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[askoverkill]

Wait wait go back!! There was a cool bird,,,,,

(transcript below readmore)

(!!!) (There is a bird!)

Piou Piou!

Peeoo Peeoo

Siffrin? Are you listening?

Yes! Of course, I was!

…Well, unrelated to your attention span… Here's a note with everyone's location! Just in case! You! Forget!!!

(Whoops.) (It seems you got a MYSTERIOUS NOTE)[BR] (You put the note in your pocket along with your Souvenirs.)

[You can check your SOUVENIRS by going into your pockets.] [To access your Pockets, open the Menu by pressing the "ASK button."] [The menu contains your Pockets, your Equipment, and many other things.] [Blah, blah, blah, you know the drill.]

Okay, see you at the Clocktower later then! I'll be near the library if you need me, come talk to me whenever! Oh, and don't forget to check the Change God's statue too! For good luck!

(You wave goodbye.)

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ūbnon (anticipation)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader Warnings: Incest, dirty talk, heavy petting, female masturbation. Word count: ~3k

Summary: Soon to be married to her twin brother, Aemond, she grows nervous at the prospect of what is to come on their wedding night, and decides to educate herself. To her embarrassment, and eventual delight, her brother catches her in the act.

Author's note: For @asa-do-your-thing. Based on this request. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Born just minutes apart, she has been bound to Aemond since birth. He is her twin, her other half, their kinship as natural to her as the simple act of drawing breath. Their betrothal is a matter that was decided upon long before either of them had the faculties to truly comprehend the implications, but it is one she readily accepts. It is a means to strengthen their family, to prolong the Targaryen lineage, to provide heirs when the legitimacy of her half sister Rhaenyra’s offspring is called into question.

The full weight of what that means for both of them is not one she ever ponders, it is simply a duty she must perform. But as she grows older, blossoming into a woman, and watches Aemond develop into a man, her mind drifts to the implications of marriage and the duties she will be expected to perform as not just a sister, but as a wife.

She is no stranger to pleasure, her hand has often drifted between her thighs on nights that sleep evades her, drawing out a pulsating ache from which warmth writhes in her lower belly and spreads through her limbs until she is left feeling weightless and spent.

However, she is unsure of how she could ever replicate such a feeling with a man, her twin brother no less, rutting atop her. She has learned the physicality of it from her septa, and what is described to her both piques her curiosity and frightens her. To have Aemond brutalise her body in such a manner makes her fear for the pain it may cause her, but her thoughts also race with the possibility that it might feel good.

She has tried to broach the subject with Helaena before, hoping to find common ground, considering she is married to their eldest brother, Aegon, and they have three children together. However, upon the mere mention of the subject, Helaena had blinked rapidly, her brow furrowing, and clamped her hands over her ears as she turned away from her. It was a clear indication that she did not want to talk of it, so she did not broach the topic again. It made dread gnaw at her insides. Could it really be that bad?

She supposes Helaena is not as fortunate as she is; Aegon is drunk where Aemond is stoic, he is brutish and unkind, where Aemond is soft and understanding, at least to his mother and sisters. She is not oblivious to the darker side of her twin, she knows him inside and out; he has a sharp tongue and a proclivity for explosive anger, though neither are ever directed towards her. She wonders if that will change once she is his wife and more is expected of her. What if she is a disappointment to him on their wedding night and his attitude towards her changes? The very idea fills her with worry.

There is time yet, she supposes, and so she pushes the thought from her mind, deciding she will deal with it when a moment presents itself.

But a moment never does present itself, and now the wedding is only a month away.

She hisses, snatching her hand back from her needlepoint, placing the tip of her finger into her mouth to soothe the sudden sting of pain. It is the second time in the span of a quarter of an hour that she has accidentally pricked herself with the needle she holds in the opposite hand, and she is not sure the fruits of her labour are worth the effort of her suffering; the embroidery that sits upon her lap is a mess of loose stitches and frayed threads. Her mind is elsewhere, as much as she wills it to focus on the roses she is attempting to bring to life upon the scrap of cotton.

“You seem distracted today,” her lady in waiting tells her, “is there something the matter?”

She drops her hand into her lap, sighing. There are several women who attend to her at court, but she seldom spends time with any of them, finding them all far too vapid and focused on idle gossip for her taste. Elyse is the only exception. She is discreet, and content to idle the hours away in comfortable silence with her, either reading or sewing. She supposes that if she can confide in anyone regarding her fears for her wedding night and subsequent marital duties, then Elyse is the person she can trust most. She certainly cannot speak to her mother or sister, and definitely not Aemond.

“I am distracted,” she confesses. “The wedding draws closer by the day and I feel anxious for what is to come.”

“Do you not wish to marry Aemond?” Elyse asks, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“It is not that,” she says, shaking her head. “I cannot wait to be his wife, but it is what comes after that that concerns me. I am worried it will hurt. I want to find pleasure in the act, to not simply lay there passively and be a witness but not a participant to the loss of my virtue. Does that sound terrible?”

“Not at all,” Elyse reassures her, “you can and you should find pleasure in being intimate with your husband.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she scoffs. “I do not know how.”

“You could try speaking to Aemond about it? It may ease your mind a little.”

She balks at the idea, feeling her cheeks heat up. “That is not an option. I think he would sooner put out his other eye than debase himself to such a conversation.”

“Hmm. Perhaps a visit to the library is in order then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lady Coryanne Wylde wrote a book, A Caution for Young Girls. It is an autobiographical account of her life as handmaid to a queen, the paramour of a young knight, a camp follower in the Disputed Lands, a serving wench in Myr, a mummer in Tyrosh, the plaything of a corsair queen in the Basilisk Isles, a slave in Volantis, the handmaid of a Qartheen warlock, the mistress of a pleasure house in Lys and ultimately a septa in the Starry Sept of Oldtown, where she sets down the story of her life as a warning to young maids.”

“If it is meant as a warning then how will I seek any comfort within its pages?”

Elyse laughs softly. “Believe me, I think what you will find within its pages is most…illuminating.”

She waits until nightfall, when she is sure everyone in the Keep will be asleep, before making her way to the library. Having thought of nothing else but the book that Elyse had mentioned earlier that day, she is eager to read it, but does not wish to be caught doing so.

Pulling her robe tighter around herself, to keep the chill of the air from permeating the thin cotton of her nightgown, her slippered feet pad softly through the winding corridors of the castle as she makes her way from her quarters to the library, a candle lighting her way. She is relieved to find the library dark and empty as she enters, the comforting scent of aged books calming her unsettled nerves as her heart hammers rapidly in her chest.

Using her candle to light the lamps on each of the tables, the subtle illumination helps to guide her as she walks the length of the room, eyes scanning the bookcases for the title she searches for. The spines of the various historical accounts and philosophical texts are all weathered with use, doubtless Aemond’s doing, and for a moment she wonders if such a scandalous book would even be kept within the library of the Red Keep. She cannot imagine such salacious text being housed alongside educational resources.

Making her way through the shelves containing volumes on botany, medicine and anatomy, she finally finds what she is looking for, tucked away on the end of a tightly packed shelf in the furthest corner of the library.

Reaching up with shaky hands, she frees the book from its cramped confines, surprised by the size and weight of it, and quickly makes her way over to the nearest table, nervously scanning the room to ensure no one has crept in after her to catch her in the act, before sitting down to read.

Her lips part, eyes widening as she reads, fingers delicately turning each page as she finishes it. She feels her skin grow hot as her pulse races and her breath quickens, shame washing over her at the relentless throbbing in her core as she loses herself in seedy tales of Lady Wylde being brought to peak at the lips and tongue of a man, and how she had chased her pleasure once more by wrapping her legs tighter around his waist as he had thrust into her.

She clamps her legs tighter together at the stickiness that gathers between her thighs, wondering how it would feel to have Aemond’s lips upon her breasts, to watch his tongue delve between her folds, to feel his fingers imprint upon her flesh as he buries himself to the hilt inside of her. Does he crave such things too? It makes her giddy with excitement for their wedding night, so that she may find out.

“You should be sleeping, dōnus hāedus.” [Sweet sister.]

Aemond’s voice causes her to freeze. So absorbed in her reading, she had not heard him enter. Her heart lurches and she swallows thickly, before looking up to meet his steely gaze as he stares down at her. His hair is loose, spilling iridescently over his shoulders, and his sapphire eye glimmers subtly in the low lighting. In a loose undershirt and breeches, he is clearly ready for bed himself.

“I–I could not find rest, so I came to the library to read,” she says quietly.

“And what are you reading?” He asks, cocking his head slightly.

She inhales shakily, placing her forearms over the pages of the book as it rests on the table, a feeble attempt to hide its contents from her twin. “It would bore you, it does not matter.”

“I do not think that is true, it must be an interesting book to have you in such a flustered state. I suspect you are lying to me. Skoros otāpā, idañītsos?” [What do you think, little twin?]

Lowering her gaze, she says nothing. Embarrassment and shame make her feel as though her skin is ablaze, as he reaches forward, placing his fingers against the edge of the book and sliding it out from underneath her arms, towards himself.

She holds her breath as he reads silently, not daring to look at Aemond as she keeps her eyes fixed on her hands clasped against the tabletop in front of her.

“Hmmm, so you have a taste for depravity,” he finally says.

“No!” Her head snaps up, wide eyed with shock as she protests. “I do not, Aemond, I swear! I–I have been…worried about our wedding night. I wanted to know more about how men and women please each other, so that I would not be a disappointment to you. I did not think anyone would catch me or ever know I had been reading this.”

He rounds the table, standing over her where she sits, and tenderly takes her chin between thumb and forefinger. “Jorrāelītsos, you could never disappoint me.” [Little love.]

She preens at his praise, her gaze softening as she stares up at him.

“But I do think you tell lies,” he continues. “You are my twin, you know me better than anyone, and you know how often sleep evades me, and where I come to when it does; here. I think you wanted me to catch you, to pry out of you the things you are too afraid to say of your own volition.”

“Lēkys…” [Brother.]

“Sit on the table.”

“W–why?!”

“Do as you are told, dōnus mēres. I shall not ask again.” [Sweet one.]

She shivers, scrambling up from her chair to sit on the table’s edge, watching as he pulls out the chair she had previously occupied and seats himself in it.

“Sit further back,” he instructs, “so that your feet can rest upon the table too, then I want you to lift your nightgown and spread your legs for.”

Blinking rapidly, her brows raised in horror, she is afraid she has misheard him. Surely he would never ask something so vulgar of her? And yet when she studies his expression, she finds no trace to suggest he is jesting at her expense. Instead, he inclines his head towards her, a silent gesture of impatience that lets her know it is best not to argue back. So, she complies with his command.

She longs to look away as the cool air of the library touches upon her most intimate of parts, she feels too exposed and painfully embarrassed. Yet when she takes in the subtle dilation of Aemond’s pupil, the way he moistens his lips as he leans ever so slightly forward to get a better look at her, she cannot find it in herself to cast her gaze anywhere but him. She has never seen such hunger or longing in his expression before.

“You are wet,” he states quietly, “did you enjoy what you read?”

Taking her lower lip between her teeth, she gives a small nod, too ashamed to say it aloud, and attempts to close her legs.

“I did not say you could do that, not yet. Keep them open.”

She does as instructed, but when she opens her mouth to speak, Aemond holds up a hand to silence her.

“It is not just you who has been researching, hāedus. I, too, have been reading, and I can see the state of arousal you are in. It is just a pity that it is a book that has made you this way and not I.”

“I was thinking about you as I read…” she whispers.

The faintest of smirks tugs at his lips, his eye lifting from between her thighs to her face. “Were you really? Tell me what you were thinking about me doing.”

She shakes her head furiously, too embarrassed to say, her knees falling together instinctively until she sees Aemond raise an eyebrow, and quickly parts them once more.

He sighs, leaning back, fingertips drumming against the armrests of the chair. “Very well. Then I shall divulge some of my own thoughts, for you have expressed your concerns regarding our bedding, and it would be careless of me as both your twin brother and betrothed if I did not attempt to put your mind at ease.”

This piques her curiosity, and she leans up slightly, resting against her palms, eager to hear what he has to say.

“I have no intention of hurting you on our wedding night,” he tells her, “quite the opposite, actually. I wish to take my time with you, prepare you thoroughly.”

Her breath hitches as she feels a familiar warmth fluttering in her belly. “How?” She whispers.

“I want to taste you. I will lap up the wetness that gathers between your thighs, have you fall apart upon my tongue until you tremble and scream my name.”

