#they should make him bloodier

[itsza]

look at him all bruised up and pretty

[sad-emo-dip-dye]

@the-gayest-sky-kid *giggles cutely*

[hirazuki]

I caught up again with Hunter x Hunter I keep forgetting it’s no longer on hiatus and keep falling behind lmao and

let the kidnappings and murders be associated with the Kurta clan please Togashi I am begging T_T

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

After last episode I’m thinking what if Aegon tells his wife what happened when he wakes up and she goes ballistic on Aemond because the man she loves was hurt in battle, by his own brother nevertheless. (Maybe she sees the dagger that normally sits in its sheath on Aegons hip)

Request: Aegon returning to King’s Landing after Rook’s Rest. His wife worries about him and stay by his side

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You became sick with worries when you saw Aemond and Vhagar return to King’s Landing, alone.  

He walked into the Red Keep and called for a small council meeting to report about Rook’s Rest. You sat in the seat beside the King’s empty one, listening as Aemond recounted that the plan he and Ser Criston had come up with got crashed by the Blacks, who sent Rhaenys to Lord Staunton's aid. 

‘’What of His Grace?’’ you asked, having seen Aegon depart from the dragonpit hours ago. 

Aemond lowered his gaze, making the knot in your stomach tighten. No war was bloodier than one with dragons. Meleys was a large dragon, and she had battle experience. Mayhaps something happened to Sunfyre? You knew Aegon would refuse to leave his side if anything happened to him. 

‘’There was an incident involving the King,’’ he began. 

You held your breath as Aemond continued. 

‘’While I was waiting for Cole's signal, His Grace engaged in a one-on-one with Meleys, but the latter brutally attacked Sunfyre, causing him — and Aegon — to freefall in a nearby forest with great force before I could take the sky and come to their aid.’’ 

Everyone fell completely silent. 

You felt your vision blur as the room began to spin. Your face paled, and a cup of water was brought to you. You took a small sip, but you were still feeling unwell. 

You should not have let him join the battle. He had no military training, it was reckless. 

‘’Where is Aegon now?’’ the dowager Queen asked her younger son, her voice filled with maternal concern. 

‘’At Rook's Rest,’’ Aemond replied. ‘’Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are marching back to King’s Landing with what little remains of the Green army. They are bringing his critically injured body.’’

⁂

Three days later, Ser Criston’s army arrived at King’s Landing. You had not slept since being informed about Aegon’s fall, your mind filled with worried thoughts and dark fears. Your handmaiden had suggested you take a draught for sleep, but you declined. You couldn’t risk being in a deep sleep when Aegon would come in through the gates. 

While they were parading Meleys's slain head through the city, six knights walked through the Keep, holding their King in a closed litter that hid him completely. He was brought to his chambers where several maester began working on him. 

‘’Is he alive?’’ you asked, trying to get information on your husband's state. 

The maesters couldn't answer, feeling a pulse so faint they didn't want to give you false hopes. You were escorted out as they worked on removing the armor which had melted onto Aegon's left arm. The image was not one a Queen should see, they said. 

You found yourself at Alicent's doors, needing someone to share your fears and worries with. She invited you to sit on her couch and had camomile tea brought to you to calm your nerves. You had not been this anxious since the birth of your first child. 

Noticing your shaking hands, the dowager Queen took the one who was not holding the teacup in hers. ‘’He’s strong, like his father,’’ she said softly. ‘’He’ll recover.’’ 

⁂

Late into the night, you were allowed back in the King’s chambers. Aegon had not yet woken, laying in the bed with his eyes closed. Half of his body was wrapped in bandages, covering the burns. 

All he wanted was to prove the realm that he wasn't useless. And now, he laid in bed, badly burned with a broken hip, and numerous broken ribs.

You sat all night by Aegon's bedside, refusing to leave him.

‘’You should get some rest, Your Grace,’’ the Grand Maester suggested when he came in to check on Aegon in the morning, noticing you were still in yesterday’s dress. 

He was probably right. Your eyes felt dry from lack of sleep and the shadows under them were dark. 

‘’I will rest when he wakes,’’ you replied. 

⁂

A tear fell down your face when Aegon woke days later, mumbling your name with his dry throat. He was in severe pain from his injuries, so the Grand Maester administered him a strong concoction of milk of the poppy to sooth his pain. It made his mind cloudy, and very sleepy. 

That night, you allowed yourself to sleep in a bed. 

⁂

For the duration of his recovery, you were moved to Aegon's old chambers. 

They had not been occupied since the coronation. When you walked in, you noticed everything was the way it always was, the way Aegon liked. 

It felt strange to be there without him. 

As you sat on the bed in your nightgown, you were reminded of life before he was crowned. Times were simpler back then. The realm was at peace and Aegon didn't have to put himself in danger to prove he was worthy of the crown. 

You missed that time. 

⁂

While Aegon was bedstruck, you took seat on the Iron Throne to rule in his absence. He trusted you with his life, and would want no one else than you to wear his crown. His mother and grandsire ruled in his father's absence through his long illness and manipulated everything and everyone around them. Aegon didn't want that happening to him. 

Although you didn’t know how to rule a war, you listened to the men sitting at the small council table, seeking their opinions and counsel. Now you understood why Aegon said they all bore him. Sitting there and listening to Lord Larys’s report of whispers, Lord Tyland’s financial complaints, and other reports that came by ravens made you want to indulge in wine. 

‘’What is the next move, Your Grace? Our men have recovered from the battle at Rook’s Rest and are ready for the next move. More men have been trained and knighted, and are waiting for the next commands.’’ 

You glanced at the map to your left, studying the pins of the houses who had bent the knee to Aegon and the ones who had not, trying to come up with a strategy, but before you could answer, Aemond spoke. 

‘’The Riverlands. Me and Cole will be heading north-west and amassing an army to march against Daemon Targaryen and Harrenhal.’’

You directed your eyes back to the table, looking straight forward at Aemond. ‘’Since when are you in charge of leading our armies, Prince Aemond? The last time you and Ser Criston plotted without my husband’s authority, it ended in a carnage of our army and put our King in a critical condition. I reject your strategy and forbid you from plotting without my authority by risk of being removed from this council.’’

After the small council meeting was over, you returned to Aegon’s side and were surprised to find him awake. He had been given him a gentle sponge bath by the maids while you were absent, his silver hair damp on his pillow. You also noticed that the maester had changed his bandages. 

‘’Where is Sunfyre?’’ Aegon asked when you sat, speaking coherently for the first time in weeks. 

‘’Near Rook’s Rest,’’ you replied. ‘’He was so badly maimed that he's not even able to be moved back to King's Landing. Ser Criston stationed men near to guard him while he is recovering. You need not to worry, my love.’’ 

You took his hand that was not strapped and resting against his chest in yours, trying to ease his worries. He hated being apart from Sunfyre, especially knowing his dragon was injured and in pain. Aegon vividly remembered his cries of pain when they were attacked by Meleys’ claws and teeth. He wished he could go to him. 

‘’My memory is blurry, but he saved me. When we crashed down backward, Sunfyre was going to kill me with his weight, but he angled his body to avoid crushing me.’’ 

Aegon tried to shift into a more sitting position, but groaned as pain shot through his whole body. His burns were healing nicely under the bandages, but his broken hip and ribs were going to take a lot longer. 

You reached on the night table and poured him a small cup of milk of the poppy. ‘’Here.’’ 

It would make him sleepy, but at least it’ll relieve his pain. 

Until the effects kicked in, you informed him of what happened while he was unconscious. 

‘’The crown must look great on you,’’ Aegon said, the corner of his mouth curling in a small smile. 

Any form of facial expression caused his tender, burned skin to sting, so he refrained from them most of the time. 

You huffed, remembering the words of the men at the council when you sat in the King’s seat. ‘’Your council is not happy with me ruling in your stead. They claim that a war should not be led by a woman and that it makes the war look ridiculous as it began with not wanting a woman on the throne. 

‘’Whoever dares question your seat and ability to rule should be removed from my council.’’ Aegon's face was dead serious. No ill tongues will be tolerated speaking about his wife. Not in his court, and certainly not from his council.

Unfortunately, you could not do that. What would the small council become without a Master of Coins or a Master of Law?

You continued with other news. ‘’The beast who is responsible for your fall got taken down by Aemond. His rider, Rhaenys Targaryen, perished with her. Now, the Blacks are down from another dragon. It’s a victory for us, but our army suffered severe losses due to dragonfire.’’ 

At the mention of dragonfire, flashes of the battle blurred Aegon’s mind. ‘’What has my brother told the council?’’ 

You recounted what Aemond said, and Aegon’s frown deepened as his memories became clearer. 

His grip on your hand tightened. ‘’It is not what happened at Rook’s Rest. You must listen to me. It is not Rhaenys who aimed at me with dragonfire, it was Aemond.’’

⁂

Aegon’s words echoed in your head as you bathed that night. Had he confessed about his brother’s betrayal to someone else, they would say he was delirious and confused from the milk of the poppy, but you knew he was not. He was perfectly conscious, his memories from Rook’s Rest slowly coming back to him. 

From what you knew, Aemond never showed signs of bad intentions toward his brother. As Aegon often said, Aemond was his blood and fiercely loyal. He trusted him. So why would Aemond turn on him during a battle and unleash dragonfire at Aegon? There must be a motive for him to intentionally harm his kin, his brother. 

It was difficult to discern any emotions from Aemond. He was always composed and cold. Mayhaps his facade hid jealousy for his older brother? It was frequent among second sons. Although, Aegon never was the favorite son. It was always Aemond. 

Until teh Conqueror’s crown was placed on his head. Mayhaps he had a secret thirst for the throne? It would explain his military ambitions and his desire for a place at the council table. The best way to kill a King is to get close enough to stab him when he least expects it.

You sighed and leaned back in the tub, closing your eyes as your body was covered by the warm water. The memory of Aegon's pained expression as he recounted his brother's betrayal — a treason to the crown — haunted you. 

‘’He is my blood,’’ Aegon had whispered, his voice trembling. ‘’Why would he do this?’’

⁂

In the early morning, you requested a private audience with Aemond. 

‘’I wish to know what really happened at Rook’s Rest,’’ you said firmly. ‘’As your Queen.’’ 

Aemond stood in front of you, clad in his usual leathers and an emotionless face. ‘’I gave my full report to the small council when I returned from King’s Landing. Nothing else is to be said.’’ 

You pressed on, your voice unwavering. ‘’It was told to the smallfolk Aegon had slain Meleys, which is false as you have told us it was Vhagar who killed her. This discrepancy makes me question if there are more lies woven into your truth. You reported that Meleys had brutally attacked Sunfyre with her claws and teeth but you never mentioned dragonfire. Yet burns cover half of His Grace’s body.’’

If Aemond felt any hint of nervousness at your probing, he did not show it.

‘’Are you questioning my truth, Your Grace?’’ he asked, his tone cold.

You knew that saying ‘yes’ would turn your question into an accusation of treason. By suggesting that he had harmed the King, Aemond could easily twist the accusation back on you. And what proof did you have? Your husband, who lay crippled in bed, dulled by milk of the poppy for most of the day? His moments of lucidity would not be believed by anyone.

Perhaps you could ask Ser Criston or Ser Gwayne what they had witnessed. Or bring the matter to the dowager Queen; she might decipher her son's body language better than you could.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something familiar caught your eye.

‘’This is Aegon’s dagger,’’ you pointed, recognizing the handle sitting on Aemond’s hip.

‘’Indeed. He lost it during the battle at Rook’s Rest. I retrieved it from the forest,’’ Aemond replied.

‘’And why is it sitting on your hip, Prince Aemond? The Conqueror’s dagger has been given to him during the coronation, along with his crown. It should be in His Grace’s chambers, where it belongs.’’

Aemond's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. ‘’I kept it safe, as any loyal brother would. Would you rather it had been lost forever?’’

You met his gaze, unflinching. ‘’Give it back to me.’’ 

Aemond stiffened at your words, his jaw clenching. He placed a hand on the hilt of the dagger, a defensive gesture that he couldn’t help but do. ‘’And if I refuse?’’ 

Your heart beat faster at Aemond's defiance, but you refused to back down. Taking a step forward, you locked eyes with him, your gaze steely ‘’Do not defy your queen. This is not a request, it's a command. The dagger belongs to Aegon. Give it to me, now!’’

Aemond hesitated for a moment, his fingers still gripping tightly to the dagger’s hilt. But your stern demeanor and unwavering command made it clear that there was no alternative. 

With reluctance, he pulled the dagger from his hip and held it out to you, handle first. 

You took the dagger from Aemond, your fingers grazing against his as you did so. ‘’I suggest you kiss goodbye to that dream of yours, my Prince. I know what you are. And when Aegon is strong enough to speak his truth, you will pay for what you did.’’

—

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[ghouljams]

(Fae!Price x witch!reader, minor blood play, public play, GIF DOES NOT REPRESENT READER)

It's not that Price hates when you look good so much as he hates the way other people look at you. He thinks maybe he should ban you from his bar altogether if you're going to keep coming in looking like that. That's how he keeps ending up in these situations.

Pressing you against walls with his hand between your legs.

