#from black (night time + young and bright eyed)

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 2)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 1, Part 3

summary: Your new roommate has... interesting habits.

warnings: sexually suggestive, nothing explicit.

a/n: i think i've realised miggy in this fic is a combo of his movie and comic counterpart. Miguel O'Hara: part-time whore lmfaooo

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.2k

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

lady death, at the cradle of a babe.

You've decided: if Miguel's the Sun, then you're a black hole. Cold and dark where he was warm, to seemingly everyone else but you. Even then, the metaphor didn't carry, and O'Hara wasn't quite the shining centre of the universe you had first thought him to be.  

In the dim gloom of a little lamp on your bedside table, you’re left squinting at a crisp white document. Blank; save for a thousand tabs open, and the blue links of a half-hearted bibliography. You’ve got the bare bones of an assignment; left too late, as usual. The rest lies at the tip of your tongue; nips at the ends of your fingers like the heat of cigarette butts, and as fleeting as wispy smoke in an ashtray. To get yourself through it, you’ve resorted to romanticising it all, pretending you're a wistful poet dipping the feathered end of a quill into ink. Writing something… revolutionary; as opposed to the mish-mash of articles and studies you’ve crammed within the last hour and a half. There’s a pounding at your skull: the dull beginnings of a migraine, most likely. You squeeze at your temples, eyes shut – and the thrum matches the thud at your thin walls. Rhythmic, obscene, and it creates a cruel staccato; shaking the flimsy plasterboard that separates your room from your roommate’s. 

He’s fucking someone. Loud, like it can’t be heard by half the complex. It's the third girl he’s had over in as many weeks. Not that you were keeping count. For a supposed tutor, you hadn’t seen much studying - despite the bright eyed young women that seemed to be at your doorstep most days. Perhaps you're being dramatic, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the kind of pupils Miguel had had the privilege to “teach”.

You remember the first time the true weight of Jia’s words became clear: whilst banging on the front door after a draining day of lectures. 

You’d forgotten your keys after rushing out the morning of, and arrived to a locked door in the afternoon. You had been starving, insides churning with the thought of takeout you’d saved the night before; a greasy bag nestled in the corner of your shelf in the fridge. So maybe you'd been antsy, irritable at a stretch; fist on the door like a divorce lawyer, hungry in more ways than one. 

Wasn’t Miguel already home? He had to be, you can hear the low tones of his voice leaking from the gaps at the sides of the door. And.. rustling, the shift of fabric tousled and pillows hitting the floor. It’s then that you hear another voice, higher pitched; gentle and soft where his is baritone. If you’re not mistaken; and something at the pit of your stomach hopes you are, for some reason; he’s laughing, speaking in hushed tones, whilst she giggles at something he said. You bang at the door even harder, hoping the sharp rap-rap-rap interrupts him. It feels like you’ve had half of your college’s senior cohort in the city in and out of your apartment - or, at the very least, the pretty ones. For some reason, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; and your knuckles sting against the lacquered wood. You’ve half a mind to shout into the keyhole, to tell him to hurry the fuck up, or else–

Miguel opens, brow tight, and wiping something from his lips with the back of his hand. It’s suspicious; he looks carefully flushed, lips plump and cheeks slightly ruddy. You notice the way his head flops onto the lip of the open door; slightly out of breath like he’s done a dozen push ups. And with the way his biceps flex and tense under his open button up; paired with some slacks in a pitiful attempt to look less slutty; he might have. The image makes you purse your lips to stop inappropriate laughter: Miguel on the floor, brows kneaded in concentration as the woman in your apartment looks on, entranced. It feels more plausible than the reality; making out on your couch, whilst her hands travel to undo the button at his waistband.

What doesn’t help, is the look he gives you; like you’ve interrupted something important.

“Oh.” He says, clearly deflated. “It’s… you.”

You flash him a sarcastic smile and push past into the front room. You’ve seen her before: the girl on your couch. Sarah, a pretty thing in Miguel’s advanced Math class, you’d learned from the last few weeks. It’s not the first time she’d been over, but she doesn’t usually stay; rather, she’d drop something off at the door and twirl her hair whilst she waited. You’d answer, because of course he was never home at the right times, and she’d crane her head in for a glimpse of him. The first time; you were struck by the effortlessness of her beauty. And on your sofa, she seemed hardly fazed; the gentle curve of her stomach and thighs spilling onto the tattered cushions, donned in a patterned sundress. Her lips are pert, curved into a knowing smile as she giggles at the scene you and Miguel make at the door. 

“Hey, Sarah.” You give her a small wave as you make your way into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. However, you don’t have the energy to dignify Miguel with a response – so you stay silent. He bristles.

“You don’t have a key, or something?” You’re digging through the shelves as he calls out to you, hands on his hips like you’re in the wrong. You can’t help but hiss under your breath. He’s got an attitude, when only one of you had been left outside the door; starved and exhausted. And the other: getting off on your sofa. Poor Miguel, left with a limp dick and full balls.

 "Forgot." Your answer is curt, and you don't even bother to look up. You can hear him scoff, incredulous - as if the mere idea was so offensive. It makes anger bubble up at your gut, head still buried behind the fridge door. 

"That's convenient." You can't hear the words that come out after, but you're sure it's not exactly glowing praise. You lob a hypothetical grenade over the lip of the fridge door: a middle finger, crisp and clear. 

Takeout in hand, and a bag over your shoulder that feels like a concrete block; you drag yourself to your room, without giving Miguel so much as a second glance. When the door slams, you're hit with the full weight of Jia's words; a moment that seems so long ago. Miguel's probably picky about who he tutors for the same reason people swipe left and right on dating apps: he's an unrepentant whore. 

The thought had seemed somewhat premature, at the time. You had had little to no evidence: a string of pretty women in your apartment did not a slut make, after all. It wasn't quite enough, just a knee-jerk reaction after a bad day. The most charitable interpretations tell you that by all means, your roommate is an upstanding guy. A model student; who left his undergrad with honours and a disgustingly high GPA, head of half a dozen clubs and societies, and currently getting his masters sponsored by a prestigious biotech company in the city. He’s a chronic overachiever, more or less.  All things you've learnt from the people he’s tutored, small talk in between sessions (and they’ve all been nice enough). It seems a little more than convenient that the prettiest ones end up in your apartment - in his bed. And yet, you can’t get a straight answer from the man himself. Favours for a couple of friends, he says every time you complain. 

With the noises you hear from the room over, you wonder how he treats the friends he really likes. 

You think he’s doing it on purpose. That’s the only explanation you’re left with as you massage your temples in desperation. A steady pounding, that makes the shared wall shudder. Interspersed with graphic moans, the higher pitched panting of his partner; Yes Miguel and Just like that; seems to blend with his groans. Sleep pulls at your eyes, and you want to scream into the pillows. It’s muffled, but you can make out his voice beyond the wall; low, hushed tones that makes desire pool at the base of your stomach. And you’d rather die than admit it; but you zone out for a moment, a little lost in the haze of a daydream. God, his stamina. It feels like they’ve been going for hours, obscene grunts and groans spilling into your room. The wide span of his shoulders, the way light is cut at his jawline - and you wonder what he’d look like on top, or the sounds he’d make underneath.

Shaking your head, you try to convince yourself: it's the lack of sleep that makes you think of the way his hands would feel on your waist.

~~~

The honeymoon stage, if there ever was one, was well and truly over. 

In the morning, you’re woken up by the thud of the front door. Laptop cracked open on the covers, you shift to wipe the drool crusted on the side of your mouth. The good news: you remember getting down a couple thousand words before fitful sleep. Not to a great standard, of course, but as your deadline approaches, you’re grateful for whatever you can scrape together. Stretching, your back creaks with the memory of last night: hunched over your laptop, barely able to concentrate. Still in pyjamas from last night, you pad into the front room, looking for water to satisfy your dry mouth. 

The bad news: you’re met with Miguel on the sofa, splayed out on the cushions lazily. There’s a mug of something on a side table, which he’s clearly neglected; eyes closed, and an arm drawn upwards to expose the tan skin of his chest. He’s wearing nothing but loose plaid pants, hair a mess and frustratingly peaceful. For once, he’s not wearing the perpetual frown you’ve been subjected to for the past few weeks, and he looks five years younger as a result. You tilt your head to the side – like a mere 90 degrees would make him look any different – and you can’t believe this was the man who was terrorising you the night before. He looks… cute. Innocent, almost.

The sight makes you scoff. You snatch a glass from the cupboard with a clink-clink, and he stirs. You watch him stretch as you fill it; a mop of brown peeking over the back of the couch. He peers over, groggy and seemingly confused. 

"....When did you get back?" His voice is gravelly, heavy with last night's sleep – or lack thereof. You ignore the feelings it stirs up; pleasant and comfortable and domestic. 

"Good morning to you too, " You say it under your breath but he hears; catches it and holds it at his chest like a songbird. One hand over his heart, he smiles, wide; a lazy, sarcastic grin, but it still makes your face heat up. It's too damn early for this, you think. "I wasn't… for fuck's sake… I came back last night."

"Oh." He frowns, sweeping into the kitchen, and opening up the cupboard. 

"I couldn't sleep." Miguel's not stupid, and you wait for him to take the hint. "There was… too much noise last night."

"So that's why you're up early." He clicks his tongue. "You don't have a lecture to be late for?"

"You don't have another girl to fuck and ignore?" Without missing a beat, you snap at him – too tired and annoyed to entertain it. 

"Ouch." It's blaise, thrown over his shoulder without a second thought. He doesn't even look at you, head buried and eyes scanning the shelves – looking for his morning coffee, no doubt. He finds it, opening the packet and elbowing you in the process, and you give him a glare. Did he have to do that right next to you? 

You catch the ghost of a smile on his face. 

"...Miguel?" You say; quietly, because you can't quite find your next words. 

"Hmm?" He hums, fiddling around with the machine; a ritual you've only caught glimpses of. 

How do you tell your roommate you can hear him have obnoxious sex through thin walls? Well, probably by opening your mouth and saying it, but anything resembling your true feelings dies in your throat. 

He doesn't prompt you to finish the question, choosing to let the silence wash over you both. The clattering of a spoon against ceramic is the only noise in the little kitchen. It's not something you hear too often - never waking up at the same time as Miguel through a combination of coincidence and sheer willpower. Naturally, your routines are asynchronous - a half step, half-hearted jig to crashing music. That is to say: if you and your roommate were partners in a… ballroom, perhaps: you’d be stepped-on-toes and two-left-feet on the dancefloor. Disastrous, to say the least.

And yet, half-asleep, you watch as he pads around the kitchen; poking into cupboards and bringing out the ingredients to a hearty breakfast. Eggs and chorizo and tortillas; your stomach rumbles at the thought of a proper cooked meal. Ever the stereotypical college student, your usual food has mostly been instant noodles and leftovers. Maybe you’re just tired, but he makes the drawers and fridge shelves seem bottomless. It’s clear Miguel eats and he eats well – because of course he does.

“Could you…” You jump a bit when he places a gentle hand at your waist, moving you to the side as he reaches for a chopping board on the counter. “Sorry. Do you mind?”

It’s brief, but the fleeting touch fucks with your head as he cooks. Flashes of the night before run up your spine, electric. You watch his deft fingers fly on the chopping board; slender, a wide palm covering the span of a large pepper. How would they feel on your waist – properly – at the crook of your back, or at your thighs? Sighing, you chew the inside of your cheek and lean your head back against the wall. You feel the whispers of another headache. It's much too early for this.

He puts a pan on the stove. Shirtless, despite the heat of the spitting oil, and he pops a piece of a bell pepper in his mouth with a little smile that makes you roll your eyes. It's smug, somehow, like he knows something you don't – like he knows exactly what he did yesterday (or rather, who) and he’s enjoying your reaction.

Except: you’re exhausted, and he’s giggling like you’ve caught a kid with cookie crumbs on their face, empty jar in hand. 

It’s a quiet he sits with, comfortable; moving around the space with the kind of familiarity that comes with time. It makes you wonder just how long he's been here, which other roommates he’s terrorised over the years. Maybe, Miguel’s got a reputation, and there’s a Yelp review sitting somewhere you’ve neglected to read.

“Did you see her leave?” He still doesn’t look at you. Instead, his eyes are trained at the eggs on the pan, onions and veg making a lopsided smile in the runny yolk. Even his food seems smug.

“Her?” You frown, not quite following. 

“...Katie?” He says it like it’s obvious, as if her name alone should set off half a dozen bells in your head. It’s Katie, this time - not Jia, or Sita, or the slew of other girls he’s been fucking in the past few weeks alone.

Your eye twitches. Involuntarily, of course, but it feels like your body is physically rejecting his bullshit.

“I didn’t know she stayed the night.” A lie, obviously. You heard her well enough through the walls, not even a couple of hours ago.

“S’okay,” He shakes his head, nonchalant. You trace the curve of his shoulders and gentle slope of his plump lips. “I would’ve called her an Uber, or something.”

“You’re a gentleman, Miguel.”

And he laughs, a deep rumble that rings off the tiles. Admittedly, you like the way it sounds, and the way his eyes crinkle up into crows feet. He’s pretty, you think. In an annoying kind of way.

Oh, fuck him. You get closer, and stick a fingertip into the rich red of the pan. Wrapping your lips around it, with the heat of Miguel at your back, and yes, it's fine. Okay, fucking incredible – you know, nothing you haven’t tasted before.

Making eye contact, you watch him blink in surprise. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of himself; not dripping with the arrogance of a few minutes ago. Not wanting to give anything away, you keep your face steady.

"Needs salt, I think."

The spell is broken and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've seen the crap you shovel into that big mouth of yours… ¿mi mamá no me enseñó a cocinar para que vengas a decirme que sabe mal…?"

[My mom didn't teach me how to cook so you can come here and tell me it tastes bad…?]

It's your turn to smile at the sweet taste of revenge. Not enough to fuel the next couple hours of essay writing, but a small victory nonetheless. You flash him pink tongue, and watch as his gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second. 

"More salt?" He scoffs. "You wouldn't know good food if it bit you on the ass."

It's childish, but he chucks a tea towel at your head; and you narrowly miss it. 

"Asshole." You spit out, frustrated. Your stomach grumbles, loud, and you watch his face crack, amused. 

His lips curve into a shit-eating grin. "Idiot." 

Face tight, you storm out of the kitchen. 

You're holed up in your room for the rest of the day; only leaving for snack and toilet breaks. Luckily, Miguel doesn't disturb you, except for a full plate left outside your doorstep in the morning. It tastes delicious; warm and homely, but you'd rather pull your teeth out than see that stupid fucking grin on his face. Instead, you give him a grudging thanks, shrugging as if to say: it was somewhat edible. 

And when you hit send on your essay, with a whole 11 minutes to spare, you sigh in relief. You got through it, eventually; even though your roommate is trying to kill you, your new apartment is falling apart and you're failing half your classes already. But you're through the day, and approaching the end of the week with minimal emotional damage. Key word: minimal. 

In the warmth under the covers of your bed, it makes you think. It can't get any worse, right? It won't – it can't. 

Something shifts. Like a rip in the space time continuum or a malevolent god, the universe snatches up that thought; ripe and ready to spit you back out onto the fire. 

~~~

You wake up and something feels off, already. For one, light streams in through the blinds, a slight chill from the open window. It’s peaceful, and the first thing you hear is the song of morning birds just beyond the glass, instead of cars and clattering garbage trucks. 

But it’s a Friday, and you’ve got that 9:00am; the one you were insane enough to sign up for at the beginning of the semester. What you should be hearing is the call-for-war of your alarm; the one that slaps you square across the face and wakes you the fuck up. On time, of course, but still the kind of sound that strikes fear into the hearts of grown men. Groggy, you wipe the sleep from your eyes. And then you frown. The lilting chirp of songbirds (well-fed pigeons that shit all over your windowsill, large enough to be classed as biological weapons), instead of your alarm…?

Your hands go cold, and dread creeps in. Reaching for your phone, you click it on and it shuts off just as quickly. You’re met with the red icon of a dead battery. Fuck.

Leaping out of bed, you rush into the hallway. From there, you see Miguel; out of his workout clothes and flitting in and out the kitchen. Except usually, at this time he’s just coming back from his run and banging at the door to hurry you out of the shower. He spots you and furrows his brow in confusion.

“Aren’t you meant to be…?”

You don't let him finish, and call out. “–What’s the time?” 

He looks at his watch. “Uhhh… quarter past 8?”

“Fuck!”  It erupts out of you, and you bite down the rest; opting to dart back into your room.

Miguel gets closer, pops his head towards your door; in the careful kind of way someone might approach a sleeping bear.

“Are you–”

When you open it in a robe and toiletries bag in hand, he’s there; tentative, and slow, and in your way. A beat passes and your eyes widen, incredulous. Like a fucking lump of coal, he’s slow on the uptake.

“...Move.” 

You push past him into the bathroom and he throws his hand up to surrender. You’re the oddest person he’s had the pleasure (?) of sharing an apartment with, he thinks. Mostly harmless, but hard to read.

The shower sputters to life, changing from hot to ice cold in a second. You grit down a scream, powering through it until the suds wash off. Sheer resolve makes you towel off and change in record time. 

You’re grabbing your bag and chucking whatever you can find in the fridge onto bread. Whilst making a crude sandwich, you’re distracted – going through the calculations in your head. You’ve got a train to catch in about 20 minutes, and if you keep a brisk pace you can make the walk in 15. When you switch subway lines to get across town, it’ll be tight, but you can make it up by cutting across the barriers and keeping those elbows sharp on the stairs. God forbid you miss the transfer, because you’ll have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one and–

Miguel watches by the doorway, a little amused. So caught up in your own world, you don’t notice. He takes a sip of a mug of hot coffee, and you look up. Your face, cute and all scrunched up as you concentrate; but he can’t help but enjoy the flash of displeasure on your face.

“Don’t want to hear it.” You’re spreading butter aggressively, if there was ever such a thing.

He shrugs. “...I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear it, Miguel. You’re thinking out loud, and…” Wrapping up your meal in tinfoil, you stuff it into your bag. “...I don’t have the time to tell you to fuck off.”

With a little gasp, he clutches at hypothetical pearls. He gives you a sarcastic grin before you’re off – slamming the front door in your wake.

_

_

_

[shinjisdone]

Ticking Springs

(A Yandere Pinocchio X fem!Reader fic from Lies of P)

Pɑɾt 1; Sluɱbeɾ

capitolo uno

here is: capitolo due

capitolo tre

capitolo quattro

capitolo cinque

capitolo sei

capitolo sette

Capitolo otto

Capitolo nove

Capitolo dieci

Pɑɾt 2; Awɑƙeƞiƞƍ

It was a privilege to share the same blood as Giuseppe Geppetto. To be his family, his niece and take part in the marvelous worlds of puppets. The privilege to learn from him as his apprentice. The privilege to care for the things he cares for and to have the things he cares for, care deeply for you.

Tag list:

@greeknerd007 , @mitsureigen , @kame11a , @thirdblogsacharm , @sarah22447 , @blueberryhitosh1 , @written1nthest4rs , @huicitawrites

TW in general: Yandere behaviour, creepy and still puppet, dubious intentions and relationship, still in WIP more warnings may occurr in time

TW here are: Geppetto being motivating and discouraging, anxious reader, mysoginy?, a boy is calling girls stupid

The sun had shown her face seldomly on Krat this morning.

Gepetto laughed at his own thought as he stretched. Already clothed for the day with his usual white shirt, reddish-brown vest and striped pants, he went over his usual routine. His old legs carried him over from the bedroom, to the kitchen and straight to his office without hesitation – yet this morning he halted and leaned back at the sight he was seeing.

He observed silently before sucking in a breath. “I doubt you got a good night’s sleep, yet judging from your work on the butlers,” His head nodded as he eyed the two automated puppets standing as still and tall as candles with toothy, almost cartoon-y smiles. Their teeth, though exaggerated to radiate an ridicouless amount of politeness, shown so brightly it was an almost uplifting sight. The black suits that adorned their mechanical forms were mended and ironed and the paint redone before they were even put in their new clothes. Their eyes and brows, tailored after the customer’s request, almost looked real – warm and inviting even though all their purpose was to serve and obey to noble families at home.

Nobody would truly care whether or not their puppet butlers were physically pleasing to look at – that’s what Geppetto believed as he introduced them to the Workshop Union so many years ago though his marketer colleagues quickly proved how delighted so many families would become. From the wife to the children, to the busy family head that would return home and would greet the puppet first. He himself had grown fond of them and was glad that he let his creative side show when creating puppets personifying entertainment.

“…You were as busy as a bee, dear.” You couldn’t help but turn your head and smile at him, your eyes shining as bright as a star to him. “Thank you, Uncle.” You say, “But this doesn’t prove itself difficult anymore. I believe I’ve learned a lot.” Your eyes would flicker between the puppets and him. Geppetto nodded in return. “Seems like you have. You always had a talent for the art.” “It always impressed me, Uncle. I honestly never thought you’d ever take me in as your apprentice when I was younger.”

His smile broke for a moment before he replaced with pressed lips. He took a breath before looking at you again. “…I always hoped this craft would be staying in the family. Or at least, be carried by it with interest. Your father was never too keen on it as I was and am.”