She feels herself clench around nothing at his filthy words, her chest rising and falling with a slight shudder at the rapidity of her breaths.

“Only when you are soaked for me will I dare to breach your maidenhead,” he continues. “You have no idea how many times I have spent into my own hand at the thought of how impossibly tight and warm you will feel around me. I long to spill deep inside of you, then watch the way it trickles down your thighs before I do it all over again.”

So desperate with need, she feels lightheaded, she aches for him, and she believes he is about to give her exactly what she needs when he rises from the chair, looming over her as she rests upon the table.

His thumbs run along the inside of her thighs, moving upwards, but missing entirely where she needs him most, instead ascending into the crease where her hip meets her leg.

“Please…please, lēkys, touch me,” she whimpers.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, as much as I yearn to, because once I do I will not be able to control myself, and you will no longer be a maid upon our wedding night.”

She feels so frustrated she could cry, as his hands delicately take the hem of her nightdress and smooth it back down over her legs, before helping her into a seated position. His sense of duty is both Aemond’s best and worst quality.

“I hope I have done what I can to alleviate your fears though, idañītsos.”

She nods, smiling gratefully up at him, despite the dull throbbing that causes her to squirm uncomfortably. “Could I ask one more thing of you, please? Willl…will you kiss me?”

Aemond’s eye softens, cupping her cheek as he leans in to press his lips to her. They are wonderfully soft and warm against her own, and she kisses back eagerly. However, all too soon he is pulling away, chuckling softly as she chases forward with her face, whining at the loss of him.

“Good things come to those who are patient, dōnus mēres,” he utters, resting his forehead against hers, as his fingers stroke the soft skin of her cheek. “Go back to your quarters, and think of me when you touch yourself. You have only a moon’s turn to wait until it is my hand you are falling apart at instead.”

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 5: Flower

18+ | 5.6k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Smut, First Time Oral, Semi Public Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, V fingering, Targcest, Courtship

This scene was kind of sweet, going back to the gift he had attempted to give Ryna on that day when he returned from the Stepstones some years back. It also rolls into their first real physical encounter, besides that closeness they shared on the terrace in the first chapter. Daemon trying so hard to be good, but not that hard xD Told from Daemon's POV.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

The two of them walked in silence for a time, Ryna’s arm in his, until they were past the guards and into the long corridor that led towards the outer yard. Once safely out of sight of any witnesses, Daemon suddenly pulled her into a nearby alcove, jostling a vase on the table beside them as he pressed her tightly against the wall. His eyes glittered with excitement, barely disguising his darker desires as he stared down at her.

At her startled gasp, his mouth curled into that familiar smirk. “You, my little niece,” he said in a growl, “did extremely well back there.”

The look of surprise quickly faded from her face, replaced with an air of indignity. “Can you believe she had the nerve to call me dull? I am still livid.” She huffed, her cheeks rosing with the sufferance of insults and not embarrassment for once.

He let out a quick series of pointed laughs against his lips before replying. “She clearly has no taste. You are anything but dull, sweetling. You are fire made flesh.” He had enjoyed seeing her behave in such a daring manner at breakfast, relishing in her cheeky attitude. Daemon had not thought his pure and sweet little niece capable of such aggression, but evidently he had been wrong.

“Do not let her get to you,” he added, tracing a finger along her jawline. “Your father summed it up perfectly. Rhaenyra behaves like an entitled, petulant child throwing a tantrum until she gets her way.” His gaze lingered on her plush lips, recalling the kiss they had shared the night before.

Oblivious to his attentions, despite the obviousness of his proximity, she continued to vent her frustrations. “And to think she called me, a Targaryen princess, with fire and blood running through my veins, ‘still as a pond!’ Even a Velaryon would be offended to hear such insults spouted against them!”

He snickered with a playful look in his eye, the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. Though his niece had never displayed an inclination towards angry outbursts in the past, today’s incident had led him to wonder if her character was more akin to his own quick-tempered nature rather than the complacent demeanor of his brother.

Ryna’s ongoing tirade was abruptly cut off when Daemon held a finger to her lips, silencing her mid-speech. “Enough of that,” he said, his voice authoritative yet tinged with a hint of allure. “You are far too exquisite to waste your time complaining about a brat like Rhaenyra.”

Daemon leaned in a little more until he was so close that he could feel her breath against his face. “There are far more enjoyable things you could be doing that with that pretty mouth of yours.” His words were a soft insinuation spanning the possibilities between mostly innocent to entirely lewd. It certainly got her attention, her eyes darting up to his with a shy expression.

He pressed a simple kiss against her lips, wetting them with his tongue slightly as he savored the taste of her. His eyes rolled back for a split second as he let out a groan and pulled away, knowing he could not control himself lest he continue. The hall they were in was often traveled and not the best spot for an interlude. They would find more privacy in the gardens.

The princess became flush in response to the small demonstration of affection, the region below her collarbone now a bright pink in contrast to her alabaster skin.

My sweet niece. It doesn ’t take much, does it?

Daemon then took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and led Ryna back down their originally intended route towards the garden. “We have something more important to discuss, Niece.”

“Such as?” she asked, trying in vain to compose herself as she looked up at him curiously.

“Our courtship, of course,” he said in a playful tone as they approached the exit.

They passed through the stone arch that led out into the garden proper and walked down the trail through the carefully manicured greenery until they reached the inner garden. It was surrounded by tall rose bushes, secluded and out of sight from the main walks. Water trickled from an ornate fountain of a dragon into a small pond edged with smooth rocks and there was a stone bench beside it so one might sit and enjoy the scenery.

He guided her to take a seat on the solid slate bench looking out over the waters and rustled in his pocket to fish something out. Daemon smiled fondly as he got down on his knees before her. Another shocked, almost frightened expression crossed her face, her eyes growing wide at the thought of what he might be up to.

Innocent little thing.

Reaching up, he tucked a loose strand of her Valyrian white-gold hair back into place behind her ear, letting his fingers remain on her face longer than perhaps was necessary. He found himself mesmerized all over again by her beauty, her purity, and the way she could make him feel simultaneously protective and sinful.

If only she knew how much he thought about her, his sweet, chaste little Ryna. How he wanted to claim her as his own and ruin her completely, yet at the same time, he wanted to shield her from all other harm. The irony of it made him both sick and excited all at once. He had been a man of vices, of carnal pleasure, with no thought given to any future consequences, and here he was for the first time, experiencing what it was to restrain himself for another. At least somewhat…

His hand lowered, brushing against her thigh as he took her hand once more, running his thumb over her knuckles gently as he began to speak.

“Sweetling,” his voice was soft and deep in the quiet solitude of the garden. “I have something for you.”

His niece’s expression changed, from worry to a veiled delight. “For me? What is it?”

She always did love it when he brought her gifts upon returning from his travels, whether they be from afar or direct from the streets of King’s Landing.

Daemon turned her hand and spread her fingers apart so that Ryna’s palm was exposed. Not allowing her to see what was in his closed fist, he placed it above her outstretched hand and let the trinket fall slowly until it settled into her grasp with a clink.

The princess’ eyes lit up as he removed his hand, finally allowing her an unobstructed view of his present. It was a very unique bracelet, one he’d had fashioned for her by the same grateful peasants who’d created his crown, to commemorate his victory over the Crabfeeder. It was crafted with small bits of rough sandstone, seashells and driftwood from the beaches on the Stepstones, and accented with an orange gemstone that was abundant on the islands.

“It is beautiful, Uncle,” she marveled at the intricate little shells and beaded stones.

Not as beautiful as you, my sweet, delicious, little peach.

“I’m pleased it’s to your liking,” he smiled softly at her. It was exactly the response he was hoping for. Watching her face as she looked over each tiny detail made him feel a mix of satisfaction and desire. It had taken all of his willpower thus far to resist her innate charms, and he wasn’t certain that it would hold for much longer. “Allow me to put it on for you, sweetling,” he said assuringly, already taking the bracelet from her hand and unclasping it so that he might wrap it around her slender wrist.

“I had meant to gift this to you when I returned from the Stepstones, but I found I simply could not.” His words were almost somber as he closed the clasp carefully, securing it in place.

“I remember,” she said with a touch of sadness. “That was when things changed. When you began to avoid me.” Her eyes wandered off in thought, her gaze cast across the water for a moment before returning to him with a fiery determination. “What happened? Why did I repulse you so when we embraced that day?”

Daemon was impressed, if not also taken aback, by the clarity of her memory. In fact it shook a more direct response from him than he was typically accustomed to giving. “You could never repulse me, my dearest niece,” he began, struggling to find the right words to explain himself without directly stating what he truly felt on that day five years ago when their bodies entwined. “I merely… It was for your own good.”

When I first realized that my desire for you had begun to take root.

“It did not seem like it was for my own good,” she contended his reasoning, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “I have missed you all of these years.”

“I know, sweetling. I missed you as well.” If only she knew how he’d longed to return to the way things were before that moment. He hadn’t realized how much he’d yearned for the smiling face of his darling little cherub, his precious jewel, until it was gone, forever replaced with the reality of his lust.

Even though he’d already mentioned his aversion to tainting her the night before, it seemed she was still incognizant to why he had started to withdraw from her, believing it was due to some shortcoming on her own part. He had no desire for her to shoulder the blame of his own perverse desires though, so perhaps some further explanation was due. Still knelt before her, Daemon placed his hands on either side of her hips, nudging forward so that he was closer and just about nestled between her legs. A crooked smile crossed his face as he spoke once more. “Do you know why I started to avoid you?”

The princess seemed a touch flustered by his intimate proximity, but did not stay his hand. “I could not say. I only knew that before you left, I had been your cherished niece and upon your return… Suddenly it seemed you held my very presence in contempt. Then before I knew it, you had been sent away again and I had no idea what to think about it.”

If only you knew, little sweetling.

He chuckled at her naivety. It was endearing how pure his little girl still was. His fingers gently rubbed her hips through the soft fabric of her velvet gown. “You really don’t know, do you?” his tone was almost sarcastic, finding it hard to believe she hadn’t the slightest inkling. The look of worried concern did not waver from her face and he knew it was true. Daemon leaned in closer, his nose close to the swell of her breast. He allowed himself to inhale the sweet smell of her skin, all the while the warmth of her body was radiating outwards. He looked up, finding her expression heavy with longing, craving reconciliation.

“Did you ever stop to think that perhaps I avoided you because I found you too tempting?” Daemon’s eyes roamed down her figure before returning back to her face, taking in every little response. It seemed he would always be torn by his lust for Ryna.

She did not respond immediately, but instead averted her gaze to the bracelet he’d given her. Perhaps she was putting all of the pieces together in her mind, recalling past events and how they might be reshaped with the new knowledge he’d presented her with. His little niece seemed confused, as if unable to fathom that his desires had kept him away.

“But…” she started to speak, the words fizzling on her tongue. “If you… Then why?” Her lavender irises turned back to him with puzzlement. It seemed she’d come to terms with the idea much sooner than he had.

“Why?”

The question echoed with a laugh from his lips. How could he ever hope to explain the depraved thoughts that had consumed him whenever he’d seen her sweet body during those years. How tortured he became whenever he allowed himself to imagine the debased ways he wished to use her. Yet, she was looking to him for an answer, her eyes wide and her pink lips parted in confusion. “Why,” he said once again, taking a deep breath. “Because you were far too innocent. A wholly pure thing in this corrupt world. Even I am not that wicked.”

There, he’d said it. The truth was out. A twisted admission, but an admission nonetheless. The words, as well as the secret, that had tormented him for years were now finally released into the open. But her expression did not convey the disgust he’d expected. Instead, there was a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “Too young. Too sweet. You should never have known the depths of depravity running through …” he began to explain, but as he looked upon her face, he realized her features had shifted to something more akin to anticipation.

Gods, that look on your face …

The little princess’ lips were parted in expectation, her breath growing quicker with each passing second. There was something untamed he saw in her eyes that threatened to set his entire being ablaze. “You’ve heard tales of what a degenerate I am, haven’t you, sweetling?”

“Who in the Seven Kingdoms has not?” she admitted with ease, her expression unflinching while her hands danced restlessly on the surface of the bench.

“Then you know what a wretched man I am…” he spoke in a lower tone, his nose brushing against the pucker of her breast for a moment. “The vices I give into… The women and wine that I consume without reservation.”

Daemon raised a hand up to her face, his fingers tenderly tracing along the length of her jawline. “Does it not frighten you?”