He drags his teeth against your neck, scraping lines in the delicate skin, teasing the sharp points against your pulse each time he decides to bite. The tickle of his beard makes your fingers twist in his shirt, somewhere between pushing and pulling as your breath catches in your throat. You tip your head for him so nicely, bear your neck and part your lips around each soft pant. He can't help sucking marks along the length of your pulse. There's something dark and possessive, something he's all too eager to feed, that lodges itself between his ribs when he sees other men look at you. Something that rattles the bone bars of its cage and tells him to swallow you whole before someone else can get a bite.

His teeth dig a little too deep and you whine. Your fists tighten, crinkling his nice shirt between your fingers. The beading blood is thick under his tongue, sparking with magic and the lingering bite of your wards. It warms in his mouth like liquor. If you didn't fall into his arms so prettily he might find a bloodier way to eat you.

Your breath hitches, soft noise falling from your lips as he continues nipping at your neck. Price can feel you swallow when he sucks at your skin, feel the way your legs press together. So warm and yielding around his hand.

Oh you're being so good for him holding still like this, letting him mark up your throat with your skirt hiked up. Lucky he could push you into one of the back rooms, no sense letting the men oogling you get a glimpse of his pussy. Fuck you're wet. Wet just from the simple glide of his fingers, a gentle back and forth through your folds. He'd call it teasing but you're just starving for attention, aren't you?

Take whatever he'll give you.

"Other side sweetheart." He tells you, voice low and graveled. You blink, your lips parted and pouty as you roll your head to the other side. Price takes the opportunity to hold your cheeks, and dip his tongue between your pretty lips as he pushes two fingers into you. He swallows down the moan you let out, and coaxes your tongue to twist against his. He likes the way you breathe heavily through your mouth when he pulls back, likes dragging his tongue over your lips and feeling you chase it. Sweet thing.

He tackles the other side of your neck as he pumps his fingers into you. It's easier to feel the way your stomach jumps, the way your cunt clenches, when he's got his fingers in you. He grinds the heel of his hand against your clit, forcing you to rock your hips against him.

You'd fuck yourself on his fingers if he told you, he's made you do it before. Held his hand in place while you bounced on his thick fingers and begged for more. It's cute, he likes you needy. It makes him feel less greedy, less desperate, to see you beg. Price supposes that's the whole point.

Thats why he digs his teeth into your neck again and again. Why he presses his aching cock against your hip. Why he won't fuck you unless you ask, and you will ask. It should be the lady's choice after all, you're the one letting a man who could tear your throat out kiss your neck.

So he'll get you desperate, get you begging, and then he'll send you back out to the bar with come dripping down your legs and your neck boasting his dental impressions.

[schoenpepper]

Isekai'd Chronicles 1

Intro: Scarabia in an isekai AU.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, attempted murder on Kalim's part, also proofread by quillbot

A/N: I tried making Kalim's longer but I really don't know what else to write for him. He's still a cutie pie though.

Masterlist

An invitation makes its way to your teeny tiny hands after a week of your reincarnation (transmigration, maybe; what isekai genre is this?). You can't read it yet, but your nanny informs you that Prince Kalim Al-Asim is inviting you to tea the next day, something about missing your presence in the palace. You don't believe a five-year-old even knows what "presence" means, but an invitation from royalty is nothing to scoff at. Immediately, you're suited up and shipped off to the palace for a glorified playdate. 

Luckily for you, Kalim isn't really much to be wary of, be it now or in the future. He's the sweetest of all the male leads, innocent and naive, and an easy level capture. You two have tea together, and you find him harmless enough that you don't mind continuing the weekly playdates that you'd previously canceled. You teach him things your tutor taught you over the course of the week, and it's really easy to treat him like a cute little brother. He, in turn, tours you around the palace even though he doesn't have it memorized, and you two sit together and make silly jokes while waiting for some maid to find the both of you when you're lost. At some point, he gets really clingy and even starts crying when you're away for too long. Your parents assure you it's fine, and the queen and king don't mind having you over often enough to the point that every other day you're by Kalim's side, getting tutored at the same time.

Maybe he's a little bit overly clingy, though, and you chalk it up to him imprinting on you like a duckling. Eventually, instead of coming to the palace on days you're free, it becomes a cycle of you going to him and him visiting you at your own house, where he insists you walk around the garden and teach him the names of plants you barely even remember yourself. He's adorable, and you don't see it changing any time soon. So you pat yourself on the back and tell yourself that's one capture target down.

"Kalim!" Your little body tackles the crown prince to the ground, an arrow barely grazing your ear. It hurts; it's bleeding, but you force yourself to smile because if you don't, Kalim will—

Oh no, he's already crying.

There's a lot of movement in the background as Kalim's guards move to find the assailant, but you're focused on the teary ruby eyes that are fixed on the wound on your ear.

"You, you're hurt...I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault, Kalim," you assure him, patting his head. Physically, you were younger, but you've always felt that this kid should be protected. "It's okay. We're fine. We're both still alive. That's all that needed to happen, right?" Kalim nods, but more and more sobs escape him as he clings onto you.

"I'll keep you safe from now on!" Kalim says through shaky breaths, and you laugh even when the wound hurts so much it feels like a mark burned onto your skin.

"Okay, Kalim. You can keep me safe."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

One playdate is a bit different from usual. You think it might be the new tea flavor served during snack time, or maybe it's different because your favorite cookies are occupying half the tray. Or maybe it's different because a pair of dark brown eyes are burning holes into the back of your head.

Jamil Viper is certainly a step up from Kalim—though he's socially of lower status, he was smarter, more cunning, cleverer, and competent at most things. As the second son of a baron, he'd been sold into the royal family as a personal aide to Kalim. In the game, he was a very difficult target, and his signature magic made for a much bloodier ending for the villain than Kalim's. But right now, he's just a five-year-old kid who's jealous that you get to have tea and snacks at the table while he has to stand next to Kalim and endure. You invite him to sit with you both after sending the maids away, and he begrudgingly accepts your offer, if only to bring relief to his tired legs.

Jamil isn't hateful, really; he's just pitiful. Maybe you can help him out a little bit so he doesn't betray Kalim like he does in the game, as Kalim is now your friend. You invite Jamil to more than just tea parties, and he learns to accept without a scowl. You manage to convince the king and queen to let Jamil study with you and Kalim, and the three of you find ways to pass the time in the enormous palace once classes are done. He might be warming up to you, you think, when a big bug flies towards him and you're the person he runs to, even though there are lots of adults around. Or maybe he just hates you and wants the bug to be up in your face. Who knows?

Kalim wasn't very academically inclined, though, and eventually, you and Jamil are being tutored separately from the prince. It hurts your ego a little that a kid is as quick on the uptake as you are, but Jamil's always been smart. He's resourceful too, and he always beats you at mancala, but he's good company and conversation somehow. And you decide, as you help plait his hair while he complains to you about how Kalim stormed into his room because he had a nightmare, that Jamil is harmless enough to be checked off your list of capture targets that will kill you.

Maybe.

"What do you want to be in the future?"

Jamil cracks one eye open to glare at you, huffing out a response. "Don't be silly." He closes it again. "I can only ever be Kalim's aide to the end, right?"

In the years you've known him, you know well enough that he didn't mean to be snippy. You pat his head and whisper back, your voice cracking funnily due to puberty. "You got an invitation to that magic school, right? When you become a really good mage, I'll talk to the king and queen for you." Being childhood friends with an Al-Asim meant they practically treated you as their own at this point. "I know you'll do great, so tell me what you want to be when you're free. What do you want to do?"

Jamil stops as he takes in your words. "You'd do that for me?"

"Sure I will."

"Then...maybe I'll go to the mage tower. And earn myself a title that's good enough to marry into higher nobility."

"Huh? Why would you want that?"

"It's a secret."

[sassydefendorflower]

Holy Server B@tman! Fanfic Rec List 2.0

Hello and welcome back to a very special fanfic rec list! 

The members of the amazing Holy Server B@tman! Server are an extremely talented bunch - many great artists and writers together in one place to foster each other’s creativity and joy to participate in fandom.

That has to be celebrated! 

So, please welcome a list of stories our writers loved to create, their very own Greatest Hits!

(please click on your own discretion - you’ll find the appropriate warnings on ao3)

Fujiwhara Effect by byrambles / @byrambles

Fujiwhara Effect: When two tropical cyclones spinning in the same direction pass so close to each other than they begin spinning around a common center. Or: Dick is NOT a fan of Bruce’s new kid (seriously, WHO brings home a new kid weeks after the old one moves out and then doesn’t even have the courtesy to tell – ). When he gets trapped in Gotham by an East Coast hurricane, though, he has to figure out how to be in the same room as Jason without losing it.

byrambles's words: This was so much fun to write! I think it has a sweet mix of angst and fluff — plus a silly little surprise part-way through!

The Lines that Bond Us by canaf_lilah

Reclusive author Bruce Wayne's most recent book, The Bat Man, was a critical success and a mass market flop. As he struggles to make sense of a sequel, he shocks no one more than himself when he brings home recently orphaned Dick Grayson. Bruce could never have predicted the impact on his life - and his writing - the remarkably resilient young acrobat would have. Batman and Robin may only exist on the pages of Bruce's books, but that doesn't stop them from saving the people they touch.

Lilah's words: to me this is by far the best fic I've ever written. I'm determined to finish it one day, but don't be too put off by the incomplete status! It works well as a standalone.

red like blood (they won't wash clean) by silver_the_phoenix

Tim snaps. It's a lot bloodier than he thought it would be.

Silver's words: I started this one because Tim deserves to go a little feral, as a treat; and I finished it because I'm a simp for Good Brother Jason Todd.

Cared For by 1Zukoneedsafamily2 / @trashcollectshere

Jason smirked as he stood over The Replacement. He stroked the feathers of the splayed-out wings, before he gripped a group of feathers and yanked. Not hard enough to pull out feathers but he wanted him awake when the fun started.

Krys' words: also everyone loves a tower fic right???

Brother, Go Find Your Brother by sleepingcreep (JaySgrech) / @misplacedspleen

Brother, go find your brother: A method of finding something lost by attempting to lose something similar in the same way, in the hopes that it gets lost in the same place and both can be found. “You should match, right?” The grin cracked wider as the lanky captor rolled the knife between their fingers, strolling closer to where Tim was pinned to the wall. Jason didn’t comprehend what the creep meant, too focused on trying to pull his hands against the cuffs in the right way to pop his thumb out of place to get free. There are many years of scars between Jason and Tim before they match.

Jay's words: I'm reccing it because I'm proud of how the settings turned out and I think I wrote a unique take on Jason and Tim's relationship

dirt piling up, putting me to bed by rutaceae / @applejee

Jason never imagined that a simple trip to a bookshop could end with him trapped in the basement of a collapsed building with Tim, but you don't often get what you imagined when you live in Gotham.

Luka's words: i’m quite happy with how contained this little fic is (for me); i always wanted to stab someone, and have someone else panic so bad they don’t realise they’re fucked up themself. fun times!!

Do-Si-Do's Churros & Other Curious Things About Love by sElkieNight60 / @selkienight60

Being a beta in a house full of alpha’s is rough. Especially if you’re trying to be heard.

Selkie's words: I like it because I really enjoy reading Platonic Omegaverse stories, and the Batfamily are so unrepresented here, (I say, in the meaning that I simply crave more of them, there are truthfully quite a few out there, but I just enjoy them so much).

Maui Melon Mint by motleyfam / @motleyfam

In the case of Bats vs. Stomach Bug, there can only be one victor.

Motley's words: I had a ton of fun writing from Damian’s POV for a change and letting Alfred wear his sassy pants

Writer's Cellblock by pinstripedJackalope / @the-ghost-of-jason-todd

Mystery writer and father to five, Bruce Wayne has no great fortunes to fall back on. No reserve of social charisma, no family jewels. He no longer has a butler, though Alfred does his best to visit regularly. He is, in short, not the kind of man who can buy freedom. Heck, he can barely make ends meet some months. So you can understand the… concern… he feels when, late one night, two FBI agents come knocking at his door.

K's words: ngl it was hard to pick a fic, and i would have picked one with more than one chapter but i always did think this one was kind of fun

Golden Silence, Golden Yolks by BabblingBookends / @babblingbookends

Words between Dick and Bruce have never been easy. Dick talks, Bruce doesn’t listen. Bruce talks, Dick is expected to listen. Better if neither of them speak at all.

Babbles' words: If you watch a TV show for long enough, there will inevitably be some character moments in a diner, and I just think that's fun, hence this fic!

keep your head up (it's a cruel world) by lookforanewangle / @lookforanewangle

“If the past is anything to go on, sir,” he says kindly, “this boy will be in your care for a good many lifetimes, and you will do all you can to keep him safe, just like you have with the others.” Or, the Batfam/The Old Guard reverse verse au with Dick's introduction to the world of immortals

Lyss' words: I put a lot of work into this one and while I know reverse verse isn't everyone's cup of tea, I think it works best in this universe in this order, with many surprises yet to come, and room for this universe to grow!