You nodded along, knowing of his intentions. It was no secret to you either that your old man never showed interest, even in your younger days. Geppetto continued, sounding higher, “But you do, dear. And that is gift enough.” Leaning back, the man took a sip of his warm coffee. “Still, I wasn’t sure to take you in. You’re young and inexperienced compared to most people of Krat.”

“I can learn.” You intervened yet with another smile. “I have so far, haven’t I?” You turn back to gesture to the two butler puppets, their appearance almost as good as new – impeccable if Geppetto didn’t know that they were once broken. Malfunctioning one and two times too much until they tumbled down the stairs with all the trays of wine and juice tainting them and their system.

The older man nodded as he swallowed his drink. “I will not lie. Still, they’ll have to be looked at by me first before anyone else in the public can even see them.”

Your breath hitched slightly in your throat as Geppetto put away his coffee and started a puppet up. Taking a step back, your hands fiddled in a closed position. “I…” You began but felt your mouth too dry for any words and as the springs reacted and ticked, any chance at expressing yourself was out the window.

With a swung, the butler stood straight, its head crooked to the side. The arm bent to a sharp 90°degree, the fingers twitched as if longing to hold a wine glass. As flawless as its toothy smile was, it could barely open its jaw. “Good morning to you, Sir. How ma-may I s-se-serve – serve-“

It tried to repeat its sentence again but could only manage buzzing noise. You winced at the high pitch.

“…The coats and paint are no problem,” You gingerly stepped closer, “…but I…I am afraid I still need some time, and, and lessons on how to repair and set the voice box…and maybe repair the automation…” Your voice grew quieter. Geppetto stood up without a word.

“…You are getting there.” He dusted his vest off, “But do not dive with your head first in. It’s early, go fetch us some fresh bread.” Clumsily you agreed and quickly shut off the puppet. Carefully setting it aside, you could glance from the corner of your eye Uncle leaving the room with his cold coffee in hand.

The door was closed shut with one hand as the other arm tunneled into the sleeve of your old jacket. Skipping over the puddles from last night, you patted yourself down on the way to the bakery. While the road was a skip away, you still hurried over and found yourself glad to be early enough for no other customers to be in there.

The small bell rang as you opened and closed the glass door again and were quickly greeted by the cabinet displaying various loafs. It always surprised you how much variety a bakery as this one offers and had to keep yourself from buying the delicious-looking buns always as well. You had to spend your pocket money wisely here in Krat.

Your eyes scanned the assortment and unwittingly caught your reflection in the glass cabinet. Hair untidy and bags unfortunately showing under your eyes – it left you a bit annoyed yet ashamed that someone like you already managed to look like a mess in the morning – and even more unfortunate was it that the good baker had already spotted you.

“Morning to you, young lady!”

Turning to the voice, your thinly pressed lips turned upwards. “How may I serve you today?” The mechanical replica of a baker’s hat first feigned to fall – before it was quickly set up on round tin. The puppet had a set of extra rosy and round cheeks that suited his crinkled eyes and bright smile. It fit the picture-book image of a kind baker and you noted that this model seemed to have a wavy mustache alongside a yellow-striped apron.

You couldn’t hold back your giggle as you pointed at your order. With another gleeful and automated response, the tray under the loaves moved akin to an assembly line and the baker puppet took each bread and packed them full of vim and vigor.

The ribbon tied to the paper bag was impeccable as expected. And charming as well, to you at least.

Yet as your eyes fell to the register as you handed the money, another round of irregular footsteps entered the small room. Hurrying from around the corner came yet another figure, made out of flesh and bone as her green eyes darted over to you. She strode forward to the puppet and your shoulders fell. “Four sixty-five, was it not?” Adjusting her glasses, her gaze went up from the goods in your arms to the puppet and back to the register. She tucked a strand hair behind her ear. “So sorry for the interruption, this fella once miscalculated the price of the Ciabatta and, well…” Trailing off, she opened the register herself, took the money out the puppet’s palm forcefully before handing you back the change. “This all, right? The usual?”

Her low tone snapped you back from your trance. “Oh!” You let out and stuck the money back into your pocket, “Oh, yes. Yes, it is, I think. For breakfast.”

“You buy that often, don’t you? For the past month now or so?” Her low voice grew as she shifted her weight to the side, her blue apron swinging as she rested her hand to her hips. She watched you carefully as she waited for an answer.

The baker girl could see your eyes darting to the bread. “Oh, I suppose so. A month now, has it been that long?” You stuttered out and finished with a strained laugh. “Felt short to me.”

“You’re not from here.” Finally, she cracked a sneaky smile, “I can tell.” “Oh,” Again, you laugh as you eye the paper bag. “I am not…you got me.”

Quickly you gazed back to the still and smiling puppet. “The good baker here just served me most of the time…I never noticed any miscalculations or getting less change.” Lips quirking upwards briefly, you looked back to the girl. “I would have said something as well if I got too much change, of course.”

“No worries, I’m sure you’d do. Good ol’ Panetti just started getting math wrong…I have to confess there was a wee accident with flour and water a few days ago.” She gave him a few good pats on his shoulder, the metal resounding, “We’d have to send him to the Workshop Union soon or else I’ll come strolling down every time he deals with a customer.”

“Such things are easy to readjust.” You spoke up, “It’s just to rearrange the number system and have him test out a few math problems. As if he was a school boy.”

As she cocked a brow, you inhaled sharply and licked your lips.

With a quick nod, you stepped towards the exit. “Why, anyway, I must head back. Uncle is waiting for his favorite loaves and I’d best deliver while they are warm.” A fast excuse and you were half-way through the door, holding it open with one foot. Thankfully it was the puppet that approached and held the door open for you. The tiny bell resounded again.

A chuckle was heard shortly after and you turned back to see the girl waving at you. “We are looking forward to your patronage again, good puppet maker!”

Your heart jumped at the title. Yet you could not decipher if it was out of anxiety or excitement.

Yet before your lips could quirk up, a small force bumped into your side.

Looking down, you were met with furrowed, dark eyes glancing up to you before snapping to the voice behind. “Roberto!” A woman called out. “Roberto, I told you to take your sister with you!”

As the young boy’s eyes and yours followed to where she was pointing, both of you saw an even smaller, younger little girl struggling to keep up. The weight of the doll that was half her size kept her back but with the way she fiddled and played with its dark curls, you could deduce that she insisted on taking it with her.

“Roberto!”

“I know, Ma!”

The boy suddenly and vehemently shouted out, you couldn’t help but startle. Those dark eyes that seemed simply brooding when on you, were now actively in a glare at his mother and sister.

“I told you though, I don’t wanna! Girls are stupid!”

Instead of quirking up in a nervous smile, your mouth was pressed into a thin line and your glare mimicked the boy’s. He noticed and let out a much softer ‘Sorry, miss.’ before begrudgingly waving his younger sister to follow. Without another glance, you marched back to the workshop.

The latest event left a sour taste in your mouth.

You tried to hide it when entering the kitchen, Geppetto raising a brow as he prepared you two cups of coffee.

when you wanna post the yandere but have to establish setting and characters first

[acourtofmenandthirst]

Show Them

Tamlin x Reader. If you don’t like it, don’t read it :) I feel like after all of the events of books 2-5, he’s learned how and why he was wrong, and he’s been kicked a lot while he was down. It’s about time for him to redeem himself and find love too ok?? So here is my rendition of the start of his redemption arc. 

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, trauma

Word Count: 8.7K

You huffed a sigh, wiping your hands at the hem of your thin dress, ridding yourself of the flecks of mud and dry blood. With a squint, you picked at your palm, trying to pull the thick wooden splinter from your skin. Fourth one in an hour, you rolled your eyes to yourself, glaring at the pile of wood and debris - what previously held the roof over your head. 

You eyed the deep scratches embossed in the wood, the ones that no doubt belonged to the Naga that roamed the nearby forest. They’d looted and torn your house to the ground, much like your neighbor’s home and the shops in the town. After the High Lord had disappeared years ago, the hierarchy had fallen - there were no more sentries to guard the village, to threaten the Bogge and keep the wraiths at bay. 

Not that you had many belongings, but you needed to find as much food as you could. You dug around for scraps of food, money, jewelry - anything of value that you could trade for shelter. But fuck, you came up with nothing. Your house was nothing but a pile of dust, all your belongings gone with it. And it was getting dark, the sun almost completely disappearing behind mountains in the distance. 

You’d have to beg your neighbors for sanctuary, even if just for the evening. They were no doubt already locking up their homes and arming themselves with all the blades and spears they could find. Deciding you would return in the morning to continue, you turned away from the pile of remains - only for your eye to catch on a glimmer in the woods. 

The shadows had already long fallen over the forest, the black of night seeping in from the treeline before you. You were met with a pair of eyes, glowing and bright green, the golden sunset mirrored in the glossy shine. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart stilling in your veins. There were many creatures that roamed the Spring woodlands, many more creeping in on the territory now that it lacked a High Lord. The water wraiths from the Summer Court encroached in the waters; after hearing that their neighboring sisters no longer paid the Tithe, they swam over in droves. Some were shifters, moving onto the unprotected lands to mark for themselves, others were sirens, with shimmering eyes that promised the brightest future, so beautiful that they lured the young Spring males to the coast, robbing and drowning them for pleasure. 

But these eyes were different, a deep emerald, slanted inwards and narrowed - canine, feral. Studying its prey, waiting for attack. You’d heard rumors of the Autumn Court hounds, the ones Beron and his sons roamed around with. How they could track Fae down between courts, tear their throats out without even revealing themselves - some were rumored to have two heads. But you watched those shining green eyes until the beast turned away, tucking itself back between the trees and disappearing into the darkness. 

___________________________

You were back on the street at the break of dawn, graciously thanking the family that housed you for the night, offering to bring them anything valuable you could find from home’s wreckage. You kicked at the dry sticks and stones on the dirt road leading to your little plot of land, cursing at the fallen trees and dying brush. 

It seemed the Spring Court curse wouldn’t be lifted any time soon. You’d worn a godsdamned mask for years - a doe: the most innocent animal of Spring, silent and small in a court full of sly foxes and brash wolves. The supposed cursebreaker returned to your court only to tear it apart from the inside out, playing spy for the Night Court the whole time. The Autumn Court emissary had left and your High Lord had disappeared - no heir or kin left behind. He abandoned you all and took his power with him. 

Some said he left and sought refuge in the Summer Court - that only Tarquin would be kind enough - naive enough - to offer him solace. Others thought he died, that Feyre killed him and there was nobody else to take the powers of the High Lord. You weren’t sure you believed either of those rumors. Nobody was brave enough to tread to Tamlin’s manor and find out for themselves; only the Mother knew what creatures resided there, Fae or otherwise.

The pile of wood and stone remained untouched overnight, you had to drag yourself over to your old land. It wasn’t worth anything, nothing was anymore. It felt barbaric, almost: digging through the mud and destroyed earth for something to barter with. It seemed that your court had been through nothing but devastation since you’d been alive. You were only just a hundred years old when the land was cursed by Amarantha - spent years in a mask followed by a stint under the mountain. When the curse was lifted, the Spring Court lasted about as long as the celebrations. As soon as life turned back to normal - whatever that truly was - the Night Court infiltration was exposed, Pyrthian was brought to war, and your home was destroyed. 

You groaned, both of your hands wrapped around a heavy log of wood, surely it was the heaviest in the pile. You groaned, gritting your teeth as you tried (and failed) to move it. Your hands slipped, dry bark breaking off the wood beam, causing you to slip and fall backwards right on your ass. You cursed, denouncing the Mother. Perfect start to the fucking day, you’d thought. A whole day of failure awaits. 

“Do you need a hand?” 

Your head snapped up, nearly giving you whiplash as you turned to the side. You narrowed your eyes, the tall male standing just in front of where the sun was rising, shadow cast over his front. But you made out his light hair, glowing in the bright light, a halo cast around his head. His shoulders were so broad, his white shirt tight around his arms but loose around his waist, the fabric shifting as the wind blew past. He held a hand out to you, palm raised. 

Your gaze dropped to his waiting hand, which you gladly took. His skin was rough, calluses around his palms and over his fingers. He pulled you to your feet, almost too easily, and had you balancing over the pile of bricks and shingles. “Thanks,” you mumbled, releasing his hand and brushing the dirt off the bottom of your dress. No use - there were days old mud stains all over it already. 

“Is this your home?” His eyes surveyed the debris you both stood over, face still shadowed from the sun. 

You rolled your eyes. “It was,” you’d scoffed, propping your hands on your hips. The male frowned, his shoulders hunched a bit. You cocked a brow at him, at the rainy evergreen smell that cascaded off of him. His blond hair was unkempt, sun-frayed and tangled at the ends. You took a step closer, onto the large wooden beam that had just bested you. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, cheeks tinged pink, chin tilted downwards. Ashamed.

You nodded, standing taller, walking across the wood so you were positioned on the other side of him. The male turned with you, not allowing his back to face you. He mirrored you, perhaps in self defense, as you looked like you were the one scouting your prey. His features became sharper as he faced the sunrise, shadows looming over his face now washed away. 

Those emerald green eyes watched you carefully, narrowed, just like those from the forest. His sharp brows furrowed as he watched you assess him, as you put together the pieces rather quickly. 

“What would you be sorry for?” You questioned the High Lord. “Did you knock down my house?”

Tamlin didn’t respond, just stood in front of you, those light eyelashes caressing the tops of his high cheekbones as he blinked at you. His jaw clenched, tongue ran over the back of his sharp teeth as he mulled over something to say, only to come up short. 

You took his lack of response as an answer in the negative. “Then you have nothing to apologize for.” 

“I didn’t stop them,” he replied, voice hoarse. It was as though he hadn’t spoken in years, as if he’d spent far too long roaming the forest in his wolf form. His body was wracked with shame, remorse, and anguish. He didn’t feel the pain when he was outside his Fae form - he didn’t have to bear the anguish of witnessing what happened to his court while he disappeared into the brush. 

You nodded in agreement. And while you spent these past hundred years angry, just so frustrated at what had become of your life, you couldn’t find yourself to be upset with him. 

Your home had been destroyed, your family gone, everything from the life you once had stripped away entirely. But what could you do? The past had already come and gone, there was nothing you could do to change it. 

The male before you felt the opposite, though. His mind was reeling with the resurgence of the memories from the past century. The masks, his friend and former lover gone - ran away to the Night Court, to the male that had murdered his family - under the mountain, the war, the Cauldron. 

Gods, all of it was his fault.

His court was destroyed, but it wasn’t the war, it wasn’t the other High Lords infringing on his territory. No, it was all him. It was the lack of his presence in his court that destroyed it from the inside out. And looking at your face, the dirt smudged over your brow, your cheeks splotched from spending days in the sun without shelter, he’d wanted nothing more than to tuck his tail between his legs and disappear back into the woods. 

But you were too captivating, your gaze leveled him completely. You didn’t tear into him, didn’t yell at him, didn’t hit him, not the way he knew so many others wanted to. He didn’t know how to help you, how to apologize for abandoning his court. He didn’t have any money to give you, no doubt he assumed the Spring Court estate had been robbed and looted. He wasn’t sure what valuables were even left anyway, after passing on money and jewels to the Archeron family. 

“I’d like to help you…” Tamlin trailed off, the words lost. His eyes roamed over the fallen house the two of you stood on. “Rebuild.” His green eyes flitted back up to you, to the doubt and surprise laced over your features. You swallowed, shoulders shrugged in indifference. Gods, you probably hated him. Wanted nothing to do with him. “If you’ll let me.”

“I’m not sure what there is to rebuild,” you replied, kicking at some stone with your dirty boot. “I’m just looking for...” What were you looking for? “Anything.”

Tamlin nodded in understanding. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting to come back to, didn’t know what he would stumble upon after he’d returned to his home court. While he was no stranger to being alone, to feeling like an outcast, utterly unworthy of his position in life, he’d never been able to relate to his old friend Lucien so much. While the Vanserra had been banished from his home court, Tamlin felt like the Spring subjects would band together and exile him from his own court, too. 

But the male stood still, nothing but the wind blowing his tousled hair around his sharp jaw. He was surely waiting for you, for your permission to return to his life in Spring - a new life, perhaps: a chance to rebuild your home and his life. He needed to earn his place as the High Lord, hell - he needed to learn what it meant to be a leader, to earn the trust of the Spring citizens. 

“Well, help me move this, then,” you said simply, gesturing to the dark wood. 

You’d quickly come to realize the male just had pent up anger, stress that may have been best relieved by throwing stone and brick around. He was quiet, not speaking unless you’d ask him a question or give him direction to move some debris. Tamlin watched you carefully, just as he had the other night, eyes glossy and pointed, observing how carefully you tended to anything that may have once had value to you. But you hadn’t made much progress, finding just scraps of clothing, a broken necklace, or some rotten food. 

“I was in love once, too,” you stated out of nowhere. You kept digging through the pile of broken furniture and wood, head tilted downwards, eyes focused on the task at hand. 

Tamlin’s ears perked up and he straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers to remove some of the mud that had caked his palms. He wiped at his brow, the sweat that had built up over the past few hours. He wasn’t sure what to say, you gave him nothing to work off of, offering nothing but confusion for the poor male. 

You looked up at him only for a moment, plopping down on your ass with a sigh, resting your aching legs. “It can make you do some fucked up things.” 

He almost laughed, would have, if it didn’t burn his throat on the way up. “Even more fucked up things once you’re out of it.” 

The sound that pushed past your lips sounded like absolute heaven. It was the only salvation the male needed after years spent growling at beasts in the woods. The giggle that erupted from you - the pure surprise at the High Lord’s comment - it made his heart stop. 

But he couldn’t help the deep stabbing feeling through his gut. Guilt. He shouldn’t be enjoying the sweet sound of your laughter, the shine of the sun in your hair, your pretty smile. He shouldn’t enjoy life anymore, not after what he did to yours - to everyones. It was why he shut himself out, far in the thick Spring forest, away from all salvation, any shred of comfort he might have been able to find. After Feyre had left, after Rhysand returned to twist the knife in his once stone chest, there had been no point, no return at High Lord once everything had crumbled. 

“Well, Tamlin,” you sighed - the first time hearing his name on your lips. He quite liked the sound of it, but promised not to get used to it. “I think it’s about time we fix some of those fuck ups.”

He rolled his eyes, kicking a heavy log from the top of the pile. “And how do you suppose I do that?” 

You huffed another breathy laugh, raising your head and squinting up at him, the sun risen nearly fully in the sky. “You do nothing,” you replied simply, propping your elbows on your knees. “We are going into town.” You opened your palm, that broken gold necklace 

And Tamlin felt like folding himself in half and kneeling over that damn pile of rocks. The necklace you’d worked for hours to find ready to trade at the town center. He was absolutely sick. His mind flashed back to the days of the Tithe - how he sat atop his throne, gold jeweled crown atop his head, waiting rather impatiently for the Spring Court subjects to pay their dues. In a court where he did next to nothing to save them - after fifty years of looking for a way out of Amarantha’s plan - they still owed him. 

Tamlin had a lot of regrets. 

He didn’t know how to act, how to rule a court. Didn’t know how to save his people, how to make up for the lost years. 

There was a lot to make up for - he knew it better than anyone. 

He just didn’t know how.

You watched his mind reel, how his sharp green eyes fell to the pile of wooden scraps beneath his boots. His dark blond brows knitted together, lips pressed in a firm line, jaw clenched. His chest moved up and down with every breath he took, each one he forced in his lungs. The golden strands of his hair moved around his pointed ears, dancing over his shoulders in the wind. 

“I don’t think I can,” he replied, voice just above a whisper. 

You pushed yourself to your feet and reached out for him, for the tanned skin of his forearm. You held your fingers around his wrist, the touch shocking the male out of his daze. His breath caught, his mouth and throat suddenly ran dry. “You have to come back. You need to return to us.” 

He tried to force himself to swallow, to will his voice to work and reply. To us. He was the only one who could fix what he’d fucked up. He didn’t know exactly how, but you were right. It would start with the return of the High Lord, with the promise of forgiveness from his subjects. He’d have to beg for forgiveness, pray that they would grant him amnesty. 

He nodded though, which was all he could muster the strength for. He let you keep hold of his wrist - he didn’t even know how long it had been since another Fae had touched him - and guide him off the pile of debris, not missing how your boots skidded along the loose bricks. He reached out with his other hand to steady you, a firm hand on your hip as you stumbled to a halt, managing to remain upright. 

By the Cauldron, you felt good. Warm, delicate, you smelled like the gardens after a fresh rain. He dropped his hand just as quickly, before his mind really fell into the gutter. Perhaps the years of solitude had finally gotten to him, he thought. He had officially gone mad. So he stayed composed, letting you drop his wrist from your hand - not without a backward glance at him. 

“We’ll see what we can get,” you continued, beginning to walk towards the center of the town. You lived far enough on the outskirts that not many others passed by, none alerted to the fact their High Lord had returned. “The blacksmiths will probably be the only ones who will trade for it. Nobody really has use for gold anymore.” 

He noted the drop in your voice, the bleakness that laced your tone. Tamlin walked only a half step behind you, yet he towered over you, his chest cleared above your head, shadow fully engulfing you. “How is the food supply?”

