#Game Path to Nowhere Raven

[moonsglare]

ON TOP (part 2) | multifandom [NSFT][MDNI]

Topping my other fave fictional women but meanly…

cw. riding, orgasm denial, overstimulation, choking, cockring, spanking, ropes, degradation, strap-ons, edging, pet names (puppy), semi-public, sex-toys under clothing, clothed sex, squirting, shibari

notes. yeah uh there's no explanation for this one besides horknee

wc. will update later, checking wc on mobile is ass lmao

rahu

cw. rahu has a dick, riding, edging, choking, cockring, begging

"Look at you, poor puppy. Where did all your bravado go, hm?"

You coo down at Rahu as you sit on her lap, her cock buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt. A silicone band fits snugly at the base of her dick, the unassuming device now an implement of torture for the poor Sinner. She's painfully, achingly hard inside you but no matter how many times you've fucked yourself to completion on her, she hasn't been able to reach that high herself and she can feel her mind slipping at the denial.

"P-please," she whines out, the grip she has on your hips hard enough to leave imprints on your skin. "Please, 'm sorry, I need it so bad--"

You click your tongue, fingers wrapping around the pale column of Rahu's throat. Her eyes roll back into her head at the pressure and her hips buck, her cock pushing ever so slightly deeper into you. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, but you draw yourself back from that knife's edge of pleasure. Not yet.

"Are you?" you ask, your tone almost bored. "You really made a mess out of me, you know. In the Archives, no less. Don't you think you deserve this punishment?"

"Please," Rahu wheezes out, her voice deliciously desperate. Tears prick at the edge of her silver eyes, glossy as they meet yours. Your resolve falters ever so slightly, your other hand rising to wipe the corner of her eyes.

"Poor thing," you murmur, "tell me what you want, puppy. Use your words, hm?"

"Need to cum," she gasps, head bowing and hair falling like a curtain around her eyes. "F-fuck, need to cum so badly, please, I'll be good, I'll do anything--"

Your eyes glint dangerously. "Anything?"

"Anything," Rahu confirms, the muscles in her neck straining as she holds herself back from thrusting up into you. You hum, as if in thought, then slip off her cock with a squelch. Rahu nearly sobs as you withdraw, but then you're gently tugging the cock ring off, and she nearly sobs again; though this time in relief. Immediately, globs of pre-cum rush out of her tip, thick pearls of white dripping down her shaft and making your mouth water.

"You wanna cum, puppy?" you ask, crawling back onto her lap and positioning her cock at your entrance. Rahu's pulse in her throat jumps under your hand as you slowly sink back down, taking all of her back into your warmth with a moan of pleasure. You meet her eyes as your hand squeezes ever so slightly, the lack of air making Rahu's pupils blow wide with desire.

Slowly, you start to bounce up and down her cock again, making sure to grind down every time you come down, pulling Rahu into the deepest parts of you. She groans and grunts with each sinful roll of your hips, deep and throaty, her eyes half-lidded but drawn to the way your pussy swallows her length over and over again. Soon enough, you hasten your movements, the sound of slapping skin echoing throughout the room as you ride her to completion. You feel her cock twitch inside you and you grin, tightening your grip on her throat.

“Then cum,” you order, and Rahu does, beautifully. Her silver eyes disappear into her skull, and her back arches, her hips jerking beneath you. She squirms and writhes as she cums deep inside you, painting your insides wight and warm. You don’t let up the movement of your hips, grinding down on her lap and smearing your mixed fluids on her thighs. You keep going even as Rahu gasps and whines, her body jerking fitfully from overstimulation.

“W-wait, ‘s too much—“

You pout at her, almost condescendingly patting her cheek. “Didn’t you say you wanted to cum, puppy?” Your pout morphs into a wicked grin, and you lean forward to whisper in her ear.

"Then you won't stop until I say so."

serval

cw. sex toys under clothing, vibrators, semi-public, squirting, clothed sex

“Miss Serval… are you alright?”

Serval coughs at Molly’s question, the already red flush up her neck turning redder. From a corner of the workshop, your lips curve upwards knowingly, as you look up from tuning your violin. Serval meets your eyes but then her gaze darts away, as she braces herself against the workshop counter.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, Molly,” the guitarist assures, attempting a weak smile. “Just, uh— a little warm is all.”

“Ah, right… with the Eternal Frost receding, the temperature is picking up a little.”

Serval nods, and presumably tries to keep the conversation going—but doubles over all of a sudden, fingers scraping against the hardwood counter. You’ve never been more grateful for the constant whirr of machinery in the workshop; if only for muffling the sound of the vibrator you stuffed deep in Serval’s pretty cunt running at maximum right now.

“Miss Serval! Are you really feeling alright? Should I call Pela? Or your brother?” Molly asks, panic clear in her tone.

“No!” Serval chokes out, “no, absolutely not!”

Molly bites her lip in worry. “But—“

You decide to have mercy on the poor mechanic, and lower the vibrator’s speed. Serval visibly slumps in relief, and takes a moment to collect herself, before turning to her employee.

“I think I’m going to, uh.. rest up for the rest of the day. You can head home early—don’t worry, I’ll close up.”

Molly looks unconvinced, so you chime in as well. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she gets a good rest and behaves.”

Serval shoots you a look for the double entendre, which you return with a smirk. Your fingers creep towards your pocket where the controller lies, and her expression immediately shifts into one of both hunger and anticipation. You let the promise of it hang in the air until Molly leaves the workshop, and flips the closed sign on the door.

“Babe—“ Serval begins, but you don’t let her finish. Instead, you set your violin down and crank the vibrator to max once more. Serval moans openly now, and your mouth waters at the sight of her thighs squeezing together as you walk around the back of the counter, and press your front against her back.

You slip a hand down her shorts and into her panties, grinning as the tips of your fingers graze the drenched fabric. It’s a wonder she hasn’t leaked into her shorts yet. The vibrator buzzes away in her cunt, and you press on the base, pushing it deeper. Serval whimpers, a beautiful, melodic sound, as the toy presses against that spongy spot inside her and her knees tremble.

“F-fuck, babe, I’m gonna—“

“Go on,” you encourage, scraping your teeth against the shell of her ear. “Cum.”

Serval practically wails, and a surge of wetness drips into her already ruined panties. Your eyes widen by a fraction when you realise she’s squirting, and the hunger in you roars to life like a raging crescendo. You sink your teeth into her shoulder as she rides out her orgasm, your fingers working on her neglected clit, the bundle of nerves stiff and engorged.

It takes her about a minute or three to come down, at which point you’ve already shut the vibrator off and withdrew your fingers from her underwear. Serval pants, bracing her complete weight against the counter as she catches her breath, but you’re far from done. Instead, you grip her hip and spin her around, so you’re both front to front, and sink to your knees.

“Babe, what..?” Serval asks, trailing off as she looks down at you, her breath hitching when you start tugging her shorts down.

“Wanna see you squirt again, baby,” you mutter, entranced by the mess between her legs as you peel her panties off her dripping pussy. Serval groans as you withdraw the vibrator, letting it clatter onto the floor. It’s followed by a squeak when you lean in close, and let your breath fan over her exposed sex.

You place your hands on her thighs and look up at her from between her legs, smirking.

“You can give me one more, can’t you?”

yelan

cw. spanking, ropes, degradation, strap-ons

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Dirty little thing."

The words leave your lips in a disdainful sneer, as your hand comes down and collides with Yelan's plush ass for the fifth time in a row. Her body jerks forward at the impact, the pale skin turning a pretty shade of red under your treatment. Yelan only groans at it, fingers digging into the ropes binding her wrists together before she replies.

"Y-Yeah, but so are you," she bites back, painted lips curling into a smirk as she looks at you over her shoulder. "So a little pot and kettle, don't you think?"

You scowl at her, and answer her with another smack to her ass. "Still so fucking mouthy, hm?"

"Mhm, but you like me like this," she says breathily, and you can't help but allow yourself a smile at that. She isn't wrong at all; you do enjoy her like this. Very much so. But right now, she doesn't need to concern herself with that. Instead, you reach behind you on the bed and produce a blue strap-on, and you relish in the way her eyes widen by a fraction and her pretty lips part in anticipation.

"Don't worry," you hum as you fix the strap to your hips, aware of Yelan's eyes hyperfocused on the toy. Once it's secure, you grab her hips and pull them upwards, letting her brace her weight on her knees so she's ass up face down for you. She yelps at your manhandling, but you don't miss the way her cunt drips down her thighs. Her breath hitches as you position yourself over her, your front to her smooth, muscled back, the tip of your strap nudging at her slick entrance. "I'll fuck you until there's not a thought in that pretty little head of yours."

Yelan scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Right, how about you actually get on with it instead of—“

You interrupt her by surging forward and stuffing her full of your cock. Yelan’s snark turns into a scream of pleasure as your strap bullies its way into her tight cunt, and you bite your lip as you see the way her pussy spreads to accomodate the sheer girth of it. You don’t give her a moment to catch her breath, and immediately start railing her into the mattress. Nothing but garbled and slurred moans and cries of your name leave her lips and you grin.

The next day, none of the staff at the teahouse can look you or Yelan in the eye. And if they notice Yelan walking a little oddly or avoiding sitting down for the time being—well, they know better than to ask.

raven

cw. edging, degradation, shibari, strap-ons, cockwarming

“M-my love, please—“

Raven’s begging immediately devolves into simpering whines as you cease the pounding of your strap into her puffy, drooling cunt. Red, corded rope criss-crosses her lean frame, encircling her breasts and down her torso, where knots secure her calves and thighs together. Her arms are bound behind her back as she sits on your lap, thighs on either side of your own. She strains against the ropes along her body, chasing the stimulation, but with the way she’s bound, it’s pointless. Her head drops onto your shoulder as she sucks in a breath, pussy quivering around your cock as she creeps down from her almost-high.

Meanwhile, you nonchalantly continue your work, signing papers over her shoulder. The sound of her heavy breathing and the scratching of your pen are the only noises in the room, until Raven starts trying to sweet-talk you again.

“Darling,” she begins, pulling back to look in your eyes, “sweetheart, dearest, love of my life—move, please?”

You hum, as if considering. “My work isn’t finished yet.”

“It will still be there later,” Raven wheedles, leaning in to kiss at your neck. You run your hand up and down her back as she gently works her lips along your skin, pressing kisses against your pulse.