A Promise to Stay by xerzi / @xerziartblog

No one needed Tim Drake, but Tim Drake still needed to be needed. And well, who better to choose than the one person who could never stop needing him? So inherently broken that his job would never be finished. Yet so unfortunately resilient that he would never be left the sole survivor. And so desperate to serve that he would never be betrayed again. In other words, no one else needed Tim Drake, but certainly, he knew there was someone who could make use of his particular skill set. - Tim Drake, 12-year-old independent adult, professional birdwatcher, is offered everything he’s ever wanted…for the low, low price of his verbal agreement. All he has to do is say yes.

Xerzi's words: I just want to put Tim Drake in a jar and try to figure out what's wrong with him…so I put TWO Tim Drakes in the same jar so they can work together to figure out what's wrong with them (and how to fix it)

The End of Man by AuroraKant / @sassydefendorflower

Dick Grayson wasn’t meant to be caged in, but then again… Dick Grayson wasn’t a murderer, and look at him now. (was this what insanity felt like?) Dick Grayson gets captured, forced to shift, and put into a cage - surely, this is the worst that can happen?

Aurora's words: Look... I always wanted to write a deranged Shifter AU in which Dick Grayson goes absolutely mental. What can I say? I love it when my boy is broken and covered in blood <3

Catching Stars and Comets by Faeriekit

From this tumblr prompt: "Reverse Robins AU but instead of making Damian oldest and going down the line so on and so forth, it’s a bunch of assembled weird vigilante-crime men and their accidentally adopted autistic eight year old rich boy, Bruce, who calls himself “batkid” for reasons beyond their mutual understanding of expected kid behavior."

Faeriekit's words: it's been a fun AU to work on, I hope people enjoy it, also it's got kids. It's basically an ageswap!AU where all the batkids are "villains" without Bruce's influence. And it was either this fic or the bees.

cardboard box by A_Canceled_Stamp / @a-canceled-stamp

Robin!Tim is exposed to Ivy's cuddle pollen. For the first time, he reaches out to Bruce for help. How he wishes he hadn't.

Stamp's words: this is my first hurt/no comfort fic and I am very happy with how it turned out! The comments I've gotten on it always make me cackle lmao

a flower called you has bloomed by dottie_dc / @dottie-wan-kenobi

The real problem is that, well. Last time Tim went undercover, he kind of… came home and embarrassed himself. It’s not that he’s shy about being seen in disguise, okay? They can all tease him all they want but it doesn’t bother him. He has way more blackmail on his siblings than they do him, so whatever. It’s just… Caroline Hill is a different story.

Dottie's words: I saw the inspo art and it gave me immediate motivation to write something, which was really fun. I loved writing it and seeing people in the comments be able to relate. queer headcanons my beloved <3

Of The Covenant by Kgraces / @kgraces

Dick Grayson is many things, and foremost among those, he's a detective. He can't stop himself from noticing things about Tim Drake — things that make him question not only his home life but his relationship with Bruce Wayne, too. (Things spiral from there.)

Gracie's words: I’m gonna toss my current longfic your way so hopefully it motivates me to work on it more lmao. It’s a Dick & Tim fic where Dick basically takes a look at all the adults in Tim’s life and goes “is anyone going to take care of this feral, unsupervised child? No? Guess he’s my responsibility now.”

Now and Then by librarylexicon / @librarylexicon

Dick’s spent the past few months recovering from an ordeal he’d rather not think about, so when Bruce asks him to spend quality time with Tim outside of their masks, he instantly agrees. Amid conversations, itineraries, nightmares, photos, revelations and a whole lot of chocolate, he and Tim navigate the Great Ocean Road—and learn more about themselves and each other along the way.

lily's words: Dick and Tim are my favourite Batboys, so I've been wanting to write a fic about them for a long time, because of their long history and close brotherly relationship in the comics. This story is a love letter to their bond, and I'm very pleased with the way all the emotional whump turned out!

How to tape a card castle by Fleur_de_Violette / @fleur-de-violette

Dick saves the new Robin one day. This is it. This is all. It’s not that he doesn’t want to have a relationship with Jason, it’s just that it’s too complicated. He doesn’t know how to deal with being an adult on top of being Nightwing. He can’t deal with Jason, with what Jason represents, on top of it. Except, when a small injury doesn’t heal up the way it’s supposed to, he ends up being the one who needs saving and he’s finally forced to face the new Robin.

Violette's words: This is my longest published fic so far ! I really enjoyed writing it, both the Robin Jason and Dick part and the little case stories in between and I'm happy about how it turned out!

See You At Your Worst by wildsofmarch / @wildsofmarch

Dick has only been a mob enforcer for six months, but delivering a shipment of guns to an up-and-coming crime lord in Gotham should have been easy. All he needs to do is win the man's trust and secure him as a repeat customer. Unfortunately, the Red Hood is not impressed with him.

Wilds' words: I like this one because I go ham with the identity porn!

The Nature of Things by FidotheFinch / @fidothefinch

After a mission gone wrong and a spat with Drake, Robin is benched. Worse than that: Damian is grounded. As serendipity would have it, it gives Damian the opportunity to facilitate the rehabilitation of the manor's new ward, a dog Batman rescued from a fighting ring.

Fido's words: I got to memorialize pieces of my childhood pups in this story, and it was my first fic in the fandom

in vitro by genericlesbian72 / @femmescooter

Shadow-girl did not know much. She didn't need to. But she knew her first kill would be for the baby.

Hedgehog's words: This fic was a challenge to myself on how Cassandra would view her first kill, without words to describe it, while also a take on ‘joining the Batfamily early’ for her that I haven’t seen much before.

this one takes the cake by carol_in_au / @carol-in-au

Jason took a sip from his glass, slowly, synching it with Bruce's words. Bruce cleared his throat, and continued with an authoriative tone that was so not him. "I have something to announce." Bruce Wayne has an announcement to make

Chrys' words: It's fast-paced, has a good comedic timing, a bit of fluff in some moments. When I reread it, I found it pleasant to read and I was quite happy I created it

presumptions by Valkirin / @valkirinii

Batman is away on a long mission with the Justice League when Red Hood attacks Robin in Titans Tower. Red Hood thinks that hurting Robin will get Batman's attention. He doesn't expect Nightwing. Nightwing doesn't know what to expect from Red Hood, Gotham's newest rogue.

Trixie's words: It's one of my favorites that doesn't seem to get as much attention. It's also really fun to let Dick Grayson be angry and intimidating.

Operation Friendship Helmet by goldenraeofsun / @raeofsoleil

When Red Hood meets Dick, he seems almost friendly, compared to the violent hostility he showed Batman and Robin. Maybe, if Dick plays his cards right, he can turn Red Hood from a crime boss to a vigilante. But the closer he gets to Hood, the question nags louder and louder: why does Red Hood seem so familiar?

Rae's words: This is the first time I really dove into my favorite trope, secret identities, complete with a big reveal at the end.

Roadtrip to Nowhere by Ghxst_Bird / @ghost-bxrd

“For the last time, I’m not modifying a car we’ll be ditching a few towns over.” “Why, you got better things to do?” “Yeah, getting food on the table, you leech.” Jason goes on an impromptu road trip with an ex-Talon and ends up running into a family member… who still thinks he’s dead. Oops.

Ghost's words: Calvin Rose deserves more love in this fandom!

Q is for Quintessential by writergeek / @writergeek

"Rodney...you're talking about altering the timeline here." Well...yeah. Wasn't that the point? "...I want you to have a backup plan." Of course he had a backup plan. At this point he could probably list them all by alphabetical order. Or...the story of the backup plan(s) Rodney never wanted to use to save 12 days 25 years 48000 years mankind.

WG's words: not a DC fic, it actually comes from my old fandom, SGA. i just... i enjoy the time loop shenanigans and the fixit nature of it (which needs fixing only bc i broke it shush), both tropes i adore reading (and writing, apparently)

Leaving The Light by TheCallOfTheSea

Jason is alive, but he has fallen. Can the Batfamily save him?

M&M's words: I enjoyed exploring Jason as a villain, but it wasn’t easy writing relentless angst! I still brought out his humanity in a way.

closet space by adelfie / @adelfie

“Hi,” she says in a breathless rush, then takes a moment to swallow and wet her lips. “I, uh, need your help?” “Are you dying?” “N-not exactly.” “Then you don’t need me,” comes Jason’s lazy, uninterested reply. The call ends with a click. . Steph doesn't know what's more embarrassing: that she's been locked in a closet during a party, or the fact that her "friends" aren't really her friends. And to top it all off, Jason's the only one who can come rescue her.

adelfie's words: I love that Steph isn't fighting a big bad villain -- there's something so soft and strong in realizing that other people's judgments aren't what truly matter.

penance by cuephrase / @cuephrase

After Tim dies, his soul remains stuck as a ghost at the Manor. Forced to watch Dick and Bruce grieve him and unable to do anything, the only thing making the afterlife bearable is Jason. Until the day his ghost departs.  Tim assumes that Jason has passed on. But then the Red Hood breaks into the Cave. And for the first time, someone can see Tim.

Cue's words: i just had an inordinately fun time writing it!! there was a lot of catharsis in the process, and i’m very proud of the ending because i feel like i was able to preserve the fic’s bittersweetness- like the happy ending didn’t dilute the sorrow and instead they were able to complement each other

two vigilantes carry a cake across gotham by JBS_Forever / @jbsforever

In a scheming attempt to make them bond, Bruce forces Jason and Tim on what should be a simple quest: retrieve Alfred’s birthday cake from across town and make it back before the party. But this is Gotham. And nothing is ever simple in Gotham.

JBS' words: it's a story that centers around jason learning just how much crime alley appreciates him. it's also a sibling bonding fic between jason and tim

Ghosts From The Past by red_jaebyrd / @red-jaebyrd

Tim stared at an old poster of the ‘The Flying Graysons’ and his stomach dropped. He immediately fixated on the young boy’s smiling face with his eyes bright and full of life; frozen in time in eternal happiness. It was such a sharp contrast to the last memory Tim had of the youngest Grayson laying broken and still on the circus floor. Tim sighed. He wasn’t just at any old circus. He was back at Haly’s Circus where his nightmares had started and never really stopped. Or Bruce is Ghost Hunter and takes Jason and Tim with him to investigate strange happenings at Haly's Circus.

Jae's words: I wanted to try and write my own version of a no capes au adding in my own lore about the characters and their new world.

sons of sky by ScarlettSwordMoon, Kiwilart / @kiwilart

Dick is thirteen, leader of the Teen Titans, and already starting to chaff under Bruce’s thumb. When Bruce gets de-aged to fourteen, Dick thinks this experience will finally bring their partnership back to working order. It doesn’t. And then it does.

Scarlett's words: This fic has challenged me in so many fun directions. It is terrifying and exhilarating to write young!Bruce and to really try my hand at a big novel length plot line. Of all my WIPs, this is the most fun to work on because I'm working with an artist, Kiwili, who supports me during the loneliest parts of the drafting process, and also draws amazing art for the fic. I'm very proud of what we've done so far and very excited to be close to finishing.

we'll meet again some sunny day by Ms_Trickster / @ms-trickster

When Talia rests a hand atop her bed, the sound of paper crunching beneath it fills her ears.

Missy's words: Talia is a character that deserves a lot more depth and affection and it was a blast to write a story in which she is loved.

[darin-nidk]

Proposals. | Hazbin Hotel characters.

Content: Proposing horribly or in the most awkward situations featuring Rosie, Husk, Velvette and Valentino.

c.w.: cannibalism.

Rosie had invited you over for dinner which wouldn't be strange, though this time uhm... there was a corpse on the table as part of the menu. Normally, she'd take into consideration your diet and avoid showing you something so distasteful but it was evident that she was angry as she took a bite of the flesh from its arm and tore it with her sharp teeth, ripping the skin and causing blood to splatter onto the table, her plate and even her clothes. You reached for a glass of water as Rosie spoke, "this one was a rather persistant suitor of mine, he could not simply understand I did not reciprocate his feelings and I did not want his courtship", your eyes darted down to the, still nameless, body that was bloodier than before and cleared your throat. "You know, dear, we should get married as soon as possible to avoid future situations like this".

c.w.: descriptive vomiting.

Husk wasn't proud that he had relapsed into his alcoholism this badly, kneeling on the bathroom floor while you rubbed soothing circles in between his wings yet that's his reality now. The vile feeling of yesterday's contents resting on his tongue, bits of poorly stomached and varely digested solids remained there, as well as the disgusting stomach acid traveling all the way upwards and outside his mouth, his eyes teary in disgust, humilliation and misery. Nonetheless, during a small break in which he had ceased puking, still lightheaded, his blurry sight tried to focus on your figure as he offered a pathetic smile. "Marriage said somethin' 'bout health 'n sickness, right? 'm lookin' forward to take care of ya', I'll be there too". Shortly after that, he went back to gripping the toilet seat edges as he puked, the acidic smell burning his nostrils.

c.w.: sexual harassment.

Velvette was aggressively typing away on her phone, before slamming it down on the table and abruptly standing up, she looked uncharacterisically flustered and caught the attention of everyone in the meeting — she slammed the exit door behind her, and made her way towards Valentino's studio and yelled at the top of her lungs, interrupting the recording of the video as she yanked random cables to provoke more damage. "Oi, you goddamn pissboy! How dare you have my goddamn spouse in this filthy studio of yours?!". Apparently, you were upgraded from their lover to spouse, not even fiance. You were here against your will, and only managed to escape one of the porn actors grasp when Velvette started to wreck Valentino's studio.

c.w.: r18, sex, bellybulge, possessive behavior, unhealthy.