You knew it felt foreign for him, especially to ask now after years of his disappearance into the woods. But you could tell he was trying, gathering his bearings and reassessing the court - where he needed to start first. “Not great, honestly. There are only a few who have enough weapons to hunt in the woods.” 

Tamlin knew all too well what lurked in the woods. They would be lucky if they could catch deer or rabbit, let alone an elk or mare. “I’ll see what I can manage to catch tonight,” he replied grimly, lips pressing into a frown. Under the moon was the best time to hunt, where there were surely no endangered Fae out, when the large beasts went to roam the woods, using the cover of night to avoid the hunters. The only thing that would be able to catch them lurked just behind you: a wolf. 

You eyed the clouds that began to roll in overhead, dimming the sun’s bright light. “That would help,” you replied, hoping the words of encouragement would ease his mind, but not sound too desperate that they scared the male. 

You walked the rest of the way in silence, peaceful albeit awkward. Tamlin’s fingers twitched at his sides - it was almost as though he barely remembered how to walk as a Fae male. You knew those green eyes that watched you from the forest were his. The second you saw the High Lord that morning, you realized you’d stared into his wolfish eyes - hungry and chilling, sad and remorseful. 

His gaze shifted from left to right constantly, walking through the clutter of buildings and broken wood. Half the buildings had been looted, some torn down entirely. Fae gathered around stands and what was left of the remaining shops. He felt their eyes burning into him, heard the murmuring ringing in his ears. Some were confused, others outright scared, but none approached him. 

You took Tamlin to the dim stone building, the only light pouring in from the window and cracks in the walls - no faelights or candles in sight. “He and his wife have the baked goods - there aren’t many other iron pans left in the town, he’s got the bulk of them.” Your eyes flitted around the shop, at the pile of iron ingots stacked on one of the tables. “I could never manage enough to get one, to bake my own bread over the fire.” You shot Talmin a sharp look, then eyed the shop owner across the room. “Good morning, Oleander,” you greeted the old male, hunched over a table lined with gleaming metal knives. 

The hairs on the High Lord’s neck stood, a chill running down his spine at the sight of the swords hanging on the wall, the bows and arrows piled in the corner. “(Y/N),” he replied gruffly. “What brings you in?”

You turned back to Talmin, getting eyes on the male to ensure he was still in toe. “I was wondering what you might give me for this gold.” You held the necklace out to him, the cracked pendant and broken chain gleaming in your dirty palm. 

“Ah,” he breathed, grabbing the necklace with his own filthy hand. “Given the condition, I’m afraid I can only give you…” He squinted at the old pendant, what seemed to be a depiction of the Mother with flowers braided throughout her hair. Tamlin’s mother once had a similar one. “Last week’s bread.”

“Old bread?” Tamlin couldn’t help but scoff, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

The blacksmith’s eyes show up toward him, as if his eyes and ears deceived him. Oleander, clearly half blind, squinted at the High Lord. “Do you have an issue with my pricing?” He questioned Tamlin - who was certainly not used to the bite back from his subjects. “I think I’m being more than fair to the female.” He looked Tamlin up and down. 

“Fair?” Tamlin barked a laugh. “You own all of the weapons and food in the town and you’re telling me what’s fair?” He didn’t miss the sight of you backing up, right out of the corner of his eye. You inched towards the door, palms facing outwardly behind you, feeling as soon as your backside touched the door jam. Oleander stood, broad and burly, inching forward toward the both of you. By then, the shop had dimmed, dark clouds rolling over outside. The Fae had gathered around to watch, to see the High Lord for the first time in nearly decades. 

“Oh,” he laughed, standing, grabbing one of the polished knives. He raised his voice and stepped closer to Tamlin, cornering him out the door in the same direction you were fleeing. “The High Lord has returned to preach on decorum.” Tamlin dropped his hands to his sides, unclenched fists, not looking to start the physical fight, but prepared to defend himself. He could surely take the old male on easily, even if he had been armed with half the swords in his collection. “After years of abandonment, of leaving his people to suffer at the hands of the beasts, he’s come to exhort fairness and righteousness.” 

The Fae outside watched as you and Tamlin joined them outside the shop, many of their interests piqued at the sight of the golden haired male. 

“He’s back?”

“I thought he had died…” “He would be better off that way.”

“Never thought I’d live the day I would rather see Beron than him.”

“Shut up, he’s returned to help.” “No way - he’s just going to start the Tithe again.”

There were giggles amongst the murmuring crowd, laughing surely at the old Fae male that had the High Lord backing out of his shop. There were no words he could say to ease the crowd, to change their minds, to earn their trust. He wanted nothing more than to shift back into a wolf and hide away in the forest alone. 

“We didn’t come to make trouble, Oleander,” you spoke up calmly, empty hands raised in surrender. “He’s come to make peace.” 

He rolled his eyes, amongst another burst of whispering from the gathered crowd. “Peace,” he spat. “That’s what we all used to know before he abandoned us and left us for dead.” 

Tamlin’s jaw set, anger flashed through his eyes. There were some agreements exchanged by the other Fae. There were very few who sought to give their High Lord a second chance. 

Fuck, second or third? Or fourth chance? Tamlin couldn’t count. 

“We’re leaving, okay?” You inched closer to him, right until your shoulder pressed up against his bicep. “But please - ” you turned to face the crowd, what Tamlin could only assume were your friends, others you could consider almost family. “Please, just keep an open mind. If you’d been shunned, abandoned in the woods, you’d want us to accept you back.” There were a few nods, but many blank stares as you began walking away from the town, back towards the forest clearing. “No more hatred. We’ve had decades of spite, of shame.” Before you turned on your heel, before you grabbed Tamlin’s forearm to pull him away with you, you added: “Let us find peace again. Together: united as one court.” 

Fuck, Tamlin thought. You’d spoken all of the things he should have said. He wondered if you’d practiced that little speech, if one day you secretly hoped he’d come back so you could preach that very surmon. 

Tamlin pushed that thought far down in the depth of his mind. 

But perhaps Oleander had a point. Perhaps they would all be better off taking care of themselves without the rule of an artificial High Lord. They surely managed to come this far. It wasn’t like Tamlin would be able to protect the town himself - he’d have to rebuild armies before infrastructure, to guard the town from the forest before they could sift through the remains of the down. 

You’d dragged him along nonetheless, guiding him anywhere but the town. It was back toward your home - what remained of it, anyway. But the sky was grey by then, dark clouds shielding you both from the once bright sun. The soft crackle of thunder reverberated from the Summer Coast. “I’m - ” you cut yourself off with a sigh, dropping his arm, but continuing on your trek. “I’m not sure where we can get shelter for the evening. I don’t think anyone will let us stay for the storm.”

You were surely not on your way to make any amends, though. You just kept walking back towards your little plot of land, not that there was anywhere for you two to take cover until the rain washed away. 

Tamlin kept his eyes trained in front of him, not daring to spare a look at your shining eyes as he spoke. “Follow me.”

So you did. You almost didn’t recognize it, afterall, it had been almost a century since you’d walked that path. Nature had reclaimed most of it, the trail completely gone. Tamlin’s long legs stepped over vines and fallen logs, and he held your hand for balance as you followed in his footsteps - he’d even lifted you through particularly muddy patches, simply lifting you up and placing you down before him like you weighed nothing. 

The walk to his manor would have taken a mere half hour on horseback, perhaps just over an hour had the path remained. But it would take a few for the two of you to find your way back to the Spring Court Estate in the condition of the forest. Especially as the rain started to fall, the heavy droplets hard against your skin as they fell from the sky. 

You walked for what felt like the whole first half in silence. Nothing but the sound of Tamlin slicing thick leaves and branches, clearing what he could from the once barren path. You listened to the rain, to your own ragged breath as you struggled to keep up with the male. 

You watched his golden hair darken as it became damp with rain. His white linen shirt clung to his back and arms, you’d noted the ridges carved deep into his body as his muscles flexed, working around the forest that overtook the path. He slowed once the two of you stumbled upon a clearer area, falling into step beside you. 

You could feel the tension radiating from him, his fists were clenched at his side, the hairs on his arms stood up. He wasn’t used to wondering the woods as a Fae, hell - he hadn’t been in Fae form in years. Those woods felt all too familiar to him out of his wolf form, reminded him of all the times he’d fucked up in that very spot. He needed to distract himself, clear away the memories of his friend Lucien, his once lover, his newfound family. 

“I was in love once,” he said, voice gruff, muffled from the sound of the rain falling against the wide leaves. He repeated your sentiment from earlier - an acknowledgement of his past, perhaps even an apology. “But I’m pretty sure she was fucking my emissary.” 

You’d nearly choked. 

“That’s - uh - ” Gods, what do you say to that? 

He shrugged. “My feelings for her weren’t fake,” he continued, nonchalantly, as though he’d had nothing but time to come to terms with what had transpired. You supposed he did, though, and were sure that was the only thing on his mind. “I just didn’t know how to act.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep what little body heat you had, as the cold water sent shivers down your spine. 

He shrugged. “Someone ought to hear the truth - ” Tamlin paused, only for a moment, as his green eyes narrowed in on the estate before you both. Trees covered the once stony walls, vines and thick ivy woven up all the windows and over the balconies. “You seem to be the only one who will listen.”

“I don’t not believe you, Tamlin.” You let him lead the rest of the way, pushing past the thick brush that guarded you from the estate as you neared the large castle. “Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.”

At that, Tamlin dipped his head, turning to the side only slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your solemn expression. The rain had dripped down your face, over the curve of your nose and over your cheeks. He admired the way they clumped on your eyelashes, how you didn’t have a care in the world all covered in rain - perhaps you had more important concerns. Much too worried about where you’d sleep that night, where you next meal would come from, if you’d have shelter from the beasts, than to worry about his sob story. 

But you caught his gaze from the corner of your eye, where you’d found those bright emerald eyes washing over your form. Shadows cascaded down his straight nose, his eyelashes nearly touching his cheekbones. You’d wondered if it was the wolf in him that gave him those long eyelashes and thick hair, his sharp teeth and chiseled jaw. He carried himself like a High Lord, shoulders back and chest puffed out - perhaps the closer he got to his home, the more normal he felt. It was a routine, the same path he’d often walked with his friends: Lucien, Bron, Alis, Hart, those that worked for him yes, but also the only ones he could consider truly his family. 

Tamlin used the small knife he had to cut though the thick vines over the stairs. He’d moved each of the fallen logs, twice as heavy because they were waterlogged, and cleared the pathway to the front doors. He wanted to create a wide opening, should you decide in the middle of the night that you’d want to escape - run away from him, from the court. He didn’t want you to feel like a prisoner - he scoffed to himself, he apparently had a knack for that. 

He’d opened the door for you, watching as you gathered the hem of your soaked skirts and your muddy boots squished against the stone steps. You nodded in thanks, unable to move your eyes away from the entryway. The ceiling was fully glass, and despite the rain and clouds, cast a looming light onto the marble walls and floors. The rain echoed in the walls, the fat droplets hitting the roof hard. The heavy curtains and canvases on the walls had been ripped to shreds, rock and stone cracked and scattered along the hallways. The grand staircase was broken, missing a few steps, the railing half gone. 

You wondered what war went on here, while Tamlin tried to forget exactly that. 

He hadn’t been to his home in years. But he knew what would be left to salvage, the rooms he’d lost the energy to tear completely apart. So Tamlin followed you in, guiding you down one of the corridors. “We should be able to find some blankets and clothes this way,” he said, voice just above a whisper. It was so deep that it vibrated in your bones, sending shivers down your freezing spine. 

He’d stirred you through the wide halls, pulling you away with a firm hand on your hip when you’d tried to move toward the great dining room. His hand was hot on your waist, right at the curve of your back as he pulled you one step closer to him. “Not that way.” His eyes were fixed on the mahogany doors, hiding whatever may lie beyond. While he was almost certain he’d left you with the idea there may be Naga or wolves or some other beasts beyond those walls, he didn’t want to correct you with the truth. The gross truth that that’s where he left the elk Rhysand brought him so long ago, no doubt rotted away and disintegrated into the table - that, or it would have been swept away by some creature, perhaps for food or simply to play with its carcass. Either way, he didn’t want to find out. 

There were holes in the roof, in the floors above, that leaked through the halls. You stepped around the puddles, dodging the stream of rain that fell from the ceiling. Tamlin pushed open one of the many doors in the long hallway, a dark bedroom on the other side. “It’s not my room, don’t worry.” 

You turned up to face him. He looked weary, uneasy being back in this estate. “I wasn’t worried, Tamlin.”

He released a breath, his chest visibly falling at your words. He followed you in, closing the door to shut out the cold that the rain had brought to Spring. He’d brought you to one of the guest rooms, never had been occupied by a member of his court. It went untouched during Tamlin’s rage, there had been no evidence of life to destroy. He’d managed to rummage around and quickly find some candles, digging through drawers and closets to find a dry book of matches. 

While Tamlin lit the room, you were drawn to the soft couch in the corner, pulling every blanket and piece of cloth you could find. Gods, it had been so long since you had a good night’s rest, since you sat on a plush sofa and had the softest blankets around you. But you had to wait. Your dress was soaked, you’d been dragging water and mud behind you that whole time. “Do you have any…” you trailed off with a sigh, assuming the male didn’t have any spare dresses lying around. 

You actually would be more concerned if he did. 

“There may be something,” he replied, picking up on your predicament. He sifted through the armoire again, the flickering candles aiding his search. He’d come up with some clothes, a few linen pants and loose shirts. He held everything out to you, a pile of clean fabric. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d worn clean clothes. Tamlin noted how your eyes widened, like you’d hit the jackpot, like you’d never seen pajamas before - clean clothes. He cursed himself once again for cursing his people, for abandoning them and forcing them to live in destroyed homes and a looted town. 

You pulled a handful of clothes from his offering, your wet skin crying out for warmth. “There’s a bathing chamber that way.” He nodded to the door far off in the corner. “Doubt there’s any water but…” he trailed off with a shrug. 

“Thank you,” you replied, legs practically begging to take you to the bathroom and change into the pajamas. So you’d scurried away, grabbing a candle to light your way into the bath chamber. The mirror was cracked, covered in dust. But you quickly shucked off your wet dress, grabbing the shirt from the pile and wiped yourself dry, wringing out your hair in the fabric. You pulled on the next shirt, the huge cotton long-sleeve that fell halfway down your thighs. No doubt it had been designed for the High Lord, perhaps even his emissary. But you’d take what you could get, throwing on another shirt for warmth, then the linen pants. You fisted the waist, pulling one of the strings from your dress bodice to tie the pants snugly around your waist. 

Through the dirty mirror, you made out the dark circles under your eyes, your tired eyes and wild hair. You suppressed a sigh, too tired to care one bit. So you returned to the drawing room, finding the High Lord in a fresh set of clothes as well.

He was trying to busy himself, sifting through the pile of blankets you’d managed to create, even adding a few more to your pile. He didn’t want to be rude, to fall onto the soft couch or bed without first making sure you were taken care of. 

His heart stopped when he turned, seeing you swimming in the Spring Court clothing, even just those too-large pajamas. You looked so relieved, so comfortable and, honestly, ready to pass out for the evening. So he cleared his throat: “You can have the bed.” It was all he said, added a head nod towards the other end of the room, where the mattress was, nothing but some sheets atop it. “I was going to give you these.” He gestured to his pile of blankets. All the soft looking ones in one pile, the thin scratchy material separated behind him. 

“We can share the bed, no?” You made your way toward him and grabbed an armful of the blankets he’d folded. “We could both use the nice bed, I’m sure. I imagine it’s been longer for you than me.”

Tamlin cocked a brow, watched as you trudged over to the bed, dumping everything atop it. “I’ve managed just fine.” 

You glanced over your shoulder at the male. “Bring those other ones,” you called out, ignoring her words. “We’ll probably need them if this rain doesn’t let up.”

Tamlin shook his head to himself but did as told, not in the mood to argue with the female, especially not the beautiful one wearing his clothes. So he brought over the rest of the blankets, even the scratchy ones, and helped you make the bed. It was haphazard, sure, some of them not big enough to cover the whole bed, a patchwork of covers, some yours, some his, then the ones stitching you together down the middle. 

You climbed in immediately. 

The sigh you let loose from your lips almost had Tamlin on his knees before you. Your back cracked when you laid down, plush mattress cushioning your spine in a way you hadn’t felt in a long while. You slept on the hard wooden planks of your neighbor’s floor since your house had been torn down, freezing and stiff. You hadn’t remembered the last time you’d had a full nights rest. 

The same went for the male beside you. He’d been holed up in some cave on the Spring-Autumn border, where the wind whistled past and the cold seeped through the rock into his bone. His thick golden fur only did so much to protect him from the chill. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten himself killed out there, and he didn’t even want to think about everything he himself had killed in those past years. 

“What made you come back?” Your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, he blinked a few times before pulling the covers back and joining you on the opposite end. He was careful to leave space, to not encroach. His palms caught on the scratchy fabric of the blanket he’d laid on his half, calluses hard and broken, left from his many years of tearing apart flesh with his paws. 

“I was tired of being a coward,” he replied humbly. “I ran away from everything that happened. Pretended like it never happened and shut myself away.” He ran a hair through his half-dried hair, fingers getting tangled at the ends. 

“You were alone?” It was a cross between a question and a statement, he wasn’t sure which you were going for - probably the former. 

“I’ve been alone my whole life. Everyone I come across either leaves or tries to kill me.”

He felt you turn, shift on your side to gaze at him with what little light remained of the candle. Tamlin kept his eyes trained on the covers above him, unable to face the pity that probably laced your features. “Did they try to kill you?” Your voice shook, afraid to even ask the question, terrified of the response. 

He offered you a half shrug. “They left…willingly,” he’d added, mulling over the words in his head. “Though I suppose I not-so-willingly let them. I don’t know how to keep friends, it seems.”

“I suppose that’s better than the other option.”

Them killing him. “Better when it’s not your own family, too.” It was no secret the previous High Lord had a knack for starting wars, for sending his sons to fight his battles for him. Tamlin had a reputation far before his powers even matured - his brothers’ even more so. But what you didn’t know was that they were ready to kill him the instant he matured into a stronger male. He wasn’t glad they were dead, but he was glad he was safe - even if only for a little while. He had found few friends before the curse, a lover afterwards, even. But just like his father and brothers, he could not show love, no matter how hard he willed it, he kept fucking up. 

That’s what it felt like, at least. He supposed he was the jester of the Spring Court in the end. The friends he’d had and the lies they told him: you never made me feel like a prisoner - her voice rang in his head. Soon they were gone, twisting the opposite tale to the male that murdered his family. Nothing could be forgiven in Prythian, no reconciliation to be made between courts. There was no coping, no help from his friends, no one to confide in. So he did the only thing he knew how: shut himself out. Just like he had his former lover, keeping her safe in that very estate. 

He kept every Fae who remained in Spring safe from himself, even if that meant casting himself into the woods. 

You shifted only a bit, but close enough that you reached over and tucked your soft blanket around his shoulders, over his chest that had nearly gone cold from the rain and chill outside. You were close enough that Tamlin could pick up on your flowery scent, that he noted the small hint of honey and cherry blossom lingering along your skin. 

It had been so long since he’d touched another Fae, since he felt someone care for him. He couldn’t help it - his head fell onto your shoulder, right where the crook of your neck met your collarbone, a perfect fit for the crownless male. “And how have you fared, Tamlin? Now that you are a free male?”

Free. 

Free from what? From his duties as a High Lord, surely he’d abandoned them years ago, letting the Naga and the beasts of the Spring Court take over the sacred land. Free from Amarantha’s glamor, the shackles she’d chained him with under the mountain? Free from the binds she kept on his mind, the nightmares - memories - he relived each evening? 

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be free from it. 

He didn’t know how to cope. Not when the only people he’s ever cared about left. Not when his best friend left him when he clearly needed the most help, not when his lover left to wed his mortal enemy, then bare his child. But he apologized to her, for all the trauma he must have caused, locking her away, fearful of who else from Prythian would come to spite him by taking away the female he loved, by he saving her mate. 

He cursed himself. Surely, someone ought to have a happy ending. Might as well have been her. 

He was upset, in fact. When it all came down to it, everything was traced back to his anger. He was blind to his own emotion, it’s what caused him to act without thinking - a strategy he’d never seemed to master, not like the other High Lords. It ended up causing him his newfound family, his Court, it got the Archeron sisters caught and thrown into the Cauldron, it spurred the war. He was a failure, he’d lost the Spring Court and his pride alongside it. He’d been played like that godsdamned fiddle. 

And Tamlin let himself lie in that dark cave night after night, rotting in a lifetime of regret. 

He could only shake his head, nose rubbing against your skin that poked out from the loose collar of your  - his - shirt. “I swear I will rebuild the Court, (Y/N),” he whispered, breath warm on your skin. His lips just barely touched your skin as he spoke. “I promise it, I’ll run the beasts out and fix the mess I’ve made. Even if nobody believes me, if they’ve lost all faith in me.”

Your hand fell downwards over the blanket you’d placed over him, fell down the soft fabric over his chest. “Actions, not words.” He tilted his head up, and those deep green eyes met yours instantly. His gaze washed over your face, over the sheer determination and strength, but in utter admiration as you spoke. “Show them.”