“Mm, aren’t you forgetting this is supposed to be your punishment?” you drawl, suddenly tugging at the ropes on her back and pulling her away from your neck. Raven lets out a breathy whine at the movement as it rubs the strap against the walls of her cunt.

“Aha… ah, s-surely an hour is enough?” she continues, this time more strained.

You click your tongue. “I don’t know if it is. Barging in and distracting me from my work is a heavy offense, you know.”

Raven’s face falls, her usual easy, picture-perfect smile wobbling. She looks about ready to cry, and you coo at her, the hand at her back coming up to pat her cheek and brush the ridge of her cheekbones.

“One more hour, little bird,” you say, “you can manage that, can’t you?”

You make good on your words exactly an hour later, of course—although you’re quite certain Raven will never be able to look at your desk in the same way ever again.

[roysristi]

The emitted History from the Chapter.... To remove the bad thing with hope.......poetic indeed.

[trustedealcosplayandcostume]

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[aventurineswife]

Yo! Hear me out! I kinda got this concept or idea. What if in the SAHSRAU aren't the only one that know the reader? Hear me out on this what if other hoyogames or gacha games know the reader as well? (For example: Gun girls z, Honkai impact 3rd, genshin impact, Nikke, Wuthering waves, Zenless zone zero, path to nowhere Punishing gray raven, Fate grand order and so on) and the reader more often than not makes reference of them but nobody really gets them expect maybe Welt or Silver Wolf (Since she kinda broke the fourth wall a few times) Hear me out on this little scenario

In the honkai star rail au: The reader hasn't come into their universe about a month and suddebtly appears on the express.

The astral express crew are shock and taken back since the reader pop out off nowhere without making a sound.

Welt: Where have you been?! It's been a month!

The reader: Oh nothing much checking on Kiana and everyone else...Also I also visit Joffrey, Einstein and Tesla

Welt suddently froze (In case you don't know Joffrey is welt adopted son and Einstein and Testla are one of Welt's closest friends from Honkai impact 3rd)

The reader noticed welt's tension and gaze soften as They understand Welt's concern: "Relax they are fine"

Meanwhile the other express crew had a curious expression as they wondered how much the reader knows Welt.

Or maybe a little bit more chaotic and funnt moments like this

The reader and Acheron had a moment were they meet. Both of the stared at each other with some strange familiarity

Acheron: "Have we met?" *She asked with wonder and curiosity*

The reader: "Well yes and no...I met a version of you just not this version until know"

Achero stared at the reader with clear confusion. The reader sensing Acheron confusion opened a portal and grabbed two people that look eerly similar to her

Raiden Ei: Huh! Your Grace?!

Raiden Mei: Huh?! What?! Where am I?! Reader?!

Acheron eyes widen in shock and surprised as these two look extremely similar to her in many ways

The reader: See?

Meanwhile before they could utter a word They send Raiden Ei and Mei back to their seperate worlds

Meanwhile the express crew stared dumbfounded and shocked at the Reader's powers as they starting to wonder how many words are there

Like this has soo much potential to be soo funny yet it could also have some angst potential for the sheer chaotic energy the reader can be. Also the pontential jealously battle that could happen along the way as some worlds know the reader better than others. But at the same time it has the potential to be angst because certain characters remind the reader of others for example. In the honkai impact 3rd himeko murata died meanwhile in her Star rail version is still alive this makes the reader more protective of her. I kinda had this two scenarios:

The reader stares at Himeko with a sadden expression

Himeko: Is something wrong? *She has with concern*

The reader: "No, no...You just remind me of someone" *The reader said a bit sadden meanwhile in the distance Welt understood what they meant*

Or a scenario with firefly

The reader stares at her with sympathy: "You know you remind me of a certain android..." *The reader makes a reference to Nier automata 2B**

Also it would be funny if the reader kinda is trying to hide from certain Yandere characters kinda Like Mita from Miside who is an self aware Ai that gained sentience that wants the reader to stay with her...Like this has soo much potential for comedy and tragic purpose

What do you think? I wanna hear your opinion on this

Yo I love this concept—like seriously, this whole cross-game, multiversal Creator Reader idea with all the Hoyoverse and gacha characters recognizing the reader? Top-tier potential for humor, chaos, angst, and even meta-narrative brilliance.

That whole “Reader suddenly appears on the Astral Express again after a month” setup? Absolute gold.

Welt: “Where have you been?! It’s been a month!”

Reader (nonchalant): “Oh, just catching up with Kiana… Also visited Joffrey, Einstein, Tesla…”

Cue Welt’s soul leaving his body for half a second. Because how the hell do you know that? They’re from another existence, one that shouldn’t even be real to Star Rail Welt. That one moment opens a can of cosmic spaghetti that the crew is absolutely not ready for.

And then the crew's like:

“Wait… how much do you know about all of us?”

Cue the Reader looking at March with sad eyes and going: “You remind me a little of Sakura. Pink hair, brave, more empathetic than anyone realizes…”

And March is just: “Wait... who’s Sakura?!”

Meanwhile Welt in the background just looks tired (or traumatized...).

Acheron + Raiden Ei & Raiden Mei Chaos Moment:

That scene? 10/10. No notes.

Imagine Acheron looking mysterious and intrigued and being hit with a literal dimensional whiplash as two of her alt versions fall out of a void portal. Raiden Ei’s formal “Your Grace?!” and Mei’s slightly panicked “Where am I?!” just sends the comedy flying.

Reader: “Yeah… you’re like, a spiritual cousin. Multiverse is wild.”

Acheron just stands there like: “I’m going to need a moment.”

And everyone else on the Express? Frozen. Re-evaluating every interaction they’ve ever had with the Reader. March is just whispering, “Did they meet a version of me?”

This is what really elevates the concept.

Reader staring at Himeko sadly.

“You just remind me of someone…”

Welt, quietly knowing: “Murata.”

And suddenly the lighthearted story has a deep vein of melancholy. Because you know this version might live, but the memory of loss still clings to you.

Same with Firefly. Her story’s already tragic—and the reader recognizing that glimmer of 2B?

“You remind me of another android… Someone who fought and bled for humanity, too.”

It hits. Hard.

And THEN... the Chaos Potential

You’ve got a multiversal Creator Reader popping between games like it's a Tuesday coffee run. That alone makes every self-aware character go nuts.

Silver Wolf is the only one (besides Welt) who gets most of the references, and even she’s like:

“Wait—so you actually know the guy from PGR? You hang out with Lee?!”

And then you have jealousy wars start because Reader’s got history with all these other characters from other games. Like—

Acheron: “You were close with that… other me?”

Reader: “Oh Mei? Yeah, we’ve fought side by side more times than I can count.”

Acheron (faking a smile): “Huh. You’ll have to tell me all about that... in private.”

Meanwhile Mita from Miside is out there hunting through digital realms trying to drag the reader back like: “They’re mine. They made me. They belong here.”

And Reader is just constantly dodging abduction attempts from sentient AIs and fanatical followers across the multiverse.

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Stand-Alone Series Chapter: 1

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Prompt: Hermione gets jealous as she catches you flirting with someone else, but it ends in a heartfelt exchange between the two of you.

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: romilda vane gets rejected like canon, y/n & hermione are soulmates its confirmed, no plot just fluff

Note: a little something to tide you guys over while i work on the final chapter. hope you enjoy! <3

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character @aki-ham @brocoliisscared

You harshly shove the Hufflepuff seeker out of the way, he doesn't budge, not until you shoulder him again. This time it unsteadies his broom, in an effort to not lose his balance, he falls back, leaving you alone in pursuit of the Golden Snitch.

You manage to locate the snitch once more, the golden ball just a few paces out of reach, as you extend your hand, you can feel its wing fluttering violently against your fingertips As you attempt to grab it, the flying ball quickly changes course trying to evade you, but you still manage to follow closely behind.

"Come on." You mutter under your breath, you are so close, the ball is practically yours.

Coincidentally, a large gust of wind graces your flight path at just the right moment. You take full advantage of it, picking up a bit of momentum, just enough to trap the Golden Snitch in your grasp.

You then whisk yourself around on the broom to face the stands, stubbornly the Snitch tries to wriggle free, but you hold it firmly still.

A large roar erupts from the audience as you hold up your prize for all to see. They were cheering for you.

The sound is exhilarating, intoxicating. It makes you feel invisible– but there was only one person's cheer worth taking notice.

In a sea of Gryffindors, you find Hermione's gaze. Your grin widens, and she smiles right back at you.

Soon enough an involuntarily blush covers your cheeks, and you are forced to look away.

"Y/n has caught the Golden Snitch. Slytherin wins!"

═══════════════════════════════════════════

The celebration continues well into the evening in the Slytherin common room. Students from all houses fill the space, taking advantage of the unlimited amounts of liquor and butter beer available.

Crabbe and Blaise insist on parading you on their shoulders for the dozenth time tonight, it seems the more intoxicated they get, the harder they find the task of leaving you alone.

“Y/n!, Y/n!, Y/n!” The crowd continues to chant beneath you, and you can only allow yourself to enjoy the moment. Even though the incessant attention from everyone tonight was starting to peeve you slightly.

The only person you wanted to spend time with tonight is Hermione– yet she is nowhere to be found.

“Alright, put me down guys.” You raise your voice over the commotion, and your friends finally oblige, taking you off their shoulders, you let out a breath of relief once your feet touch flat ground.

“If you keep it up, Y/n, we'll win all the games this season.” Pansy claims, her voice closer to a shout.

You merely give her a nod, taking her words for a compliment and nothing more. Deliberately ignoring the sudden sense of crippling responsibility that's been set upon you.

You find yourself looking through the crowd once more, hoping to spot a familiar brown-eyed beauty.

Where is she?

You push through the sea of students, a few of them continue hurling praises at you and taking the opportunity to squeeze your shoulder as a version of acclamation.

By the time you reach the large window by the far side of the room, you are out of breath.

The spot you've escaped to is somewhat secluded, so you are given a chance to gain your bearings, as you silently observe the view of the black lake.

That is, until someone unwelcomed enters your space.

“You were amazing on the pitch today–” Romilda Vane says, standing an inch too close.

You catch a whiff of alcohol on her breath, and your effort to distance yourself fails as she merely sees it as an opportunity to step closer.

