iamyourdailydoseofbi

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Saw this on @perfinn reblogs, so I figured I'd do one for my OC ( Roselyn Tully ) in the IWTV x HOTD AU!

tagging some of my friends here for their own OC's ( multi-fandom ) @somnolenthour @sugutoad @lady-ashfade

below is the template below for those who wanna do this for their OC

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

i never get tagged in stuff like this, so i am so happy, lol!

my last song was, 'Take a Chance on Me' by ABBA after watching a amazing IWTV edit with the song in it on tiktok

tagging my hotd besties : @perfinn @sugutoad @wishtherebestars

make yourself in this picrew and list your most recently listened to song!!

@taintandviolent tagged anyone that wants to participate and I love these type of tag games!!

apparently black/extremely dark hair isn't an option 😭

last song I listened to was: Up to My Neck in Offers by $uicideboy$

I'm tagging @vcmpbyt @faestunna @fleurbly @abbessofflesh @kayharrisons @somnolenthour @titaniasfairy @lyssakinzzz @iamyourwayout @snailsfall @vampgothicz @iceemochaa @flixpii @remmicksgf @zkkaitopia @fuckoffbard

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

i am no better than a man..for i would do unspeakable things to these darling men..

( the list isn't even fully complete yet.. )

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

You should use an editor or beta writer for your fic they're pretty badly written and full of mistakes

I was gonna write a big old paragraph, asking for what you don't like / what you think needs the most improvement. But, then it hit me..it's just a fanfic and I do this for my own fun.

If you wanna respond and explain what you think needs to be worked on, go ahead. I am happy to grow / learn.

But, I also want to thank you cause you brought up something that I have talked about on my tumblr. It's stuff like this that kills a lot of writers / fanfics / fandoms.

Don't ever ask me 'why a fandom is dead', or 'why are fanfic writers not writing anymore', when this is the shit authors get sent in their DM's.

---

Am I right, my mutuals or am I too soft?

@somnolenthour @perfinn @sugutoad @wishtherebestars

@swordgrace @lovelykhaleesiii @lady-ashfade

@two-white-butterflies @zaldritzosrose

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

NEW OFFICIAL ART FOR, 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'.

from the amazing @malaquitesgallery @jbtbas @felrija

BONUS SKETCHES!

Comment below if it you'd like to be tagged in future 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN' posts. ( Where to read is linked below )

@sugutoad

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

ATTENTION! TO ALL THE FOLKS WHO LOVED THE 'DANGEROUS WOMAN' SERIES ON WATTPAD, I HAVE A NEW HUNGER GAMES BOOK IN THE WORKS!

Looking forward to the results!

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

AND HE LOVED HER LIKE HE LOVED NO ONE. ( HOTD x READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! missing Hotd and my sexy war criminals Targaryen's during this 2 year gap between seasons / filming <3 pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen x Lady Tully! Reader prompt : It pains you to see the aftermath of Rook's Rest on Aegon. word count: 500+ words ( yep, a short one.. )

You were never supposed to meet Aegon Targaryen. You were never meant to be picked as one of Helaena's Lady-in-waiting's. None of this was supposed to happen. Lord Lannister's daughter was supposed to be in your place. She was supposed to be the one tending to Helaena, to be pestered by Aegon, to offer support and kind words to Alicent. Not you. If she hadn't been ill, if she hadn't caught sweating fever. None of this would happen. The war, maybe always would happen. But, everything else wouldn't.

You would not trapped in King's Landing, as a prisoner of war. You would not pity an Upsurger. You would be able to hate them. You would be able to known where to stand in this war, clear and confident. You would not spend every night hating yourself for not being able to look at them and hate them, for finding pity in the roles forced upon them. You would be able to live without feeling a noose tightening around your throat at any slight mistake you made.

You tried to live through it, to endure as you had been taught young y Septa's. But, this was a burden to dark and heavy for you to bear. War. Death. Betrayal. Greed. Lust. It was not meant for you. You were supposed to live a simple life, marry a simple man and die a simple death. Though, the Gods or mayhaps it was just Aegon that would not allow it. He was..strange.

He did not treat you as most would do to a prisoner of war. He was kind, speaking to you as if the war had never happened and you two were still the two people you were before it. It was unnerving. Uncomfortable a little. But, there was almost something nice about it. The structure of living as you normally would, not allowing things to change too much. A tiny part of you wished to keep it that way, but another part of you knew that it would not last.

Staring down at him, you holds back the urge to turn away at the sight of his burns, almost as if this was to be your punishment for enjoying his presence. The skin of his left side of his body had chunks of flesh peeling back to reveal the muscle and bone underneath. Vile thick pockets of tinted green and yellow puss filled the infected wounds. It was as if someone had taken a hot coal and pressed it against his skin until it blistered and charred, then had left him in the sun to bake for days.

Covering your nose with the handkerchief, you shuts your eyes tightly, now able to understand why Alicent always looked ill after leaving his chambers. The pungent stench of singed hair and burnt flesh filled the air, sticking to him like a second skin. The sandalwood and rosemary incense sticks did little to mask the stench. Aegon was a burnt and charred shell of his former self. But, it did not feel as good as you thought it would seeing him in such a state. He was meant to be your enemy. But, you were never strong enough to wish this fate upon someone so willingly.

"I.." You try to find your voice, "I am meant to hate you, to be happy at the state of you, as you are my enemy."

Silence, just pure deafening silence.

"I am your prisoner after all." You ramble, "And, I cannot help but I cannot help but think that this, having to endure living, is a far worse fate for you."

A soft chirping of birds fills the air, a gentle breeze brushing against the curtains, cooling the air within his chambers. It was peaceful. Or at least, it was meant to be. Lowering your eyes down to the brace on his broken leg, you could see the thick stitches, black and crusted with dried blood. The hair on his legs singed from the dragon flames he had endured. You could only imagine what it was like for him in Rook's Rest, battling on dragonback. Was he scared? Confident? Did he know of the risks beforehand?

"I am sorry, Aegon." You whisper, "Sorry for the pain you feel, that you must live instead of having relief."

Painful silence. You wished that he'd croak, wheeze, grunt, moan in pain. Something to keep the words from spilling out more and more.