Valentino wasn't someone that considered marriage until meeting you, he wasn't into monogamy (and still wasn't) but the thought of you getting together with someone else drove him insane with blinding jealously. As he was currently balls deep inside of your weeping hole, his lower set of arms making your body rise up and down to keep fucking you, reshaping your insides to his cock that made a bulge show in your belly, he uttered the following words "marry me, amor mío", he whispered in a possessive manner against the nape of your neck before bitting down, sucking and leaving a hickey that'd be impossible to hide.

[leighsartworks216]

A Spawn Could Get Used To This

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this on 1 hour of sleep. I did proofread it. I am so so sleepy. I'm going back to bed after this

Warnings: embarrassment

Word Count: 1,163

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

In the few weeks he’d been traveling along with this not-so-merry band of weirdos, Astarion got used to a lot of things very quickly. Gale loudly explaining anything at the drop of a hat, Lae’zel and Shadowheart fighting, the smells. Some things were positive, too. The sun was always nice and warm, and the odd sort of comfort being with a group of weirdos brought was nice. And, of course, some things were neutral.

One of the neutrals he’d adjusted to came in the form of you, their leader, and in fact the forms you could take on. He wasn’t sold on the whole druid thing before - all of them were tree huggers who cried over a crushed blade of grass - but, well, being romantically involved with one came with some quirks.

Quite often, almost any time you weren’t busy exploring or risking their lives, you would transform into a cat and go about the camp. If Scratch and the owlbear cub were any indicators, small fluffy things raised morale. Most everyone would scratch along your spine or behind your ears, all their woes forgotten for even a brief moment. It became rather commonplace. Mundane. What an odd thing to be called mundane.

Along with this came another little quirk.

After you did your rounds, getting pets and listening to their smaller issues, you’d come back around and rub against his leg. This very quickly became a way of asking for him to pick you up. You rather enjoyed being close to his chest and purring as loudly as possible.

Today was just like any other. You’d come back with a sack of stolen goods and bloody armor, drop everything unceremoniously in a pile, and transform to make your rounds. Well, he assumed that’s what you did. He was a little preoccupied when you disappeared, but he didn’t think much of it when a cat started wandering around the tents.

So he stood and flipped through his book and busied himself, waiting to drop the act and pick you up and cuddle. It was a rather good act, he thought. He’d furrow his brow or lightly chuckle, and become so engrossed in pretending to read he stopped noticing the passage of time, until something small and fluffy rubbed against his leg.

He closed the book carelessly as he looked down at his feet. Sure enough, a cat rubbed its cheek against him, already starting to purr. He grinned, though not too wide, lest the others begin to think he went soft. “Hello, my love,” he cood. “Want me to hold you?”

The cat meowed, head butting him. He chuckled and tossed his book onto a pillow, before bending down and lifting the darling creature - his darling creature - into his arms. It flipped to its back to be cradled like a baby in the crook of his elbow, paws stretching out and claws latching lightly to the fabric of his shirt. It purred so loud he was sure everyone else for a mile could hear it.

Unusually, it didn’t seem to like when he tried stroking its belly. He thought, perhaps, you just didn’t want that kind of contact today. He’d been getting used to the boundaries touch should have, and the fact you would respect them. It was only natural to have the same grace in return.

“Awe, you got yourself a little friend!”

Astarion startled at the voice, jostling the cat slightly, who mrowled at the movement. Sure enough, standing beside his tent toweling their hair dry was his beloved druid. Not in cat form. He gaped in confusion and awe.

“Darling, don’t take this the wrong way but, where the Hells were you?” The cat rolled to its side to knead biscuits into his chest. He barely felt the pinpricks of nails.

You gave him an odd look. “I went for a wash. Our battles were a bit bloodier today, and while you may like the smell of blood, I, personally, don’t. Especially when it’s up my nose.” You scowled, rubbing your nose at the memory. “Why? Did something happen?”

His frown didn’t disappear as he slowly replied, “No, nothing at all.”

You gave him another odd look. “Are you alright?”

He blinked, shaking himself out of his dumbfounded stupor. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but…” He looked down at the cat in his arms that seemed to settle down and prepare for a nap. “Well, dear, I thought this was you.”

The laugh bursts out of you unbidden, and Astarion glares embarrassed at you. You try to bite down the giggles trying to escape. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just,” you giggle and step forward to pet the cat. You have a bubbly sort of mischief in your eyes. He prepares himself for the worst. “You can’t tell the difference between us?”

“I didn’t think I had to memorize the precise hairs, no,” he bit. “It looked like you - why would I have any reason to believe it wasn’t?”

“You don’t need to be defensive,” you assure sweetly. “It’s cute! And it seems to like you.”

He huffed and looked down at the creature. The points of its fangs peeked out as it drifted off into sleep. The purring persisted, now almost reminding him of snoring. He pouted, though he hated when you called it that. He preferred the term brooding. “Yes, well, I was rather hoping it was my darling druid come to join me for a lazy evening.”

You chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I can do that. But I don’t think your new friend is going to want to leave you alone.”

He peeked at you from the corner of his eye. “I could be persuaded to share myself with both of you.”

“What if I turned into a cat and purred, too?”

He hummed, pretending to consider the deal, but the slight lift of his mouth gave it away. “I don’t know, darling. You know how much I simply loathe sharing. I think you can do better than that.”

You smile. “Okay, what if I throw a kiss into the mix?”

He grinned, the points of his fangs peeking out just like the cat’s in his arms. “That might even it out.”

You do your best to avoid disturbing the cat as you lean in to catch his lips. You taste of fresh spring water and the barest hint of a health potion. And he loves it. The kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough before you pull away and kiss his cheek. “Get comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I’ll count the seconds,” he teases, though there’s no hint of a lie in his voice.

You chuckle and walk away, back to the pile of stuff that Wyll and Gale are already sorting through, counting 1, 2, 3, 4… And 97 seconds later, when you and this stranger cat are both laying atop him, purring incessantly, he finds he could get used to it.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

[pursuitseternal]

“Bites in the Night: Part 4” returns hotter bloodier than ever: a series of nsfw Astarion x Reader on the road

“Let me have that sweet ambrosia, my love…”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 2.7K of Period sex 🩸

Summary: Remaining behind to loot your enemy, the moon is full. Your belly aches. He smells it instantly, the feast between your legs, and he just has to do something about it, for his sake and for yours.

CW: (tasteful) period sex, a ravenous vampire rogue, very attentive care and comfort, blood kink, NSFW, a bloody feeding frenzy for Astarion

A/N: Ambrosia: Ancient Greek for menstrual blood and the perfect Vampire meal😈🩸

Read here if you prefer AO3

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Night is falling, and you are nowhere near the rendezvous point. Your back, your ass, and everything in between is killing you. Astarion had to insist on looting that enemy camp. He left no chest unopened, no stone unturned. You sniff in mild irritation. Fucking rogue.

Your horse begins to slow, another thing he insisted on keeping as spoils. Two beautiful mounts to hurry back on your journey. The rest of your party is half a day ahead, but you should have been there by now.

You turn in your saddle, eyeing the packs of loot on the rump of your brown mare, and the equal amount on that beautiful black stallion your vampire rogue rides on behind you. His eyes meet yours, his mouth twisting in that irritating smirk that drips with sex. “It is quite the view, you know, watching your ass shift and bounce with every step…” his voice is loud, sultry and daring.

When it’s just you two, he hides nothing. Every little dirty thought or suggestion, he proudly voices. In fact, it’s why you’re running late. Your roguish lover insisted on replenishing his strength after the fight almost the instant you two were alone. He fed well, not to mention you just had to help each other burn off your blood running hot after battle. Nothing a quick rut in the forest didn’t fix.

But now you paid for it, your belly aches from

How deep he had taken you, the folds of your cunt swollen and sore from roughly fucking in the dirt.

You tut your tongue at him before turning back around in your seat and urging your horse forward. Faster.

But now your belly burns. Looking into the sky through the trees, you begin to see the world growing dim, bathing in the light of a full moon. That’s when you swallow.

Oh.

It isn’t just from being fucked hard after battle that your belly is sore. You look down at the tan of your saddle, your suede breeches. And sure enough, they darken.

Blood.

You groan.

And of course, Astarion knows. He urges his horse alongside yours now, brows furrowed. “I smell blood, darling, yours no less…”

You reign in your mount. This little clearing among the pines will have to do. “It’s nothing,” you shrug. You pull your cloak over your shoulder, hiding your lap from his crimson prying eyes. “You see to the tent, I’ll tend the horses. We can camp here for tonight.” You’ve decided.

“Wouldn’t it be faster if we simply ride….” he begins to argue, but the way your face screws in hot irritation makes his mouth snap shut. He arches a single brow, but he mumbles his acceptance. He slides from his horse, beginning to unlatch the bedrolls and packs from his stallion. He eyes you suspiciously when he thinks you’re not looking, but you are taking your sweet time, waiting for him to leave before you slide off your saddle. Knowing it’ll reveal the mess you have made.

At last he carries armfuls of equipment away. But you know you don’t have long. You dismount rapidly, grabbing a rag and some saddle soap, trying to work the stain from the leather.

You hurry, but you’re not fast enough. His hand comes to rest on yours, pinning you mid-swipe with the rag in hand. You watch him lean towards the leather, his nostrils flaring and his eyes observing the spots of red on the cloth. He cocks his head, a single finger slinking to lift your cloak ever so slightly. Just enough to show the stains that darken the tan of your breeches.

“You smell of blood, of ambrosia, my darling,” he purrs. Fingers now claw around that edge of your cape, holding you fast in place.

“It’s just the moon,” you grimace, trying to pull away. “Just my monthly bleeding. Nothing so delectable.”

You ache, eyeing the tent he has pitched with ridiculous speed.

But his hand only grips tighter and pulls you harder. “Darling,” he breathes, heavier than before, and you look into his eyes, they catch with the moonlight and glow their deep crimson. You watch his chest heaving, slowly but noticeable. “What am I?”

“You…” you scan him. Every muscle in his body is taught and ready to spring. Pupils dilated. Cock already bulging from his trousers. “You’re aroused?”

“Darling, what… am… I?” now he growls, his finger pointing to the two scars in his own ivory neck.

“Vampire,” you exhale, never feeling more like you are trembling before a blood-sucking monster than now.

“And what are you?” he pushes, raising the stained cloth, covered in your courses and in saddle soap to his nose. Watching him breathe deeply, fairly drooling as his eyes open again.

“Bleeding…” you reply to a look of deep approval from your lover.

“A perfect combination, I would say,” he croons as he tosses the rag at your feet. “Now, you get yourself in our tent, you rest for the slightest moment while I tend to our horses. And then you’ll find yourself in the arms of so much attentive caring, you will beg me never to stop until I’ve had my fill of your ambrosia, darling.”

You shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from his sweet and dirty words or the fact your body is in such turmoil. Slogging your way, you manage to get into the tent, dropping your cloak and immediately reaching to unfurl the blankets and bedrolls, tossing them all over the ground. Your belly aches and your breeches stick uncomfortably. You need them off. The pressure, the stick.

Shimmying them from your waist, you keep your back to the entrance, because somehow you know he’s standing there. Watching and waiting. Maybe it’s the heavy breathing that you notice first. But you finally step out of the soiled pants, turning in nothing but your shirt to come face to face with Astarion. Your hungry vampire. The very picture of famish and yearning.

He licks his lips, eyes almost black, dilated so wide as he looks at you. His lips pull back, fangs bared, the beast barely restrained.

He crosses to you in a split second, faster than lighting, lest you forget he has already feasted on you once today. His mouth ravages yours, suffocating and consuming. As if he feeds on your air, not your blood. Fingers tangle into your hair, angling your mouth perfectly for his tongue to delve into its warm depths. His other hand grips at your back, pressing you flush against him, the hard, cool plane of his body giving you some reprieve. His touch is hard. Commanding. His hips give a little thrust where you ache. Your vision blurs, but not in pain. No, it feels… good. So good. Pushing and thrusting where your body feels like it’s tearing itself apart.

He doesn’t speak, his heavy breathing deafens you, the little growls he makes into your mouth make you somehow feel even wetter between your legs. “On the ground, darling,” he finally rasps into your kiss. One hand grips into your shirt, pulling it off you so swiftly, your skin becomes gooseflesh with it gone.

Astarion moves your body down, letting you spread yourself over his hips, sprawling himself across the haphazard bundles of blankets. He hushes you softly, “Shhh, my love. Now, you just close your eyes, and I’ll tend to everything. Every little drop of your delicious blood will be mine… if you wish?”

You nod; “Yes,” you breathe.

Large, cold hands grip into your ass, urging you forward from where you straddle him. His tongue is already licking his lips. Splaying your hands on the ground, you let him move you, your drenched cunt a banquet he will savor. You feel him as he licks you so rapidly. Wet everywhere as he centers you over his hungry mouth. Then, he really, truly feasts.