“How could I possibly be afraid of you?” she mused, her voice laced with affectionate reassurance. She brought one of those fidgeting hands to rest gently upon his head, tentatively smoothing back his bright blond tresses. “I will admit I lack the same level of experience that you possess, Uncle, but it does not diminish my own curiosity and eagerness to learn.”

He tried to resist the shiver that wracked through his body as her fingers ran through his silvery gold hair. Daemon’s hand glided down the length of her skirts, skimming over the fabric until he reached the hem. Slipping his fingers below, he groaned at the feel of her leg, soft and silky beneath his palm.

How can you not be afraid of me, little sweetling? I am a fox in the hen house.

Her words had struck him in a way that he was not expecting. It seemed unnatural, given what he’d confessed and what she surely must suspect he desired from her.

“How eager are you, sweet girl?” he asked with the last ounce of his restraint as he continued upward, cresting her knee. “Eager enough to let me show you how debased I truly am?”

Ryna appeared a touch uneasy, but did not move to stop him. It was as though she had already resigned herself to exploring wherever this moment might take them. She swallowed before replying, her voice a low whisper as she continued to stroke his hair. “I cannot resist you, Uncle.”

What a dangerous thing to admit, my sweet little niece.

Daemon pressed a kiss against the exposed skin between her cleavage as his fingers crept higher. He found purchase on her inner thigh, gripping the smooth flesh there with barely constrained hunger as he felt the heat emanating from her core. His mind was filled with sinful thoughts the likes of which this pure, untouched flower could not possibly begin to imagine - but even still, she was willing. A small breathless laugh passed his lips and the little whimper of submission elicited from his sweetling was like the most deadly, yet intoxicating of poisons. Her soft sounds nearly pushing him over the edge, so obliging was she to accept his perversions.

“I promised your father I would not bed you until the wedding night…” he finally broke the silence as he laved another wet kiss upon the slope of her chest. “I admit, I’m still not convinced I can wait that long, but there are ways to stay… Occupied… For a time. To keep that curiosity of yours sated.”

Daemon’s eyes returned to hers, finding a look of trepidation in her gaze like he had never seen. She was too pristine, too eager, too wholesome for what he sought to give her. And, Gods forbid, if she ever did let him take all that she had, he feared there would be no going back. He’d become a man possessed.

For now though, given she was inclined to test the waters, he would explore how much of an agreeable lamb she truly was. He ran his tongue along her collarbone, his thumb digging into the fatty meat of her inner thigh.

“Do you trust me, sweetling? He asked, looking up once more into those pale lilac eyes, almost silvery in their sheen.

“Y-yes…” she stuttered, willing but still nervous.

He looked into her anxious eyes for a moment more, searching for any hint of doubt. But he could only find her inexperience, her apprehension, and ultimately her anticipation. Had Daemon not regarded her as so naive and innocent, he’d have believed she was getting off on this, and perhaps she was. His mouth curled into a smirk, wearing a wicked, wolfish countenance of intent. A quiet laugh escaped his lips as he grasped the waist of her smallclothes, and pulled down the short pair of braies until she was completely exposed beneath her skirts. Daemon placed a hand on each of her tender thighs, looking up at her with a devious spark in his eyes.

“Slide to the edge of the bench and lean back, little dragon,” he urged her, all but salivating at the thought of what she might taste like. Completely untouched, unspoiled, and just for him.

Ryna slowly shifted her hips forward, an embarrassed blush in her cheeks as she followed his bidding. “Good girl,” the sweet praise fell from his lips in a guttural moan. “Now let me take care of you. I’ll make you feel good.”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest as he knelt before his little niece, bunching up her skirts enough so that he might duck his head beneath her gown. The scent of her arousal was overwhelming, a sweet, crisp perfume that only served to heighten his desire. He inhaled deeply, taking in the sight, the smell, the very essence of her.

With a flick of his wrist, he swept her juices onto his thumb, bringing it to his lips and tasting her. A low grown rumbled in his chest as he licked her wetness from his finger, the taste of her intoxicating. He lowered his head, his tongue dipping between her folds and eliciting a startled gasp and jolt from Ryna. Daemon wrapped his arm around her thigh, holding her in place as he began to devour her like a starving man.

He spread her apart carefully, alternating between laving her bud with the flat of his tongue and the pinpoint of the tip, delighting in the way her hips bucked with each intense sensation. Daemon slid his fingers down through her wetness, teasing her tight entrance with the promise of penetration. His cock was rigid and aching in his trousers, leaving a mess as he leaked seed to the taste and feel of her purity. He’d give anything to have her fully bare in his bed right now, to be able to see everything all at once, to touch and take what he wanted.

Soon … Soon..

Ryna’s body was trembling beneath his touch, her soft little whimpers and moans driving him absolutely mad. She sounded so lurid for such a sinless creature and finally delving into her tight heat with his index finger was all he could do to keep from enacting the near constant thought of how good it might feel to fuck her. The thought of the noises she would make when something much bigger than his tongue or finger were instead driving into her pretty, virgin cunt consuming him.

His finger circled her inner walls, teasing her as he continued to pleasure her with his tongue, flicking and lapping at her pearl until she was writhing beneath him. He could feel the taut lining of muscle tensing at his intrusion and smiled against her wetness at the sound of her insistent cries. Daemon slid another finger into her now sopping wet core, wincing at how tightly her walls were gripping him.

He began to pump his fingers in and out of her in a steady, forceful rhythm, his tongue circling her swollen bud before he sucked it into his mouth. Ryna shot up like a lightning bolt at the acute feel of it, the combination causing her to arch her back into him as her peak built. There were a dozen filthy, raunchy things he’d love to purr in her ears at that moment, but there was no way he was going to stop until he brought her to completion.

Ryna shuddered and jerked, her moans growing louder and more desperate as she finally let go, climaxing in a beautiful splendor of shaking thighs and ragged breath. Her hands shot to his head even through the gown, trying to push him away now that her swollen bud had grown too sensitive. Daemon let her free of his suction, laving the nub softly with the flat of his tongue and sliding his fingers out of her snug little hole. She squealed as he lapped through her folds, the creamy sweetness of her come tasting like the most decadent ambrosia.

Fuck, I will not be able to stop myself if I keep at it like this …

Daemon bit his cheek with a wince, trying to rein in his urges as he removed his head from under her skirts. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he soon forgot his own need at the pride that surged through him upon seeing her flushed cheeks, her heaving chest exhausted and panting, the evidence of his ministrations and the pleasure she’d just experienced apparent all over her body.

As she locked eyes with him, she sounded tired, but excited all the same, “God! I have… But never like that… What in the Seven Hells was that!?”

A smug, yet satisfied chuckle escaped his mouth at her comment as he slipped her foot through the free opening of her smallclothes and slid them back up. He moved to sit beside her on the bench, his cock still straining against his pants painfully, a testament to just how much he had enjoyed the taste of her.

“That, my sweetling, was your first lesson in pleasure,” Daemon said as he leaned into her, his lips finding her neck and pressing a hungry kiss upon the delicate skin there.

She writhed under his lips, still so sensitive from his efforts. It was enough to drive him utterly mad with need. He could not recall anyone so perfect, anything so divine in his entire life. How could he ever be satisfied with another after this?

“You will be the death of me, my precious girl,” he mumbled against her shoulder, burying his nose into her hair and taking in the bouquet of roses, cinnamon, and styrax in her fragrance. “I can tell neither of us are creatures of restraint, sweetling,” he let out a sharp laugh as he pulled away from the temptation. “But Gods help, I am trying.”

He sat roughly against the back of the stone bench, comforted by the pressure of its hard surface. Daemon ventured a look into those pale lavender eyes and ran a hand across her chin, tilting her head up so that she was forced to meet his gaze. His voice took on a graver note, seeking to assert the seriousness of his words.

“If your father accepts our betrothal… I need to know that you want this. Jāhor ao sagon biare, riñītsos?” Will you be happy, little girl?

Ryna’s brow furrowed, either confused or hurt by the inquiry. “What kind of question is that? Of course…” she peered at him now with a smoldering intensity. “Nyke jaelagon ao, Daemon.” I want you, Daemon.

“Se jaelan ao, zaldrītsos,” he replied with a quick sigh. And I want you, little dragon. “But you are so young and inexperienced, and I…”

I may be too much for you to handle. You engage with a beast, sweetling. I am possessed by the need to control you and to keep you near me in every way possible, both well intentioned and depraved as well. He shook his head to bat the thoughts away, pushing down the worry and fear that were creeping to the surface. He didn’t want to risk losing her, but he also couldn’t bear the thought that she might one day look at him with contempt in her eyes. “You’ve never known another man, Niece. You do not know the extent of my desire.”

“Iksan daor riña,” she retorted in a defiant tone, her eyes locked on his with a look that could only be described as downright challenging. I am no child. “It seems you cling to these persistent ideas, Uncle. That I am too young… That you are too debauched for me. That I couldn’t possibly be happy with you… And to be honest, such worries are insulting to us both. I am not some pathetic little whelp in need of your pity. I know full well what I want.”

She exhaled through her nose with frustration, her features proud as she continued. “I would not choose a suitor for years because I did not want any of them. I knew they would not stoke my fire and keep my interest. I chose you and that is all that should matter. Inexperience can be mended by exposure, and I have never thought ill of you. I have felt jealousy and confusion, yes, I have missed you, but I have never felt poorly.”

Daemon felt a spark ignite within him as she spoke, her voice and words filled with passion and conviction. But, she was a stubborn thing, his little niece. His princess. A perfect mix of both fire and ice all the same. He would have found her impudence amusing if not for the fact that he too was feeling a hint of irritation begin to boil inside of him.

He let out a laugh that was nearly a scoff. “And do you think yourself ready for the full extent of it?” he riposted, his voice hardening. “Do you have any idea the dark desires that swirl in the recesses of my mind?” Her facade cracked slightly as a hint of doubt crept across her face. Of course she had no way of knowing what he actually thought of in the privacy of his own licentious mind. It was obvious the unknown concerned her from the winkle on her forehead, but she did not back down.

Ryna’s voice softened considerably, a blush returning to her cheeks. “You could show me… Teach me… In a way that is not too overwhelming.” Her eyes brightened with mild epiphany. “Like you did today.”

Once again, he found himself caught between a sense of pride that she seemed so willing to face whatever he might bring forth and the fear that he might break her.

“And if I can’t hold back, little girl?” he mumbled against her ear, leaning in and resting his chin against her the crown of her head. “My appetites… They are strong… Violent… Depraved… You could not imagine all that I want to do you.”

“Why must I fathom it all?” she asked with longing in her eyes as she wet her lower lip with her tongue. There was an obvious arousal present in her body language and the flicker of her features.

“Because, sweetling,” he replied, cupping her chin in his hand and gently forcing her to meet his eyes once more. “If we go down this road, there is no turning back. I will consume you, dear girl. I will take and take until you forget what it is to live without me.”

I cannot stop even now. That small taste of you was simply not enough.

“You realize I will ruin you for anyone else?” he stared into those piercing lilac eyes, shining bright with desire and need.

“I don’t take issue with that for I do not wish to have another. Only you, Uncle,” she spoke with conviction, but her cheeks blushed at the notion.

Gods, you have no idea what you are doing to me.

Daemon’s heart ached with so many warring emotions. His little niece - he feared he could not resist when it came to her. “Then… I will show you… I shall try my best to ease you into the darkness,” he whispered as he nudged his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

He captured her lips once more in a hungry kiss, his cock twitching at the thought of her keen obeisance - at hearing her proclaim that she only wanted him. It made his possessive nature flare with lust that he knew he must keep in check for now.Ryna was already moving closer though, the little minx, twisting towards him as her leg struggled against her skirts to rise over his. “Stop…” he murmured against her lips, feeling his self-restraint slipping. He gripped her shoulders tight, keeping her at bay as he withdrew from the kiss.

He could tell from the look in those tempestuous eyes that she was still riding the high of her climax, lovedrunk by the feelings he’d coaxed out of her body. Daemon truly loved how eager she was, but if he gave in completely to his own impulses, it might wind up destroying any chance they had at wedding. He was certainly not willing to let her go now that he’d come so close to having her.

But how is a man to hold back from such a sweet, delicious flower?

He clutched her arms with a little more force than necessary as he pushed her back against the bench and pulled away from her. With grit teeth he busied his hands so that they might not wander again, smoothing the pleats of his long wool jerkin back into place.