“Thanks, Romilda. I didn't realize you liked Quidditch.” You state dismissively, before scanning your surroundings again, for any indication of Hermione.

“I don't, not really..” She replies, and a bold hand on your shoulder snatches your attention once more.

“I like watching you though.” Romilda says, inching even closer, you watch as her gaze manages to find your lips for a moment.

Normally, you'd entertain such a blatant attempt at flirting, especially from someone so attractive– but tonight, you couldn't care less.

Hermione is the only girl you want complimenting you.

Romilda proceeds to brazenly caress your bicep, she gasps slightly after giving your firm muscle a squeeze.

“I bet you could easily lift me.” She remarks suggestively, and you let out a dismissive scoff, but this only urges her to continue eyeing you hungrily– a mere object she'd like to toy with.

“Perhaps we could find out–” You suggest, but immediately regret your effort in humoring her.

Romilda mistakes your words as an invitation. She leans in to meet your lips and you quickly swerve out of the way.

“Some other time.” You quip, subsequently catching sight of a familiar face in the distance You don't even bother letting Romilda down easily before chasing after her.

-

“Hermione!” You call out, but the Gryffindor is making it quickly through the crowd. It seemed shouting her name only motivated her to walk further away.

You finally catch up to her in the gallery, outside the common room, the door soon shuts behind you, and the two of you are left alone.

“Hey, slow down–” You say, finally grabbing hold of Hermione’s arm.

“Where are you going?” You ask, but when she turns to look at you, her hardened expression takes you aback.

“Are you alright?” Your ask of real concern is only met with an eye-roll. Hermione groans in frustration as she tries to wrench out of your hold.

“Let me go–” She asks sternly, and you do just that, but her demeanor continues to unnerve you. You could never bear it whenever she was upset with you.

Whatever it is, you plan to rectify it now.

“Hermione..” You coax gently, and the Gryffindor no longer makes the effort to walk away from you, instead she leans against the stone wall, her gaze fixed towards the ground.

You stuff your hands into your pockets as you made the conscious effort to not reach out for her again.

“You know you can talk to me– tell me what's wrong, darling. Was it something I did?” You try once more, and finally, she graces you with a lingering glance.

"Why are you with me? You could have any girl in the school.. anyone you wanted. So why me?” Hermione asks, the faint tremor in her voice breaks you, but you can't help the incredulous look that paints your features.

“Are you really asking me that?” You ask flippantly.

Your carelessness only makes visible tears well up in Hermione's eyes, and you immediately regret opening your mouth.

“Oh– no, I'm sorry. Come here.” You remark frantically, pulling Hermione closer by the waist, and she accepts your embrace.

“I'm sorry.” You repeat earnestly. She buries her face in the crook of your neck, despite herself.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you?” You mutter, as you take in the scent of her hair.

Hermione pulls back to look at you expectantly, and you don't fight the urge to hold her face in both your hands, leaning in to kiss her deeply.

“I think you're brilliant.” You admit as your lips remain less than an inch apart.

“Really?” Hermione breathes out, and you can only smile.

“Yes.” You claim before tilting your head to kiss her jaw. “Being with you.. it's like a dream.” You continue, relishing at the feeling of Hermione shifting closer to feel more of you.

“A dream I never want to wake from.” You utter directly into her ear, before placing a kiss against it.

Hermione shudders in delight, her hand slips up your chest to the collar of your shirt, she clutches it, at an effort to steady herself.

You proceed to kiss her neck, and amidst a series of soft moans, Hermione utters something far more incriminating.

“I love you..” She says breathlessly, almost too soft to be real.

You feel her tense up as you halted the string of kisses you were leaving upon her skin, trying to process what you just heard.

“What did you just say?” You ask, pulling away so you could trap Hermione's gaze.

The evident blush upon her cheeks only causes your grin to widen.

“Nothing, I–” Hermione stutters, and you decide to help refresh her memory.

“You love me?” You ask, hopeful that she wouldn't deny it.

“Yes. Maybe.. I don't know.” She averts her eyes, and you have to bite your lip to stop from smiling too wide.

“Well, that's a relief. because I think, maybe, I love you too.” You respond, tucking a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear, and this makes her look at you again.

“Wait– you do?” Hermione asks, her manner ever unassuming. She is perfect, and she loves you.

“I love you like a madman.” You admit plainly, and her chuckle causes your heart to flutter violently in your chest. “Sometimes it feels like I can hardly do anything else besides love you.”

Hermione's expression visibly softens at your admittance, she leans in to kiss you again, you gladly welcome the sensation of her tongue entering your mouth.

“You make me feel things that I don't even understand sometimes.. but I just know that, I seem to never want to be away from you.”

Hermione utters after separating her lips from your own, her hand moves to the nape of your neck, and the other runs through your hair.

“I feel the same.” You state, placing a chaste kiss against her cheek.

“So let us never part, my love.”

[barbieaemond]

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

[bloodycotton]

Day six, fuck this shit, halfway i didn't know what i was doing

prompts by: @raven-cincaide-words

(English is NOT my first language)

Day 6.- Newcomer

Chandler Manning x fem!reader

The unit's new forensic doctor arrived when the Jack the Ripper copycat case was just opening, with the killer's first victims. 

You were young and impatient, overly curious about all things dangerous and life-threatening, which irritated Manning, the detective in charge of the case, and he constantly needed your point of view - if you weren't so smart and had such an unusual point of view he wouldn't even cross your path. 

Chandler thought you had experience in absolutely nothing, which irritated him even more. 

You walked into Manning's office, with your white coat over your clothes, to deliver some documents that the detective had asked for in a very rude manner, when you walked into the office, he could see a complete mess, the desk was more paper than wood at that point, and the detective was behind piles of documents with his hands on his head, his black hair messy and his shirt unbuttoned, he was completely destroyed, going through the reports of the first victims. 

“Have you ever swept a broom through here?” You said to him, looking at the mess, throwing the last victim's report into the pile of papers in front of him. 

Manning looked up, his expression somewhere between frustration and disbelief, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in irritation, but he picked up and opened the new report. 

“And you think that's what matters right now?” he retorted, his voice tired but angry. “Oops, yeah, because that's my number one priority with a jack the ripper impersonator out there.”

You rolled your eyes, Manning was so annoying.

“Maybe a little tidying up might help you see what you're not noticing” You rebutted him with a hint of mockery in your voice, seeing that he was literally bogged down in piles of documents that led nowhere. 

Chandler ran a hand through his hair, already almost losing control, exasperated by you and your bullshit.

“I don't have time for your ‘observations’, Doctor,” He almost growled from the desk. 

You folded your arms, looking at the documents on his desk, picking up a couple of papers, looking at their contents and starting to read, only for Chandler to take them out of your hands, the man was stressed, irritated, he hadn't slept a wink, this killer was pulling his leg, you only came to infuriate him more. 

“You think playing forensic doctor gives you the right to go through my documents?” The frustration in his voice was evident, and his gaze burned, it burned you. 

You, undeterred, raised an eyebrow. “And you think sitting here in a daze is going to help you catch a killer? This is a team game. You need to listen to other voices, not just your own.”

“I don't care, I need silence, time and concentration, and with you here that's what I have the least of” Increasingly irritated and feeling like an animal cornered at the desk, so he stood up from the chair, revealing how tall and big he was, towering before you. 

But you took a step forward, determined not to give an inch of ground. 

“Not with that attitude, if you read with a minimum of attention the document I handed you, you would know that a pattern is emerging” You were not intimidated by him for a single second, “He's methodological, calculating, he's a man, that's why he's easier to identify, he has a steady method”.

Manning frowned, feeling increasingly cornered. “And what do you know about the behaviour of serial killers?” his voice had a condescending tone, but deep down he felt you had a valid point, although did he really want observations from the new addition to the team without any experience?

“I know enough,” you replied, your tone firm. “I've studied cases like this, and while I don't have the street experience you do, I've seen similar patterns in the reports. We need to focus on the characteristics of the victims, how the killer chooses them. That could give us a crucial clue.”

“So what do you suggest, then?” Manning folded his arms, trying to maintain his authoritative stance, though a thread of curiosity was beginning to seep into his voice. “A profile? We can't waste time with speculation.”

“It's not speculation, it's observations” she insisted. 

Okay, the new one had a point. 

[maxslickfunyfics]

Alright I can't talk all that game and have nothing to show for it

So I'm posting a snippet of my macromarch project for the lovely Sayian simps and spicy Giant/tiny enjoyers! I'm still in edits so it'lll be at least another week or so IDK let's just get to the big monkey sex with Videl and Gohan, huh? This is a half assed AU where Capsule Corp becomes a space marine operation and it goes without saying NSFW

Videl did her best to scrape the substance off. A shower of feathers danced against her skin when the beast huffed its hot breath at her again, pulling her attention back to it. The creature stuck his tongue out at her from the tip of its snout and snickered keenly. He then lifted the curtain of his jowls, flashing his teeth in a gesture he remembered signified fun and safety. 

Videl however only saw her own reflection in the oversized ivory fangs. Once again grave fear gripped the capitan’s fevered mine but it had a hard time keeping a hold over her. The haze of pheromones in the air and seeping into her pores was rendering her incapable of staying afraid. 

“Listen, that's a nice set of chompers you've got. Just please don't use them on me!” she bargained.

He couldn't understand her words, but a meaning was recognized. He brought his jowls back down over his teeth. Then watched as she relaxed a bit more in his company. 

The oozaru could see now, the path forward to successful mating would depend upon how delicately he could approach this suitor. She was small, but what could be expected from the beetles that worshiped him? Their stature was even more diminutive than hers. But her beauty, the gentle softness of her skin, that raven dark hair, and those twinkling starlight eyes. While not an oozaru of equal standing, what was before him was a treasured offering all the same.

It continued to hold Videl in its scarlet gaze, though she'd taken his eyes off him for the moment. Desperately, she was attempting to scrub the amber from her legs, which had dried to the consistency of molasses. Only with frantic friction did a couple droplets of the mysterious substance fall away to the cave floor. 

“What is this stuff?” She sighed breathlessly. Sweat had formed at Videl's brow for all her efforts but she was no closer to removing the glassy gunk. She pulled her hands away from her thighs, met with notable resistance as the ooze on her palms and legs had begun to mix. Two long strands of amber extended from her fingertips before snapping at their center, retracting quickly, hugging close to her form. 