You cant your hips, both hands splayed on the ground as his grip keeps you pinned over his greedy mouth. Your arms shake, your body growing more and more rigid, taught and building and ready to burst.

He gives a light slap on your cheek, making you twitch as his tongue dives right into the center of your channel. Palms cupping you, his tongue slows its lick, languorous now, exploring more than cleaning. Attentive, exquisite pressure catching and swirling in all the right places. His hold on your rear eases, letting you swivel and buck as he licks you, your belly aching in more familiar ways. The clenching of your muscles, the throbbing in your core wants more than just to be cleaned and fed upon.

You clamber off of him, the sight of blood on his chin not unfamiliar, but that greedy, irascible glare makes your blood run cold and hot all at once. He sits up quickly, eager and hungry as he licks his bloodied lips. He will pin you down and keep feeding unless you take control, you see it in his eyes. In the ferocious appetite that claws beneath that hard, flirtatious exterior. You see it in the way his hands clench and open as he scans every inch of your flesh.

But you know what you want, what you need next. Hands tug his shirt from his waistband, pulling it from his ivory skin. “Gods, I’ve never wanted to feel you inside me more than now,” you breathe, one hand bunching the fabric of his shirt.

You use it to wipe the blood from his chin, revealing the dramatic pout of his lips. “Darling,” he tries to purr, but his voice is thick in his throat, edged with the gravelly tones of his appetite, “I was saving that for later.”

“Not if you are going to kiss me as you fuck me, my love,” you offer as lightly in reply as you can.

It makes him smile, wickedly and brimming with delight. His hands already unlacing the band of his breeches, he moves with that near-supernatural speed in his fingers. Before you even can laugh, he is on top of you, the cold, heavy weight of his body stealing your breath. You gasp to feel his cock already straining, pressing at your aching entrance. All that blood, that arousal that pools there, it makes it so easy for him to slip right in.

Groaning, he takes you, merciless, your cunt engorged. Swollen from your courses, he thrusts harder into you, filling you with the delicious drag and pressure of his cock. It presses, hard, straining against the way every muscle inside you clenches. Astarion watches your face, cautiously scanning for your every reaction. He smirks, relishing how your eyes roll and flutter, savoring the feeling of your hips bucking to take every single one of his rapid thrusts somehow deeper into your warm bliss.

He groans, his forehead coming to rest on yours, hand clutching with command into your hair. “I want to feed, my love, I want my mouth on any and every part of you,” he growls, the chill of his breath passing between your lips from where he hovers.

“Yes,” you moan, “yes, anywhere. Everywhere.”

His hand in your hair pulls you slightly, his teeth in your neck again before you even have a chance to finish your words. You shudder, feeling his taught body dancing on the edge of his control. But for as quick and hard as his fucking is, his mouth is tender on your neck. You twist to face him, catching his mouth with yours. You don’t even care as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your body is warm and numb and cradled, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his cock pummels your cunt.

So swollen, so full, so overcome, you can’t even tell when your climax begins to consume you, not until you are screaming into his mouth and clacking your teeth against his fangs. Not until your legs buckle and clutch around his hips. And not until your muscles clench harder than they ever have, even as he persists with his thrusts. His breath heavy in your mouth, grunting with each dive into the wet that comes pouring out of you. His head throws back, and you watch his own wave of ecstasy claim his pale, handsome features. His face tweaks in painful pleasure, and you watch those glowing eyes beam down at you as he eases from his climax, the smile on his mouth covered in equally crimson blood.

You breathe deeply, hand brushing gently to his neck to bring that mouth against yours once more. His kiss is tender—satisfied and soft. “Feel better, darling?” he purrs with a caress of his icy fingers against the flush of your face.

“Much,” you breathe, still relieved at the pressure of his cock deep inside you. “Thank you,” you give a little list of your hips.

“Really, darling, it is my pleasure,” he smirks, heavy lidded eyes regarding you with such intensity. Again. “There is nothing more delicious than you, my treat. I could gobble you up all night…” he taunts, a hint of mischief playing over the lines of his face. “Now, you rest, and let me tend to the cleaning…”

You look at the mess, at your bloodied clothes, relaxing to merely have to rest. He slides from you, and your body goes limp the moment he withdraws that prodding and massive length from your walls. But even as sleep begins to claim you, you feel that wet mouth lapping at you again.

Groaning, you glance between your legs, his face buried deep as he does, in fact, tend to the cleaning.

You drift off anyway, his tongue far less instant than before. But even as you rest, overcome in exhaustion, you stir hour to hour. Stirring every time he comes back to your thighs to feed again. And again. Until finally, sometime during the night, you shut your legs tight, hand reaching to shove him away. “Not until dawn,” you groan as you roll back over.

He only giggles, low and deep in his chest. His cold body lays behind you, hard and unyielding and comforting as you let the waves of sleep take you again deep into their embrace. As you rest, wrapped in his arms.

The moment light breaks, grey dawn filling your tent, a hand spreads your knees apart, throwing one leg’s sleepy weight over his shoulder as he laps and sucks from you again.

“True to my word, darling, I have waited until daylight,” he whispers, breath passing over your still aching mount.

You try to sit up, but a hand presses down on your still swollen belly. You sigh. “We will have to get moving, my love, if we are to meet the others…”

“Oh, my treat, you are in no condition to travel,” he croons between wet slides of his tongue up your thighs. “The others will just have to understand…”

“But…” your words are silenced the second his tongue delves back between your folds, making hard little circles over your clit.

“You are in no condition to have me let you out of my bed, darling,” he replies, hand pressing one leg lower against the ground, opening up your wet slick even more. “It would be dangerous to have you traveling with so much blood… You never know what monsters out there might scent you and try to claim it for their own.”

You give a scoff from your dry throat. “Like a vampire…” you groan as his tongue returns to pleasure you again for a moment.

“They, my pet, are the most demanding of all.” He grins at you, from between your legs again. “Tch,” he sucks his teeth, taunting and arrogant and handsome, “you should know better by now.”

“You are a demanding beast, you know…” you moan before you can finish your words.

“You should see me… if you were to deny me my feast, darling…” he replies between swirls of his tongue. “Now, hold still and let me have that sweet ambrosia, my sweet.”

Hips bucking a bit, letting him in deeper, you relax, luxuriating in his bed. For who are you to deny your vampire such a feast.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Other “Bites”

Part 1: “Go back to sleep, darling…”

Part 2: “You’ll have to keep quieter than that…”

Part 3: “Daggers are a love language, my sweet…”

Ascended Astarion x Reader: “The Rogue You Were”

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Just Another Notch

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Reader Masterlist

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong. Part 5/?

Word count: 1,682

AN: two chapters in one day because I can 💋🤷🏻‍♀️

So here you were, dressed in the most expensive fabric you’ve ever touched. Tony had a dress tailored for your mission, the style was nothing like anything you saw at any of his cocktail parties. It felt vintage, like old money. The dark green was almost black, but in certain lights you could see the emerald reflection. It was long, but not in a slim, skin tight way, it had a bust, and it flared out at the hips, dark tulle flowing to the floor. It was like the dress was actually made for you, designed for your body, not sized up.

Your hair and makeup was done by no one other than yourself. You didn’t trust the makeup artists Tony hired, if their faces were any indication of what you’d look like, you’d rather go bare faced. You were good enough at makeup, understanding that for this look, you needed to look classic, rich. To achieve it, a tiny black wing with a white shimmer on your inner corner was more than enough for your eyes. You didn’t touch your eyebrows or put foundation on, though you usually like to. You had to know that the other women there won’t be wearing nearly as much makeup. You brush a coral rouge powder over your cheeks, then dabbing it off with a big powder brush, practically blending it into your skin.

The only thing you knew to go all out for, is you lips. Dark red, almost purple: the bloodier the better. Nothing said evil conglomerate like a red lip. And your hair, no one touched your hair. You had that covered, heat was never applied, gel and foam rollers helped you achieve the thick curls that sit on your shoulders. You sucked in a breath as you walked out of your room, down to the elevator felt like a thousand steps.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflective metal elevator door, and now you felt the same as you did this morning, practically naked in a sports bra. When it dings and you step out onto the roof, you see your team, suited up like they’re going on a mission, as they climb into the quinjet. How lovely, they get bullet proof armor and you get priceless crushed velvet. You know what else is priceless? Your life.

You focus on walking in heels, keeping your eyes on the ground infront of you, when you step up onto the platform you look around, seeing where you should sit. Of course Natasha and Steve take the pilot seats, leaving you and Bucky to figure it out. You find a seat near the exit, your nerves getting the better of you.

Of course Bucky sits right beside you. You try not to make eye contact as you sit back and cross your legs, it’s gonna be a long ride. “I’m sorry, about this morning. I didn’t know he would say that.” He whispers to you, as if Natasha and Steve aren’t allowed to hear his apology. You roll your eyes, whatever you thought you were doing with Bucky, is over, too much has happened.

You had a job to do, and playing hard to get would be saved for a later date, never. He notices your eye roll and places his hand on your exposed shoulder, trying to relax you. But it does the opposite. “You look beautiful, doll.”. You nod your head, you couldn’t call him a liar, you knew you looked amazing. But that didn’t mean you had to be grateful for his compliment.

The thought sat in the back of your mind, he’s only trying to add you to his roster, don’t fall for it. You look over and your eyes connect with his and you can’t help but to feel a little guilt when you see the sincerity in his eyes. You always expect the worst from him, and every time he proves you wrong, except for this morning, you had no clue what he said to Steve after you left, he could’ve scolded him or laughed with him. You’d never know, cause you’ll never ask. You didn’t care to, you don’t want to be another one of his numbers.

Bucky can see the uncertainty in your eyes, moving his gloved hand from your shoulder to your jaw. “I mean it.”. The way the words fell from his lips had your skin igniting. Now here you were, betraying your own thoughts instantly. He runs his leather covered thumb over your bottom lip, he watches as it pulls with the friction. “I love this color on you.” He says in his hushed tone, but it didn’t feel hushed anymore, every breath he took reverberated off your eardrums. You were so focused on his mouth as he spoke you didn’t notice him scoot closer to you on the bench.

It’s like another person inside of you spoke, “Thank you.”, you’re not really sure what you’re thanking him for, but maybe it will make him ease on his intensity. He smiles genuinely as you accept his compliments. “It’s a shame, can’t take you out tonight, looking like this.” He smooth talks. And you hate yourself for blushing, so you try to play it off “What made you think I’d go out with you?” You squint slightly, watching his reaction.

He’s an award winning actor apparently, his parted lips forming a smirk, “You saying you wouldn’t?” He says lowly, his grip on your jaw tightening slightly. You don’t know, if you’re honest with yourself; you liked how he was making you feel right now, and you couldn’t imagine how it would be if you were on a date with him.

You decide, in that moment of lapsed judgement, that you did wanna play his game after all. You close your mouth, that hung agape giving him the permission to keep his thumb there, your lips subtly wrap around his gloved finger, it was a barely noticeable innuendo. You pull away before you can even taste the leather; shaking your head. “Depends, are you asking me?”.

Bucky’s eyes darken at the sight of your lips wrapping around him. It’s like a switch was flipped, this wasn’t another office fuck. The way you made him feel was primal, he never needed anyone like he needed you right now. “Do that again, see what happens.”. He says, practically groaning the words out.

Your heart starts pumping deep in your stomach, you could feel that nauseous feeling some would consider butterflies. Bucky wasn’t gonna answer your question about asking you on a date, because in his mind, once he had you, there was no need to pretend with dinners and movies. Bucky leans in, pulling your face closer to his with the strong grip he has on you. “I dare you.”.

You couldn’t back down now, you had him hooked, and you were obviously winning the game. You smirk at his possessive eyes, then you wrap your lips around the thumb again, a little more of it this time. Your tongue being able to flick against it, you would die at the thought of others blood staining it. But in this moment, it didn’t matter.

Bucky’s eyes watch your mouth intently, a little gasp escaping him. He was shocked, he didn’t expect you to do it. Now he had to figure out just what he was gonna do about it. He presses his thumb down on your tongue, paralyzing it. His eyes are almost black as they study your face. “You have no clue do you?” He presses his brows together.

You shake your head in his hand, not being able to speak. You don’t really know what exactly he’s referring to. “What I’m going to do to you when this mission ends.” He clarifies, pulling his thumb from your mouth, dragging his hand down your neck, a trail of your own saliva wetting your skin. Thank god you weren’t wearing foundation.

He presses the wet digit against your pulse point, and you can feel the blood stop rushing to your brain. Your mind starts racing with the possibilities, but the lack of oxygen is fogging it. Maybe you played the game a little too well. Maybe you want him and you’ve been denying it to yourself this whole time. “I-“ you begin to say but the shuttering of the quintet landing and the sound of Steve and Natasha unbuckling their seatbelts make you and Bucky snap out of the lust filled bubble you were in.

“We’re here.” Steve says, looking between you and Bucky, his eyebrows raising at seeing you to pressed so tightly side by side. Bucky removed his hand the second he realized we were about to be seen. But he didn’t care what Steve thought, so he didn’t move from his spot, just scowling at his so called friend from across the quintet. He gave him one more chance after the “needing to eat already” comment. But when he said you needed to lose weight, that was enough for him to feel differently about his friend, telling him to fuck off, and come back when he has some common decency.