"I do not why.." You pause, lowering your eyes to the ground. "I do not know why I feel so guilty, I wasn't the cause of this. But, I feel guilt, towards you."

Feeling your gut churn the more the silence fills the room, you blink back the tears that started to brew in your eyes. You hated him, you were supposed to. You hated him for all that he had done and hadn't. But, you did care for him in a pathetic way. His soul was twisted and mangled, full of the worst sins. But, there was good. For just as he was rotten, he was kind to you when he shouldn't have been.

"It's a nice thing, no?" You chuckle bitterly, "For feel so much towards you when we are meant to be enemies. But, I cannot forget the good and kindness you have done towards me."

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gently take his hand into your own, giving it a gentle squeeze. Not to wake him, or for your own selfish reasons, just to let him know that you were there. You wouldn't want to be alone if your places were reversed. You'd want someone at your side, waiting.

"I..I do not really know what else to say." You mumble, "Just..I am here."

Silence greets you once again. The hope of him showing some sign of acknowledgement crumbling inside of you. Pulling your hand away from his, you turn around to grab a stool to sit at his bedside. His chest rises slowly, a wheeze escaping his parted lips. Then, his hand twitches, as if it felt empty without yours in it.

---

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

NEW CHAPTER'S FOR THE FOLLOWING STORIES WHILE I AM AWAY AT COLLEGE!

( NOTE! THESE WERE PRE-WRITTEN AND HAVE NOW BEEN UPDATED / EDITED TO POST! )

THE CONQUEROR REBORN.

NOTE! THIS LIST MAY BE WRONG / NOT UPDATED, CHECK WATTPAD FOR ANYTHING NEW OR ADDED LAST MINUTE!

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, June 1 at 5 : 00 am

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, June 8 at 5 : 00 am

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, June 15 at 5 : 00 am

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, June 22 at 5 : 00 am

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, June 29 at 5 : 00 am

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, July 6 at 5 : 00 am

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, July 13 at 5 : 00 am

- ‘THE CONQUEROR REBORN’, July 20 at 5 : 00 am

Tell me if you see any errors and I'll fix them asap!

Comment here if you wanna be tagged in any / all posts regarding my HOTD fanfics! ( Where to read is linked below )

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE GIRL FROM THE CROSSROADS.

AUTHOR NOTE! just thought of this @somnolenthour, what do you think? i haven't seen any writing with this plot yet and feel like it would slap in a fic <3 P.S.S. plz, don't send me hate for this. ( i know and fully acknowledge the context of Sinners and writing x Reader stuff is kinda a heated topic to touch - no shame to others who do.. ) i'm just sharing a idea that popped in my head to a friend cuz dm messages ain't enough.. pairing: Remmick x Crossroad Demon! Reader prompt : There's far worse things lurking in the dark than Remmick. word count: 1, 000+ words

There was always folklore and stories that rumbled around of men selling their souls to a crossroad demon⎯for fame, money, power. Hell, even stupid shit like an extra three inches downstairs. It was meant to be a warning, an omen to never strike a deal with evil or else you’d pay a unpleasant price. Of course, as time past, roads being renamed, and demon deal’s became less and less made⎯a demon had to evolve with the times. It was in your nature of course.

At first, it was changing the way you looked⎯choosing more appealing and comforting appearances to lurk them in⎯someone who looked like their Mother, someone they loved, someone they lost, someone they lusted for. Then, came the wandering just a little from the crossroad to make a deal⎯dive bars being built on back roads and crossroads became a gold mine. The final change was how the deals were made. You couldn’t just bluntly make a deal anymore. People weren’t coming to you already knowing what they were stepping into. So, you went to them. 

The Juke Joint. Now, it was the perfect place to make deals. The people. They came here to dance, to drink, to gamble, to lust, to have fun. No one would bat an eye if you made a deal under the guise of playful banter during a card game. Humans..they were just so stupid, so trusting, so wanting to connect with one another, too willing to see the good in each other. It wasn’t hard to blend in. You were once human and could fake emotions, the fake connections that they sought out within each other. It was a bonus that it was close to a crossroad, any deal would be valid and hard to break. 

Leaning back in your seat, you fake a groan of displeasure, dropping down your cards. The table letting out scoffs and protests. You had been playing for hours, meticulously feeding them rounds of gin and packs of cigarettes to loosen them up. Tucking back a strand of hair from your face, you cross your legs, pulling down your skirt to maintain a false sense of modesty. 

You’d been playing the role of some poor maid for some stuck up hotel, just wanting to play a card game after a rough week. Shifting your eyes to each man, you had yet to make a deal, waiting for the right moment to steer the conversation in that way. It had to be natural, so natural that they would forget how the conversation even started in the first place. 

"Oh, that ain't fair! That some bullshit!"

“Read em’ and weep boys. I do believe that is my third royal flush, now.” You joke, grabbing the pile of cash from the center of the table.

“How the hell did ya’ do that?” 

“Ya’ know, I've been playing this game for a long time. How the hell am I getting my ass handed to me by a girl half my damn age?” 

Shaking your head with a fake chuckle, you slide your cards down to Bo Chow, letting him shuffle them. Lingering your eyes on him, you knew that you wanted him, he had more openings to make deals on than the others at the table. His wife, his daughter, his shop. Plus, he was on his third cigarette of the night, he was all loosened up. Taking a sip of your glass of gin, there was no taste to it, your tastebud's dead from years of never touching food or drinking. You fake a grimace, pretending like it gave a burn as it went down.

“Say, I’ll tell ya’ what, how about you and I make a deal, hm?” You smile friendly, “Let’s say, a ten year deal, just for now. Unless you wanna make it shorter.”

“About what?”

“I help ya’ expand the shop, get more profits in. Won’t that be good for Grace and ya’ little girl?” You hums, "Think about it. Better life for them, get to stick to em' snobs in town."

“What do you get from it?”

“A good feeling in my gut for making a good deal, and I’ll collect what is due later on. Don't ya' worry about it right now.” You extend your hand out to shake, “What ya’ say, hm? Shake on it?”

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek with your teeth, you try to be patient, to let him think it over, to not show your restlessness. But, it was hard to do so. It was like there was an insatiable itch spreading throughout your body, the only cure being a deal. Tasting blood in your mouth, you swear sweat started to trickle down your temple, the anticipation nearly killing you for a second time. You needed this deal. Fuck, you needed it so badly. 