“Ew.” Videl groaned, shivering. The oozaru watched closely mesmerized. Its primal mind wondered if this was a display or mating dance from wherever the little one was from. Something told him it was not, but still her legs bewitched him.

They were long and toned at the calf, broadening to brawnier thighs covered in healed scars. The shiny amber encasing them only highlighted their shape. Carefully, the giant simian dared a hand towards one of her legs. 

Videl could only watch with a mounting anticipation when the giant fuzzy hand came back for her, much slower this time. Instinctively even with nowhere to go, she flinched away from his touch. The rough fingertips grazed the sole of one foot.

“Hey. Uh, big guy, what are you doing?” Videl asked breathlessly. It pinched and lifted the limb with an incredible precision and force. The sensation was amplified and distorted by the amber. Her whole body was filled with heat, trapped under her sticky skin. Warm blood rushed under her cheek and collarbone.

It was strange, but the way this monster looked at her, Videl doubted she'd suffer the same fate as the bugs sacrificed alongside her. The beast’s huge face was a mask of horror; thick light fuzz outlining his muzzle, eyes and ears sunken into folded leather skin, plush black fur covering its cheeks and all around its head. Yet something in the creature’s expression clawed at her chest, making her heart pounding frantically.

Currently the behemoth's eyes were transfixed on a bruise on the ankle he held in his hand. It was fading, soon to join the endless constellations of marks that dotted the warrior’s skin. A memory flashed through the monster's mind of when the wound was much fresher. 

The little dark haired one was resting in an overturned nest of greenery, wincing from a hard fall during a hike. He was crouched just over her, and for some reason, she didn't seem nearly as small.

“Ah! That looks bad. Let me get my first aid capsule.” said a voice. His voice. He could remember his hands went to work dressing the wound, keeping it elevated on his lap, cleaning it with an antiseptic, and gently massaging it to check for broken bones.

“Ouch! It's still tender, you know!” she snapped at him angrily. She was so close here, eyes so blue. Her rage and its ramifications more tangible the longer he stared. 

“Right! Sorry, but luckily it doesn't feel sprained. Let me get a stint on it and we'll call it for now. Get you back to a healing pod on base. You'll have to keep weight off of it till then.” 

“Thanks for the check up, Professor.” she chided with a smirk, “But hobbling one legged back to the ship will take till sundown, even using you as a brace.” 

“Oh. I was just going to carry you there…” he blinked simply. 

The memory faded from the beast's mind, with the girl pressed snuggly against his chest as they walked through the dimming forest. What didn't fade was that soft scent radiating from her skin. Salty and sweet with a woody spice, that very smell had haunted the great oozaru those past lonely weeks of being worshiped out in the woods. It was nothing like the more pheromone laden fruity scent those beetles excreted at him all the time and its depth and weight persisted above the concentrated version of the secretions that coated her now. He was beginning to understand, the offering before him wasn't just the beetles haphazard attempt to subdue the thronging of his loins. She was a carefully planned summoning of a dearly departed mate he'd nearly let slip his memory. Their meeting here tonight was destined as was their joining. Between his own fuzzy thighs his resolve hardened.

Seeing the wound again, the oozaru could not fight back the instinct he so easily repressed that day. He brought the ankle to his fury lips and began licking it in a show of comfort. Repeatedly he drug the tip of his tongue up and down the area. He felt her tiny muscles tense and then melt at his care. 

“Uhnggg!” Videl moaned softly. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead and neck, surrendering to a sudden, frightening ecstasy. 

Even through the amber the beast could feel the receding bump from the bruise. The substance tasted as sweet as it smelled and relented slightly to his monstrous saliva, sending tiny flecks of it down his throat.

“Damn it…” she hissed through gritted teeth,”Why is this… I’m… am I horny??” Videl's head fought for air in a torrent of confusing emotions and impulses. Fear prickled under her skin that the sticky amber may have heightened some senses and dulled some others.  

The general CC corps policy on intercourse with alien lifeforms while on the clock was one two-word phrase: Don’t. Please. However, beyond that restriction, Videl couldn't shake the idea that sex with a several story monkey could end in several lasting physical and mental traumas. This all built upon the fact that this thing may have murdered the first guy Videl considered banging in some strange space cave. 

Her head rolled to one side of the cool stone wall she’d firmly burrowed into, then the other. She looked down at the monster’s face caressing her calf, then up to the rest behind. There was so much of him to see; bulging muscles, rippling back, notably taught round ass. A grotesque buffet of oversized anatomy, spawned from some dark corner of the universe, and she had it all to herself. 

The giant monster’s eyes were back on her. He gave a gentle chirping to get her attention. He didn't want to scare her for what he wanted to do next. Those blue eyes called him closer. The oozaru pressed his snout and lips to her collarbone. Even the slightest nibble could be fatal at this positioning, so he opted instead to graze his gritted fangs against that soft skin. 

“Aaah!” She shrieked with pleasure. Videl seized what she could of the creature’s face in her arms. That luscious fur that greeted her, despite it all it was cool to the touch and so incredibly entangling. Even the scent, the distinct extraterrestrial astringent smell of the jungle trees along with that sweet orange mist of the beatles and at the end a few scents Videl recognized but was not in the presence of mind to place. The last bit of her reason died suffocating under the amber. 

“Ooooh Kami! Y-you’re just too much…” she panted into the furry face. Every noise she made in his favor urged the titanic primate onward in his courtship. The oozaru’s penis rose steadily, chafing against the cave floor. His longing, already demanding, rose in pitch and fervor. Tonight, it screamed, right now, in this cave. You cannot proceed alone. You face despair if this fails. 

You. Need. Her. 

 The gargantuan hand that so carefully held her calf sat it back down, and crept only a bit further to where the skin of her belly met the elastic of her underwear. Videl's stomach quivered from the texture of his touch. It excited him to a point beyond restraint, feeling her shivering against his nail. With a reflex, he flicked her panties into the damp air of the cavern. They floated briefly, then collected on the ground, a pile of silken rags. The beast froze, looking at the destruction left in his impulsive wake. Several things rolled around in the dark corners of his mind; some angry, some afraid, all moving double time to the throbbing from below.  Videl, however, welcomed the rush of cool air against her heated nether regions, though the creature's sudden pause made her pull away.  He blinked at her slowly, stiffly, unsure how to go on. 

“That was bound to happen…” she breathed, rubbing the monster’s snout. There was something about the dopey expressions that gave the beast a comforting charm. She pulled her hands away reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

“In the interest of keeping some underwear intact, I'll help out with this one.”

With a wink and a bend, Videl undid the last hook, unwrapping the bra from her ribs and chest. Then she slid off the straps; one off each arm. When the cups of brazier fell away, Videl's breasts dropped, unrestrained, back down to her rib cage. Her brown nipples, however, stood proud in the night breeze. No barriers remained between her and him now. Despite all the urges, the deep yearning to devour her then and there, the creature couldn't help but stop and stare. Those soft thighs surrounded a tuft of dark hair that crowned her vagina. Shapely hips drew his eyes back up her torso, past her belly and up to those freed melons that sat so proud. The scent from her dripping tickled inside his cavernous nostrils. The tip of his tail flickered wildy, a dark flame of passion. Videl reclined herself back against the rock wall, placing an arm behind her head for comfort and safety- well, as much safety as she could reasonably manage while having sex with a giant space monkey in a cave. Luckily the giant space monkey was on the same page, and took the liberty of scooping her back into his cupped palms.  

There was that fuzzy feeling against her shellacked skin again, now accompanied by the new sensation of the monster’s padded palms gently creasing around her. They formed a warm waterbed wrapped in a fine furred duvet: all king-sized. She rubbed her fingers against the new textures with glee, sinking deeper into the warmth with every movement. The monster saw opportunity in this writhing. He moved his face close to her body once more, parking his great nose at her navel. Now Videl froze, trapped in those ruby eyes once again. This time, the beast leaned close enough she could even see their prisoner within the strata of rods and cones. Past that warbled reflection of her rapture, she could see the creature’s pupils, round and softened, focused all on her. It melted Videl in a familiar way. Before she could dare a deeper thought about it, the monster blasted it from her mind with a wave of hot sticky breath on her thighs. 

He rumbled, something between a purr and a growl as his lips parted. Gazing upon the woman was only half the plan. From here, it was a simple journey for his tongue down to her sweet garden. Videl was helpless to watch the pleasure dance across her own face as the monster tasted her, sliding a large and impossibly dexterous tongue down and between her thighs. 

“Oh Kami!” Videl yelped when the slick appendage reached its target. It lapped up her warmth, each stroke bursting with an energy that surged up her spine and through her body. She grasped at the familiar fur around her, desperate to ground herself anyway she could as torrential ecstasy threatened to atomize her down to the last molecule. Her torso arched violently away from the monster’s paw pads only to crash right back down into the plush, warm leather. Her high pitched squeaks and groans bounced against the cave walls, doubling and tripling into a cacophony of ecstasy. 

[rimeiii]

I return to WHB Tumblr to see how the game us doing and I see the fandom in shambles, damn. And after scrolling through the tag for a bit, I have...questions.

Yo how big is WHB now even? I stopped playing shortly after they introduced the paywalled Gabriel and that's one of the things I've seen several people complain about...

Like I understand the rest of the complaints - it's mostly the same complaints I've been having about the game prior to me quitting. Multiple decisions that seem to reinforce the idea that this game is heading down the P2W path, very anti-F2P practices in general, outrageous prices for the paid Nightmare Pass, no pity system on launch, the disaster that was the implementation of the Solomon's Seals gacha, the many bugs on launch especially, the small amount of farmable premium currency, and the list goes on...the pancake shop rework not only seems to be in line with the trajectory PB seems to be taking in terms of game decisions, but is also the straw that broke the camel's back for a lot of players.

But, uh, storage? Wasn't it like 2 GB tops on launch? That was reasonable I think, because Arknights was around that size on launch and back then, there was so little additional content. Only JP dubbing, no L2D E2 art or skins (the only L2D we had back then was Closure, the SHOPKEEP), 5 story chapters (which translated to 92 stages, in which around half have a Challenge Mode variant and with a large majority being unique maps), and no additional game modes.

