#angels of death and grief au

[let-me-take-your-soul]

Ohh I absolutely love the au's you write!! Can you do another in the WOD&G (ings of death and grief) au? Surprise me, since OP gave alotta details in their prompt that I LOVED, I'd like to see what you can come up with yourself!

Heck yeah! I dunno what it is about this au, but it's been making me love writing for Spirit, so this, per usual, heavily focuses on his perspective. Thanks for the request!

Angels of Death AU: Author's Pick (Time of death for Asura and Lord Death)

“Thank you again for watching over Kiddo while we’re gone, Spirit!” Lord Death said as he happily bounced around, prepping for the mission at hand.

“Yeah, no problem. How long did you say you’d be gone?” Spirit asked.

Asura seemed to freeze up at the question and looked to his dad. Lord Death stopped what he was doing and tilted his head at Spirit. The action seemed innocent enough, but the uncomfortable pause in it demanded a slight feeling of worry in Spirit.

“Oh, we shouldn’t be longer than two days,” Lord Death answers.

Asura relaxed, but Spirit was on edge. Something about this mission was far too mysterious and off. The strange reactions to how long it would take made Spirit immediately concerned. Still, Lord Death began bopping around again and eventually made his way to Kid, giving him a big hug and ruffling his hair, which in turn made Kid flustered and he ran off to fix his hair.

Spirit turned to the other reapers in the room, his tone turning more serious than before now that the youngest was out of the room.

“So, what’s this mission for anyway?” he asks.

“That’s classified,” Asura answers coldly.

“There’s no need to worry, Spirit! It’s just some political ambassador work we’re doing,” Lord Death chimes in.

“Well, something seems off about it. You were acting very strange when I asked how long you’d be gone,” Spirit told them.

“Yes… well, we didn’t want to worry Kid, but two days is just our ideal goal. It may take a much longer time,” Lord Death explained. It still felt to Spirit like he was hiding something.

“Alright, then. Am I allowed to know where you’re going in case something is needed from me?” he asks.

Lord Death pulls out a map and hands it to Spirit. A red circle is drawn around a fairly large portion of the map.

“This is the territory we’ll be in. We can’t give exact locations, but on the off chance we need to call for backup, we’ll have the area narrowed down for you.”

This eased Spirit’s worries minimally, but he accepted the map and tucked it away. Whatever their mission was, it was far more dangerous than they wanted to admit.

Kid eventually came back and hugged his dad and brother again before the two older reapers were off. Spirit took in the hugs that lasted longer than usual, and he observed the nervous mannerisms of the two reapers. Still, he didn’t say anything as they left, and he began his time watching over Kid.

The first day that the reapers were gone went smoothly. Spirit took Kid to the skatepark and watched as he rode around, seeming completely carefree. Spirit still felt worried, but he allowed himself to let those feelings pass by. The reapers would have made it to their destination now, and if they needed help, they would have called for backup by now. Whatever this mission is, Spirit figured it must be going alright.

.

.

.

The second day that Spirit and Kid were together, they were spending the day inside. Spirit sat on the couch and listened while Kid read a book aloud to him. It had been raining all morning. Spirit paused Kid for a moment and said,

“You know what I think we need for this gloomy day? Hot chocolate! I’ll go make some for us, but you can keep reading.”

Spirit got up and walked to the adjacent kitchen. He pulled out his phone, checking to see if any updates had been sent to him yet. Nothing from Death or Asura, but he did get a text from little Maka! It was a simple question about where he had put a new book he’d bought for her, but still his heart swelled. He adored his daughter and was always so happy to hear from her since they didn’t always get to see each other. Today was shaping up to be a good day.

Spirit worked as quietly as possible to make two mugs of hot cocoa for him and Kid. It was nice hearing Kid read. It reminded him of being home with Maka, who always had her head in a book. She was such a bright girl, just like her mother. Today was a nice day, Spirit felt, and the hot chocolate was a nice touch. He walked back into the living room and placed one of the mugs of the hot chocolatey beverage on the table next to Kid.

Spirit took his spot back on the couch adjacent to Kid’s reading chair, laying back and listening intently to his voice. There were a few pauses between sentences as Kid sipped his drink, and Spirit could slowly feel himself drift off to sleep.

.

.

.

CRASH!

Spirit was immediately woken up, and he jumped up. There was glass and splatters of liquid on the ground. As Spirit’s brain began to fully wake up and comprehend his surroundings, he saw Kid collapsed on the ground next to the mug, his body seizing. Spirit jumped into action and quickly scooped Kid up, moving him away from the broken shards of the mug that had been dropped. It was subtle at first, but Spirit could sense a strange burst of power emanating from Kid.

Confused and scared, Spirit kept Kid away from anything that could potentially hurt him with his body in this erratic state– but it seemed that the furniture around them would be the ones on the receiving end of damage instead. That feeling of power Spirit felt kept growing until Kid’s soul physically manifested around them. His soul was pulsing, it seemed that his soul was in pain too. Spirit didn’t know what was happening until another sound of shattering pierced his ears. The sound was so loud that his own ears began ringing. He noticed then– there were cracks forming on Kid’s soul. The once bluish-white light of the soul was now being dimmed by a fog of black and red. It looked like his soul was bleeding. Spirit realized then– one of the reapers had been killed. Kid was suffering the effects of their power being passed on to him.

Kid’s body continued to writhe, but he seemed conscious enough as he moved onto his stomach and began screaming. Spirit stayed close by, trying to push through the shock. He grabbed Kid’s hand, and Kid gripped onto it. His grip was so strong, Spirit figured that it’d be bruised by the time he got it back. Kid’s body arched and there was a sound of tearing as two large black clumps began to protrude from his back. As two large wings began to form, there was another sudden pulse in Kid’s soul and he let out another agonizing wail. Spirit felt another wave of power burst through the room. It caused him to be thrown up momentarily as Kid’s grip on Spirit’s hand hardened. He could feel it pop and ache, and he was sure parts of his hand were broken now. Still– he didn’t try to break away from Kid. There was nothing he could do to help him, but at least he wouldn’t be alone. The furniture around them had slammed into the walls around them. A lot of flimsier items were visibly broken, but Spirit was sure everything had experienced some kind of damage.

Kid’s screams had destroyed his voice so much that even through his pain, he could barely be heard. At least until his wings began to pulse again. Kid let out one more sharp screech. Spirit saw his face was leaking an inky black substance from every orifice. Then he watched as the already large wings burst even further out of his back. They looked horrifically broken now and most of the feathers were missing in large clumps. After the wings seemed to finish growing, they collapsed uselessly around Kid and Kid’s body slumped entirely down onto the floor, still seizing occasionally. Spirit gently wrapped his arms around Kid. He was certain that the second burst of power he felt meant the worst– Asura and Lord Death were both dead.

He sat there, holding Kid close until his body had stopped shaking and Kid slumped against him motionless. Spirit was scared for a moment, wondering if the sudden wave of power had killed him, but he was relieved when he felt Kid’s shallow breaths. Spirit stayed there for a long time with Kid slumped in his arms. He wasn’t sure what to do. The shock had finally caught up with him and until he could get himself together to check the status of his phone, he sat staring with his mind blank, waiting for his body and mind to catch up to the world around him.

[bella-goths-wife]

How would the Vs react if their pet died in hell, forever?

The Vs reaction if pet died in hell

(This is not canon to the au!)

This is disturbing and gross so please be mindful of the media you’re choosing to consume!

Warnings: description of dead body, disturbing keeping’s of dead body, Vs sick version of mourning, grief, mentions of previous abuse, drug use mentioned

You probably would have died during an extermination

Maybe the Vs got too busy to remember to reinforce the safety precautions for the tower

Or you were accidentally downstairs when they sealed their upper level off

In any case, you are killed by an angel in cold blood

But the Vs didn’t know that yet, they were too busy at their viewing party that spies on the hazbin hotel to watch in case alastor dies

They assumed you were just in your room and decided to leave you be since they were so interested in their little spy drones

So when Vox goes to your room to check up on you and doesn’t see you in your bed, he panics

He searches all his cameras while he sends the other two to search for you

Eventually they find your body thrown across the rubble and cut open

It all happens in a very saltburn fashion

Vox doesn’t know how to react as he just drops to his knees and holds your head up while muttering about how you must be feeling cold without a jacket

Velvette just stares before mentioning how it’s almost time for breakfast and that they should all head inside, choosing to live in denial and push her feelings down for the meantime

Valentino stifles a few cries as he just stares at your dead body

They wait for someone else to get rid of your body but as soon as another demon touches your body, vox snaps and shoves them away and picks you up himself

They had to decide what to do with your body

Velvette suggested stuffing you like a doll and keeping you in her office so she could choose a new outfit for you everyday, but Vox and Valentino refused

Not because it’s disturbing and disrespectful for your dead body, but because she’d have more time with you then they would

Valentino suggested having your body burnt and fashioning accessories out of your ashes, but the other two said it would be a waste of your body

Eventually Vox had an idea, and he searched for a demon he met many many years ago

This demon had the ability to restore an item to the original condition it was in 24 hours before

It wouldn’t be able to bring you back to life since they had just missed the 24 hour window when finding your body, but they could keep your body in its first stage of the effects of death

That means your body would remain warm and soft, as if you were just sleeping

Vox had your wounds stitched up to make you look like you were just asleep and he placed you in your bed and commanded the demon to come every day and restore your body so you wouldn’t rot away

He chose to deal with your death by throwing himself into denial

He’d pretend you were just sick in bed and would still visit your corpse every night to ‘check up on you’

He’d watch you through the cameras in your bedroom in case you needed him

He started finishing work earlier to spend time with your corpse and calming ‘his daughter was sick so he had to get going’

If someone tried to point out you were dead they would receive a threatening glare and even more if they weren’t Valentino or velvette

Velvette refused to go along with that plan for the first few months, and chose to deal with your death by pushing her feelings down and finding a replacement

She assumed it was like buying a new dog after her old one had died, and refused to believe she had any emotional attachment to you

So she tried finding your replacement

She’d hire assistant after assistant who either shared your physical looks, your personality, your ability or your mannerisms

But none of them could match you in the way she needed, so she’d end up killing them or firing them

So she gave in to voxs fantasy, and began to talk to your corpse like you’d respond and began to dress your body in a new outfit every day

This worked for her, she could pretend you were here and she could still deny ever having an attachment to you

Valentino was surprisingly the one to not live into the fantasy that you were only asleep

He was the one to care about you the least in life, but he was also the one to mourn you the most on death and feel the most guilt

He drowned his sorrows in his drugs, his alcohol and his employees

He thought about how he treated you in your life, and while he didn’t feel guilt for how he abused you he did feel like a part of his missed having someone around who he could pour his frustrations into

But now you were a dead, and that somehow humanised you to him

He sometimes would get so drunk that he’d wander into your room and sit beside your corpse just to vent about how angry he felt that you’d died

How dare you? Who gave you permission to leave?

He’d just stare at your corpse and scoff, not buying into the delusions that the other two were about your dead body just being asleep

He held a funeral for you which just had him and angel dust in attendance since the other two Vs refused to believe you were dead

Angel dust was only invited because val wanted something warm to hold as he felt the complicated feelings your death brought out in him

And even so, angel dust was sure that however sad your death was and how tragic it was

You were better off dead then living with these people

@corvid007 @buttercupfangirl @lilyalone @ivebeenthearchersstuff @repostingmyfavs @the-faceless-bride @fandomaddict505 @hazbinhotelxreader @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @idontreallyexistyet

[dumbseee]

united in grief.

f1 au/fic: in which, you’re jules bianchi’s little sister. you’re the same age as charles and grew up with him, when jules passed away your world completely fell apart, and you left monaco for paris. eight years after jules’s death you finally decide to comeback to monaco to visit your old friend.

charles leclerc x bianchi!reader.

fc: madison beer.

warnings: mention of jules bianchi, grief, angst, fluff.

note: happy eighth heavenly birthday, jules, we will always love and remember you, champion 🤍

y/n just posted a story!

caption: missed you monaco 🤍

_

you really thought about going back for a while, you missed you life in monaco so much. all your friends were here, your family was here, even after jules’s death they stayed, but you couldn’t. every step you took in the luxurious city reminded you of your brother. his presence was everywhere. you were seventeen when you lost jules, he was your whole world, you always wished you were the one in that car. you left monaco for paris because you needed a fresh start in a new city where you could walk without feeling the people’s eyes on you. but a small part of your heart wondered if leaving monaco meant that you were abandoning jules too. he was buried there after all, his soul was now forever in monaco and you were leaving to run away from him.

but your parents reassured you, and told you to fly with your own wings, to find your way, that no matter what jules would be proud of you, and would follow you because he was now your guardian angel. that reassured you a lot since your worst fear was to disappoint him. but your parents were right, jules was an angel when he was still here, and he’s still one up there. so whenever you felt bad, defeated, sad, you knew jules was around you, that gave you the strength to stand up and stay strong. you had to, for your brother. to make him proud.

that’s why you decided to attend today’s race. the monaco grand prix, your brother’s home race. he loved that circuit so much because he knew his friends and family were watching him and cheering for him. you came back without telling anyone, but of course your mother had to tell pascale, so the elderly woman immediately called you to invite you to have lunch with her and lorenzo, her oldest son. you couldn’t say no, because you missed the leclerc, but also because you knew how much you leaving hurt them. you left without saying goodbye, it was too hard for you, so once jules’s funeral was over, you packed your bag and left.

pascale and lorenzo welcomed you with open arms and big smiles, the mother apologised for charles and arthur’s absence but they were busy. charles… you were glad he wasn’t here because you didn’t know how you’d be able to look him in the eye. "you should go to the grand prix with us." lorenzo had told you, with his usual warm smile. at first you refused, but after thinking it over you realised that you owned it to charles, you left him behind when he was also mourning. of course it was harder for you since he was your brother, but jules was everything to charles. his second older brother, he was also lorenzo’s best friend. you hated yourself for being such a selfish coward. guilt was eating you alive and lorenzo noticed it. "don’t be too hard on yourself y/n, jules isn’t going to be happy." he smiled and you had to fight back your tears.

so you came with the leclerc to charles’ home race, you knew that your presence would be the only talk in town and on the internet. "oh my god, y/n!" someone yelled from behind you and you smiled when you saw ‘little arthur’ like you called him back then. he ran to you and made you spin in his arms. you laughed and brushed his hair when he finally put you down. "look at you! where is my little boy?" you asked, still laughing. he flexed his muscles and flashed you a cocky smile before pascale came to hit him in the head. "where is charles?" she asked. "getting ready in the garage, he’s really nervous, i think you should go say hi." he told you. you immediately took a step back, you were nervous as hell too, but for different reasons than charles. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if seeing you ruin his race? what if-… "he still talks about you y/n, he misses you so much you have no idea." pascale chimes in, patting your shoulder.

you were in front of charles’ driver room, you knew that he was just behind it. you could hear voices inside which had to be charles and his teammate. you closed you eyes and knocked three times before waiting. a tall and tan man opened the door for you, he smiled at you and you recognised him as carlos sainz. "isa is waiting for me, see you on track charles." he told charles. "it’s nice seeing you here, y/n." you smiled and watched him go. you took a deep breath before walking into the room. your hands were sweaty and you didn’t know where to look. "y/n?" you haven’t heard his voice in nearly a decade, so him calling your name startled you. "h-…" you couldn’t even finish that charles had closed the gap between you, pulling you in his arms. his face was buried in your neck and his arms were hugging you tightly. you were completely frozen, you didn’t expect him to be that affectionate after what you did to him. "charles, i’m so sorry for leaving." tears were now rolling down your cheeks. he broke the hug and immediately wiped your tears.