“I said I would ease you in, sweetling.. Not toss you over the edge,” he chuffed at her, making it known that he was not to be trifled with any farther. With a slight cough, he cleared his throat and took a deep breath before pursuing the topic of their courtship. “Now what plans shall we make to ensure that my dear old brother, Viserys, thinks that we are courting properly?”

Ryna was slow to reply, a bewildered look on her face mixed with a slight pout of disappointment. “I’m not sure…” she finally answered. “We have already strolled in the garden and you have presented me with a gift. So, today has been a good start to it.”

“Yes, little one. I do believe today has been a very good start. But not good enough,” he countered as he stood up and offered his hand to her. “My dear brother will not believe that a rake like me has suddenly become a proper gentleman without proof. We must make a very open display of our integrity.”

“What about a dinner? Or perhaps a packed lunch that we might enjoy on the beach that overlooks the Blackwater Bay. We might even stop by the Dragonpit. I could introduce you to my girl.” Her disposition had improved considerably at the mention of her dragon and he couldn’t help but smile as he helped her up from the bench.

Come to think of it, he did remember hearing that his sweetling had claimed a rather powerful creature, one of the older and larger dragons that had not been reclaimed since its previous owner. He felt a thrill at the thought of meeting such an ancient beast, at seeing his little niece mount a powerful dragon.

She will mount another soon …

He chuckled to himself as he let out a velvety smooth reply, leading them back down the path through the garden. “That sounds like a fine idea,” he purred, enjoying the thought of gaining some measure of freedom outside the confines of the keep. “And I cannot wait to meet your dragon, my sweetling. No doubt, Caraxes will be eager to see you again as well. I do believe that grumpy old snake preferred you to me when last I took you riding.”

Ryna beamed at his insinuation, giggling softly as they came out from the worn trail and entered the open expanse of the garden’s grassy courtyard. “I wouldn’t say that, Uncle, but he was certainly kind in nature towards me. A good boy. I look forward to seeing him up close again.”

His lips curled into an amused smile at her joyful reaction to being reunited with the beast. “Indeed… And I look forward to watching you ride, all on your own, without need of your uncle to supervise you,” he said with a slight rasp.

The image of her straddling that massive dragon, handling its reins and commanding it in the Valyrian tongue was enough to get his member swelling in his breeches again.

“Tell me, sweetling. Which beast did you tame again?” he asked trying to distract himself from other wandering thoughts.

“Oh, didn’t anyone ever tell you?” she smirked with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I laid claim to Silverwing. Queen Alysanne’s beloved mount.” Read Chapter 6

[doomsayersunited]

A Decade Of Doom!

I started this blog ten years ago to compile the growing evidence that our planet would not longer be able to sustain human life by 2050, thanks to our continued, capitalist-fueled efforts to destroy all the systems we rely upon to sustain life. The first thing I put up here was this essay, on February 20, 2014. Now, a decade later, I thought it might be "fun" to look at what's changed: 1) Earth Overshoot Day

In 2014, "Earth Overshoot Day" (the day that humanity collectively consumes more resources from nature than it can regenerate over a year) was August 19th. Now, in 2024, Earth Overshoot Day is August 1st, 2.5 weeks earlier. At this rate and assuming things don't accelerate (even though they are likely to), Earth Overshoot Day will be around June 17th by 2050. 2) Biocapacity Biocapacity is the amount of resources contained on the planet required available to sustain life, measured by area. In 2014, I calculated that the planet had a biocapacity of 1.7 hectares per person. By dividing the total available biocapacity today in 2024 with the current global population as I did then, it now appears that there are just 1.5 hectares of planetary resources left per person to extract all the materials needed to sustain life, as well as all the area available to dispose of waste. That's a 12% loss over ten years. At that rate, we can expect to lose another 30% of biocapacity by 2050, going down to just 1.05 hectares per person by then, and that's assuming that the rate of biocapacity loss does not accelerate further and that the global population suddenly stops increasing after a run of non-stop increases spanning five centuries. Oh, also a reminder that the average human requires 2.7 hectares of land to sustain its current consumption habits/levels. So. 3) Individual Conservation To illustrate the futility of individual conservation at this point in the apocalypse, let me give you an example: If you were: a fully-vegan localvore living in a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and using 100% renewably-generated electricity; who did not ever use motorized transportation of any kind or buy new clothing, furnishings, electronics, books, magazines, or newspapers and recycled all the waste you generated that was recyclable, you'd only require 1.4 hectares of biocapacity to sustain yourself. That is close to the kind of lifestyle extremism it would take to live sustainably. Deviate from that level of stoicism even slightly (say by living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other people instead of a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and taking a single, four-hour roundtrip flight, once a year) and you're now consuming 1.6 hectares of biocapacity, which means you're using more resources than the world has available for you if everything was divided evenly among everybody. Of course, biocapacity, like all resources, are not divvied up evenly among everybody, which is why there are currently 114 different armed conflicts happening worldwide - the highest number of armed conflicts since 1946. 2023 was the most violent year in the last three decades. 4) Other Signs Of The End Times In my 2014 essay, I referenced the work of geologist Dr. Evan Fraser, who studies civilization collapse. In his book Empires of Food, Dr. Fraser noted common signs of a civilization about to collapse, which began to appear about two decades before it all goes completely to hell. Those signs were: -a rapidly-increasing and rapidly-urbanizing population We've added 700 million people to the planet since I began this blog in 2014. And where is everyone moving to?

-farmers increasingly specializing in just a small number of crops " "As farm ecosystems have been simplified, so too are the organisms that populate the farm.  A farm that specializes in a limited number of crops in short rotations does not, for example, look for plant varieties that do well in more complex rotations with intercropping.  A beef feedlot operation wants breeds that gain weight quickly on grain diets and does not want cattle breeds that digest well pasture grasses and thrive in all year outdoor environments on the range." The result? Recent estimates put the loss of global food diversity over the last 100 years at 75%. Over the 300,000 species of edible plants that exist, humans only consume about 200 of them in notable quantities, with 90% of crop plants not being grown commercially. -endemic soil erosion Climate change and the need to raise more crops have combined to increase the rate of agricultural soil erosion globally. Back in 2014, when I started blogging about the end of everything, the UN had already determined that there was only enough fertile soil left to plant 60 more annual crops. So, by 2074, we won't be able to grow food, full stop. This of course comes at a time when the global population continues to increase, and with it the need to grow more food. If projections are accurate, we will need to increase food production by 50% over the next three decades to feed everyone. -a dramatic increase in the cost of food and raw materials When I started this blog in 2014, I noted that 2011-2013 had seen the highest food prices on record. So what's happened since then?

It's important to point out here that the current food price spike started in 2020, so if Dr. Fraser's calculations are correct, the food system will collapse sometime around 2034, taking civilization with it. I closed my debut essay on this blog with a quote from the (now deceased) climate scientist Dr. James Lovelock, who advised a Guardian journalist to "enjoy life while you can. Because if you're lucky it's going to be 20 years before it hits the fan." That interview was published in 2008. We have four years left to enjoy.

[herestomyhaters]

i have remained silent for too long. i forgot to post this so here are my thoughts on 2x06/2x07!! as always brought to you by a bisexual black girl 🫡

i understand it's a teen drama so cheating is bound to happen but lorddd i was really hoping they wouldn't do that w/ noa cause i hate that bi stereotype. atp it's just bad writing bc why would she want to be w/ jen after all the batshit crazy things she's done ???

call me crazy but i Do Not think shawn punched that whole in the wall and even if he did i still don't trust jen (why would anyone 💀)

also were they expecting him not to react after noa's been cheating since JUVIE, all the lying and the stealing ???

hope i won't need to backtrack here (that'd suck) but why are ppl so obsessed w/ christian being evil/related to bloody rose somehow?? like besides being too obvious i really don't think they would do that to tabby again. also it feels jarring that ppl want to assume the black guy is the threat

i want more 1:1 moments between the girls!! the only dynamic that's been explored so far is tabogen (we got faran/imogen crumbs last week). praying for that in s3

is it me or are all of imogen & johnny's scenes just her trauma dumping myyy god. don't get me wrong i like them together but it just sends me, i also wish they'd explored the whole "player" trope a bit more it could've been interesting to see. i just don't know how believable it is to go from THAT to loverboy in the span of an episode but i guess we have the 8-episode season aspect to blame

redemption house was CRAZY. it was giving "is this fucking play about us?" tbh it ate

speaking of crazy kelly has fully lost it. imogen clocking her was one of my fave moments in the episode. looove imogen she's easily become my top 3

there is also no way kelly's dead

"HENRY, you're a dancer. most of your friends are GAY"

faran and greg: where to even start. i saw this ship coming before the season even started and (hear me out) i do not think they'll be endgame. i personally don't hate greg (maybe it's just elias' charisma) but it feels very contradicting to the show's values to pair faran & greg together. still, it is a semi-realistic situation. i just hope they proceed with caution & are smart about whatever happens next. i do not want faran to be babysitting him into becoming a decent human being

just need to bring up the "my cousin kevin, who lives in riverdale" moment cause i was crying w laughter. this show is so unserious sometimes (shoutout kevin keller tho)

speaking of gays i was quite surprised bi noa wasn't canon already?? might be bc maia has spoken about it many times but i always assumed she was already out 😭

besides that, the fact that NONE of them called noa out for cheating??? they were like "yesss queen slay 😍". i can't, feeling so sorry for shawn atp

also imogen bursting out laughing when noa brought up the "throuple" thing even she was weirded tf out

bloody mary playing while they raided redemption house was ICONIC

that bloody rose reveal was INSANE. imogen tearing the mask off??? bailee's emmy worthy scream queen moment (AGAIN)??!

do y'all have any theories for tabby's final girl moment/who br is? how are u liking the season so far? lmk your thoughts and we can kiki 🫶🏽

[morningstargirl666]

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

I was tagged by the lovely @galvanizedfriend The word was 🐺CLAWS🐺

My excerpts are mostly long, okay, and it's because the TBBW rewrite is HUGE. These don't even scratch the surface of it lmao---they're still snippets. (Also I've lost track of what i have and haven't shared at this point, so russian roulette it is I guess?)

C.

Caroline knew Sam was dangerous.

He wasn’t like Klaus or Damon, or any of the other Original vampires; he hid it well, behind kind smiles and carefree laughter that she couldn’t help but see herself in. But that sharp, dangerous edge was always there, taunting anyone who dared dig a little deeper. There was the fact he was a hybrid of course, his bite toxic to any vampire unfortunate to cross it. But it was more than that—there was a Klaus-like familiarity to anytime she glimpsed his rage, burning behind his eyes with the force of a thousand suns, simmering just below the surface. It was like staring up at a sky full of dark, thunderous clouds approaching on the horizon and smelling the spark of ozone in the air; feeling the ache in your joints and knowing without reason or logic that—beyond a doubt—a storm was brewing.

So, Caroline knew. But there was a reason they said seeing was believing. And when she saw his gaze latch onto Elena’s bloody neck, eyes bleeding wolf gold, she felt the full force of her terror.

“ELENA, RUN!” Stefan roared, pushing Elena behind him, just before Sam lunged forward, lip pulled back in a savage snarl.

Stefan rose to meet him, and the two collided, Stefan barely bracing his arm against Sam’s neck in time to stop his fangs from descending on his neck. The two crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, claws and fangs bared, Sam blurring with the speed he lurched for Elena again, only stopped by Stefan’s arms wrapped around his middle, yanking him back a hair’s breadth from Elena’s face. Caroline grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her to her feet, pushing her towards the door as the two forces wrestled on the floor, Tyler immediately leaping to Stefan’s aid to hold Sam back.

“Elena, go!” she yelled, shoving her again towards the door when Elena planted her feet, refusing to move.

“But Stefan—”

“RUN!” Caroline roared, her panic snapping her resolve. There was a crash behind her, and she turned, just in time to see Sam hurl Tyler across the room, into the coffee table that smashed under the weight of the impact, the cracking sound of wood splintering piercing the air. Then Sam whirled on Stefan still on the floor, slashing his claws across the vampire’s face and making him roll back. As Stefan cried out, shielding his face with his arm, Sam pounced forward, fangs poised to sink his teeth into the vampire’s skin.

Caroline’s eyes widened with horror.

“STEFAN!”

In a blur, Elijah was suddenly there, throwing Sam off Stefan by the nape of his neck, fingers curled around his collar. Sam snarled, a fierce growl rumbling out of his throat, lashing out and struggling against Elijah’s hold but the Original vampire was strong, stronger than Sam, quickly manoeuvring the hybrid into a chokehold from behind, arm pressed against his windpipe. He even managed to brace his hands against Sam’s head, poised to snap his neck. But in that moment, Elijah made one grave miscalculation: he may have been stronger, but Sam was hungrier.