You needed it like a sinner needed church, like an alcoholic needed liquor. You needed him to shake your hand, to say those sweet little words, ‘I accept’. You’d get on your knees and sob, beg, say whatever he wanted to hear to get him to accept it. Zoning in on his hand, he puts down the playing cards, fingers drumming over the table. Thump. Thump. Thump. Was it your heartbeat or the sound of his fingers drumming, you didn't know, didn’t care.

“Ten years?” He raises a brow, humming.

“Mm-hm, I’ll see ya’ in ten years from now. You’ll know when I’m coming, so don’t fret on it.” You smile, “I just wanna help ya’. I seen how good ya’ are, providing for ya’ family. Help me help ya’ provide so much more for them.”

“I..” He hesitates, reaching his hand out to yours.

You could feel his fingertips brush against yours, the hairs on your whole body stand alert. Yes. Yes. Yes. He pauses, as if thinking over what you had just said. Come on, Bo. Don’t fail you now. Nodding his head as he grins slowly, he leans forward in his seat to reach your hand better, the glimmer in his eyes clear that he was accepting. Come on, say those sweet little words, ‘I accept’, and all was done.

“Bo, we leavin’. Finish ya' game up.” Grace cuts in, causing his hand to pull away at the last second. 

“But⎯” He tries to protest, but still complies with her order.

“We leavin’ now.” She argues, making your recoil back.

No. No. No. That bitch. That vicious little bitch. She was cheating you out of a deal. Holding back the urge to lunge forward and rip her throat out with your nails, you let out a soft nervous chuckle, the persistent itch returning back. You needed this deal. Fuck, you were gonna make this happen. 

“Bo, what about our deal?” You stand up with him, “I’ll give ya’ what I earned tonight, and plenty more tomorrow. Ya’ just need to accept.”

“I can’t, ya’ know how Grace gets when I keep her waiting⎯” He tries to protest, but you cut him off.

“Come on, now, just shake on it, accept it.” You try to pressure, “Before ya’ go. Ya’ can’t just leave me hanging here.”

“Bo!” Grace calls, her voice stern.

“Look, how about you come around tomorrow at the store and we talk, hm?” He shakes his head, leaving you behind.

“Ya’ can’t just walk out of deal like that⎯” You shake your head, desperation seeping in. 

Clenching your jaw tight enough to make your teeth crack, your eye twitches, nails digging into the palms of your hands. It took everything in your willpower to not explode, to burn the whole damn Juke Joint down to the ground and make deals to save their lives as they burnt. You wanted to deal with him. Married men⎯good men⎯like him were always the sweetest to trick and oh so rewarding when you collected. Sucking in air through your teeth, you abandon the table, leaving the cash behind. You didn’t need it, you had no use for human money. You needed their souls.

“Aww, shame, he had to leave. Was just about to start another game..”

“You can always play with me.” 

“No, no.” You shake your head, “No need, I’m done playing for the night.”

Walking out one of the open back doors without a second glance, you kick a rock hard, running fingers through your hair. A frustrated grunt escapes your lips, anger so hot it makes your blood boil. You needed a new plan. A better one. You couldn’t wait until sunrise to make one. 

“Stupid fuckin’ little bitch!” You curse under your breath, “Fuckin’ up my god damn deal!”

A beat of silence fills the air, crickets softly chirping. 

“I oughta’ gut her and feed her god damn heart to her!”

Taking a deep breath to try to calm yourself, you pace back and forth, mind spiraling to try to find who else to target. You could try a drunk in the parking lot. Fuck, maybe Stack or Smoke. Nah, those boys were too smart for their own good. Maybe, Mary? Play on her feelings for a while.The sound of a twig snapping, halts another string of curses from escaping your lips. 

Snapping your head in direction of it, your eyes flash a pitch black, senses on high alert. Something was out here with you. Tilting your head to the side, the shadows of the night were enough to hide your eyes, making it look like a trick of the lack of proper light. A man emerges from the woods, banjo in hand, eyes glowing a dark red. A little vampire, how pathetic. 

“Back off, buddy. This is my joint.” You snap back, voice harsh. 

“Now, now, no need to be rude, Miss.” He chuckles, drool trickling down from the corner of his lip.

“Oh, but I have plenty of reasons to be.” You sass back provokingly, “Why don’t you tap dance your way back to where you came from, buddy? These suckers are mine tonight.” 

“Now, that’s not kind.” He forces a smile, the darkness clear in his tone.

“Neither is stalking my prey for the night. So why don’t you scram, before I have to make you uglier than you already are.” You mocking motion from him to walk away.

You didn’t like his kind, the undead. Not because of some stupid superiority complex or anything like that. But, because he was of no use to you. No soul, no deal. No deal, no use to you. Hearing two more footsteps come from around the corner, you don’t flinch, amused by their little attempts to intimidate you. You’d lived a thousand lives before this one, they were babies compared to what you’ve endured⎯what you’ve seen. A slow grin spreads on your lips, hands twitching at your side.

“You..You ain’t living, are ya’?” 

“Me?” You chuckle tauntingly, “Oh, honey, you’ve got no clue what else lurks in the dark alongside ya’, do ya’, hm?”

---

once again, plz, don't send me hate for this. ( i know and fully acknowledge the context of Sinners and writing x Reader stuff is kinda a heated topic to touch - no shame to others who do.. )

i'm just sharing a idea that popped in my head to a friend cuz dm messages ain't enough..

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THERE'S A MAN IN THE WOODS.

AUTHOR NOTE! As to not offend anyone ( mostly cause I feel like the context of Sinners and writing x Reader stuff is kinda a heated topic to touch - no shame to others who do.. ) I will write an OC with the face claim from the films, but you can read it as Remmick x Reader if you want to.. <3 P.S.S. 1 dollar in 1932 is worth $23.62 today. So when I say, 1 dollar pay, it's a big deal back then.. pairing: Vampire! OC ( Thomas 'Tommy' Aberdeen ) x Reader or Remmick x Reader if you want to. prompt : There's a man in the woods. word count: 1, 000+ words

Living in the desolate little town in the South was far more harsher and less glamorous than most city folks could ever think or understand. They had this big old idea of what it was like and gonna be like. It was frustrating, and they wouldn’t listen to anybody who tried to correct them. Hell, you had tried to the folks who bought the old houses that were on either side of your property that it was gonna be hard to live out here. But, they did not listen. Stubborn fools.