"sorry for what?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. his hands rested on your shoulders, his touch soothing you. "i’m not mad at you for leaving, y/n. i just wished i was here with you to help you through the grieving process." he smiled and you looked at the ground. he was too good to you, you didn’t deserve it. "you lost jules too, i acted like i was the only one grieving, i didn’t realise the impact my brother had on people’s lives." charles gently kissed your forehead and stroked your cheek. "let’s talk about that later, let me enjoy your presence, you don’t know how much i missed you." he hugged you once again, and this time you wrapped your arms around him, savouring the moment. "my lucky charm is back in town." you couldn’t refrain your laugh at his cheesy comment.

_

"and charles leclerc wins the monaco grand prix for the first time in his career!" the whole stadium cheered for the monegasque meanwhile you couldn’t stop crying. he won. he won in monaco. it was his goal and he did it. pascale hugged you while cheering for her son, lorenzo and arthur ran to their brother. but you stayed in your seat, looking at him jumping everywhere and celebrating with his brothers and carlos. then, when he turned around to face your direction he did something that sent shivers all over your body. he pointed at you, then at his heart, and then at the sky. this was jules’s celebration every time he’d win something and you were there to support him. he honoured jules even when he finally fulfilled his dream. "jules, you are so loved." you muttered to yourself, looking up at the bright sky.

liked by charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, philippe_bianchi17 and 2 682 789 others.

y/n: coming back in monaco was hard, but i wanted to be here for charlie, i was scared at first because i knew that i handled my brother’s death terribly but in eight years i forgot how kind you were. i finally understood why jules loved you so much. congratulations on winning your first grand prix in monaco! i’m so proud of the man you became charles, i know that my brother is proud of you and will always look after you. je t’aime charlie ♥️

_

charles_leclerc: this one was for you, and of course jules, i’m so happy to have you back, je t’aime aussi ♥️

fan1: i can’t stop crying wtf

fan2: jules’ death affected everyone, even the people who never even met him, like me, he was such an angel

fan3: your brother is proud of you y/n! don’t be too hard on yourself!

fan4: we love you!

fan5: so happy to see you healthy!

fan6: man, this family suffered too much, i hope they’re happy now

fan7: charles and y/n relationship is so cute omg

fan8: the way he dedicated his win to the bianchi siblings 🥺

[semisolidmind]

So, in your college au, assuming catnap does end up murdering y/n, why? for what reason would the prototype ask for y/n's execution?, also how would dogday and the others feel? does dogday ever find out who murdered y/n or if he was even murdered? are they just reported missing? does catnap get away with it?, and if he doesn't and dogday ends up finding out, what's his reaction towards his brother's actions? Sorry if this was long I got questions and they need answers😭

ive been thinking about it, and i think that the prototype (which is a demonic entity in this au) wouldn't really have a good reason to command catnap kill y/n.

y/n is good to catnap. you'll see after i finally draw him, but cat is skinny. mans forgets to feed himself, and the red smoke drug throws his mindfulness and metabolism all outta wack. y/n, good friend that they are, reminds catnap to eat. they'll bring him food that they make. they let him "steal" food from their plate at lunch time. (dogday, being a good brother, does these things too, but it's kinda his job so it doesn't make as big of an impact).

the "angel" is keeping his executioner functioning when he can't, so the prototype shouldn't have a reason to want them dead. unless, perhaps, he thought that they were making the executioner soft. that's not the case (he does his job just fine regardless of any growing attachments), but if it were and catnap was slacking...

the prototype would take over. he'd have his acolytes send catnap a very high dosage of the red smoke drug, allowing the demon to take hold of him fully. catnap would black out.

the next morning, he startles awake in bed to the sound of his brother's cry of anguish. he goes into the kitchen to see dogday clutching his phone to one ear, hunched over and crying. the canid can't speak through his tears for a long while. catnap stands awkwardly, waiting for him to speak as the dread creeps up his spine.

catnap's heart stops with dogday's stuttered admission of what has him so upset; y/n is dead. the police found them this morning.

the feline says nothing, does nothing, but feels the sting in his eyes, tears on his face, and the impact of his brother's arms solidly embracing him.

why...why would the prototype do this? there was no reason to kill the angel, they hadn't done anything wrong, they weren't in the way, hadn't crossed him, there shouldn't have...

he doesn't understand.

when he goes to the bathroom later to freshen up, catnap notices the small flecks of blood under his claws. he feels like throwing up.

but he doesn't. he washes the blood away, and leaves the bathroom.

catnap remains as silent as he always has. he says nothing when he and dogday are inevitably questioned by the police (as two people who were close to y/n), the grief (and the prototype's voice) rendering him unable to even write out a response. they let him go, accepting his alibi. he was home all evening, of course.

he attends the funeral in a daze. he stands and watches the casket be lowered into the ground, far away from his body. he can still feel the fog of the prototype's influence hovering in the back of his mind.

for the first time in a long time, catnap's faith in his god is shaken.

———

dogday is never the same after y/n's death. the light in his eyes is gone. after the funeral, he isolates himself, only leaving to attend class and complete errands. he barely speaks to his friends, though they continue to visit him and offer their support.

eventually, each of the critters is murdered by catnap at the behest of the prototype. these murders are completed by a much colder and less caring catnap, who, after y/n's death, has no mercy left to spare (the prototype takes advantage of his vessels' grief to take further control of him).

dogday's reaction to each death becomes angrier and angrier.

he's wanted to find the killer ever since the string of murders started, but now he's searching with a single-minded purpose.

he gets better at wielding a pistol, better at wielding a hunting knife...he takes self defense and fighting classes. dogday slowly turns himself into a weapon.

dogday finally figures out where the cult is hiding. an abandoned mine system in a nature reserve a short drive away from town, converted into a "holy site" and the place where the cult sacrifices their victims. he drives out there to confront their executioner.

when he finds out that it's catnap, his own little brother...it's too late for sentimentality. his friends are gone. the love of his life is gone. countless others have lost their lives to this... this thing wearing his brother's skin.

at this point, the prototype has almost fully possessed catnap. the transference into the felines' body is almost complete, and during this time he is most vulnerable...but still incredibly powerful.

the fight between the dog and cat is climactic and bloody. a clash of claws, knives, and a struggle for dogday's gun. the forest floor beneath the struggle is spattered with blood, both men covered in open wounds.

it's a close battle, but catnap, despite being nearly fully under the prototype's influence, breaks the hold long enough to allow himself to be killed.

it's the least he can do, after all the trouble he's caused.

dogday pulls the trigger. a clean shot through the heart. killing catnap kills the prototype.

dogday glares down at the body that once housed his little brother. there is nothing of him in the battered corpse before him now... aside from the small, satisfied smile on his muzzle.

dogday finally allows himself to break down. he sobs over the many great losses he's suffered. but...but he has to get out of there. the cult members will be there any minute, and he can't be there when they do. he calls from a campsite phone booth to report catnap's body, and leaves it in the woods.

dogday does his best to recover.

months pass. with their god dead, activity from the cult peters out.

[yns-world]

Queen of Hearts

Title: Queen of Hearts

Pairing: Homelander x Supe!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of physical and mental anguish

A/N: dc/the boys au sort of. fem reader. 

dare i say fatima is coming out of retirement??? we don't know....but we enjoy whatever fics we can LMAO

i just finished the first season of the boys and i absolutely love my man homelander 😩 my dms are fully open for any and all homelander requests--hcs, drabbles, stories, etc!!! lmk if y'all wanna see more of this supe!reader :) (please keep your requests spoiler free thank you)

as always, enjoy!

Queen of Hearts. America’s Heart. The healer for The Seven. One touch from her can soothe any pain and mend the fragments of the mind and body.

From a very young age, Y/N was dubbed to have “angel hands”, with the ability to mend her family’s aches with just a single touch. By the time she was in high school, she was mending to her friends and their stress-induced ailments. With one brush of their hair, she was able to relieve them of all the mental or emotional discomfort.

When the recruitments for the next member of The Seven were open, Y/N applied because she had thought that she could provide aid in the face of all the misery and destruction that is left behind in a superhero’s wake.

She got in, of course. But she also got more than she could chew. 

Y/N’s original hero name was going to be “Angelica”, to pay homage to what her father would call her gift of “angel hands”. Vought had other plans.

“From now on, you are the reigning Queen of Hearts!” A contract broker exclaimed. Confusion painted Y/N’s face.

“I thought I was going to be Angelica?”

“Angelica is just another name, and you are not ‘just another person’. You are going to save millions, you are going to have an entire kingdom of dutiful followers that will worship you-- a benevolent monarch that bestows mercy on all those in her way. You will tend to those who suffer the greatest of pains: a heart shattered by grief.” Y/N didn’t know if she was speaking with a lawyer or a salesman from the sound of his spontaneous speech. From that day forward, her fate was sealed. 

From the very first press conference of her debut, Y/N was merely a little girl of the past, and the Queen of Hearts had begun her infamous reign. 

Signing posters with her face on it, performing interviews on talk shows, the Queen of Hearts was just getting warmed up for the real rally. 

When it came to the devastating wars and protests that went on in the nation, the Queen was sent to inspect the scene. Of course, the Queen always outperformed. Visiting house to house, sitting down with not just the victims, but the neighbors of the victims. Getting to know each and every citizen that could even have heard about what travesty had gone down. And during these visits, the Queen would have a healing hand on the people while her voice poured honey into their ears.

It worked. Each and every time. Just like how Vought wanted.

What people don’t realize, what people refuse to discuss, is how her powers work.

Her powers neither heal nor destroy, they simply conduct the transfer of pain into her body. She feels everything they have felt, she swallows all the things that their body has been fighting off. And she carries these burdens with her.

Her career with The Seven was lucrative in the first few years. What the nation needed most was not just a hero, but a mother. The Queen of Hearts provided that. 

Vought had trained her how to take on the burdens of thousands of people at once, but lacked in training her how to dispose of the weight she now carried.

When she was younger, Y/N would go into periods where she would shut herself off from the world. For weeks at a time, she would be paralyzed from the anguish, she could feel the poison slithering up and down her body like a parasite, and she would silently pray for death. 

But the Queen can’t just take time off from her role. With nowhere else to turn, she drowns out her sorrows in the only alternative-- fight grief with the cause of grief.

“According to Insider information, it appears that the Queen of Hearts is allegedly dating notorious criminal and psychopath, Joker. When asked for a comment, the Queen replies with: ‘He’s a person, too.’”

Feeling too many feelings all the time, hearing so many shouts of terror and agony in her head, the only antidote she seeks for is the exact opposite-- a man that couldn’t care less for the public. A man that bestows this agony onto others.

If Y/N could never escape from this hellhole of a life, then maybe the Queen could have a taste of what it’s like to live a different life. 

On his wild, maniacal hunts for money and killing, the Queen would be riding shotgun while the Joker took the wheel of his gold-decked lamborghini.  

Vought was pissed when the news broke out, but there wasn’t much they could do but assign the Queen smaller missions out in the middle of nowhere to try and “separate” her from the Joker until the news died down. But the Queen was tired of listening and bowing her head. And she also learned of how much they needed her rather than her needing them. 

Everytime the Joker would start a fiasco with dozens of victims, who would be the first at the scene? None other than his loving girlfriend, of course.

The public reaction might’ve been worse for wear in the beginning, but now that the Queen is doing damage control for her maniacal boyfriend, the public sees no problem with this relationship. 

If anything, it has opened the minds of thousands, and created a path for heroes and villains of all kinds to band together. And of course, where there’s money to be made, the companies come swooping right behind them.

But there came a time when the Joker took it too far, when not even the mother of the nation could undo his wrongs.

On his insatiable conquest for hell on Earth, the Joker attacked a nuclear power plant in an attempt to dismantle a system that was already built on the blood of its people. 

The Queen of Hearts was at the scene before first responders or the press, and what she saw alone left her writhing. 

The shrieks of innocent civilians, pounds of flesh and skin melting off the bone, shaky hands reaching out from the ground for a savior. 

The people needed a savior. 

The people needed a god.

She could not be what they needed her to be.

She fought that instinct to flee for so long, she pushed back and stayed for years. She gave up skin into the game, she thought that she had killed off that child inside of her. But it was in this moment-- where everywhere she looked was another soul begging to be put out of their misery, where there were thousands of souls waiting to be added onto the tremendous weight she already carries-- was when all of that weight finally cracked. 

Queen of Hearts looked up at the night sky, expecting to see stars but only to be met with clouds passing overhead. 

Well, one star did strike through the suffocating fumes-- Homelander.

She met his face, her eyes were filled with despair and her face twisted in despair, and he gave her a reaffirming nod. He would take it from here. 

Homelander watched as the Queen’s mask fell from her face and Y/N bolt into the night-- just before anyone noticed.

In the following weeks since the nuclear plant incident, Y/N holed up at the tower. Both the heroes and corporate knew it was better this way.

“Let sleeping dogs lie.” Stillwell said.

When she finally emerged from her self-induced banishment, the Queen was reborn. 

Stillwell hosted a PR conference the size of which whenever she would debut another hero. And that she was.

“I introduce to the world a new era of superhero. Please welcome, Sultana!” Out from the curtains came the new and improved Y/N. Replacing her red and black garments from her Queen of Hearts days was a lavish gold and evergreen suit.

New suit, new hair, new smile.

