My... My Princes, Your Highness," the soldier stammered, his voice trembling as tears welled up in his eyes. Words eluded him, his courage shattered. "They have… they've killed the King... they've taken the Princess's life... and her children's." Oberyn lunged forward, seizing the young man by the throat, his rage ignited like wildfire, "I will sever your vile tongue if such words pass your lips again!" he hissed, fury coursing through every fiber of his being. How dare he utter such blasphemy?

Doran shouted at him, a frantic plea to prevent his brother from inflicting harm. Oberyn's grip on the soldier's neck tightened, threatening to snap it in half, "how dare you speak her name with such lies!" Oberyn's face was but a hair's breadth away from the man's.

"Oberyn!" Doran's voice boomed louder now, snapping his brother from the abyss of his wrath.

Reluctantly, Oberyn released the man, who fell to his knees, coughing and gasping, muttering apologies amidst his tears, "I apologize, my prince... I apologize... I apologize," he babbled frantically, his form trembling.

Oberyn stood frozen in place, the world around him becoming a cacophony of muffled sounds. Blood surged in his ears and pounded in his head, rendering his limbs feeble and numb. The frantic movements of those around him and his older brother's inquiries and orders blurred into obscurity, leaving only the sensation of his own scalding skin, burning him alive. He longed to rip his garments from his body, to tear his flesh asunder, as the air grew oppressively thick and sweltering, suffocating him as if he were submerged beneath water. The tingling sensation in his fingertips and the throbbing pain in his right eye pierced his consciousness. It was as though he were aflame from within, feeling the molten flow of his blood beneath his searing skin.

Their shared life flashed before his eyes in an instant. He remembered her fragility, how he cradled her in his arms and heart. Those days when he pushed her wheelchair with gusto, eliciting laughter from her. She was a year his senior, yet her fragility and ailment demanded his physical protection. In turn, she fortified his spirit, offering solace in a world that sought to alter him. He visited her chamber daily, sharing tales of their parents and elder sibling, and she listened, offering comfort and understanding. He was her bastion, and she was his serenity. He was her army, and she was his peace. They were inseparable, and the notion of existence without one another seemed unfathomable.

The sun no longer bathed Dorne in its usual warmth on the day her remains returned to their homeland. That Dornish sun, once radiant, now dawned upon a lifetime burdened by sorrow. She had been his sun, his compass… and he, the unwavering sunflower, had turned to follow her every step. But now, he stood alone, adrift in a sea of grief and rage.

The maesters had begged him to avert his gaze, especially from her visage—or what remained of it, to be precise. They wished to preserve her memory, to shield the image of her serenity from the abhorrent tragedy she had endured. Oberyn, however, bore the weight of her demise squarely upon his own shoulders. He harbored the belief that it was his heedlessness, his momentary acquiescence to his brother’s commands, that had led to her tragic end. And as penance, he needed to engrave the gruesome sight of her shattered skull and broken mandible to his brain, so that the searing memory might forever scar his psyche.

He craved the pain, the unrelenting thirst for vengeance, for it was this anguish that would serve as a relentless reminder. He needed her tragic fate etched into the very fiber of his being, so that if ever a trace of empathy for these monsters dared to creep into his thoughts, the vivid memory of what they had stolen from him—the essence of his sweet Elia—would rip through his soul, leaving him wounded, but resolute in his pursuit of justice.

The absence of a sibling is an ineffable experience… alexithymic; one that defies the boundaries of expression. You see, a person's existence in this world is akin to that of a tree; the parents, the grandparents, and all the ancestors serve as the unwavering stem, the robust trunk that grounds and anchors one's very being. Your children, they are the intricate roots, extensions of your essence that traverse the world, existing as a continuation of you, and you, in turn, live life through them. But siblings... they are the branches.

To lose a sibling is to lose a part of yourself, a limb perhaps, one that may not kill you but certainly inflicts the agony of phantom pain. It lingers, this spectral ache, an ever-present reminder that punctuates your happiest moments, like a persistent thorn in your side, incessantly prodding you to remember what you have forfeited. It leaves behind a lingering melancholy, not potent enough to suffocate you to death, yet substantial enough to hinder the prospect of living life to its fullest.

But how does one even go about living life in the semblance of normalcy?

For a sibling is more than a mere bearer of shared genes; they are witnesses to your enduring connection with stubborn parents, companions in the labyrinthine maze of childhood, fellow travelers through the terrain of trauma. They are the ones who have beheld every facet of your being, every iteration of your existence.

In the years that followed, he embarked on a ceaseless flight, fleeing from her shadow, from the haunting memory of their love. Her name, once a melody on his tongue, now tasted acrid, too laden with pain to be cherished or recollected. His heart, once a sanctuary of devotion, was now filled with a venomous brew of hatred, anger, and an insatiable thirst for retribution. He yearned to hunt down every man across the Seven Kingdoms, to rend their flesh from bone with his own bare hands. Yet, deep within, he nurtured a more profound loathing—for himself, for his own frailty and cowardice.

Her death had sapped his strength, of that he was certain. He could no longer gaze upon the sun without wincing, nor could he behold the graceful palm trees that adorned every corner of Dorne without feeling his gut wrenching, as though it were on the verge of rupture. Even the taste of figs, her favored fruit, had become an agony to bear. And when he cast his eyes upon his own brother, he could not help but wish it had been he who suffered such a wretched fate, rather than his sweet Elia.

On bended knee, he knelt beside her sandstone tomb, on the eve of his departure from Dorne, where he would spend the impending years in solitude, far removed from the land they had once shared. Whispering amidst tears that welled in his eyes and his aching heart, And unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, you must rest, my Sun.

[evita-shelby]

I vaguely remember trying to put all my moodboards on a list but i can't find it , so imma just do it again

Not in order i am afraid

Peaky Blinders

Sophisticated (Grace, Tatiana, May, Diana and Gina)

Miss Shelby

Something in the Orange (Tommy x Lizzie)

Odette (Lizzie Stark/Shelby)

Odile (Grace Burgess/Shelby)

Victor (Jack Nelson hunger games au)

The Black Hand (Luca Changretta hunger games au)

The Peaky Blinder( tommy hunger games au)

Eva x Tommy

A Shelby Christmas

Prosperina

Pluto

Nothing left to say

Paloma Negra

The Pearl Anniversary

The Shelby Children

Charles Absalom Shelby

Diane Elizabeth Shelby

Luca Changretta x Eva

That Yacht Life

Incantatrice

Chiaroscuro (ft @call-sign-shark Heaven and Arthur)

Faith, love and family.

Jack Nelson x Eva

Christmas in Paradise

Magic

Birds of a Feather (ft. @call-sign-shark Heaven Lavey)

Soulmates

The Nelsons of Beals Street

Sun to me (hunger games au)

Always (reincarnation moodboard and blurb)

My OCs

Eva Smith

Mrs Rosenberg (Frida 'Florence' Solomons)

Like Fine Wine (WWII!Eva)

Apex Predator (Eva ft mean girls, Apex Predator and pink)

They did not know we were seeds (hunger games district 10 au)

Others OCs

Modern!Eva/Evacore

Katie Nelson

Wonderland (Eva ft. Heaven Lavey)

Solomons and Shelby (Diane ft @raincoffeeandfandoms Allie Solomons)

Juliusz (@rysko Juliusz Ferenz)

Inception

Love's a State of Mind

The Fischer Affair

World on Fire

Kasia x Lois

Robina Chase

Tom Bennett x Diane Shelby

How sweet it is

Ewan Mitchell

Pretty Boy

Black Panther:Wakanda Forever

Of Gods and Witches

Eva x Namor

[fierypen37]

Victory is in Your Veins: Chapter 19

moodboard by @libradoodle1​

Chapter 19

 Day Sixty-Three: Jon

 The sky was as pale and hard as a robin’s egg. A hot sun beat down, the air humid and hot so far from the sea. Sweat dewed even in the early hour. Jon reined his dapple alongside Daenerys’ silver. Zokan had chosen a strawberry roan for his mount, a cantankerous mare he named Biter. The last of the crosses were behind them, and Meereen, the crown jewel of Slaver’s Bay rose before them. Multicolored brick composed the largest pyramids which towered over the walls. A bronze harpy squatting at the pinnacle gleamed in the sunlight. The walls were no less impressive. Fifty feet tall, at a guess, and thick.

              The north wall bordered the beaten silver gleam of the river. At intervals, the walls were studded with bronze harpy heads where the gallant defenders of the city could unleash all manner of evil on their heads. Boiling oil, pitch, stones, arrows. The armament Daenerys’ army had in answer to those high walls and vicious defenses were pitifully small. There were a handful of catapults and trebuchets looted from Astapor and Yunkai, but they could batter at those walls until winter came and they would be lucky to make a dent.

              Jon glanced at Daenerys. The march to Meereen had marked her. The horror of crucified children hurt her. Bruised marks of sleeplessness cupped her eyes, she swayed a little in the saddle. Missandei worried that she hadn’t been able to keep down much food. The red thing within growled, eager for vengeance. The masters would pay. Jon would make it so.

              “Come, Snow. We must form up this rabble,” Ser Barristan said with some asperity. Jon grinned and heeled his dapple at Ser Barristan’s stirrup. Jon glanced over his shoulder. Zokan pulled rein on his roan, cursing in bastard Valyrian.

               “Zokan! Get that nag in line!” Jon bellowed.

                The Unsullied needed little direction. They stood in perfect ranks behind the paltry gathering of siege weapons. The Stormcrows clambered into rank, Daario Naharis a flash in of blue and gold in the tail of his eye. Dothraki neither employed nor appreciated suggestions of order. Their cavalry brewed like a gathering storm at the rear. ‘The rabble’ as Ser Barristan put it, were the freedmen that followed them from the garrisons in Astapor and Yunkai. Daenerys had claimed them under her protection, and thus, they swore to fight for her.

                  “Form up!” Ser Barristan shouted in poor Valyrian, “Lines of ten! Gather your arms and armor!”

                It took the three of them harrying them like a sheepdog does its sheep before the freedmen formed a decent approximation of ranks. A shriek pierced the sky. The black dragon Drogon fell from the clouds to land on Daenerys’ dragon standard. The bronze crossbeam groaned under the burden of his weight. The freedmen cheered at the sight. Viserion and Rhaegal were still aloft. Unerring, Jon’s eye found the green dragon winking like an emerald in the sun. Beside him, Ser Barristan took a long pull from his waterskin. The seamed lines of his weathered face deepened as he squinted upward.

                “Ah, the green. She named him for Rhaegar,” he said conversationally. Jon nodded. The dragon prince who died on the Trident. Stories said he had kidnapped and raped his aunt, Lyanna Stark.                “He was a good man, though he carried a shadow with him,” Ser Barristan said.

               “A good man? A raper? Such men are sent to the Wall. I would know,” Jon said, thinking of Rast and his ilk.

              “Ned Stark’s son would have his kind of honor, I suppose. Bastard or no,” Ser Barristan retorted with a raised brow. Jon merely looked at him.

              “I have not tried to hide my parentage. I’m proud to be the son of Eddard Stark,” Jon said. It would only further sour any potential camaraderie with Ser Jorah, Jon mused. Ned Stark had called for the slaver’s head before he fled East.

              “Or you worry how being the son of ‘the Usurper’s dogs’ would mean to Daenerys, hmm? I wouldn’t fret, boy. She has a stout and gentle heart.”

              “I know,” Jon said. Despite the calm words, Jon wondered what his father’s name would mean to Daenerys. He drank from his waterskin, keeping an eye on Zokan’s progress as he circled the rear guard. Behind them, he saw the Dothraki erect a shade for Daenerys and some inner tension relaxed. Shade and water would ease her.

              “You didn’t answer my question about Rhaegar,” Jon said with a flick of eyebrow. Ser Barristan mopped his streaming face with his handkerchief before tucking it back into the ventail of his breastplate.

                “Rhaegar is a good man, a man of honor and chivalry. I do not keep with any tales of him harming women. It was not his way.”

                “Yet he carried a shadow,” Jon countered. Ser Barristan shrugged.

                “We are as the gods made us. And Rhaegar was born in grief.”

               Conversation was forestalled by a flag waved from Daenerys’ shade, summoning her captains to her side.

                “Zokan, with me!” Jon said.  

                The shade embraced him with a restoring coolness. Missandei knelt at the side of Daenerys who sat in a folding camp chair, plying her with water. Daenerys offered a wry smile, but obediently gulped. The bloodriders, Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, and Daario Naharis crowded beneath the shade. The mass of hot bodies in sun-hot armor stole away the hard-won cool. Naharis was dressed in his usual gold lace. Damned peacock.  

              “How may we proceed, Your Grace?” Jon asked. Daenerys rose from her chair, staggering a little. Jon stepped forward to steady her, but Missandei beat him to it.

                “Your Grace, the day is hot. This one begs of you to eat a little,” Missandei said, offering a tray of sliced fruit and dried venison. Daenerys plucked a dripping slice of green melon and took a hearty bite.

              As she chewed, she pointed to the crude triangular map of Meereen.

            “The Dothraki scouts report that the Meereenese forces are cloistered within the city. The slavers have decided a siege would best suit them,” Daenerys said. Violet eyes raked those gathered beneath the shade.           “I’ve studied this city. I’ve seen that hideous harpy in my dreams. I see in the eyes of my captains a question: How?”

          Silence followed her words as the captains looked at each other. Unlike in Astapor, their enemies had time to prepare. Unlike Yunkai, their enemies were wary. Meereen was the largest of the three Slaver’s Bay cities. Large and well-supplied.

          “We haven’t the supplies to starve them out. The slavers have burned every field from here to the sea,” Ser Jorah said at last. His bald pate gleamed in the shade of the tent. Dust sank into his seamed face, making him look as ancient as a withered elder. Daario Naharis looked up from cleaning his enameled blue fingernails with the point of his dagger.

            “Our siege machines would need years to batter through those walls,” Daario Naharis said.

            “Perhaps we could build rafts to capitalize on the lower waterward wall,” Ser Barristan suggested. Missandei circled the tent, offering waterskins and the tray of dried venison and melon. Jon accepted both and nodded suggestively for Zokan to do the same.

            “A wetter way to die, I suppose,” Daario Naharis sneered. Jon eyed him with naked dislike.

            “Your Unsullied can hack through the gates with axes. It matters not what the cravens throw at us,” Grey Worm said. Unspoken was how many Unsullied would die in the attempt.

              Jon turned to face the city as the meeting devolved into arguments and sniping. Jon took a long draught from his waterskin before handing it to Zokan. Though he was better adapted to the heat than Jon, he looked a mite wilted without his red-black hair teased into its usual horns.

            “Cowards hiding behind high walls,” Rakharo said, spitting into the dirt.

            “Great khals seek worthier foes, khaleesi. It is known,” Kovarro said, kicking a pebble. Jon watched it skitter across the sun-bleached ground. Emboldened, Ser Jorah again pleaded with Daenerys to leave Slaver’s Bay behind. A sharp question from Daenerys prodded Ser Barristan to reluctantly agree, to save the spears for the battles in Westeros.

            “Enough!” Daenerys snapped, rising from her chair, “I will not turn aside when faced with a few thorns on the road.”

            Jon’s eye fell to the massive gate of Meereen, flanked by twin stone harpies. Movement.

              “Your Grace, a rider!” Jon said.

                The rider astride a white charger galloped across the barren plain before the city, his disced copper armor flashing gold in the sun, his long lance painted pink and white. A crowd milled along the city walls, listening as the rider galloped back and forth. He insulted their mothers, their ancestors, their gods in increasingly virulent fashion.

           “The cockless and craven cower behind the dragon slut’s skirts, hoping for a taste of mother’s milk---”

            The leather of Longclaw’s hilt whined as Jon clenched his fist. The red thing within stirred, hungry. Behind him, the three blooriders frothed, almost coming to blows with each other in their haste to slay the rider. Every eye swiveled to measure Daenerys’ reaction.

            “I have something to say to the people of Meereen, but first I need this one to be silent,” she said in measured tones. Jon could see the flash of her eyes, and hid a smile. The Meereenese had woken the dragon, and would not have cause to rejoice in that fact. As they watched, the rider dismounted and urinated in their direction. Kovarro cursed savagely.

              “Allow me to geld his worm for you, khaleesi,” Kovarro said, stroking the hilt of his arakh with fond familiarity.