There was no fancy running water and pipes, the houses out here were too old to have any of that fancy stuff. You had to use an old well outback and boil the water if you wanted it hot. There was no option to browse dozens of shops, only having the Chow’s general store to pick from or find some farmer willing to sell to you. Hell, it was hard and cruel out here for those not strong enough. It’s why people were slowly trickling out of the town like piss going down a leg.

Not you. No, no, you were strong. You were tough, more than anyone could guess. You could handle living out there, alone and happy on your one acre of land. It was big enough to have your little house and large enough garden. You didn't need much help from anybody really. Hell, you didn't really need to even go into town if you wanted to. You had all the food and water you needed, growing from your land. But, the urge to socialize now and again was needed. So it helped to sell jams and honey to the fools that lived around you that could not live off the land⎯earning a dollar for it every week. Good pay.

Fastening the lid of the jar of honey, you chew on your bottom lip mindlessly, the woven basket half packed. The harvest from the garden had been good, better than usual for some reason. It was like some little garden fairy had blessed it. But, you would not question it. So long as everything kept growing and it made the neighbors keep buying from you. Hell, if it got better. Maybe you would be able to up the prices just a little more. Picking apart the skin from your bottom lip, there’s a knock at the door. It was hard or demanding. It was soft, almost hesitant in a way.

“Hello?” A voice calls out, a low southern drawl prickling your ears.

You don’t respond, hoping they would go away. 

“Miss ( Y/n )?” 

Furrowing your brows at the interruption, you slowly put down the jar on the table, taking a step towards the front door. You had left it open to let a cool breeze in, the screen door locked. But, still, it was a screen door. Whoever was out there could just as easily break it and come inside. Taking another step towards the front door, you could see the outline of a man on the front porch, the porch light turned off.

Lurking the shadows of the living room, you flick on the light, the light bulb crackling before turning on. It was like a jump scare, seeing his face so clearly and closely. Piercing blue eyes stare back at you, a grin spreading on his face, seemingly trying to be kind and comforting. But, it wasn’t. You could smell the fakeness of it from where you stand. Your lips curl up into a sour look.

"Hello." He greets, flashing his pearly white teeth.

"Hello."

Flicking your gaze over his face, he was moderately handsome enough looking. Tousled black hair sticking to his forehead from the heat, sharp jawline covered in a light stubble, big broad shoulders and hands fiddling at his side. Taking a mental note of his clothing, he wore a blue striped button up, brown pants and suspenders. He looked normal enough. The kind of man you’d pass by in town and never think about again. 

"You, Miss ( Y / N )?" He asks, nodding his head in respect. 

"Yes, I am. How can I help you, sir?" You mumble, grabbing onto the door handle. 

“May I come in?” 

“No.” You state bluntly, not hesitating for a second.

You meant it, you did not have time for creepy men lurking out your doorstep in the middle of the night. He should be grateful that you did not close the door in his face by now. Hell, that you did not put the barrel of your shotgun against his temple and threaten to make him your new plant fertilizer. Closing the door slightly to keep him from seeing too much of the inside of the house, you keep it open just a crack, eyes narrowing on him. He smiles, big and forced, like it hurts. 

“Now, why not?” He chuckles, “I only wish to talk about makin’ an arrangement between us. Heard you sold food, and I was hopin’ you could sell to me.”

“You’re a strange man that just showed up at my doorstep, from fuck knows where, asking to come inside my home, at the dead of night. Is that not clicking in your head, or are you just stupid?” 

“Hey, hey, hey now, there’s no need to be rude.” He clenches his jaw, “We just talkin’.”

“Talkin’ gets you killed around here, especially demands like yours.” You argue, shaking your head.

“I ain’t demanding to come inside.” He shakes his head, chuckling to ease the tension.

“No, not yet.” You argue back, refusing to budge. 

There were plenty of men like him in town. They pretended to be all kind and lovely, then turned demanding and angry when they didn’t get their way. You weren’t about to end up murdered by those poor girls in the Killing fields, throats cut open and bodies drained of blood. You’d be mean, cruel if it meant avoiding a fate like that.

Watching his reaction carefully, he smiles, not flinching at your coldness. It was unnerving, the way he was so calm, so patient. It almost wasn’t human. He was trying to appear genuine, to be innocent. But, the dead look in his eyes gave it away. There was something unnatural with him, it sets all the hairs on the back of your neck upright.

“I..” He chuckles, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I’m Tommy, Tommy Abredeen, just bought the house next to yours.”

“Congrats.” You state coolly, keeping your answers short.

“Thank you. “ He nods, “My land needs tending too, the folks let it get all covered in weeds. I was hoping that I could buy a few things from your garden until I am all set for.”

“I ain’t interested in selling you nothing.” You argue, “Got my own private deal with them folks.”

“Shame.” He fakes disappointment.

Taking a step closer, the old wood of the porch groaning under his weight. Resting his hand on the door frame casually, the mosquitoes disburse from the porch light, only worsening the feeling in your gut. He wasn’t right. You had lit candles, poured oils, sprayed bug spray, and nothing would get rid of those damn mosquitoes. Yet, they left when he stepped closer. 

“Truly.” You wave him away with your hand, “You best be going now.”

“You won’t truly let me in? Not even for a cup of coffee?” He chuckles, lingering too long for your liking. 

“I don’t have coffee.” You argue, trying to get rid of him. 

“I ain’t picky. I’ll take tea.” 

“I don’t have tea.” You add, scowling. 

“Water?” 

“You can get that from the well on your land.” You huff, not bothering to hide your displeasure anymore. “Now, as I said, you best be going now.”

Lord, have mercy on your soul. Why the fuck wasn’t he leaving? God, he was like a damn leech attached to your hip. Somebody needed to give you some salt to douse him in. Letting out a huff as he continues to linger around, you close the door in his face, hoping that it would give him the hint to leave.

Locking it, you walk back into the kitchen, choosing to finish packing up the basket instead of entertaining him. Looking over the scattered items on the table, you pick up the jar of honey, tightening the lid. Placing it down in the basket, you add the wrapped sourdough bread into the basket, filling it to the brim with random things from the harvest. 