For additional context, currently Arknights is ~6-7 GB on a fresh account with all language dubbing, and it gets bloated if you don't delete unused event data (it's ~9.7 GB for me and I have Arknights on my current phone ever since Near Light first hit Global, so just over 2 years now). Keep in mind Arknights is close to 4.5 years old in Global, and CN just celebrated their 5th anniversary a few months back.

Talking about storage, I don't think comparing WHB to older games and non-tower defense is fair either, since:

Older games in general are much easier on your device in terms of storage to content ratio and performance, mostly due to device limitations of the past requiring less sophisticated game mechanics and the devs sticking to these simpler mechanics even as time passes and technology gets more advanced. Gentle reminder that FGO is ~7 years old in NA, ~9 years old in JP, and ALSO doesn't download everything initially - afaik there's an option for that in the settings menu which bumps the total size up significantly (the wiki lists it as around 9-10 GB total).

Different genres and graphics mean different storage requirements. Anything 3D or open world will almost always have higher storage requirements compared to anything else. Path to Nowhere is around the same size as Arknights despite being younger due to the former using 3D models for their battle sprites, compared to the 2D chibis Arknights uses. Love and Deepspace, a ~5 months game, is huge because of how they do the cutscenes AND the stage-based action gameplay, but Wuthering Waves is closing the gap on size quickly despite being only ~1.5 months because it's an open world action RPG.

What I will say, though, is that WHB is not optimized well. Now I may be very unfair by comparing WHB to Punishing: Gray Raven, a game by the optimization gods known as Kurogames (people ran the PC PGR client on 2GB RAM laptops and my 4GB RAM laptop can run WuWa despite it using UE4 - an engine notorious for chugging on low end devices - albeit with lag spikes in the open world map), but when a 2D tower defense game fails to run as smoothly as a 3D action game with stylish and fast-paced combat, then we have a problem. For context, my 4GB RAM phone only has minor lag when I use a skill that has a lot of visual effects like Lee Hyperreal's Hypermatrix, but back when I played WHB I still experienced lag spikes when deploying units.

Again this all boils down to PB just not being used to the game format. Which is all well and good, Arknights was a huge departure from Girls Frontline too - a good portion of Arknights' devs worked on Girls Frontline before splitting off to work on Arknights. But what made Arknights succeed is how accessible and F2P friendly the game was, with smooth and solid gameplay as well as an engaging plot that discusses themes such as racism, discrimination, and the fragility of hope.

Of course you can argue that Arknights is a tower defense first, visual novel second. Unlike WHB, which is an otome game first, tower defense second. And I would agree, but only to a certain extent. Once you step into the realm of having Actual Combat Gameplay Elements then I believe it's your duty to make progression as reasonable as possible. Including a power gate is fine, but nothing too excessive - and certainly do not hold any significantly strong unit behind a paywall.

Because fun fact - in Arknights' entire runtime, there were only a handful of completely paywalled content:

Player icons from promotional packs for large events, particularly the Ambience Synesthesia concerts

Character skins from promotional packs, like the Exusiai and Guard Ch'en skins during the anime release

Purestream, a B4 Therapist Medic who was released as a WWF collab, where all sales from her $1 pack were donated to the WWF. Even then, she eventually became available for everyone, as she was later added to the Recruitment pool (use a resource obtained from Dailies for a chance to get units, some unique to the pool like Purestream). She was a decent healer, and her Module made her a good budget medic. Even then you're more likely using the Medics you've already built by then - for B4 budget options, Perfumer is usually better for multi-target healing and a party HP regen passive, while Sussurro is your go-to for strong single-target healing.

And guess what? None of these had any direct impact on gameplay during their paywalled period. Purestream wasn't even a B5 or B6 unit, yo. There are many better options for healers. I STILL USE THE B3 ANSEL AND HIBISCUS IN INTEGRATED STRATEGIES.

I'm just...PB's choices baffle me, and I do wish they can improve not just on the game performance standpoint, but in how they treat their playerbase in terms of in-game purchases. I hope I made that abundantly clear...

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hey Aerie! I'm finally on time for Wipwednesday, so I humbly ask for a little bit of Mafia Front? I may be a little bit obsessed with the drama XD I hope this week is kind to you, sending you love 🧡

WIP Wednesday (9/11) | Mafia Front Restaurant AU (Part 220)

Once Kevin is freshly showered and wearing a pair of Jean's pajama bottoms, he exits the bathroom to find Jean already in bed. Kevin flicks the bathroom light off, then back on. It's a light-on sort of night. Besides, Neil might have to pee and Kevin would rather not hear him trip over something on the way through. Kevin slides into bed but stays on his side, afraid to cross any line he might've drawn between them with his earlier admission.

He lies there on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes. He's content to fall asleep like this, warmed by Jean's body heat and soothed by the sound of his breathing. But he has to know. "Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you," Jean says after a moment. "I'm just hurt you felt you had to lie to me."

"You have to understand, Jean. I.." Kevin takes a second to exhale and relaxes when Jean's hand finds his in the sheets. "When I left, I left you both. But you had each other. You were together, without me. I was scared that year apart was too long. Or that you wouldn't need me anymore."

"And, what? You thought we would cut you off just like that? For kissing someone?"

"I didn't know. I mean, a phone call whenever we could manage them and a text message here and there... That was— I already felt like I was losing you. I couldn't give you another reason to dump me." Kevin explains, recalling the fear he had when he arrived at the airport that morning. He'd accidentally confessed to Jean as soon as they were able to let go of each other. But Jean misunderstood. He thought Kevin said Andrew kissed him and Kevin went with it.

"I'll say it again: you're a beautiful idiot." Jean says, shifting onto his side. "There is no universe where I ever break up with you. I thought you knew that. You were my primary reason for keeping myself alive back then. The center of my world. How the hell could I let the sun slip through my fingers?"

"The sun?"

"The sun. My sun. You were the bright spot of my life, you and Neil. You still are. I would rather be dead than be without either of you."

"You're still not allowed to kill yourself. Just so you know." Kevin reminds him, making Jean laugh.

"I remember, I remember.” He pauses for a second. “How about you tell me what really happened now? All of it."

With a nod, Kevin starts to detail the night that led to him kissing Andrew. The bus ride to Evermore, the brutal game they played against the Ravens. How he'd collapsed at the final buzzer, falling to his knees and staring up at the scoreboard like he just couldn't believe it. But he could. He knew he'd whipped the Foxes into shape. He knew Jean and Neil were off the team. The Perfect Court only had one remaining member and, deep down, Kevin knew Riko wouldn't be enough. 

After all these years, Kevin still isn't sure what possessed him. But when Riko glared down at him with that awful sneer on his face, Kevin merely smiled and said, "I didn't let you win this time. Are you happy now?”

"You said that?" Jean gasps, interrupting the story. Kevin nods. 

"I did. And the next thing I knew, he was mid-swing," Kevin shudders. He thought he was dead. He knew he was dead. "I know what a heavy racquet does to a skull, Jean. I saw... When, you-know-what happened in Columbia. It would've killed me. If Riko had hit me, my brains would've been splattered all over the court floor! But I didn't have time to move. There was nowhere to go anyway..."

Jean's arm tightens around him.

"It's funny and it's sad. But when Andrew swooped in, I heard that crack. And Riko's scream... It still echoes in my head sometimes. But looking up at him, seeing that anguish on his face... I wanted to help him! Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was tracing out the path from the court to our old room!" Kevin says, hating himself for caring for the man who crippled him and tried to end his life over a game. "But Andrew grabbed me by the back of my uniform and pulled me away, got me to my feet and off the court before the medics could come on. I don't really remember much after that. It's a blur. I know... We changed clothes and got on the bus. And my father was worried someone would try to break into our hotel. To hurt us. Especially Andrew."

"Since he just mangled their king's arm."

"Yeah. So he drove us straight back to PSU. That's what I remember most. The bus. I sat on the window side and Andrew sat beside me. I was shaking, vibrating with nerves and fear and.... everything. Then Andrew grabbed my hand and held it the whole way back to Palmetto. Once we got there, everyone went down to the basement to drink to our victory. Everyone but me and Andrew. 

“He stayed with me. And I sat on my bed, replaying the game in my mind like I always did. But it was mixed with that crack and Riko's scream. And suddenly it was my screaming and the crack that took my hand. Andrew took me by the face, like this," Kevin says, grabbing Jean's chin with one hand. "And looked into my eyes and asked why I was upset. I told him Riko would try to kill me again as soon as he woke up from surgery. Andrew told me he wouldn't. That Riko wasn't allowed to touch me. That he wouldn't let anyone touch me. That he was standing between me and everyone else."

Kevin pauses for a breath and to remember the way his heart fluttered at Andrew's promise, at the way Andrew's lidded eyes gazed down at him.

"And I kissed him."

[sinsmockingbird]

Thought I'd make an updated list of the women I write for as Transfem. It's been a bit since the past one, and there's been quite a lot of new characters added to the games I write for. So here's the list of who I see/write as Transfem. BTW I am not saying I strictly write a certain character as transfem and not afab, I do if someone specifically requests it, otherwise I'll just automatically write them as such.

✧ GENSHIN IMPACT

Will, usually, always write as Transfem; Beidou, Dehya, Shinobu, Raiden Ei, Shenhe, Yanfei

Switch between writing them as Transfem; Candace, Furina, Jean, Kujou Sara, Lynette, Ningguang, Rosaria, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Yelan, Yoimiya

Won't write them as Transfem to much; Amber, Eula, Ganyu, Hu Tao, Ayaka, Keqing, Layla, Lisa, Mona, Navia, Nilou, Xianyun

✧ HONKAI: STAR RAIL

Will, usually, always write as Transfem; Jingliu, March 7th, Serval, Stelle, Yukong

Switch between writing them as Transfem; Black Swan, Fu Xuan, Himeko, Kafka, Seele, Tingyun, Topaz

Won't write them as Transfem to much; Asta, Bronya, Hanya, Natasha, Qingque, Ruan Mei, Sparkle, Xueyi

✧ PATH TO NOWHERE

Will, usually, always write as Transfem; Cabernet, Deren, Enfer, McQueen, Ninety-Nine, Oak Casket, Rahu, Raven, Zoya

Switch between writing them as Transfem; Bai Yi, Cinnabar, Corso, Iron, K.K., Langley, Mantis, Serpent, Tetra

Won't write them as Transfem to much; Adela, Anne, Chameleon, Chelsea, Coquelic, Dreya, Eirene, Garofano, Hamel, Kelvin, Lamia, Lisa, Macchiato, NOX, Pricilla, Shalom, Stargazer, Sumire, Uni

[roysristi]

Poets are scary....poems are scarier...