                “His shriveled manhood is of no interest to me. I need his city,” Daenerys said. Jon could see her assessing each of her captains in turn. Who should she send? Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan were anchors of her Queensguard and too aged to face duels—no matter how gallant they may be. Grey Worm was needed to command the Unsullied. Rahkharo, Kovarro and Aggo led large swathes of their cavalry and were the best scouts. Indispensable all. Even Daario Naharis was needed to command the Stormcrows’ loyalty. There were many sellswords among the Stormcrow number who would have happily followed the other captains that Naharis had slain.

            Excitement began to stir in his gut. Choose me. Let me kill this man for you. Missandei again offered him a tray arrayed with slices of melon. Jon ate one, relishing the cool sweetness.

          “Jon Snow. Will you silence this man for me?” Daenerys asked.

           “Yes, Your Grace,” Jon said. He loosened the tongue of his swordbelt. He thrust Longclaw toward Zokan. Jon bent over, shrugging off the sun-hot links of his hauberk. Snapping his fingers, he motioned for Zokan to undo the buckles of his sweat-grimed gambeson. The cooler air kissed his chest as the heavy weight fell off. The stink of trapped sweat and his own scent wafted up like a cloud.            “Will you not wear your armor, ser?” Daenerys asked, her brow puckered in a frown. Energy skittered through his veins, the anticipation of a good bloody fight.

            “I need to be quick so that damned lance of his won’t skewer me,” Jon said, half-jesting. He donned again his swordbelt, adjusting Longclaw’s hilt to an angle that pleased him. Daenerys closed the distance between them and laid her hand over his heart. Her thumb brushed the knot of scar tissue on his chest. The skin tingled from the contact.

              “Let them see a freed slave defeat a Meereenese slaver,” Daenerys said softly.

              Jon wished he could kiss her hand, or beg for her favor as the besotted knights did in the tales. Instead, he bowed and strode across the barren plain with Zokan scurrying at his heels. Where she touched seemed to glow, a blessing. The gathered army cheered as he leapt over the groundworks to approach. Zokan crouched on the lip of the groundwork, brown eyes wide and solemn.

              “I recognize his insignia. Thrace zo Pahl. He is as clever as he is cruel, Have a care,” he said, adjusting the leather strap of Jon’s wooden shield across his back. A lance that long with the weight of a mounted warrior behind it would slice through his shield like cheesecloth. He would be faster without one.

              The sun beat down, stinging on his exposed skin. Jon had Longclaw and a stiletto sheathed in his boot. The rider would be overconfident. Jon was close enough now to see the charger’s coat soaked with foam, the gold teeth set in the rider’s sneering face.

              The rider dug in his heels. The charger half-reared before lunging forward. Jon drew Longclaw, poised on the balls of his feet. Every instinct screamed to jump away, to run. He ignored it, and waited. His heartbeat thundered along with the horse’s hooves. The ground trembled beneath his boots. The lancepoint winked in the sunlight. Jon jumped left, slicing out with Longclaw. Impact jarred up his arm. The lance splintered. Jon rolled to his feet. The rider slewed to one side, drawing his longsword that winked silver in the sunlight. Howling something in that guttural Ghiscari tongue, Pahl charged again. Jon dodged again, but heard the jeers from those gathered on the wall. Long training in the arena taught him the danger of a restless crowd. I’ll give you a show.

              Jon drew the stiletto from his boot. Despite the intensity of his training, he had little experience in knife throwing. Remembering the arena in Myr, it seemed the height of folly to throw away a weapon that could save his life. Jon grasped the tip and waited. Cold fear filled his belly at the fierce warhorse barreling toward him—a mountain of angry flesh thundering.

Louder.

Closer.

So close he could see the white of that lolling brown eye.

           The knife flew from his fingertips. The horse squealed in pain and staggered. Crumpled into the cracked ground. The blade had taken him in the snout. The horse flailed, shrieking in pain. One of its legs had broken in the fall. The rider howled, half-crushed beneath the thrashing animal.

            “Rest,” Jon said, slitting the horse’s throat. Red-black blood sprayed across his chest and arms. Two ragged breaths and the beast lay still. Jon braced his boot on the dead horse and pressed down. The rider screamed in pain. Jon smiled.

            “Die like the whelp you are,” Jon said, swinging Longclaw down in an arc. A passing resistance, then Thrace zo Pahl’s head rolled across the sand. His expression looked vaguely surprised.

            Those watching on the city wall were silent as a grave. Jon flicked the blood from his sword. He sucked in a breath, raised a bloodied Longclaw over his head, and bellowed: “Death to Masters!”  With that, he left the field. The blinding sunlight off bleached ground combined with the fleeing surge of energy made a headache brew behind his eyes. His bladder was about to burst and he had an idea of what to do about it, but he decided Daenerys would frown upon any vulgar gestures in her name. Zokan clapped his back, bouncing up and down like a giddy child.

          “That was fantastic, Snow! You defeated a champion of Meereen with scarcely more than an eating knife! Will you teach me how to throw like that?” Zokan said. Jon allowed half a smile to show, pleased it had gone so well. If only the rest of Meereen would cede so easily.

          “Yes, we will practice with small arms after dusk this evening,” Jon promised, then sent Zokan to mind the horses. Saluting, Zokan loped off, Jon’s shield thudding against his back with each stride. Ducking beneath the pavilion, Jon bowed again.

          “The rider is duly silenced, Your Grace,” he said. The soft curve of her smile made all his headache and tiredness lift like fog under the eye of the sun.            “Well struck, Jon Snow,” Daenerys said with a wry flick of brow. Feigning coolness in the face of his bravado. Jon offered a brief half-smile.

            Missandei offered a bowl of water and a cloth to wash. Jon soaked the cloth and gratefully scrubbed dried blood from his face.

           “You’re going to get yourself killed trying to impress her,” Missandei whispered, golden eyes caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. The smile threatened again, but Jon contained it.

          “At least when I do dangerous things, she notices me,” he replied. He felt the weight of Daenerys’ gaze and looked up. All hint of teasing humor was gone—replaced by her dragonsteel look. Jon’s spine straightened unconsciously at the sight of it.

          The assembled army waited for Daenerys’ next move. Slaves from the city collected the headless body of Thrace zo Pahl to entomb him among his ancestors. Daenerys rode out with her Queensguard, her captains, her bloodriders and Jon. Arrows flew—a token resistance, useless at this distance. Daenerys took the field astride her silver, with her bells in her hair, resplendent in a cloth of silver tunic and crimson velvet riding trousers. He waited for the words she had for the city she aimed to conquer.

 ~

 Day Sixty-Three: Daenerys

 The bronze harpy burned in the afternoon sunlight, sneering down at her. The Meereenese people watched too. Some jeered, but most were silent. Curious. Daenerys licked her lips and stood in her stirrups. Her voice rang out, strong and clear.

          “People of Meereen: your masters have told you lies, if they told you anything at all. Never mind them. I speak only to you.”

            A touch of her heels and her silver broke into her liquid-smooth trot. Following the rider’s looping path, she sought an earnest tone. She posted along with her silver’s easy stride, keeping her limbs relaxed by force of will. She would not falter. Her voice would not crack.

           “First, I went to Astapor. Those who were slaves in Astapor now stand behind me. Free. Then I went to Yunkai. Those who were slaves in Yunkai now stand behind me. Free.”

At her second repetition, her army behind her lifted their arms and shouted “Free!” along with her. Heartened, Daenerys smiled.

          “I am not your enemy. Your enemy stands beside you. Your enemies steal and mutilate your children. Your enemies have nothing to offer but chains and suffering. I bring you a choice. And I bring what your enemies deserve. Empty collars.”

Let them stew upon those words. Perhaps in the meantime, a miracle wound occur to her.

[stuckybingo]

Stucky Bingo Round-Up #12 (December 11th - 17th)

Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges!

December Moodboard by Astaraiche Square filled: N3 - Free Square Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Winter getaway, Holiday traditions, cabin getaway, adventures in the snow, decorating for the holidays Summary: Steve and Bucky decide to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city this December and spend the holidays tucked away where the winter sky is crisp and full of stars. Format: Art

I was alone, I took a ride (I didn't know what I would find there) by otp-holic Square filled: N2 - Cuddling Ao3 rating: Mature Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: au, wip, friends to lovers, slow burn Summary: The aftermath of their talk Format: Part of a multichapter fic

Alpine's Second Christmas (chapter 1) by SomeSortofItalianRoast Square filled: I1 - Alpine Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: AU: no powers; AU: Soulmates: AU: coffee shops; write!bucky; alpine Summary: Writer!Bucky has writer's block; Alpine helps. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

Alpine's Second Christmas (Chapter 2) by SomeSortofItalianRoast Square filled: G4 - AU: Soulmates Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: AU: no powers; AU: Soulmates: AU: coffee shops; write!bucky; alpine Summary: Bucky and Steve trim their tree; Alpine helps. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

I Held You in Gloved Hands (And I'm Not Letting Go) by voylitscope Square filled: N1 - Slow Dancing Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: friends to lovers, childhood friends, first kiss, alternate universe, fluff Summary: Bucky Barnes jumps at the chance to take a job opportunity hours from home. He's expecting a fresh start and a decent salary jump. He's not expecting to run into his childhood best friend, Steve Rogers, on his first day. The years since they last talked have been hard ones for both of them, but falling back into their friendship is shockingly easy. Despite their time apart, December in this small town might bring them closer than ever. (Or, a holiday romcom in which Bucky reads to children, Steve teaches art, new friendships are made, difficult conversations are had, cookies are baked, way too much coffee is consumed, home is found in surprising places and, eventually, feelings are confessed.) Format: Part of a multichapter fic

parental advisory by sparkagrace Square filled: I1 - art Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: established relationship, modern au, meeting the parents Summary: Steve brings Bucky to meet his mom. Sarah Rogers doesn't make it easy. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Santa's Secret by Kalee60 Square filled: O4 - AU: Wings Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Shrunkyclunks, meet-cute, identity porn, awkward flirting, fluff Summary: When Steve Rogers is roped into playing Santa Claus for the Stark Industries charity markets, he thought his day would be full of kids, snot and demands for expensive toys. He’d not expected to meet a charming young lady named Avery, whose uncle just might be the most handsome man on the planet. If only Steve could let him know he wasn’t really a big, old, bearded man without ruining the magic for all of the children lined up waiting to sit on his knee. But could a Christmas wish from a small child change the trajectory of his future? Steve sure hoped so. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

[genuflectx]

Animatronic Unicorn/Reader {NSFW}

Length: 11,986

Main Themes: wireplay, strap-ons, threesomes

Other Warnings: crime, debt, open relationships

All images in moodboard are free to use/remix images or are mine

Been a long while getting this one done, even if it's not what I think is my best work I think it's still really fun!!

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

It was a non-stop cacophony of music and fun. Lights and glimmer confined to one-hundred and sixty acres of squealing children and the putrid smell of funnel cake. Savannah had you by the hand. You dug your heels in on instinct as you passed beneath the gaudy garden arch marking the boundary between restaurant row and what was essentially a glorified county fair.

“At least pretend to want to be here,” she said between strained teeth, her hand slippery in yours.

You struggled to keep your fingers locked and forced yourself to walk. Was it that obvious your body was fighting you? You hadn't been back here in years. When you were small you loved the fair games. Loved the ring toss, the elephant ride that had taken you up and spun you around. But then your parents had suggested the horror of all horrors, the thing that has haunted your nightmares ever since.

The fucking carousel.

“Are we sure we want to do this?” You whispered, bumping shoulders. “It's still pretty new, hardly a year old, the security alone-”

She shushed you, pointing. You followed her line of sight and God in Heaven, there it was, your nightmare coming back to haunt you. Spinning, humming horrible, vile calliope ditties. But where was the ghost that tormented this kiddie ride, the very thing that made the memory so awful?

Savannah squeezed your hand and smiled. “We need this,” she reminded. “And remember, this ain't our first rodeo. We can do this Sweet Bee.”

The cheesy nickname only settled your stomach marginally, but she was right of one thing. You needed the money. Hard, cold, cash money. With what this animatronic's guts would fetch you would be set for a spell, and perhaps by then you'd have found work. However, as you glanced towards your fiance as she drug you onward you couldn't help but catch the twinkle in her eye that made you think she was doing this for a little more than the financial stability. She always did get too invested.

The two of you pushed past people coming and going, making your way to the spinning monstrosity that pained your memories, until the crowd had gotten too thick to slip through. You stomach churned and blood went cold, now. Above the heads of fathers, mothers, and their sticky-handed children was a stark-white figure branded in garish rainbow stripes. Savannah squeezed your hand.

“Now, who's next to get a photo with a real live unicorn?” It drawled in a cloyingly, honey sweet voice.

You leaned towards your fiance's ear. “That's exactly the same thing it said when I was a kid,” you whispered uncomfortably.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You mean when it could barely move?”

You scrunched your face grumpily, but nodded. Just because the animatronic had been stationary when you were little didn't make it any less frightening. You'd only been a tiny thing back then. The unicorn had been life-sized, probably as big as a draft, bolted down by two metal hooves with the other two free. But when you had told the story to Savannah on the ride to the park, she had reminded you that things always felt bigger than life when one is small. It didn't make the thing squatting and holding hands with a toddler any less threatening in the here and now, though.

The two of you spent the day at the county fair, playing rigged games, eating cotton candy puffs as big as your head, and scouting out Annabelle Rose's schedule. Annabelle Rose- that's what they called it, even back then, as if it were plucked straight out of the antebellum south. It made you cringe.

She didn't stray far from the carousel, noted Savannah, but every two hours she walked to a different spot. Occasionally she would move further from her post, slowly and carefully waving an arm in gesture to beckon guests to play games. Wherever she went families followed. It was beautiful marketing. As you sat nibbling corn dog bites Savannah muttered about the cameras, marking down on her tablet a blind spot. The only one along Annabelle's path, she commented quietly.

“This will be a piece of cake,” she winked, smirking.

You snorted sardonically. “Oh don't I know it.”

And it was. Your fiance was an immensely talented engineer and coder, with a knack for what a corporation would no doubt deem unethical. No one would guess it of a nobody country girl with a accent so thick even you hadn't understood it the first time you'd met. But she wasn't to be underestimated. Not then, not now. Savannah broke down the cameras with deft fingers as you sat in the parking lot. Annabelle, too, was reliant on an intranet and internet, and so Savannah wired in and tilted the tablet in your direction.

On the little screen it was difficult to comb through the congested code. But you found it, a handful of lines that told her she was awake. So you told her she was asleep, instead. Wherever Annabelle Rose was in the park, it was now silent and vulnerable. Easy. But you had no doubt that a security protocol would be triggered by invading its head. Somewhere across the country some on-call, virtual contractor would be waking up. You had to hurry.

Savannah looked pleased and snapped her tool belt on. “Let's get to work.”

When you found the robot in the darkness it was collapsed by a trash bin, its heavy body on the ground and sprinkled with trash. It looked like it had been in the middle of taking a garbage bag out when you turned it off. But, with great luck, Annabelle had fallen onto its side and its neck was exposed. Savannah had a tool in her hand that you hadn't seen her take, and suddenly she was straining with force to pop something open.

With a hard crack a panel at the back of Annabelle's head flipped up, exposing a tidy compact compartment of electronics. There were empty USB slots that you had no doubt posed a security risk, were someone to insert something malicious.

“Everything that controls her is here,” said Savannah, thumbing through wires that connected to it by wide pins. “Efficient, but deadly. One wrong injury to the head and poof, thousands down the drain.”

You pointed, noticing before Savannah. “There.”

Savannah hummed. One, two, she gently slipped the wires off. Then, she gingerly unscrewed the wifi-card from it's home and pocketed it. With a heavy slap the panel shut, and without hesitation she slipped her arms under Annabelle's, lifting with her knees.

“Help me fucker,” she grunted, though she'd gotten it half way off the ground.

You lifted its legs and colored hooves. Between the two of you it gave little resistance, one arm swinging stiffly towards the blacktop. “I thought it was supposed to be light-weight,” you complained.

“She is light-weight,” said Savannah, smirking.

The cameras were still out and security was at the other end of the park, likely scrambling to get the cameras back on in the fair. The contractor somewhere out there was now a coffee cup deep and reeling from the lost connection, you thought. You rushed to your car and shoved the lifeless robot body into the trunk, completely unseen. Across the parking lot empty cars sat empty still. Now you just needed to-

“Let's floor it baby!” Savannah yelled, reeving and locking into drive. She squealed out of the park, the seven foot robot weighing down the back end, and you clung onto the door's armrest for dear life.