This time, Y/N knew better. 

This time, Sultana would stick to the script. 

The script included her being with Homelander, and she was fine with that. During team-ups, during walks across the red carpet, during meetings with Congress, Sultana would be right by Homelander’s side with a smile and a pleasant wave. Just like Vought intended.

Just as Homelander wanted it to be. 

Afterall, they weren’t superheroes, that’s foolish to think they are.

They just played a pretty part, and gave a bright smile. 

DON'T BE A GHOST READER! let me know your thoughts and how you feel about this fic!!! i love talking to each and every one of y'all <333

lmk if y'all wanna see more of this supe!reader type of stuff...or if y'all wanna see this specific character :D

if you enjoyed this post, then please consider reblogging :) every little bit helps and i greatly appreciate it <3

i'm open to homelander requests as of right now, so feel free to drop your ideas!!!

as always, please check my pinned post for request rules and the fandoms i write for :)

[mentallyinvernation]

AU where Hob gets into an accident that causes him to lose his memories, so Dream has to explain their relationship. Except, because it’s Dream, he explains it really poorly.

This starts with Hob waking up on his second day in hospital, very confused to find a lanky goth perched on the end of his bed (who’s quite possibly an angel, he’s not sure). And the goth just goes ‘Hello, Hob Gadling’ which sounds infinitely better than what the nurses have been calling him (Bob Galden). Hob feels right. Especially when this stranger says it. The only problem is, he doesn’t recognise this cute goth, and cute goth is just sat there staring at him like he’s waiting for Bob - Rob - Robert - Hob to explain what’s going on, which is insane, because how is Hob supposed to know that when he’s the one in the hospital bed with amnesia. The nurses told him he has amnesia, anyway, so he relays that. The stranger looks stricken by such news. Hob apologises for not remembering the strangers name, and asks if they’re friends or something, which is apparently the wrong thing to do, because suddenly the stranger is standing up - there might even be tears in his eyes, it’s hard to tell in this light. But the prospect of this stranger leaving makes something horrible and scared twist in his gut, so he begs him to stay. This is the only person that’s visited the hospital in search of Hob. The only person that knows him - knows Hob Gadling. And Hob Gadling very much needs someone who knows Hob Gadling right now, because he sure as hell doesn’t.

Now flipping back over to dream, he’s catastrophically reeling from the fact his human doesn’t remember him, and unpacking whatever feelings he might have about that sounds mortifying. So, he’s opting to just abort himself from the situation altogether to save himself the grief (disclaimer: it would not save him from the grief). Except, he can’t leave, because Hob is begging him to stay, looking lost and terrified, and there are Certain Thing’s he needs to know. So, Dream sits back down. He explains that Hob is immortal. He explains they met in 1389. He explains their shared curiosity of life brought them together. He explains they attend centenary dates because they’re bound in an arrangement that’ll last until the end of time unless Hob decides otherwise. (‘As in, Til Death Do Us Part?’ Hob asks, sounding vaguely horrified, vaguely awed, and Dream doesn’t think that’s an inaccurate assessment, so he nods). And it’s not that Dream is rambling, because Dream of the Endless does not ramble, but he can’t seem to Stop Talking all of a sudden - like part of him hopes his words might guide Hob’s memories back into the light. So, he keeps going until there’s nothing left to say, and once he’s finished Hob’s staring at him with wide eyes.

“So, we’re married.” Is what Hob takes from all that.

Dream’s too stunned to correct him.

What’s worse, is Hob just accepts that as reality. He spends a solid minute - a minute - fumbling over the initial shock as he processes that information, before taking the lead on Dream’s silence. He launches into a rant about anything and everything his two-day old memory has to offer, smiling again, and then dares to ask questions about their life.

And Dream just sits there internally screaming about the whole thing.

[salamander-spark]

Disguised forms for the other Basilisks!

(Including my interpretation of Number II's appearance)

+ headcanons, as well as backstory for my AU highlighted in green.

Number II, aka Tulip🌷

Age≈ late 20's/early 30's (~15 years older than Vee)

Goes by They/Them, Is the second oldest of the experimented Basilisks. They firsthand witnessed Number One(Greater basilisk that attacks Hexide)'s descent into madness and animalistic hunger. They were scared of what they could become, so they fought extra hard to retain their sanity, vowing to protect their younger kin. Tulip often risked taking punishments from the captors in the other's stead.

(Hight comparison for Tulip's true form (Vee for reference)

At around 15 years old, Tulip hears scouts talk about a new test subject that hatched recently and will soon be ready for experiments. Tulip breaks out and rescues the infant number five. A month of laying low later, and they are both hiding in a cave. Tulip finds a pool of Titan's blood trapped deep within, and they both enter into the human realm.

Tulip can't stay. They know they need to protect Treble and Ivy. So they watch in the shadows as Vee is taken into the care of a couple of humans before leaving her behind, where she can grow up in a place far from the Emperor's grasp. They absorb the remaining magic in the portal, severing this temporary link so that nobody can follow their child.

🎼Treble & Ivy🌿

Ages≈ Mid twenties

Treble: He/They, Ivy: She/Her

I got the idea to name him Treble from The Angel of the Owl house, by OwlHouseAngel on A03. I thought fit well, considering they're playing Eda's Citern in the finale, and the Idea of a basilisk playing instruments sounds cool. (even inspired some things for my AU)

Both were created from the same set of samples at the same time, making them twins. They've got a close-knit sibling bond, very protective of each other. Treble gets headstrong and does risky things like attack coven scouts. Ivy often has to reign Treble in to prevent him from being too reckless. She tends to take an overly cautious approach to anything new.

I'm still not entirely sure how they play into the AU, but they meet Vee and are introduced to Camila to be accepted into their family

I loved this shot when I first saw it, I'm glad to see at least someone in the crew cares about them

& 🌺Viola "Vee" Noceda

I like to think she has a collection of different sweaters and chooses to wear them to keep her warm. Basilisks are mostly cold-blooded but passivly use up their magic to keep warm in cold temperatures. Vee likes to conserve energy by dressing warm during the colder months

She ended up in the human realm thanks to Tulip and was quickly adopted by the Nocedas. Not knowing about her origins, she's horrified learning what her kin has gone through.

She's less timid when confronting danger and hasn't gone through her canon trauma (minus a few fears like sharp objects and dark basements from ). She does, however, have trauma and grief from Manny's sickness and death.

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 5: Touch-Starved

A Gentleman and A Scholar | @Taymarpigeon Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,963 Main Tags/Warnings: Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe, Soft Castiel/Dean Winchester, Needy Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, Silver Fox Castiel, References to childhood trauma, References to past abuse, Praise Kink, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Comfort Sex, Comfort No Hurt, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Age Difference, bottom Dean Winchester/top Castiel Summary: As you approach your fifties you expect life to slow down, worries and concerns ebbing as you set out on the next stage of your life. Not for Castiel though. Oh he's settled down for sure, married to a hot twenty-seven-year-old that certainly keeps him young at heart, financially stable and well-respected amongst his peers. However, his husband led a turbulent life before Castiel rescued him, the scars of it showing through in private moments and snowy days. When it comes to Dean Winchester there is nothing Castiel won't do, no thought of flight when it's Dean he's being called to fight for. Not that violence is on the cards today, no. Today Dean doesn't need Castiel to be his knight in shining armour, he needs him to be his lover, his attentive, affectionate, softly dommy husband that enjoys nothing better than having Dean curled up in his lap. Castiel would argue this is how anyone should hope to spend their life, regardless of age.

The Liminal Moment | @blessyourhondahurley Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,552 Main Tags/Warnings: alternate universe, massage, meet-cute Summary: After he throws out his back, Dean gets sent to a mysterious location...

An Angel Is Passing By | @melancholictearz Rating: General Word Count: 3,412 Main Tags/Warnings: AU - Castiel Meets Faith!Dean, Selectively Mute Dean, Deaf Castiel, Guardian Angel Castiel, Comfort, No Angst, Sign Language, Holding Hands, Cuddle for Warmth, Fluff Summary: SILENCE WAS HIS WORLD. THEN CASTIEL REVEALED A NEW ONE. In French, "an angel is passing by" is the literal translation of a saying used as silence sets in after a conversation. The kind of awkward seconds hanging in the air whenever someone speaks to Dean and the words won’t come out of his throat despite how much he wants to be heard. Meeting the angel Castiel doesn’t give him much more faith nor resolve the curse of his mutism either. But for an entire night, locked in a church and on the edge of death, Castiel’s tender eyes make Dean feel like he is listened to. Between them, the world goes quiet in a way Dean never experienced.

The First Language We Speak | @blessyourhondahurley Rating: General Word Count: 4,955 Main Tags/Warnings: alternate universe, autistic castiel, massage, touch-starved castiel, fluff, cheeseburgers Summary: A news article about the importance of touch leads Castiel to realize some uncomfortable things about himself and his life. These realizations lead him to Dean, a masseur, who becomes his friend and then more.

One Light In One Room | @notastupidbird Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,926 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 05, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song (Supernatural), Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Touch-Starved Castiel (Supernatural), Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, First Kiss, First Time, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Porn with Feelings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sleep Deprivation, Insomnia, Pining, POV Castiel (Supernatural) Summary: After losing his brother in the showdown at Stull Cemetery, Dean has gone into self-imposed exile. He's plagued by insomnia, and the only way he seems to get any sleep at all is when Castiel puts him out with a single touch. When this still doesn't prove enough to bring Dean any real relief from his grief and sleeplessness, Castiel wonders if what Dean really needs is another type of comfort altogether.

Asterism of an F-Series Ford Pick Up | @disabled-dean Rating: Mature Word Count: 17,408 Main Tags/Warnings: Road trip, case fic, ambiguously set in season 12, ptsd, recovery, hell trauma, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension, touch starved Dean Winchester, touch adverse Dean Winchester, Cas drives his truck for a case and Dean is incredibly horny about it, only one truck bed, stargazing, sex dreams, nightmares, mild body horror, implied top!castiel, implied bottom!dean winchester, the truck is a metaphor, Dear God Is The Truck A Metaphor Summary: When you've been to hell, desire is isolating and ugly. Or: Cas drives his truck for a case and Dean is exceptionally horny about it. “Once on a hunt when he was a teenager, Dean had been caught too close to an explosive when it had gone off. There had been the moment when the projectile hit, and the moment when it had detonated. And just before it had, there had also been a moment when he had believed that maybe it wouldn’t. He had thought about that moment for years, over and over again, until something else had taken its place. And the way that that moment was quiet, the way it was still- that is how this feels. To lie beside Cas in the bed of his truck, their shoulders barely touching.”

Profound Kisses | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20,729 Main Tags/Warnings: Pining, slow burn, top!Dean/bottom!Castiel, firsts, Destiel kisses, canonverse Summary: Dean knows he's screwed. He discovers he is in love with Castiel in Purgatory, and now he can't even have the angel in front of him, because he knows it's a one sided love. It’s Valentine's day and Dean tries very hard to hook up as always, but he can't get Cas out of his mind. So he drives back to the motel, drunk, and he finds Castiel trying to help him. Then, when Dean asks Castiel for some experimental kisses and the angel accepts, Dean starts a very dangerous game… finding in Castiel's kisses the most delicious experiences, but also, his own perdition. Will Castiel fall in love with him? Or will he stay emotionless as always?

[monimccoythings]

Human!Alastor x Daughter!Reader: Devotion

These are all part of the same AU, I suppose, or not. But I like to think they are all part of the same AU, sometimes I forget what I write. Now this are just some deranged feelings and thoughts of Alive!Alastor.

Reminder: Alastor is in hell for a reason.

Tw: obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, mentions of blood, implied murder, manipulation.

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog

Alastor had never been a sentimental man. Of course he loved his mama, she was a wonderful woman and her death had definitely caused him a great amount of grief.

And then you came along.

Your soft skin, your chubby hands that tried to grasp his larger fingers to no avail, your wide unfocused eyes that darted everywhere, taking notice of everything. How delicate you felt in his arms, you fit perfectly, like you were made to be there.

How easily he could break you, he ponders. One little snap and there would be no more of you. It would be so quick and simple. There was only one little thing.

He adored you.

Your quiet little coos, your incomprehensible babbling that sounded like you were trying to carry an adult conversation with him, the way you squealed with joy whenever one of your favorite songs started playing on the radio. You were delightful, and provided him with more enrichment than any of the bumbling fools he usually associated himself with could provide.

As years passed by, you started to get bigger, your world expanding, your knowledge growing. And with it, came the risk of having you slip away from him.

He had modeled you to be his perfect little angel, his little fawn. His obedient child. He would not allow anyone to take you away from him. He was your guardian, your protector. Some asshole looked at you the wrong way while you two were going on a walk? He was never heard of again. Some low-paid teacher was becoming some sort of role model to you? Ooops! Accidents happen!

He found that his reasoning for protecting you was also a good excuse to indulge in his darkest desires. A way to calm the itch that was always nagging at the back of his head.

Alastor did it for you. He was making the world a safer place for you. No matter how much fun and enjoyment he got out of it. None of those buffoons would ever taint your innocence with their dirty souls. Not even himself.

He would take his secrets to the grave, always hidden behind a wide smile. he would be the good father, the charming radio host, the modelic citizen. The blood in his hands, as delicious as it tasted, would never stain your clothes.

No one would keep you two apart, he would make sure of that. He was all that you could possibly ever need. Your world started and ended with him, as it should be. Let him be the barrier between your purity and the rotten society that lurked outside.

He suffered everytime you were forced to spend time apart of each other. Couldn't you see it? Did you feel it too? Whenever you were in school or he was working, it was complete suffering for him! His fingers drumming impatiently on the surface of the table, counting the seconds until he was back at home with you. Only the mental stimulation that took directing, writing and starrring in his own radio show for which he held great passion and the delightful hunt his side job provided were enough distraction to cope with his sorrow.

When did he become so emotional? He should be feeling embarrassed of himself or at least be very thankful that his mask of sanity wasn't cracking with all those feelings. Instead, he found himself embracing them. He embraced the painful worry about your wellbeing and his influence over you, the obssessive and twisted love he felt, the need for control, to ensure you remained his innocent and good child, and the bitter despair at your absence that sunk into his heart like a knife. Only his little baby could give him such a rush.

He was sure that not even death would be able to take you from his hands. He would personally fight God, the Devil, and anybody who got in his way. Alastor would tear the fabric of reality apart just to get to you.

You would never run away from him. There was no reason to, as he had made you as devoted of him as he was of you. Or at least he hoped so.