Driven feral from the bloodlust, he struggled wildly against Elijah’s hold and sank his fangs into the man’s hand. 

Elijah screamed.

Not giving him enough chance to recover, Sam jerked his elbow back into Elijah’s nose and flashed out of his hold and spun, slamming into Elijah and lunging for his neck. His fangs sank into the Original’s jugular with such savage force it brought the man to his knees, ravaging his skin and tearing apart his throat. Within the span of a few seconds, he had grabbed Elijah’s head and yanked his neck to the side, breaking it with a resounding CRACK before the man could even react. His limp body dropped to the floor, hitting the lavishly decorated rug with a thud, head at an awkward angle and vacant eyes staring towards them, the ravaged skin of his neck a mutilated mess from Sam’s venom-laced bite.

Somewhere to the left, Caroline heard Rebekah's heartbroken wail, but she couldn't move. Couldn’t speak. As they all looked on in horror, Sam stilled over Elijah’s body, straightening his spine and standing tall. He tilted his head in that distinctly canine-like way and sniffed the air, chasing a scent. And then he was slowly turning around, golden eyes landing on Jeremy a few feet away, still standing with Matt. Elijah’s blood was still smeared all over his face, dripping down his chin, and when his black, yellow-rimmed eyes landed on the humans, his lips pulled back over his bloody double fangs. There was no trace of Sam in the animal’s eyes; only the wolf within.

Jeremy took a frightened step backwards and that was all it took for the prey drive to kick in.

“NO! JEREMY!” Elena screamed as Sam pounced, claws extended, and Caroline couldn’t stop her running to her brother, couldn’t save Jeremy, he was too fucking far away—

—And then Kol crashed into Sam’s side, sending them both to the floor.

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 39]

L.

“Love is a vampire’s greatest weakness,” he ground out, calling after him before he could disappear, determined to get in the last word.

Sam stopped in his tracks, slightly turning his head back towards Klaus. Then he smiled, and with one sentence, shattered a belief Klaus had closely courted for centuries. 

“Good thing you’re not a vampire then, isn’t it?”

And with that parting remark, Sam turned and left the room, leaving Klaus wide-eyed, forced to contemplate over what he had said. In the dancing flames of the hearth, the sketches Klaus had thrown into the fire continued to burn, flames licking at their edges and crawling across the lines of charcoal and pencil, leaving nothing but ash behind. He looked down at the last sketch of Caroline he’d drawn: the first moment she stepped into his studio, eyes wide with awe as she craned her head to look up at the paintings hung around on the walls. Fingers reverently skimming over her face, he gently tugged the paper from the pad but didn’t throw it into the flames like the others, placing his sketchbook aside on the mantel almost with half a mind. Then, careful not to damage the soft lines of Caroline’s features, he folded the sketch tentatively in two and slipped it into his back pocket.

He told himself he would burn it later. He didn’t.

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 21]

A.

As he had done a thousand times, Klaus snuck past the soldiers guarding Aurora’s chambers, using the empty servants’ corridors to gain entry after Aurora’s handmaiden had been dismissed for the night. He didn’t bother knocking in his haste, barging into the chambers with little foresight.

Aurora leapt to her feet beside her dresser, whirling around and gasping in fright. Only when she recognised him did she relax, pulling nervously at the edges of her night garments. 

“Nik?” she breathed in surprise, eyes darting to the doors of her chambers, where soldiers were no doubt stationed outside. “What are you doing, the guards will hear you—”

Klaus didn’t stop as he strode across the room towards her.

“Word’s been sent to Elijah that Mikael was spotted across the border. He’s coming.” He grasped her shoulders, leaning down to kiss her brow, before jumping into action again, moving towards her wardrobe. “We have to leave. Tonight.”

Aurora blinked, struggling to follow. “What?”

Klaus began to pull out her favourite dresses and attire, dumping the clothing into a pile on top of her bed, pointing to her books set aside and other treasured items, like her mother’s jewelled comb, as he did so. “Grab whatever you need, if we have a headstart we might have a chance—”

Aurora watched him, eyes darting back and forth as Klaus flashed around the room, collecting her things. Her eyes grew panicked and she shook her head, voice rising as she spoke. “Nik, I don’t understand—”

Noticing her panic, Klaus stopped in the middle of the room, expression softening when his eyes landed on her. Abandoning his mad dash to gather her belongings, he strode over to her, slowing to a gentle stop in front of her. 

“Aurora,” he began, picking up her hands with his own and offering a soft smile that hid his nerves. “Run away with me.” When her mouth parted in surprise, he squeezed her hands tighter, rushing to explain. “You’re always talking about how you wish to see the world—I can show it to you. Let me show it to you.”

Overwhelmed, Aurora struggled to speak. “Nik—I—”

“I love you,” he declared, leaning down to catch her eye. “These last few months I have been reminded of what it is like to live, not just survive. You reminded me.” The smile cut across his cheeks, wider than ever, dimples and all. He ducked down and kissed her knuckles. “Please,” he continued when she still didn’t answer, eyes wide, fixed on his face. “Come with me.”

“Run away with you? Leave my brother? My home?” Aurora asked aloud, her voice shaking. “Tristan—”

Klaus shook his head, grasping her hands tighter, imploring her to listen to him. “Tristan does not love you. He loves the idea of you he has created for himself, the fragile little bird he keeps in a golden cage. The world is bigger than this castle. Let me show you.”

He smiled again, tentative around the edges.

She only looked up at him with a look he couldn’t begin to read.

“How? As we hide? Fleeing your brute of a father? Always on the run, living like dogs?” she demanded. She wrenched her hands from his and scoffed, taking a step back from him, the laugh cruel. “I think not.”

Despite his intention to keep the hurt from his expression, the pain of her rejection was written all over his face. 

“Your… Your brother has turned you from me,” he said, trying to rationalise her actions. Tristan had become more paranoid as of late, ever since he was turned, tightening his hold on Aurora as a result. Almost as if, everything he was before when he was human, had been heightened.

“No,” she immediately refuted, shaking her head. “I turn from you because I do not love you.” 

Klaus froze, as did she, realising what she had just said. Her expression flickered, eyes growing distant as she struggled to comprehend her own emotions, her voice growing more confident with each word. 

“I—I thought I did. But it’s as if I see you clearly for the first time and I–I—” Her gaze shot to his, finally, and seeing the disgust in her eyes, Klaus wished she had never looked at him at all. “I find you a cruel, wretched thing, pathetic, really. And unworthy of anyone’s love, let alone mine.”

He swallowed around the ball building in his throat, voice coming out as little more than a croak. His hands, bereft without hers to hold, fell to his sides. “You don’t mean that.”

“You say you are not a monster, yet you killed your own mother. Because why? She did not love you like she loved your siblings?”

Hurt twisted into rage in an instant and his glare seared into her skin. “That is not the reason I killed her, and you know it,” he ground out.

“How?” she scoffed, the sound slightly hysterical as she stared at him like she didn’t even recognise the man before her. “How could I know such a thing? How do I know anything you have told me is true when you lie to your own siblings? Your own family?” Her face hardened, posture straightening with purpose. “I wonder what they would say if they knew Mikael’s rage was justified.”

Suddenly all Klaus could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. “You swore to never speak of what I did.”

“I owe you nothing,” she sneered. “We are not alike. And I could never love you.”

Every word hit him like a physical blow and Klaus felt something inside him shatter, his entire expression splintering apart.

“Aurora, please—”

He stepped forward, reaching for her, wanting to fix this, to tell her it wasn’t true, that she was just scared, that he would protect her from Mikael, from Tristan, because he loved her and she loved—

“Do not touch me,” she hissed, jerking away from his hand, stepping backwards as she grasped her own arms in a white-knuckled grip. He froze, eyes wide and broken. She refused to look at him.

“Go,” she ordered. When he didn’t move, she raised her voice, screeching the words out. “GO! GET OUT!”

She shoved him away and he stumbled backwards, blinking back to life. He ducked when she threw an empty chalice at him, growing increasingly frenzied in her attempts to get him out. It was only then he finally recognised the look in her eyes— Fear.

She was afraid of him.

“GET OUT!”

His heart in his throat, Klaus backed away, escaping out the room the same way he’d arrived as he dodged the projectiles she threw his way. Her screeched cries followed him and in his haste to get away, he didn’t check the corridor was clear when he emerged out of the passageway and into the light. 

“HEY! You there! Halt!” a guard called out, followed by the loud, clattering steps of armoured footsteps. There was the hiss of blades being drawn and Klaus stopped in his tracks. “Identify yourself!”

At his sides, his hands curled into balled up fists.

“That’s Lord Niklaus,” another voice whispered—another guard. He sounded young.

There was a pause, before the first one spoke again, his voice more respectful but no less suspicious. “What business do you have in this wing of the castle, m’lord?”

Unbeknownst to the men, black veins crawled across Klaus’ cheeks as his eyes bled red, flickering to life. 

“Lady Aurora’s chambers are not far. You don’t think—”

The boy had not yet finished his train of thought before Klaus whirled around, grabbing his sword arm and ripping the limb right from his shoulder. He screamed, blood spurting everywhere. Klaus had already moved onto the other guard as the younger one staggered back, swatting away his sword to grab the man’s neck, shoving him into the wall and grabbing his head, fingers clenching around his helmet. It dented under his supernatural grip and the guard screamed as his skull was caved in, deep throated wails of it, before it suddenly stopped, the man’s gaze turning unseeing as he took his last breath, a resounding crack echoing through the corridor as the helmet pierced the skull, right to the brain. Klaus let him fall, body landing a mangled heap on the floor. Blood dripped from under the helmet and down his brow, a steady stream of red staining the frenchman’s skin.

The helmet itself glinted in the candlelight and Klaus could see his own face staring up at him from the reflection in the golden metal. There was blood on his face, wet specs of it sprayed all over his skin like a macabre painting of freckled watercolour.

“We are not alike. And I could never love you.”

He didn’t wipe it away.

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 5]

W.

“What do you want this time, daywalker?” the man spat, lip curling over elaborate blue-toned tattoos that covered half of his face, firelight bouncing off one side of his completely shaven scalp. 

“I want information,” Klaus declared with a bright smile, as if he was offering the noblest of deeds to a dear friend. He pulled his leather coin bag from his belt, shaking it at eye level, the golden coins clinking noisily within. “I’m willing to pay you handsomely for it and then, you will never see hair nor hide from me and my family ever again.” 

The witch eyed him suspiciously, glancing between his grin and the bag of coins. After a long, deliberating moment, the witch opened the door wider and reached for the payment. Klaus moved the bag out of reach, expression flatlining into something dangerous. 

“... Unless, of course,” he warned, “You are foolish enough to ever side with my enemies in the near future.”

The witch glared at him, meeting the Original’s challenge with bravery and reaching over the threshold, away from safety, to grab the bag of coins.

“I have no intention to quarrel with the likes of you,” he said, snatching the payment out of Klaus’ hand. “What is it you wish to know?” he asked, eyeing Klaus one more time before turning around.

Klaus moved to follow but stopped, unable to, magic keeping him out without an invite into the home. Mouth curled into a sneer, Klaus raised his gaze from the infuriating doorway to the witch inside, who was walking back to his work table where the carcasses of several animals sat. He grabbed a huge meat cleaver where it hung off a hook attached to the rafters, carrying it over to the table and continuing his work, beginning to gut a brown, pink-nosed weasel.

The smell of blood wafted into the air as flesh was sliced apart and Klaus turned his head away, not squeamish by a long shot but definitely hungry, staring instead at the numerous dried out herbs and charmed objects hanging from the ceiling, the air thick with magic. Along the shelves, ceramic jars stood in stacked rows, packed with all sorts of things; frogs legs and pigs hearts, moonstones and mandrake roots, even hare’s eyes—they stared back at him, magically blinking, very much somehow alive, watching his every movement with unnerving intensity. 

“You are familiar with the wolves in this area, are you not?” Klaus asked, trying to ignore the shiver that crawled up his spine.

He remembered the hut his mother used for spells and blessings throughout his childhood, the heavy atmosphere of magic that thickened the air like an ever-present fog and the uneasiness it gave him whenever he stepped inside. Kol and Finn always loved it, said it felt like mother was embracing them. For Klaus, it was suffocating.