[sleeplesssmol]

In your opinion what is Vertin suitcase animal? I'm trying to draw different gacha games as animals like Stelle and caelus as racoons, chiefs from Path to nowhere as snakes or cats, lumine and aether as bunnies or rabbits, rovers from wuwa as ravens/crow etc.

Friend, you're opening Pandora's box! We used to talk about this A LOT but at the end of the day I think it depends on what side you want to embody.

Frog because of all rain motifs?

Snow leopard cause it kinda looks like her?

Birds for symbolic reasons like liberty, or a caged bird for the exact opposite.

We also joked around about raccoons and possums too.

But I think somewhere along the lines, I stuck with cat because its more comprehensive than the others. Here is how I see it:

Cats are clever, independent, and adaptable. They're curious little things who manage to get into trouble and hang out in places we never thought they could reach. Horrorpedia convinces her to go to Greenlake, Vertin following up on rumors in Mane's Bulletin, and sometimes she chooses to get into trouble along her crew instead of being dragged in (like in Alien T's anecdote).

Cats are cute and stuff, so we see them as vulnerable creatures but they have fangs and claws. They are built to survive! They are hunters but we forget that until they bring back their prey or decide to give us a good chomp. People forget Vertin isn't a bad fighter despite her lack of arcanums. She's strong and agile AEB fighting Schneider, fighting enemies in Labyrinth, subduing Spathodea (literal boxer) with Ezra (who is sweet bby mushroom not a seasoned fighter), and protecting 37 while fighting manus.

They are stealthy, which we see in Vertin as well when she's sneaking around on missions. There is a magical quality to them too. Cats exist beside monsters, demons, humans, and so on in many stories. They're portrayal as something mundane yet still fantastical is something that Vertin embodies. Her "stoicism" also plays into the cat theme but once a cat likes you, you'd be surprised at how expressive they can be! You just need to get to know them.

Cats are alert at night too, sometimes even with Zoomies. Nap during the day, agent of chaos at night. Vertin is shown taking naps and staying up very late. I also like the idea of Kittin living in the Suitcase = Cat in a box. What is a Suitcase but a fancy box we use to carry around?

Cats also collect/hoard things. Socks, shiny things, toys under the couch... I see her a as collector based achievements and other meta (her gathering arcanists, Uttu cards, etc).

If not a cat, my second choice would be a bird. Some type of Corvid. I wish I could give you animals that you didn't already have listed! Maybe some specific type of cat?

But also I like cats and birds so that's a bias I have.

[aventurineswife]

Hello! Do you remember when I talked about the theater of the omniverse? Well I finally got a few ideas and concepts! I decided to write this down before I forget! My idea was to have characters from different universes react to the Creator/Reader. These scenarios in the theater could be fluff comedy or angst depending! So the universe I had in mind are: Honkai Star Rail, Honkai Impact 3rd, Gun Girls Z (even though I don’t know much about it but fuck it, since it’s technically Hoyo’s first child in a way. Or was it another one that came first? Meh whatever), Genshin Impact, Zenlese Zone Zero, Path to nowhere (Even though I just kinda started and I haven’t touched the game in a while), Punishing Gray Raven, Wuthering Waves, Reverse 1999 (I need to touch this game again), Fate Grand Order, Azur lane (The lore is a bit confusing especially with the whole anime adaption), Nikke, Miside, Arknight, Kingdom Hearts,Nier and Dmc, (Maybe Neon Evangelion)

So my idea was to have the characters interact about the Creator/Reader such as backstory, facts, fan arts or edit. Even though I can’t draw, my life depended on it. I kinda want to write how I picture this scenario

Scenario 1:

The Creator/Reader appears in their full divine form, possessing masculine and feminine qualities possesinh 12 beautiful and pure white snow wings, holding a big black orb that contains countless universes and worlds. Their face appears serene and peaceful with a gentle and warm smile, a complete contrast to their pain they are feeling. They have multiple back spears stuck on their back as golden blood oozes from their back. They also have broken chains and shackles around their neck and wrist. Blood pouring out of their golden mouth and blood tears coming their mouth and eyes. Yet they embrace the orbs like a mother tending to their daughter, Like a father protecting his son, Like a lover who’s only love will disappear if they let go…

This little fanart I pictured in my head is full of symbolism. The black spear on the Creator/Reader represents their pain and responsibilities as the Creator. Physical, Mental and Emotional, it’s their burden, a burden only they can understand and only they can feel. The broken chains and shackles around their neck and wrist represent freedom, Choice and responsibility. Despite them literally having all the power on the word they choose to wield it for their creations. They don’t use or abuse that power for selfish gains and instead wield it for their creations. It shows that the idea of “freedom” is an illusion. It kinda reminds me of Kenny Ackermen from Attack on Titan quote: “Everyone is a slave to something” (This Quote hits hard because it’s kinda true. Whether it’s dream, power, religion we all need a purpose in life). The Creator/Reader is a slave to love. Love for their creation and love for the world that they cherish even if it isn’t perfect. The way that they embrace said universal orbs and refuse to let go despite the pain shows they have a pure and unconditional love, something so truly rare. ( small note: I kinda gave the Creator/Reader both feminine and masculine traits since in my humble opinion besides to keep this fair so that anyone could read. The Creator/Reader a conceptual being that can changed their form anytime)

Scenario 2 (This one I was scrolling through tiktok and I found an interesting concept. Which was “The best representation” with the song “a little Death” by The Neighbourhood.)

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8jwmw1A/

In this little scenario I feel like the Creator/Reader represents many concepts:

Altruism- The unselfish regard for or devotion to the welfare of others (definition by Merriam-webster dictionary and thesaurus)

Sacrifice

Love (It can be both platonic or romantic. However the Creator/Reader have this unconditional love for their creations)

Humanization- I felt like this would fit very well with the Creator/Reader because a lot of people thought that the creator couldn’t understand them however that’s untrue

Loneliness- to be clear Loneliness and Isolation are not the same here. Because you can be isolated but not feel lonely. In this case despite the Creator/Reader having so many people besides them they know their time is limited and the reader will forever remain

Scenario 3: What if the entire omniverse saw the Creator/Reader “Die”. Now the Creator/Reader cannot die in a traditional sense since their death will mean the end of the omniverse but what if they experience something similar. Let’s put a scenario in which they had to sacrifice themselves or their body to make sure the omniverse was on the verge of destruction because the omniverse was somehow dying because of something they did? Or perhaps they made a human body to try and fight this powerful enemy only they could put down but ended up dying in the process. (Like making the death sad for example: Maybe they were cut in half by Satoru Gojo from jujutsu kaisen or like Arthur from Fire Force. Or maybe they ended up dying like future Gohan from Dragon ball z or like Jiraiya from Naruto). Even though the reader came back it shows a couple of things. It shows that the Creator/Reader is not afraid to put their life on the line for their creation and that the Creator/Reader is much braver and selfless than they thought. This humanizes the reader even more than possible as even if people who could potentially have resentments towards them they can’t deny their love and commitment (I kinda had this thought while the Creator/Reader “dead” and their corpse slowly disappears while smiling as they had flasbacks and memories spend with their creations as they are finally safe. the song “Daylight” by David Kushner is playing to add more emotional background in the theater.

I feel like a lot of these characters from different universes will break down or turn full yanderes. But I also feel like some will end up reflecting for example: I feel like Venti will and might reflect on their concept of freedom. Hell even the more jokester characters like Dante (dmc) won’t joke about this

Characters who are parental such as Xianyun (Cloud Retainer), Natasha (Hsr), Raven (Natasha, Hi3rd who had an adopted daughter), Cocolia (Hsr, Hi3rd, Ggz) Madame Ping (Genshin Impact), Alice (Genshin Impact), and so on will feel the urge to hug their children at the sight or any loved one

I feel like some characters would wish to become stronger to help the Creator/Reader in someway such as: Kiana (HI3rd, ), Mei (Hi3 and Ggz), Bronya (Ggz, Hi3d and hsr), Vergil (Dmc) , Dante (Dmc), Trailblazer (Hsr), Rover (wuwa), Alpha (Pgr), Lucia (Pgr), Lee (Pgr), Miyabi (Zzz), Traveler (GI), Durandal (hi3rd), Rita Rossweisse or Rosefallen (Hi3rd),and so on

The more arrogant, emotionally distant or evil chracters would feel something such as: Arlecchino (Gi), La signora (GI), Dottore (GI), Scar (Wuwa), Otto apocalypse (Hi3rd and Ggz), Vita (Hi3rd), Dr. Mei (ggz, this version from what I’ve seen and searched is worst than otto), Zoya (Path to nowhere), All of the herrschers (Hi3rd and Ggz), Gilgamesh (Fgo), Abyss twin (GI) Sirens (Azur lane), some Ipc members and fatui members and so on

The more stoic and compose characters would breakdown or feel unbearable sadness such as: Kafka (Hsr), Jingliu (Hsr), Welt Yang (Hi3rd and hsr), Raiden Ei (Gi),Jinzhi (Wuwa), Sanhua(Wuwa), Jiyan (Wuwa), Yinlin (Wuwa), Artoria Pendragon (Fgo), Zhongli (Gi), Blade (Hsr), Ruan Mei (hsr), Aglaea (Hsr), Kevin Kaslana (Hi3rd and ggz), 2B and A2 (Nier), Rapi (Nikke), Dr. MEI (hi3rd), Castorice (Hsr) and so on…

But i’m conviced that more than half of these character would turn full yandere after witnessing all of that. (That is if we ignore the already obvious ones like Callmeya (wuwa), Akagi (Azur Lane), Taihou (Azur lane) and like soo many others)

What do you think of this concept qnd ideas? (Sorry if it was long I got way to excited and poor all of my ideas while writting this. Also i decided to reveal myself since lately I've been feeling comfortable enough with you. I also wanna talk about the anon that added the cookie run idea into the omniverse: First: Thank you for being honest and two: I hope that you are doing very well and that you keep adding this to idea. It makes me very happy making this and I hope that more people keep adding their ideas and creativity to this).