Having you leave him would surely break his heart, as it would mean to Alastor that you had chosen to do things the hard way. But maybe, after a very detailed and complex planification on his part and some casualties orchestrated by him, Alastor might be able to convince you to return back home, with a grim reminder about the dangers of the outside world.

For there is no safer place on Earth than in your father's embrace.

[humanpurposes]

Sweet Dream

The Sandman AU

Her father means to summon and capture Death, but ends up with the wrong sibling. She becomes fascinated with their prisoner // Main Masterlist

Dream!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, spells n shit, mild gore, death, lowkey Lima syndrome, smut

Words: 8000

A/n: For my fellow Morpheus and Aemond lovers. Also available to read on AO3.

Roderick Burgess had always been a terrifying man. In grief he has only become more irritable and less predictable. 

The telegram came in the early days of July. She delivered the news to Roderick herself, while he was in his study. Her father did not like to be disturbed and he might have beaten her to remind her of the fact, until those fateful words slipped from her mouth. “Randall’s dead.” Shot down by a German machine gun at the Somme. In the end he had been one of thousands, his body buried in a neat line of tombstones somewhere in France, his name engraved on a plaque in the church at Wych Cross, ultimately unremarkable and indistinguishable from the other men and boys who had lost their lives.

But it was not so for Roderick. He let out a sudden groan and clutched his chest as though his pain was tangible and terrible. He shed no tears– of course he didn’t, but he gritted his teeth, crying out in fury as he dashed his hands over his desk, sending papers, books, fountain pens and empty whisky glasses tumbling to the floor. 

She stood frozen, waiting for his hand to descend on her for being the one to tell him, but it didn’t.

When they held a memorial service for him, Roderick handed her a piece of paper, to read before the crowd of faces she didn’t recognise. 

“Randall was our family’s happiness. He was the bravest, the wisest, and kindest older brother I could possibly dream of having.” Her hands and voice trembled as she read because she knew it was all a lie. In truth, Randall was like their father. They had the same short temper, the same stubbornness and the same cruelty. 

But Randall being dead meant she could reinvent him.

Lately, she dreams of happier memories and looks back on them fondly, knowing they can never be contradicted or disproved. 

While her father has dreamt of Death ever since. 

It’s a brisk afternoon in October when a man in a suit, bow tie and bowler hat arrives at Fawny Rig. He clutches a leather briefcase in front of him and introduces himself as Dr John Hathaway, a curator from the Royal Museum, travelled all the way from London to this quiet corner of East Sussex. She leads him through the panelled halls of the manor, to her father’s study.

Roderick barges in behind them, in a shirt and waistcoat, already smelling faintly of whisky and waving his cane in her general direction. “Tea for our guest,” he orders.

She has the pot ready and strains the dark, reddish liquid into two delicate china cups while her father and Dr Hathaway settle on opposing leather sofas in the centre of the room.

“I take it you have reconsidered?” Roderick says.

“After our meeting at the museum… I know what I said, but–” Dr Hathaway takes an unsure breath. “I received a telegram this morning. My son, Edmund, his destroyer was sunk last week off Jutland.”

It’s a loss Roderick can share, even if he doesn’t really understand how other than a few quick words of condolence. “I lost my son, Randall last year. He was my greatest joy.”

She pauses as she reaches for the sugar bowl. She has never been under the illusion that her own existence has given her father any joy, but then what sort of person would she have to be to earn his respect? She places the sugar on a tray, along with the small jug of milk and the cups, and brings them to the small table between the sofas. The pair don’t spare her a word of thanks or even a brief glance.

Dr Hathaway’s hand lingers on the clasp of his case. “If I give you this, could you truly do it? Could you really–”

“Capture the angel of Death?” Roderick says. “I believe I could.”

She shudders unexpectedly. The old groundskeeper used to say a sudden chill meant someone was walking over your grave.

Dr Hathaway clicks open the clasp and takes out an aged, leather bound book. It has no title on the cover, just gold markings in square, geometric patterns. 

“The Magdalene Grimoire,” her father mutters, his eyes wide in an ominous sort of wonder. “With the spells recorded in the book, we will see our sons returned to us.”

The next night is a full moon. She stands by the door with Sykes, welcoming men and women dressed in midnight blue robes to the manor and directing them towards the door that leads to the cellar. They’re all part of Roderick’s ‘Order of Ancient Mysteries’ which as far as she can tell is a cult of fanatics who still believe in witchcraft. They come to Fawny Rig once a month, to listen to her father read from so-called ‘spell books’ as though he is a preacher.

The fanatics pull hoods over their heads and descend the narrow stone steps into the cellar with lit candles grasped in their hands. Roderick leads the way, the book Dr Hathaway gave him tucked under his arm. 

She shoots Sykes a concerned frown but he just shrugs. He’s paid to organise the household and guard Burgess’ collection of relics, not to ask questions. Questions are a dangerous game with Roderick.

She trails after them and shuts the iron lock on the door behind her.

The cellar is more like a crypt, an expansive room sprawling under the house, held up by pillars and arches. In the low candlelight she makes out a set of markings on the floor in the heart of the room and this is where the Order of Ancient Mysteries gathers.

The shapes and symbols are unfamiliar to her, painted onto the flagstones, twisting and curling over each other to form a circle. Roderick stands at the very edge of it by a brass lectern.

She watches, half hidden behind a pillar as they stand around the circle and Roderick opens the book, his desired page already marked and studied in the hours since it has been in his possession. 

“Tonight,” her father says to his congregation, “we will achieve what no one before us has attempted. We will summon and imprison Death.”

His eyes meet hers through the shadowy space, heavy and sunken with age, grief and months worth of sleepless nights. They glisten slightly too. 

He holds his hands out and looks down at the markings on the floor. “Here, in the darkness.”

The others echo his words, softly and melodically at first. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

And so the ritual begins.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” Roderick says, presenting the object to the ceiling as though the eyes of God are looking down from the heavens, through the house and the earth, and drops it to the floor, inside the circle of markings.

“I give you a knife from under the hills.” He holds up a thin blade and lifts his other arm so the sleeve of his robe drops to his elbow. “I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

She winces but does not look away as he draws the knife along the skin of his forearm, until dark droplets begin to fall and stain the markings. 

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt and I give you a feather,” he says, raising a white feather that almost seems to glow through the gloom, “pulled from an angel’s wing.”

And all the while the voices persist. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

He drops the feather and it drifts gently down, landing in the very heart of the circle. 

The room is still and she holds her breath.

The feather starts to move. It twists in a circle and floats up, lurching and turning as though it’s being blown about by a breeze she cannot feel or hear.

The voices raise to an urgent chant. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

She clenches her fingertips against the stone of the pillar. She tries to meet her father’s eye again but he is fixated on the feather flying above their heads.

He calls over the chanting, “I summon you with poison,” and the moment he does the feather flickers like the striking of a match. “I summon you with pain! I open the way! I open the gates! I summon you in the name of the old Lords, we summon you together! Come!”

A noise, like a cracking whip splits her ears. The feather bursts into white and golden flames like the flash of a camera. The heat of it rushes over her face and burns her eyes.

And from the flames a body falls to the floor.

It thuds as it hits the ground, silencing the voices save for a few gasps and murmurs. She feels the flagstones rumble under her feet, sees the edges of a black cloak spilling across the floor and a head of long silver hair trailing from its head.

This isn’t an illusion. Roderick Burgess has brought forth a tangible entity, plucked from God-knows-where, lying motionless on the floor. For a moment she wonders if he is dead, until she sees a slight movement in his chest, but even then she fears she could be imagining it.

She takes a few unsure steps to where Roderick stands and the man– he is a man as far as she can tell– is further revealed to her. She can see his face now, his pale skin, the angles of his jaw and cheeks, the curve of his lips, but beyond that she finds herself unable to look away from the jewel that sits where his left eye should be. It is a bright, deep shade of blue and dotted with silver specs, like the vast expanse of twilight when the stars are out but the sky is not quite black. The eye is framed by twisted, red flesh and a scar, slicing from his brow to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise his other eye, closer to the ground, is closed. 

The only other parts of him she can see are the tips of his fingers, clasped around a small pouch.

“Is this… Death?” she utters.

“That remains to be seen,” Roderick says. He points to the pouch. “Get that for me.”

She stares back at her father. How he can speak so flippantly when a man has been conjured, seemingly from thin air, is beyond her. But he glares back, his dark expression only more formidable with his aged frown.

So she steps forward and begins to lower herself beside the man.

“Careful, girl!” Roderick barks, “don’t break the binding circle.”

She stops and looks down, where her skirt is inches from brushing over the markings on the floor. She shuffles back and, with trembling fingers, reaches for the pouch. It’s not hard to take, the man hardly resists, twitching his fingers to keep it in his grasp. It feels wrong, stealing from someone too weak to hold onto what is his.

She looks into the jewel-like eye. Can he see through it? Perhaps it has something to do with the scar? Did he place it there himself, or was he simply made this way?

Someone snatches the pouch from her. She looks up at her father as he undoes the strings and peers inside. “Sand,” he mutters, and stows it away inside his robes.

“And the jewel,” he says to her.

She means to protest, but finds she cannot.

She avoids the markings as she leans forwards. She presses her fingertips beside the man’s eye. His skin is cold and firm.

She swallows her guilt and the nauseous feeling in her throat, nudging her fingertips into the socket. It takes her a few attempts, but she pries the jewel free, wincing when she feels it come loose. If he feels any pain he hardly shows it. His brow furrows but his other eye remains closed, and he makes no sound.

She stands and offers the jewel to her father.

Roderick holds it to the light of one of the candles, giving a curious hum before he pockets that too.

“Move,” he mutters to her, pushing her out of his way as he stands over the man. He tugs on the black cloak and it falls into fragments that fade away, like dust on a breeze. The man’s body is bare, pale skin running over details of muscle and bone. He shivers and twitches like he has a fever, but still he does not speak, or even let out a breath.

“We’ll let our guest recover,” Roderick says, “and then we shall make our demands.

They leave him there for days. He does not move, or ask for food or water.

She doesn’t dream in the nights since they captured their ‘guest’. In fact she hardly sleeps at all. Each morning she wakes, already exhausted, having felt like she’s only closed her eyes for a few brief moments.

Then come the stories in the newspapers. They call it ‘the sleeping sickness’. People all over the country, and in fact the world, have been plagued, either to not sleep at all or never wake up.

On a cold, drizzly morning, a stranger appears at the door to the manor.

She listens and watches from the top of the stairs, crouching by the bannister to stay out of sight as a man with choppy silver hair and pale skin strides into the entrance hall, with Roderick following closely behind.

“Do I know you?” her father asks, furiously.

“No.” The stranger’s voice is low and almost seductive. “But I know all about you, Roderick Burgess, and the being trapped in your basement.”

“You mean to intimidate me?”

She sees a flash of a grin and a pair of pale purple eyes through the wooden balusters.

“I am here to help you,” the stranger says. “There are benefits to keeping one of the Targaryens in your confinement.”

“Targaryens?” her father echoes.

“Did you think Death was the only one of her kind? Death has family. Destiny, Despair, Desire…”

“And who have I got?”

“Dream,” the stranger says with a smile that bares his teeth.

A shiver runs over her shoulders. She keeps her jaw tight to stop herself from reacting to it.

Roderick scoffs. “What good is a God who governs dreams?”

The stranger's voice darkens. “There was a saying in the ancient times of humanity, that said the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. But they are not Gods. They are more than Gods. They are Endless.”

He tells Roderick of Dream’s vestments, the pouch of sand and his sapphire, both of which he says Roderick may manipulate for his own influences. He says the binding circle will not be enough to contain their prisoner, that they must construct a sphere of glass within the circle.

Most crucially of all, he says no one must be allowed to fall asleep in Dream’s presence.

“Why are you helping me?” Roderick finally asks.

The stranger runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles to himself. “Little family dispute, I shan’t bore you with the details. But for your sake, and for mine, he must not escape.”

He offers his hand to Roderick, who returns the gesture after a moment of hesitation.

Before he heads for the door, the stranger’s eyes trail up to where she hides. Her heart leaps with a sense of dread, like she’s seen something she wasn’t meant to. 

She doesn’t trust him, not by the look or sound of him, but her father does. He follows the stranger’s instructions, ordering the construction of the glass sphere, to be welded around their prisoner as it is made. Finally, he arranges a rota of guards to keep watch over him, under strict orders to never fall asleep, lest their prisoner escape into their dreams.

The details of his face are etched into her memory, even after months, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip, the silver falling over his shoulders. If she could dream, she is sure she would dream of him. Instead she holds onto the flashes of images that appear before her waking eyes, the pale skin of his bare body against the floor, the stars in his sapphire eye, now kept locked away in her father’s study.

She knows Roderick has tried to bargain with him, and each time he returns from the cellar more furious than when he entered it. “He will not speak a word!” his voice bellows through the quiet halls of the manor. “He will not even look at me!”

When she dares to ask questions, Roderick glares at her and tightens the grip on his cane.

The stranger with silver hair was right about something, wealth and admiration have come to Roderick Burgess in droves since he acquired the Lord of Dreams. It’s something about the sapphire, or the sand, something she doesn’t understand, but their family comes across good fortunes, which is almost entirely spent on lavish parties to entertain Roderick’s ever expanding crowd of admirers.

She wakes with the sunrise, from a void and dreamless sleep. The manor is littered with empty bottles, full ashtrays, plates of half-eaten food, odd shoes and playing cards. Her father must still be asleep, which is odd. He is usually an early riser, even after a night of drinking.

A rumbling in her stomach has her heading through the entrance hall towards the kitchen, but she stops when she sees two men waiting by the door to the cellar– two of the guards her father has hired to watch the prisoner, dressed in smart suits with service revolvers just poking out of their jackets. They look restless, peering their heads round corners, shifting their weight on their legs, not wanting to step too far from the door.

“We can’t just leave,” one mutters to the other.

“I’m not staying down there with that… thing one second longer than I have to–”

“Good morning,” she calls.

They look at her in unison, and frown.

“Have you seen Noel and Mauirce?” one of the men asks. “They’re nearly half an hour late.”

The rotation of the guards. They take eight hour shifts in pairs.

Her eyes glance to the cellar door, opened only a fraction. “I could watch him until they get here,” she says, “if you want to leave.”

It doesn’t take them long to agree.

They leave through the front door. When she hears it shut, she finally lets herself reach for the handle to the cellar door. The handle is cold, untouched for hours at a time, and a little stiff. She pushes on it slowly, carefully, making as little noise as possible. 