He didn’t expect to be paired with him on a mission so soon. He ignores Steve’s hopeful eyes, turning to Natasha. “Coms on?” He says, sliding an earpiece over to you. Natasha gives a thumbs up, already typing away on a laptop, trying to find the blue prints for Bruno’s yacht.

He turns back to you, and Steve checks his watch, you had to go now, the boat was gonna undock soon. He presses the button that releases the platform, the heavy metal door slowly descending to the ground. Bucky had done such a good job distracting you, you almost forgot your mission entirely. Now you were in action mode, but you didn’t have the hang of your action mode quite yet. Bucky takes your hand in his. “I’ll be with you the whole night, okay?” He says, noticing the fear in your eyes. You nod, taking a cooling breath. “I’m ready.”

[darlingpwease]

I wound about Yandere omega Xue Yang (from Mdzs and lets just act like he have never die)

fufufu 'I love my omegas unhinged, intelligent and obsessive', mm~?

every dog needs a master

♡ unhealthy behaviour, animalistic behaviour, suggestive themes, dommale elements, intentionally dirtier and bloodier writing, mention of blood + killing + torture + metaphors with animals; manipulative!reader & morally grey!reader implied

♡ sex during mating season, rough sex, brat taming, breeding implied, blood play implied

ωα XUE YANG is the omega that you would never in your life think 'my future husband' at the first and subsequent meetings.

That he is evil, that his fate is bad, that he carries misfortune, that he is problematic, that you will definitely regret it — yes; but that he will become your omega? Never. Marriage and a marks is not just 'love' and mutual obligations; this is an inter-clan event where you make not just 'three bows', but radically change your whole life, especially with omega, in whose eyes there is always a shine that has nothing generative or innocent in it, but destroying and cursed.

You knew from the very beginning with whom you were linking fate and life.

That didn't stop you from digging nails into his waist when fangs left a binding mark on his clean neck.

Do you love him? Rather 'yes' than 'no' — no matter what, it's hard not to like him, even if someone finds your tastes strange, especially with this difference between you. But you carelessly say, 'well, what's wrong with my husband being wild, obnoxious, loud, vindictive, rabid, distrustful, unhinged, jealous, territorial, possessive and clingy? I love him, even if every omega and omega-like beta is afraid to approach me, including when he is not around!' — and what can anyone say to that if you already see perfectly well who your omega husband is?

In the end, you chose him no matter what; you responded to his advances and nursed him, you extended your hand to him, you allowed him to spend his heat with you and leave an itchy bite on your neck, which he is happy to update regularly.

To believe in 'kinship of souls' or 'destiny' is painful, even if this is clearly what XUE YANG is trying to tell you, smiling sweetly and making eyes at you, but your omega is so fascinating and pretty as murderous and jealous, as if all charm is outrage at the damage caused by the absence of any morality, — except that where you, like the owner, take him away and forbid.

It's even more surprising only when he agrees with you, snuggling up to your side, rubbing against you, leaving an aggressively territorial smell on your body and clothes, and promising that he won't do that anymore... At least you don't see any signs that he's doing it again. You don't believe in 'the power of love' or 'the power of kindness' — but when the leash is pulled, the dog goes; and even if "another case of how alpha tamed a rabid omega!", you're just smiling, not agreeing and not refuting. In the end, 'domestication' implies complete submission due to long and constant pressure, from which the animal becomes harmless and calm; but can you call your omega submissive and calm, and, moreover, 'harmless'?

You can't even call him 'not dangerous', let alone 'harmless' for interacting with anyone — but you don't need it; watchdogs should be aggressive and cruel, and since your sweet smiling husband behaves with you as with the greatest jewel, which anyone can't talk about if a person wants to stay with their eyes, and a long conversation with who will only lead to cutting off the tongue, then you are more than ready to accept and show understanding, like a pure celestial seeking to cleanse a vicious soul from a dark sediment, showing the wild omega the charm of being a delicate flower for his alpha.

... Who is safer to leave puppies with? Who to rely on if hard times come? Who will be better able to serve you arrows during the attack, follow you during the escape and handle your wounds after the battle?

Of course, you could have chosen a meek and gentle omega, with whom you would be safe and calm while they dutifully served you — but you were chosen by the most aggressive and desperate omega, promising to be the most perfect for you (even if he had to kill all the others so that you had no choice), and you chose him — voluntarily.

And this is important.

The dog chooses the only owner, entrusting his life and future to them, but it is the owner who chooses what to do with the dog. Never the other way around. And if you don't want the dog to cling to your throat and chew through your chest, then you have to hold it so tightly that it can't even move.

“I won't let you go.”

It's mutual.

ωα XUE YANG is very jealous — and possessive. Your scent is always on his body as well as his on you; to the extent that others no longer remember which of the two of you smells. XUE YANG doesn't care how vulgar it may look when the mixture of his and your fragrance doesn't leave body, especially if your fragrance is something 'atypical' and causes a certain reaction among omegas and alphas — he wears it as an achievement, as a trophy that has traces all over his body; starting from kisses and hickeys and ending with bruises and scratches — he is untamed, but you are ready to make attempts to refute this, treating him like a wild dog who does not want to understand where his place is, even knowing that he will never really stop trying to get out of these boundaries and will regularly try to bite through the leash to attack and feast on you.

The relationship with him does not have any definite 'end' on the scale of progress, where you can finally relax, knowing that he will not break out anymore — and if you kept him from escaping, it would be much easier, but to keep him from not trying to own you and be the only one who is in your life is much more difficult and problematic. XUE YANG has no 'moral boundaries' — life has taught him that — and knows that what he has will not necessarily be his forever.

He can't let anyone else have you.

And when his sharp fangs playfully bite you just to lick right away, you can only wind his hair around your fist, letting him feel that you are always ready to push him away as soon as he crosses the border and causes pain.

A few demonstrations are enough for him to learn at least this — even if you can freely bite his neck and shoulders until they bleed, especially when you press him firmly against the bed, wall or floor, leaving a mark on his neck, from which small drops flow down, although you can understand from the trembling in his body that his more what suits it, even if he continues to tease tease tease

ωα XUE YANG used to rely on the smell. In a world where any fragrance has a meaning and a source, and there is nothing 'superfluous', his sense of smell has always been especially sharp and tenacious, catching even those notes that others are unable to catch.

"Intuition" says someone; "stinks" echoes XUE YANG hoarsely when he feels someone else's smell on your body, even if he just entered the room smelling of incense after you took a bath. You don't know how he does it — it's like his nose is even more sensitive, but not at all the way people think; he does not need to feel a literal smell, he feels something even more subtle, as if there is something else in someone else's fragrance that touches his receptors and finds a response in his body and brain.

The whole world is a huge garbage dump for him, the stench in which is unbearable, no matter if he is in a slum or in some noble society where they take a bath three times a day — and you?

You smell like the cleanest and most desirable thing in the world.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that it was your smell that blew his head off, because you smell so animal-like; not like a stray mutt or a street cat smells, but something that triggers something primal and natural in him, making everything inside him want to plunge into you, get under the skin and stay forever.

When the bottom of his stomach almost painfully pulls, although his heat is still a few weeks away, XUE YANG knows that you are somewhere nearby, even if he does not see you — body reacts to you with the most animal and irresistible impulse, and the fact that you seem so pure and unattainable makes him frantically try to become more worthy and to get higher, to become much better, much more decent — to get to you and bite into your neck, pulling you down after him.

When a cat climbs up a tree after a bird, it doesn't do it to fly like a bird does.

And when he presses against you again and again, inhaling your scent, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing tightly, you are sure that with the same success in his understanding you could be a half-dead mouse in the hands of a well-fed cat, over which the cat carefully puts sharp teeth, preparing to gnaw through the skin and leave a bleeding trail that does not a few more days will pass — his cute fangs are as sharp as a razor.

... Of course, XUE YANG doesn't consider you that way — especially when you hold tightly by the throat to the bed, almost suffocating him, looking down not with arrogance, but with authority, which at the same time makes him want to purr and obey and at the same time try to scratch your skin and make you look up at him.

Bad omega.

“Oh, really? I thought you liked this one, since you reek of some bitch again.”

... Xue Yang loves — adores — your scent and is ready to live forever surrounded only by it, taking your clothes and climbing into your arms.

But because of this, those moments when you smell of someone else excite in him the thirst for blood and possessive aspirations even more.

ωα XUE YANG doesn't build many nests before you start living together as spouses — in the end, he slept in your room much more often and returned to himself only if you insisted that you did not want even more rumors and damage to his reputation (as if the fact that he regularly flirts with you and behaves like a sunny arrogant spoiled darling while for everyone else he is a cruel heartless bully is not sufficient proof of his frank and shameless adoration) or yours (although here you are also sure that no omega will dare to take care of you after XUE YANG openly showed what will happen to the one who decides), but he obeys just to say capriciously the next morning that he doesn't want to go anywhere, teasing you.

But after you become a couple? Your whole room is filled with nests — your bed is one huge nest, in which he weaves around you like a vine around a strong tree, not letting go a millimeter from his strong embrace.

(Where are you going? To other omegas?)

Your clothes regularly turn out to be a building material, which is why you have to go to tricks and take away from his oldest nests — and although you are sure that this is nothing more than another of his tricks, especially when a hand is abruptly stretched out from there and drags you inside with a rather snide purr, you soon get used to it.

Even if you are more than aware of all his shortcomings, you cannot deny that the sight of him taking the form of a ball, wrapping around you like an affectionate cat, makes you want to stroke him and bask, ignoring the sharp claws and cunning glint in his eyes.

He is your husband, after all, and you have to take responsibility for him, even if sometimes he smells of blood much stronger than he should — but you are also working on this.

Or use it — in any case, you mostly accept it as it is.

ωα His heat is short, but strong, and if earlier you thought that he was wild, then during the estrus your main problem is to keep him under control and make sure that the claws and fangs are only where you are ready to have bruises, scratches and bites later.

And XUE YANG prefers the same way — wildly and rudely, so that the imprint of your hands remains around his neck while you force him to obey, pointing him to his place; and although in his normal state he is sensitive to the topic of whether they look at him from top to bottom, from bottom to top or as an equal, during the heat he does not mind at all that you do not give him any attempts to change his position — if you do not want to end up with a scratched chest, feel hot tongue licking drops of blood while he presses you firmly to the bottom of the nest, growling gutturally like a wild animal, while his claws dig into your skin, leaving marks.

He is more than in connection with his animal side and his ego is closer to the ego of a wild street dog, who is used to constantly checking his status and growling in attempts to change his position, even knowing that in response you can easily force him back to a state of submission — and from that, sharp fangs dig into the skin greedily and desperately, satisfying the desire to get enough of you before you have time to take away this intoxicating feeling, even if nothing prevents you from simultaneously indulging his desire to feel the right to have you and at the same time not giving him control, which, you know, will only lead to even more destructive things, since XUE YANG will never be satisfied until you are completely at his mercy — in such a right of possession in which the living cannot be.

... When you gently kiss his forehead, letting him lie calmly in front of you, receptive and defenseless, showing you his most vulnerable moments, giving himself completely to your hands and desires while his body is gently filled, finding pleasure in all-consuming hugs and touches, trustingly rubbing his nose against your neck or cheek, wrapping weak arms around your neck — for the first time, he can finally relax, entrusting himself and a sense of control to you, even knowing the risk he is taking.

And you know that this is your real husband, whom you married just for the sake of such moments.

[xxnomadsxx]

I can only imagine your Branch giving the most disturbing gifts to show he cares. Ex:

Floyd: Oh man, I always worried Velvet and Veneer are gonna come back at some point

Branch: *Man, I wanna make him feel better hmm*

Cue the next day:

Branch: Here Floyd, this should make you feel safer (Man is covered in BLOOD and holding an even bloodier box) 😊

Floyd (about to pass out): Oh thanks B… what is it??

Branch: Velvet and Veneers vocal cords 😁 (He genuinely believes this will make him feel better)

Floyd: Oh… thank you Branch (He doesn’t want to reject the gift since it is one of the only occasions Branch has shown any of the brother’s affection)

His gifts only get worst from there. The brothers one time mention what happened to the Bergen that ate Grandma??? Branch puts Chef’s skeleton up in display for them to see that there’s nothing to worry about and that she’s been avenged. Meanwhile , BroZone: 🧍🧍🧍🧍

Poppy mentions that Creek betrayed the entire Troll kingdom??? Oh yeah, he tells the hilarious story about the time he was roasted alive and eaten by the village and even offers Poppy a tuff of his hair as proof.

He associates threats being eliminated as comforting and so he believes proof of that are the best gifts, he has good intentions but wtf he’s gotta work on better love languages.

anyways yeah BroZone loses their shit every time this happens but don’t have the heart to tell Branch to stop since it’s one of his main ways to show he cares about them and they’ll take anything at this point.

Honestly no one in the village is good at getting appropriate gifts ESPECIALLY Branch (he’s been living with the feral trolls(?) for years and their love language is violence) so you’re gonna have to forgive them on their very gruesome gifts.