You lifted your hand, fingers twitching in hesitancy, but your mind worked too fast. You brushed your hand over his cheekbone, over the strong jaw and tanned skin. He nearly shivered, nearly broke out in a godsdamned sob. 

Tamlin was fighting to keep his emotions intact, to stop himself from absolutely crumbling apart in the safety of your arms. He slowly shifted upright, sitting beside you, back against the headboard just as you sat. You never moved your hand, save for your thumb running over his cheek, tracing where the light stubble had grown in over his jaw and cheek. 

His own hand fell to your hip, safely above the covers. But the added weight of him caused the shift, the simple weight of his large hand on you sparked something inside of you. 

So you leaned in. 

You didn’t know what it was. If it was the fact you’d hadn’t been held in years, the fact you laid in bed together, cold from the rain and nearly out of candles. If it was the fact that he’d opened up for what probably was the first time ever, the male with the worst reputation - his ill temper, his tendency to fight, how godsdamned beastly was - laid out and vulnerable in your arms. 

Your lips met his softly, a firm enough kiss where you felt equally matched, as if he, too, was waiting for you to do it; but soft enough that he would pull back if you did, that he would restrain himself from going further, should you realize you’ve made a mistake. 

You did the opposite, though, barely breaking away for breath, parting your lips just enough to gasp for air before pushing against him once more. Your hand raked through his long hair, so Tamlin had no choice but to do the same. His fingertips wove through your own hair as his hand rose from your hip to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to the side. 

He tasted sweet, not what you were expecting from the male whose scent lingered with the sultry forest and fresh morning dew. He was gentile, too. His tongue moving only to trace your bottom lip, nothing more. Your lips moved over each other in sync, breathing in tandem and letting those soft sighs escape between the two of you.

You pulled him closer, winding your other arm around his neck as you laid back, sliding further onto the bed where he had to drop a hand beside you to hold himself up. But he kissed you anyway, like you were the last breath of life for that dying male. 

Perhaps you were giving him life, that spark he needed to reignite the male inside of him who he once was. 

Your hand trailed down his chest as he continued deepening the kiss, lips moving quickly over yours, growing hungrier, more desperate. You fisted at his loose shirt, not even bothering to untie it, just slipped your hand underneath from the bottom where it hung so loosely from his body. His abdomen shivered under your touch, your fingertips tracing the hard rigid muscle. Tamlin sighed against your mouth, trying (and failing) to suppress the groan that built up in the back of his throat. 

So he’d pulled away, the sound of your lips parting from his loud and wet, a sound he’d practically forgotten about over the past decades spent alone. His forehead dropped against yours and you felt the tickle of his hair against your cheek. “I can’t - I’ve already caused too much destruction. I’ll hurt you.”

It didn’t feel real - he had to stop himself, break free of the dream he was surely living in. Another female, not only giving him the time of day, but who cared for him without even knowing him. He huffed a loose laugh, and muttered to himself: “I’m going mad.”

His lips were still far too close to yours. They barely touched as you spoke. “Take it out on me.” You tilted your jaw up, just barely high enough to capture his lips with yours. “I can take it, Tamlin.”

He shivered, I’ve heard that before. “I don’t want you to have to.”

You peered up at him where he gazed down adoringly at you, from underneath those long light eyelashes of his. He’d bent down for one more kiss, all his passion put behind that one last time of your lips pressed together. 

He only pulled away when he ran out of air. 

He slotted down beside you, his arm curled under your shoulders, the other crossed above the blankets, the piles of soft and scratchy ones, and fell over your bodies to rest on your hip. You fell asleep with your face buried in his chest and your arm flung around him, dreaming of the promise tomorrow held. 

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash - Aemond POV

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Aemond!POV, murder, violence, blood, gore, infidelity, smut.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond!POV Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my angels, I thought I would write this up considering I've had so many of you asking for Aemond!POV chapters for when he goes to Harrenhal etc.

So I have written two short chapters, one as an introduction to Alys Rivers (I can hear you all hissing right now) and the other will be the Aemond!POV of when he finds the reader after her assault. I'm sorry I haven't written too many Aemond POV's as of late, but I don't really have the energy to do it! So, I hope this feeds you for the time being. Enjoy <3

Alys Rivers

Alys Rivers was a woman of conviction, head strong, and assured.

Though a bastard and a wet nurse in Harrenhals walls, she had teeth that had been sharpened by the blade she had been raised on. Quick witted and patient, Alys was willing to sit back and watch things play out, and not be rushed to action.

Though, it helped to have her sight. A gift in which she had been born with, a gift in which her mother before her had guided her through.

Storm clouds and pools of water, flames of fire or cups of ale, Alys saw many visions and knew much of many things. She knew of the future, and of the past. And she saw the present as anyone else did, but with whispers of what was yet to come.

Alys had looked into the flames of a fire one night, and she had seen a vision of green and black, a vision of Fire and Blood, dripping from the earth, pooling thickly beneath it. She saw a mountain three feet tall, and she saw a man with silver hair, and one lone eye, standing tall with sword in hand.

She had seen the destruction of House Strong, and had not warned her kin.

Aemond Targaryen was a man of duty, but Alys Rivers contradicted this. For she was low born, a bastard of a House he unleashed years of collected rage and sorrow upon.

The Prince remembered the day clearly. News had come to Kings Landing, and death had come to Harrenhal in return.

He had every person, young and old, child and man grown, woman and babe, lined up for him in the yard of Harrenhal, and with Aemond’s hand, he delivered swift and unjustified death to all of them. 

They had watched one after the other be slain, all in a line, waiting for their turn to go next. Waiting on shaking legs, soiled in fear as they were pushed towards the One-Eyed Prince.

With each swing of his sword, slowly, but surely, the House Strong dwindled, and their numbers dissolved into a lump of flesh and blood. Each one begged for mercy, each child calling for their mothers, each woman begging for their life. But some of the men did not beg, and went to him without a word, eyes coldly staring into Aemond’s.

Strong. 

He supposed that was why the House was called what it was. He could not say the same for the women though, but they would fall, whether on their knees willingly or with the slice of his blade through their bones. 

Each and every single one of them was slain, until a pile of heads grew larger and larger, its base unsteady as new ones were tossed atop, rolling from the highest point down onto the blood soaked stones below. 

She had been one of the last of them.

Alys Rivers.

A Strong Bastard.

A woman, older than him, with jet black hair and bright green eyes. She had an air to her which invited mystery, allure, and Alys had walked towards Aemond, with no fear, as though she already knew her fate.

As though she knew that she would be spared. 

And she was. 

“Are you going to beg?” He had asked her cruelly, waiting for the tears to roll down her cheeks and her meek pleading to begin. 

But she didn’t. 

Instead, Alys Rivers spoke with confidence, “No.” She did not address him, “It is not my time. She waits for you…” Alys paused, seeing Aemond stiffen, hand readjusting on the large blade which dripped with the blood of her House, “Your zaldrītsos.”

Zaldrītsos.

How did she-

Aemond looked at the woman.

She was dressed in maids robes, and her hair lay shinily down her back. Her eyes were what drew him to her the most. They were the brightest green he had ever seen, brighter than the scales on Vhagar, like two emeralds that glistened behind her thick, black eyelashes. 

“Come.” Aemond had barked, flicking his sword out to the side of him, blood spraying against the stone.

Alys smiled.

She did not bow, she did not address him as Your Grace, My Lord, My Prince, she did not offer him anything but what she would willingly give. It intrigued him. And so with swift and wet footsteps, he stormed across the courtyard, leaving his men to deal with the mess that he had created, and to finish what he had started. 

Aemond had taken her, forcefully, brutally, and roughly in one of the closest rooms he could have found. His armour was dripping with blood, it dotted his face and stuck thickly in his silver white hair, clumping the strands together, and if she had any fear or worries about it, or about him, she did not show it.

And instead, Alys Rivers had welcomed him into her cunt, which was wet with her slick already without having been touched. 

And thus became a new duty Aemond created for himself.

To see her. His Alys. To watch her. Talk to her. Fuck her. Dive between her thighs, latch his lips around her nipples which leaked mothers milk into his mouth for him suck greedily, nipping at the stiffened peaks with his sharp teeth. 

As he grew to know Alys, he grew to love her too. His Alys. His witch. She sees much and more, and tells him much and most. She sees things, in the clouds, in the sea, puddles or chalices. In the flames of the fireplace, or the flames of Vhagar, who he let her ride with him, sat astride in front or behind, her soft skin pressed to him tightly. 

For any fear Alys had for him, she did not show it. 

She did not cower at his anger, nor did she shrink at the sight of his eye like others. She came to him, swiftly, confidently, and kissed the scarred skin, cradled it with milk white hands, whispered praise and adoration to him, and murmurs of her visions. 

Of his zaldrītsos.

And visions of herself. 

“I see a babe born of your blood, his fire licking at my womb. A young Prince.” Her hands soothed through his long hair, as she held him in the chambers he had demanded for her.

A Prince. 

A babe. 

His. 

Aemond hummed, “And when will the bastard Prince be born.”

“When the tenth moon comes and goes, the babe will be born as the air shifts, and another grows.”

“Another?”

“A true born Prince of silver hair and purple eyes. You will be wed to your zaldrītsos, and she will come to love you as I do.”

Aemond felt his heart race in his chest, “And you have seen it?”

“I have, my dragon. I have seen many things, heard much more. I see what is yet to come, and what has been.”

Aemond shifted, leaning on an arm so that he lay above her, “And what do you see, my witch?”

Alys looked into his eye and let a soft hand brush against his face and up through his hair. Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his sapphire eye, then to his cheek, and then to his mouth, rolling her hips upwards to meet his own, his softened length beginning to harden again. 

“I see a union, of Green and Black. Of two great flames, united as one.” The witch rolled her hips again, feeling his length stiff and heavy upon her thigh. Reaching a hand down she grasped him and pumped him in her palm, “I see a love that was lost, united again.” 

Leaning forward, Aemond slid through her folds and into her waiting heat, pleasure rolling through the both of them.  As he moved in and out of her cunt, Alys continued to whisper her visions. 

“An ‘X’ to guide her way back to you. She walks through the dark to seek you out. To t-touch you.” Her back arched as Aemond dips a head to take a swollen breast into his mouth. 

Aemond began to thrust into her harder, “Ravens will whisper the words of a burning star, a crown forged of blood.” She cried, nearing her release as his long fingers made their way to her pearl, rubbing in slow circles, feeling her cunt flutter around his cock. 

“I saw a child, born from ice and fire, the Prince that was promised. Five years to come, from her blood, the Merciless Princess.”

Alys came with a cry, and Aemond toppled over the edge shortly after, laying on top of her for her to brush slow hands through his hair as they both came down from their highs, sighs and jagged breaths, Aemond’s cock softening inside of her. 

“She will come back to me?” Aemond whispered into her neck, feeling the heat from her body radiate up onto him.

“She will always come back to you.”

And Aemond always came back to Alys.

For she offered visions of hope, visions of love. Words of encouragement and praise. She offered a place of solitude, a place to be him. A place to get away, to hide, to seek out a warmth he never got from you, or his mother, or anyone who was supposed to love or care for him. 

Alys Rivers had seen many things. 

And she had seen you.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[theirbbygirl]

Bus Boy ; YJN

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Fluff

Tags: afab!reader, kindergartenteacher!jeongin, a small moment of stress and overworking but nothing too intense, small mention of reader's mean boss, barely edited i'm so sorry

You had never thought that something more than just a "good morning" could bloom between you and the cute boy on the bus.

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Every morning you took the bus to your work at 8 am and at 6 pm going home, and every morning and evening you would see the cute fox-eyed boy on the same bus as you. The two of you were friendly strangers, always sitting just a few seats apart every morning and evening and exchanging smiles or soft “good mornings” and “good evenings.”

Neither of you had spoken to each other more than that however, it was like an unspoken rule, try not to ruin what you have now. And to be completely honest, you were okay with that. You were perfectly content with seeing his cute smile in the mornings and the same in the evenings.

Over the year you had continuously encountered the bus boy you presumed that he probably worked at the kindergarten down the street from your office. He wore the same blue lanyard you’d seen the teachers there wear when you went down to interview a couple of the faculty for an article you were assigned. He seemed young, probably right out of grad school, but still held that air of capability around him despite his young features.

You worked as a journalist up the street right next to your favorite cafe, so when you both got off at the same stop he would go down to the school while you went up to get your morning coffee.

When the night came around, you’d run into him on the same bus, looking more tired than you had seen him in the morning, but that was understandable considering he worked with kids for hours on end. At times, you caught yourself mindlessly smiling thinking about how he would look like trying to teach a classroom of young, rowdy kids. The thought wouldn’t leave your brain, and you probably looked like an idiot smiling at nothing on the night bus home.

You saw Fox Boy again today, he was wearing black slacks with a light blue button-up, and a delicate pair of white glasses set atop his nose. His hair was cut differently and black now, compared to the light brown you had last seen. Somehow the look made him look so much more mature, and you almost tripped over yourself making your way to a seat towards the back of the bus. You went past him like you usually did, brightly smiling at him while he returned the action, adding a “good morning” to it.

For whatever reason, you were feeling bolder today, and took the seat next to him across the aisle. He didn’t seem fazed by your change of seating, so you relaxed into your seat and watched the buildings pass by through the windows.

“Are you heading to your work?” He asks, cautiously breaking the silence.

You’re left speechless for a moment, surprised he even asked you a question first. “Uh, yeah, I work at the Media company just up the street.”

“Ah, so that’s where you’re headed every morning.” He chuckles for a second. “I think I saw you around one time, you were taking an interview for one of my colleagues, back in August?”

“Yeah! I was,” You chuckle with him. “It was for a simple piece. I take it you work as a teacher?”

“Mhmm.” He hums. “Got hired pretty early, but working with the kids is always something I’ve wanted to do.”

You both laugh together for a few moments, talking about your jobs and what goes on during your days. It was nice to talk to him–really talk to him–for the first time.

“Jeongin.” He says and holds out his hand for a shake as he sees your shared stop come into view, and you realize we had been talking all this time without knowing each other’s name. “Yang Jeongin.” 

“Y/n, Lee Y/n.” You respond with a smile and shake his hand. “It’s nice to formally meet you Yang Jeongin.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lee Y/n.” His bright smile felt like it shined brighter than the morning sun.

You both step off the bus and say “See you later” before heading to your respective occupations. You looked forward to being more friendly with the Bus Boy you now have a name for, Yang Jeongin.

Two weeks had passed of you talking to Jeongin daily, and you couldn’t be happier. He was relatively easy to talk to, about his family life, his brother, and how he finished school in Busan and transferred to Gimpo for work. You shared your own backstory, how you were the eldest child of two and your hometown was Ilsan. There was something that made it so easy to talk to Jeongin, and you laughed a lot more often when you were around him.

Soon enough it came to a point where the highlight of your days was seeing him on the buses to work and back. Your feelings were getting dangerously serious, but you couldn’t really stop them so you didn’t try.

This evening, you were almost late to the bus, thanking the driver for waiting up for you when he saw you sprinting down the street. Work had kept you a little later because your supervisor wasn’t exactly happy with the quality of your work recently.

When you walked down the aisle, you saw a very tired Jeongin sitting towards the back of the bus, instead of the middle where he usually was. He was already passed out with his head leaning against the window. You chuckled and sat next to him, making yourself comfortable as the bus made its usual route.

The movement of the bus made Jeongin’s head sway back and forth and hit the window a few times and it looked uncomfortable if the frown on Jeongin’s half-asleep face was anything to go by. Carefully, you led his head to rest on your shoulder and let him stay there. A second later he snuggles further, finally comfortable.

You were glad he was asleep so that he couldn’t notice the blush evident on your cheeks. Had he awoken when you moved his head to your shoulder you would’ve died of embarrassment on the spot.

The whole ride to your stop he was asleep on your shoulder. He’s probably had a long day of teaching, you thought. When your stop was the upcoming one you reached over and pressed the buzzer to alert the driver that you were getting off next, and you didn’t wake Jeongin until the bus actually stopped.

“Pst, Jeongin.” You tap his shoulder a few times, and when that doesn’t work you brush your hand through his hair. Luckily, that does the trick. “This is our stop.”

“Hm?” He groans groggily, confused for a moment, then scared as his eyes go wide. “Oh my god did I fall asleep on your shoulder? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for that to happen I just-“

“Hey hey hey, no worries alright? You were asleep by the time I got on and your head was moving around so I let you rest on my shoulder for a bit, thought you had a long day.” You smile sweetly as the both of you step off the bus.

“You could say that, I’m so so sorry Y/n I was really looking forward to talking with you tonight. I was gonna ask you something…” He trails off and pouts as if disappointed in himself.

“Don’t sweat it Jeongin, we all have those days. Besides, there’s always tomorrow, right?” You say, smiling up at him again.

“Yeah, I guess. Well, I won’t keep you here much longer, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/n!” He says as he begins to walk away.

“See you tomorrow Jeongin!”

Four days later, it’s your turn to be dead tired on your way back from work.

The day after Jeongin fell asleep on your shoulder on that bus ride home, you had gotten an earful from your boss. He was infuriated that none of you articles that you were writing were up to his standards and he sent you away telling you that if you didn’t get it together by the end of the week you would be risking your position. Not wanting to lose your job, you spend the next 2 nights and 3 days working, even later into the night at home. You were relieved that the article you turned in today was good enough for him, but by the time it was time to go home, you were absolutely beat.

You felt like one of those zombies from Train to Busan when you walked to the bus, and you felt a pang of disappointment when you got on and saw Jeongin wasn’t there. You took a seat and rested your head on the window, missing the rush of footsteps as you easily slipped off to sleep.

An incomprehensible amount of time later you wake up with a groan, realizing that you were definitely not rested against the window like when you first dozed off. Instead, you were on a firm but weirdly comfortable shoulder and a chuckle rings in your sleepy ears as you sit up properly.

Meeting eyes with the man who allowed you such comfort, Jeongin, you quickly melt into a pile of embarrassment.

“Sleep well?” He asks.

“Jeongin oh my gosh I’m so sorry I-“ You gulp. “Oh god, I’m so humiliated I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your shoulder. Were you uncomfortable? I’m so sorry-“

“Y/n, relax, you did the same for me the other day and you looked basically dead and I thought you’d be much more comfortable if you put your head on my shoulder instead of hitting it against the window over and over.” He smiles sweetly.

“You didn’t have to do that…” I say softly.

“But I wanted to, come on, let's get off the bus before the driver gets mad.”

You both walk out of the bus together after thanking the driver who had a knowing smile on his face as you exited. You stand in front of each other awkwardly when under the bus stop’s shelter, an uncomfortable silence wafting between you two.

“So…”

“I...” You speak at the same time and your eyes flick to each other, chuckling awkwardly.

“You go first.” You say.

“Okay, uh, well, I’m not entirely sure how to do this but I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day, I don’t think I formally thanked you for that. So, thank you.” He rubs a hand behind his neck, embarrassed.

“Oh, you don’t need to thank me for that. That’s what friends are for, right?” For whatever reason the mention of friends pangs your heart unknowingly, and you regret even mentioning the word.

“Yeah, friends…” He trails off.

There’s a beat of silence, and when you think neither of you has anything else to say you speak up.

“Well, I should probably get going…”

“Yeah, yeah, you probably should. Get home safe, yeah?”

“I will.” You smile at his concern and wave before turning around and walking away.

You only get about half a block away before you hear your name being called and fast footsteps coming from behind. You turn around and see Jeongin running up to you, slowing to a jog when he gets closer until he slows to a full stop in front of you.

“Jeongin?”

“What if…” He pants. “What if I don’t want to be your friend?”

You can feel yourself physically deflate at his words. “Oh, I’m so sorry then I assumed that-“

“Wait, no no no that’s not what I meant I-“ Another heavy exhale. “I meant that I want to be more than just friends, with you.”

This time your heart soars and you’re at a loss for words.

“Unless, you know, you don’t feel the same which I would totally understand I-“

You step forward to where you’re almost chest-to-chest with Jeongin, and he stops in the middle of his sentence.

“Can I kiss you?” You whisper out.

“Uhm, yes?” He says more like a question, to which you raise your eyebrows, like another question if he really wanted it. “Yes, please.” He says this time, and you lean forward, connecting your lips.

The kiss wasn’t anything grand, it was more like two high school students sharing their first kiss, awkward and unmoving. But when you separated from Jeongin he leaned forward a bit, chasing your lips. You smile at the action and peck his lips again.

“What if there was a way for you to thank me for letting you sleep on my shoulder?” You say.

“Oh really, and what would that be?” He asks.

“Get lunch with me, this weekend, when we’re both off.”

“Hmm,” He pulls a face like he’s thinking and you giggle “I like the sound of that.” He chuckles.

“But,” you point a finger at his face. “I pay.”

“Hm?” He hums confused.

“To thank you for letting me sleep on your shoulder.”