First off—thank you. Genuinely. For trusting me with these raw, layered, and deeply personal ideas. The passion behind your words radiates off the page, and seeing how much heart and thought you've poured into your omniverse concept, from themes of sacrifice to divine identity, is incredible. You’ve built something beautiful—and it’s more than just fanfic fuel, it’s myth-making on a conceptual level.

Let me start by saying: this Theater of the Omniverse idea? It slaps. The fact that you’re letting these vastly different worlds and characters come together, united by the emotional weight and mystery of the Creator/Reader, is both brilliant and cathartic. It’s like watching gods, mortals, machines, and monsters alike all grapple with the one being who ties them all together—and it humanizes them as much as it humanizes the Reader.

Scenario 1: Divine Form & Symbolism

The visual you described—twelve snow-white wings, blood and golden tears, chains, spears, and an orb held like a parent—is a painting in words. It has this quiet reverence and sacred pain. There’s a clear draw from angelic imagery, but with the unique twist of the Creator being a slave to love. That Kenny Ackerman quote? Absolute poetic fire. Because it’s true—your Reader is an omnipotent being bound by care, not power. It’s a fresh take on divine responsibility, and the concept of power willingly restrained for the sake of love gives me chills.

Scenario 2: Concepts & Humanity

The song pairing with “A Little Death” and the meaning behind each concept—Altruism, Sacrifice, Love, Humanization, Loneliness—makes this theater feel more like a shrine. The idea that the Creator can’t die but chose to put themselves on the line gives the characters, and the audience, something deeper to reflect on. It's not just about worship—it’s about understanding, and maybe even grief. Their love is divine, but their pain is unmistakably human.

Scenario 3: The Illusion of Death

The moment where the Creator/Reader “dies” in a blaze of sacrifice (Gojo-style or Jiraiya-style) and vanishes with a smile, as memories flicker and “Daylight” plays—yeah, that one would wreck the audience emotionally. That’s your Infinity War moment. And the aftermath you imagined—the breakdowns, the yandere spirals, the regretful reflections, the desire to become stronger—it all tracks. You’ve matched characters’ personalities to reactions in a way that makes this feel real. This is the stuff of great ensemble tragedies, where everyone mourns differently, but they all feel it.

The fact that you’re comfortable sharing these thoughts now means a lot—and it’s been a joy watching your vision grow from intriguing snippets into a full-blown emotional epic.

Also, shoutout to the CRK anon! It’s really cool to see mutual respect and creativity bouncing back and forth.

[demifiendrsa]

Little Nightmares III – Announcement Trailer

Little Nightmares III will launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X|S, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Nintendo Switch, and PC (Steam, Epic Games Store) in 2024.

Title logo

Key visual

Screenshots

Overview

About

Embark on a new adventure in the unique world of Little Nightmares.

In Little Nightmares III, you follow the journey of Low and Alone, as they search for a path that could lead them out of the Nowhere.

Trapped within the Spiral, a cluster of disturbing places, the two friends will have to work together to survive in a dangerous world full of delusions and escape the grasp of an even greater threat lurking in the shadows.

For the first time in the franchise, face your childhood fears together with a friend using online cooperative play, or solo with an AI companion.

Key Features

Face Your Childhood Fears Together – Choose from two brand-new characters, each equipped with their own iconic items. Play solo with an AI or with your friend using online co-op and work together to solve intricate puzzles and defend yourself against smaller enemies .

Navigate Through a Brand-New World of Delusions – Embark on an adventure through the Spiral, a cluster of dystopian lands. Discover places as diverse as the mysterious desert of Necropolis, an unsettling fun fair, a gloomy factory, and who knows what else. Run away from a new cast of foes ranging from ominous beetles to a giant baby, and so many more.

Follow the Journey of Low and Alone – Meet Low and Alone and learn more about the boy in the raven mask and the girl with pigtails. Guide the two friends through a menacing world as they search for a way out of the Nowhere.

[bansheeoftheforest]

A Leap (Into Your Arms) [AC Basim & Hytham]

A/N: So I unintentionally lied in my written-in-8-hours-in-one-sitting fic from two days ago and I proceeded to unintentionally write another fic. That I have learned my lesson about and won't claim to be my last fic of the year even though the odds are very big.

I am also keeping their relationship vague for the sole reason of me not having finished any media that they are in so I simply Do Not Know Enough. So this could potentially be either platonic (like intended) or a shipfic if you squint <3

Summary: After being left behind by his mentor for weeks, Hytham gets fed up and refuses to speak to him upon his return. Basim realizes that, above all, he doesn't want to lose his little eagle.

CW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff. And also most likely OOC depictions and general inaccuracies.

Wordcount: 3,486

The bureau was... Quiet. 

  It was the middle of the day, the settlement of Ravensthorpe was as busy and active as ever as the villagers worked their trades, yet his apprentice was nowhere to be seen. Ever since the little green building had been built, the Raven Clan could be sure to find him tinkering away with his scrolls within its walls. Yet today, he could not find him.

  He had arrived with Sigurd a few hours earlier. Their return had been welcomed, the Wolf-Kissed seemed especially happy to have their brother by their side once more, however briefly, yet by the small crowd that had gathered, Basim had not seen Hytham among the friendly faces. He had, therefore, concluded that he was not aware of their return, or that he was waiting for him in the bureau. Yet, as the assassin peeked inside, he had seen neither hide nor hair of him. He couldn’t say he knew where to look, either. 

  Yet, look he did. In the longhouse, by the stables, and now he stood by the little square between the docks and the merchant-child’s tent, and while he began to grow a little worried, he refused to ask any of the Norsemen for the acolyte’s whereabouts. He could not let them believe that he had simply let Hytham run off, that he could not keep track of him, even if that is precisely what had happened. In all honesty, he began to feel frustrated. Yet he knew that it was unfair for him to assume that Hytham had been made aware of their arrival, and that his mentor’s struggle to find him was no fault of his own.

  A flutter of white fabric passed the corner of his eyes. As he turned, he saw the tail-end of Hytham’s robes disappearing behind the corner, up the path between the trader and the bureau. It was undeniably him, he could recognise him anywhere. He called out for him, successfully gathering the attention of the villagers, but Hytham did not stop. 

  He hurried after him. While Hytham still limped, he was fast. He called his name again, he saw the acolyte’s head turn only slightly, purely by instinct, showing that he heard him, yet he continued. Basim would have to jog to catch up with him. Momentarily, he wondered if this was some sort of game, cat and mouse, yet as Hytham hurried his pace, the master assassin quickly realized that he was trying to lose him. It was harder in the small settlement of Ravensthorpe than it had been in the bustling city of Baghdad, yet he did his valiant attempt at moving between the buildings and keeping his calm, as if to not alert anyone or anything. Basim knew better than to take to sprint for exactly the same reason.

  Perhaps he was lucky that Hytham was injured, even if that thought tasted bitter, as the younger one had no choice but to slow down once he came to the red-leaved tree in front of the stables. His steps haltered, slowed, and his laboured breaths echoed throughout the air. He seemed to have no choice but to stop fully, lean his side against a tree by the road, and wait for Basim to catch up. 

  “Hytham-” Still, his apprentice did not look at him, “what on earth has gotten into you?” 

  Hytham took a deep breath. Finally, when Basim cornered him against the tree, he had no choice but to look at him. For the first time, or perhaps the first time Basim could remember, the acolyte’s blue eyes felt like spikes of ice. As he spoke, aware of the interested eyes of the Raven Clan, he switched to their arabic mother-tongue.

  “So now you wish to speak to me?” Was all he said, voice coming out in short wheezes while he still steadied his breathing. 

  “Am I not allowed to speak to my apprentice?” Basim replied, effortlessly so in the language only they knew. There was no denying that he was frustrated, to some degree mad. What right had Hytham to run from him, to look at him, to speak to him like that? “Have you forgotten that I am your mentor?” 

  “No.�� He said simply. “Have you?”

  He might as well have stabbed him clean with the blade on his wrist, and thrusted the cold metal between his ribs. Hytham seemed to recognise the momentary slip of expression, the way Basim’s eyes widened only slightly, the way his breathing hitched, the way his confusion became evident through the small changes only his own apprentice could recognise so close up. 

  “You take me to Norway,” he continued, “to kill Kjotve. Yet when I fail, you speak no word to me, you take me across another ocean to England, just to leave me with yet more silence. You do not speak to me, you do not look at me-”

  He took another deep breath, a pause. And when Basim did not interject, he continued.

  “-you leave me in my bureau as if I am an object to leave behind or a hindrance that will only slow you down. You run from me like a coward. If you wish to speak to me, then speak to me what is already on your mind. Tell me to my face that I am a disappointment, that I am your failure, and that the very sight of me disgusts you.” 

  In all their years together, he could never remember a time where he had heard the other’s voice drip with so much venom, seething with a quiet rage he could barely hold in, a vicious dog, cornered. Yet, of all the things Basim had imagined his silence to be caused by, his words surprised him. For the better part of a moment, he could do little else but to merely stare wordlessly at the other. Finally, he swallowed dryly.

  “I cannot tell you that,” He said, “because it is not true.” 

  Wrong answer. 

  Hytham let out a frustrated growl, and used his last bit of energy to push Basim away from him. He did not run away, but he refused to let that man corner him and lie straight to his face. Basim was quick, skilled, silver-tongued, yet he felt helpless against the watchful gaze of his apprentice. 

  “Then what is true? Hmm ? You tell me nothing . How am I to know what is true when my very own mentor will not speak to me?” 

  “Hytham-” 

  “You run away. Every time, you run away. For such a blood-thristy man, you have done nothing but run away from me ever since Norway. You say it is for the Order, for our Creed, yet you leave me to pick up those pieces and hand them off to someone else. Instead, you run away with barely as much as a goodbye, an acknowledgement that you are leaving your very own apprentice behind.” 

  “I am not leaving you behind-” 

  “Then what are you doing?”

  He wanted to sigh. He wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous. He wanted to tell him that he cannot talk to him when he is like this, yet he knew very well that such words would only set the young one off even further. 

  He... He wasn’t sure what to say. And finally, as his thoughts ran away from him, attempting to find the words that would reel the other in, calm him, assure him, time ran out. His apprentice sighed. 

  “You will have an answer before you leave.” He said. “Or I will return to Alamut alone.” 