All these situations are basically canon now because the idea is just so funny to me that Branch just pulled out all these corpse parts just to be like “don’t worry you’re safe😁”. Every time he does this his brother are just going through every emotion. It’s sweet that he did the gesture for them but also terrifying when you actually think about it (when he’s left the room, at least two of them puked and Floyd passed out four times) When Floyd is given the vocal cords as a gift the only thing keeping him conscious is the adoration that his baby brother got him a gift, but once Branch left the room, he immediately put the box in the closet and proceeded to puke on the floor. (Originally Branch got the vocal cords after he found out velvet and veneer took Floyd, but I find the idea of him going back for round two just so he can get a trophy for Floyd to tell him he was “safe” even better)

When he showed the skeleton to the brothers they were just too shocked to actually understand what was happening and kind of just went numb for a few minutes, all they could do was force themselves to focus on how happy Branch was so they wouldn’t have a meltdown.(when they later registered what they saw they just cried) When Poppy brought up how angry she is at Creek and how mad she is that he up and left again instead of staying to face his problems!! Branch laughed and said “OH, don’t worry we handled it😁” and he pulled out a tuff of Creeks hair, and hilariously explained the “funny story” of Creeks demise.

Everyone at this point just stops talking about people they don’t like out of fear that Branch Is just gonna come out with their body at any second. They like the gestures of the gift. It’s just the fact that they’re basically just corpse parts in a box that is handed to them with a smile 😊 saying, “I hope you like it” (he eventually stops when explained how messed up it is)

[sophsicle]

Hi!

I've seen several posts floating around about the prank being used more for drama in fandom and that it wasnt really that big of a deal. And I know that canonically remus wrote it off but I seem to remember in choices exploring remus being upset for a bit. Do you think in general it's true that it's out of proportion?

I just know that I've seen some great and well thought out answers from you and curious your thoughts.

Hope youre having good weekend ❤️❤️

Hello! So, i find the idea of something being used by writers "just for the drama" *derogatory* inherently funny. because. as a writer you should be looking for ways to create drama, that is basically your number one job. In canon the prank is a big deal, it just isn't a big deal for Remus and Sirius because JKR wasn't trying to do anything with them. It was a big deal for James and Snape.

now. personally. I think that making the Prank matter, adds really interesting emotional dynamics to the marauders. If you are writing Wolfstar, it provides excellent foreshadowing for the distrust that we see in the war, and it also showcases a darker side to Sirius's character, something that is very interesting to explore generally, but also if you are writing Regulus as well. Sirius is always seen as the "good" brother, but the Prank really complicates that narrative because it shows that Sirius can be selfish, thoughtless and amoral in the same ways that Regulus can.

basically I think, realistically, if Sirius and Remus are supposed to have any kind of believable relationship at all, it doesn't make sense to me that the Prank wouldn't be traumatic for them both. and i have gone on separate rants about how to me, the most sacred thing to James Potter is his boys and how devastating it is for him to realize that Sirius is capable of violating that.

ANYWAY absolutely not blown out of proportion, in fact, make it bloodier i say! Make it messier! Drive the knife in more! why would you waste such a beautiful opportunity to make all our favourite lil guys hurt so bad.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Something wasn’t right with the consistency of the batter.

Eddie had triple checked the recipe on the notecard in front of him and it was still wrong.

He tried not to cry out of frustration, but his eyes were stinging and he felt a lump in his throat anyways.

He was in charge of this one tiny thing for Steve’s surprise birthday party. It’s literally all he was asked to do: bake the cake.

He’d gotten the recipe for Steve’s favorite from Claudia at his own insistence that he could definitely handle it and it couldn’t be that hard.

Apparently he couldn’t and it was.

The batter was extremely water-y, definitely not thick like the recipe said it should be. It also was more of a tan color than a brown color, but that wasn’t even something Eddie could be worried about right now.

He was supposed to be done with it 20 minutes ago. Steve would be home from work in 30, and there was no way this would be baked and hidden and cleaned up in that time.

He’d fucked everything up.

What a surprise.

He poured the batter into the cake pan, resisting the urge to just pour it in the trash.

He had to see this through even if it did end up being the failure he expected it to be.

He’d call Claudia while Steve was in the shower if he had to; She was already prepared to help if needed.

He put the cake in the oven and waited.

He watched the timer slowly click down and the clock slowly approach the time Steve would be walking in the door.

He could always just say he wanted to try a new hobby. Steve always said he needed a hobby just for him to do alone. All his hobbies usually involved the kids or his band.

Baking could be a hobby. Probably not though since he couldn’t even get cake batter right.

He was startled by the front door opening.

Fuck.

“You’re early!” Eddie yelled as he tried to hide the recipe card, as if the rest of the mess wouldn’t give away exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah. Robin didn’t need a ride tonight.”

Steve’s voice was closer to the kitchen with every word he spoke and Eddie was going through either a panic attack or an aneurysm.

Maybe both?

And then Steve was standing in the kitchen, hands on his hips, suspicion written clear across his face.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Yeah, that’s good. Act normal. Greet him like you always do. There’s definitely nothing baking in the oven. There’s no dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter and…is that a mixing spoon on the floor? God, he’s a mess.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Steve snorted, amusement taking over instead of suspicion.

“Okay, but this looks like a big mess for nothing.”

Eddie watched as Steve walked behind the counter and took in the rest of the mess.

Dustin and Robin would be so pissed at him for ruining the surprise.

“Just felt like trying my hand at something new.”

“Uh huh. And that something new involves making every dish in the kitchen dirty?”

“It was a test.”

“A test.”

“Yeah. Just making sure everything works.”

Steve nodded once and then turned to Eddie with a smirk.

“Did you make me a birthday cake for my surprise party?”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. How the fuck did he know about the party?

“What do you mean?”

“The surprise party that I definitely don’t know anything about but is taking place tomorrow at the Henderson home. I’m assuming this is what you’re in charge of.”

“How did you find out? I was so careful. God, Dustin’s gonna kill me. Robin’s gonna kill me a second, bloodier time. I couldn’t make the cake right, I couldn’t keep anything a secret, now the surprise is ruined and-“

Eddie was cut off by soft lips on his.

When Steve pulled away, he was smiling.

“I love you.”

“I love you too?”

“You didn’t ruin the surprise at all. Dustin did three days ago. He doesn’t know he did though, so please don’t tell him.”

“What?! That shithead threatened my LIFE.”

“I figured.”

“Well, the cake isn’t gonna be right anyways. I fucked it up.”

“Did you add flour?”

Eddie looked at the counter where all of his ingredients were still scattered.

“Uh. Is flour one of those?” He pointed at the sugar and powdered sugar containers.

Steve looked at them, then back at Eddie, then at the oven.

“Let’s get that one out and start over.”

“I knew it! I knew it wasn’t gonna be right! I’m so fucking stupid. I swear to you I followed the recipe perfectly!”

“Baby, it’s okay. It’s just a cake. You did kinda miss the most important part, but we can make a new one.”

“You can’t make your own cake! It’s a surprise party!”

Steve chuckled. “It’s not a surprise anymore. And it’ll be fun.”

It would be fun to see Steve in an apron, mixing ingredients together, getting flour on his nose.

Hm.

“Fine. But if anyone asks, I got it right the first time, and Claudia is in charge next year.”

“Deal.”

Steve sealed it with a kiss, and quickly started washing the dishes.

Their cake turned out perfect and Dustin was so impressed that Eddie not only managed to keep the party a secret, but also make a perfect cake, he told him he could be in charge of next year’s party altogether.

Eddie smirked but went along with it.

Steve never had a surprise party again. Eddie got his help making the cake every year.

[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye Ch.8

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"You're my family and I love you. But you're terrible, you're all terrible."

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is left behind in the ruins of his marriage as he fervently seeks absolution for his sins, but neither his pious mother or gentle sister can give him what he needs and his debts to his wife will pay themselves in far bloodier ways.

Word Count: 4.3k

The morning sun began its slow ascent beyond the horizon, casting its faint light through the shattered remnants of the Red Keep's window. Its feeble rays danced upon the dishevelled figure of Aemond, whose once proud stature now slumped against the cold stone floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, as he ignored the splinters that dug into his flesh. His chambers lay in disarray, debris littering the floor, a chaotic mosaic of broken furniture and shattered glass. 

With trembling hands, he examined the remnants of his misdeed. Blood, still wet and sticky, clung to his skin like a macabre badge of dishonour, nestled into the creases of his palms and beneath his nails. His fingers trembled as they traced the contours of the unseeing eye that lay nestled within his grasp, although it was no longer that brilliant shade. Discolouration had begun to set in, its surface wrinkled and cloudy, a relic of his own making.

Aemond's heart constricted with every beat as he beheld the ruin he had wrought, the weight of his sins pressing down upon him like a leaden shroud. He knew he should wash away the evidence, but no amount of scrubbing would rid him of the stain that marked him as a pariah in the eyes of gods and men alike.

Kinslayer. 

Murderer. 

He could not bring himself to move, could not muster the strength to rise from his pitiful perch upon the floor. His limbs felt heavy as lead, his eyelids drooping with the weight of his weariness. It seemed fitting, a poetic justice of sorts. He had the blood of his nephew on his hands, he had killed him after all, and yet his hands had remained untainted of the incriminating stains. Now he was covered in the blood of the one he loved most. He laughed self-depreciatingly, knowing that before this war was finished, he would be covered with a lot more blood. Perhaps even with the blood of his family. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he had sparked the first flame and now his family was under even more threat. His mother, Helaena, the children. Even his brother, his stupid drunk fool of a brother, but a brother nonetheless. 

Aemond took a deep breath, willing himself to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept returning to the events of the previous hours. He should have been faster, more reactive. He wished he had gotten there earlier, had somehow managed to knock the knife out of his wife's hands before she carved up her own face. Instead, he had just stood there and watched like some shell-shocked fool. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't think she'd do it, didn't think she had it in her. It was too horrific a curse to incur upon oneself, and it took a certain measure of loathing to carry it out to completion. This final act of hers made him realize just how much her brother's death had affected her, unhinged her in some way. Looking at the blood under his fingernails again, he abruptly stood. Seized with the manic urge to scrub his hands until they bled, he could not stand the idea of having her blood on him for even an instant longer. He might as well have killed her, for the version of her he used to recognize was dead. It was the same as if he had wrapped his fingers around her pretty throat and squeezed until the life left her eyes, transforming her into whatever she was now. 

She hadn't made a single sound. It was impossible and yet Aemond had seen it with his own eyes, the strange detachment, as if she was carrying out the procedure on someone else, and not her own flesh. His eye throbbed in fresh agony, the memories resurfacing with painful clarity. His own screams echoed in his ears. It had been agony. It had to have been agony for her as well. 

They were finally equals in a way they had never been before. 

That is how Alicent found him, minutes later, standing in his day-old clothes, frantically scouring his palms, the basin below him filled to the brim and devastatingly crimson. She had seen her son in moments of distress before, but never like this—his face drawn and haggard, his eyes haunted by shadows she could not hope to fathom.

For a fleeting moment, the dowager Queen found herself frozen in place, her mind struggling to process the tableau before her. She had been roused from her slumber by the distant echoes of chaos, the telltale signs of upheaval that had become all too familiar within the walls of the Red Keep. And now, as she stood on the threshold of Aemond's chamber, her gaze swept across the chaos that lay strewn about. 

Before she could take another step forward, her son was upon her, his hands dripping with blood and water as he seized her shoulders in a desperate grip, staining her pale mint sleeves with carmine streaks. Despite being at his wit's end, despite everything, her safety was of paramount importance to him. Her silken slippers would do nothing to protect her from the danger his chamber floors posed, and he would be damned if he allowed his chaos to hurt her. 

"Aemond," Alicent breathed her voice barely a whisper as she met his wide-eyed gaze. "Aemond? What's wrong?" 

She looked like she had rushed out of bed and thrown on her robe haphazardly without a care for her appearance. Aemond thought it was quite unusual for his mother, given that she always did her best to look put together and meticulously tidy. 

"Nothing, Mother. Nothing is wrong. You should go back to bed, it is very early," he tried to lull her back into a state of calm. 

"What do you mean nothing is wrong? What are you doing, and did you not change for bed last night? You look out of sorts...and your chambers...what has happened, " her eyes fell on his hands and they narrowed, flickering upwards to trace his face. 

"Mother...."

"Is that blood? I smell blood."

"Mother wait...I-" Aemond's loss of words did nothing to ease his mother's nerves. 

"It's blood, isn't it? It's on your hands. Is that what you are trying so desperately to wash away? It's on your face too," she pointed at his forehead in horror and Aemond cursed himself. He must have smeared it accidentally. 

"It is nothing. I just..."

"How can you say it is nothing? Have you not done enough? What other calamity have you brought upon our heads?"

She was rambling now, angry and tearful, not giving him a chance to explain.

"I heard a commotion. I couldn't sleep. It hasn't been easy these past few days and I had to see if you were alright! Tell me, son, are you alright?"

"I am perfectly fine, Mother. You do not have to worry about me."

"How can I not worry?" Alicent scoffed. "All you do is make me worry. All you do...you...and now I come to find you and see you scrubbing blood from your hands. Is it your own or someone else's? I do not know which I fear more."