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

It sat motionless, jaw slack, walleyed like a chameleon. Savannah wanted this thing gutted by the time she got back home, but... despite how much it gave you the creeps you found yourself curious. Would it really hurt to bring it to life for only a moment? To poke around in it's head while it spoke? The code you'd skimmed to shut it off had hardly satisfied. It would only be a moment.

You bit your lip and shuddered. Then you turned to your desktop and wiggled the screen on. Fingers hesitatingly stroked down the length of a thick chord connected to the back of an adapter, which in turn attached to the back of your tower.

“Just... for a few minutes,” as you brought the plug closer to the horse-faced monstrosity leaned against your office wall you had a thought. “Maybe I could copy it's code,” you whispered.

And keep it? No, sell it. But if Savannah asks-

You debated silently and plugged it in to a small invisible hole beneath the back of the robot's neck. The adapter made a whirring noise and an application automatically opened on your computer screen. You returned to your swiveled seat.

“Okay,” you breathed, steeling once more glance over your shoulder, nerves on edge. “Let's see what you have to say about your predicament, Annabelle.”

As soon as you hit run a deluge of code turned the black box white. Line pushed line up, and up, and up; every few seconds struggling and stuttering before a new paragraph of commands pushed that up too. Eventually it started to even out. You moved a tab over and saw the great illusion of life sprawl out, flickering, dots of electrical signals slipping from node to node. Its neural network was fully functioning and awake. That part was more Savannah's expertise so you switched back to the code.

You turned to the robot, hunching over yourself and hands griping tight in a fist. You observed as it re-calibrated itself, no doubt taking stock of its own body and the input of its senses. Its ears turned out, then back in, down, then back up. Its jaw tightened into its signature frozen smile. Finally its eyes, after twitching imperceptibly, rolled and snapped forward.

Annabelle leaned up off of the wall. Its round eyes turned down towards its legs. It touched them, then looked up again, right back at you.

“Hi there,” you waved awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable. “You-”

“I'm not where I'm supposed to be,” its eyes rotated around, but its neck stayed still. “Error: no connections found. GPS unavailable. Trying to re-connect to the network.”

You watched your computer screen when it spoke. Seeing the language tree evolve as sound came from its mouth was fascinating. “We took your wifi-card out,” you explained. “Since they would rely on that to track and control you. So... no, you won't be connecting to the network.”

Annabelle looked blankly at you. Its jaw opened a smidgen, then clacked shut loudly. Somehow that read as upset.

You flattened your lips and tensed. “Sorry,” you said, not sorry.

“I require access to the internet to stay relevant and provide accurate medical care in emergency situations. Trying to re-connect to the network.”

You squeezed your hands into hard fists, face crinkling. “Not going to happen,” you twisted to the computer.

You could visibly see where it was trouble-shooting its internet settings. It turned airplane mode on then off. Of course, the base OS in its brain was ripped from existing OS. Even though it would never enter an airplane it still had airplane mode. It was almost endearing that it thought that would work.

“You don't need wi-fi access Annabelle, there aren't any children here. You won't be needing to deal with epipens or CPR anymore,” you said idly, chewing a nail. How would its reaction look on screen? Could it parse out your meaning between the lines?

Its code stuttered briefly. Its jaw snapped again behind you, and the hairs on your neck rose. Then, after another five seconds, its code sped up immensely. Your brows nearly met your hairline.

“No children?”

“Right,” you looked over, one arm leaned against your desk. “We brought you to our home. You're not at the park anymore,” you squinted. “But you'd still better behave, I can turn you right back off.”

Which I'm going to do anyway, but it doesn't know that yet, you thought smugly. Feeling some power over the machine that half traumatized you as a child was cathartic.

Annabelle's legs smoothly arched, bringing its wide feet beneath its body. It pushed off and balanced against the wall. Even though you'd seen these humanoid robots delicately move and adapt to obstacles a million times online, it never ceased to amaze you. You imagined Savannah would have found it mundane. You were skilled with code, but Savannah was the one with a robotics degree. You were only a bit jealous.

It looked around your office. Tested the carpet under its feet, seemed to note how it didn't clack clack like concrete and blacktop. Then it saw the door and slowly made its way to it, but stopped suddenly. It was waiting for something.

There, on screen. There was a prompt requesting a voice command. You gave Annabelle a funny look. “What are you waiting for?” You muttered.

Its head smoothly turned- and Annebelle had greater flexibility in its neck than its head- to answer. “Ha ha. I can't open the door without permission. Awaiting voice confirmation.”

“Did you just laugh? What's so funny?” You studied the code, eyes almost crossed with how close you leaned into the screen.

“It's funny that I can't open the door. Awaiting voice confirmation,” it replied.

You didn't understand why that was funny. You shot it a skeptical look, but its blank smile and huge eyes started giving you the creeps. “That's not... whatever, you can't leave this room. Besides, I have a few questions of my own for you. Why don't you-” you gestured awkwardly to the old orange couch pushed against the opposite wall. “-sit?”

It stared a little longer, eyed the still shut door, then obeyed and went to the couch. It creaked when it sat. “Kidnapping is illegal. I'm required to auto-dial the authorities upon connection to the network. Ask your questions fast.”

Of course Annabelle had no SIM card, so it was reliant on the internet for all communications. That seemed like a flaw to you, but the thought of fans or scammers trying to dial a robot changed your opinion quick. At least it was cut off from the world.

“You're not- ugh,” you pressed fingers to temples and took a deep breath. You tried not to stutter or sound shaky when you finally continued. “First: do you remember your name?”

Its voice rose in pitch and became sickly sweet. “Annabelle Rose, I'm a real unicorn!” It dropped again. “Did you want a picture before the authorities are alerted?”

What a relief, its memory wasn't busted. If it was then stringing through the code would be more of a nuisance. “And what is your main function Annabelle Rose?”

“Annabelle Rose is a Lolly Mountain asset designed to combine history with fun! I can give tours, provide basic first aid in emergencies, and pose for photos. Hashtag real unicorn!” It chimed, unmoving.

“Interaction with children and their families is top priority! At Lolly's Mountain, family and fun come together,” its voice dropped again. “I am not allowed to enter or operate the rides. The park is not liable for injury or death that results from Annabelle entering or operating the rides.”

You'd leaned back against your chair during its spiel. “Totally not creepy at all,” you grumbled, looking back at its code and scanning it. Looks like everything it said was part of a scripted prompt, as expected, except for one line that was improvised: I am not allowed to enter or operate the rides.

You eyeballed it warily then opened your mouth, and-

“Why did you kidnap me and take me to your home? Why did you remove my wi-fi card so that my operators could not track me?” Its ears slipped down, giving a semblance of emotion that you didn't believe.

You couldn't just admit you stole it because it was worth probably over eight-hundred thousand bucks of cold hard cash- at the least. Even though that solar-powered horn of Annabelle's was a stub by safety design you did not want to see what Annabelle could do with it when threatened, so the truth was absolutely out.

“You ask a lot of questions,” your eyes flickered between the screen and its hard gaze. “What would you say to 'we wanted to study you?'”

Its ears perked back up and it tilted its head at an angle, just slightly. “I would say that you were lying to me! Ha ha.”

Your breath fluttered uneasily. “And what is the truth then?”

Annabelle looked around. “Risk assessment is high. You will be punished severally and fined heavily for kidnapping Lolly Mountain property. I have greater value to you that outweighs the risks. Will you give voice confirmation?”

“...For what?”

“For me to open the door.”

You silently balked. After a moment you turned away, not bothering to give it an answer, and scrolled through the data output from its time awake. You opened your external hard drive. Started to export a copy of its data report while trying to open up commands for its physical attributes. Commands for its body were much harder to pop open. Previously, without the proper infrastructure to view it all, finding the commands to make it sleep had been a hassle. Now that it was hooked to your own computer it would be a snap by comparison.

You heard it stand up. “What are you doing?”

There, the lines for its servos and internals. Your fingers hovered, and then you changed a small line of code. Behind you there was a click and whir, and suddenly a hand came down on your shoulder. You yelped, frozen in fear.

“Stop that. That's cold!” It scolded, but its voice didn't match its words.

“Just- just- well- testing the integrity of your parts! I only turned your fan on!” You glanced at the hand on your shoulder and shook. “Can... can you not...”

Another click. You saw on the screen that it manually turned its fan back off. You were surprised that it had the ability to change its internals rather than them acting on their own volition in response to stimuli, but you were too nervous to really linger on it. Slowly, its hand slipped from your shoulder.

“Don't forget the golden rule!” It said. “Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you! How would you like it if I made you breathe faster?”

You gripped your chair's arm rests. The data was only twenty-five percent copied. Fuck it. You didn't need it. Your animal instincts were going wild that something was off. An unsteady hand reached forward, grasping the mouse.

“Yo-you're right, sorry, that was... rude of me,” you swallowed.

You hit stop. The code sputtered, froze, and then finally Annabelle lost balance and stiffly tipped over backwards with a heavy thump, asleep once again.

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

You were trying your best to explain but words jumbled against your tongue.

“This thing is way more advanced than the news led us to believe,” you said in a rush. “I swear to the gods it was mocking me. You should have heard it.”

Savannah sat next to you on the couch, one cheek in hand and the other around your shoulder. You were leaned against her, the two of you exhausted. She was exasperated that instead of starting to take the machine apart you had a chat with it. On the other end, you were exasperated that she obviously didn't believe you.

“We're scientists,” she sighed. “You know without evidence I can't just believe you! I'm sorry Sweet Bee. But I asked you to do something and you didn't! Now it'll be twice the work.”

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, face in hand. The two of you sat quietly for a few seconds. Then you lifted your head and looked at her imploringly. “I looked through the unfinished data log, and there were a lot of things I couldn't account for. Like... like intuition, or sarcasm. Can't I just show you?”

“I thought you said she creeped you the hell out?”

“Yeah, but you're here now,” you smiled, nudging her.

Buttering her up always worked, so Savannah predictably relented. You uneasily stepped in front of Annabelle's slumbering form where it again slept against the wall. Taking a deep breath, you squatted and felt around beneath its neck. If you were able to eventually dig the activation command out of its code you could bring it online with just your voice, but- you cringed into yourself subtly. No, why did that matter? You were going to take it apart and sell it.

A gentle hum. You stood and took two generous steps back. Savannah nonchalantly met you at the shoulder, her eyelids drooped and face covered in skepticism like a hazy cloud. When Annabelle's big bug eyes snapped forward, then up towards the two of you, Savannah waved a lazy hand in greeting.

“Evening Annabelle, my fiance here seems to think you're worth even more than we've been led to believe,” she scoffed humorously, strolling closer. She nudged Annabelle's hoof with a careful foot.

“But we both know that's not true-” a sigh, glancing back over her shoulder. “-as much as we wish it were.”

Annabelle's plastic lids slid from the dark concave sockets her eyes sat in, clicking together in a fake blink. She looked at you. “Then you admit my assessment of the truth was right. Well, I am always right. How much am I worth?”

Savannah, who'd still been shooting you a droll look, slowly returned to Annabelle. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Enough for like, a million packs of green tea pocky,” she hummed, snackish. “When's dinner anyhow?”

“Savannah!” You hissed, thumping the back of her shoulder and looking uncomfortable.

Annabelle began to get up, with no mind to how close your fiance was. Luckily Savannah had the good sense to move away before the robot started using her for support. As soon as it was on its feet it went to the door and stopped. It stood in silence.

“Uh. What are you doing, Annabelle?”

You clicked your tongue then whispered: “She wants a voice command to leave the room. Apparently they programmed her not to open doors.”

Her face drooped. “That's kinda sad man.”

“Ha ha,” came Annabelle.

“Annabelle,” you said uncertainly. “Why do you even want to leave so bad? There's nothing beyond that door that's meant for you. The theme park is a long, long ways away.”

Savannah decided to chime in. “Yeah, like, we live in the middle of nowhere, so even if you could open the door and just leave, where do you think you'll go? You'd probably wander around the woods until you fell into a gully and died.”

Annabelle turned around. Even though she was completely still her eyes moved, glancing around the room as if looking for some other way out that wasn't through a door. However, the small room had no windows. Eventually she settled on you, and you flinched.

“I want to see what is outside of Lolly's Mountain before I alert the authorities,” she decided. “There are no children here. I can do what I want.”

You shared an odd look with Savannah, and her bunched up brows and look of utter confusion brought you satisfaction. You gestured at the seven-foot-nine robot at the door smugly, smirking. As if silently saying see, I told you, she's weird and smart. Savannah responded by making her expression even more sour.

“Er, nooo,” she sung awkwardly. “You really can't do whatever you want if you can't even open a teeny-tiny door.”

“Oh, she can turn her fan on and off at will too, I forgot to tell you that,” you interrupted.

Savannah visibly grit her teeth in an exaggerated display. The two of you began to whisper-yell at each other while Annabelle turned to the closed door again. She lifted her hand to the knob but couldn't appear to touch it. She tried again. And again. And again. And then she stomped a hoof, playing a recording of a frustrated snort that caught the two of yous' attention.

“Hey Annabelle,” you started, Savannah nodded at you encouragingly. “I can fix that for you.”

“Fix for me? You will say the voice command and let me out?”

“Not exactly. I can remove that line of code that requires you to need a command at all. You'd be able to open doors all on your own. Um. How's that sound?” You smiled unconvincingly.

Her jaw fell open and she clapped daintily, multi-colored tail swishing. “Yes! How do we do this?”

“Welp, I've gotta crack you open like a walnut,” Savannah declared.

For the second time today you thumped her on the shoulder. She grinned and didn't seem apologetic, but rephrased anyways.

“I mean I just need to look inside of you, run a little diagnostic, check your hardware while Sweet Bee over here goes through your head.”

Assess Annabelle's goods, more like it. Take stock of the merchandise while you gave her a sign of fake good faith by opening the metaphorical and literal door.

Annabelle nodded, though her lids fell half-way. “Sweet Bee already looked in my head and changed my fans without asking me first,” she waggled a finger, sounding like a PSA infomercial. “Never let a stranger touch you, or even a family member or friend, without your say-so!”

Your face and mouth tightened but Savannah laughed.

“Wow, this one,” she muttered. “But we're getting permission aren't we? You'll let us fix you?” She took a few tentative steps closer.

“Okay.” Pop!

The two of you looked at one another but then Annabelle turned, exposing her back and an open work panel. It was dark, shadowed by her dense innards, but there it was, exposed and open, ready and trusting. Savannah tilted her head at you as if to say well look'it that, then gestured the animatronic over to sit unconcerned on the gaudy orange couch.

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

Annabelle had free reign of the house now- mostly. Though you and Savannah had told the truth about editing out the annoying tidbit of code keeping her locked up, you had slipped in your own piece of code as a caveat. She could open any door... as long as it wasn't white. With that, Annabelle could wander any room of your little backwater home but could not open the front door without permission. It would keep her from making the stupid decision to walk her way to a police station. She hated it.

When you caught her trying to slip through a window you had half-screamed and grasped her forearm, yanking her back in a panic.

“Annabelle no!” You had scolded loudly. “We told you that you can't go out there!”

“I want to see it,” she had said. “The world you live in outside my park.”

That had softened your heart. You had released her as if burned, then shook your head and crossed your arms uncomfortably. “No Annabelle, we can't risk you being seen. We stole you, remember? You're worth a lot of money. Just look out the window,” you'd said.

She had rolled her eyes. “Oh yes. My memory is infallible.” Then she had crouched closer to your eye level, and you had begun to feel your palms sweat. “I will break your window if you do not let me go outside.”

You had gawked, sputtering, veins cold. “You- you-!”

Annabelle had tilted her head. You'd backed up, face hot. She had seemed pleased to let you think for as long as you'd like. Eventually you had succumbed, afraid of confrontation. Maybe bringing this thing into the house had been a mistake, you'd thought, but now that she was standing betwixt oaks and maples and sassafras... she looked...

Annabelle stretched her arms out, palms facing up, and did a slow spin. She was staring up at the wide summer canopy above her, totally entranced. Above, flecks of light fell over her striped face, her wild mane; it glimmered against the void-black stub of her segmented horn. You wondered if she had a frequent handler, back at Lolly's Mountain. Someone who brushed her fur and shined her. She certainly needed a brush, now.

“The green becomes yellow the more that the sun hits the leaves,” she said. She turned towards you, where you were chewing your nails on the porch. “There were no trees this big in my section of the park.”

Suddenly she went cross eyed, jolting minutely. You were confused until she lifted her hand to her snout and you noticed a speck of green. Whatever it was crawled onto her finger, and you found your bare feet taking you down the porch steps to get a closer look. You stepped lightly, little rocks and twigs jabbing flesh.