“I was,” the witch drawled, glancing up at Klaus as he pulled out the weasel’s intestines, “Before your family slaughtered what was left of them.”

“What was left of them,” Klaus echoed. His eyes narrowed. “Such a specific choice of words.”

Once Klaus and Kol had reunited with their siblings the morning after the wolf pack’s attack, they had sought those responsible. Unprotected by the might of the full moon, the wolves that had not perished under The Black Wolf’s claws met a terrible end, bled dry by his family’s fangs. But how would the witch know about the Black Wolf that had interfered, even when his family did not?

“Ask your question, demon,” the witch said with a sigh, impatient, wanting him to get to the point.

“A black wolf, larger than your average werewolf. Powerful, too,” Klaus described, intently watching the witch for his reaction. “What do you know of it?”

The witch paused. Calmly, he set his cleaver down, discarding the weasel’s pelt and throwing it onto a pile on the floor, wiping his bloody hands in the fabric of his apron. His eyes found Klaus, a grimace on his face.

“The Dolpha pack that rules the northern territories… they call him der Schatten.”

“The Shadow,” Klaus breathed, translating the name.

The witch nodded, hesitantly continuing his story. “He is a ghost, a story wolf-folk tell their children at night before they sleep. A protector that stalks the land, searching for the prince that was taken by der Zerstörer. They say he walks in his shadow, hunting him forevermore.”

“Der Zerstörer?” Klaus repeated, stumbling over the unfamiliar word, the language of the Franks far more familiar to him than his Germanic.

“The Destroyer.”

Klaus felt himself freeze; felt as his muscles tensed at the mere utterance of the feared moniker Mikael had begun to answer to.

“And what is this… ghost?” Klaus asked, teeth gritted as he forced the question out. At his sides, his hands clenched around the wood of the doorframe. “What gives him power?”

“You say his pelt was black, yes? And powerful, very powerful?”

“Yes.”

“My guess is he is a Bloodborne,” the witch said with a shrug, grabbing the organs of the weasel he had just gutted and throwing them into a huge cauldron that bubbled and boiled over the fire-fueled stove. “They are a powerful breed of werewolf, descended from the oldest bloodlines of their kind. At the turn of a blood moon, their power is… unmatched.”

Klaus remembered how Mikael used to cower during the nights of the blood moon when he was but a child, refusing to allow any member of their clan to leave the caves even when the moon had waned and the sun had set twice more. Superstition, he had believed it to be then. Now, more aware of magical practices and the power of celestial events, he knew the true monsters to fear on such a night were the witches, not the werewolves.

But perhaps he was wrong.

“One Bloodborne pack was well-known in the Scandinavian regions for their pelts, black as the night, made of the thickest shadows,” the witch continued, providing Klaus with more food for thought. “They inspired many myths of the great Fenrir in the times of Old, no doubt, before the Great Purge came. Perhaps he is a descendent of them.”

“Can he be killed?” Klaus asked, that ever-present worry that the Black Wolf—despite its peaceful actions so far—was a threat to his family loud in his mind.

“Any werewolf can be killed,” the witch said with a cruel laugh, turning around to shoot Klaus a serious look. “Just make sure you aim for the neck." He grinned. "A wolf cannot bite without a head.”

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 7]

S.

Sam had transformed, his wolf chained by the ankles to the walls of the pen, with even a god damn collar circling his neck, locking him to a chain bolted to the floor. They’d attempted to give him a make-shift muzzle; straps of leather wrapped endlessly around his snout, clamping his jaws together so tightly Klaus could see the straps digging painfully into his flesh from where he was standing, rubbing it raw. Patches of blood decorated his pelt, a macabre splash of colour against the shades of brown and cream. The wolf was unconscious—thankfully—motionless against the floor, Kiera kneeled right beside him trying to tear the chains away, straining in her attempt.

“Don’t just stand there! Help me!” she called over to him, eyes panicked. Finally, the chain she was pulling at gave way, the metal links loudly snapping in half under strength. Even as she threw it away, she started coughing, the vervain still hanging in the air clogging her throat. “If he wakes with these around him—”

She choked, and it sounded like a sob before she could quell it. Kiera didn’t cry. In over eight hundred years, Klaus had rarely seen her shed more than one tear—at least, not when there were witnesses. 

Something in Klaus’ expression hardened, and he didn’t need her to finish her train of thought, already rushing to her side. He knelt down, grabbing onto the next chain just as she reached for it herself.

“On three?” he asked her. She nodded. Klaus gritted his teeth as he wrapped his hands around the cold iron, changing his grip. “One…two…three!”

They both pulled on the metal with all their strength, straining from the effort, and this time, with Tyler’s power added to hers—both wolf and vampire—the chain snapped much quicker, breaking from the combined force. Klaus moved to rip the makeshift muzzle away as Kiera moved onto the next chain, desperate to get the wolf out of the restraints.

“Knife,” Klaus ordered, holding a hand out expectantly when he failed to tear the leather wrapped around the wolf’s snout with his bare hands. Kiera quickly paused in her attempts to break the chain, lifting up her foot and planting it on the floor, pulling a wicked-looking knife from her ankle, sharper than those she used to throw. She slammed it onto Tyler’s palm, and Klaus curled the boy’s fingers around the handle, immediately using it to cut away the tight straps of leather, careful not to cut the wolf’s flesh. Underneath the leather, the skin was read and raw, weeping. Klaus clenched his jaw. Kiera refused to look, resuming her attempts to break the last of the chains.

Working together, they managed to free the wolf; Kiera worked the chains, pulling the bolts from the floor and tearing the links from the collar, while Klaus cut away the muzzle, discarding the scraps of leather and wire one by one. Throughout it all, the wolf barely stirred, eyelids fluttering open once or twice, only to fall shut once more.

“Need help with the collar?” Klaus asked, when the muzzle was gone, the wolf’s jaw free. He sincerely hoped that wouldn’t bite him in the arse later. Literally.

The metal collar was a heavy thing, weighing a dozen tonnes. With the added weight, Klaus could barely move the wolf’s head—probably by design.

“Grab the other side,” Kiera ordered, already moving onto it, Klaus following. She grabbed the leather clasps around the neck first, unbuckling them, before nodding at Klaus, indicating for him to pull out the bolt that attached the two halves of the collar on the other side. At her nod, he ripped it out with a snarl, and she caught the part that fell to the floor while Klaus caught the top, careful to make sure both pieces didn’t fall on the wolf’s paws and injure him further.

“How is he?” Klaus asked, watching Kiera as she put her piece of the collar down, reaching for the wolf’s head immediately. She ran her fingers through his fur, brushing back his ears. They twitched at her touch, and on the ground, his paws tensed, claws digging into the wood.

“Sssh,” Kiera hushed softly, and although the wolf’s eyes didn’t open, he must have recognised her voice, because the beast’s entire body sagged. She pulled his huge head into his lap, her lip thinning into a grim line as her eyes landed on his swollen snout.

“He’ll heal, once we’re out of this air,” she murmured, scanning the rest of his body worriedly. “I’m more worried about what this implies. Shouldn’t he have shifted back by now?”

Klaus rolled Tyler’s jaw, shaking his head as he too looked the wolf up and down. “It’s the Heel. It locks them in this form—”

“I know it locks them in this form, Klaus,” Kiera snapped, looking right at him. “I’ve seen what hunters do with their heads, let alone their hides.”

Not all hunters killed vampires and werewolves alike just because of some divine calling to rid the world of all evil, or because they decided they alone could protect those they loved from the monsters lurking in the dark. Some merely used that as an excuse.

Some, hunted the supernatural world for sport.

Those hunters were the kind of men and women that didn’t care whose lives they took, taking fangs from vampires and claws from werewolves as trophies, mounting the wolf heads on their walls and decorating their floors with their hides. Heel locked a werewolf in their canine forms even after a death, making it possible to skin the corpse and take the pelt. On the black market, the rarest werewolf pelts were worth a small fortune—a white pelt, for example, had sold at auction three years ago in Seoul for over 2 billion won.

Klaus dared not imagine how much his pelt would be worth.

“All this time… and they thought we were the monsters,” Kiera continued, gently brushing her fingers through the fur at wolf’s neck. “We need to make them pay,” she whispered. 

Klaus gritted his teeth, shooting her a warning look even though he longed to agree with her. “We will, but not now,” he hissed. “We had a plan.”

“They used Heel on him, Klaus,” she snarled, eyes shooting to glare at him, veins crawling along her cheeks. The monster was hungry. “They need to burn.”

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 42]

The word is 🦇BITE🦇

Tagging @stars-and-darkness @marxandangels @bellemorte180 @ks-caster @iturnlemonadeintolemons and @stardust414 because i'm sure you could adapt this for art wips

[lovemyromance]

your posts are literally the elriel bible, I don't think i've disagreed with a single one.

In general, elriels agree on a lot of things which is why it's so odd to find EL/GAs fighting with themselves over "elriels say elains gonna be a warrior" and "elriels say elain's gonna save illyria" because I have never EVER seen a single elriel say such a thing. I saw a long post from some elucien about how elriels self-insert and then they listed a long list of things about what canon elain is - except i don't think elriels would even disagree with what they were saying?

It got kind of muddy when they started trying to claim that "canonically azriel only lusts after elain" but whatever - you get the point. Why are they putting words in our mouths?

Thank you :) I know I always excessively post about elriel (because I'm pretty sure I have the attention span of a squirrel), but some days these petty arguments really make my eye twitch.

Idk why antis seem to think Elriels want Elain to be some warrior, savior of Illyria, High Queen type character. I thought we've all been pretty vocal in wanting to keep her femininity and her kindness and finding strength in her compassion.

If it's because the fanarts....well I think we've all established that nobody is really claiming fanarts to be canon. I think that goes without saying when we have fanart of an Elriel family with Illyrian offspring - or when Eluciens have fanart of Elain looking happy around Lucien lmao. Both are not canon. Who cares - it's fanart? It's not like we really going to pretend that all their fanart is canon either?

Because canonically - Elain can't stand Lucien. Canonically, Azriel has literally never touched Gwyn.

There are basic traits to these characters that nobody can deny. But the antis always have a way of adding additional, personal bias into things. They say Elain's not a warrior - cool, that's true, that's canon – but then they take it a step too far and try to claim its canon that she abhors all violence and she would never touch a dagger and she would hate Azriel because he's a warrior.

Canonically, Elain killed the fucking King of Hybern. She might not crave violence (oh- also what an odd thing to claim - that ANY character loves violence, btw), but she has already proven to be violent when needed.

Canonically, Elain does use a dagger. Not just any dagger - Truthteller.

Nobody's saying she out here training as a Valkyrie at the HOW - but she's not just sitting here in frolicking in a meadow while the rest of her friends and family go to war. She was literally taken AWAY from the main battle in ACOWAR and she still showed back up to pull the most badass move in the books, saving everyone.

Idk what about that is so hard to understand. No Elriel has said she's gonna save Illyria (lol), no one has claimed she's going to be Enalius the Second, nobody is out here waiting for her to take part in the BR and also become a Carthyian.

Elriels like Elain as she is. And even though she's not a warrior, even though she doesn't enjoy violence, even though she isn't a Cartyhian – Azriel still adores her. Azriel still wants her enough to question his religion. That's literally in the books. I can give you the exact page number and quote. I don't need to do any "extra analysis"

You want to talk about canon? Let's talk about how Elain is so perfect that she has even the most brooding warrior falling for her. Let's talk about how Azriel was willing to fight in a blood duel for her. Let's talk about how she was so ready to have a tryst with the Spymaster under everyone's watchful eyes.

We don't need to change anything about Elain, certainly not to have her end up with Azriel. Elriel having feelings for each other is already canon. Elriels did not have to change a single thing about them for them to find each other. That was SJM, so take it up with her.

I mean - she kind of ate when she summed up their relationship in ACOWAR with that scene in the garden...they might not make sense on paper but there's something poetic about them

[daisywords]

Consider checking out the Nature Conservancy if you're looking for a constructive way to channel climate anxiety

(spotlighting Emerald Edge here bc that area is particularly beloved to me)

[astrojulia]

Hi!! I saw your blog and it's beautiful! I'd like to ask if you could share some tips about editing posts, specifically changing the font color and doing that cool effect where it has more than one color on the same font ☺ if you're not comfortable teaching that's okay too! Have a good night

Hello Siren,

Thank you for the compliment. Yes, I can teach you. Just follow a tip from Auntie here: do it because you genuinely like the aesthetic. The time you spend writing the post is sometimes the same as editing it, and in my experience, this won't necessarily translate into more likes or reblogs. So, do it because you think it's beautiful.