With the cellar door closed, she shuts out the light and warmth of the morning. A silent, icy draft drifts through the narrow stairway. She follows it down, all the way to the dull, eerie light of the main chamber.

The sight takes her breath away, the glass sphere, suspended above the ground, still within the circle of markings that keep his power contained.

He sits in the centre, still bare, his knees tucked into his chest and his hair falling around his face like a veil.

As far she knows, no food or water ever passes the threshold to the cellar, and the cage is never opened. How does he breathe? How does he eat? How does he not wither away? He just sits there, stoic, his face frozen in time like a statue, like the image of a god cut from marble, to be preserved and admired.

A man like that cannot be real, and yet there he is.

“Hello,” she says. 

He does not react to her voice or the sound of her footsteps as she walks further into the chamber.

If he can even hear her. She wonders how thick the glass is, if sound can permeate it, or does he just hear the sound of his own breath echoed back to him, endlessly.

She comes to lean against one of the pillars, tracing her fingertips down the cold, rough surface of the stone.

“Are you really the Lord of dreams?” she says. 

His gaze lifts and turns to her, just enough that she can see his chin, his nose, and a single violet eye. It is not like the stranger’s, it is far more vibrate, burning with with a silent fury that makes her heart flutter and her skin feel tight.

“I have not dreamt since that night.”

She knows it isn’t just her. It’s the sleeping sickness, the war, the cloud of darkness looming over the rest of the world.

“The groundskeeper has a son, he’s only ten years old. He’s been asleep for months now. He can’t even eat. If he doesn’t wake up, he’ll die.”

He does not react, but his eye follows her as she takes a single step away from the pillar, towards the sphere.

“This is my father’s– our doing, yes?”

Her eyes dip to his chest, to the movement of his lungs underneath skin and muscle, a steady rise and fall with a deep, patient breath. 

“My father is a reasonable man, if you could give him something, anything, I am sure he would let you out.”

He tilts his head, until she can just see the point of his scar on his cheek and the edge of his empty eye socket.

He is simultaneously the most terrifying and most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes upon. The low light only accentuates the harsh angles in his face, the ridges and lines in the muscles and tendons of his neck, torso, arms and legs.

She takes another step closer. “I would let you out, if I could,” she says quietly, like a secret.

He blinks softly, and when her eyes flicker to his lips she sees them curled into something almost like a smile, but not quite. 

“Oh you would, would you?”

Her blood runs cold at the sound of her father’s voice. She whips her head around just in time to see Roderick marching towards her with his hand reaching out. His fist grips at her hair, and when she yelps in pain he hisses at her to be quiet. He drags her back up the steps, away from the cold cellar, to the warmth and the light, to the world without dreams.

She bathes before dinner, wincing as she runs her hands over the fresh bruises that mark her skin. Most of them are red, others are set deep and already turning a greyish purple. 

Her father’s fury still rings in her ears. “Stupid girl! If he escapes he will slaughter us all!”

Leaning on her back is especially painful, it’s where her body took the brunt of his cane. She brings her knees into her chest, hunching over herself.

She hasn’t cried over her father’s cruelty in years, not since she was a small child. He’d always call her weak for it. Randall never cried when he was disciplined, because he knew, deep down, it was good for him. Perhaps she is simply not as strong as Randall was.

Her tears are hot and stinging in her eyes. She blinks and lets them fall onto her knees, to become the dew that lingers on her skin.

“Do you want to die, girl? Because it can be easily remedied!”

She doesn’t wear anything special, a white satin dress, with long, billowy sleeves, and applies some rouge to her cheeks, to make her seem more awake, more alive.

She reaches the bottom of the staircase as the clock in the entrance hall starts to chime. Five times. Marking the start of another shift rotation. 

Two men appear from the hall that leads from the cellar, vaguely nodding as they pass her.

She can see into the dining room from the stairs, an enormous table set with silver cutlery and china plates, for just two of them.

The door to her father’s study is closed, obstructing the voices within. He’s arguing with someone. 

Before she can stop herself, she’s walking towards the cellar. She tries the handle to find it unlocked. With one final look to the door to the study, she descends back into the darkness.

Two guards sit on wooden chairs by the entrance from the stairway, and immediately stand to attention as she walks into the chamber.

“Miss,” one of them calls, “you cannot be here.”

And she seems to have caught his attention too. He looks up from where he sits in the sphere, his forearm resting on his knee. His hair is pushed from his face, and his violet eye is wide, curious.

“This is my father’s house, I will go where I please,” she says, shakily, continuing until she comes face to face with the glass.

He stares at her, somewhat furious, but in a way she knows it is not meant for her.

The men behind her are muttering to each other, she doesn’t hear their words, but she hears their panic.

“It isn’t right for him to keep you here,” she says. “It isn’t right for him to think he can play with mortality. And I am as bad as he is for letting this happen.”

The tendons of his hand flex as he clenches his fist, his fingers restless as he stares at her, intently.

“If I let you out,” she whispers, “would you harm me?”

His face softens as his eye moves over her face. 

He’s studying her, she realises. She imagines him noting the curves of her cheeks and chin, the shape of her mouth, perhaps the faint teartracks and the dark circles under her eyes.

What does he make of her, the daughter of his captor, the one who pried the sapphire from his eye? Roderick could be right, he might slaughter her the moment he is free from his cage. 

“I would like to believe that you wouldn’t,” she says.

His expression gives nothing away.

Suddenly he shifts. His muscles tense as he comes to his feet and uncurls his spine to stand before her. Something about his movements are distinctly inhuman.

The guards behind her are shouting now, telling her to step away, calling for Mr Burgess. Their voices are inconsequential to her, muffled as though spoken behind a closed door. Her heart pounds in her ears. All she sees is him, the intense gaze of his eye, a wide palm reaching out and pressing against the glass.

She reaches up slowly, his eye growing wider with every inch she comes closer to touching the glass that separates them, but not quite meeting it.

His brow furrows as if to question her. Why are you hesitating? What are you afraid of?

She won’t be dragged upstairs again. She won’t be thrown to the floor with nowhere else to go. She will not suffer at the hands of Roderick Burgess any longer.

So she presses her hand to the glass.

Her skin is feverishly cold, her arms weightless. She can almost feel the shape of his palm through the glass, but not quite, like she is reaching for something she will never touch, clawing to the memory of a dream.

She can feel herself slipping into numbness, her eyes and her limbs becoming heavy. She presses her fingernails against the glass, silently pleading though she doesn’t know what for. An escape? An end? Anything.

His face is strangely gentle as he pouts his lips, hushing her, lulling her panic. She can feel her breathing and her heartbeat slowing, but it does not frighten her.

The glass shatters, her knees give way. She is awake enough to know she is falling, but too far gone to stop herself.

But she does not need to.

The world around her is silent– no, a gentle breeze drifts over her skin and whispers in her ear. Sunlight beams onto one side of her face and the other rests against bare skin. She feels a weight around her waist, something propping her body upright.

She tries to steady herself but the ground shifts beneath her. The arms around her only tighten their grip when she stumbles.

Finally she lets her eyes flutter open. They are in a desert, a vast expanse of dry sand, reaching as far as the eye can see.

Her head is moving with his breath, against his chest.

She tilts her gaze up, close enough that her lips barely brush over the base of his throat.

His eye is already fixed on her, holding her firmly in his arms, pulling her into him.

Wordlessly, he releases one arm from her waist, and reaches down, keeping his eye on her face. When he brings himself back up, she looks at his closed fist, where sand slips from between his fingers. 

Her confusion must be visible on her face because he smiles softly at her, letting out a low “hmm” as he does.

She means to blink, but when she opens her eyes the world has changed again.

She lies face down against the ground of the cellar, dust and dirt pressing into her cheek, broken glass littering the floor around her.

She blinks again through the haze of sleep still clouding her vision. She makes out a figure in a long black coat with silver hair falling down his back. He stands over two bodies, lying lifeless on the ground, and stalks towards another.

Roderick is at the base of the stairs. He raises his cane and cries out as the prisoner reaches into his coat.

Her father’s voice fades into a spluttering, retching sound. Then he is silent. His body slumps to the floor with a gut-wrenching thud. When the stranger walks away, she sees her father sprawled out on the floor, blood spurting from his throat, seeping into his shirt, pooling on the floor around him.

She pushes herself up, leaning on her hands as her vision is blocked once again by a black coat. He stands over her, blood dripping from a knife he holds in his hand, his eye a brighter shade of violet than it was before.

He kneels beside her, taking her chin in his fingertips.

“Are you hurt?” he says. His voice is a hypnotic blend of soft and harsh, low and light, chilling in a way that sends a wave of warmth through her stomach.

She looks past his shoulder, where Roderick’s skin is turning from white to grey. “What did you do to my father?” she utters.

He jerks her head back to him. His expression is dark, lips upturned into a sneer.

Does he expect her to be grateful?

“My tools,” he says.

“You’re… what?”

“My tools. The sapphire and the pouch.”

The items that were stolen from him, that her father has now paid for with blood.

“Are you going to kill me too?” she says, digging her fingertips into the stone and the shards of glass beneath her.

He tilts his head and his lips twitch in a flicker of movement. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Tell me where they are. I will not harm you.”

Three men lay dead mere feet from them, and yet she finds herself wanting to trust him.

He offers her his arm as she stands, gripping at the thick, leather sleeve. Her palms are covered in small cuts from the glass, droplets of bright red blood pearling at the edges. He takes her wrists in his hands to have a look and tuts to himself.

“Quickly,” he says, moving towards the steps, leading her along with him, past the bodies of the guards, and the body of her father.

She brings him to the study, her hands shaking, bloody and outstretched before her. The door is wide open, a stack of papers thrown carelessly to the floor.

Roderick’s safe sits in a black cabinet in the corner of the room. She uses her fingertips to open it, wincing at the pieces of glass still stuck in her skin, but she swallows down the pain.

She guesses the combination on the first try. 1895– Randall’s birth year.

There, in the centre shelf, above the Grimoire, below a stack of banknotes, is the pouch of sand and the sapphire.

He reaches for the gem first. She turns away as he fixes it back into his socket, remembering the weight of it in her palm when she took it from him. She sees him reach forward again, but not for the pouch. He takes a hold of her wrists.

With no magic words or spells, he waves a hand over her palms. For a moment she sees a glow in his sapphire eye. The pain vanishes, so does the blood, the glass and the dirt. 

She blinks a few effortless tears from her eyes. Tears for her father, tears of relief, she cannot place a cause.

Cold fingertips meet her skin once more, as the Lord of Dreams wipes her tears away, bringing her gaze to meet his.

He leans in closer, until his forehead meets hers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

She falls into him, to find herself wide awake, clinging onto him as she had done in the desert.

But they are somewhere else entirely. The sky above them is a pale yellow, like daybreak, painted with swirling grey clouds. The land here is… dead. Dead trees, barren mountains and hills, and in the distance, beyond a dried lake, is a castle of red brick, decrepit, falling into ruin.

“You see the damage that has been done to my realm?” he says. With her ear pressed against his chest, his voice is cavernous and she feels everything, the way his words drag through his throat. She feels his pain at being confined, the loss of his home and his creations.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I do not forgive easily, that is why Roderick Burgess had to die. But you…” he pulls away from her so he might look at her properly, cupping the sides of her face and swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. “I do not need an apology from you. We are free of him now.”

“Is that what you think I wanted?” 

He hums with tight lips. “I have seen your dreams, as I see the dreams of every mortal. I see them as clearly as you perceive the waking world. It just so happened that our dreams coincided.”

She had never dreamt of her father’s death and she had certainly never imagined that she might have played a part in it. But she cannot deny the weight now lifted from her shoulders. She will never have to earn his approval, she will never have to endure him again. She is free of him.

“Go now,” he says, “I am sure you have your own business to resolve.”

He releases his hold of her and brings his hands behind his back. As he walks towards the castle the world around her starts to fade. She can smell the musk of the manor, the lingering smoke of her father’s cigars, the distinct scent of a winter evening.

“Wait!” she calls.

The ends of his coat swish around his legs as he turns back to face her. “Yes?” he says, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile.

“I want to know your name.”

“I have had many names,” he says.

“And how would you have me know you?”

“Aemond,” he says.

She echoes his name, letting her mouth linger on the final syllable. “Will I see you again?”

He draws the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Perhaps,” he says.

When she wakes she is laid out on one of the leather sofas of her father’s study. She looks down at her hands, traces her fingertips down her face, now free of the dirt and dust. 

She wonders if she might have dreamt all of it, the beautiful man in the sphere, the glass breaking, her father’s blood on the floor…

Her life is never the same after that. With her father dead, his estate passes to her. For the first time, her life is hers to do with as she pleases.

And yet she feels an absence, a hollow longing in her chest.

Her dreams come back to her since she set him free, and each night she dreams of him.

He only appears in brief moments, like lighting, bright and brilliant, but gone in a heartbeat, before she can truly see him. She sees the movement of a leather coat, flashes of silver, violet and sapphire blue. Sometimes she is met with darkness as a pair of lips ghosts over her neck with a contented sigh and a warm breath.

She cannot bear it.

As she lies in the empty manor house, she traces her fingers over her body, her lips, down her neck and her chest, underneath her cotton nightgown, to her navel and the pool of wanting wetness between her legs, trying to imagine they are his. 

She pictures the way his hair fell around his face, the coldness of his skin, the curve of his lips. She imagines them parting in a small sigh, the sound of his breath, the way his chest hummed as she circles over her bundle of nerves. Pleasure sparks at first but it keeps slipping from her grasp.

She circles faster, harder, searching for a spot that will finally give her the release she craves.

She feels heat and a sheen of sweat settling on the surface of her skin, her breathing hitches, her hips twitch under her touches. The pleasure heightens, then fades.

With her eyes tightly shut, she spurs herself on with thoughts of him, breathlessly chanting his name into the empty space and cold air of her bedroom.

“Aemond… Aemond…”

Something changes.

The mattress shifts beneath her and a weight presses against her body, her legs, her stomach, her chest.

A hand clasps around hers, ceasing her movements, and bringing it to rest by her side.

She laments the loss of the friction against her bud, her pleasure pulled away from her, but in its place anticipation blooms within her.

When she opens her eyes he is above her, against her, hovering his face over hers so that all she sees are his eyes, one violet, one sapphire.

“You have my attention,” he says in a soft but unsettling voice.

A thrill ripples through her body.