“We’ll see about that.” He says mischievously, knowing there was no way in hell he was letting you pay on your first date with him. 

notes from nyx:

so this is definitely something that has been sitting in my drafts for more than a year 😭 i can’t really tell if my writing has changed much from where i was when i wrote this but i tried editing it a little bit so it’s a little better, but i’m not sure how well i did with that 😅

i hope you enjoyed reading this and please feel free to reply/reblog what you enjoyed/what you want to see more of!! even a small comment is the highlight of a writer’s day ☺️

[blackopals-world]

Its a Crewel World

Unhinged Alchemist!femYuu and Divus Crewel (platonic)

Tags: Wuxian based Yuu, Chinese Yuu, fluff and angst, parental Crewel, happy ending, hurt/comfort

TW:Mentions of past abuse, blood

Yuu still remembered her old life as much as she tries to forget sometimes.

The screaming and crying of all the other children who were kidnapped or separated from their families. Yuu wasn't like them, she had no such family to cry to.

She looked after them as best she could, till the day they would sell them off. The prettiest of them would be taken to brothels to be trained which was a better life than this one, they'd be protected at least, but they can't escape. The strong ones would go to military camps, private armies, and martial arts sects to train. They were better off. They would become strong, maybe strong enough to choose their fates and become heroes. Heroes who could stop this from happening to other children.

That's what Yuu had to believe to sleep at night after she tucked in the little ones with what thin blankets they had. A hero would come soon...

No such thing happened.

There was a third place children would be mainly sold. Alchemist labs.

They weren't normal Alchemist they were people who used dangerous means to get results. They used people and animals in wicked experiments in their pills and elixirs.

Children not useful were sold off to become body parts and organs for these monsters. Yuu was purchased for 4 gold pieces and from that day forth she belonged to them. She was dragged away as she heard the other children crying out her name.

Yuu wasn't immediately thrown into the cauldron or furnace like the others would have been. She was saved for her heart. It would make a miracle pill. A pill of Immortality

It was the day when that man came into the cell to get her when she almost lost her life. Perhaps he wasn't as determined as she thought because he liked her enough to train her. He renamed her Little Four because that's how much she was worth. Yuu hated that name, it meant death. She hated that man more.

The day came when she would use her training well and used a red-eyed emerald snake to make a poison to kill him.

But life works in cycles and she too become an alchemist, one who didn't kill children but that doesn't mean she never used suspicious ingredients.

A time came when a hero did come with the goal of destroying all alchemists. Yuu was executed even though she was innocent of harming anyone but the man who made her this way.

She never had a choice but to be this way. The person she had prayed for only came armed with a sword against her.

In the end she wondered if things had been different, would she have been like this hero?

She awoke to a new world. A strange world she didn't understand.

The man of black feathers and with a face of a dead crow was infuriating. She spoke too quickly and of nonsense.

The cat familiar had a strong core so she would keep him if he wasn't to noisy.

She didn't like the school. She didn't like people, she didn't trust any of them.

She was told that she had no power. It was fine, she had learned no cultivation techniques related to martial arts. She had her skills in alchemy.

But Alchemists didn't exist here. They had something called potions, which sounded the same. Potions were different they only required mixing and fire to succeed. Strange.

Yuu didn't have to focuse for 3 days and nights using mana to control the flames to make distilled pills. It unnerved her.

This place was a mockery of her previous life.

Yuu was a bright young pup. Quiet and more reserved then the others which was a blessing, but she never applied herself. Being foreign was not helping her. She treated everything like it was new but the curious light in her eyes always died quickly.

Every person was suspicious and she lashed out often. She was almost always alone. She even seemed to hate every teacher she met, and if Divus got to close she'd flinch. Yuu would eye his whip with contempt and hate.

Divus wasn't foolish enough to believe that she would adjust to this new life quickly and asked Crowley to do something. He wouldn't of course so Crewel did the responsible but foolish thing.

He had Yuu switch to home schooling. She could still go to campus but her schedule would be closer to Idia's. She would move in to Crewel's home with Grim to adjust to life in this world before being pushed into socializing.

Yuu protested at first when Crowley pushed her towards Divus's car with her bag in hand. The fear in her eyes spoke volumes.

She wasn't angry, she was afraid.

Life with Crewel wasn't that as bad as she thought it would be.

When Crewel came home he'd teach her about life in this world. She even managed to use the laundry machine after Crewel told her many times to not hang it outside. Modern technology was still new to her.

She had a proper bed, food, space, and dogs. She liked dogs.

She remembered the dogs that lived in the cages with her. They were the few beings that were kind without a motive.

Crewel could see that Yuu was a bright and caring pup but she didn't know how to show it. She didn't talk about her old life but her expressions where enough.

She was surprised when he cooked. Worried when he pet the dogs. Scared when he got close to her room. When she was uncomfortable she reached for her neck. Textbook case of an abusive household.

One earning after he got home from work he saw her outside fiddling with a cauldron and lighting a fire.

"Pup, what are you doing?" Crewel asked, as he watched her use Grim as a fire source.

"Blue fire is very valuable for elixir making. I can't cut off Grim's ears so I'm making a basin to put him in to heat the cauldron. " Yuu said it like it was the most simple thing in the world as she pet Grim's head. He had been promised powerful elixirs and pills if he helped.

Divus had heard her talk about elixirs in the past but he thought she was talking about potions. What he gathered was that were different things with similar methods. Granted they could probably accomplish similar things.

"It needs blood." Yuu said taking out a knife from a cutting board of chopped herbs.

Divus's hand shot out to grab her wrist as she tried to cut into her arm.

"What the hell are you doing?!" He yelled as she dropped the knife. Her eyes welled up as she yelped in fear.

Divus pulled away and picked up the fallen weapon only to drop it again when she flinched.

At that moment she didn't see Crewel, she saw her old master.

"I'm sorry, master. I'll let you do it instead." Yuu weapt as she held out her trembling arm to him. She remembered how much he enjoyed cutting her open.

Divus dropped the knife immediately. He was just trying to protect her from herself. He knew she was hurt by people but the way she said master broke him.

What kind of sick bastard made a child call them master?

Slowly Divus moved closer to her and wrapped her in his arms.

Yuu had closed her eyes tightly as she waited for the pain to come, but it never did.

"I'm sorry, he hurt you. I will never let that happen to you again. I promise." Divus held her there as she shook. He could feel Grim press against her, his paws on her shoulder.

After a while he felt her hug him back. Not like a normal hug. She gripped onto his shirt deaspretly as though he would dissappear at any moment and leave her alone. She cried for the first time in forever.

She had never be held like this or cared for. She had always held others, like her fellow children before they were separated. She was only ever harmed by adults. Crewel cared, she didn't understand why but he did.

"It hurts." Yuu sobbed, it was physical pain it hurt inside her heart. She was angry, sad, and happy all at once. "Please, it hurts so much."

Divus could do nothing other than hold her tighter as he smoothed her hair.

Yuu returned to campus next semester. She was a different person. Brighter.

She had her named changed to Yuu Crewel, or Crewel Yuu as she said it. Yuu didn't like people calling her first name casually but she would adjust. She was happy enough not to be Little Four again.

She even made friends who would learn of her ability to make any elixir they wanted as long as they provided her ingredients. Having her sneak up on them to puck out hair, swabbing saliva from their mouths or worst engineering situations to get blood out of them.

Her obsession with teeth was driving Idia crazy. She demanded at least one but she was placated with a few from the Tweels who had plenty.

Her experiments led to many accidents like when she tried to make a pill that would turn her into a mer. It worked but it was too potent. She was a mermaid but one the size of an orca. Well, technically she was half orca.

She scared the sharks though and it was fun to hold her friends in one hand. Floyd seemed to love it. Carter too. The pictures were #BBW #BigBeautifulWhale.

Then there was the time she made zombies when she used an elixir to revive dead rose bushes for Riddle.

Did you know zombies love music?

She also made Epel into a Werewolf after trying to see if she would turn someone into a Beast-man like Jack. She would still be hiding from Vil if she didn't fix it. Epel was disappointed.

She turned Grim into a kaiju and he tried to concur humanity but realized that he could no longer sleep in his cat bed.

Let's not mention the love potion fiasco when Yuu misinterpreted it for aphrodisiacs.

In her defense using them on people were very common in her land. Every woman knew how to use them and they were very educated on them.

Yuu had many misadventures in her new life but nothing beats coming home from school to horrify her dad with stories and add to the long list of banned potions on the fridge.

[failedelectrocution]

I know most people see Chiyoh and Hannibal as siblings but I have feelings n thoughts about em. m sad that there are p much no fics of em when there's so much potential.

Will is unpredictable and volatile, a wildfire that consumes and follows the wind. God does Hannibal love watching the wild creature lick flames wherever he goes.

But Chiyoh is stone. Cold, rough, solid stone that he can lean on, without fear of abandonment. She will always be there. Hannibal cannot return home, but he has her. Flashes of their silly little childhood games and made-up rituals, bright-eyed teenagers trying to find deeper meanings in the world. Holding hands in the dark of nights, time not a factor as they simply watched a candle melt away under a timid, flickering flame.

She was smaller than him, but fiercely protective. Not like a dog, blindly loyal and eager for praise, no, but a lioness taking care of her pride. He can always go to her for silent comfort, they need not words between them on hard days curled up in the castle that seemed frozen in history, every haunting moment left lingering down its halls.

Chiyoh was a handmaiden under the woman he yearned for. They both looked up to the lady with awe and respect. Chiyoh's eyes dulled in the moonlight when a young and brash Hannibal whispered his confessions to her, but she did not say anything.

After all that he had done, Lady Murasaki fled from him in an instant. But Chiyoh was still there. She comforted him, and he could see the pain in her eyes, too. The two comforted each other under sheets, tangled in desperation and inexperience. Even after that, Chiyoh did not change. Curiosity gnawed at him like a black hole, and the eager cub gave in without much thought.

Decades later, she is still home.

She knows him before he got his degrees, before Il Mostro.

She understands and accepts Hannibal as the beast that he is. She doesn't denounce him for what he does, as it would be denouncing a fox for killing and eating birds. What she does stop him from, is killing out of *emotion*, because that is human, not beast. This is why she stopped him from killing the man who supposedly killed and ate Mischa.

Here is her reaction to Will telling her everything, supposedly including Abigail, one that he killed out of human emotion and not out of instinct as a beast.

She is still his protector.

From himself.

Hannibal asks her to watch over him, lest he does it again.

He sees her, and knows that he will be safe.

[kindnessisweakness2]

8

Cara spent the rest of the night wrapped up in juice, getting to know all she could about the man she instantly deemed sex on legs. Emily however quietly slipped away into the garage on her own. She sighed in relief as she slumped down on a stool leaning against the large red tool box behind her. The cool metal dug into the bare skin of her back, slightly painful but the cold was relieving. She still couldn't get over the nerve of Noah. Part of her really believed he would never leave her alone. Some weird attachment thing, wanting to be her first and last. She scoffed at the thought, he would've been if she never found out the truth. The ugly painful memories wouldn't leave her brain. Since everything happened she hadn't stopped questioning herself. Did she do something wrong? Was it the way she looked? The bright hair and tattoos. The way she dressed maybe? Or it was just her. Boring, lazy Emily. She never does any thing exciting. Rather stay home, read a good book, binge watch a TV Show or cook. "What are you doing in here?" Gemma's voice made her jump. "Fuck!" Emily held her hand to her heart as if it would ease the pounding. "Sorry I was just hiding. Needed a minute. I haven't touched any thing, not snooping don't worry." Emily held her hands up and walked towards the door to leave. "My son seems to be quite smitten with you." The words made her freeze and turn to face the charming legend that was Gemma Teller. Emily had heard the whispers about her. The fiercly protective mother hen. All the girls on Jax's fling list striving for his mothers approval, all but kissing the ground she walked on, hoping she would whisper in her son's ear about how good of an old lady they would make. But Gemma had yet to properly get to know Emily. And when she did she would realise that she wasn't going to bow down to no one. The way she was raised, your respect was earned and you handled your own shit. Head held high no matter how many swings life took at you. "Don't worry mama bear, I'm not looking to worm my way in to your family. He's just being nice since everything happened with Noah." Gemma raised a knowing eyebrow at the young girl as she continued her rant. "Your son strolls around Charming using his good looks and reputation to make every girl smile and drop her knickers. As I've clearly shown with Noah, I don't share." Emily sighed rubbing her temples. "Look I'm sorry. Im not blind. I know how the women are. Trying to insert themselves into the club wanting to gain an old lady title. I get your protecting Jax, but I'm not planning on falling at his feet like everyone else." Gemma smirk stretched across her face and it irked Emily. "I see it y'know. The little looks you throw at each other. The smiles." Emily's stomach twisted at Gemmas words. Was it that obvious? I mean yeah, she was attracted to him but who wouldn't be? "This is ridiculous. We've known each other a few weeks." Gemma eyed her as she moved to sit on the stool Emily jumped from. She was different from Jax's usual choice, a million miles from Tara and the blonde porn star he recently grew fond of. Sure she'd caused some trouble with her temper but Gemma couldn't question how well she handled David Hale when he came snooping. "Deny it all you want darlin'. I'm just giving you a heads up that loving my son isn't easy. This life isn't for the weak." Emily scoffed at Gemma's words as she watched her lean back blowing out smoke from the cigarette she just lit, black and blonde curls falling from her shoulder. She warned her as if she had never loved a biker before. Noah's probation period was hard the first time, but she'd supported him regardless. He hadnt been patched long when he done her dirty. " Yeah i know. I'm still paying the price for it now." Emily spoke through gritted teeth before storming from the garage.

Jax's head snapped up at the sound of the slamming of the garage door. He'd been sat at the tables with Opie, Chibs and Happy. Juice and Cara had disappeared to somewhere quieter, either getting to know each other more or getting down and dirty. Confusion settled on his face as he spotted Emily storming across the lot, face like thunder, his mom stood leaning against the door frame watching her. Ignoring Opie calling his name, Jax got up and chased after Emily. "Em!" She heard him call her name and for some reason it just pissed her off more. "Go back to the party, I'm going home. I'll pick Cara up tomorrow when shes done fucking juice." Emily still spoke through gritted teeth, not turning to look at him once as she walked down the dark street. "What's happened? What did my mom say?" Jax questioned. He knew what his mom was like, how bitchy she could be. Gently grabbing her arm, Jax tugged her towards him stopping her angry power walk. Emily rolled her eyes, refusing to look up at him. Even in these stupid heels he was taller. "she have me the speech I'm assuming she gives every one that gets remotely friendly with you. The old lady warning." Jax sighed as Emily carried on speaking, not giving him a chance to cut in. "Look, I'll tell you what I told her. I'm not after the old lady title. I'm not a damn patch bunny, crow eater or whatever other stupid name you have for them. One biker has already caused me enough hassle so if you expect me to jump into bed with you, your fucking wrong. If you wanting to be around me has anything to do with fucking with Noah, you can fuck off too! I enjoyed watching Cara bust his balls but you seem to have an issue with him and you can leave me out of it. Don't get me wrong Teller, your sex on legs and no doubt a girls wet dream but the fact you know it and you use it to get these girls to fall for you leaving broken hearts around Charming, makes me sick." Turning on her heel, her chest heaving with anger Emily continued down the street. She managed a few steps before turning to face a shocked Jax. "And just so it's extremely clear, the notion of an old lady pisses me off. I have never and will never stand behind a man and do as I am told. I'm an all or nothing kinda girl Teller." Jax smirked at her. She'd invaded his mind since that first day she saw her. She was mouthy and short tempered and Jax honestly loved that about her. He needed people around him that he could rely on to tell him the truth. People around him were always filtering their answers, like smoky truth, trying to please him. Their reputation in town clearly made people treat them different. Some idolised, some avoided. But Emily was never rude to any of them despite what Noah did. She never pryed for information trying to make herself a permanent fixture in club life. Most wanted affiliation, to be protected. Emily never seemed to want anything. Jax closed the distance between them, smirk still stretched across his face. "A girls wet dream huh?" Emily's eyes widened both in shock and Suprise. "Are you kidding me? THAT is the only thing you took from my whole rant?" Jax laughed at how pissed off she was. She was so fucking adorable. "Calm down pocket. I heard everything." Her hands flew to her hips in frustration, she glared at the man infront of her. "Pocket?" Jax grinned his own hands deep in his Jean pockets. "Yeah like pocket rocket! Your always seconds away from exploding." Emily felt the heat on her cheeks and knew she was glowing red. "I've got no ulterior motive here em. I just genuinely like you. Your different, good. Noah didnt see it, clearly didn't appreciate you. My mom's pushy, always putting her foot in her mouth." Jax moved her hands from her hips, replacing them with his own. His thumbs rubbing circles on her exposed skin. Emily bit her lip. She felt like a stupid teenager, her skin tingled at his contact. He was addictive. His warmth comforting. "Come back to the party. If you want to go home later I'll take you on the bike."

Emily didn't want to agree, but one look in those baby blues and she found herself letting a smiling Jax lead her back to the party.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #71: The Night's Watch, but make it found family

Maester Aemon is perhaps my favorite character in ASOIAF. He could have been king. He could have lived a life of luxury as a prince in the south. He could easily have forsaken all his vows and risen to the most dizzying heights - and chose to remain sworn to guard the realm of men twice over as a maester of the Night's Watch.

So I thought: What would it take to give Maester Aemon the best possible ending?

Aka: The Maekar the Maester Fic

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon - until the Greyjoy Rebellion, where Ned falls to a lucky crossbow bolt during the Siege of Pyke.

King Robert razes the castle in his fury, not bothering to evacuate the remaining Greyjoys or the common folk who took refuge in the castle. It is a massacre - but it puts the fear of god in the surviving Ironborn. The new Lord Reaper Rodrik Harlaw remains a faithful servant for all his days.

Back in Winterfell, 6-year-old Robb Stark is the new Lord Paramount of the North. His mother, Lady Catelyn, is his regent. And one of her first acts is to send her husband's bastard to the Wall. Which endears her to very few, as first graders have no place in a military organization even in Medieval times.

Benjen is away on a ranging at the time, so the Lord Commander entrusts young Jon's care to the only other man he can trust: Maester Aemon.

This works out better than anyone might have expected, because although Aemon is nearly 90 years old and has limited experience with children, the pair get on in a way that they really shouldn't given their vast difference in age and experience. But young Jon is bright and lively and curious, and Aemon has been lonely and lacking mental stimuli for most of his time at the Wall.

By the time Benjen returns from his ranging, the maester has already been dubbed Uncle Aemon and Benjen has to navigate co-parenting with a man who thinks teaching a young boy to stitch sword wounds is an appropriate learning activity.

(Benjen also has to navigate the urge to ride down to Winterfell and murder his brother's widow, and doesn't for the sole reason his nieces and nephews are too young to be orphaned.)

Jon grows up in the Night's Watch. He absorbs everything that there is to learn with the bright-eyed eagerness of a child - and though Jeor would hate to admit it, makes Castle Black a more enjoyable place to live. By age fourteen he can swing a sword, plan a ranging, sew a wound, cook a meal, repair a sword, patch a castle wall, chart the stars; track an animal, skin and butcher it, and name its bones afterwards; mix wildfire, and recite every piece of dragonlore he's ever learned - including a few slivers of knowledge that were normally only saved for dragonlords.

At fourteen he's allowed to make his Night's Watch vows.

The night before, Maester Aemon calls Jon into his chambers and tells him that could not be prouder of Jon if he were his own son.

Jon admits that he's wished many times over the years that Aemon was his father and considers him the father of his heart - more than Ned Stark, who he hardly remembers; more than Benjen, whose duties often keep him away; more than Jeor, who is kind but distant.

There are many tears and much hugging and more confessions, but at the end of it Aemon adopts Jon - perhaps through some Valeryian blood ritual - and gifts him the name Maeker, after his own father.

Canon proceeds apace elsewhere, save that when Jon Arryn dies, Robert rides to Highgarden at Renly's urging to name Mace Tyrell Hand of the King - and sends a raven in the opposite direction to summon Sansa as a bride for Joffrey.

Mace, through an almost comical series of events, comes to the same realization that Ned did in canon: that Cersei's children are not Robert's. Rather than try to have her step aside gracefully, he attempts to blackmail the queen into retiring to a motherhouse so that Margery can take her place... This does not go well.

Westeros erupts into war. It follows canon very closely - save that Cersei tries to use Sansa's presence in King's Landing to blackmail the North into fighting on Joffrey's side. Robb still ends up being named King in the North, this time more out of the urging of bannermen angry at how much the Southron wars have cost the North instead of revenge.

All this largely passes Maekar by on the Wall. He remains behind during the Great Ranging, serving at Aemon's assistant and apprentice. When the survivors return with news of the Others, he's skeptical but willing to hear the evidence - and wins the election for 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

As the War for the Dawn looms, Maekar sends messengers to each of the remaining kings for aide. Only Daenerys Targaryen responds, intrigued by everything she's been told by the messenger of the man they call Maekar the Maester, the adopted son of her Great-Uncle.

While Daenerys journeys north, Maester Aemon dies in his bed with Maekar at his side. With his last breaths, he gifts Maekar his maester's chain, saying that he has more than earned it - and that Maekar shall go down in history as the greatest of all Targaryens.

Daenerys grows even more intrigued by Maekar when she arrives at the Wall, but respects his desire to honor his vows. They remain great friends for the rest of their lives, sending entire flocks of ravens back and forth. Together they lead their forces against the Night's King-

-a task made easier when Bran and Meera Reed show up on the wrong side of the Wall, having slain the Three-Eyed Raven and raided his hoard. Amongst which are Blackfyre and Dark Sister.