"Miss ( Y/n ), come on now."

You refuse to respond.

"Miss ( Y/n ), speak to me." He calls out, "I know you can hear me inside there, these walls ain't made of steel."

You bite your tongue, holding back the snarky comment that threatened to spill out.

"Miss ( Y/n ).." He calls out, his tone slightly whiny.

Hearing another knock on the back door, you slowly turn your head to look out the kitchen window, finding the man standing there. Staring blankly faced at the sight before you, he grins, like he had just outsmarted you. He didn’t, it was just plain stupid. Walking over to the back door, you pull the curtains shut in his face, not giving him the satisfaction of answering it. You catch a glimpse of the smile on his face falling. Sauntering back to the kitchen table, you look over the items inside, searching for what else to add to it. Maybe some more fruit? 

“Come on, don’t be brash now, Miss.” He complains, “I just want to talk to ya’.”

“There’s plenty of people in town to talk to.” You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“They are not you.” He argues, his words clearly meant to tug at your heartstrings.

“Is that supposed to be charming?” 

“Well..” He stutters, taken off guard. “Well, yeah. Is it not?”

No, not even fucking close. Maybe, if you knew him, you could find him charming. But, he was standing at your back door, begging to be let in. How was that charming? He was a stranger. Sure, you knew his name. But, you did not know him. You didn't know if you could trust him. Walking to the back door, you pull back the curtains, glaring at him. He grins, stupid and dopey. You wanted to strangle him.

“No, not even close. You’re a strange man standing on my doorstep, begging and bartering to let me let you in.” You argue, "How is that supposed to be charming?"

"Come on now, I ain't mean you no harm."

"Maybe not." You shake your head, "Maybe, you are just a man in the woods, innocently wandering around, conveniently right by my house."

"Or maybe I am waiting for my future wife to answer the door for me." He chuckles, winking.

----

Thanks so much for taking the time and reading this, please do leave a comment about what you liked and did not. ( It helps me grow as a writer - and figure out what to write more of! )

Do take care!

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE CONQUEROR REBORN. [ You're as beautiful as the day I lost you.. ]

"It would always be Helaena. She'd wait a thousand lifetimes until she found her again."

I commissioned this from seasmoked on tiktok / wattpad ] 📖: THE CONQUEROR REBORN ( published ) 🖋: -iamagoddess ( wattpad ) ❤: Aegon ii Targaryen & Helaena Targaryen 👥: Roselyn Tully-Hightower, Helaena Targaryen & Aegon ii Targaryen

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Comment below if it you'd like to be tagged in future 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN' posts. ( Where to read is linked below )

@sugutoad

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE OC TAG GAME!

Big big thanks to @perfinn for tagging me! I love getting to talk about my OC's whenever someone asks ( not too often ), so I am taking full advantage, lol

MY HOTD OC - Roselyn Tully-Hightower

1. What is something that your OC would never purchase for themselves, but would be ( secretly? ) delighted to receive as a gift? 

Roselyn ( before her son ) loves and misses her home, the Riverlands, so anything that is Riverland themed or from there would make her really happy. Stuff like gowns, jewelry, brushes, etc.

Roselyn ( after her son ) want items of the Seven, using it to not have to think of the loss of Benjen and Ettore. Stuff like prayer books, rosaries, embroidered on her gowns, jewelry, mini figurines, etc.

2. Is your OC ticklish? Has anyone ever dared to find out?

Yes, Aegon tried to find out after sneaking up on her in the Sept. She gave a hard throat punch and no one has tried to do it ever again.

3. How easy does your OC find it to apologize?

She finds it easy, she knows that she has down wrong and fully wants to repent for it. But, when it comes to Alicent and Otto, she downright refuses. She's one of those "Yes, I am gonna die on this hill. And you are going to deal with it because fuck you".

4. When did your OC first see a dead body? If they have not seen one yet, how might they react to doing so?

Yes, her son Benjen, then her husband Ettore right after that.

 5. Does your OC have any recurring dreams? Have they ever told anyone else about them?

Yes, later on after Rook's Rest. A bleeding ghost crawls down the hall of her room, who tries to choke her, a symbol of her guilt for her part in Aegon's state ( a burnt chicken nugget ). She tells Helaena and starts to sleep in her bed right after that.

6. Is your OC stingy with their money (or other resources)? Or are they something of a spendthrift?

Nope. She tries to get her dowry spent on the common folk, when that fails she starts to spent as much money as she can, food, gowns, etc. And 'throw it away' by giving it back to the common folk.

7. Does your OC have a sweet tooth? Or do they prefer to avoid sweets and sugary treats?

Yes, lemon cakes are her weakness. When she get's pregnant a second time, she eats raw honey and lemon slices.

8. Is your OC easily provoked by insults or mockery?

Yes, she's a mistress ( although unwillingly ) so she knows that people whisper about her. She's worse around Alicent and Otto as they know what to say to trigger her.

9. Where is somewhere your OC has visited that they never want to visit again?

The crypts underneath House Hightower's family estates where her son and husband are.

10. Is your OC ever somewhat flirtatious?

With Helaena? Yes and she means it. Aegon? At times, or when she needs / wants something from him. Aemond? He thinks so because she respects him / treats him well. Larys? He thinks so because he mistakes her kindness as flirtation.

MY ITWV x HOTD OC - Roselyn Tully

1. What is something that your OC would never purchase for themselves, but would be ( secretly? ) delighted to receive as a gift? 

Roselyn ( before being turned ) loves fancy things that she normally would not be able to get. Stuff like silk bed sheets, fancy custom dresses, jewelry, make-up, etc.

Roselyn ( after being turned ) would want things that would make / reminder to be human. Stuff like wrinkle cream, a scrapbook that has those pages for each birthday or year- think baby's first kinda theme.

2. Is your OC ticklish? Has anyone ever dared to find out?

Yes, she only lets a few people know ( Helaena and Tommy ).

3. How easy does your OC find it to apologize?

She finds it easy, she knows that she has down wrong and fully wants to repent for it. But, when it comes to Alicent and Otto, she downright refuses. She's one of those "Yes, I am gonna die on this hill. And you are going to deal with it because fuck you".