She whispers his name on an exhale of breath, running her fingertips over his arms, tense and toned as his props himself over her. 

But she is somewhat dazed, her senses numbed by fatigue and the echo of the pleasure she had been chasing.

“Is this real?” she utters.

Aemond leans further into her. She feels a weight between her hips and an unmistakable hardness prodding at her centre as he brings his lips to her neck, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against a sensitive spot of skin that has her body tensing and her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Does if feel real?” he whispers against her skin.

How much has he truly seen of her dreams, her desires, she wonders? Perhaps she should feel some kind of shame, but she cannot, not when she is on the precipice of something bright, beautiful and damning. She can hardly stand being on the edge of it, having him so close but not close enough.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he teases her with his lips, crosses her legs around his hips, meeting his movements as he torturously grinds his hardening cock against her cunt, dripping with arousal, twitching and clenching around nothing at the anticipation.

“Needy little thing,” he mutters, dragging his nose along her neck as he comes to kiss the hollow of her throat.

His voice sends a shockwave through her body. Her hips buck against his, determined for relief as her fingers thread through the soft strands of his hair, and tug. 

He lets out a quiet growl against her skin. A hand rests upon her thigh and trails up, bunching the hem of her nightgown to her waist and adjusting the other side. 

He sits back, watching her with the same darkness and intensity as when he was trapped inside the cage, intrigued at the least, fascinated if she is presumptive. 

The irony of being laid half bare before him and at his mercy does not escape her.

“I’ve heard you crying out for me, little mortal,” he says. 

“You said you can see my dreams,” she says, “how?”

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he says, “in The Dreaming. I see your dreams as I see the dreams of every other being. I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world. But you…” he muses, settling his hands on either side of her waist. “You are incessant.”

She shivers and writhes under his touch, a pulsing heat settling within her.

She traces her hands over his, where they grip at her waist, along his smooth skin, the tendons and veins. His fingers are long and lithe. She knows they would feel so perfect, wrapped around her throat, stroking over her skin, pushing inside of her wet heat to coax her pleasure.

Aemond smiles to himself as though he can hear her thoughts.

He grips harder into her flesh and pulls his hips back, only to let his cock slide over her slick folds with teasingly gentle thrusts.

Every stroke pushes her closer and closer to the edge, but not enough to find release. She feels the frustrating want pulsing through her body, the coil getting tighter and tighter, her cunt clenching over nothing.

“Aemond…” she says with a breathless mewl, “please…”

“You really want it, don’t you?” Aemond growls, resting his forehead against hers. “Just feel how wet that empty little cunt is for me.”

Her eyes trail along the angles of his face, the line of his scar, the night sky in his eyes as he stares down at her, the gentle curve of his lips and how they settle into a soft expression. 

Her gaze slips further down, over his throat, his collar, his pale, bare chest, the ridges of the muscles on his abdomen, the slight dip in his waist, the trail of silver hair to his cock, long, hard and flushed with need, transfixed by the way it moves against her.

She holds her breath each time he withdraws, stifling her whines into his mouth when he only keeps teasing her.

“I want it,” she groans, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

He lets out a contented hum as he leans down to kiss her. The movements of his mouth are slow and consuming, claiming her with lips, tongue and teeth, wetness and warmth.

She holds him close by the sides of his face. In his violet eye she sees his hunger, his rage, his lust. In his sapphire, she sees oblivion. 

And finally, he eases himself into her. 

He fucks her delicately, dragging his cock through her gently, slowly, deeply. His lips ghost over her skin, her temple, her cheek, back to her mouth with light kisses and strained but soft breaths. 

With a few deft circles over her bud she feels herself come undone around him. Her climax burns through her and she holds him closer for purchase, digging her fingertips into his skin as her resolve melts and her legs tremble around his hips.

Aemond doesn’t stop. He holds her against the mattress with a determined grip, fucking her through her peak until her pleasure settles and simmers once more.

Being kissed by him, held by him, fucked by him feels light a dream, that weightless, numb feeling of being between consciousness and sleep coursing through her limbs. It feels good, it feels deep, it feels perfect.

She cannot be sure how many climaxes he draws from her, she just feels him, his heat, his hands and his skin as he repositions her legs, guides her onto her front, brings her up to her knees, pushes her back down again, until she is a blissful, mindless mess.

He meets his own end when he has her face down on the bed, her face turned to the side against the pillow, his mouth on the underside of her jaw as he pounds into her. 

“You’re doing so well,” she hears him rasp, “you’ve been so good to me… fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Her mind is beyond words and coherent thoughts. She utters the only thing she feels, the only thing she can think of, “Aemond… Aemond… Aemond…”

He stills his hips against her rear with a guttural moan, pressing his face against hers, squeezing her waist under his hands. He allows himself a few more shallow thrusts until he is spent. She feels his cock pulse within her, a warmth pooling, his spend dripping from her cunt once he has pulled away.

The weight dissipates from her back and for a moment she lies there, basking in the afterglow, feeling her chest rise and fall against the bed, the softness of her sheets under her fingertips.

She wakes to a gentle breeze running over her skin and slipping down her spine.

She allows her eyes to flutter open and recoils at the pale sunlight beaming through the spaces in the curtains. 

She holds her breath.

She hears no sound or sign of life other than her own pulse. 

She twists herself to sit up, noting that her bedsheets are neat and the hem of her nightgown is where it should be. 

Is it possible that she dreamed it? She remembers it so vividly, but the mind has a way of playing tricks. Perhaps it was only a dream.

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he had said. “I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world.”

How do we determine what is real? she wonders as she pulls on a robe and goes to open the curtains. The morning floods her bedroom. It brings no warmth, but it brings light and life back into the room. 

To dream is to live beyond ourselves, why should that be any less true than the world around me? 

She seats herself before her vanity, reaching for the drawer for her hairbrush.

But something catches her eye, a glint of colour against mahogany wood, a small gem catching the sunlight.

She takes it between her thumb and index finger and brings it before her eyes; a sapphire, the size of a pearl, a deep and vibrant blue. Its edges are uneven and dull, uncut, as though plucked straight from the earth. 

She turns it about between her fingers. It could be a trick of the light, but there is depth to it, a vastness within. The sapphire seems to capture the night sky, dotted with glimmering stars.

His was the same.

As the dazed state of sleep wears off, she feels the satisfied ache between her legs, the spots on her skin marked by him. She smiles to herself and holds the gem in her palm, this precious gift, this reminder, this promise from the Lord of Dreams.

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Sweet Dream taglist: @solisarium @sirenangelroyal @sabrinasstar @shygardengalaxy @aemondsfavouritebastard @wintrr13 @thedamewithabook @lexwolfhale @rainyforest777

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

[let-me-take-your-soul]

Can you write about an average day in Spirit taking care of Kid in the Angels of Death and Grief? This au is unironically entertaining me while my house deals with a flea infestation X/

Oh no!! I hope that your house is doing a bit better! Sorry to make you wait so long for this, but I hope it's still a nice little tidbit for ya!

Spirit's average day taking care of Kid (Angels of Death AU)

It wasn’t easy for Spirit to take care of Kid. While he was a very independent child for the most part, it was incredibly difficult for him to truly be a child. For a long time, Spirit would try to encourage him to interact with students in his age range, but Kid wanted nothing to do with people who didn’t have a direct connection to his family.

Spirit would start his day early, getting up and ready well before Kid needed to do anything. Then, he’d go to the academy and wake up Kid from the bedroom he’d created in the Death Room. It broke Spirit’s heart every time Kid would wake up and ask about his dad or brother, thinking they had finally returned. Each morning led to more disappointment.

Spirit would hustle Kid out of bed and make him food. He was becoming a pretty decent cook at this point. Most days Kid would be rather prompt about getting ready.

“What would my family think if they came home to me not working?” he’d say.

Other days, it took everything to get this grief-stricken child out of bed. Even when he was so far in denial, he was still an incredibly lonely and pained child. Some days he couldn’t get out of bed, whether it was from missing his family, or from physical pain from his body that had been wrecked by power. 

On those days, Spirit would let him stay in bed as long as he needed, checking in throughout his work day to make sure he’d eaten the food that was brought to him. 

Any other day, it was hard to get Kid back in bed. He quickly began to take on more and more responsibilities for the academy and Spirit had to force Kid to give some of his daily tasks up so that way Spirit had anything to do. 

He’d also try to get Kid to go out and do some of the activities that he used to love, but there were a lot of things that Kid couldn’t do anymore. So– the two bonded over reading. This activity actually helped Spirit bond with Maka more as well. He’d consistently reach out to see what she’d been reading lately and what she liked about the books, so Spirit would have something to give to Kid later on.

It’s a busy process for him, but Spirit has gotten used to keeping his attention on Kid while he waits for any progress or changes in him at all.

[nataliasquote]

Back in time [pt. 2] | n romanoff | winterwidow

Back in time au: part 1

Summary: Bucky and Natasha’s daughter seeks comfort in her Aunt Wanda as her parents go missing on a mission

Warnings: major character death, panic attack, grief

Pairings: winterwidow

wc: 3.5k

- ⧗ -

The sound of Wanda's phone ringing shocked her awake. The room was pitch black and she fumbled around for the light switch. Tapping the phone to switch it on, the bright screen flashed 4:36am and she groaned. But Fury's name got rid of any thoughts she had of falling back asleep and she answered the call, sitting up in bed and pushing the hair from her face.

Y/n had slept in her own bed for a little over a week now, so luckily the phone call didn't wake her. Wanda was barely awake as Fury started talking, but at the mention of Bucky and Natasha, she was suddenly alert. As the call ended, she quickly threw on jeans and a shirt and raced downstairs to the meeting room.

As early as it was, the office was teaming with activity. Agents were typing away on computers and Fury was on the phone with someone who he clearly wasn't happy with. Wanda smiled at a couple of people she knew, but she felt so out of place. But Maria Hill came to her rescue and pulled her aside.

"Thanks for coming down Wanda. We've had a note that Bucky and Nat might be coming back today. I'm guessing Fury filled you in on everything?"

"Yeah. He said the quinjet had finally pinged a location?" When she first heard Fury tell her the news, she nearly screamed. But she knew not to get too excited. Nat and Bucky had been missing for weeks and this could just be another false alarm.

"We think. There have been a couple of wrong alerts before, but a team of agents left this morning to investigate the location. They could be back any minute." Maria was tapping away on a tablet as she spoke, her mind in 2 places at once. "You might want to get Y/n down here. She's gonna want to see her mom and dad if they get back."

"If?" Wanda was shocked at Maria's uncertainty.

"I'm sorry we can't give you a 'when' yet." Wanda nodded and slowly backed out of the room. The news of her best friends coming home had excited her, but everyone seemed so unsure, and it left an aching feeling in Wanda's gut.

She decided to distract herself by waking Y/n. The 16 year old was still fast asleep, as she should be. Quietly flicking on the bedside lamp, Wanda brushed the hair from Y/n's face.

"Good morning angel." She whispered as not to startle the poor girl. Y/n's eyes fluttered open and she squinted in the lamplight.

"Morning" she mumbled, stretching her arms and legs out to try and wake up. "What time is it?"

"It's early, baby, and I'm sorry. But we've got some stuff to do." Wanda tried to keep her answers as vague as possible. She really didn't want to get the girl's hopes up incase nothing came of today's investigation. But Wanda couldn't help but be hopeful.

The teenager didn't have any energy to argue. She would usually have gone back to sleep, but something was different about the way Wanda was behaving. Call it a gut instinct, or maybe because she was raised by Natasha, but Y/n could tell Wanda was excited. Why she was excited at 5am was a whole other story, but it was enough for the teenager to go on.

Wanda left the room to let Y/n get changed, which she did fairly quickly. Her usual signature braids had been swapped for a ponytail ever since Nat had left. But the hoodie she was wearing was Bucky's of course. It made her feel just that little bit closer to her parents, wherever they may be.

"What are you hiding?" Y/n asked as she tucked into her cereal. Wanda looked confused at how she'd managed to pick that up so quickly.

"I'm not sure what you mean, darling."

Y/n rolled her eyes and dropped her spoon on the table. "I'm not dumb. You seem excited. And we were up at 5am. None of that is normal behaviour for you. So what's changed?"

Wanda hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to tell Y/n, but the girl deserved to know. These were her parents in question and they couldn't withhold information about them. "There might be an update on your mom and dad." Y/n's eyes went wide and her spoon froze halfway to her mouth.

"What?" She breathed, her eyes filling with tears. "Really?"

"It's really early still, and it's just a location, but Fury thinks it's from their jet." Wanda told her everything she knew. The 16 year old was desperately fighting back tears as Wanda spoke, but the prospect of maybe seeing her mom again became too much. She completely broke down and dropped her head to the table, letting out heart wrenching sobs.

Wanda rushed to her side and pulled her into a hug. "I just want to see them again." Y/n cried against Wanda's shirt. "I miss them so much."

"I know baby girl, I know."

Y/n kept her head against Wanda's chest for a few minutes as she cried. "Can we go see Aunt Maria?"

"If that's what you want, then yeah. Let's go."

The teenager stood up on shaky legs and pushed away her half eaten breakfast, her appetite no longer there. She held on to Wanda's hand like it was a lifeline, gripping her fingers to make sure she was still there. It was a silly thought, but Y/n couldn't lose her too.

They were finally back in the office, but this time Steve was there. He was hovering near the doorway, looking as out of place as Wanda did when she first arrived. In any other circumstances, Y/n would have given him a hug, but she barely even noticed him as she walked in. Wanda flashed him a warm smile which her returned, but a tug on her sleeve notified her of the impatient teenager still hanging on to her arm.

Y/n was frantically searching for the familiar brunette that she loved. There were agents racing around everywhere and she recoiled back into Wanda, feeling rather exposed and overwhelmed. Wanda felt her goddaughter flinch into her side and she wrapped an arm around her protectively, guiding her through the sea of people to where Maria was stood. Y/n hands were slightly clammy, the intensity of the day already getting to her.

"Aunt Maria?" Y/n blurted out, her voice weaker than she intended. But the SHIELD agent still heard her and whipped around, shocked to see her niece.

"Hey Y/n, what-" She was cut off by the girl throwing her hands around her waist and tackling her into a hug, almost sending them both flying backwards.

"Please tell me you've heard something about them. Please Aunt Maria!" Y/n voice sounded so desperate that the surrounding agents shared a sorrowful look between them. Bucky and Nat's disappearance had been hard on everyone, but that kid had suffered the most. "I just want to see mama and papa. That's all I want."