Blackfyre is truly a massive sword and with dragonsteel in such short supply Daenerys allows Maekar to wield the Conqueror's blade in battle, as she cannot.

The War for the Dawn continues for another year - just long enough for the other kingdoms to realize what's happening and send a handful of reinforcements - before Maekar manages to slay the Night's King. Daenerys is able to destroy the last of the Others with her dragons...

...and when she lands, Maekar wastes no time in returning Blackfyre to her keeping.

A Great Council is held in the south. Though they try to offer the crown to Maekar, the hero of the War for the Dawn and (now wildly known thanks to Bran) rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Maekar refuses. They eventually grant the crown to Daenerys, who rules fairly and well for sixty years. She names her eldest son Maekar after her dearest friend.

Bonuses include: 1) Dozens of small character moments between Aemon and Maekar, showing the development of their relationship and depth of the feeling they share over the years; 2) Maekar inadvertently playing matchmaker more times than you'd expect of a man in a celibate organization. This should include hitting Bran and Meera over the head until they realize they've been crushing on each other for years, and getting Dany to give the minor lord she ends up marrying a chance; and 3) Young Jon breathing so much life into Castle Black that it's nearly unrecognizable from canon by the time Sam joins up. It's still cold, but it's not so miserable. It is, in fact, a home.

This is actually an idea I've had kicking around for a while and have only finally managed to put down. As always, feel free to adopt this most beloved of buns, just link back if you do anything with it.

Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aelor the Accursed | Aegon the Adopted | Aegon the Undying | Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Baelor the Brave | Bastard of Winterfell | Daemon the Destroyer | Daena the Dreamer | Daeron the Desired | Dyanna the Defiant | Elia the Magnificent | Jon the Fair | Jon Whitefyre | King of the Ashes | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Lord of the Dance | Maekar the Maester | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother | Queen of Nightingales | Red Queen | Rhaegar the Righteous | River Queen | Shiera Snowbird | Visneya the Victorious | Wolf Queen

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[leopardfang15]

A little present for the awesome @racfoam with Harriet and Voldemort. We’ve been chatting and I got inspired. Fun fact, swing dancing was very popular when Voldemort was young.

The portraits outside the ballroom at Malfoy manor were no doubt either confused or enraged beyond all reason. Big band jazz music was blaring throughout the massive room. Death Eaters and the Malfoy’s stood under the grand, crystal chandeliers as the Dark Lord and Girl-Who-Lived spun around each other with quick feet, swing dancing.

It was a popular dance when Voldemort was young. He learned when he’d spend his days wandering London in the summer during his Hogwarts years. He always spent as little time as possible at the Orphanage and old Mrs Cole wouldn’t be caught dead in the dance halls and jazz clubs in London. Even if she did decide to go hunting for him she’d never brace the dance floor. The best place for him to avoid the gaze of that miserable old hag was in the crowd of dancing couples. The fact that swing dancing ended up being kind of fun was just a bonus.

Though now, dancing with Harriet, who had a massive smile lighting up her face, it was the most fun Voldemort had had in a long time. Perhaps the most fun he’d ever had. The only reason Harriet even knew that Voldemort could swing dance was because she once walked into his room and found him listening to a record player playing big band jazz music. She’d never expected him to like music at all (especially after her little trick with her rock music) and if he did she would’ve expected nothing but classical. Seemed the Dark Lord still surprised her. She asked about the jazz music and how he grew to like it. Before she knew it Voldemort was out of his robes, into some trousers and showing her the basics of swing.

Now her low heeled shoes clacked on the ball room floor and her knee length, black skirt fanned out around her as she twirled. She also wore solid black leggings under her dress. Normally she wouldn't but she didn’t feel too comfortable showing too much leg around the Death Eaters due to the high energy dance. All attention was on them once the music changed and the other couples vacated the floor. Voldemort wasn’t complaining. Harriet was so lost in dancing with the red eyed man she almost missed her step when he spoke without looking away from her.

“Got something you’d like to say, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, stepping around Harriet as he twirled her so they were now dancing on opposite sides.

Their host startled, not realizing his lord would even notice the bewildered look on his face. Lucius cleared his throat to give himself a moment so he could gather his thoughts and his nerve. He wasn’t sure how the dark lord would react to this but he hoped the other man would be too distracted by his soulmate to start casting Crucios. “I’m simply surprised, my lord. I didn’t expect you to know any muggle dances, let alone one so… energetic.” Not to mention the fact that his lord was wearing a muggle suit. Not like one could do such moves in robes anyway.

Voldemort scoffed. “Please, your father spent two weeks incessantly begging me to teach him how to do this.” He twirled Harriet out before pulling her back to him. Using her momentum he pulled her back in and spun her around his body before setting her back on her feet. Harriet’s bright eyes and the sight of her hair slipping from her ponytail almost distracted him from Lucius.

“What?” Lord Malfoy asked, face revealing the depths of his surprise. Oh Abraxas would’ve been so disappointed at the unfettered emotion on Lucius’s face. “Forgive me my lord but when would my father have ever seen you do this?”

Voldemort almost rolled his eyes. “There was a function my sixth year at Hogwarts and a Pureblood Gryffindor I disliked had been rather irritating the entire night. Seeing as how I couldn’t curse him in front of the teachers I decided to pull his muggleborn girlfriend onto the dance floor and show her what real dancing was.” He said with a smirk, remembering the boy’s face as he tossed his date in the air.

Harriet was snickering. “And how long did those two stay dating?”

“Not very long.” Voldemort smirked, dipping Harriet low when she jumped into his arms. “Though as a result of my little performance I had numerous students coming up to me at all hours of the day asking for dance lessons. Abraxas being the most incessant and vocal. I eventually taught him as a reward for scaring off everyone else.”

“Why would my father want to learn?” Lucius asked.

“Your mother in particular was quite impressed with the show.” He paused his story as Harriet pressed her back to his. He then knelt down, allowing Harriet to roll over his back and end up in front of him again. “You know, Abraxas wasn’t supposed to marry your mother. He was engaged to a girl two years behind him, Melody Parkinson. I believe your mother was to marry a Carrow. Not only that, but Talia Rosier wouldn’t give Abraxas the time of day.”

It was difficult to hear over the music but there were several snickers coming from various Death Eaters. Lucius himself was beginning to look more and more ridiculous, his grey eyes were so wide one may worry they might pop out of his head.

“In any event, I allowed your father to practice with me; picking me up, tossing me and catching me. Abraxas quickly learned that dropping me would be worse than dropping Talia.” No one needed to guess what the punishment for dropping the Dark Lord was.

“Once I declared him passable he renewed his chase of Talia. I don’t care to know how he convinced her to dance with him but seeing as how your here, Lucius, it’s clear that my dance lessons were instrumental in Abraxas getting the woman he wanted.” Voldemort smirked. “In fact, during my best man speech at their wedding I took full credit for the event. Now I believe I’ll take full credit for your existence.”

There was outright laughter at the sight of Lucius’s dropped jaw now, even from Harriet. Bellatrix’s loud cackling was heard the most over the music. Voldemort was too focused on Harriet to notice, though.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

They Did The Monster Mash 🎃 | TGM Halloween Imagine

Set in an AU where the characters of TGM are classical and mythology monsters/creatures

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: mad scientist!Bob Floyd x mad scientist!reader (romantic), Dagger Sqaud (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, light profanity | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.4K

Premise: it’s All Hallow’s Eve, a night where ghouls and monsters alike awaken from every inch of the globe. What better way to celebrate the spookiest night of the year than gathering all those lurking in the shadows to the party everyone wants to be.

Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Here’s a fluffy, spooky little imagine for y’all as a treat 🎃

——————-

‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the cemetery. Not a creature was moaning, as they basked in solitary. The pumpkins were lit, with carved faces to stare. In hopes the monsters of the night, soon will be there.

“Bob!” Y/n shouted, frantically searching for her coat. It was a quarter till midnight on October the 30th. Soon it would be Halloween. And with a full moon high in the sky it was the perfect moment to test out their newest creation. “It is almost time! We must make haste!”

“I’m right here, darling,” her coat in his hand, Dr. Floyd dimmed the lights on his way into the lab. The woman exhaled in relief, kissing his cheek before placing the coat over her shoulders.

“What would I do without you, my love?”

Bob adjusted his goggles over his prescription glasses, chuckling, “Probably half as mad as you are now.”

Any other woman would be offended by the comment, but Y/n, the mad scientist she embraced herself to be, only giggled. The two had met during their doctoral program, falling in love and conducting research as a duo. Before long they were blacklisted for unethical experiments, moving underground to hide from society.

But what the world didn’t know, was they uncovered a world beneath their own. Where monsters heard in legends and fairytales roamed freely. Living amongst humans to the naked eye.

Since forming partnerships with fellow outcasts like themselves, the couple have traveled every Halloween to Transylvania, Romania. There the infamous vampire Pete Mitchell, descendent of Dracula himself, hosts an annual Halloween festival with monsters and ghouls alike.

The party always started around sunset on Halloween night. So the two had plenty of time before gearing up their transportation pod to zap them to Pete’s mansion. Y/n placed her own goggles on, brushing away her dyed jet black hair with white streaks, mischievous smirk painting her lips, “Shall we begin?”

“It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. (One-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater). A one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. Sure looks strange to me.” The party was in full swing when the couple arrived. Creatures in every corner, a werewolf howling in the distance, bats flying overhead. They were home.

“Doctors!” They spun around to find the monster of the mansion sporting a cheshire grin, fangs threatening to poke out. Lord Pete Mitchell, having recently fed by the bright color of his eyes and lack of under eye bags, wore a snazzy black pinstripe suit with a blood red tie. The handkerchief in his breast pocket, as well as the soles of his shoes, were the same color. “It is so wonderful to see you. I’m always amazed by your entrance every year. God forbid the governments of the world discover you’ve cracked the code of transportation.”

“Don’t forget time travel,” Y/n winked, causing Pete to laugh.

“Of course,” he flashes his pearly white teeth before frowning after peering around them, “Where is your--.” Y/n gently cuts him off.

“Oh at the lab. Ever since we created his bride he refuses to leave the basement” Pausing she gives a knowing look, “You know how young love is, my Lord.”

Pete makes an ‘ah’ sound, “Yes, yes, I understand. When you return, do let him know he is missed. And that I cannot wait to meet his bride next Halloween.” He winks, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves, “Please make yourself at home. We’re still waiting on a few more before the festivities of the night fully begin. Until then, the bar is open--as always--and do let me know if you need any more necessities for your upcoming projects.”

“Thank you, Lord Mitchell. My wife and I appreciate your hospitality and generosity greatly.” Bob shook his gloved hand, still able to feel the cold dead skin that laid beneath it. The vampire made his departure, moving to greet other guests. Y/n weaved her arm through Bob’s open arm, letting him guide her to their group of friends they spotted in the distance by the bar.

“Well look at what the wolves dragged in.” Jake Seresin, an incubus famous in both the underground and real world, was the first to notice them. With his ability to seduce and mentally bend people to his will, Jake succeeded in becoming a high profile Hollywood actor. Making it accessible for him to feed on the blood of men and women alike. Unlike Pete, who was a vampire, Jake appeared human and only took the form of his demon counterpart when he hadn’t fed in a long time.

“Seresin,” Bob nodded, glaring when the blonde creature approached to take Y/n’s hand and kiss her knuckles. He had nothing to worry about of course. Y/n was immune to Jake’s charms, threatening to experiment on him the first time he attempted to swoon her.

That had him running with his (literal) tail between his legs.

“Careful, Jake,” Came a teasing feminine voice from the side, “I hear the mad scientists have been searching for Incubi blood on the black market.” Jake sent a glare in the direction of the voice, the couple following it to find Natasha perched on a bar stool, stroking her black cat seated in her lap.

A witch, with family dating back to the Salem Witch Trials, Natasha was the type of woman people couldn’t help but fear and desire. In the small village she lived deep in the forest surrounding, rumors of the witch swarmed with many believing her responsible for the curse on the town's most corrupt and wealthy families.

Well, to them they were rumors….

Y/n slipped past Bob, opening her arms to the woman, “Lovely to see you again on this Holiday, dear Natasha.” The hug was brief, Y/n making sure to offer a light pet to the cat, piercing her with its stare.

“As to you, Madam Floyd.”

“Tell me,” Y/n leaned closer, “Were you successful?” Natashe smirked at the question, whispering under her breath.

“We shall find out once the sun rises. But I can assure you the Supreme Court will think twice before bringing forth groundbreaking cases to overturn.”

“Marvelous,” the doctor awed. She moved along to say hello to their other friends. There was Javy, a werecoyote and Jake’s best friend. The full moon affects him like it does werewolves, but he’d already consumed his monthly dose of Wolfsbane to prevent the transformation from happening.

There was Mickey, a hellhound who served as a guard for the Underworld. Tasked with keeping the secret of the supernatural hidden. One can imagine the headaches Jake gives him with being a celebrity in the real world. When Mickey became his hellhound persona, cracks in his skin appeared like molten lava.

Reuben was present, and thankfully Y/n remembered to wear her iron jewelry. The tall, handsome fairy sipped on his usual cocktail. Like Jake he was the most ‘humanlike’ of the bunch where he could easily walk amongst mortals without causing suspicion. His golden eyes were a stand out, however, often covered by contacts. Of the group he had known Mickey the longest, the two meeting centuries prior during a war between fae and goblins.

“I’m not late am I?” came a booming sound from the main entrance, all heads turning. Jake instantly groaned, the others pleased to see the Alpha werewolf, Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh with his typical Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“You’re right on time,” Pete announced from the top of the steps, raising a glass of red liquid. Bradley gave a two finger salute, strutting over to the group and ordered his go to--a pitcher of beer.

“Greetings, fellow myths and legends,” he drank half of the pitcher in a single gulp, winking afterwards, “at least to the humans that is.”

“What took you so long, Bradshaw?” Jake twirled his pue cue, “too busy brushing your winter coat? Or did you have to get one last howl at the moon?”

Used to the jabs, Bradley rebutted with, “Jake, good to see you again as always. You’re looking a little pale though--Did you not have time to drain a virgin before coming? I’m sure Pete can find someone in the nearby town.” Reuben whistled under his breath, Javy letting out a fool blown laugh.

“C’mon you gotta admit that was good,” he nudged Jake, who was very much offended.

“Men,” Y/n muttered, Natasha clicking her glass against hers in agreement. “They’ll never change.”

After several minutes of small talk and drinks, Pete tapped his spoon against his glass. The action is loud enough for supernatural hearing to get everyone's attention. For the mad scientists, they saw the reactions of their friends and followed their direction.

At the top of the mansion's grand staircase, Pete stood beside his wife Penny. The beautiful siren, infamous in Greek mythology for luring shipwrecked men to their death, was stunning in her black gown. Along her arms and neck, rimming her hairline were seafoam green scales, reflecting under the dim gaze of the lights.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began, “Thank you all for coming tonight. You’ve traveled from near and far, let my wife and I be the first to say Happy Halloween!” cheers broke among the crowd. Well really they were howls, moans, and chaotic laughter. “It truly is the best night of the year. And what better way to kick it off than to toast.” Penny was handed a glass of her own red liquid. To the human eye it’d be believed as wine. But to those witnessing below, they were well aware of what its contents contained.

Speaking of those in attendance, they all grabbed their own drinks and brews. Pete lifted his first, “Let us toast to the one time of year we get to leave the shadows. Where the world looks at us as more than creatures of night. They dress up as us,” chuckles echoed, “they consume everything in relation to us. They walk their streets oblivious to the fact we roam behind their shoulders.” Pete pauses, sending a sweet gaze to Penny. “To All Hallow’s Eve!”

“To All Hallow’s Eve!!’ glasses raised, everyone cheersing before downing whatever was left in their goblets. Bradley finished his first pitcher of beer, the bartender sliding down the next one. Natasha poured something out of her flask into her goblet. Leave it to the Witch to travel with her own brew.

“Alright,” Bradley raised the pitcher, “Let’s get this party started!” As if on cue the DJ, who happened to be a mummy, started to play the Halloween classics. Lights flashed on every corner, the dance floor glowing a spooky fluorescent green. Dry ice from the massive cauldron flooded the area.

Ghosts bogeyed during the Ghostbusters theme. Zombies got down and dirty to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. The children had a blast with ‘This is Halloween’ and ‘Time Warp’. Later on Nat and Y/n let loose to Rockwells ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’.

Bob kept his eyes on his wife during that one. Lowkey thinking about ending the party early.

Poker was played amongst the men. Pete even joined alongside two Harpys, Beau and Solomon. During this Y/n and Natasha conversed with Penny. They spoke of Y/n’s experiments, Natasha’s feud with the village she resides by, and Penny’s travels back to Greece earlier that year.

“Oh it was fascinating,” Penny boasted, finishing off her third glass of ‘wine’. “Still as beautiful as I remember, although it still takes time getting used to the fact they now call Anthemoessa ‘Cape Pelorum.’”

“Did you visit the Parthenon?”

“I tried,” the Siren scoffed lightly at the memory, “at night of course when no one was around, but I couldn’t get past the damn door. I’m not surprised though,” she rolled her eyes, “Athena never liked us.”

As Midnight approached the crowd began to gather on the dance floor. Of course the night could not end without playing the couple’s favorite. Once the DJ announced it was time for the grand event, Bob took Y/n’s hand, “May I have this dance, wife?”

“Why of course, husband,” she smirked. “This is our song after all.”

The others had already made way, forming their own little circle and grabbing partners of their own. There was a reason this particular song was favored over the rest. Starting from the very first verse.

“I was working in the lab, late one night. When my eyes beheld an eerie sight. For my monster from his slab, began to rise. And suddenly to my surprise.”

“He did the mash,” the moves Y/n and Bob started to do a twist, similar to Vince and Mia in the iconic dance scene of Pulp Fiction. “He did the monster mash.”

“The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash.” Natasha shimmied with Mickey. “He did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Penny was spun by Pete. “He did the mash. He did the monster mash.”

A stunning succubus had managed to pull Jake under her spell. How fitting.

“From my laboratory in the castle east. (Wa-ooh) To the master bedroom where the vampires feat. (wa-wa-ooh) The ghouls all came from their humble abodes. (Wa-ooh) To get a jolt from my electrodes.”

Bob pulled Y/n to him, dancing chest to chest, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.” Javy, Bradley, and Reuben were having a dance battle in the middle of the circle. “The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash. They did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Y/n giggled, letting Bob twirl her in a circle, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.”

It was a total spooky vibe. Monsters doing the Mash. Each time Dracula was mentioned everyone pointed to Pete, who rolled his eyes. He did, however, do the Transylvania Twist during its name drop, causing them all to hype him up.

The sun would rise at dawn, they’d all go back to living in the shadows. Back to a place where they were the villains of every story. Subjected to demise by the hero. No longer idolized and embedding fear in everyone who dared think of them. Once the sun rose, another Halloween had come and gone.

But until then, creatures of the night thrived in the darkness to the graveyard smash.

………

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Tav's gift

Astarion was Tav's first lover before she entered a polyamorous relationship with him, Gale, Halsin, and Shadowheart. After killing Cazador and the seven thousand souls, Astarion didn't ascend, but stayed a vampire spawn instead. When they defeated the Netherbrain and the tadpoles were gone, so was Astarion's ability to walk in the sun. Tav wants to change that – no matter the cost.

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, anilingus, cunnilingus, fellatio, anal sex, pegging, biting, consensual blood drinking, consensual manhandling, fluff, the feels, slight angst, crack treated seriously)

Notes:

To avoid confusion: In one of my other fanfics,Halsin and Tav had named the owlbear cup Naïlo, which means 'night breeze' in the Elven language.

Another fic is mentioned.

If you’d like to read my nerdy ramblings regarding names and their meanings, including those of my Tav and OCs, go to my AO3 account :)

Tav closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air was hot, the sun shone brightly, and the fresh breeze of the Lake of Steam, carrying the smell of dry grass, olive trees, and citrus trees. She had missed South Faerûn.

Her great-grandparents had moved from Baldur's Gate to Derlusk in the Border Kingdoms in the hopes of a better life. There, they'd worked for different vineyards, passing on their knowledge to the younger generations. Tav's parents had died young due to the plague and she'd become an orphan at age ten. The winemaker, for whom her parents had worked, had taken her in. At fourteen, Tav had pursued her musical training and career. Derlusk was the city of music after all. She'd still helped out her guardian, Korah, at the vineyard, lugging around baskets full of grapes and pouring them into the big wooden tubs in which the pretty girls trampled them to make juice before the wine-aging process. That's how Tav had gotten so muscular; by carrying around baskets and buckets all over the vineyard which was stretched out over multiple hundred metres. It had taken her almost ten minutes from one end of the vineyard to the building at the heart of the property. At the same time, Tav had moved from tavern to tavern, from inn to inn, and from drinking hole to drinking hole, until she'd earned enough money to buy trekking gear. And that's how she'd become a travelling bard.

She'd been heartbroken when she'd returned after her first trip across South Faerûn and had found out that Korah had died. He'd slipped while carrying a basket of grapes and had broken his neck when he'd crashed onto the stone treads. Tav remembered how she'd placed his favourite flowers and a glass of his best wine on his grave and had cried all night.