4. When did your OC first see a dead body? If they have not seen one yet, how might they react to doing so?

Yes, when she is first turned. She has a moment where she sees the church get attacked before she blacks out from blood loss.

 5. Does your OC have any recurring dreams? Have they ever told anyone else about them?

Yes, of Helaena ( although faceless ) and parts of the past ( night she was turned, people she killed, etc. ) that she wants to not remember from the trauma it caused / causes to remember. She tells Larys in the private meetings, but then later Tommy when he gets mad.

6. Is your OC stingy with their money (or other resources)? Or are they something of a spendthrift?

Nope. She mainly has money of the Targaryen's / the business she later sets up. She'd drop 1 million without a blink of an eye if it meant getting what she wants ( an artifact from her past life, a dress for Helaena, some car that Tommy wants, etc. ).

7. Does your OC have a sweet tooth? Or do they prefer to avoid sweets and sugary treats?

( before being turned ) Yes, she doesn't get to eat sugary stuff too often as it cost a lot of money.

( after being turned ) No, because it all tastes like nothing. The closest feeling to something 'sweet' is blood from someone who's eaten a lot of cakes, etc.

8. Is your OC easily provoked by insults or mockery?

Yes, she's knows that she caused a lot of trouble by being turned - a entire church worth of people being killed - ( although unwillingly ) so she knows that people whisper about her. She's worse around Alicent and Otto as they know what to say to trigger her.

9. Where is somewhere your OC has visited that they never want to visit again?

Her home before she was turned. It's empty and it was just her, so there isn't really something to go back to.

10. Is your OC ever somewhat flirtatious?

With Helaena? Yes and she means it. Aegon? The whole maker x creation thing makes her. Tommy? She got him, although without her knowledge, to commit war crimes against their own kind just to get her to marry him. So yeah.

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Tags if you wannt to do this : @somnolenthour and whoever wants to do it!

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE ODYSSEY OF REMEMBERING.

AUTHOR NOTE! As to not offend anyone ( mostly cause I feel like the context of Sinners and writing x Reader stuff is kinda a heated topic to touch - no shame to others who do.. )  I will write an OC with the face claim from the films, but you can read it as Remmick x Reader if you want to. Plus, it really helps cause I’m gonna use him for a fanfic of mine.. <3 pairing: Vampire! OC ( Thomas 'Tommy' Aberdeen ) x Reader or Remmick x Reader if you want to. prompt : Reader is slowly starting to remember the night she was turned, and it's not such a good thing for Tommy after all. word count: 1, 000+ words

You didn't remember the night you were turned, your mind had blocked out the night. Something about trauma and psychology and all that crap kept it hidden away. Though, you did have enough blurry details to make a vague idea. You were in a church, there was music playing⎯jazz, you liked jazz. Then, there was pain. It wasn't the pain of a bite, no, someone had cut your throat. After that, black.

You wanted to keep it that way. You didn’t want to remember. The pain. The emotions of it all. It was better that way, plus Tommy agreed. He always said that the trauma of being turned, it changed a person, haunted them, put a bitterness in immortality. It was better to forget, even if there was a scratching sensation in the back of your brain. Like a rat clawing its way into a wooden coffin, wanting to know, wanting to remember.

It was a funny thing, remembering. Remember what? Who were you before you were turned? She was dead and gone, had been for years now. Of what happened that night? The same blood and pain you see each time you feed. Nah, there was no use. No use in it. You were a changed woman, a better one, and you had Tommy. He was enough, he had to be enough because you knew nothing but him for the longest of times. It was always, you and him. Him and you.

Crossing your leg as you sit back in the seat, Daniel looked over the notes he had written down, brows furrowed together. It had to be the tenth session between the two of you. Or maybe, it was more? Hard to remember when you spoke so much. A lot being of past life that you could remember, growing up in your small town.

A little bit on the mortal lovers you had over the years, men, women, anyone to fill the void of immortality. But, there was still gaps between it all. Ones that was making Daniel more and more angry with each session. And the accusations of 'forgetting conveniently' was making you more and more angry. You weren't. You didn't. It was just blank.

"Tell me, ( Y/ N ), do you have alzheimer's? Is that a thing that you vampires can get?" Daniel asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No."

"No? Then, tell me why you said, 'I don't remember the night I was turned'. But, back in the seventies, you said you did." He argues, making your jaw clench.

"I must of made a mistake, then." You shake your head, a ringing beginning to form in your ears.

"No, no, you didn't." He argues, shaking his head.

"I did." You argue, not wanting to believe it.

"No, you did not."

You did. You did. You did. You fucking did. Tommy told you that. Tommy had said that was what you told him years ago. Why would he lie? He wouldn't. Hell, you could trust him more than you could of Daniel. You knew Tommy. You didn't know Daniel, not well enough to take his word for it. Not to mention, he was some stupid human journalist, wanting to make a quick buck off your story. Opening your mouth to argue, the words die instantly as he plays the tape back, your face crumbling at the crackle before a throat clearing.

"It is June, year...Um, 1973, I am talking to a Miss ( L / N )." Daniel mumbles, "Now, ( Y / N ), tell me of the night."

"It was Summer of 32', I remember the heat it was the worst back then. No ice, or fans that worked that well, you know? I used to pour a bucket over my head before bed just to keep cool." You joke, voice light-hearted.

"And how did it happen?" He asks, "Was it sudden? Was it something that you wanted?"

"No, no.."

No escape, there was no fucking escape from them⎯from him. They were everywhere. They were fucking everywhere. No matter where you looked, from whichever window or room. They were there, the hairs on your arm raising told you that. Worst of all, they weren’t doing anything. They weren’t talking, or moving, laughing, or even breathing. They were just lurking in the shadows of the treeline, red eyes glowing as they watched. 

If they were doing something, then maybe you wouldn’t be so scared⎯so paranoid. But, there was something far more terrifying in them just not doing anything. It made you twitch, cry, tremble, spiral into the worst of the worst thoughts. It didn’t help that everyone else in the church was always equally spiraling. Running fingers through your hair, you pace between the church pews, heart pounding in your chest painful. You felt like you were going to pass out. 

“We should talk to them.” Oscar argues, shaking his head.

“Talk? Are you fuckin’ stupid?” Todd scoffs harshly, “They don’t wanna talk, Oscar. They wanna kill us!”