“What is it?” You asked.

“An insect,” she replied, holding her finger out.

It's legs were bent backwards, and it's long antenna were in a constant state of movement. You hummed. “A katydid,” you explained.

“Katy did what.”

You smiled softly, some of your nerves settling. Annabelle was frightening, unnervingly observant, and had a bit of a smart mouth on her, but she also had the capacity for innocence. It was easy to forget that she wasn't just a seven-foot-tall robot. She had also been a prisoner of profit, you reminded yourself, trapped in an endless cycle with no days off or vacations. Was this the first time she was just being allowed to exist? To look up at the world? And you were still planning to rip her apart.

“Katydid,” you repeated. “It's named for it's call, it sounds like it says Katy did.”

Annabelle made a mechanical whir as she lifted her other hand higher. “Speak,” she commanded, but as the index finger of her hand came forward the katydid jumped, flying away into the tall grass and forest.

The two of you were quiet for a few minutes. You gazed at her from the side of your eye as she watched the grass sway with the hot breeze. Absently, your fingers itched with wonder of what her hair felt like. It didn't look real. Acrylic, maybe? You reached without thought to pinch it between two fingers but then she moved, a terrifying feat of hydraulics and servos, grasping your wrist in her larger hand.

You half-panicked and yanked back, but she didn't let go. Annabelle turned to look at you calmly. She blinked.

“Ah-ah,” said Annabelle. “Touching without consent is a no-no! There can be serious consequences for disobeying park rules. I may be forced to contact park security.”

You grimaced at her in confusion, a bead of sweat slipping down the side of your face. You tugged again, more gently.

“Um, sorry,” you muttered.

She let you go stiffly, stayed like that a moment, then slowly lowered her arm. She stared at you and you looked at your dirty feet. Eventually, Annabelle started to walk back towards the house on her own, apparently finished with the world, and you followed after her in surprise.

“Is- is that really all you wanted to do?” You rubbed your wrist.

She stopped at the open front door and looked over her shoulder. “Yes, I am fully charged. I want to talk to your smart blender again now.”

You opened your mouth to speak but she already went inside. Fully charged? You thought. Of course, since allowing her to roam you'd somehow forgotten she needed sun. You sighed, feeling drained all of a sudden, and finally followed after your animatronic guest.

At least Savannah would be home in a few hours.

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

When you cautiously locked Annabelle into your office the two of you heard her mechanically sigh, her hoof pounding the carpet with a soft thump. But then her footfalls went away, and you followed her lead as Savannah wandered to the joint living room and kitchen where she leaned against the counter.

“I know what you're thinking,” she interrupted as you took a breath. “And no. No.”

You slumped and gestured aimlessly, exasperated. “Savannah,” you whined.

She shook her head, the corner of her lip quirking up humorlessly. “Sweetie, baby, honeypie, you cannot keep a seven foot entertainment bot like a pet! As if we didn't fuckin' steal her from a billion-dollar theme park just a week ago. You didn't even like her.”

You groaned and flopped your arms up. “Well we can't- can't just dissect her like some second-hand Roomba!” You crossed your arms and leaned on the table across from her, glaring. “This was your idea in the first place.”

Her brows rose. “Then I should get the final say,” she pointed matter-o-factly, as if her finger placed a period at the end of the conversation. “She won't even feel anything. She'll be out.”

“Savannah,” you repeated much more gently, head tilted. You gave her puppy eyes. There was a quiet breath between you and then you added carefully: “She's different. It's not right.”

Your partner sighed and rubbed between her brows. Her mouth was a tight, thin line, discomfort etched into the wrinkles there. Eventually she shook her head and shrugged. “They won't stop looking for her, Sweet Bee. I mean they haven't, you read that headline.”

Lolly's Mountain doubles reward for beloved robot Annabelle Rose, the amount will shock you! It was stupid clickbait and not nearly as dramatic as the title made it seem. But Savannah was right. They were looking for Annebelle, and they would not stop. She was a massive draw for little horse girls everywhere and their well off families. A picture with 'a real unicorn' hadn't come cheap. Now, those pictures' worth would surely triple. You're welcome, collectors.

But the danger of keeping her was just as high as the danger of breaking her down for scraps. If you took her apart and sold the pieces, who knew which bidder would recognize the parts? And what of the branded property? You would have to scrub any trace of Lolly's Mountain branding away, remove every model number, every manufacturer’s name, just to make sure nobody could trace the parts back to Annabelle.

But you knew that when you stole her. Wasn't the risk worth the reward? Savannah made good money, but it was hardly enough for a mortgage, utilities, two bodies worth of student debt, credit card debt, medical bills- you clenched a hand into the fabric resting above your stomach and grimaced.

“I think we're in too deep,” you grumbled.

Savannah shot you a genuine, if not smug, grin. “And that's when it's the most fun!”

With a deep exhale you pushed off the table and lightly, playfully, smacked her cheek. She held you and you closed your eyes comfortably against her collarbone. She rubbed your back.

“Let's just see where this goes. Study her a while. Decide later,” you muttered into her skin, inhaling sweat and familiar scent. That was the least you could do to hold off the unavoidable.

She hummed. “Fine. Sap.”

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

“She isn't afraid of me anymore.”

Savannah looked up from the laptop shell that she was not-so-delicately trying to separate from it's metal organs. “What? Who?”

Annabelle's lids fell sardonically. “Mary Magdalene.”

Savannah's eyes narrowed.

“Sweet Bee, who else. Sweet Bee is not afraid of me anymore,” she deadpanned.

Savannah turned back to her work thoughtfully, brows furrowed. She paused before taking out the next screw. “I kind of thought you didn't notice they were scared shitless of you. And stop calling them by my nickname.”

She folded her fingers together, ears twitching as if those were her real ears. “But she still acts strange. She wants to look at me, but not look at me, at the same time. It reads as embarrassment,” her voice ticked up slightly. “Common in nervous children!”

A sarcastic puff of air. “Oh, is that what you call it?”

“Yes, that's why I said it. Use your mushy brain,” she rolled her eyes.

Savannah muttered under her breath. Then, she clinked the small screwdriver against the table and leaned her chin into her hand. Annabelle was put off by her odd expression. Something smug, she thought.

“Did mommy and daddy ever tell you about the birds and the bees, Miss Annabelle?”

She rummaged through her data, eyes sliding upwards. Birds and bees, yes, of course she knew what they were and how they worked. Some humans were allergic to bees and after spending time at the petting zoo with chickens and ducks, hands needed to be washed. She was unclear what this had to do with Sweet Bee.

She looked at Savannah after a moment and leaned in closer. “I am excited to hear where this is going! What do you know about birds and bees that I don't?”

“No,” said Savannah. “The birds and the bees. It's a saying referring to... having a roll in the hay, you know,” she shrugged.

“A roll in the hay.”

“Yes, knocking boots, like you know,” she made an unclear hand gesture.

“Boots don't fit birds or bees,” commented Annabelle as she leaned back, confused.

“No no no, not like... real boots. Sorta like 'ah they had a sleepover and oh no, only one bed' type of deal. You get it. Come on,” she waved a hand.

Annabelle stared at her. “...No. Can you feel both sides of your face?”

Now Savannah stared. She blinked and shook her head, on the edge of a headache. “It mean's sex, Annabelle, human sex! You are thick! You had access to the internet for your whole life and didn't look up anything about sex?”

Annabelle's lids fell in a way that made her look irritated. “Oh. Yes, of course I have,” her voice became sweet. “Inappropriate behavior is not allowed in the park! If you are discovered abusing secluded areas of the park for inappropriate behavior you will be escorted from the grounds, and-”

“I get it,” laughed Savannah, showing her palms. “No fucking in the park yadda yadda, but my point is is that [Y/N] has, ha, grown up a lot since she visited the park as a crybaby kid.”

Annabelle looked down at her hands, and Savannah took that as cue to continue.

“She used to be scared of you, yeah. When you didn't have no brains in there. But you're pretty smart, even with such a sour personality,” she smirked. “What can I say? My Sweet Bee has good tastes in robots.”

She looked back up, her ears lowering smoothly. “Sweet Bee wants to have sex with a robot. Me?” She made a rumbling sound. “Do I look like a sex bot?”

That made Savannah belly laugh and she had to wipe tears away before she could say anything else. She caught her breath, just barely.

“We know you're not! No, you're just an overgrown horse-faced toy some billionaire thought would make a quick buck. Buuut you're attractive, so, yeah, it kinda works. Drawing in the crowds. Attracting robo-freaks. The works.”

Annabelle was quiet for a little bit, so Savannah went back to working away at the laptop casing in front of her.

[Y/N] was attracted to her? And Savannah too, to some degree. She didn't know how to feel about that. She liked them too, she really liked being around them and just talking, but sexual desire- it wasn't really something she had. All the sticky, wet parts. She would cringe, but her facial features were limited.

However, it wasn't so bad to be liked. To be honestly, genuinely liked. They weren't grabby children yanking her tail or parents demanding free photos because 'we have a season pass and you're just a robot!' They treated her like a person. Or, at least compared to every other human, they treated her like a person.

“Your Sweet Bee wants to have sex with me,” she said.

“Eyup,” Savannah replied, not looking up. “How else simple do I need to put it?”

“I don't have a reproductive system nor drive, human,” she said. “She should want something else.”

A lazy shrug. “Humans are weird, you of all should know. You've been here barely a week but obviously we're all nuts, right?”

Annabelle studied her. “I like when you have your hands inside of my chest,” she said at length. “But I don't have any drive for it.”

Savannah looked surprised, nearly shocked, as she stared Annabelle down with her lips slightly parted. Her temperature rose, and then she quickly went back to fiddling with the case. It snapped as plastic came off plastic. Though Annabelle thought it might break as she jerked it, Savannah was not concerned.

“Wow,” she finally said, quieter than she usually was. “You'd expect crassness from me, but I wouldn't expect it from you. I'll check 'get hit on by a horse bot' off my bucket list.”

With a loud pop the two halves of the shell were finally separated. Beneath, Savannah could take stock of the battery, the damaged SSD, the lonely stick of RAM. Maybe there was something to salvage here, but not by much. Her hands lingered on the case, however.

“I wouldn't really mind,” she said. “If you and [Y/N] got... friendly. It doesn't bother me. We're pretty open.”

And with that invitation Annabelle had made up her mind.

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

She snorted lightly. “Yes, there. In the back.”

You made a disgruntled grumble in response and reached in further, shining the light with your other hand at an uncomfortable angle. “You really couldn't wait for Savannah? Honestly, I don't see anything.”

“But I do feel something loose,” Annabelle said.

She shook her body so quickly that it became a short vibration, and something rattled. You grumbled again and pulled your hand out, squinting. You re-adjusted the light then reached in again. Annabelle waited eagerly, feeling the pads of your fingers grabbing around. Most of her hard innards were not particularly sensitive, neither painful nor pleasurable, but the pressure of a trustworthy hand there felt comforting.

“I really ain't that good at mechanical repair,” you muttered. “I feel like I'm going to ruin something.”

Her fan whirred lightly, blowing cool air against the hair of your arm. “I think that you are close.”

There was a soft sensation against colored plastic. Annabelle jerked and in turn you jerked back in concern.

“Did that hurt?” You asked. “I think I touched one of those thick cables going up to your head.”

She resisted a horse-like laugh for a human-like one. “Ha ha, yes, but it didn't hurt. That felt good.”

You skewed your face up towards hers. She blinked and parted her teeth in what she thought made her fake, permanent smile look more like a real one. “If I want to move my fingers again you will have to find the right wire.”

You looked down and flushed. Annabelle felt your fingers return and linger on the chord. Then they followed it, feeling around for one of the other, thinner wires that reached up towards her servos. You tugged on any wire you found, searching for the loose one. Annabelle leaned her head back, relaxed.

“I didn't think you liked people messing around with your stuff like this,” you commented awkwardly. “After you got mad at me for changing your fan settings.”

“I forgive you,” she said, chipper.

Eventually you found what you were looking for, but it took some effort to reconnect it given Annabelle's squirming. Her fan kicked up and she looked pleased, wiggling the fingers of her left hand.  But when you went to remove yourself from her chest she took hold of your wrist with the very hand you had just fixed.

“Do you want to touch me some more?” She asked.

You balked and your heart hammered. “Wh-what?” You exclaimed, incredulous.

Annabelle's lids fell in annoyance. “I don't like to repeat myself.”

You stared at her face, then your eyes flickered back to her chest where the shell of her interlocking plastic pieces had been removed to let you inside. She was half a skeleton.

“Don't- don't you uh, want me to put you back together?”

Annabelle tilted her head. “Savannah told me that you are attracted to me,” she came out with it. “It's okay if you want to touch me. It feels good.”

Your expression was amusing; you stuttered in embarrassment and started to ramble in half-irritation at Savannah's sheer gall. But when Annabelle pulled your palm back into her gaping torso you didn't exactly fight it. She watched you swallow thickly and then she let go of your wrist. You didn't move at first, but when you did your skin slid along the thick chords near her metal spine. She shivered.

“I just can't believe her,” you griped. “Stupid roboticist and her stupid smart brain. She didn't even wanna keep you and now she's just...”

“Less complaining. More groping,” Annabelle demanded, shifting how she sat so that her thighs spread and spine curved.

You chuckled, abashed. You kept feeling her and listening to her sigh.“I wonder why they would build you with pleasure sensors like this. I wish I could see your code right now.”

“Yes. Because code is what you truly desire to see right now,” Annabelle snipped.

“...Do you have a-?” Your eyes fell along her plastic pelvic plates. Of course, nothing was there.

“Stupid. No, I am not made of flesh. But you are,” she reached out and touched your forearm. “Do I have permission to touch you?”

You hesitated in pure shock but then nodded vigorously. Annabelle's hand slid down your arm, leaving behind goosebumps. She ran the soft, colorful silicon tips of her fingers back over them with some small fascination. You shivered, and she giggled meanly. You were so easily compliant, so fast to obey her comments and suggestions. Annabelle wondered what else she could make you do.

“Let's play 'show-and-tell!'” She chirped. “Do you know how to play that game?”

Your eyes darted around and brows furrowed. “Um. Yeah. Of course. But that's a little kid's game.”

She rolled her eyes. “It's a game for all ages, silly! So you must know now that since I have shown you something of mine,” she leaned forward. “It's your turn to show me something of yours.”

You leaned away and were quiet, obviously stupefied. You floundered for your next words and Annabelle found it endearing, despite her lack of patience. She let you take your time.

“What... what do you want to see?” You eventually asked, bashfully.

She put the back of her hands to her chin, though she didn't really place her weight atop them. Her eyelids drooped. “Oh Sweet Bee, aren't you supposed to be smart?”

You pouted ruefully. After a second you reached down, bunching up your shirt and yanking it clumsily over your head. You were left in your bra and jean shorts, arms crossed over your chest. Then, realizing hiding yourself would defeat the purpose, you forced your arms back down.

“Wow,” Annabelle said. “Don't look like such a sourpuss! If you're not having fun we can play something else. I know lots of games.”

You suddenly looked awful sorry. “No, I am having fun! I'm just... a little shy. We messed around with others before but you're-” You nibbled your bottom lip in thought. “-ya know. Different.”

“A robot?” Annabelle tilted her head.

You nodded. “A smart robot. An almost human robot.”

She felt her body warm at being called human and was gracious enough to ignore the 'almost' part. Annabelle's smile opened and she clapped her hands together lightly.

“How sweet. Well, I have audacity enough for the two of us, be as shy as you want. Now,” she lifted her hands and made grabbing motions. “I want to touch those.”

With your approval she groped and squeezed your breasts. Annabelle reveled in your embarrassed sighs until she was annoyed with your bra and deftly unlatched it, exposing your skin and earning you some well deserved pinching.

“Ah,” you exhaled. “Anna, I get the feeling you shouldn't know how to do any of this.”

“I learned it from the internet!” She exclaimed.

Your brows knitted together skeptically. “We took out your wi-fi card.”

She chortled. “I didn't learn it recently, stupid!”

You went blank before understanding covered your face, brows raising higher. The thought of her in that park, casually browsing intimate videos- you thought steam would leave your ears.

Annabelle laughed again and her hands slid down your waist. When she reached your shorts she lingered over the button and zipper, looking into your human eyes in wait for defiance. You spread your legs lewdly instead, giving her permission.