Maria clung on to her niece harder. The truth was, they had more information, but Maria couldn't say what state the couple would be in until they came through the doors, and the last thing she wanted to do was worry the trembling girl anymore than she already was.

"I'm sorry Y/n, there's been nothing so far. But I promise you that-"

A yell from the hallway caught everyone's attention and cut Maria off mid-sentence. A group of agents sprinted through the hall, but what, or who, came after them was the main focus. After the chaos in the hallway cleared, Y/n could have a proper look of what was going on.

She let out a whimper and broke into a sprint, Wanda unable to hold her back. The doors at the end of the corridor were open and 2 people had just crossed the threshold. They were still quite far away, but Y/n knew those figures anywhere. If the red hair wasn't a dead giveaway, then the obvious height difference was. She kept running, getting closer and closer.

But as her body moved on autopilot, her mind span slightly. Her mama was smaller than Bucky, sure, but not that  much smaller. She kept running, but slowed down as she saw the scene in front of her. Her papa was walking with his arms holding Nat upright. She was hunched over, her hands pressing into her stomach as she stumbled, just trying to put one foot in front of the other. Bucky was muttering stuff in her ear, so the couple hadn't noticed their daughter stood 20ft in front of them.

Y/n felt sick to her stomach. She'd waited months, but it felt like years, for her parents to walk through that door. She'd dreamt about it so many times, the day they came home, the way they'd all be reunited as a family. Nat and Bucky would walk in without a scratch, their arms open wide to pull Y/n into a tight hug.

But dreams are not reality. They weren't waiting for a hug. They were being swarmed by doctors and Y/n found herself being pressed against a wall. Her chest felt tight as she watched her mama and papa walked past her without a second glance. She tried to call out, but her voice had been reduced to a whisper, proving futile against the noisy corridor.

She slumped to the floor, her legs giving out under her weight. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. The sweatshirt she was wearing felt suffocating and she pulled at the collar, trying to relieve pressure on her chest. Her mind was screaming at her to run after them, but she didn't move. She couldn't move.

People pushed and shoved above her but she payed no attention. Until a familiar hand grabbed hold of hers and pulled her into their arms. Steve picked up the frozen teenager and carried her back into the office where Wanda was still standing, relief flooding her features as she laid eyes on Y/n once more. The teenager hadn't noticed that she had moved locations, her mind was still replaying that moment in her head. Wanda sat with her in a quiet corner as she tried to bring her back, but Y/n sat there, shaking and sweating, her breathing erratic.

Wanda was good at calming panic attacks, but Y/n barely even acknowledged her presence. The witch was quickly running out of options and Y/n was getting paler and paler.

"Papa?" Y/n voice shook and she reached out, desperately trying to grab onto something. "Papa? Mama?" Wanda offered her hands but Y/N didn't accept them. The teen was still zoned out and Wanda tried her best to keep calm. Seeing Maria walk past the window, Wanda dashed out and grabbed the SHIELD agent, pulling her into the room.

"Please can Y/n see Bucky and Nat? She's in a state and she won't snap out of it. She needs her parents Maria. This girl needs her mom and dad." At the mention of Nat, Maria's smile faltered before she hauled it back in place.

Y/n was still closed in on herself, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were going white. She was mumbling about Nat under her breath and Maria couldn't help but worry for the girl. "Bring her with me."

She walked out of the room, Wanda hot on her heels. Steve had picked Y/n back up as they made their way to the restricted area of the medical centre. He could feel her body vibrating in his arms and as much as he was desperate to see his best friends, he knew his job was to make sure Y/n saw them too.

There were agents guarding one of the doors, but they saw Maria and let the entourage through, quickly resuming their positions once Steve had walked through. There was a section curtained off, but one person they wanted to see was sitting on a chair, his head in his hands, still in the clothes he wore on his mission.

"Buck." Steve couldn't believe what he was seeing. The best friends made eye contact and smiled before Bucky noticed his daughter in Steve's arms. He leaped up, ignoring his searing muscles, and quickly took her from him.

Y/n noticed that she'd moved and the person felt very familiar. "Papa?" Her voice was hoarse but she was slowly coming back to reality.

"It's me doll. It's Papa." He had tears streaming down his cheeks, and Bucky never cried. Y/n reached out and placed her palm against his cheek, wanting to feel that it was him. That he was real.

"You're real!" Y/n had finally grounded herself enough to fling her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into his neck. "You came back."

Bucky hugged her back with reciprocated emotion. "I'm sorry for leaving you doll. I really am. But I'm back." He pushed his face into her hair, just glad to be holding his daughter for real. Every night on the mission he and Nat would talk about stories and memories they had with Y/n, laughing about her as a toddler. They each had a photo they kept in their pockets, and Nat had Y/n's baby thumbprint on the handle of her gun alongside her own thumbprint, so she was always with her baby girl.

"Where's Mama?" Y/n looked around but saw no sign of her. She looked back at her papa, who eyes flashed with sadness. "Where's Mama!"

"She's just in there doll." He gestured to the blue curtains, and Y/n instantly climbed off his lap. "Wait a sec, let me come with you." She waited for him to stand up before they made their way over. "Be gentle with her, Y/n. She's a bit fragile at the moment."

Y/n nodded in understanding as Bucky slowly pulled the curtain open, allowing them to slip through. Y/n stopped still for a moment as she took in what she was seeing.

Her Mama. But she wasn't up and moving like Bucky was. She was on a hospital bed, with wires attached to her arms and chest. But her eyes were open. Her eyes were open and she had a smile on her face as she saw Y/n.

"Hey big girl" Nat breathed, lifting her arms to invite Y/n for a hug. As much as she wanted to run into her arms, Y/N looked back at Bucky for confirmation before she made her way over, collapsing gently into her mother.

"Mama" Y/n took a deep inhale of her mother's scent, missing the instant calming nature it had on her. She didn't know why Nat was in a hospital bed so she made sure to be careful, not putting her weight onto her mother's body at all. She felt immediately felt at home, the feeling of her mama's fingers running through her sending a calm feeling through her body.

"Oh my baby girl. I missed you so much." That was an understatement. Natasha felt as though she was missing a limb without Y/n.

"I missed you too, Mama. God I missed you so much, you don't understand. But you're ok, right? Wh-what happened?"

Y/n sat up and shifted so she was perched on the side of Nat's hospital bed, her fingers intertwines with her mother's. Bucky had taken a seat on one of the chairs at Nat's bedside, placing his hand on top of his girls'. "It's nothing, baby. You don't need to worry. Mama was just a bit careless that's all."

Y/n couldn't believe her. "You're never careless. Every move you make is so calculated and controlled. Natasha Romanoff never makes mistakes. Ever."

Nat and Bucky were both shocked by Y/n's outburst. Their little girl had always been spirited, but not to the extent where she would question her parents' words. Had so much really changed in the months they had been gone?

"You promised you would look after each other! That was the one thing keeping me from going crazy! Knowing that you were watching each other's sixes." Y/n had stood up from the bed in despair. "What if you had been killed? What do you do then? Come home and tell me that my mom is dead because you were to stubborn to protect each other! I could have lost you, mom!" Tears were streaming down her face as she spoke. "I can't lose you." Y/n exhaled a shaky breath, collecting her thoughts. "I can't lose either of you."

Nat went to speak, but was cut off with a groan. Her body tensed up, pain contorting across her features. Beads of sweat quickly formed across her forehead and Y/n moved back from the bed in panic. Bucky slammed his hand on the emergency button, moving to grab Y/n. Nat was screaming in pain and Y/n could barely watch. She wanted to make it stop. She would trade places if it meant her mom would be ok.

Doctors came rushing in, pulling up Nat's hospital gown to check on her stomach. Bucky tried to drag Y/n away but she kicked her heels in in protest, not wanting to leave her mama's side. But she almost vomited into a bucket as she saw the extent of her mom's injury.

There was a scar which looked like it had come from a bullet wound. It was healed but still looked relatively knew. But that wasn't the alarming part. The skin around it was black and it spread through her veins, send some sort of toxin surging through her body, attacking her muscles and nerves. Nat was injected with something to help the pain, but it had little affect.

Her heart monitor started to spike and she thrashed around, her back arched in agony. Y/n was yelling out, fighting Bucky's tight grip as she tried to get to Nat. The monitor kept rising, the beeps getting louder and louder. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in, crushing Y/n's lungs until she could barely breathe. Her mind was a reeling mess, adrenaline running through her veins like lava. The doctors were rushing around, connecting more wires and trying to reduce Nat's pain.

It stopped.

Everything stopped. Nat's body slumped into the mattress, her muscles no longer tensing, her chest no longer heaving. In fact, it didn't rise or fall at all. Just stillness. Y/n was frozen once again in Bucky's arms, her heart hammering inside her chest like a hummingbird. No one spoke. The only noise was the heart monitor.

The continuous beep.

The one that everyone dreads.

No one moved. No one dared say a thing.

Apart from the redheaded teenager who had just lost her sun. Her moon, the light in her life. Gone. Breaking out of her papa's grasp, she raced over to Nat and threw herself on top, sobbing into her mom's neck. There was no pulse, no warmth that she usually felt. It was all gone. Reduced to nothing but an empty shell of a person. The doctors left in respect, bowing their heads as they exited.

Y/n let out a scream which echoed through the whole compound. Everyone who heard it recognised it was not one of fear. It was one of loss, of grief. Holding on to her mama's shoulders, Y/n broke down. Her heart ached to say goodbye. To rewind the last 5 minutes and say goodbye. Her body had attached itself to Nat, her legs wrapped around her waist and her face buried in her neck. Y/n's hands found their way into Nat's hair and she twisted the Scarlett strands around her fingers, almost tying themselves together.

"I can't lose you Mama. I can't lose you." Her heartbreaking mantra started out as a whisper but gradually got louder until she was screaming the words. She was angry. At Natasha. At the universe. At herself.

Wanda had tried to go in, but Bucky had told her to wait outside. He couldn't bear to watch the agonising scene, and he wanted Y/n to have some privacy. She'd just found and lost her mama on the very same day.

"Come back. You need to come back!" Nat didn't move, no matter how hard Y/n begged and pleaded.

"I can't do this alone. I need you."

"I can't lose you." Y/n’s broken voice was reduced to a whisper as she continued to recite these words. This lasted for hours. No one could remove the grieving girl from her mother's body. She just lay there, breathing in her mother's scent for the final time.

"I can't lose you."

[sungbeam]

BIRD HUNT — series m.list

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman ; i haven't decided who's end game yet LOL there might be multiple endings

▷ warnings (do read). vulgar language, depictions of violence, mentions of blood, usage and description of weaponry, depictions of corruption and assault, murder/death, grief turning to revenge/vengeance, no one is sane tbh, kissing, yn actually has a lot of cats; each installment will have its own warnings per the content it holds

▷ taglist. open // update schedule. whenever i can </3

▷ total wc. tbd // each part is ~4k each

a/n: this has been one of my passion projects for so long tbh :') if this flops ... let's pray for the best!! but it's okay bc i love it too much <//3 the biggest thanks and so much love+appreciation to @loveliestfelix for being my hype woman from the beginning of this project ilysm 💖

CHOI FAMILY FILES_ unlocked.

⌕ TEASER!

FILE_00 : PERSONNEL (character guide)

FILE_01 : A THING FOR STRAYS

FILE_02 : BEHIND EVERY MAN

FILE_03 : BY THE TAIL

FILE_04 : DEATH BRINGS US TOGETHER

FILE_05 : FALL WHERE THEY MAY

FILE_06 : ARMS OF AN ANGEL

FILE_07 : RED ON THE LEDGER

FILE_08 : BURN AFTER READING

FILE_09 : JUSTICE OR VENGEANCE

FILE_10 : A JOB OFFER

FILE_11 : BLOOD OF THE COVENANT

...pending

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @loveliestfelix @zhaixiaowen @justanotherkpopstanlol @w3bqrl @kangfication @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @super-btstrash-posts @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @kflixnet @rikizm

series taglist: @winterchimez @mosviqu @boba-beom @strawbrinkofdeath @baek-at-it-again95 @todosmash @loveforred @rocarecs @megseungmin @arsjeong @woncheecks @vicurious28 @lun4kazumii @shoberi @moguwcrld

[vinelark]

ALL timkon recs I BEG

hello hi! here are some of my favs! it got long so putting some under the cut

💄 Lipstick on the glass by @cairoscene read for timkon being soft and goofy and disgustingly in love, set in vague future college-y years with amazing core four dynamics too. cair is one of the funniest people to ever exist and we are so blessed that they decided to write some timkon. (also read for my own greatest contribution to literature, the fictional “jerry the void nexus” meme)

🎢 been a number and a name by @wynterstars i had SO MUCH FUN reading this one, a 90s comics-divergent AU where robin and superboy become friends—and crushes—when superboy is pretty new on the scene. feat. lex luthor being terrible, tim staging a rescue operation that at one point involves platform shoes and a blonde wig, spice girls references, and fantastic action sequences. it’s also a series, with an installment focusing on kon & clark, and a currently updating longfic sequel with SO MANY timkon identity shenanigans (my beloved) and kon feelings (also my beloved).

📸 the surveillance series by @smilebackwards i feel like i rec this all the time but it’s because it’s THAT GOOD. a tim-centric AU where tim joins the family late, but is still involved in bat business without the bats realizing. there’s some fun timkon identity shenanigans at the top, and some of my all-time favorite tim characterization (ruthless! lonely! brilliant!) plus a great tim & bruce arc, too.

🦉 Detours by miyaji_08 this is part 2 of a series and i def recommend reading the whole thing! a reverse robins + joker jr au that has lots of trauma and lots of healing, and in part 2 there’s timkon identity shenanigans that’s simultaneously enemies to lovers + And They Were Roommates. tim sure does run a gauntlet of horrors in this series, but it has so much healing and also one of my fav reverse robins concepts i’ve read so far.

📱 unfurl by @burins tim and kon might be dating, and there’s no kryptonian sex ed handy. bruce, being bruce, makes it his business, which means talking to clark and Realizing some things about his own feelings. superbat are billed first here, but i think timkon steal the show—i laughed out loud like five different times reading this. hilarious and sweet on all sides. (and if you like this, check out their timkon road trip fic!)

🌾 A Saturday Evening by malcyon in which tim visits the kent farm for family dinner with kon, feat. very sweet established relationship timkon and fun superfamily dynamics, and it touches on tim’s past grief over kon’s death (and complicated feelings post-undeath).