"It is not mine," the one-eyed prince muttered softly. "I am not hurt. You have nothing to worry about. I'm right here."

Alicent was silent for a few moments, scrutinizing him in a way that made him want to squirm. She had a way of knowing when he was lying, even when he was just a boy. She'd eye him down like this, as if she could pull the secrets from his heart before he knew of them himself. 

"You killed her didn't you?"

Aemond recoiled, his hands dropping from her shoulders instantly. He took a step back in horror.

"Who?" 

"You know who, son."

"What-how?"

It was Alicent that gripped his shoulders now, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. 

"I asked you if you killed her Aemond! Your wife is missing and you're here covered in blood you say is not yours!" her voice dropped so that he had to strain himself just to hear her, and it was particularly hard to do so with the blood thundering through his ears. 

"You...how could you say that? Do you...do you truly think me capable of something like that?" 

His voice was stone against stone, hard and brittle, just inches away from shattering, and he did everything in his power not to let his mother hear the slight warble behind his words. 

She heard it nonetheless, and her eyes softened. She was his mother after all, and she always knew. 

"I did not think any of my children capable of bloodshed," she paused in thought —but if any of them were, it would have been you— "but after Lucerys, I... I am not sure about many things."

"I did not mean to kill him," her son said quietly. 

"But you did...you have cost Rhaenyra not one, but two children. She will have your head for this. Daemon will have your head for this. Rhaenys and Corlys will have your head for this. That girl was..."

"I never said I-"

"All I ever wanted was to keep my children safe," Alicent snapped. "And yet they insist on creating new dangers for themselves. Why are you hell-bent on getting yourself killed with your foolish impulsive behaviour?"

Aemond looked away, feeling stung. Standing here now, listening to her berate him felt just like standing before her when he was a child, listening to her berate him for foolishly endangering his life by trying to tame dragons. 

The stupidity of a child with the hands of a man, but no, that wasn't quite right. 

The crimes of a monster under the guise of a man. 

Even his mother thought he was a murderer now. He had always done his best to please her, to be the calming obedient child so that she would not be caused worry by him at least. The gods knew Aegon gave her plenty to worry about already, and his father was a demon of pointless dreams and a breaker of trust. There was so little joy in his mother's life, so he had always tried to fill the void, although perhaps there was only so much he could do, when he came from the unhappiness she did. 

She thought him a monster; capable of monstrous things. His anguish must have shown on his face because Alicent finally stopped her tirade. Aemond could see the gears turning in his mother's head and he was afraid of the new suppositions taking root there. When she took a deep shuddering breath, he held his. Her initial shock seemed to seep away, and in its place, she slipped on a mask, returning to the calm and collected queen that she always was. 

She placed a hand on his cheek and he leaned into her touch.  

"Yes, well things happen my son. Now did you kill her? You must tell me immediately so we can take care of it before too many people find out. We must delay the news reaching Rhaenyra at all costs. Is there a body we need to dispose of?"

We. 

She said we, and Aemond wondered if she'd really go through with it if he had killed Daenys. It almost scared him how well she took charge, talking about damage control with such practiced ease.

"Your duty is to your family Aemond. They are your priority. They are who you must protect. What is done cannot be undone. We must look to the future and ensure the protection of Aegon's crown," she continued. 

Aegon. Always Aegon, and his crown. 

"MOTHER!" Aemond finally exploded. "I did not kill her. I swear it on the Seven!" 

Alicent froze. She blinked at him, slowly digesting the information before her face crumpled in relief. She almost collapsed to the floor and Aemond had to support her weight as she regained her balance. 

"Where is she then? And whose blood is on your hands? Did you kill someone else?" his mother's questions were endless. 

He told her what he could, in brief muted sentences, skimming past the more gory details, and omitting others entirely. He did not say that Daenys now sported a wound to match his own. 

"So...so she's gone then? Where did she go?"

"To Dragonstone I suppose. Where else?"

Aemond lowered his gaze, realizing how disappointed his mother and grandsire would be upon finding out that he had let her go. After all their efforts to make her stay. Otto most of all, would be positively furious and he'd take it out on Alicent. 

"Mother, I am sorry."

"For what my love?"

"For everything."

How did a boy apologize to his mother for being born? 

"But most of all, for causing you to worry. And...for letting her go."

"Oh, my dearest boy, I cannot fault you for that. That girl was going to leave one way or another. I suppose it is better that she returned on her own and not in a casket. It was Father's idea to keep her here in the first place. I wished for peace, I have always wished for peace you know," Alicent brought him closer and held him tight.

Aemond felt like a little boy again, although this time it was a fonder memory, one of the few he held. A memory of his mother holding him like this, of the sleepless nights she spent tending to him after the loss of his eye, even when she could have passed him off to the maesters and servants. She loved him. She knew all of him and she loved him despite it all. 

"Aemond."

"Yes, mother?"

"I need you to make me a promise."

"Anything."

"I want you to come back to me. No matter where you go...or what you do...I need you to return to me. My priority is your life, and in order to come back to me, you may have to do things you do not wish to. You may have to hurt people that you cannot fathom hurting, but you must promise me that you will. Promise that you will always come back to me no matter what you have to do for it."

"I-"

"You have to promise me this. That is all I ask. Nothing more, nothing less. Always return. it will never matter to me what you have done to do so."

It was as if she had read his mind once again, digging out his worst fears, shining a light onto them, and saying that she didn't care. It didn't matter to her, what he was, or who he'd become. He would and always be her son. 

Aemond clutched his mother tighter. No one could love him like she could, in her own strange way that he sometimes found hard to understand. And in return, he'd lay down his life for her. He'd die for his mother, but he supposed she'd rather he kill for her, and so he would. 

"I will pray to the gods for you, dearest."

The air hung heavy with the weight of centuries past as Alicent slipped into the chambers of the late King Viserys. It was a desolate place, devoid of life and warmth —not that it had ever contained those things anyway— and pale sheets draped over the furniture like shrouds, casting long shadows that danced across the barren floor.

Aegon's refusal to inhabit his father's chambers had left the room abandoned and forgotten, a ghost town within the heart of the Red Keep. The absence of knights to guard the entrance lent an eerie stillness to the air, broken only by the soft whisper of Alicent's footsteps as she moved further into the room.

Her eyes swept over the tapestries that adorned the walls, their colours dull but she knew them by heart, the placement of every thread, every stitch. She had after all spent many a night staring holes into them, wishing to be anywhere but here. 

In the center of the chamber stood Viserys's model of old Valyria, its intricate spires and towers frozen forever in a state of incompleteness. And then, there was the bed—the accursed bed where she had spent countless nights wishing she could cease to exist, longing for a reprieve that would never come. Its ornate carvings seemed to mock her, each twist and turn a reminder of the shackles that bound her to a fate she had never asked for.

Alicent's chest tightened with each passing moment, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she fought to contain the rage and despair that threatened to consume her. She wanted to scream, to scream until her throat bled, but in all her years of servitude and sacrifice, she had never given her grief a voice, and she certainly wasn't going to start now. 

Still, it wasn't fair. 

As her fingers closed around the first miniature stone structure, she could feel the weight of resentment and grief pressing down upon her. The cool surface of the model was rough against her skin, its edges sharp with the memory of a thousand silent screams. With a surge of determination, she wrenched the structure away from the model, a fierce satisfaction blooming within her chest.

The impact as she hurled the stone against the wall reverberated through the empty chamber, the sound echoing but unheard in this corner of the castle no one wanted to visit anymore. Alicent watched with a mixture of triumph and relief as the shards scattered across the floor, a testament to the destruction she had wrought.

But it was not enough—not nearly enough.

With renewed fervour, she set to work dismantling the model piece by piece, tearing down the city of old Valyria with relentless fury. Each stone she pried loose was a blow against the legacy of her late husband, a reckoning for the pain and suffering he had inflicted upon her and their children.

With each structure that burst into dust beneath her touch, she felt a surge of vindication coursing through her veins. It was Viserys's fault, she knew it with a certainty that bordered on madness. He had been the architect of their misery, the puppet master pulling the strings of their lives with callous disregard.

Her children bore the scars of his indifference, and he was the worst part of them —the fact that they came from him. He made them so difficult to love, but she loved them all the same because they came from her too. 

And now they were going to be taken away from her, and everything would have been for nothing. All her years of silence would be for nothing. Rhaenyra was going to kill them all, and it was her own son who had hastened the inevitable. 

Somewhere in the corner of his chambers, the ghost of Viserys laughed at her misery, laughed at how everything she had spent years building was coming undone through the acts of her son, just as she tore down his life's work. 

Later Alicent would light a candle in The Grand Sept, and say a prayer for forgiveness. She would ask the Seven to protect her children, to forgive her sons for their misdeeds, to forgive her for her outbursts, and then she'd spare a single thought for her own mother, gone long before Alicent knew what a burden it was to be one herself. 

It was said that no child could save their mother, but it was rarely remembered that no mother could save her child either. 

Old habits died hard, and whenever things got particularly difficult, Aemond found himself returning to his sister's chambers. It was their own particular tradition, seeking shelter in each other, Aemond from his thoughts, and Helaena from her dreams. 

She was awake early this morning, gazing out the window in contemplation. She registered his presence before he even arrived at her door, calling him in with her back turned toward him, and for a moment neither of them spoke, the only other noise being the sound of their synchronized breathing and the gentle breeze coming in from the open window.

"So she's gone then?"

Aemond was startled, wondering how she could possibly know, but he nodded. 

"I saw her go, brother...but she left something behind."

Not knowing what else to say, the one-eyed prince apologized. 

Helaena's words were soft, almost a whisper, "I am not the one you should be apologizing to, at least not yet."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I...I killed Lucerys Velaryon," Aemond confessed in shame, and his sister's lips twisted in a grimace. 

"I think we are all aware of that already."

"No, I actually killed him. I think I meant to kill him."

Helaena was quiet for a long time.

"Please say something..." Aemond almost pleaded

"Did you want to kill him?"

"No! Yes. I don't know. When I saw him that day in Storm's End, I was just so angry. When I took Vhagar after him, all I knew was that I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to hurt as much as I hurt. I wanted him to be in pain, I wanted him to suffer."

"So it was both a game and also not?"

"Perhaps."

"Only you can say for sure. Your dragon can sense your intentions, brother."

"I know," Aemodn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was a fool and now I'm a coward. I blame Vhgar for something that was my fault. A dragon is a weapon. I was her wielder, her rider. She felt my rage and behaved accordingly, and it resulted in death. 

Aemond's swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. The answer to his next question was what he dreaded the most.

"Do you think I'm a monster, Hel?"

His nickname for her made Helaena's heart ache. He said it with the same earnestness that was so reminiscent of the times when they were children. Infact this entire situation was painfully nostalgic, although a younger Aemond drunk on milk of the poppy was much different than this older version of him who was drunk on regret.

They both looked at her in the same way though, pleading for her understanding, pleading for her forgiveness.

Do you think I'm a monster? Do you think I look like one? Do you think I behave like one?

He couldn't help it. He was her little brother.

She couldn't help it either. She was his sister.

This was their tragedy.

She knew him once. She liked to think she knew him still.

Helaena Targaryen took her brother's face in her hands and kissed his forehead. 

"It does not matter what I think. Your sin is not mine to forgive."

"She will never forgive me, will she? How could she? How could anyone."

"You are not a monster. Monsters are not capable of self-condemnation."

"I have done a monstrous thing, Hel! Does that not make me a monster?"

"Men do monstrous things," Helaena sighed. "It is what separates us from the saints. What separates you from a true monster is that you know it was a monstrous thing to do and you feel remorse. Your conscience still lives."

Aemond let out a bitter laugh, "You may be the only person who thinks that way. I suspect even Mother is weary of me now. And Daenys...well it would be a miracle she can restrain herself from gutting me open the next time she sees me."

"My dreams do not tell me how all this ends, brother."

"You do not need any dreams to know how this one ends. A war only ends in bloodshed."

"And grief," Helaena added. "Always grief."

"Right."

Helaena turned to look at him with sorrowful eyes, "I grieve for her. For our dear sister, for all she has lost and has yet to lose."

I grieve for myself too, and all that I will. 

"I don't think I've told anyone this before," Aemond admitted. "I don't think I have even allowed myself to think of it. It felt easier to pretend that I did not wish for it, but I think... a part of me meant to kill him and now that I feel awful for it, I'm not sure what I am."

"Do you feel awful because your actions killed him or because Daenys wants nothing to do with you anymore?"

"Is there a difference?"

His sister nodded sagely, "That makes all the difference."

"I...I am not sure."

"Then perhaps you need to think on it more, brother."

"I know."

"The right thing is never easy. Your guilt is your penance. You must live with it for the rest of your days."

"Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"

Will Mother? Will you?

"Mother has already forgiven you," Helaena said simply, as if reading his mind. 

"And Daenys?"

"You cannot completely unlove someone, no matter how hard you try, no matter how awful they are. And you are far from awful, brother."

"Of course, you would say that. You're my sister."

"I only mean to say that your debt will find a way to pay itself. Debts usually do."

She frowned then, as if lost in thought and Aemond found himself wondering what it was that held her captive in her own mind. He dare not ask. His sister had a habit of spouting strange things, things he could make no sense of. 

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3