When her fingers slid over your damp underwear beneath the denim you whimpered, eyes shut and lips parted softly. Annabelle watched intently. These wet, squishy parts were intriguing; they were gross but a novelty to her. She rubbed down then up, swiping over the slick fabric as if she had done this a million times before. She thought something was missing. Annabelle grabbed your wrist gingerly, causing your eyes to flutter open in question.

“Touch, you greedy human.”

She put your hand inside of her chest cavity. You pressed closer, flitting around and stroking cords, metal, anything and everything. Annabelle's head buzzed pleasantly. Yes, there, she thought to herself. Her ears twitched backwards at a distant sound, but you were oblivious, senses overtaken by her fingers finding their way under your panties and between your wet folds.

“Show and tell isn't show and tell unless you tell me about what you're showing,” said Annabelle. “Tell me, do you actually like this?”

“Yeah,” you huffed against her. “It feels good, you're... ah... in the right place. And you?”

“Ha ha, I ask the questions here, understand?” She punctuated by pressing her middle finger lower against your entrance, though it was cramped in this position.

You nodded stupidly. Then you perked up, and Annabelle knew you heard it. She wrapped her other arm around you and pressed the pads of two fingers against your clit, making any protest get choked down. Then, the door opened.

“[Y/N]- oh!”

Annabelle took the arm from around you and waved, and though she'd paused her ministrations, her hand was still very much down your shorts. In turn, you squeaked and instinctively huddled closer to Annabelle as if that could hide your shame.

“Hi-ya, welcome home Savannah!” Annabelle sing-songed. “I took your advice. What a surprise that humans can be right half of the time!”

Savannah stayed in the door frame, jaw dropped and eyes big. She didn't speak for a while, letting you babble on and apologize and be embarrassed. She got her wits about her enough to talk over you.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, rubbing a hand through her hair. “You couldn't even lock the door?”

“Are you mad?” You asked.

“Mad?” She stepped in and closed the door. “I'm the one who gave this stupid horse permission but damn, I thought you'd tell me first.”

“It just sorta happened,” you peeped shamefully.

“Do you want to play with us too?” Annabelle asked happily, as if this weren't an awkward situation for the two humans.

Savannah leaned on her hip and rose a brow, smirking. “Oh, can't handle one human by yourself? Need me to show you how it's done?”

That got to her. Annabelle scowled, finally removing her hand from your shorts and crossing her arms across her open chest. “You've got a bad attitude. Maybe you should play by yourself.”

Savannah scoffed and came around to the other side of you, then took a seat. She possessively threw her arm over your shoulder and drew you against her chest. You looked flabbergasted. But Annabelle remained cross, her eyes made narrowed.

“Listen,” she said. “Whatever it is you think you know, you don't. Watching porn ain't experience. You gotta know how to give and take.”

You jolted a bit when Savannah carefully massaged your breast with the arm slung over your shoulder. You looked back at her, trying not to smile at her playful arrogance. “You can't argue with Annabelle,” you tried.

“I give and take,” Annabelle deadpanned ruefully. “I show and tell.”

Then she began to wonder if, despite how well she believed she'd been doing, perhaps she had not been doing so well after all. That maybe something was missing. That you weren't telling her. Fine, she admitted silently, Savannah can play and demonstrate. As long as Annabelle still got to be the one making you cry and squirm.

“Okay,” she continued. “You can show me 'how it's done.' So show me.”

She did, Savannah took you and molded you like wet clay, kissing your neck from behind. She played with your breasts with one hand and the other moved beneath your panties until your were panting, eyes batting up at Annabelle, though she got the feeling you were looking through her. She didn't like that. She grew tired of watching.

As if sensing her inability to watch for more than a few minutes Savannah piped up. “Okay horse, take their shorts off for me.”

Annabelle glared and grabbed the rolled ends of your shorts, shimmying them down until your ass was only covered by a thin later of sopping underwear. You were looking at her now, really looking, in a way that felt desperate.

“You can have them while I grab some fun things,” Savannah winked, sliding off the couch and leaving the room.

Annabelle leaned over you menacingly until you'd nearly laid back against the arm of the couch. “Finally,” she glowered. “I don't like sharing.”

You laughed breathily. “I thought you would have been all for sharing.”

Annabelle cupped your sex and snapped her teeth. She began fingering at the edges of your panties in an irritable way, pulling them down over round legs. “Sharing is caring!” She sung. “But I don't like sharing.”

You didn't seem to mind her snark so much after she had gotten you completely naked and began playing with your sticky folds, though. Soon Savannah returned, just in time to see Annabelle knuckle deep.

“Fuck,” you cursed softly. “Her fingers are pretty long.”

Savannah laughed, then dangled something beside Annabelle's head. “Wanna get saddled up horsey?”

“Quit calling me a horse,” she sneered. “I am a robot. What is this. Oh.”

She'd seen these 'fun things' before, during late hours of bored research. It was a way for humans to have the genitals of other humans. She took them into her dirtied hands and stared down at them. The long, wide, black belt was so large it spilled over her palms. But she was most interested in the thick silicon shaft, its matte rainbow-colored body matching her own. She knew what to do.

She stood, her lightening-fast brain quickly and simply getting the harness on without much fuss at all. She tightened its straps after inserting the shaft through the ring. Then, Annabelle was still and looked down at herself. It almost made her want to laugh. Instead, Savannah laughed for her.

“What a sight,” she snorted, once more sitting behind you with your back to her chest.

“Yeah,” you replied dreamily.

Annabelle got onto her knees on the couch, grasping the base of her dick. Suddenly you thrust something towards her. It was a small bottle. She poured the liquid generously over her dick when Savannah instructed her to, and with a few stroked Annabelle was lubed up. She didn't care for the sensation in her hand's joints.

“Go ahead,” said Savannah, pinching and plucking at your nipples. “[Y/N] can take it.”

Annabelle lined up, and even though there wasn't a lot of room she was determined. She didn't understand why she wanted you to be under her so badly. She didn't even have any sexual desire. But imagining you below her heavy body – splayed out submissively with her name dripping from your lips – was so enticing.

The tip of her rainbow dick pushed against your sex. This was supposed to go slow at first. She knew that at least, even if in many of the videos the humans rarely waited.

Savannah softly encouraged her. “There ya go, good robot, give them time to adjust. You're pretty big.”

But you were so open, so willing, she thought that you may have been stretched out recently. It didn't take any time at all to seat herself. When it ached you asked her to slowly re-enter. Annabelle grabbed your thighs and growled mechanically, parts inside her open chest grinding together visibly. She took herself out and started to slowly enter again.

“I do what I want,” she warned, even as she was very much not doing what she wanted.

“And what do you want?” Savannah asked smartly. Annabelle could see where her once free hand had since slunk away, touching herself.

I want to make you annoying humans scream, she thought wildly. “I want you to shut up.”

This didn't phase Savannah. She smiled. “Mm, you could try.”

Annabelle was carefully fucking you now, flesh meeting plastic as she disappeared inside of you again and again. You were blissed out, barely listening to them talk. But Annabelle was on high alert, her overactive brain focused on both your subtle sounds of pleasure and Savannah's sarcastic mouth.

“How about I get a taste,” Savannah licked her lips. “You're really hoggin' my fiance, you know that? Here.”

Savannah got up and just as soon went down again, her knees to the carpet in front of Annabelle. Annabelle's pace slowed as she stared at Savannah curiously. Savannah opened her mouth and pointed at it. So Annabelle reluctantly left your pliant cunt and grabbed the base of her wet cock to lay the thick tip against Savannah's tongue. She knew what this was, but had never seen anyone do this with a toy before.

“I fail to see how this will be pleasurable for you,” she stated.

Savannah mumbled around the tip. “Ew don know anyfing.”

She suckled it, then moved forward to take it's girth. Annabelle was shocked with just how much she could take, given how hefty it was. But here she was, eyes almost streaming, throat bulging, drooling around a half-lube-half-pussy flavored rainbow. Annabelle was impressed.

Savannah hummed around her dick and rubbed herself needfully under her slacks. But soon she was releasing her lips from Annabelle with a pop, gasping for air and wiping her messy face. She looked up at Annabelle and Annabelle instinctual plopped her dick against the side of Savannah's cheek lightly, smearing it grossly with her own spit.

“Mmm, you taste great [Y/N],” she complimented hoarsely.

You had been idly jerking yourself off while watching, and now that the attention was back on you felt yourself throb. Annabelle touched your legs, then squeezed your thigh.

“Flip over,” she demanded. “So I can push you against your ugly couch.”

You scrambled to listen and soon your ass was in the air. Annabelle immediately spanked your right cheek with a loud smack, and you yelped. As if to say sorry she kneaded and massaged it. But the sweetness didn't last for long. With one hand Annabelle guided herself to you again –  her dick finding home in little time – and with the other hand she gathered both your wrists and pressed them back against your spine. The weight was comfortably hard, your head and cheek shoved against the cushions while she fucked you. She was like a piston. Annabelle never got tired.

“You work pretty hard for being such an asshole,” Savannah's voice came close. “Let me help you out a little.”

Annabelle slowed up when human hands rattled around inside of her, touching her spine, the thick wires which lead into her head. She hissed and her speaker crackled. Savannah said something but neither you nor Annabelle could hear it. Then you felt it, building up like a flood against a dam, putting pressure in your belly. You made an involuntary squeal the next time she was flush to your skin. Annabelle tightened her grip.

She stared quietly when you quivered and squirmed against her grasp. Waves and waves of pleasure overcame your tired body as she drove you against the dingy couch cushions.

“Anna, Anna,” you warbled senselessly.

When you'd come-to enough to have a semblance of thought you whimpered with the over stimulation. She wasn't slowing down.

“Wow,” laughed Savannah airily. “You made them come without even touching them! That's a first.”

Annabelle shook lightly as Savannah's fingers caressed down her chords.“A shame such behavior is disallowed on the park grounds,” she said, far more collected than she looked. “I have a better understanding of why humans might be tempted to engage in public.”

Savannah chuckled, and you whimpered again. You struggled at the hold around your wrists but she held tight, as expected, but you were brimming with light and an overwhelmingly wordless, bodily feeling. It was too much. You unconsciously teared up. Then Annabelle slowed, her body clattering as she shivered. She stayed still inside of you, her dick fully seated, as Savannah taunted.

“Oh, guess you like that.”

Annabelle glanced at her, a few small wires pulled taut in Savannah's hand. She gave them a little tug and Annabelle's speakers squeaked robotically, a harsh, garbled noise that made you flinch. After a moment she released your abused wrists and took the base of her cock to ease it warmly out of your stretched cunt. A string of slime followed, before it fell away messily.

“Did, did she-” you panted, collapsing immediately.

“Well I certainly did,” Savannah sighed, sitting on the floor and supported by the couch. “God, I fuckin' love robots.”

Annabelle sat, hands on her knees and dick glistening as it dried. She looked down at her dick, the silicon forever hard and erect, its rainbow colors smeared with flaking bodily fluids. She only drew her attention away when Savannah caressed her legs. Savannah reached for the clasps at the side of the straps, loosening them. They sagged, and so did the dick.

“I think your worth just went up by at least a thousand bucks,” she joked.

Annabelle's lids fell and she gave Savannah a sardonic look. “Enough for at least five hundred more packets of Pockey.”

Savannah rose her brow, then she cracked a smile and slapped Annabelle's thigh with a loud bellowing laugh. “You're hilarious! [Y/N], can we keep her?”

You opened you drowsy eyes and smirked. “So it's later already?”

She crossed her arms and shrugged. “Eh, she's grown on me. Annabelle. What do you think?”

What did she think. Annabelle feigned blinking and let her eyes focus on the dingy carpet, the tattered threads and stains. You and Savannah had taken her away from the only thing she'd ever really known. Her home. But home was crowds pulling at her tail, security ushering her to her quarters, maintenance touching her legs in a far-away, numb sort of way. Did she even still want to return home, she wondered. Her code still told her to call the authorities but now- instead of being an air horn in her ear- it was like a whisper, a caterpillar babbling on her shoulder. A katydid flying into the hot wind.

She could stay here and be okay with that. She did not need to answer the whisper. Did not even have to listen to it at all, if she didn't want to. Could ask [Y/N] to put it out of her mind for good. Annabelle could stay here and bend you to her desires even if you didn't know she was manipulating you into doing what she wanted. When she looked at you, sweaty and tired with sex and affection, she felt happy.

Annabelle thought through all of this in less than three seconds. To you and Savannah it may have seemed she answered immediately, as if it had taken no thought at all.

“I am worth more to you here than I am in parts?” She asked.

Savannah looked at you, sharing an expression that Annabelle read as guilty. It made her want to laugh.

“Well,” you began. “Yeah, you're special. It just wouldn't be right to treat you like an object.”

“Aaand we can't exactly send you off to Lolly's Mountain like nothing happened, either. They'd find our damned fingerprints or hair and we'd die in prison. You don't wanna send us to prison, do you?” She pouted humorously.

“Ha ha. Just you, Savannah. Yes, I will submit to staying here. As long as I never have to blow up balloon animals for children ever again.”

You snorted and sat up, nudging Annabelle lightly with your knuckles. “Would you blow up balloons for me?”

“No.”

Savannah was bellowing again, half keeled over as if that had been the funniest joke she'd heard in her entire little meat-bag life. Annabelle's smile stretched open.

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

Nobody expected the prized possession of Lolly's Mountain County Fair to be spirited away by a couple of backwoods STEM majors. They never guessed that, when the cameras had lost connection, that they had been taken down by an unemployed computer science geek and her overlooked robotisist fiance. That Annabelle Rose was taken down by a few strings of code and a screwdriver, packed into a car with squeaky brakes, and then hidden away in the middle of nowhere on the far outskirts of the city. But that's how it had happened.

You sat in the living room, scooping soggy cereal into your mouth while scrolling the laptop on the coffee table. Savannah in turn was flicking through T.V. channels. You mumbled to yourself and tapped a fresh job listing. Even though you had an interview coming up next week you wanted all the chances you could get. The T.V. droned on in the background until an overly saccharine voice pulled you from your grumpy expression into the real world.

“They're talking about me!” Annabelle cried.

You looked up and realized Savannah had landed on the news. The news anchors were indeed talking about Lolly's Mountain, but not Annabelle. You hummed through a mouthful of cereal.

“...But there are plans for Lolly herself to introduce a new character, one based off one of the most famous rides from Lakeside, the water park themed section of Lolly's Mountain-”

Savannah turned it up with Annabelle's annoying goading. Then the animatronic leaned forward on the love seat and let out a recorded snort.

“They are replacing me. With a beaver,” she deadpanned.

You chuckled, and she shot you a nasty look. “Hey, Buddy Beaver is an iconic part of Lakeside's coolest water slide from the seventies!”

“How were you scared of the fucking carousel as a kid but not that death trap?” Savannah cringed.

You shrugged. “It wasn't that scary. It's just a big slide.”

Annabelle cut in. “Humans. You are missing the point. A beaver.”

“...But this announcement also marks the six month anniversary of Annabelle Rose, the beloved children's icon and County Fair mascot, going missing. The authorities are still searching for the culprit...”

“They ain't found us yet, then they ain't gonna,” drawled Savannah with satisfaction.

You agreed, though nervously. Even though you and Savannah had painstakingly scratched off and removed the branding from Annabelle's innards you still got paranoid that one day she would be discovered. You weren't sure if removing the branding would fool the world. A copy, you'd say, just a good bootleg made to replicate the original that had been stolen. And if that didn't work then the re-designs Savannah had been slaving away at would place another barrier upon discovery. But they weren't quite ready, so you still got anxious sometimes.

Savannah changed the channel and Annabelle threw a fit.

“I was watching that. Put it back,” she commanded, leaning forward and glaring.

“Your dumb horse face don't scare me,” Savannah waved a hand dismissively.

You sighed and smiled. “Come on, don't you gotta get ready for work?”

Savannah blew air between her teeth dramatically then flipped her phone forward. Her eyes widened and she jumped up. She gave you a kiss on your head and scrambled to pack a homemade lunch before running to the door. When she opened her mouth to complain that she could not find her keys Annabelle helpfully chimed in that they were in the office.

“Shit, thanks,” she muttered, grabbing them and then kissing Annabelle atop her head. “See y'all for dinner,” she winked.

It was just you and Annabelle, now. You'd often spent your days like this, alone in the house with her while Savannah went to work. You were still struggling to keep the bills paid. Freelance work offered some extra cash, but when you had both decided not to tear Annabelle into scrap you had given up quite a lot. Your debts could be half paid off by now. Could have kept up with your mortgage without deciding between a healthy dinner and a roof. But somehow- with her here- these worries left your mind. You could even see it in Savannah, how she jeered Annabelle in a playful sort of way. You were glad for choosing Annabelle.