“For what? What did we do to em’, Todd? For fuck sake, we’re in church! We ain’t do nothing wrong to em’!” Lottie argues, shaking her head with tears in her eyes.

“It doesn't matter. Just..” Todd looks around the church unsure, “Add salt to the window stills and doorway. Do not talk to em’, do not let them in.”

Letting out a scoff, you shake your head, tugging at strands of your hair. Stupid. It was fucking stupid, just putting salt around the church and not talking to them. You should be doing something more, like killing them. Or planning how to get rid of them. The sun wouldn’t come up for hours, but even then. Was it truly safe to go out? They could follow them back home, like those old folk tales used to say. It was better to kill them when you had the chance. 

“You got somethin’ to say, ( Y / N )?” Todd questions, shooting you a glare. 

“Yes, maybe we should find out why they are here. Isn’t there old folk tales of em’ omens of death? What if they’re just omens, just the dead comin’ to talk.” You argue, “We ain’t gotta go outside, just talk to them from the church steps or somethin’.” 

“That’s stupid.”

“Maybe, but we can’t just sit here and wait for the sunrise. What if they follow us home? We should try to get em’ off our trails, Todd. See if we can send em’ on their merry way.” You argue, getting in his face.

He glares, stress clear in his expression. He was right, about doing what you could to ward them off. But, that would only work for so long. There were still others in town that didn’t know what was going on. You had to warn them, or do something. Anything but wait and wait while they could be plotting something.

Looking around at the others, there was a silence that filled the air, as the creeping realization of your words sunk in with them. Father Peter was dead somewhere outside. The church parking lot and woods around it were filled with those things. What was there for you to do left?

“She’s right, Todd. I got babies at home, I can’t have em’ following me.” Lottie argues, “They’ll hurt my babies.”

“I..Uh, I don’t..” He pauses, before relenting. “If we talk to em’, we do no agree to nothin’. No deal, no letting em’ in. You hear me?”

“I ain’t.” You nod.

“Like shit I will, ain’t got a death wish.” Oscar scoffs, shaking his head. 

A sickening sound fills the air, a knock, as if those things had overheard you all. The air in your lungs gets knocked out, a cold terror going down your spine. Taking a step backwards instinctively, Todd shrugs his shoulders, straightening out his back as if preparing for a fight. Bumping into the corner of a church pew, Todd opens the front door, not enough for whoever or whatever was outside to see in. Just a crack, enough for only his face to peek out. 

“Evening, sir.” An unfamiliar voice pipes up, “My name is Thomas, Thomas Aberdeen, I was just passin’ through town and couldn’t help but stop here at ya’ church.”

“Mm-hm, evening. How can I help ya’, Thomas?”

“Now, now, I don’t mean ya’ no harm. No need to hold the door so tightly. See, I don’t mean none of y'all harm, really.” Tommy shakes his head, “I just want the girl, Miss ( Y/n ). I know she’s in there, can smell that perfume of her’s from here.”

“For what?”

“Ain’t really any of ya’ damn business.” He shrugs, “But, I can assure you, I ain’t gonna do her any harm. So why don’t y'all just cut her loose, yeah? Yeah.”

Yeah, no. Not a fucking chance. You’d rather get mauled by the gators in the marshes than go outside to talk to him. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you cower back from the front door, praying that Todd doesn’t open it for this fellow. Feeling a hand on your back, you let out a yelp of fear at the sudden touch, jolting backwards. The pile of bibles on the church pew tumble to the ground, spewing open to a few pages. Finding a sheepish Oscar there, you turn back to Todd, finding the door opened more as he faces the pair of you. Your heart stops in your chest.

The man at the bottom of the church steps. You had seen him before, playing a fiddle in town square for a few coins. You’d given him a quarter or two. He stares at you, the dim light from inside the church making his features more noticeable. If he wasn’t so god damn terrifying, you’d find him handsome. Those dark eyes that lured you in, the light scruff on his jawline that fit him, those brown curls that stuck to his forehead from the heat. 

“Oh, yeah? Then, why can't you just come in and take her with you?” Oscar pipes up, his voice cracking at the end from fear. 

“Would be awfully rude to⎯” 

“You can’t, can ya’, boy? Cause you dead and ain’t welcome here.” Todd argues, shaking his head. 

“No, maybe not right now.” Tommy nods in mock agreement, “But, sunrise is still a few hours away, still got plenty of time to head over to town. I can go to that diner for a bite, or I can go into ya’ children’s bedroom. Quite stupid of ya’ to leave em’ windows open, might let something in one of these days.”

“I ain’t coming.” You pipe in, not wanting to linger too long on his threat.

“Then, I’ll just wait for ya’.” Tommy nods with a sly smile, “I got all the time in the world to wait for ya’, darlin’.”

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Enjoy this a goofy little meme of my upcoming vampire fic ( OUT OF TIME. ) relationship dynamic! ( bottom sketch is from @somnolenthour )

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

( ✧ RANDOM / OTHER FANDOMS! ✧ )

[ Will be updated in time, so be sure to check / refresh ] Some will not have links as they are not posted yet. mini update! I had to redo my masterlist as I went over the link limit!

Want to know where else you can find me? Here.

"Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for..."

MY OC'S ( Multi-Fandoms )

NOTE! IF YOU LIKE TO KNOW / SEE MORE OF THEM, THEY CAN BE FOUND ON WATTPAD AS LINKED ABOVE!

The Odyssey of Remembering.

There's a man in the woods.

MARVEL.

Like him.

SHADOW AND BONE. ( Grishaverse )

Are we still friends?

HORROR.

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE.

THE HUNGER GAMES. ( Books & Movies )

The girl with red ribbons.

Tell me if you see any errors and I'll fix them asap!

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

NEW ART FOR, 'OUT OF TIME'.

this is from the amazing amazing @somnolenthour

BONUS DOODLE!