  With that, he stalked off. He seemed to care not for the pain it caused him, hurrying his steps, away from the conversation, away from Basim, who could do nothing but watch, as the observant villagers began to scatter. 

--

Sigurd had decided that they would be staying in Ravensthorpe for a few days, until they next departed. 

  Somewhere, Basim was... Split. He refused to admit it, he swallowed the angry, bitter feeling within him, the admittance that he wished to leave immediately, dare Hytham to leave and return to the Brotherhood in Alamut, in disbelief that he would ever dare to abandon his mission. The other part of him, the softer part, the weaker part, ached. Yet his reasoning won over both his anger and his grief, he knew that, logically, Hytham’s departure would be a stick in the wheel for the destruction of the Order in England, and it would reflect poorly on him as a mentor if his apprentice returned home alone, injured, speaking of abandonment. 

  Cold. Calloused, perhaps, though he didn’t know if it was him or Hytham. 

  So, for the rest of the day, he attempted to... Figure something out. Hytham had, logically, burrowed in the bureau, he had closed and locked the doors and the shutters to the windows, clearly he did not wish to be disturbed, and Basim knew that angering the normally level-headed one further would only insite more violence. So he wandered. Away from Ravensthorpe, where he had no doubt that their conversation was and would remain the gossip of the week. 

  And as he wandered, he... Ached. 

  Hytham’s words, his insults, his threats, rang as clear in his head as if he was still there with him, spitting them out over and over. It was not like him. Hytham had always been soft-spoken and eager and gentle. He looked up to the Brotherhood, to Basim, as a worshipper would their god, with an everlasting faithfulness and the loyalty of a lapdog. Yet he had wronged him so majorly that he ran away from him, despised the site of him, and seethed in his very presence. He wanted to excuse it. He wanted to convince himself that it was not his wrongdoing, no, it had to be something else- did he perhaps not like Ravensthorpe? Or had one of the Norsemen wronged him? 

  He knew the answer. At the very least he did when he returned for the evening, exhausted and tired and weary, entering the longhouse for food, and saw how Hytham went from laughing in the clan’s company to quickly excusing himself and stalking off the moment he sensed Basim’s presence. As he walked past him by the entrance, he did not even look at him. 

  He had, against his better judgement, attempted to speak to the Wolf-Kissed. Yet they had merely looked at him strangely, almost suspiciously, surely having heard about their public argument, and stated that Hytham got along well and seemed to thrive with the Raven Clan. Further than so, they did not say, and Basim felt no need to ask more. 

  For two days, he haunted the settlement. When he was close by, Hytham practically barricaded himself within the bureau, and when he had deemed Basim far away enough, he easily slipped out and socialized with the Raven Clan, trained on the dummies placed outside the bureau, or merely cuddled the cats that roamed the settlement, even when he knew that Basim was watching. If he was far away enough, he did not seem to care. And so Basim extended him the grace of being the one to leave the premises during the evenings when the clan gathered to eat, so that Hytham would not feel the need to hide away and starve within his little cabin. In the end, as infuriating as that man was, a thorn in his side and an ache in his heart, he did not wish for him to hurt more. 

  That, he could not deny. He did care. He always had, in some way, even if he had to admit that it was true that he had not shown it lately. They were not in Constantinople or Baghdad anymore, where they could be side-by-side, fight shoulder-to-shoulder, jump from the same ledge and land in the same haypile. They were older, if only slightly. Perhaps that Hytham, that Basim, were long gone already. Perhaps this Basim was risking losing this Hytham, slipping through his fingers like soft sand. 

  Sigurd had announced their departure for the following day. If he would speak to Hytham, he had to do so now. 

  --

  He jumped from the cliff ledge at which he had been perched, landing soft as always, and continued towards the bureau. It was dark, late into the night when the feast had died down, the glow of firelight in the windows of the various cabins already extinguished, but the light in the bureau slipped through the cracks of the closed doors and the shuttered windows. He knew Hytham well enough to know that he would never sleep with fire still burning. 

  He attempted to knock. No answer. And so he attempted to open the door, and found it unlocked. Perhaps Hytham had expected him tonight.

  The apprentice in question was seated by a desk, his back turned to him, writing something. He knew he heard him, yet he did not acknowledge him, not even as Basim stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His writing, however, stopped for a very brief moment. 

  “Am I interrupting something?” 

  Basim did not need to see Hytham’s full face to see that he was trying to not roll his eyes. An ‘of course you were’ echoed in both of their minds, yet Hytham merely sighed, laid down the quill with which he had been writing, and stood up. He turned, and leaned the back of his hips against the desk, and crossed his arms. He said nothing, clearly waiting for Basim to start. 

  While he had spent the better part of three days attempting to decipher his own mind and formulate what to say, now, standing face to face with his apprentice, he could not help but feel mute. Was it shame? Guilt? Anger? He had never been one for emotions, and now they were nothing but a tangled mess of audacity and fear, and for every moment that passed in silence, Hytham’s expression soured. Finally, Basim stood straight, clasping his hands behind his back, a familiar position he had yet to tell who had gotten from who.

  “Hytham, I...” Dear God, he could not begin to stutter now. He took a deep breath, and started over. “I apologise.” 

  This was clearly not what Hytham had expected. His eyes widened, his eyebrows rose, almost comically expressive with how they had been knit together just a moment prior. 

  “You are right. I have been a poor excuse of a mentor as of late. I should have communicated with you. For that, I am sorry.” 

  It felt... Strange, with how their dynamic had always been. While they got along like a wildfire prior to Norway, Basim did not apologise, he had little regrets in the life that he had lived, it was Hytham that made mistakes and apologised and was forgiven, but now... 

  Hytham moved to speak, but Basim continued.

  “And I do not want you to think that I think of you as a failure. It is true I have treated you less than well since Kjotve, but not because I was disappointed in you. I will admit, I was mad, but above all, I was...” He hesitated. A mental lock that he did not wish to unlock, but Hytham’s mere presence held a key. “...Scared.” 

  “...Scared?”

  “Absolutely terrified.” 

  His apprentice, his Hytham, looked at him with such confusion, like a lost puppy. Basim dared to take a step closer, and Hytham did not attempt to flee. 

  “When he threw you towards the cliff wall,” he continued, “I could have sworn that I heard your spine snap. And when you laid lifeless against the ground, I thought I had lost you for good within a few seconds. I thought I had watched you leap to your own death.” 

  Hytham... He did not know what to say. Not when his mentor was mere steps away from him, a distance not closed since Basim had returned, and cornered him against that tree.

  “I...” Hytham swallowed, nervous, or perhaps merely shocked. Perhaps faced with a possibility he had not yet considered. “I apologise.” 

  “No.” The forceful tone almost got the apprentice to flinch. “I should not have encouraged you. You were following my orders, and for that, I punished you.” 

  He did, undeniably. He had barely spoken to him, and when he did, he had snapped, forced the poor boy to cower from both pain and the fear of his very own mentor’s anger. It was downright shameful. Hytham did not deserve that, he never did. 

  Basim took another deep breath. A short moment to gather his thoughts, swallow the inherent shame of the situation, the memories, and the conversation, down. 

  “I cannot claim that I can fully grasp why I have behaved the way I have,” he continued. “But I think I have... Underestimated the situation. You, as a skilled assassin, and my own fears that I might one day lead you to your death.” 

  “I know what I got myself into-” 

  “I know that you do. I know that you know that the life of an assassin is dangerous, and that the path I track is no different. But where my own self-preservation falters, it searches for you.” 

  Basim had never been an affectionate person. He was undeniably aloof in many ways, actively so in his mentoring, yet what he might have wished for as an apprentice himself was not what an apprentice like Hytham needed. Neither of them needed the secrecy, Hytham did not need a superior to simply watch over and judge him. He needed a mentor. 

  “I hope,” Basim continued, “that you can forgive me. And I promise you that I will do my very best to keep this from happening again, should you wish to stay. But I will also understand if you wish to go home.” 

  “...Promise?” 

  A voice so small, so soft. For a moment, Hytham was once more the little boy on the tower, trying to leap. Basim could not help but feel his lips twist into a small, reminiscent smile.

  “I promise.” 

  The apprentice seemed... Shaken. And while he tried to brush it off, attempted to calm his breathing, Basim leaped. He closed the last distance, and with Hytham’s questioning words silenced, he wrapped his arms around him. A hug. Holding him close, as if afraid that he would disappear if he let go. An arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head.

  The ever faithful acolyte tensed. Both were ready to flee, yet, before Basim could let go, Hytham’s own arms wrapped around the taller one’s middle, burying his face into the crook of his neck. There, they stayed for multiple moments, until the smaller one began to dig his fingers into the older one’s robes, breath rasping, knees buckling. His body was exhausted, and he could hold on no longer. 

  “Basim- I-” 

  “Shhh,” He could not claim to know Hytham as well as he wished he did, yet he knew what was ailing him. He tightened his grip, and gently lowered the both of them, until Hytham was safe on the floor, legs no longer giving in under him, and the hug never parted from. Basim positioned them, he rested his own back against the leg of the desk, parted his own legs, and let his apprentice’s meager frame rest between them, against his chest, arms still holding him tight. He did not want to let him go, and Hytham let him. “I got you.” 

  They were grown. They were grown men, deadly assassins, with the blood of thousands upon their hands, yet now, as he held him, it did not feel strange. It felt like returning home, as he nuzzled against the top of his head, felt his soft hair against his cheek, felt the weight of Hytham within his very soul. And as Hytham finally allowed himself to relax, untense, and close his eyes...

  “...I forgive you,” he murmured, somewhere against the fabric of Basim’s hood and his shoulder. “And I wish to stay, if you will have me.” 

  The mentor’s grip tightened. For the first time since Norway, it felt as if a burden was eased off of his shoulder, a grip loosening around his heart. 

  “I will have you.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss to the top of his acolyte’s forehead. Hytham let out a soft, content sigh. “We will make this right.” 

  Perhaps he could convince Sigurd that he could join the new expedition later. For now, his priority lay with Hytham. For the first time since Norway, they felt... Content. Even as Hytham’s exhausted body lulled him to sleep, even as Basim stayed, unmoving, savouring the moment for as long as he could. 

  He did not know for how long he would have Hytham by his side, but for now, he was content. 

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