But she wasn't here to reminisce about the past, but to feel the road under her feet again – and hopefully finally find what she'd been looking for for the past two years. Innarlith was the city of possibilities after all. The city where the impossible was made possible. Tav hoped the rumours were true.

She entered the fifth magic shop, still not hopeless of finding what she's here for.

"Welcome to Ivan Boram's Magic Corner. How can I help you, my friend?"

Tav eyed the sleazy wizard up and down. He had black hair and wore a bright yellow robe that complimented his tan skin.

"I'm looking for a magic item that prevents me from burning in the sun," she explained.

"Ah, I see..." The wizard bore his eyes into hers and she felt a slight stabbing pain behind her eyeballs. Tav blinked and shook her head slightly. The pain was gone immediately.

"I think I sell what you're looking for," Ivan said and started rummaging through the drawers and hundreds of small boxes behind the counter.

"A-ha!"

With a sound of triumph, the wizard pulled out a tiny box and opened it to show its content to Tav. The latter leaned forward to spot a plain, inconspicuous iron ring with a blood-red ruby adorning it.

"This, my friend, is the Ring of the Sun-Walker, one of the rarest magical items. If worn by a vampire, it grants them the ability to withstand sunlight and therefore, they're able to walk in the sun. – This is what you desire, isn't it? Tell me; why are you so keen on getting it?"

Tav contemplated if she should tell the truth before she answered: "It'll be a gift for my lover."

"Ha, I knew it! How thoughtful. And they say romance is dead," the wizard snickered.

The bard glowered at him, barely able to keep herself from baring her teeth at him.

"Well, my friend, you can buy anything in Innarlith – for the right price," Ivan grinned, smugly.

Tav set her jaw.

"What do you want?"

"Excellent question. What could a travelling bard own that's worth said ring?"

"Coin," Tav replied sharply.

The wizard barked a laugh.

"Of course. What a boring answer. But this ring's worth more. Much more."

"What do you want, Ivan?" she replied, all on edge.

"Something... special. Something worthy that proves how much you love your vampiric lover. - Give me your voice."

"Excuse me?!" Tav shot daggers at him. "I'm a bard. I earn my living by singing. I need my voice."

"Yes, but do you need it more than your vampiric lover needs the ability to walk in the sun?" Ivan asked, acting all innocently.

"I - I can't do that. I need my voice. I give you anything else, but not my voice."

"I don't want anything else," the wizard replied, miffed. "But... I could be convinced to shorten the time of your muteness if... you give me one of your memories. I want something steamy. Something that proves your love and passion for your vampiric lover. You won't be able to remember said event though."

Tav raised an eyebrow and probed: "You want a smutty memory so that you can watch porn instead of reading it?"

"Exactly, my friend. Paying for such a leisure activity's rather costly. For some reason, people are very prude when it comes to letting someone watch them during sex," Ivan replied, nonchalantly and unashamed.

It made Tav chuckled.

"You filthy bastard. – Fine, I'll give you one of those memories, but tell me; how long do I have to stay mute?"

The wizard grinned like the cat that got the canary.

"Merely three years, my friend - if the memory's any good."

"Oh, it will be. Trust me," Tav smirked.

"So, we have a deal then?"

"Yes."

"Well..." Ivan stretched out his hand and Tav took it to seal the deal. "Let me get a memory sphere."

The wizard disappeared behind a curtain, rummaging around. Meanwhile, Tav pondered which memory of sex with Astarion she could let go off. All of them were hot, she concluded, and she was a bit sad that she had to forget one of them. Ivan came back and handed her a clear glass ball.

"Here. Focus on the memory you want to give me. Relive it. All of it with all its details. When you're done, speak the words 'Memory given, memory sealed'. Your memory will be encapsulated in the sphere and can be rewatched as many times as wished, but you won't remember it."

Tav nodded, closed her eyes and focused. Astarion and her in the bedroom, with the blinds almost shut, only a strip of sunlight falling onto the wooden floor. The swoosh of the sea, the screeching of seagulls, and the sound of the harbour's bells ringing through the open window. While making love on the soft mattress. Astarion leaning over her, moving in long, sensual thrusts, looking at her intensely with those ruby-red eyes, fangs glinting as he panted. She rolled them over, riding him until he came with a guttural moan. He encouraged her to sit on his face. 'Come here, darling. Let me taste you.' Crying out blissfully as he ate her out until she climaxed. Rolling off of him, smiling. Exchanging sloppy kisses. 'Take me, darling. Make me feel loved.' Astarion sitting in her lap, bouncing on her strap-on dildo. The way he threw his head back, exposing that long, elegant neck. Kissing him, biting him. Astarion moaned, scratching her shoulder blades bloody. She tilted her head to the side and he buried his teeth in her. Drinking her blood hungrily and coming with a wail. His seeds covering them both. Kissing him again and tasting her own blood on his tongue. 'I love you.' Soft eyes, full of adoration. 'I love you too.' Scooping some of his semen up and licking it off her fingers. Astarion groaned, sucking her middle finger into his cool mouth to taste himself. Another messy kiss. 'You're wonderful, darling.'

"Memory given, memory sealed," said Tav and opened her eyes.

She looked at the glass ball in which blurred pictures were floating. She handed the memory sphere to Ivan.

"Here. I hope it's to your liking."

"We'll see," he replied and gazed into the ball.

The longer he watched, the bigger his eyes grew - and the erection under his robe. The wizard's face blushed at the blissful noises he heard, and Tav smirked, smugly.

"It's - it's a rather good memory," Ivan remarked, flustered.

"I'm glad," Tav answered. She had no idea which one she’d left to him. "Now, give me the ring."

Dazed, the wizard nodded and walked behind the counter tentatively. It wasn't easy to walk with a hard-on. Carefully, Ivan set the memory sphere down on a cushion and handed Tav the magic item.

"It won't have an effect on you – except not getting a sunburn, maybe," the wizard explained. "But I can assure you that it'll work for your vampiric lover. - Now, about your voice... I won't actually take it from you, but put a spell on it instead. You'll technically still be able to speak, but if you do so, the spell will inform me about it and cause severe pain to you as punishment. Therefore, I advise you not to speak for the next three years. The spell will be lifted automatically and you'll be able to feel it. Trust me. When the time's up, you can continue your merry way as a bard. Any questions?"

"Can I communicate through writing, or do I get punished for it too?" Tav wanted to know.

"No, of course not. The spell only applies to your voice. No worries."

"Can I still hum?"

"As long as you don't sing and don't speak actual words, yes. Any more questions?"

Tav shook her head.

"Excellent. I'll put the spell on you now."

Ivan lifted his arms and recited magic words. Blue light flowed from his fingertips towards Tav's neck, wrapping around it like a choker necklace made of magic and light. It felt slightly warm and tingly. When the light went out, so did the tingling, and Tav touched her throat.

"Thers's nothing visible there," Ivan informed her. "But if you try to speak it'll constrict and give you a nasty shock."

Tav hummed understandingly. The magic didn't react and she sighed a breath of relief, relaxing a bit. Ivan looked at her, for the first time less coldly, and told her: "I am a hard-nosed businessman, but I'm not cruel. The spell will only punish you if you speak actual words, not simple sounds."

Smiling, Tav formed the words 'thank you' silently with her lips and the wizard nodded, smiling back.

"It was a pleasure to make business with you, Tav Thaura Sionnach."

Dumbfounded, the addressed stared at him with furrowed brows. Then, she made a questioning sound and moved her hands apart as if to ask for a length. Ivan snickered.

"I'm a wizard, my friend, and a brilliant one, to say at least. It was rather easy to pick up your full name in that surprisingly complex mind of yours."

Tav shot daggers at him, harrumphing. Ivan laughed delighted and she rolled her eyes.

"Farewell, my friend. Visit me again soon."

The bard hummed and bowed. Then, she left Ivan Boram's magic shop.

When Astarion opened the door, Tav's beaming smile almost blinded him. She quickly wiggled her way into their home and closed the door behind her to keep the sun out.

"Hello, darling, I missed you," Astarion smiled.

The bard kissed him and pulled him into a hug.

"Yes, yes. It has been a while," the vampire spawn chuckled. "How are you?"

The addressed drew back and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Seems like you didn't catch a sunburn down south."

Tav shook her head and Astarion frowned. Something was off.

"I really miss your poetic verbosity, you know? Talk to me, darling."

The joy in the bard's eyes dimmed and she shook her head.

"What's wrong? Did you catch a cold or did you lose your voice because you sang too much?"

Again, Tav shook her head, looking incredibly sad. Astarion was gripped by fear and grasped her arm.

"Is it another curse? Gods, please tell me it's not another curse, love!"

To his horror, the bard looked sheepish and moved her hand, with flicks of her wrist, from left to right in a 'more or less' motion. The vampire spawn would have paled if it would have been physically possible.

"Gale!" he shouted panicky. "Gale! I need your help! Hurry!"

"What is it?" the wizard yelled back from his study.

"Tav's cursed again!"

An uncharacteristically obscene swearword was uttered, books clattered to the floor as the wizard hit his knee against the table leg, another profane curse, and then, Gale appeared in the hallway.

"Tav, dear, why do you do this do us?!"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"She can't talk," Astarion babbled. "Her voice is gone. Tav's a bard! How will she ever - Gods! Darling, who did you piss off this time?"

The addressed made an angry noise and waved about with her hands. The men just stared at her confused. Tav sighed, took off her boots and waltzed into Gale's study. Tara was perched on top of the desk.

"Cursed again, Miss Tav?" she tried to scold, but sounded too worried to make it sound that way.

Tav shook her head, grabbed a piece of paper and started scribbling. The wizard, the vampire spawn, and the tressym leaned forward to read it.

I went to Innarlith and finally found what I've been looking for since we've defeated the Netherbrain. But it came with a price. I lost my voice for three years, but then, I'll get it back.

"What was so important that you gave up your voice?" Astarion asked upset.

Smiling sadly, Tav pointed at him.

"Me? Are you kidding?"

She shook her head and continued to write.

I bought something called 'The Ring of the Sun-Walker'. It'll grant you the ability to walk in the sun.

The men gasped in union.

Astarion, I want you to be happy. I want you to be truly free of Cazador – and this includes being able to walk in the sun again. I saw how happy you were when you could because of the tadpole and how devastated you were afterwards. I want to give you this gift so that you'll be truly free and remember me, long after I'm dead. I love you so much and giving up my voice for three years is worth it. YOU are worth it.

"No..." The vampire spawn shook his head, tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes. "I'm not worth it. Tav... you're a bard. Your voice is everything to you."

Not everything.

Smiling, Tav pointed at him, Gale and Tara, and then made a sweeping hand gesture to include the entire house.

"You idiot," sniffed Astarion and fell around her neck. "You utter idiot."

The bard hummed and gently rubbed his back.

"Giving up your voice... Making a deal like that... Gods, Tav..." Gale sighed. "But I understand why you did it."

At those last words, the wizard gently ran his fingers through Astarion's hair. Tav smiled at him.

"Can't you make a counter-spell to lift the curse?" the vampire spawn muttered into the bard's shoulder.

"No. That would break the deal Tav had made and could cause severe damage. It could ruin her voice forever."

"Mhm," nodded the bard.

"You've gotten yourself into a fine mess again, Miss Tav. Well, at least you can still eat," Tara remarked, making the addressed snicker.

Gale sighed, arms akimbo, and announced: "Well, after this scare, I need a cup of tea. Come on, my dears, follow me."

Astarion, Tav, and Tara complied and trailed the wizard towards the kitchen. But when they passed the living room door, Scratch barked happily and Naïlo hooted excitedly. They came running like tornados, bowling Tav over, and showering her in slobbery kisses and headbutts. The bard laughed cheerfully and hugged the animals.

"At least, you can still laugh," Astarion muttered.

She looked at him and nodded, smiling.

He sighed deeply. The love of his life was incorrigible and it drove him up the wall. Sometimes.

After distributing an even amount of headpats and chin scratches, Tav got up, and waved them all towards the kitchen. Gale lit the fire in the stove with a flick of his wrist an started to brew tea. Meanwhile, Astarion took the sandwich tray out of the pantry and placed it on the table. Gale had enchanted the cupboard to ensure the food's freshness. Hungrily, Tav took a ham sandwich and wolfed it down in seconds.

"Easy, darling. Don't choke on the wrong kind of meat," the vampire spawn teased and Tav rolled her eyes at him.

"Next time, I'll give you a bag of holding with provisions that never go bad," the wizard muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Tav looked at him lovingly, got up, walked over, and kissed him passionately.

"Don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the show," grinned Astarion.

The bard giggled and kissed him too. Then, she grabbed another sandwich. Gale handed her a teacup. She nodded thankfully and took a whiff.

"Lavender. Obviously," Gale deadpanned and she snickered.

"I'm home!" shouted Shadowheart and slammed the door shut.

"Hello!" greeted the men in unison.

Scratch barked and Naïlo hooted as they circled around the cleric to receive headpats. Shadowheart complied, kneeled down, and petted them as she cooed. Then, she stepped out of her shoes and put her staff away.

"Ugh, the temple was filled to the brim today. It seemed like all of Waterdeep wished to leave offerings to Selûne at the same time. I even had to – Tav!"

Laughing, Shadowheart fell around the bard's neck.

"I missed you," the cleric said and kissed her.

Tav hummed agreeingly.

"She got cursed again," Astarion informed the half-elf with a dramatic sigh. "She can't speak for three years."

"Are you kidding me?" Shadowheart looked angry and concerned at the same time. It was cute, thus, Tav had to kiss her again.

"Unfortunately not. She made a deal to get a gift for me."

The cleric groaned.

"Why, Tav?"

The addressed handed her the paper she'd written on earlier. Shadowheart read it and got really quiet.

"Oh," she whispered.

Tav made a face and shrugged. Then, she reached into the neckline of her shirt and pulled the ring out which hung around her neck on a strong leather string.

"Of course, there's where you store your precious goods," laughed Astarion and Tav shrugged again, grinning.

Then, she stepped closer to him and took his hand. The vampire spawn chuckled nervously.

"Are - uhm - are you proposing?" he tried to joke, but his voice cracked and revealed his nerves.

Tav slightly tilted her head to the side quickly in a 'kind of' motion. She carefully slid the Ring of the Sun-Walker onto his middle finger. It fit perfectly. She lifted his hand up to place a kiss on his knuckles before letting go of him. Astarion's eyes were wide, his chest heaving as he panted even though there was no need for him to breathe. His hands trembled lightly when he inspected the simple silvery band with the flatly inserted ruby.

"It's... beautiful. Thank you, Tav," he whispered close to tears again. "I'll never forget this generous gift for which you sacrificed so much."

The bard just looked at him with an incredible soft expression. Astarion wrapped his arms around her neck, pulled her closer, and kissed her. Trying to pour all his gratitude and feelings into it. They parted and before he let go of her, he rubbed their noses together. The vampire spawn took another look at the ring.

"I guess that means we're married," he joked, sounding a bit too close to tears.

"Mhm," Tav agreed, kissing him again contently.

"How about you test the ring's ability?" Gale said, eyes full of curiosity. "It would be a shame if Tav went through all this drudgery and it doesn't even work."

"If that's the case, I'll stab every mage in Innarlith until I get the right one," growled Shadowheart.

Tav snickered and gave her a quick peck before following Astarion and Gale into the living room. The late afternoon sun fell through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The vampire spawn swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then, he stepped into the light. Nothing happened. Astarion's ruby-red eyes flew open and he stared directly into the sunlight. Then, at his hands. In disbelief, he touched his face which wasn't burning or peeling off. He barked a laugh and stared at his hands again.

"It works! Fucking Hells, Tav, it works!" Astarion laughed like a madman, almost choking on his own spit. "I can't believe it..."

"Fascinating," muttered Gale, already halfway lost in thoughts again, pondering about the type of magic that flowed through the ring.

Shadowheart put a hand onto her heart and said theatrically: "And so, the Moon Maiden, has lost another child to the Sun. Oh, woe is me."

Everyone laughed and Astarion twirled around in the sunlit spot again. He stopped his frolicking to look at Tav. 'Thank you' his eyes said and the bard smiled. 'You're welcome, love'.

That night, Astarion and Tav held their 'wedding night'. First, the vampire spawn went down on her and made love to her while losing himself in her eyes. Then, the human bard sucked him off and ate him out before hoisting him up on her hips and manhandling him against the wall. She took him this way and Astarion had never experienced anything more arousing. She let him drink her blood and he moaned as he filled his belly with her familiar, comforting taste again after months spent apart. Panting, the vampire spawn pointed at the shelf on their left.

"Need to grab something, darling. Could you?"

Tav hummed, held him tight and moved them over. Astarion groaned as the strap-on dildo jostled against his prostate. He fumbled around on the shelf blindly, until he felt the hilt of his favourite dagger under his fingers. He pulled the weapon carefully.

"Remember this one?" he asked. "You gave me two daggers; the one that was stuck in that suspicious-looking roast in the blighted village, and the other, you reinforced yourself in the abandoned smithy with the Sussur Tree bark. This one is -"

He squeaked when Tav pressed him against the wall again and pushed a knee under his buttocks to hold a hand up. She raised two fingers and nodded. Astarion giggled.

"Yes, this is the second one, darling."

The addressed looked pleased and hoisted him back up into both arms. The vampire spawn groaned, swallowing the saliva that was pooling in his mouth. Tav was so damn strong and godsdamn hot.

"This is my favourite one," he told his lover. "You put so much thought into it. Everything you give me is thoughtful; the daggers, the ring, your trust, your friendship, your love. No one ever looked out for me... you're the only one. And I love you more than anything. You're the love of my life - and I'm almost three hundred years old."

Tav snickered a bit, rubbing their noses together.

"You give me everything I need and now... I have one more request; Drink from me, darling. Bite me, drink me in, and make me yours."

Astarion raised the dagger to his neck and Tav's eyes went wide.

"This one slides through flesh like butter – including my own, much tougher, skin," the vampire spawn revealed and cut himself. The thin line of the clean slash started bleeding immediately. Hastily, Astarion dropped the dagger back onto the shelf.

"Feed from me quickly, before I heal."

Tav immediately leaned forward and licked the blood off. Astarion sighed. Then, the bard bit down as hard as she could. The vampire spawn wailed, bucking in her grip. Tav dug her blunt teeth deeper into his neck, right where Cazador had left his mark on Astarion. She felt more blood flowing from the wound and swallowed the first mouthful. Her lover moaned gutturally.

"Yes, Gods, darling... Devour me."

With a hum, Tav continued drinking his blood while she picked up her rhythm again, thrusting into him steadily and deeply. Astarion cried out in utter bliss, trembling like a sapling in a storm. He felt all-consumed, dizzy with pleasure. Now, he belonged to her fully. His hands threatened to lose their grip on her sweaty shoulders and he dug his nails into her until he could smell blood. They both didn't care.

"Tav," Astarion moaned and came so hard he blacked out.

When he awoke, she was wiping him down gently with a warm, wet cloth, humming a tune.

"I thought you can't talk?" Astarion slurred.

The bard fell silent and grabbed the notebook she'd placed on his bedside table.

I can't speak, but I can hum. No words allowed, only noises.

"I see... Come here, darling."

Tav collapsed into Astarion's outstretched arms and they kissed messily. He could still taste his own blood on her tongue.

"I'm sorry about your shoulder blades. It must hurt."

Tav shook her head, scribbling hastily onto the paper again.

It has already healed! I think your blood has healing properties?

"Huh, what?" Astarion stared at her wide-eyed. "Show me."

Willingly, Tav turned around to let the vampire spawn take a look. In disbelief, the latter ran his finger over her perfectly smooth, healed skin.

"Tsk, another thing Cazador didn't tell us about," Astarion spat. "That utter bastard!"

The bard hummed, turned around, and pulled him into her arms and halfway onto her chest. The vampire spawn sighed and kissed her collarbone.

"Thank you. For everything. I'll never forget your gifts. I love you."

Tav hummed again and kissed his crown.

The 'I love you too' stayed unspoken, but was heard nonetheless.

Two hundred years later, Astarion would still remember his beloved human bard every day. While he'd wander through the city by bright daylight, he'd fondly touch the Ring of the Sun-Walker and silently thank the love of his life for this priceless gift. He'd never meet anyone like her ever again. But he'd be content with that knowledge.

[all-risejd]

Only Treats 

Taken from AfterShine. Damian/OC, warnings for dom/sub culture. This is from a kidfic so they might be referenced in the passage.

Luis / Damian

Halloween Night, 2022

All the kids were fast asleep in their beds at the rental Danika had gotten them for trick or treating (she had arrived on Saturday morning, since Dallas had trick or treating Saturday night, Sunday night, and Monday night). Danika, Reby, Brett, Wendy, and Becky had taken the group of too many damn children trick or treating early in the night, Becky had eventually had to head to their house show, leaving Roux with Danika. He’d waved the Hardy’s, AJ, Wendy, Seth, Becky, Liv, Dolph, Finn, Dom and Rhea off when they all tried to talk him into going out with them. He wanted to stay in and spend a couple of quiet hours with Danika if he were being honest. She’d cued up a series of horror films on Prime and was curled up in the couch still in her adorable little black dress from earlier in the night when she’d been Wednesday Addams handing out candy, she’d pulled most of the outfit off since the kids looking for candy had dropped off around the time they made it from the arena back to the rental house (they’d done a house show a couple of towns over). She had made popcorn, and he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that she’d brought his preferred beer into the living room alongside her glass of wine. 