As comical as it sounds, I won't be using HTML in this post because using the codes could cause problems. I've seen some tutorials, but I just really learned when I searched on my own.. I also do all my editings on my notebook. So, here's everything I use:

Websites I use for editing:

HTML Code Editor: While you're creating your HTML, you can simultaneously see if it's working

BBcode & HTML Text Colorizer: This is where you'll create the gradient

Browserling: I use this site to make the gradient code compatible for Tumblr

Aesthetic Symbols: this is for that cute symbols

Piliapp: more copy/paste symbols

Fontes e Letras: copy/paste fonts

Canva: This is where I create some of my designs. I also use Photoshop

Deviantart: a lot of material for Photoshop like templates, PSDs and Renders (PNG image with a good resolution), you can see the ones I use the most in my sources

@animatedglittergraphics-n-more: dividers

@saradika: dividers

@engrampixel: cute material

Color Hunt: if you don't have a color pallete in mind, here you can find a lot of options

Adobe Color: if you want to create your own HTML color palette this site can help

DaFont: where I download my fonts, the ones I use the most are: Betterfly, Arcadepix, Starborn, Lemon Milk, Cursive Sans and BubbleGum

EmojiTerra: as I use tumblr on my notebook, this is where I get my emojis

HTML Text Editing

Important:

Go use the HTML Code Editor in this part and your life will be way easier.

Some things I do right here in the tumblr editor, like putting the images and different fonts like Lucille.

All HTML code starts with < > and ends with , that is, when you start a paragraph you will write <p> and when you finish you will write </p> (HTML Code Editor ends your coding automatically)

I'm teaching all this because if you want to make gradients in your entire text and not just in the title, you'll need to know about html

To start your HTML you will need to go to the gear that appears on the right side when you are writing your post, go to the bottom until you find the Text Editor and switch to HTML.

The Codes

<p> start a paragraph </p>

<br> to make a space between text less than a paragraph (good to use in indented text) you don't need to put </br>

<b> make the text bold </b>

<i> leave the text in italics</i>

<strike> leave the text crossed out </strike>

<small> make the text small like this </small>

<h1> make the text large like this </h1>

<h2> make the text large like this </h2>

<ul> Create unordered list (dotted) </ul>

<ol>Create lists with order (numeric) </ol>

*instead of making paragraphs you will create new items in the list using the code <li> </li>

<blockquote class="npf_indented"> make the text indented </blockquote>

<span style="color: #HTML"> Code to color your texts, pay attention that it uses (") instead of (') and doesn't use (;) </span>

Tutorial on creating invisible spaces, just like I use to do the navigation, if I put it here everything bugs. PT-BR

<a href="URL">Link Text</a>: Creates a hyperlink

Making your Gradient

Go to BBCode and HTML already with your HTML text and colors in hand. Write or copy your text in the box, choose the gradient type (I use middle) and select your colors (from one to three different colors)

Now copy the text in the "HTML code for this text: (To use on your website)" box and go to the Browseling, you will replace the (') to (") and the (;) for nothing

Copy and paste your new code direct in your tumblr post editor or in the HTML Code Editor. Success!!

I think that's all. Kisses from the Sea! 🐚

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Bridge Between Brazilian States of Tocantins and Maranhão Collapses; One Dead and Several Missing

Trucks That Fell Into the River Were Carrying Acid and Agricultural Chemicals; Risk of Contamination

A bridge on the border between the states of Tocantins and Maranhão collapsed on Sunday afternoon (22), leaving at least one person dead and around ten missing.

The Juscelino Kubitschek de Oliveira Bridge connects the municipalities of Aguiarnópolis (TO) and Estreito (MA), spanning the Tocantins River. It is part of the BR-226 highway, a segment of the Belém-Brasília route. The collapse occurred around 2:50 p.m., affecting the central span of the 533-meter-long structure.

Local governments have issued warnings advising residents of both cities to avoid contact with the waters of the Tocantins River following the bridge's collapse, as there is a risk of contamination.

Continue reading.

[tmnt-write-fight]

Query, how do we use the official templates to make a prompt post?

It's occured to me that I forgor to put the html codes for the templates, so here they are under the read more.

-Mod Peepaw

If you want to use them, you can get them by copying the HTML code below, setting up a new tumblr post on browser to HTML editing, paste, and then switch back to normal!

Foot Clan Template <div class="npf_row"><figure class="tmblr-full" data-orig-height="319" data-orig-width="1800"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/ff9d69382e3962a8c0a7d982276665b0/03d2510fd6bf4054-fe/s2048x3072/85cff6037b2bb2d48a953b812e715369ec1e9ee9.pnj" data-orig-height="319" data-orig-width="1800" srcset="https://64.media.tumblr.com/ff9d69382e3962a8c0a7d982276665b0/03d2510fd6bf4054-fe/s2048x3072/85cff6037b2bb2d48a953b812e715369ec1e9ee9.pnj 1800w" sizes="(max-width: 1280px) 100vw, 1280px"></figure> </div> <h2><b>Name:</b></h2> <p>~&#9679;&#9675;&deg;&#9679;&#9675;&deg;&#9679;&#9675;~<br><br><b>Likes</b>: Favorite tropes and such<br><b>Squicks</b>: Anything that you don't like or want in your fics<br><b>Favorite Iteration(s)</b>:</p> <p>~&#9679;&#9675;&deg;&#9679;&#9675;&deg;&#9679;&#9675;~<br><br><span style="color: #ff4930"><b>Prompt</b></span><b> #1</b><br>-<br><br><span style="color: #ff4930"><b>Prompt</b></span><b> #2</b><br>-<br><br><span style="color: #ff4930"><b>Prompt</b></span><b> #3</b><br>-<br><br><span style="color: #ff4930"><b>Prompt</b></span><b> #4</b><br>-<br><br><span style="color: #ff4930"><b>Prompt</b></span><b> #5</b><br>-<br><br>~&#9679;&#9675;&deg;&#9679;&#9675;&deg;&#9679;&#9675;~</p>

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[blindmagdalena]

Pocket Rocket ( Homelander x Madelyn )

18+ 1.9k micro/macro, external only, mild objectification, grinding, under clothing play, uh... sexy shenanigans with super powers. written for @cozycornerkinktober!

After Vought develops a shrinking serum, they decide to test it on their resident lab rat. Homelander takes surprisingly well to being 4 inches tall, especially when it comes to spending time with his favorite manager.

set pre s1. i... have nothing to say for myself lmao this is my first time writing anything like this, so be kind to me. thank you @xieyaohuan and @deliciouskeys for your enthusiastic encouragement. 🖤

It started off innocently enough.

By utilizing the biological response that the hero Termite’s DNA has to Compound V, Vought scientists are able to distill a potent serum that temporarily shrinks any hero to Termite’s infamous size. The results vary from hero to hero, but generally speaking, those with higher concentrations of Compound V in their system fare the best.

Naturally, Homelander is the perfect candidate for the continued trials. The strategic potential this offers them, in combination with his other powers, is undeniable. He could be anywhere at any time, practically invisible.

The one perk Madelyn didn’t anticipate was how intensely docile it would make the supe.

Even now as she works, he lays sprawled out in her upturned palm, fitted in a tiny replica of his suit. He had insisted the details be perfect, all the way down to his boots. She has to admit, it’s rather charming. 

The serum doesn’t reduce him to quite the size Termite is able to accomplish. He’s about four inches tall, spanning the base of her middle finger to the bottom of her palm. Due to the sheer volume of V in his system, depending on how high of a dosage he takes, the solution can last as long as eight hours without any side effects. He’s been keen to make very good use of the time he has with it, eager to test it whenever the matter arises.

As for Madelyn, she doesn’t mind one bit. Not only does it allow her to keep an eye on him, it keeps him quiet and perfectly manageable. He rolls over in her palm, cushioning his head on his arm, and she can see in her peripheral vision that he’s smiling up at her. When she glances down, he closes his eyes like he’s sleeping.

Cute.

Her phone rings, and instead of rolling him onto the desk or awkwardly reaching across herself to answer it, she tugs open the breast pocket of her button-up and gently plops him inside it. She can feel him squirm a bit, but she knows he can fly out at any time if he wants to. However, it quickly becomes apparent that he isn’t squirming at all. He’s just making himself comfortable.

Taking her call, Madelyn does her best to ignore the sudden dim pulse stirring between her thighs.

From that point on, it’s a gradual escalation that, frankly, she should have seen coming.

He becomes obsessed with situating himself in her pockets, be they pants, skirt, or shirt. Any time he experiences so much as a modicum of stress, he seizes it as an opportunity to be tiny and close to her, seeking comfort in the same ways he always has, but with the added benefit of not pestering Madelyn when she has important matters to tend to. Besides, this little ritual of theirs has significantly improved his temperament.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s begun to enjoy it herself.

When the day comes that he storms into her office, pitching some kind of fit that a news station has run a cutting exposé on one of his recent heroic endeavors–citing a wealth of unnecessary collateral damage that she had already thoroughly reprimanded him for–she’s quick to reach for the stash of serums she now keeps in a small fridge behind her desk.

It isn’t until he’s nestled contentedly in the circle of her fingers that she realizes she doesn’t have pockets in this outfit.

With a thoughtful click of her tongue, she makes a choice and partially unbuttons her blouse. “Be good,” she tells him, and sets him on the curve of her breast, tucking him into just the top of her bra. She’s certain that she’s never seen him so delighted, nor has she ever felt him take so long to get comfortable. 

The pulse between her legs has grown to a steady throb, and she can no longer deny that this is almost as much for her as it is for him.

The cup of her bra immediately becomes his new favorite spot. He’s even less conspicuous there than he’d been in her breast pocket, and she doesn’t have to worry as much about someone taking note of him as she goes about her work day. They’ve both begun to look forward to these days, to the point where Madelyn will often shuffle his schedule around in order to ensure he has at least one full day free of duty.

The dam doesn’t truly break until one such day she feels him shuffle down lower, squirming more than usual, followed by a pleasant little pinch that makes her whole body jolt. “What are you doing in there?” She asks with a furrow of her brows, hooking her fingers delicately over her blouse and bra, peering inside.

She finds Homelander pressed snugly between her bra and her breast, cupping her nipple between his hands, face pressed into it. She realizes that his squirming was him grinding against her. He turns his head to look sheepishly up at her, muttering something she can’t hear due to his size. He’s flushed thoroughly pink, looking like he expects to be reprimanded. She swallows thickly, the aching throb of her clit doubling at the needy sight of him tucked in against her.

Breathing a touch shallower, she gives him the barest hint of a nod and covers him back up, cupping her breast instead, feeling him in her palm through the layers of her shirt. He starts thrusting again, grinding against her soft skin, squeezing and nuzzling at her nipple with more vigor now. She shivers, holding him tight to her chest while she deftly unbuttons her skirt with her other hand, slipping her fingers into her underwear.

She fingers herself to the feel of him writhing against her until she comes. Neither of them speak of it, nor his tiny soiled suit.

After that, they stop bothering with the tiny suit altogether during these times. Seems foolish to keep making a mess of it. Besides, she takes (perhaps too much) pleasure in stripping him of each piece, holding him delicately in her hand as she pinches his gloves between her middle finger and thumb, sliding it off and setting each one to the side. He’s entirely malleable as she does it, watching her with parted lips and heavily lidded, love drunk eyes.

It’s been a busy few weeks since they were able to do this, and her skin is already prickling with anticipation. She’s wearing a dress today, and as per usual, she slips him into the cup of her bra to get comfortable as he pleases.

She’s worked up enough that she has to lay back while he gets settled, closing her eyes to enjoy the moment. Her heart is already beating in her clit, and he’s taking longer than usual to establish himself. “Homelander,” she warns, giving him a light pat through her shirt. “Settle down.”

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he pulls himself out entirely, popping up from the neckline of her dress. He swings his arm, beckoning her, and she picks him up, bringing him close to her ear once she realizes he wants to speak.

“I can hear you throbbing in your underwear, Madelyn,” he says, voice thoroughly addled with his own lust. “Why don’t you stick me where you really want me?”

Drawing her hand away, she shoots him a critical look. “You think you’ve earned that?”

He nods enthusiastically, looking equal parts convinced of it and hopeful that she is as well.