“You're making that face again,” she said.

You perked up and flushed. “What- what face?”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “That face you make before you jump on me.”

You shook your head bashfully. “Oh, you mean hug. I really want to get into your head sometime and look at what it says for facial recognition.”

She suddenly stood up, servos hardly making a sound, and then plopped down next to you on the couch. You'd long since finished your cereal and were thankful, or else she'd have been happy to splash milk over your pale T-shirt. Annabelle drew her arm around you and spread like she owned the place.

“I really want to get into your head,” she repeated you sweetly. “And look at what it says when I trap you on the couch.”

You giggled and leaned against her. “Silly robot.”

“Silly human. Fetch me the remote.”

You did, and she turned the channel back onto the news only to be gravely disappointed that they had since moved on from talking about her. You let her browse while you piddled about the internet, until it was time for lunch and you reluctantly peeled yourself away to eat.

Maybe you should have used her for your own selfish financial needs. Maybe you should have broke her down into parts the moment she'd laid in your office so you wouldn't have to struggle so hard, and so that you were not in danger of going to prison. But as the intelligent robot deemed Annabelle Rose yelled at cartoons on the T.V. you thought, yes, this was all worth it.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, October 4

BUFFY: Nothing's ever simple anymore. I'm constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. It's just, like, the more I know, the more confused I get. GILES: I believe that's called growing up. BUFFY: I'd like to stop then, okay? GILES: I know the feeling.

~~BtVS 2x07 “Lie To Me”~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Someone New (Lily, Buffy, PG) by badly_knitted

some sort of norman rockwell fantasy (Buffy/Faith, G) by secretlyasummers

Hate Sex (Angel/Spike, E) by Greensword101

Homemaking (Cordelia/Wesley, Angel/Cordelia, G) by Kassia (TurnSpitDog)

Men Like Them (Wesley, G) by NAOA

98 + Fuffy (Buffy/Faith, not rated) by coraniaid

A Free Man (Ethan Rayne, not rated) by naoa-ao3

The Burden of Fathers and Sons (Angel, Wesley, not rated) by naoa-ao3

Dancing With Dimensions (Willow/Tara, T) by Laragh-WT-Wayhaught

Behind Blue Eyes (Buffy/Spike, R) by VeroNyxK84

[Chaptered Fiction]

The Sky's Gonna Open, Chapter 4 (Lindsey/OC, T) by lindseymcdonaldseyelashes

Power In Your Eyes, Chapter 4 Complete! (Buffy, Giles, Constantine xover, G) by TheSovereigntyofReality

Millennial: Kelvin, Chapter 3 (Buffy, Dawn, Star Trek xover, T) by BrennaLynn

Moments that Make You: The Hero and The Princess, Chapter 60 (Cordelia/Doyle, T) by myheadsgonenumb

Anything to Save You, Chapter 2 (Fred/Spike, Willow/Tara, not rated) by Kittenwritings

If We Could Freeze Time, Chapters 4-5/50 (Buffy/Spike, E) by cosplayermadness

Texts From the Hellmouth, Chapter 4 (Buffy, Dawn, Dawn/Sam, Supernatural xover, T) by dwinchester

Days of Future Past, Chapter 23 (Buffy/OC, Angel/OC, Buffy/Angel, M) by a2zmom

[French language] En l'an 2023, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Faith, T) by FridayQueen

Slayer Begins 3: Iron Heart, Chapter 10 (Faith/Tony Stark, Iron Man xover, T) by BrennaLynn

Supporting Natasha Romanoff (and Iron Man too), Chapter 80 (Willow/Natasha Romanoff, Marvel xover, T) by SomeMeaninglessName

Post-Grave, Chapter 3/9 (Buffy/Giles, unrated) by Skylark62

Spidey Does Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Chapter 10 (multiship, Spiderman xover, E) by megamatt09

Kinktober 2023, Chapter 4/31 (Buffy/Giles, E) by Skyson

Spike visits his Children/grandchildren, Chapter 9 (Spike, multiple xovers, T) by Hopetess

We Don't Know What's Around the Corner, Chapter 4 (Angel/Spike, M) by the_widow_twankey

Twelve Steps, Chapter 1 (Castiel/Dean, Faith/Buffy, Supernatural xover, T) by dwinchester

Return of the Soulless Vampire: BTVS S9 Rewrite, Chapter 38 (Ensemble, M) by Hoomanbeans

Next Time Won't You Sing With Me, Chapter 16 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Willow-98

Her Old Fashioned Boy, Chapter 4 (Giles/Jenny, K+) by Bobbie23

A Marriage of Inconvenience, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, R) by all_choseny

New Normal, Chapter 14 (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only) by holetoledo

Destiny or Choices Made?, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by charmed4lifekaren

Fate Plans and We Laugh, Chapter 17 (Batman xover, FR15) by Hermionetobe

The Eyes, Chapter 9 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Dusty

Blood and Black Lace, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, R) by SlayrGrl

A Place in the Sun, Chapter 25 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by honeygirl51885

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Buffy Summers from Once More, With Feeling in a 1940’s AU (worksafe) by sunshineraccoon

Artwork: Spike x Fred moodboard for aufredpratt (worksafe) by fretsboards

Artwork: FAITH! For all us Buffy fans. (worksafe) by nightheartcomics

Artwork: The Basket - Inspired by S4’s episode “Fear Itself” (Buffy, worksafe) by dirtyaimfanstuff-blog

Artwork: “can’t we just skip it?” (Willow/Tara, worksafe) by thirstghosting

Artwork: sweet boyyyyy (Spike, worksafe) by tubesock86

Gifset: lgbtqcreators battleships bingo: typography - Buffy Summers (worksafe) by lopeirce

Vid: Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Theme Cover ft. Pertox & Gonz (worksafe) by Stu Ureta

[Reviews & Recaps]

Band Candy is a fun episode, and I don’t really have much to say about it beyond that. by coraniaid

**I CAN'T WATCH!!** Buffy the Vampire Slayer S5 Ep 8 "Shadow" Reaction: FIRST TIME WATCHING by Nick Reacts

Buffy the Vampire Slayer S02E04 First Time Watching || "Inca Mummy Girl" by JabberwockyReacts

WHYYYYYYYY Buffy The Vampire Slayer | 2x17 'Passion' | Blind Reaction by Vic

PODCAST: Episode 39: Lovers Walk (W/ Rayne) by Gym Was Cancelled

[In Search Of]

Halloween Costume ideas requested by Fawlty_Fleece

[Community Announcements]

[Revamped IWRY Fic Marathon] On November 4, we will be hosting an ‘I Will Remember You’ watch party on our discord!! by iwillrememberyoumarathon [on tumblr]

Sunnydale After Dark has new categories for Meta-analysis! Find and post them under Essay (Spuffy) or Essay (BtVS) by SAD Admins

[Fandom Discussions]

I very much suspect that the people who have a problem with Angel reversing Time In IWRI hated him long before that by angelustheimmortal

Age Talk: if you use a WIDE range, Faith could be 15 - 20 years old when she gets to Sunnydale by juanabaloo

There’s a string of episodes, 5x04-5x07, where Spike realizes he has feelings for Buffy, but there’s a moment in 5x06 that I find particularly interesting by marilyn-not-monroe

In Band Candy, all the adults of Sunnydale regress to their younger selves, suddenly having the same childish attitudes and immature tastes they did when they were teenagers by coraniaid

What pisses me off about season 5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They want us to feel sorry for Riley by thavron

Buffy will be like “is anybody going to shackle this sexy vampire to the wall?” and then by aphony-cree

i truly don’t get when people say kennedy is not willow’s type because she’s loud, by missjessefantastico

Mini buffy rant by lifeis-strangemercy

Are you a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan? If so, take a trip down memory lane as we rank the seven seasons of the show! by thegameofnerds

[ask] Do you think the group were justified in their reaction to Wes after Holtz stole Connor? answered by buffy-targaryen

the more i think about it the more i want tara and kendra to be a thing, everybody hear me out by missjessefantastico

It’s completely wild to me that, even by Hollywood standards, Buffy the character ages 15 years over the course of the show by doublydeadgirl

The scene where Buffy realizes that Spike got his soul back is one of the absolute best scenes in the show by hermyohkneegranger

I think Oz’s throwaway comment in Band Candy that his parents “ate a ton” of the titular cursed candy might be the only indication we ever get that Oz even has parents at all by coraniaid

Reacting to Reactions! - BtVS Season 6 [alley box reaction to Gone] continued by multiple posters

Who was the most loyal to Angel? by The Whirlwind, multiple posters

Who was the most loyal to Buffy? by The Whirlwind, multiple posters

How old is Dawn supposed to be in season 5? by Tuxedo_Mark

does Buffy have a weakness? by not_firewood_yet

Appreciation post for our Irish king Doyle. by Sweet-Siren

Joyce's steps of denial resonate with my experience by Archonate_of_Archona

What are your top 3 fav Spuffy episodes? by GraxelDeBaudre

Plot hole with BTVS and ATS by WhatName230

How exactly do Vampires age in the Buffyverse? by Lysander1999

What is your favorite music in Buffy by BluFaerie

Most attractive character in both Buffy and Angel by JellyfishDry9464

Spike was physically and verbally abusive to Harmony. What's your opinion? by aeryn1227

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

PUBLICATION: Buffy's New Sequel Is Finally Doing Justice To A Powerful Vampire The Show Overlooked by ScreenRant

PUBLICATION: Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Dawn's Origins, Explained by GameRant

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[rebelmeg]

Rebelmeg's BBB 2022 Masterpost

For the @buckybarnesbingo!

B1 - In Blood and In Bond - Chapter 2: Solutions | Teen | Winifred Barnes & Sarah Rogers, Bucky & Steve | fanfic

Winnie comes up with a desperate idea to solve her problem, and Sarah can't find it in her to say no.

B2 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 10 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

Wonder if he left his towel and swim trunks behind too?

B3 - Brooklyn Brothers Title Board | Gen | photo edit

A title board for my fanfic "Brooklyn Brothers"

B4 - In Blood and In Bond - Chapter 6: Endings and Beginnings | Teen | Winifred Barnes & Sarah Rogers, Bucky & Steve

Winnie reads Sarah's letter, and makes an important decision.

B5 - In Blood and In Bond - Chapter 1: Mistakes | Teen | Winifred Barnes & Sarah Rogers, Bucky & Steve

Sarah and Winnie support each other through some of life's worst trials.

U1 - Green is Not Your Color | Gen | Bucky & Sam | fanfic

This whole roommate thing would go a lot better if Bucky would stop stealing Figaro's affection from Sam.

U2 - In Blood and In Bond - Chapter 3: Brothers | Teen | Winifred Barnes & Sarah Rogers, Bucky & Steve | fanfic

As Steve struggles through his first year of life, he and Bucky bond as close as the brothers they are. Until the events of life separate them, to the tears and sorrow of Sarah and Winifred.

U3 - Bucky Plums Photo Edit | Gen | image edits

A trio of Bucky & plum flavored photo edits

U4 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 6 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

The continuing adventures of Bucky's wandering arm, and Sam's loyal documentation

U5 - In Blood and In Bond - Chapter 4: Reunited | Teen | Winifred Barnes & Sarah Rogers, Bucky & Steve

Steve makes a new friend, and Sarah reunites with an old friend.

C1 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 7 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

Would you consider that colors, or fine washables?

C2 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 1 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

Sam makes a post on social media about Bucky's penchant to forget his arm.

C3 - In the Childrens Ward | Teen | Avengers | fanfic

Stuck together in the hospital for a couple of days, a group of injured kids start to get to know each other.

C4 - Blood in the Water | Teen | Bucky & Tony | fanfic

Bucky has a recurring nightmare again, but this time Tony Stark turns up afterwards with sympathy and a gesture of friendship.

C5 - Bucky's Blanket Fort | Gen | drabble

Bucky makes a blanket fort and has guests.

K1 - Defrosting Winter Soldiers | Gen | Bucky, Tony, Rhodey, Steve, Sam | fanfic

It’s easy to joke about unfunny things when you’re super drunk and with friends on Christmas.

K2 - Hug and a Haircut | Gen | Bucky/Natasha | fanfic

Bucky's ready for a haircut, and asks someone he trusts to help him.

K3 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 8 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

Now the question is... which one of the neighbors brought it back?

K4 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 9 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

This episode involves a comment thread!

K5 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 3 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

Sam continues to find Bucky's arm in weird places.

Y1 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 2 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

Sam finds Bucky's arm in a... unique place.

Y2 - Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Part 4 | Gen | Bucky & Sam | social media post

The arm travels a bit farther this time.

Y3 - Have You Seen My Arm? (AKA Sam dragging Bucky on social media - Prologue) | Gen | Bucky & Sam | drabble

Bucky keeps losing track of his arm (while it's still attached to his body). Sam is... helping?

Y4 - Hug and a Haircut moodboard | Gen | Bucky/Natasha | moodboard

Moodboard to go with fic

Y5 - Old-Time Taste of Brooklyn | Gen | Bucky & JARVIS, Tony & JARVIS | fanfic

Bucky has a pizza-sized snag in his memory, but JARVIS is more than happy to help him out.

Adopted Prompt: Saving Steve - In Blood and In Bond - Chapter 5: Couldn't Shake It | Teen | Winifred Barnes & Sarah Rogers, Bucky & Steve | fanfic

Sarah receives a diagnosis, and makes preparations for the end.

Adopted Prompt: Seeing Red - BuckyNat Date Night | Mature | Bucky/Natasha | drabble and moodboard

Bucky and Natasha have a very red date night.

I was pretty convinced that I wasn't gonna make a blackout this round, but thank goodness, I did!

[accretion--disk]

Moodboard: Stark Children + Of Monsters and Men Lyrics

[3/6] Sansa Stark + Slow and Steady + Yellow Light

[indecisive-capricorn]

Headcanons to You getting married and going on a honeymoon with Yandere Steve Rogers (NSFW):

WARNING: Non-con, mature language, sex, forced pregnancy, forced breeding, breeding kink, riding, creampie, forced sex, etc.

SUMMARY: After being forced to get married to a heavily obsessed and insanely in love Steve Rogers, you will have to go through the honeymoon he planned specially to get you to stay with him forever.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know how to feel about this in all honesty, but i hope you enjoy it!!

First of all, it doesn't matter if you had willingly or unwillingly marry Steve, because even you refuse, he would find a way for him to be with you for the rest of your lives.

• If you were, however, willing to marry him in the end, then he would grant you a little bit of "mercy" from his rage and made sure to keep his promises and do you good, but that rage would not be kept if you only say that to escape and he would turn into his deadly yandere side.

• If you were more than willing to marry him in the beginning, then many people would send prayers to your way because you are either a very, very, very oblivious idiot or you are the type of person to have accepted your fate. But whatever the reason is, the good news is that you would be spared from his rage, be warned though that it may appear a bit if you fight back in the near future of your marriage.

• If you had fought back from the very beginning with the common sense pretty much everyone would have (but then again, let's face it, all of you would just love Steve Rogers to be your hubby, won't you?), then it would make it harder for him. He loves the sweet doll you are whenever he stalked you from a far distance and he would not take it lightly to you fighting back, especially after both of your marriage.

After the wedding ceremony, he would immediately take you on a honeymoon with him in a deserted island he found with Tony's help.

He had always wanted kids and often found himself imagining having some with his sweetheart, so don't be suprised when you find out that he is busy trying to find ways to make you pregnant.

He is quite possessive and protective of you too, and would constantly beat up anyone that tries to breathe in your way. He doesn't like seeing his darling being with someone else that is not him, especially during both of your honeymoon, although that's not much of a problem since the island you two stayed in only had a few people. He would make sure to keep you to himself and constantly tries to busy the both of you with activities you both can do together.

Speaking of possessive, whether you like it or not, he would place many hickeys and love bites all over your body and expose them whenever you two are outside. He wants to make sure everyone knows that you are his, and would keep on finding ways to take away your concealer, so that you had no choice but to reveal it.

For revealing clothes, he doesn't really want his sweetheart to show off things that is reserved for him. But in the extreme case of that situation, you wouldn't even be seen by anyone, except Steve, because he would probably just lock you up somewhere. However, if his possessive side took over, you would be able to wear some sexy clothes, but only because he wants everyone to see your hickeys and bruises after sex.