Comment below if it you'd like to be tagged in future 'OUT OF TIME' posts. ( Where to read is linked below )

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

WRITING / ART TRADE FOR THE EVER SO AMAZING @somnolenthour

Never done something like this before, but I do think it's important to : a ) keep up my end of the trade with the skills I got b ) learn about other OC's and get into other writer's / artist's minds I hope you like it, and that I did your OC right! If I didn't do tell me so I can fix it! plot : Loretta Moss is haunted by Remmick. ( I did mention some Southern terms for ghosts and customs for getting rid of them in this. ) word count : 1,000+

Loretta Moss, was many things. She was kind, the kind of kind that most parents would scold their children and tell them to strive to be. She was a special one, truly, one that didn’t come around that often. But, the kind that couldn’t help but draw you in and want to stay around for a little longer, the kind that words didn’t do justice for. Most of all, she was beautiful. Inside and out. A kind soul, with the sweetest smile that made her eyes crinkle up and cheeks flush. If you were to ask most folks in town about her, you’d hear plenty of opinions on her. 

“Who? Loretta? What can I say but, she’s the kind of girl that’ll kill ya’ Mama with that sweet Southern charm. Make her pester you to snatch that girl up before another does.” 

“Oh, you mean, Miss Moss. What can I say but, she’s the kind of girl that you’d be happy with your son marrying. Make one mighty fine wife.”

“Oh, the girl from the hotel. What can I say but, she’s kind enough, pretty.” 

“Oh, no, you mean em’ strange one, who doesn’t attend church every Sunday. What can I say but, she’s the kind of girl who wears her skirt too high and her tongue too loose.”

The words didn’t bother her, people talked. Always did, always would. It was bound to happen when you lived in the middle of fuck knows where and had nothing interesting happening like those big old cities. If she lived in Chicago, or New York, someplace grand like Ruth did. She’d be a nobody, just another face that passed by in the rumbling streets. Never known. Never talked of.

She’d be able to rot away in peace in her bed, let her thoughts consume her until she wilted like a flower. Or maybe, it was just that small town madness that was putting those thoughts in her head. Making her overthink so much that she couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was fake.

Fuck. It wasn’t hard to be envious that Ruth got out of their shithole of a small town, out of the pitch black hole that consumed their minds⎯that made them so often question if this was a nightmare or a premonition of what was to come from some other worldly beings. Ruth got out. She got away. She got away.

She was probably working as a seamstress, making fancy gowns for those rich women in those fancy shops like in the magazines. Or maybe she was married, had a baby on the way. Or maybe she was no better than she was, stuck. Stuck in the past. Stuck in a small town. Stuck in the middle of fuck knows where. Wondering what was real and what was a trick of her mind.

Laying curled up in the wrinkled bed sheets, she digs her nails into the cotton, feeling the sweat that seeped into it. Her mind goes haywire, focusing on every little detail that it could sense. From the clicking of the clock downstairs, to the low chirping of crickets outside. From the way she could feel the old house groaning, old wood moving with the slight breeze in the air. From the way her vision adjusted to the darkness of her room, zoning in on the Spanish moss that blew just enough for it to tap her window. It was silent. It was peaceful. But, not for her. Not after what she dreamt of.

A man in the shadows, in the woods, in the marsh, in the swamps, everywhere. He was tall, bloody, eyes glowing a crimson red in the shadows that blurred his features. He smelt of something rotten, of something old, like the smell that the old crypts have after it rained. He sounded old too, not like he was dying, but rather a dying language flowed off his tongue as he spoke to her. It wasn’t Southern. It wasn’t from the States. Hell, it wasn’t from this time. No, it was older. It was dying, broken and rotten like him, like he had forgotten how to speak it. 

“Let me in..” He whispered, “into your heart.” 

She didn’t, her gut told her not to. Or maybe it was Meemaw's voice who told her not to let dark spirits in. They come wearing the face of men, get you dancing with them before they follow you home and never let you go. That’s what he was doing, trying to follow her home.

“Let me in.” He croaks, “Let me into your heart.”

“Let..me..in..”

“Let. Me. In.”

“Let me in, Loretta.”

“Let me in!”

It was a chant, a call. He was calling for her, like a wounded animal. Like the way stray dogs do for their pack. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw something at him. She wanted him gone. But, he was persistent. Like a stubborn haint with unfinished business. She’d have to burn some sage, or paint some haint blue on her windows and door to get rid of him in the morning. For now, she’d have to endure. Endure him. Endure the crippling fear that kept her firmly planted in bed. Endure the countdown until sunrise. 

“Let me in.” He whispers, “I can save you, Loretta.” 

“You ain’t real.” She whispers, trying to block him out. 

“Sure, I am, suga’. I am just as real as you are.” He chuckles, making her flinch at the sound. 

“You ain’t real, just another nightmare.” She whispers, fingers tangling into her hair.  

She wanted to believe it. This was just another one of those nightmares. But, it felt so real. Too real to just be a dream. To just be something that her brain had come up with. There was too much realism. He had too much realism. Shifting her gaze onto the window to try to ignore him, he steps into the moonlight, clearly not liking being ignored. His boot clicked against the floorboards, before the scuffle of the dragging of a chair against the floor makes her cringe. 

“Nightmare? Na, I’m as real as em’ premonitions.” He chuckles, leaning back in the rocking chair. 

“You ain’t fuckin’ real.” She argues, shaking her head. 

“Suga’, I’m as real as you make me to be.”

"You ain't real." She whimpers, nails digging into her scalp.

Real, not real. Real, or not real. Pulling at strands of her hair, she could feel the tears bubbling up, exhaustion making her bottom lip tremble. She was just so tired. She wanted to sleep in peace, to dream of Ruth and the kind of life she was living. Not of him. Not of this.

Trying to remember what Meemaw has said years ago, she stares at him, teary eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Do not let dark spirits in. They come wearing the face of men, get you dancing with them before they follow you home and never let you go. That’s what he was doing, trying to follow her home.

“You ain’t welcome here.” She whispers, watching his rocking halt. 

"Say again." He hums, chuckling.

“You ain’t welcome here.” She repeats, her voice a little more firm this time.

He leans forward slowly in the chair, face becoming more and more clearer. Rugged features that once could be considered handsome, hidden by a thick layer of blood and peeling skin. Fangs in where normal teeth should be. He was a true monster. 

“Oh, I soon will be. Just you wait, suga’. Just you wait.” He cracks a bloody smile, tilting his head to the side. 

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[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Just couldn't help myself getting this meme commissioned for my HOTD OC and Aegon ii Targaryen.. ( art by @malaquitesgallery )

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