She supposes that he has been particularly well-behaved as of late. Is this why? Has he been listening to her arousal all this time, plotting the day he would be pressed against the heat of it? She can’t deny that she’s thought about it, too; wondered if he would feel anything like the vibrator she had pressed to her clit while she was thinking about it.

Slowly, with him sitting naked and eager in the palm of her hand, his cock full and hard, she stands up. He’s starting to look nervous, clearly beginning to think he’s overstepped. She waits until he looks just about ready to apologize or burst into tears—or both, frankly—before she hooks her fingers beneath the hem of her dress and slides it up her thigh.

“Be good,” she tells him, though it's a significantly more salacious demand than the first time she said it in this context.

With that, she closes her fingers around him and slips him into her underwear, releasing him into the narrow space between her cotton panties and her pulsing cunt.

A shiver rolls up her spine. She’s immediately hyper aware of him moving, adjusting until he finds a comfortable way to align against her. Her heart is racing, and she waits until he stops moving before she sits down.

Unlike when he’s tucked into her bra, she’s unable to think of anything other than the feel of him, especially once she’s sitting. She swears she can feel every single one of his movements, which feel more intentional than ever. It’s not as though she’ll crush or smother him; they tested him, and he’s just as durable as he is at his full size. 

He’s not settling like he usually does, either. He hasn’t stopped squirming since she sat down. Instead of chiding him, however, she slips her hand between her thighs and finds his small body with her fingers, letting out a shuddering sigh when she feels him. He isn’t just squirming, he’s thrusting against her, using his unnatural strength to his utmost benefit, writhing against her clit, grinding, using his arms, anything he can, and it feels fucking amazing.

Madelyn moans outright, bracing her other hand against the edge of it in a white-knuckle grip. He’s absolutely relentless, more so than he ever was in her shirt, and it’s everything she imagined it would be and more. The strength he possesses is unreal, and even as small as he is, she feels it in his every movement, how his body practically thrums with it.

She comes with a stifled cry while bent over her desk, every harsh breath sending her documents a little further askew. Only then does he finally stop moving, but throughout her aftershocks she can still feel the inhuman buzz of his body.

Leaning back, she gingerly lifts the waistband of her panties and peers inside, spotting Homelander’s small body. He’s slumped back against her wet panties, glistening and utterly pussy drunk. He offers her a broad, dazed smile.

“Are you alright?” She asks. She’s a little breathless, but she maintains her composed tone of authority well.

He nods, looking positively delirious with pleasure and completely unharmed. She can already tell that he’s come, too, even if she can’t feel the mess of it amongst her own.

“Good,” she says, the word dripping with satisfaction. “You can stay there, then.”

With that, she lets go of her waistband and adjusts her dress back down, running her fingers through her hair while she resettles herself. She leaves him there for the rest of the day, an arrangement that they both wind up being more than content with.

Once settled, he behaves perfectly well for her. Any time she decides she needs a little break from work, all she has to do is rock her hips, and he starts right back up until she’s satisfied once again.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Specified Lines Tag

thank you @space-writes for the tag!! this looks fun 😁 and as usual, "line" is woefully and quite intentionally misinterpreted here lol

I'm tagging @drippingmoon, @zmwrites, @oh-no-another-idea, @timetravelingpigeon, @pertinax--loculos, and it's an open tag so go just fucking crazy-town banana pants!!! you'll be finding:

A line about music

A line about an idea

A line about temperature

A line about a taste

A line about a view (Dark Matter)—

The rock beneath them cracked. A split in the crust, a rush of lava spewing from the fissure. Thrive tilted his head at it and Warren stopped moving. The air felt of television static and smothering heat, flames dancing as far as the eye could see, ripping through the atmosphere and into the cavernous sky over their heads. "I suppose that doesn't bode well," Thrive muttered. He watched a chunk of the planet break off, jettisoning into space.

A line about the past (Aurora)—

Thrive's brow furrowed the longer he watched the projection of the adult obhelian bending to be eye-level with the child, smiling while saying something unheard to them, and the child smiling back. "That's me." "At your ha'dat'thi, yes," ——— said. "With your caretaker, Thoeala'laris. An ascendant of Oruna'polae." Thrive inhaled sharply, turning his gaze away from the projection, but he said nothing else. "You did not deserve the treatment you endured after your entu'borah, but it cannot be denied that Thoeala'laris made sure that a scared obhelian child with no idea of where he came from—or where his parents were—felt safe and loved. She kept you busy, fed you knowledge, built the confidence within you that spanned the rest of your life to where you're standing at this very moment." As they spoke, the projections melted into images of Thoeala'laris teaching younger Thrive to use his abilities, to change forms, and helping with what looked to be schoolwork on a large touchscreen on a wall. The patience in her silenced interactions with Thrive made Warren's heart swell, and he could see the warring emotions behind Thrive's eyes. "She passed away before your entu'borah. She would have been very proud of the obhelian you've become."

A line about a smell (Meridian)—

Warren faltered as he attempted to pass the door to his bedroom. He hadn't gone inside since Thrive's disappearance, and he definitely didn't want to now. The tug at him was strong, though, and he somewhat expected to see him sitting up on the edge of the bed as soon as he opened the door. The room was empty. The bedsheets upset as if he'd just been sleeping a few moments ago, the smell of him still very present. The window was closed as it had been the night he disappeared. Nothing in the room was touched, as if still very much a crime scene. It may as well have been. Warren felt as if he'd swallowed a grenade as he took a step inside, peering around at the unchanged decor, the mocha paint, the art they'd hung on the walls together some years prior. He could still see Thrive's handprint on the window from an anniversary he didn't want to think too much about if he wanted a clear head.

A line about distance (Asylum)—

Warren stepped aside as Ravnik brushed past him. He didn't even have time to recoil before Ravnik input the key into the touchpad and a brief dazzle of amber illuminated the outer corridor behind the sliding door. Thrive's eyes flashed the instant they locked onto Ravnik. For the span of a heartbeat, he appeared cordial and amiable. "Senator," he said. Then, without giving Ravnik a second to process, Thrive jabbed his fist into his throat. Ravnik let out a noiseless cry and doubled over, allowing Thrive the opportunity to take a further step into the room, which he did with a deep and intense glare directly into Ravnik's eyes. His pupils took on a familiar golden glow. The air grew heavy, pressed into Warren's chest, and his ears started to block. He slid closer to Thrive, trying not to make it too obvious that he couldn't pull a breath when a drip of blood skated out of Ravnik's nose and onto the floor. "You great and pathetic fool," Thrive snarled to Ravnik. "Consider yourself fortunate I've allowed you time to rectify your extreme lapse in judgment, as limited as that time is becoming by the day."

[xiaokuer-schmetterling]

PODFICCER (and fic author) RESOURCE: things i learned about HTML today

-> from this reference work on ao3: A Complete Guide to 'Limited HTML' on AO3 by CodenameCarrot (please go leave a comment if you find anything here useful !!!)

EDIT: OMG Y'ALL I HAVE BEEN HAVING SO MUCH NERDY GEEKY FUN TWEAKING MY PODFIC HOW-TO GUIDE WITH THIS STUFF

headings, blockquote, div

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html currently allowed by ao3 html sanitizer

a. abbr. acronym. address. b. big. blockquote. br. caption. center. cite. code. col. colgroup. details. dd. del. dfn. div. dl. dt. em. figcaption. figure. h1. h2. h3. h4. h5. h6. hr. i. img. ins. kbd. li. ol. p. pre. q. rp. rt. ruby. s. samp. small. span. strike. strong. sub. summary. sup. table. tbody. td. tfoot. th. thead. tr. tt. u. ul. var.

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in-line (text) formatting tags supported by ao3

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OMG LOOK AT THIS !!! IDK WHEN I WOULD EVER USE THIS BUT LOOK HOW COOL !!!

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paragraphs & p formats: archiveofourown.org/works/5191202/chapters/161901154#AddParagraphs

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omg I'VE ALWAYS WONDERED HOW TO GET THAT LINE BREAK THINGY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PAGE !!!

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end post

[nikethestatue]

I follow a podcast of sisters who are current deep diving ACOSF and they did an extra episode on Az’s Bonus Chapter. I’m not sure if they are purposely being mindful given the large and loud GA crowd but they literally started off the episode saying how the second half of the bonus chapter convinced them of Gwyn and Az. I’m literally mind blown. Midway, mentioned how maybe Az is just responding to someone (Elain) bc she reciprocates back. Like wow, way make Ariel’s character into a weak minded man who doesn’t know what he wants. I couldn’t listen to the rest of the podcast bc it was so clearly biased. But as a fellow Elriel, are we missing something with the second half of the bonus? I mean there was a reason why it was NOT included-it’s not supposed to change the trajectory of the story. It’s obvious that Gwyn has some LS powers at play so why is everyone so confused?

No, we arent missing anything. What we are, is conditioned to take things online as facts and as 'correct'. The deal with all these podcasters or anyone who wants to make a name for themselves online in the Bookish (or any space) is that they are doing things for clicks and views. The easiest thing to do is to play both sides in this case. Because if they say 'oh Gwynriel is next' then they know that all the GAs will listen and will trust their opinion, because look! these sisters know what they are talking about. They confirmed a bias. BUT, the cool thing for them is this--when Elriel does happen, then they can always shift and say, well, it was always a possibility'! That's it. It's as simple as that. They don't need to sound stupid or misinformed. They can always say 'there was always a 50/50 chance for either couple' even if the chance was never there. Because it cannot be verified.

Now, the question is--did they do the same 'deep dives' into Feysand's bonus? Perhaps the 27 bonuses for HOFAS? Or is it just the very special Azriel's bonus, which didn't even include an FMC in it. Did they address the lack of Azriel's interest in Gwyn post Solstice? Did they explain the lack of the all-mighty necklace on her neck? Did they speak about him being upset 3 days later, and even more withdrawn than usual? Did they ponder on why Azriel hardly reacted to Gwyn being in the BR? Because Cassian CERTAINLY reacted to Nesta being stolen.

I bet none of this happened.

Also, how low can your self-esteem as a woman be when you are gagging over a guy who, in the span of 16 hours or so, can go from gagging over one woman's pussy to switching to another woman?

Basically, the issue with everything is the same as we've discussed before--pick n choose. Pick Azriel's bonus and choose what you want to concentrate on. Don't pick Feysand's bonus and don't choose to talk about what we learn there.

Anyway, it's all just talk.

[bellessimaa]

After you, Miss Sharma

Chapter 3 is out!

The Sharmas and Lady Danbury travel to Aubrey hall, and the Bridgerton’s impeccable hospitality is usurped only once, by an unexpected gift. An exploration of rhe growing closeness between Kate and the Bridgertons, and a nod to sisterly love. Kate and Anthony find themselves between a lot of chopped wood, and Lady Danbury sees quite clearly.

OR

An ode to selfishness.

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/56761909"><strong>After You, Miss Sharma</strong></a> (16016 words) by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellessimaa"><strong>Bellessimaa</strong></a><br />Chapters: 3/10<br />Fandom: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Bridgerton%20(TV)">Bridgerton (TV)</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Bridgerton%20Series%20-%20Julia%20Quinn">Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn</a><br />Rating: General Audiences<br />Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply<br />Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma<br />Characters: Anthony Bridgerton, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Agatha Danbury, Edwina Sheffield | Edwina Sharma, Thomas Dorset<br />Additional Tags: Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma Needs a Hug, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma is a Metaphorical Queen, Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma Being Clowns, Anthony Bridgerton is Obsessed with Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma Takes No Shit, Anthony Bridgerton is a Simp for Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton Pines Over Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Protective Anthony Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton Needs A Hug, Anthony Bridgerton Being an Idiot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Bridgerton (TV) Fusion, Season/Series 02, the fix it we all need, this is not anti-Edwina or anti-anybody, this is largely about Kate and anthongy, with some good old meddling Bridgertons, He is going to beg on his knees for her to say yes, because I said so, watch as his interest shifts from Edwina to the woman who enraptures and commands his whole being, watch the man bend to the bane of his existence, Jealous Anthony Bridgerton, scheming Bridgertons<br />Summary: <p>A retelling of season two because I am far too late into the fandom and about as besotted by Kanthony as season 3 Anthony is by his wife. I know this has been done to death but please bear with me, I have so much to say about so many scenes!!!</p><p>This will span nine episodes, starting from the soiree with extra scenes and changes according to what I have in mind. This is just another way these beautiful and slightly broken souls came to one another, jagged piece by jagged piece, and became the Kanthony we so adore.</p>