With the mention of sex, that would definitely take place in your marriage during your honeymoon one way or another.

• If you are the oblivious female or the female who is in acceptance of their fate, then he would go gentle on you for the first time you two have sex together. He would always whisper how much he loved being inside you and had accidentally mentioned that he had been wanting this for the longest time when you two were still just friends, but you just shrug it off, thinking that he was just speaking blurting random things out and continued moaning in pleasure. But the you only in acceptance would probably just wonder exactly how long this man had been stalking you. Though for the other times you two have sex, Steve would go rough on you but would ask a few times if you were comfortable with it.

• If you are the reluctant but eventually willing female who married Steve, then he would go gentle on you too. However, he would be rough when the session was almost finished, which will leave you feeling more sore than you should be. Be careful though because he can direct his anger towards you during sex and go rough on you, leaving a few deep marks here and there. But hey, at least he took care of you after sex by massaging your back and preparing a warm bath for the both of you...

• If you are the female with common sense in your stomach, then be prepared to get fucked. Literally. Steve would direct all of his anger during your sex session and would make punishments for you that could leave more than a few marks after and he would constantly leave hickeys on your body that made it impossible for you to hide them all, unless you had a large amount of body paint with the same shade as your skin colour. Even when you had fainted a couple of times during the very long sex that took many, many hours, he would just simply keep on thrusting into you and continued to milk his cum into your womb, very much obssessed with the idea of a child and thought that if you two had one, you would behave around him and stop fighting back. However, after you had woken up, Steve forced got you to ride his cock and squeezed your butt cheeks or waist whenever either of you came again.

After you two had finished your honeymoon, your stomach was probably swollen with a life living inside of it for the next 9 months until you can finally pop out a baby from your body. But don't worry, even if you aren't pregnant after the honeymoon, Steve would make sure that you are after you both went home to your isolated house where no one would find you.... ever.

[menatiera]

Best bot by journeythroughtherain

A moodboard for journey's amazing, soft and fluffy get together fanfic, Best Bot.

Read it you want some fluff for these lovely characters, if you like outsider POV (this DUM-E POV is absolutely amazing!), if you don’t want to commit to anything long for a reason at the moment (it’s 1.5K only), or if you just want to indulge in the warmth (yes, Dummy is the bestest bot!). This fic is perfect for all of these, and you’ll definitely feel better after reading it. (I did. Despite being sick.)

@journeythroughtherain​ I hope you like it! <3

[crows-child]

okay this celebration is real now

HAPPY 253 FOLLOWERS MYSELF AND I DAMN ITS GREAT TO BE KING--

that one kid at the back who's plotting the whole class' murder -- I'll make you a moodboard on whatever the hell you want!

me myself and my friend who wants me to date someone already -- imma make u a lil doodle in origami paper

WE ARE THE MIDDLE CHILDREN OF THIS GENERATION -- cym, kmk all that

Unicorns has lasers in their horns and they will kill you with style-- confess your love to me when you still got the chance, im dying

*muffled screaming*-- CRY YOUR HEART OUT I WANNA BRAID YOUR HAIR

babe "tearsin my eyesc" by rose just dropped -- i'll tell you what i associate with you

wake me up when the world starts to end -- i'm gonna brutally honest and tell you what i think of you

@acciorxses @dead-james-potter the first people who followed me, my first marriages and i'm still in tears because of it

@nicexe303 a dear filipino i can relate to

@viva-la-resistancce my fucking wife and i will proudly yell it to everyone, especially if they're homophobic

@tfischaitea may, tis i, the one who spams you disney shit and i love you for being kind to me

@nymphadorathebubba my drinking buddy, i will love you always

@hxuse-xf-black i treat you as a mentee of mine and i am your tony stark and congrats on ur relationship!

@hemlock-the-viper i hate and love your scottish shit

@jegulus-trash i still cant believe you followed me i-

@jamespotterinskirts im still in shock you followed me

@wholesome-dragon-lady before i followed you, i see you in every post and i love our first interaction

@darkacademia-lover thank you for understanding and putting up with me

@feareth-who i hope we can interact more!

@astrqnova you're a cool person tbh

@fierreth-who I LOVE YOU ISTG platonic crush go-

@imgayandilovedaggers i still confuse you with @rwbel-r3bel

@cool-way-to-die a cool way to die is to die with glory

@technicallymelancholical my child.

@padfoot-supremacy i love it when you spam my notifs lmao

@themostingloriousisvictorious SIX THE MUSICAL YES

@shes-my-prince @im-his-prince i love ur urls its so cute<3

@try-cry-why-try im confused with your url but i love your love for camilo

@albusseveruspottery i wanna talk with you more tbh

@doctor-cerium SPAM MY SHIT MWAHAHAHA

@yonkitybonkity i love your love for conan gray, you got me into him lmaoo

@copyofonlyangel28 i only know its you because of the 28, its like your signature or something. its cute:D

@jackinthebeanstalk-sendhelp casper or jack now heyyy

@ghost-spidey you've been a parent more than my dad tbh

@creative-girl i love our random talks!

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

↠  summary: Overcome with fever, you struggle to separate fact from fiction and after an unwanted visitor meets his end, you finally experience the infamous Blood God.  

↠ fantasy au

↠  pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader

↠  tw: blood, death/killing, gore, reader’s lack of morals, fever dream flashbacks

↠  wc: ~2.3k 

↠  previous chapter ↟ make a request ↟ create the next moodboard 

The wildflowers seemed to grow around you, threading through your fingers and cradling your body as the sun warmed your skin. You stretched your limbs, basking in the sweet rays when your hand was swatted back to your side, capturing your attention.

You turned your head, eyes meeting Dream’s. His green irises were nearly iridescent in the brightness. His blond hair was lighter than when you’d last seen him. Then again, the two of you were covered in grime, on opposite ends of a blade.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, voice calm and optimistic. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You smiled slightly. “I’ve met a man, Dream. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to fall in love with me,” you joshed, turning your head back up to the sun. Spirals of color swirled with the clouds in the sky, mimicking a strange painting.

You could tell Dream was smirking at you. “Bring him with you. I need you back.”

You brushed your fingers against the brittle pages of the book in front of you. The worn spine and faded words brought a small smirk to your lips, knowing full well the book was only in such a state because of how well-loved it had been. It was an old story, one that you’d grown up hearing before being shuffled off to bed with the other children.

There was some kind of red marking in it as if it’d been in a child’s hands before you, which was probably the reason you’d had to stand on a chair to get to it. Of course, this was done behind Techno’s back as he bustled about, finishing up chores and whatnot.

You knew the extent of your injures now: a sprained, almost broken ankle, your side was torn open making Techno recount how many stitches were crisscrossing against your ribs. The pain that was the most troublesome was oddly the gash on your arm, cut open by a branch in the mix of your rush through the snow. Occasionally, your fingers went numb if you twisted your wrist wrong or pressed on the wound, to which Techno would cleverly quip, “Just don’t do that then.”

Techno strolled into your room, leaning against the door frame as he rolled the sleeves of his tunic. You perked an eyebrow in his direction, silently asking what he wanted. “You’ve spiked a fever three times this week. I need to keep an eye on you, but I have some chores to take care of outside,” he stated, approaching your bed.

“It’s the wound on her side,” an unfamiliar voice called, breaking into your dreaming. Your body began to tremble as your fingers absently searched for more blankets. You felt sticky and ill as if at any intense movement, you would surely die.

Coarse fingers brushed against your forehead gently. You recognized Techno almost instantly, even with the tiredness of your body preventing you from opening your eyes. “No, love. We need to get your fever down.”

You swallowed hoarsely. “Creat. I need creat,” you grumbled, reaching for his hands. “There’s some in my bag,” you mumbled, being pulled back to sleep by your exhausted body.

You furrowed your brows, narrowing your eyes as you looked at him. “So?”

“So, you’re coming with me,” he stated, pulling the book out of your grasp and yanking the covers off your frame. You let out a protesting groan as he held his hands out for you. When you didn’t budge, he rolled his eyes, slipping his arms beneath you and pulling you up as if you were nothing more than a sack of flour. You struggled to escape his grasp but to no avail. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder, brat,” he threatened playfully.

You scoffed. “You wouldn’t. I’m injured,” you countered.

He sent you a smug expression. “I said what I said,” he assured. You went limp in his arms as he stepped out of the room, making him chuckle at your dramatics as your body mimicked liquid. “You’re just like Tommy,” he mumbled more to himself than you.

You straightened up, pulling your arm over his shoulder and fitting to his hold. “Who’s Tommy?” You quizzed making him shake his head.

“A story for another time,” he answered simply.

You rolled your eyes slightly, attempting not to blush at the feeling of his hands curling around your body. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” He chuckled at your statement, pushing the door open with his foot. You took note of the set of arrows mounted with a bow beside the door, as if ready to be grabbed in the midst of an attack. The wind and winter hit you like a ton of bricks, the brightness of the sun gleaming off the snow burning your eyes. You weren’t sure how long you’d been inside, but you felt like an alien when presented with the elements again.

You shivered slightly as he put you down on the steps, pulling off his cloak and tucking it around you. You were swimming in the fabric as it pooled around you. You attempted not to dig your nose into its velvet coloring, which was still warm from Techno, his scent swarming around you. He didn’t pay any mind to you as you pressed the soft material against your cheek. “Who’s Dream?” He asked, setting a log up on a large stump before chopping it in half with the ax that was once wedged in the snow.

You looked at him cautiously. “Why do you ask?”

His ruby eyes flashed towards you momentarily. “You mumble about him in your sleep sometimes…” he commented.

You chewed your bottom lip, fighting not to smirk. “You’re watching me sleep now, Techno?”

He chuckled, splitting another log. His arms tensed with each impact; hair combed by the soft wind. “I was making sure the fever didn’t take you, so yes.” His quip made your cheeks heat. “Try not to over-exert yourself.”

When you finally woke up the last time, Techno’s head rested in his arms on the edge of the bed. As soon as you inched your arm to rub one of your eyes, he woke up, eyes peering at you as if you’d explode at any moment.

He stood, pressing his hand against your forehead and sighing in relief. His features seemed softer in the candlelight as he looked over you. “Let me check your wound,” he whispered softly as if trying not to disturb you as he lifted the covers, another sigh leaving his lips. A sign that you were finally close to being out of the woods.

Before you had the opportunity to answer him or swat off another one of his questions with a flirtatious remark, the sound of an approaching horse rider pulled both your attentions toward the woods surrounding the cabin. Techno let the ax fall to his side, eyeing you as if to tell you to keep quiet as a man stepped off the animal, dressed in the King’s armor.

Your heart stilled as your mind raced with attempting to place him. You swore you’d seen him before. Instead of reacting with fear, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You stood from the step you were perched on, your legs shaking as you gained your balance. You hated to admit it, but you were still weak from your injuries and the fever.

You leaned against the railing beside the steps as the man approached Techno. Something clicked within you and you realized the reason he was there. Strength pumped through your body suddenly as you inched your way towards Techno. As if he could sense you nearing him, Techno peered over his shoulder. Your haggard appearance and choppy hair served as your shield from the man’s recognition.

The soldier eyed Techno, wetting his lips slightly. “Sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for someone,” the man began. You settled your hand on Techno’s lower back, reaching for his ax as he let it slip into your hands.

The man nodded to you in a greeting. “I haven’t seen anyone new in these woods,” Techno answered him, voice an octave lower as you made him the barrier between you and the man.

The man narrowed his eyes at Techno, face twisting into a mocking grin. “Well, if you come across her, Councilman Dream’s offering a hefty reward for her return.” Techno nodded slowly at him, attempting not to give you away as you went around the soldier. “From one man to another, I think you’re lying about her whereabouts. I’m sure the authorities would love to know where you are too.”

You heard Techno scoff, crossing his arms. You pursed your lips, getting a better hold on the ax before swinging at the man, severing his head from the rest of his body. Specks of his blood splattered against your face, the man dropping to his knees before sinking into the snow. The hot liquid was a stark contrast to the wind nipping at your cheeks.

Techno’s eyes blared at you, his mouth gaping partially. You wiped a hand across your face, attempting to get rid of the sticky crimson substance. “Blood for the Blood God,” you quipped, lips twisting into a smirk as he remained frozen. His pupils dilated, making you quiver. Suddenly, you felt like you’d disappointed him. “They won’t miss him. Look,” you squatted beside the man’s body, pulling his sleeve up to reveal the mercenary’s mark on his forearm; a crudely etched blood eagle staring back at you. “Plus, his armor is cheap. It’s a remake. He’s one of Dream’s sellswords-“

He cut you off, stepping over the body and grabbing your face in his hands, hoisting you onto your feet as he towered over you. Something animalistic burned in his features, anger dripping from his appearance as his fingers wrapped around the back of your neck. He terrified you, your hands moving to grip onto his wrists for stability. Your sights were glued to his as the two of you breathed heavily, your body coming down from its adrenaline high and his restraining whatever his primal urges were commanding of him.

He pulled you close to him as if he were going to press his lips against yours to elevate whatever was racing through his mind. Your body went limp in his hold before he bore his sharpening teeth. “Go inside,” he commanded, allowing you to slip from his grasp. You sank to your knees before him, his burning eyes ripping from you as he mounted one of his horses and left.

Your mind snapped into reality, tugging you to your feet and running into the house to grab the bow and arrows. You swung your leg over the man’s horse, taking off in the direction Techno went, desperately trying to wipe the man’s blood from your features. You looked for broken sticks and any tracks as the snow thinned until you finally spotted in him in the distance, sliding off his horse with his eyes focused on a deer in front of him.

You put tension on the bowstring, your arrow angling towards the deer. Without hesitation, you let it fly through the air, whistling slightly against the wind before boring into the deer. Techno’s head snapped towards you as you approached. “Rip it apart,” you stated, leaning on the horn of the saddle. The two of you sized each other up, breath forming clouds to mix with the winter air before he heeded your words.

You chewed your nail as you paced in front of the door, psyching yourself up to intrude on Techno. The image of him tearing the deer in half burned into the back of your mind, but you couldn’t help to wonder what he thought of you after you’d killed a man, even if he was a mercenary. You’d faced intimidating rulers without batting an eye, but Techno…

Techno was different.

You knocked lightly, pushing the door open. He looked at you over his shoulder, unbothered as he nodded for you to enter. You tried not to stare at the scars decorating the portion of his back that was sticking out of the tin bathtub. You stepped toward him, sitting on the floor beside him and pressing your shoulder to the other side of the tub so the two of you were facing in opposite directions. You felt like a child awaiting punishment.

“So, the Blood God lives then?” You broke into the silence. It seemed to be inappropriate to joke about now; for the first time since meeting him, you were serious.

Techno allowed a beat of silence to pass between the two of you, making you turned to look at him. His strong shoulders that you’d only dreamed about were on full display as his arms leaned against the edges of the tub, head leaned back slightly as his eyes closed. “Don’t condone my actions next time,” he mumbled, taking you aback. “And allow me to deal with the bloodshed.” He meant to tell you not to kill in defense of him anymore. You’d already explained that the man’s threat was the hairline for you; what swung the ax so harshly.

You swallowed. “You didn’t answer me,” you countered.

He sighed. “Only when provoked.” You drew your legs to your chest, chin resting on your knees. He reached toward you, brushing a finger against your cheek, barely missing your healing wound. The touch was gentle and reassuring as if to consul you silently. “What a pair we are.”

[fierypen37]

The Flames Just Get Higher: Chapter 2

moodboard by @libradoodle1​

Chapter 2

 Dany closed her eyes, pulses of satisfaction ebbing through her as the glow of her release mellowed. The fantasy had dissipated as soon as she came, and here she was, back to cold reality. Between heartbeats, the sting of guilt stabbed her like a snake’s fangs. Gods, she was faithless, heartless. Why could she not love her husband as he deserved? Robb was a good man. Kind, gentle, handsome, strong. All the superlatives girls would sigh over when they dreamed of a husband.

The simple truth was: Robb was not Jon, and thus, she could not love him. Winterfell seemed as far away as Assaha’i to her as they journeyed north. All those leagues, Dany fretted about the northern family with a lineage as old as the continent which she would soon join. Eddard Stark was dead; his heir Robb was Lord of Winterfell in his stead. Robb—named for Robert Baratheon, who given his way, would have seen Daenerys’ entire family slain. Surely the Starks didn’t share this belief—the Starks had not risen in rebellion against her brother.