🤼‍♂️ Sore Loser by @hearteyeshayley kon learns that tim always let him win while sparring, and has to process that. this was such a fun exploration of tim’s prowess as a fighter—one who regularly has to go up against superpowered friends and foes alike—and also tim as a person who is always doing mental calculations about the people around him (in an endearing way). kon, too, got his time to shine and grow, and the ending was so smart and sweet.

🔮 Ascension by Violet_Witch an AU longfic where tim is a witchling and kon is a fallen angel who has (oops) just lost his wings. tim sets out to help get kon’s wings back, and there’s a ticking clock because angel wings are dangerous in the wrong hands—and tim has a big, horrible secret that’s about to come due. the plot/worldbuilding of this was WILDLY cool, and there was a big ol misunderstanding in the middle that had me clawing my face off (in a good way).

🌌 straight on ’til morning by merils kon vs. the terrifying ordeal of growing up, feat. sweet friends-to-lovers timkon and really thoughtful exploration of some of kon’s canon past relationships and their abusive dynamics. i haven’t finished this one yet but it’s been rec’d multiple times and i’m excited to dive back in (and it's recently complete!)—and what i have read so far gave me an amazing sequence of kon and dick interacting and dick’s big brother mode activating in an instant, which is something i now desperately need more of.

📧 aaaand would it even be a reclist by me if i didn’t include send to all by @cairoscene the absolute moment i find myself feeling down i go reread this and boom. i am instantly laughing again. timkon are just one part of a bat grab-bag here but they are so so funny and cute and in-character. maybe one day i’ll compile the timkon-centric sequel that exists in my head but for now i’ll just go reread this for the zillionth time.

okay yeah!! i’m probably missing so many good fics here because i constantly have like a zillion tabs open that i plan to read someday. also i reserve the right to reblog later like OH I FORGOT— but in the meanwhile, happy timkon reading!

[perseabeth]

The Promise of the Wild Sea

< this is not an official fic yet, i had this AU in my mind for a while, and now i got the time to write few parts of it. if the story was to your liking, i might get encouraged to make it an official fic. i’d like to remind you that i do not own any of the characters, as they all belong to the original myths and Rick Riordan. except for the oc Callista. however, i made some alternation in the myths that could benefit my story. i hope you like these changes. also this is a fem!percy version. enjoy reading >

- 1184 BCE, The fallen city of Troy -

Apollo stood in front of Callista’s pyre, the flames not yet lit, his gaze fixed on her lifeless face. Her once radiant beauty now drained, her cheeks no longer flushed with the color of life. Her hair, dark as the starless night, framed a visage that seemed at peace, a peace she had found only in death. Yet, she had stolen his peace with her departure, leaving him hollow and bereft.

With painstaking care, he had smoothed away every bruise, every mark of the cruelty she had endured, wishing to present her to the underworld in the full splendor of her glory. His Callista, his heart. He clutched the two drachmas in his hand, the coins a symbol of her final journey, but to him, they were a cruel reminder of his eternal separation from her. How could he consign her to the underworld, knowing he would be condemned to an eternity without her by his side?

His soul ached with a grief that seemed too vast to contain. With a trembling breath, he placed the drachmas on her closed eyes, sealing her fate, preparing her for her voyage to the underworld. She deserved a realm free from the sorrows of war and the sting of death, a place of peace and light. He swore on his immortal soul that she would find solace in Elysium.

Apollo leaned down, his tears falling like rain upon her serene face, pressing a final kiss to her cold, unresponsive forehead.

“Farewell, my Callista... until we meet again, my angel.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun god cradled her cheeks in his trembling hands, his soy blue eyes filled with the agony of days spent pleading with his uncle, the merciless lord of death, for this moment. She was there in his embrace, radiant as the true princess she was, her beauty untouched by the shadows of the underworld. Her black hair cascaded down her back like the soft night sky, a dark tapestry embroidered with stars in silken threads. Her eyes, those mesmerizing sea-green eyes, gazed up at him—the very eyes he had yearned to kiss open one last time before cruel fate tore her away.

But nothing unfolded as he had hoped.

"My lord," Callista whispered, her eyes shining with boundless love for the man before her. She wore a white, elegant chiton that clung to her form with an ethereal grace, adorned with a delicate laurel crown—a vision of Trojan royalty. Apollo shook his head, refusing to accept the words forming on her lips. "No, you are coming with me," he implored, tears welling up in his sky-blue eyes, each drop a testament to his anguish. He was begging, pleading for her to return with him to the world of the living.

The princess before him shook her head gently, her gaze unwavering. "No, my lord, I am dead. I am happy here," she said softly. She took his palm, still cradling her cheek, and pressed a tender kiss upon it, as if sealing their fates with that simple, heartbreaking act. "You must respect the rules of death, my love. You must go on and find happiness in the lands of the living."

Her words stabbed his heart, despite the delicateness of her voice, despite the sweetness of her words, and despite the loveliness of her eyes. She was pushing him away, each word like a dagger twisting deeper.

Callista looked at him again, her gaze filled with a sorrowful resolve. "I'm with my family, and you should be with yours. Lord Zeus will not be tolerable when he hears that you brought me back from death."

Apollo tried to reason with her, desperation lacing his voice. "But Uncle Hades has already accepted," he argued, only to be met with another tender kiss on his palm from Callista.

"I'm not letting you get into an argument with your father," she replied softly. She lifted her hand and gently caressed the strand of his hair falling on his forehead. Her melodic voice continued, soothing yet heartbreaking. "You will live on. You will find happiness again, I'm sure."

"My happiness is with you only," he insisted, his voice breaking.

But Callista only shook her head with a sad smile. "That's what you're saying now, because the pain is so new. But trust me, my love... time will go on, life will go on." She looked into his eyes, her determination unyielding. He knew there was no way to change her heart. She gave him a beautiful smile that could have brightened his days if not for their situation. "You did all you could. You made sure I found my final rest in a beautiful place. Now it's your turn to let go... to move on."

Apollo's tears threatened to fall, threatening to drown his eyes. He did the only thing he could do in that moment; he planted a soft, small kiss on her lips, a goodbye kiss filled with all the sorrow of a love that could never be. It was a kiss that spoke of unending longing and the crushing weight of farewell.

He would never force her to do anything. If she was happy, he would be happy, even if it meant an immortal lifetime of his heart shattering every day he remembered that she wasn't waking up next to him.

His time in the underworld was ticking away, leaving him with precious few moments to spare in the arms of his beloved. How cruel fate is, he thought, that even time refuses to grant him a longer respite to find peace in her embrace one last time.

He kissed her forehead once more, a goodbye kiss—the same kiss he had planted on her brow the day of her pyre, the day they consigned her body to the flames in a solemn ritual of farewell. He looked into those beautiful eyes one last time. "I swear to you, I’ll always find you in the stars, in the calm oceans, in the beautiful sunlight, in the warm flames, and in the serene mountains. You will always haunt me, forever haunt my life, Callista."

This earned him a sad smile from her beloved face, and he realized he loved all her smiles except this one. "Who knows, maybe someday you will find me again, amidst the moors or maybe in the wild sea."

He nodded, a silent nod, as a single tear traced a path down his cheek. He kissed her hands one last time and turned his back, leaving his beloved, leaving his heart, leaving the bane of his soul in Elysium, where she belonged. Before he stepped away, he turned to her one last time. "Someday, I’ll find you in the wild sea."

With that, Apollo left the underworld, each step a testament to the immortal lifetime of sorrow that awaited him, a sorrow he would bear for the love he could never truly hold again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- December, 2007. New York City-

"And now, sis. Transportation for the Hunters, you say? Good timing. I was just about ready to roll.

"These demigods will also need a ride," Artemis said, pointing to us. "Some of Chiron's campers."

"No problem!" Apollo checked us out. "Let's see... Thalia, right? I've heard all about you."

Thalia blushed. "Hi, Lord Apollo."

"Zeus's girl, yes? Makes you my half sister. Used to be a tree, didn't you? Glad you're back. I hate it when pretty girls turn into trees. Man, I remember one time—"

"Brother," Artemis said. "You should get going."

"Oh, right." Then his gaze landed on me, and his eyes widened with a mixture of shock and recognition, as if he had glimpsed a long-lost memory. The once vibrant blue of his eyes now bore golden freckles, a haunting reminder of his divine nature. "Callista?"

I met his gaze, my heart pounding with confusion and uncertainty. Was he mistaking me for someone else, someone from his past? “No. I mean... no, sir."

Calling a teenager "sir" felt awkward, but I knew better than to offend an immortal. They were known to have volatile tempers, and tended to get offended easily. Then they blew stuff up. and now Apollo seems to be on verge of blowing things up, or me perhaps.

His silence stretched on, his eyes still fixed on me, probing and searching. It was as if he was peering into my soul, unraveling the layers of my being with each passing moment.

Eventually, his gaze shifted to his sister, Artemis, who offered him a subtle shake of her head. Their silent exchange felt like a wordless, deep conversation, conveying a depth of understanding that transcended spoken words. Apollo cleared his throat, breaking the tension that hung in the air, before turning his attention back to me.

His gaze shifted abruptly from sheer confusion to a myriad of emotions I couldn't quite pinpoint. It reminded me of the way my mom once described my reaction to blue cookies or a serene beach—a mix of wonder and longing. Yet, as he looked at me, I saw something more. His eyes, now a crystal-clear sky blue, brimmed with an affection that seemed to encompass the entire world. It was a strange sensation, one that left me feeling oddly nervous, knowing that he was a god who could unleash his power at any moment. If it were anyone else, I might have blushed under their gaze. But facing a god for the first time, unsure if he was friend or foe, left me feeling unsettled rather than flustered.

"Percy Jackson," Apollo's voice cut through the tense silence like a blade. For a moment, it felt as though time itself had frozen, as if I were caught in a web of his penetrating gaze. I nodded silently. Then, without a word, he turned away, his attention shifting back to the group. The weight of his gaze that seemed to convey the burden of centuries, left me unsettled.

"Well!" he exclaimed in a cheerful voice again, as if the past few moments were nothing, breaking the silence. "We'd better load up, huh? The ride only goes one way—west. And if you miss it, you miss it."

—

i’d love to hear your opinion about this.

[pacifymebby]

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

🌛🌼🌜Add Yourself to my Taglist Here🌛🌼🌜

Multi Chapter

🌛🌸🌜 Trouble 🌛🌸🌜

Shelby Sister! Modern balletcore au

Chapters

🌛🌸🌜trouble AU🌛🌸🌜

Snow On the Beach ft Heaven Lavey/Shelby

Love In A Haunted House Part ll

Headcannons 

🌿 To date them

🌾 To tell them you’re pregnant

🐿️ To be shy around them

🐻 To be married to them

🍀 To be comforted by them when a pet dies

🌼 To be their nurse and cheerleader

🥀 To be an actress they fall in love with

🦦 To be cared for by them when you’re drunk

🦔 To be bold and answer them back

🦊 To be a mafia princess they fall in love with

🌸 To be protected by them when your ex returns

🍂 To be cared for by them when you’re wounded

☘️ To try to leave them (dark!) (yandere)

🐿️ To give/ receive head 

🦊You’re the secret enemy and they find out you’ve been using them

🍀To be emotionally distant and have chip away at you

🐻 Modern AU / to beat them at monopoly

🌼 When their enemy threatens you

🕊️ To Make Them Broody At Christmas

☘️ You get Kidnapped

❤️ Dancing with the Peaky Boys

🔪 You thought they were going to die

🕊️ You give them an Ugly Sweater (Christmas!)

🔪 NSFW Their Usually Shy Lover Fucks Like a Porn Star

🍒 You have a fear of blood

🍂 Reader who mis-speaks/ gets the wrong vibe in conversations (how they support you)

🐻 Reader has abandonment issues

🐰 When you tease them all day they... (nsfw)

🦇 With Spooky/Gothic reader

🌙 When they get jealous

🕊️ Reader has a terminal illness

❤️ Coming out to them

🍎They take care of you when you're sick

💔 They comfort you after a break up (wattpad link for now as the post is lost in Tumblr void)

🔪 You die in their arms

🐀 Selective mute reader

🐻 Modern AU! Animal Crossing

🥃 How they respond when your drink is spiked

🦢 With a lover who sings

🦊 How they cuddle + you're on your period

🍒 NSFW (The Girls)

🍀 Arranged Marriage (they find out you have a child)

🌛 You leave your underwear in their office NSFW

🔪 You have a nightmare

🥀 You cry when people shout at you

🐻 What they're like as dads

🔪 dark! How they deal with your childhood best friend

🥧 you're a baker always bringing them treats

🌼 You're just really excited to see them

🐻 Christmas Eve

🥀 Christmas Day

🦢 You have anxiety

Tommy Shelby

🌿 The Waves

You were a nurse in the war, now you’re a Shelby secretary (ptsd, dissociation, hurt/comfort)

🌿 NSFW Alphabet

🌿 Too Close Too Heaven

After watching John die you fled the family but now he's found you Tommy wants to help. (PTSD, grief, character death, hurt/comfort)

Alfie Solomons

🐻 NSFW Alphabet

🐻 Cuddle Fucking (plotless smut)

🐻 All Things Must Pass

Alfie comforts reader through a ptsd episode

🐻 Afraid of Everyone

You get attacked and Alfie comes to your rescue, cuddles you whilst you have a big cry

Arthur Shelby

🍂 Fear of Thunder 

Neither of you like the storm outside (hurt/comfort)

🍂 NSFW Alphabet

🍂 A Walk With His Daughter

🍂 Snowman

John Shelby

🌼 (requests open)

Bonnie Gold

🍀 Center of Gravity, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Bonnie finds out you can’t swim.

🍀NSFW alphabet

🍀NSFW headcannons

🍀Sleep The Clock Around

Bonnie helps you get some desperately needed rest

🍀Cinnamon girl

Hurt/Comfort, you and Bonnie have been kissing in secret for too long.

🍀 Angels

Fluffy nsfw if that makes sense? Cosy bath after one of Bonnie's fights.

🍀 Stormy Weather

nsfw inspired by that one horny bonnie anon <3

Isaiah Jesus

🐀 (requests open)

Michael Gray

☘️ nsfw alphabet

Ada Shelby

🦔 Bout des doigts

Smut but cosy

Aberama Gold

🦦 Blackberries

Age gap! Angst?

Random Wee Bits

☘️ Who has a secret sub side 🦔 Who Factory Reset Fucks ☘️ aftercare talk Alfie, Bonnie idk?