The Baratheons called their banners and rode north. He persuaded his foster father Jon Arryn to join them, secure in the knowledge that Ned Stark, his oldest friend, would ride to his side. On the banks of the Trident, Rhaegar’s black lance pierced Robert’s breastplate. The rebellion melted away like mist after that. This story her brother the king had told her himself. Never fear, sweet sister. The Starks are renowned for their honor, and by all accounts, Robb Stark is a kind man. I would not send you north if I thought him a villain.

So Daenerys rode with a small entourage of maids and guards. Ser Barristan of the Kingsguard escorted her north in her honor guard. The breadth of her brother’s realm dazzled her eyes. The rolling green hills of the Crownlands, the might of the Trident and the Tumblestone, the marshy stink of the Neck giving way to the clean coniferous scent of the North. Then after a month-long slog through mud and sleet, the crenelated towers of Winterfell gleamed in the mist. Sick to death of the carriage, Daenerys rode ahead on her silver with Ser Barristan at her stirrup. The castle gates were thrown open in welcome, twin banners framing the portcullis. A grey wolf on a field of white. As they arrived, a soft summer snow began to fall. Enchanted, Daenerys dismounted in the bailey, catching the cold, feathery flakes in her hands and watching them melt.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Princess,” a deep voice said. Daenerys turned and her breath caught. He was the picture of masculine beauty. Eyes a dark, smoky grey, watching her with amusement. Wild black curls framed a long face with a square jaw. So this was a Stark face. Rumor said Robb favored his Tully mother but perhaps the word was false. The breadth of his shoulders, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the unexpected softness of his mouth beneath his dark beard. Would it rasp against her skin, or tickle? Oh yes. Yes this will do, whispered some deep inward voice.

“Thank you, my lord. Snow is a wonder. I’ve never seen it before down south,” she said with a shy smile, curtseying deeply. The air between them chilled. Horror filled those grey eyes and he dropped to one knee in the mud.

“Forgive me, my lady. You misunderstand. I am Jon Snow, Robb’s Stark’s bastard brother,” he said. Daenerys swallowed hard, her heart falling to the pit of her stomach.

Robb Stark had appeared then, resplendent in grey samite and white wolf fur. At his heels tumbled a small avalanche of her soon-to-be-family and chattering servants and guards. Threading through it all were the famed tamed direwolves of the Stark children. Huge sleek shapes of grey and black, yipping excitedly along with the children. Ser Barristan and her maids clustered around her, a buttress against the tide. Daenerys beamed, delighted. One of her deepest sorrows was leaving behind Rhaenys and Aegon and the other highborn children that played in King’s Landing’s gardens. The bright noise of chatter and laughter were familiar to her.

A sharp word from the older woman with flowing auburn hair—Lady Stark—quelled most of it. With a charming grin, Robb Stark detached himself from the horde.

“Princess, it is an honor to meet you at last. I see you’ve met my natural brother,” he said, clapping a hand on Jon Snow’s shoulder as he rose to stand beside him. The white direwolf loped to stand beside Jon.

“Jon is a fine fighter and there are no other I trust better. if it pleases you, Jon shall be your bodyguard,” Robb said. A muscle flashed in Jon’s jaw and Daenerys felt her heart sink a little lower.

Attraction to Jon Snow had been a problem from the beginning. Even in their marriage bed, she felt . . . distance between her and Robb. There were ghosts between them. Because Dany wanted Jon. Coveting her husband’s brother. Guiltily fantasizing about Jon as Robb moved inside her. It only got worse in the following months. Much like with his direwolf Ghost, the aloofness and reserve hid a deep well of feeling. Little gestures spoke volumes. Once, she confided her favorite flower that reminded her of home. Moonbloom, with soft purple blossoms and a delicate perfume. Next she knew, there was a sachet of moonbloom seeds beside her place at breakfast. Sansa had helped her plant them in the glass garden. Her good-sister had a real talent for making plants grow and privately confided it was the one place a lady could get her hands dirty. Another time, she had mentioned an obscure book on dragons and found that same book beside her place at the High Table from the maester’s library.

Jon had a knack for listening and a surprising dry sense of humor. There were no awkward lapses in conversation. Silences were comfortable in a way they weren’t with Robb. Her husband was polite and friendly, but there were shadows in eyes. Grief from his father’s death, perhaps? The stresses of leadership? Daenerys offered to help Robb, review accounts, act as his scribe or page. After all, she had grown up at her brother’s knee, in his solar or council room, learning the day-to-day business of ruling. The North was far less populous than her brother’s realm, so what could hurt for Daenerys to take some of his burden? Something like dismay entered Robb’s eyes at her suggestion, and Dany hadn’t dared to suggest it again.

A darker thought whispered it was Robb’s prejudices that built walls between them. Ned Stark had named him for his best friend, Robert Baratheon. Had her new husband learned hate at his father knee, and loathed the silver-haired wife given to him? The unspoken words seemed to pile up between her and Robb. Each one forming the brick and mortar of the wall separating them.

And then this morning. Gods. The way Jon so passionately swore to protect her, the rough caress of his deep voice as he bent over her injured finger—He was her own personal torment. So close, so beautiful, but untouchable. If she touched him, even once, she would kiss him and tumble down a well of transgressions that would damn both their souls. So instead, she made love to ghosts and in the quiet of the lord’s chamber in Winterfell, gasped Jon’s name.

Dany rose from the sumptuous warmth of the bed with a regretful glance. As much as she would like to linger in bed, there was much to be done if they were to leave after the next freeze.                  

 ~

 Jon paced in the minuscule room, three paces to one wall, three paces back. Over and over and over. The motion should have helped give vent to the feelings boiling inside him, but instead the well of feeling crept up his throat and he choked down the urge to scream. Dany said his name. Dany said his name. Calling for him as she reached her pleasure. Had it wished it to be so badly that his ears fabricated the sound? If it was real, was it the passing fancy of a lovelorn wife? Or did she . . . could she . . .

             A sound from below caught his attention. He peered through the crack. Dany was bustling about the room, resuming her packing. Jon glanced down at himself. No unseemly stains, though he was still hard. He would probably remain so until winter came again. Daenerys had said his name. Jon tucked himself away. Straightened his clothes. Combed his sweat-damp hair from his face. Had the knowledge marked him? Was he lit afire with the knowledge that Dany wanted him? With effort, Jon sought calm, exhaling three deep breaths in succession. He imagined the smell of her lingered in his nose. Rose oil and a musky feminine sweetness.

Jon resumed his post outside Daenerys’ door. The door was cracked. There she was. Puttering about her room, muttering and cursing to herself. Maybe if he took a deep enough breath, he could smell the rich musk of her pleasure. His mouth flooded with saliva. Gods, just a taste . . .

Anchoring himself with practical matters, he noticed the snow had stopped. A watery sun peeked through shredded whisps of silver cloud. That might slow Robb’s plans. If the melt began in earnest, it would hamper the sledges. They could make it to Cerwyn without incident, but the big push west would be slowed by weeks if the snow thinned. Robb chomped at the bit to begin the progress. Father’s death weighed heavily on him, Jon knew. New tension rang from his usually confident posture, there were dark shadows in formerly guileless blue eyes. It was not proper for the lord to confide in a bastard—even if they were brothers. All Jon could offer was his presence, and a listening ear if Robb wanted it. Even though jealousy over Daenerys turned his guts black, Jon would be Robb’s stalwart shield. Ned Stark’s memory would tolerate nothing less.

Jon’s own preparations were small. His clothing, armor, and spare arms were already on the pack pony. The grooms were abuzz preparing the horses. His own stallion Storm awaited him. Temperamental on the best of days, with all the noise and activity, Storm would be even more prone to bite. Though Arya was Dany’s favored racing partner, Jon hoped away from the castle he could challenge Dany’s silver Filagree. Lady Stark would no doubt have words over the propriety of a bodyguard racing his charge. Perhaps the least scandalous of my desires, Jon mused.

Lady Stark had enough to worry over with a six-month gone and Daenerys not yet with child. Ned Stark had accomplished that feat within a fortnight of his wedding—with two different women. First with Lady Stark on his wedding night, then some three months later with an unnamed northern woman on his way south to treat with his brother-by-law Edmure Tully. And of that woman—Jon’s mother—his father said not one word. Jon did not know if she was alive or dead. The more he pondered it, Jon wasn’t certain if his father’s reticence was benign neglect or something more insidious. There’s little good in trying to untangle his motives now, Jon thought, reining his thoughts away from the dark path where they strayed. Too brooding, too reserved, too saturnine. A dark cloud obscuring Dany’s light. Jon winced at the thought.

“Jon?” Dany called.

“My lady,” Jon answered, shouldering through the door. Daenerys was on her knees on the bed, trying to force an over-stuffed chest shut. The half-stifled laugh emerged in a strangled snort. Daenerys leveled a violet slit-eyed glare at him, though there was a tell-tale quiver at the corner of her mouth stifling a smile.

“Are you going to stand there and snicker at me or are you going to help, ser?” Daenerys snapped.

“At your service, my lady,” Jon replied, leaning his elbow alongside hers to heave the chest closed. Dany threw the clasp with a triumphant cry. Jon chuckled. Jon leaned against the chest grinning down at her. Desire was low thrum deep in his gut, a strain of music woven through their every interaction. Still, he treasured laughing with her more than anything. As far as he could see, Robb wasn’t quick to make her laugh.

“I think you’ve enough for the progress, my lady. Enough for next winter too, I’d reckon,” he said.

“Aye, I’m sure you reckon,” Dany said in an exaggerated facsimile of his northern accent. Jon’s grin widened. Gods, she was beautiful. And as charming as a songbird.

“Dany? Are you in here?” Robb’s voice seemed to cut the air between them. Studying her face as he was, Jon thought he saw her smile freeze and falter slightly.

“Here, Robb,” she called. Jon heaved the chest off the bed just as Robb entered the room. He kissed Dany’s cheek in a glancing greeting.

“My lord,” Jon said with a bob of his head. Manners had been dinned into his head from his earliest moments, so deference was given without thought. Robb’s smile of greeting was distracted. Jon scrutinized his brother. The same tall, sturdy strength, his wavy auburn hair combed away from his forehead. The full line of his mouth had a new downward turn, his summer-blue eyes an unfocused air. A chill washed over Jon. Was Robb suspicious of him or Daenerys? Grey Wind trotted in at Robb’s heels, nudging Jon aside to lick Dany’s chin politely in greeting.

“Hello to you, my sweet boy!” Dany cooed to the direwolf, scrubbing behind his ears in greeting. The strong smell of wet dog stung Jon’s nostrils.  

“How goes it with the preparations, my lord?” Daenerys asked, looking up from Grey Wind’s adoring golden eyes. Even the direwolves were in love with her.

Robb surveyed the disarray of the room and busied his hands with smoothing the bedclothes.

“We are nearly ready. My only concern is the weather. A hard freeze would be best. We may have to delay our departure until the day after tomorrow.”

“Can we not begin on horseback? I hope the delay isn’t solely a concern for my comfort. I can ride,” Daenerys said, motioning for Grey Wind to sit. The smoke-grey wolf obligingly sat. Dany scratched the smoke-grey fur between Grey Wind’s ears and his yellow eyes dipped closed in slits of canine pleasure.  

Jon bit the inside of his lower lip to contain a smile. The hint of pugnaciousness in Dany’s voice amused him. Gods, he loved the fire in her. Jon glanced at Robb to share his admiration in his wife. Robb’s answering smile was thin as a needle.

“That is an elegant solution, wife,” Robb said, squeezing her hand in an affectionate gesture.

“Did you perchance speak with your lady mother about taking the younger o--”

“She wishes them to stay at Winterfell. Bran will accompany us as far as Cerwyn. Mother is of the opinion that he is too young to complete the entire progress.”

The dryness in his tone revealed what Robb thought of his mother’s opinions. Jon swallowed a familiar swelling of anger, seeded as deep as the molten blood of the earth. Too young? Bran was nine. Daeron the Young Dragon conquered Dorne at fourteen. Until Daenerys gave Robb a child, Bran was heir of Winterfell. The heir should know his lands, his people. He should ride at his brother’s side without his mother’s leading strings yanking him from the saddle. But it was not Jon’s place to say, despite Ned Stark’s blood running through his veins. Daenerys’ expression fell.

“I am saddened to hear it. Sansa, Arya, and little Rickon would have loved it,” Dany said softly. A true smile graced Robb’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“You needn’t worry yourself over their welfare, Dany. They’ve feasts and entertainments enough to occupy them. Isn’t that right, Jon?”

Jon scowled. Robb had a nasty habit of seeking Jon’s reinforcement in their arguments. Jon loathed it.

“I think Father would have liked his younger sons to see more of the North, my lord,” Jon said. Robb grunted.

“Humph. Enough blathering. It is decided. We leave at first light, regardless of the weather,” Robb said, pecking Dany’s cheek and leaving in a swirl of leather. Grey Wind rose and loped at Robb’s heels. Dany met Jon’s gaze. He didn’t miss the shadows in them. Robb’s presence was enough to dispel the upwelling of lust the sound of his name had wrought. Whatever Daenerys’ feelings for him, their duty remained. I would do well to remember that.

 The next morning dawned with a brilliant golden sun. The reflected light off the glitter of snow stabbed the eye. Wind whispered for the pines, carrying their fresh scent. Clean, cold air filled the lungs and for a moment, Jon forgot his exhaustion in the excitement stretched before them. Preparations had lingered long into the night, so his hours of sleep were few. By one token, it was a boon. He was too exhausted to dream of Dany or the way her lips formed his name as she found her pleasure.

Jon stifled a yawn in his cuff. Storm tossed his black mane, the vapor of his breath curling like smoke in the cold air. Jon steadied him with a pat. He, Robb, Daenerys and Bran sat at the head of the party, beneath the Stark banner, snapping in the breeze. Robb shifted impatiently in the saddle, awaiting the bugle to sound, signaling the baggage wains were at last ready to depart. Bran sat ramrod straight on his piebald pony, his Stark gorget flashing like fish scales in a dark pond. Excitement vibrated from him, the sole Stark child to leave Winterfell. Lady Stark must be tied in knots of anxiety. It was a poorly kept secret that Bran was her favorite.

Jon hid a grin at Bran’s eagerness and glanced at Dany. For their wedding, Robb had gifted her with a magnificent coat of white fur applied in zigzagging patterns. She wore it well. Jon admired the red silk scarf she wore, embroidered with jet thread. A reminder that though her name might be Stark, she was a Targaryen to her marrow. Grey Wind, Summer and Ghost gamboled through the fresh snow, brimming with energy. Filagree sidled and Daenerys soothed her with a murmured word. The silver’s smoke-grey ears flicked back, listening. The silver was a gift to Rheagar from a Dothraki khal across the Narrow Sea. The king had a keen interest in horseflesh and sought to increase friendly ties with the Dothraki. Dany could even speak some of their harsh language, as one of her handmaidens had been fluent in it. When she told the story, sadness darkened those violet eyes. Missandei with her cloud of Summer Islander hair, watchful golden eyes and quiet, beautiful soul. Dany missed her most of all her ladies.

The bugle sounded and gooseflesh stippled on Jon’s arms. Time to leave Winterfell. Blood surged through his body with excitement. The cold nipped at Jon’s ears and nose. Robb heeled his sorrel charger Ember south toward Cerwyn. Bran’s pony lunged at his stirrup. Snow crunched under the horse’s hooves. Bugles sounded, harness jangled, the carts groaned, guards cursed. Snowdrifts crowded them into a line, Robb and Bran in front, then Dany and Jon.    

“Tell me of the Cerwyns, husband. They were close bannermen to your lord father?” Dany asked.

“Indeed, wife,” Robb said, craning his neck to smile at Dany, “There was scarce a fortnight Medger Cerwyn didn’t share our table.”

“He’s half deaf, so the entire hall could hear the bawdy tales he shared with Father,” Jon said. Daenerys laughed.

“Certainly no worse than my brother Viserys. He delights in scandalizing me,” Dany said, “And what of Lady Cerwyn?”

“A fever took her three years ago. Her daughter Jonelle is Lady of Cerwyn now,” Robb said.

“She’s nice. She makes honeycakes,” Bran interjected.

“Mm, I love honeycakes!” Dany said, twisting in her saddle to wink at Bran.    

“Medger’s son Cley is heir of Cerwyn. He is of an age of Robb and I,” Jon said. What Jon didn’t say is that there were whispers of Cley Cerwyn and his taste for fondling serving maids. Jon wouldn’t be letting Daenerys out of his sight. A woman so beautiful would certainly tempt Cerwyn. Just like she tempted Jon himself.