As much time as they spent together he doubted he was ever going to get enough of this. Just soft domestic things. They cook together, it's a stress release for him but a passionate hobby for her. They are learning sign language now, with Jace and for Jace (but all of them are doing that). She’s his other half in ways he can’t very well explain, honestly. An angel in her own rights who was always looking out for him. They don’t talk much about their shared employment under Danny Cage but he knows that’s because that was less of them knowing one another and more of them being two ships passing in the proverbial night. Even though, when she talks about that time in interviews she cast him in a better light than he would ever paint himself. She doesn’t talk about the insults he more than likely hurled at her or the way he taunted her from town to town because her famous daddy couldn’t get her a real wrestling gig. He wondered if she’d ever heard how he remembers her, now that he’s done a handful of interviews about them. The young girl who wanted to take on the world, the bright eyed kid who saw them all as heroes and wanted the world to know their names, the dedicated assistant who protected them the best she could considering the obstacles in her way, but who also left them largely to their own devices unless Cage wanted something. 

“Are you coming or not?” She called over her shoulder, turning to look at him just standing in the doorway. “You can probably still make it downtown if you're having second thoughts about staying in tonight.” Danika for the most part was confident. In spades. But she had her insecurities. And the biggest one she had that he knew of was this fear that he would find her boring somehow. He couldn’t stand the look of insecurity on her face, so he crossed the room to drop down next to her on the couch. She studied him for a few long seconds, “You sure?”

“No place I’d rather be.” He kissed her temple, watched the blush slide down her cheeks and neck. He has other reasons for not wanting to go out tonight, Finn and Vero’s marriage was fracturing, breaking apart at the seams and there was nothing Finn (or anyone) could do to stop it. Danika is tactile, his little love, always wanting to touch or be touched. Tonight was no different. She climbed into his lap, bringing the popcorn, remote and blanket with her. With her back to his chest, she wiggled around until she was comfortable, then stretched the blanket over them both, and settled the popcorn in her lap, before pressing play on Cabin In The Woods. They won’t watch the movie long (they never do). Usually they end up talking and planning. He is at the age now where honestly he’s not sure how much longer he is going to be wrestling or want to. He knows the peek for his industry is from like 34-45, but he’s edging closer to the exit than the entrance these days. He also isn’t sure he’s Rey Mysterio, willing to be doing this until he’s almost fifty.

Halfway through Cabin in The Woods she excused herself to put pajamas on and refill her wine. She returned in one of his larger t-shirts, holding a wine glass full of white wine. She dropped back into his lap, not facing the television but facing him, straddling his waist. “¿Qué estás haciendo, mami?” He asked as he settled one of his larger hands on the small of her back, she sipped her wine contemplatively before she leaned over him to place the wine glass on the small table behind the couch, she didn’t answer him, instead she rested her hands on either side of his neck, and gave him a lingering look, before kissing his lips, nipping at them in a way that screamed brat. He had been meaning to talk with her about the more complex layers of his bedroom interest. They have messed around, he supposed, but it’s never been too much more than mutual orgasms. “Hungry, little love?” He asked her, his voice going deep. Danika could look like such a little doll sometimes, tiny and breakable in his arms. 

“I know…” Danika paused, thinking, “I know there is more to being with you like this, but… we’ve not really had the chance to talk about it.” She breathed out, “So I thought, maybe tonight, you could just show me.” 

“When you give me so much trust, mi corazon, it makes me worried that I might break you in my hands.” He squeezed her wrist, hard enough she squirmed a little, “You are so innocent, Danika, I feel like showing you this part of me might… be too much.” She kissed his lips, and shook her head, nuzzling against him. 

“Nothing you give me is too much.” She promised, “I want everything.” She added when he started to object. 

“No quiero lastimarte.” Damian asserted.

“You’d never hurt me.” Danika whispered, so close to his lips, he could feel her lips brushing against his. Damian was one hundred percent sure that Danika put too much faith in him. He was after all a weak man, and there was no way he deserved her trust, or her faith. He let out a long exhale, there were things he wanted to do to Danika, probably more than was normal, he frowned for a moment, thinking about how much he loved Danika, even if she was a little brat. She was being patient, waiting for his guidance, waiting for him to make some sort of move, he realized. “Luis?” She breathed out finally, looking at him so innocently that he wanted to melt. 

“Danika,” He nuzzled her nose, “You sure about this?” He asked for clarification.

“I am absolutely sure.” Dangerous words, Damian thought to himself, before checking her face over for any doubt whatsoever. “Luis, I want to do this with you, I want to be the one who pleases you.” She offered, “I want to be sure that you know that you can come to me for everything you need.” Damian pressed his forehead to hers, this was another one of her little insecurities, she was afraid she couldn’t please him the way he wanted, the truth was he hadn’t been craving anyone or anything but her - for a lot longer than he’d care to admit. Even back when she was that annoying kid on the road he’d wanted to keep her away from him for fear he’d ruin her completely, and Cage had warned him off of her. There were the starts of tears on her lashes, he was taking too long he realized. He moved his hands from her waist to coil around her throat, squeezing lightly. Her eyes went wide just a bit, then fluttered closed, she exhaled softly, and seemed to melt.

He’d known she was a brat, but he hadn’t realized that she would be so responsive. He squeezed her throat twice, to prove his point, before he used his grip to pull her forward, kissing her lips in a demanding way, biting her hard enough she whined a bit, but he swallowed up the noise with his kiss. “Danika.” He pulled back to look at her, checking her over for any doubt, “This… I might hurt you,” He squeezed her throat again, “But if it becomes too much you absolutely have to tell me.” She nodded her head, “Words.”

“Yes, Luis.” She promised, her eyes went slightly mischievous with a twinkle, “Daddy.” 

“Daddy, huh?” He exhaled, “Ever call anyone else that?”

“No.” Danika whispered, her eyes on him, “I’ve never called anyone that.”

He knew his smile was probably predatory, he slid one hand down from her neck, dropping it to her thigh, before he sank the tips of his fingers in, she didn’t flinch, so he kept up his exploration, raking his nails upward from her thigh, to her hip, grinning when he realized she didn’t have underwear on. “Did you have plans, little one?” He asked, seriously, as he dug his fingernails more into her hip bone, he moved his other hand from her throat, to grip both her hips hard enough to bruise, her neck had the starts of his handprint encircling her throat. He dipped forward to bite and suck at her neck, leaving hickies up and down the column of her neck, he wanted the world to know that she belonged to him, that she was his first and foremost. Danika, under his grasp, let out an adorable whimper, “What do you need?” He asked, worried already that the punishing grip was too much.

“More.” She said evenly, admittedly a little softly. 

Damian grinned darkly, before he yanked her forward, forcing her to grind against him, more specifically the zipper of his jeans, where his cock was hard enough he was pushing against the inseam of his jeans. Her whole body seemed to shiver, “Take what you need, what you want.” He ordered her, “I’ll hold you, I’ll lick you and bite you, but you take what you need from me.” She gave him an odd look, almost like she hadn’t been aware she could control anything, before she moved her hips slightly, a flush spread across her cheeks, “Ah, there you go, kitten.” He felt the goosebumps erupt on her flesh, as she continued to rock against him, a bit harder than he’d yanked her down, he pushed forward again to bite harshly at her neck. 

He let her play for a bit, before he moved his left hand from her hip, to grip her hair at the back of her head, and yank her backward a little, “I’m taking you to the bedroom, now.” He declared, holding on to her tightly, as he stood, turning the television off before carrying her up to the stairs to the bedroom they’d claimed as theirs, he tossed her onto the bed harshly, “Shirt off.” He ordered, she hustled to do as he asked, he grinned at her as she dropped back against the pillows. “Good little kitten.” He toed out of his shoes, pulling his shirt over his head, before launching himself onto the bed. She let out a loud little giggle, as he crawled up the bed to crowd her space. 

“Daddy.” She cupped his face, “I love you, you don’t have to say it back, but… I love you. And I need to tell you this before we…” She breathed out, as he licked across her lips, up to her nose, making her scrunch her face up, he loved her too but he wasn’t going to tell her anything like that right now, not when he was potentially about to ruin all of that, he caught her wrist with one of his hands, and pressed them above her head, she gave him a reassuring look, smiling warmly at him.

”Thank you for telling me, kitten.” He kissed her nose, then peered down at her, “Remember, rules. You have to tell me if anything becomes too much, ok?” She nodded her head, then remembered his earlier words and said a quick ok, daddy. “You also need to trust me, and trust that I want you to feel as good as me.” 

“Ok, daddy.” She purred the last bit, like a true kitten, which made him smile a bit alarming at her, before he dipped down and pressed his lips against hers. He used his free hand to run his fingers down her stomach, tickling her a little bit, she squirmed under him, as he tapped her right thigh, she spread her legs, quickly, he shifted so his legs were between hers. Damian took a few minutes to look her body over, Danika he’d seen in various stages of undress. She was naturally pale, with a sparkling of freckles over her body. Her breasts weren’t big, but they were cute, her stomach wasn’t toned like the other Superstar women he worked around, her being a mom had changed her body - from a young age, but she was healthy. He glanced over her tattoos, there were some he understood, some he didn’t, ultimately he wanted to know what the art meant, but right now it wasn't the important thing. Danika stayed waxed and shaved - since she did modeling on the side even when she was only an influencer. Her thighs were toned, and her calves were delicate. 

Damian dug his fingertips into her lower stomach, raking his nails in just enough to make her arch upward, she let out a little whine. He trailed his fingers lower, making her shiver, as he dipped his fingers between her spread legs, grinning at how wet she already was for him, he slid two fingers into her, without giving her a chance to adjust, she let out broken little yelp, as he pressed his thumb into her clit and rubbed hard. Danika jerked her hips hard, making Damian snicker as she came for the first time of the night, hard. “What’s my name, gatita?” Her eyes snapped to his, hearing him call her kitten in Spanish had made her focus on him, the afterglow of her orgasm waning as she focused on him, eyes gone wide, she finally managed a weak daddy. “Oh, you liked that, mi pequeño gatito.” She bit her bottom lip, nodding her head, as he started to finger fuck her, now that she was coming down, twisting his thicker fingers inside of her, pushing her limits to quickly add a third finger, spreading them open, stretching her out, once he was sure she could handle him, or at least the start of him, he slowly inched his fingers out of her, tightening his hold on her wrist, as he shifted his weight, to use his now free hand to unbutton and unzip his pants.

Normally he’d do his best to be naked for her, but tonight he wasn’t in the mood, too eager. He shoved his pants down enough to free his cock, he lined himself up, and pressed forward, Danika tensed for a moment, as he released his hold on her wrist, and wrapped his hand back around her throat, “Gatita, darling, you're taking me so well.” He promised, kissing her lips forcefully, he was almost ten inches long, and thick, he knew how much he could potentially hurt her, especially with how tight she was - it felt like her body was doing everything to hold him in. Inch by inch he watched her face, there were twinges of pain, but she rocked her hips up to meet him, he pulled away from kissing her to lick and bite at her neck again, pressing himself more into her, once he bottomed out, he kissed her cheek, nuzzled her jaw, and whispered, “Let me know when I can hold you down, kitten, and fuck you like I own you.”

She moaned, low, before wiggling her hips a little, and bringing her hands up to rake against his spine, digging her nails into his back, “Go ahead, you own me.” She breathed out, Damian chuckled low in his throat, he shifted his hand from her throat, where he’d left another ring of bruises, to tangle his hand in her hair, and tighten his hold, he slipped his other arm around her lower back, so he could angle her hips the way he wanted, before he rolled his hips back, then slammed forward, she let out a choked little noise, so Damian shifted to kiss her, swallowing the noises, as he set a rough pace, slamming his hips into her, he could feel her body trembling from the onslaught, a spike of worry danced through him (maybe he was being too hard, too rough, he pushed it down quickly). “Luis, Daddy!” Her voice hitched, as her body tensed, and pulsed around him, normally he’d back off and let her cool down from her orgasm, but he was showing her a bit of his preference, he continued to fuck her through it. He set a rough pace, chasing his own orgasm - only to realize a bit too late that there was no condom, or discussion of one.

“Kitten, Danika, I’m gonna-”

“Inside, is fine.” Her voice was weak, when he looked at her, there were tears on her lashes, her face was flushed, her neck was covered in bruises from his lips and teeth and hands. He contorted himself, to bite at her collarbones and leave dark bruises against her chest, sucking dark spots into her pale flesh, he refocused on the task at hand, which was his release, he pushed himself upward, to hold her wrist with both his hands, she coiled her legs around his waist, as he hammered into her, she let out a few short little whimpers as he finally buried himself as deep as he could, pressing his face into her neck, and exhaling harshly. He never had unprotected sex (Jace was the exception to his rule, he hoped), it was his number one rule, Danika was his world, and he knew that she wanted more kids. He smiled against her skin, kissing softly at her skin, “I love you, Luis.” She managed after a few minutes of panting, he was still panting, “I don’t know if I can do this all the time, but I wanna give you this, and more, anytime you need it, Luis.”

“I’ll take what you can give me, kitten.” He promised, finally pushing up, and carefully pulling out of her, he raked his eyes over her frame, she had more bruises than he had meant to leave on her. “I marked you up, mi bebe lo siento.” She just shook her head, and pulled his hands to her lips to kiss his fingers, he was resting now on his knees between her thighs. “Let me clean you up.” He gave her a soft look, “Stay here.” He ordered before he climbed out of bed, stripping out his pants and underwear, as he went. She let out a whistle, making him chuckle, he headed for the bathroom, grabbed a washrag and ran it under water, before carrying it back to her, cleaning her off gently. He found the shirt she’d been wearing and helped her back into it, before finding himself some sleep pants, and her a pair of underwear. He was beyond sure one of the kids would climb into bed with them before the morning light. He hurried after to get a bottle of water, and handed it off to her. She took a few sips before making grabby hands at him, chuckling as he climbed into bed with her, and curled around her, “Get some sleep.”

[afterburning]

my heart is turned to stone;

there hadn’t been a place at home for stories, so jiyu hadn’t grown up on them, or at least not the ones that didn’t focus on military achievement. of course, there had been history: tales of failed campaigns and ancestors that had won decisive battles. his grandfather painted as a hero, family legends and disappointments that jiyu’s mother would tell him about as she tucked him in.

all of his bedtime fantasies had centered around war. it had taken jiyu joining the navy, bright-eyed and excitable, for anyone to tell him about myths predating his family’s name. when he thinks back on it he recalls many nights spent sitting on shipdecks, talking to pass the time and beat back the monotony of life at sea. he’d been told of monsters in the depths beneath them and birds the size of mountains, men dying of long-forgotten curses and of blades lost in battles fought long ago. jiyu had never taken any of it at face value, but he was a sailor like any other after a few months, adding his own twists to the classics of seafaring entertainment. he hadn’t imagined that he’d have experiences straight out of the horror stories they made up in the middle at the night with the sort of breathless laughter that accompanies good fun and a suppressed shudder when looking back into the black of a moonless night.

but here he is now. gone a month, the nurses had told him, unconscious for another three days; he has trouble wrapping his mind around those facts, but his body remembers. there’s a weight to his limbs he’s never felt before, even a week in recovery. exhaustion, set in deep, like he hasn’t had restful sleep in a long time. nevermind that he’s spent most of recent memory with his eyes closed and his mind skipping out on him.

and then, of course, his skin-turned-stone. the world is muffled on his right side, his ear cool to the touch. after waking up, after seeing it in the mirror for the first time, jiyu thought about cutting all of it off: losing his hearing and the skin of his thigh would be nothing in comparison to losing his mind. it might not spread, the nurse had said, and all jiyu had heard was it might. and now he’s stuck, waiting for others to find information lost to time, taking scalding baths and coating stiff flesh with vinegar. there’s no way to make peace with it and nothing to do about it. jiyu, before his illness has turned him into carved rock, has lost the ability to move forward.

zhaos die young. he wishes death would come to him more honourably.

         ... i strike it, and it hurts my hand.

updates (ic)!

tldr; jiyu's sick, thinks he's dying, and is losing his hearing on his right side. until he's cured in the seventh month of the year, this will affect his mood and the way he interacts with people. more info below:

jiyu and yerim were stuck in the spirit world for a full month (thread detailing their adventure incoming). they reappeared in the spirit wilds of dragonstone afterwards and jiyu returned to hari bulkan the moment he could (as acting head of house with jian still MIA).

he's afflicted with greyscale, a disease thought a myth that hasn't been heard of in thousands of years. greyscale leaves skin dead, stiff, and discoloured, with a stone-like appearance. greyscale is said to spread and leave men succumbing to madness before they turn to stone (and die). while jiyu's greyscale does worsen it doesn't spread, but he doesn't know this. jiyu, and anyone knowledgeable enough of the disease or close enough for him (or yerim) to have been told about this are operating under the assumption that he's dying.

jiyu's got greyscale in the following spots: - his left mid-thigh. the symptoms aren't bad; he's prone to shifting his weight to the other side, but not super bothered by this. - a tiny patch at the second joint of his left little finger, bad enough that he can't bend it. - his right ear. when jiyu returns from the spirit world his hearing on that side is muffled, but it gets continously worse over the next month until he can't hear anything at all. since it's a highly visible spot, everyone meeting him in person would be able to tell that something's up. in social situations he'll have a harder time engaging in group conversations, and his sense of balance will be off.

jiyu would not be forthcoming about this affliction being a death sentence. if your muse isn't close to him it might be possible that they would've heard about it through different channels, though.

he's going to be sticking around hari bulkan for the next few months while attempts are being made to find a cure. likely some desk work or training of recruits, no active duty. he's going to be losing his mind a little over this (man's going stir crazy).

but the good news is: he will be cured! currently plotted is that they find it in the seventh month, and suho's gonna come through on the dragon blood he needs to bounce back. he'll retain a few scars after and have issues with tinnitus (psychosomatic), but obviously that's no issue when the alternative is dying.

updates pt. 2 (ooc)!!

i'm trying to phase out of blood moon event threads right now and am slowly wrapping up those plots. nothing will be dropped, but i want to move things along a little.

if you've got questions about jiyu's (admittedly shitty) situation right now or where he stands, or if you'd like to adjust plots / start a (new) thread, my dms are always open!! thank you for reading ♡

[alorhna]

Forbidden Fruit

༻✧༺

It was a normal day, or night. Maybe.

I couldn’t tell anymore, the hours began to blur together.

Atleast when I was in the tower, I could see the dawn shine in, and the stars when the sun went to bed. But in this gloomy basement, (or what I at-least think is the basement) I couldn’t tell what time it was, or how long I’d been here to begin with.

The only way I knew days were passing was when Kylar brought me that tray of food, and asked his dull questions.

‘How are you?’

‘Are you hunrgy?’

It was amusing how he seemed to hang on to every word I said, no matter how small or insignificant.

He reminded me of the baby foxes that dwelled in the moors.

Kylar must have felt so proud to take me down and keep me in this gloomy place. But his binding is poor, I could have freed myself at any moment and run for the hills if I wanted.

‘So why didn’t I…’

It’s a question that’s been eating at me for weeks.. days?.. hours. Eh.

There’s something familiar about Kylar, about this place. I just can’t put my finger on it.

The scraping of steel on stone floor caught my attention. My little green eyed fox had come to feed me. Adorable.

Kylar looked off however, more fidgety. Well, more than normal anyway.

“What’s wrong” I ask, my voice felt raspy, I hadn’t spoken in hours.

“I-I’m sorry” Kylar stutters and fidgets. Hopping From one foot to another. “I shouldn’t have done this to you- your my girlfriend.” His voice is full of grief as he quickly begins to unfasten my binds.

“I just.. I.. I don’t know what came over me.” He says, looking down onto the floor.

I shrug and stretch my tired limbs, it’s been forever since I could move. I moan softly as my aching muscules stretch and pop.

When I look at Kylar he still has that saddened expression. I sigh and give him a wry smile. “It’s in the past..alright?” I say calmly. “Just don’t do it again.”

At that he nods, quite quickly.

Kylar then proceeds to lead me out of where I assume is the basement and into another room on a higher floor. He has a few clothes laid out in front of me. Their gothic. Quite fitting for the ambience of his home, I suppose.

Once I’ve finished dressing, I twirled in my black dress. It was quite comfortable, surprisingly so. the clothes were strangely my exact size.. but then again this was Kylar, if anyone would have my measurements memorized it would most likely be him.

After we finish dressing Kylar urges me to hurry as he leads me out of that room and back into the hallway; he’s very excited and anxious. He kept mumbling about introducing me to some people close to him.

Family maybe? I wasn’t fully aware, I was slightly distracted by the grandeur of the halls. Kylars home wasn’t the cleanest by far but it was definitely spacious, the inside reminded me of some of the larger houses I had visited on Danube street when I ran errands or did odd jobs from time to time.

As we passed a corner in the hall, my sharp eyes are drawn to a large portrait; a painted one, must have been expensive by how exquisite and well-kept it looked.

It was a depiction of a tall, lanky man with green eyes, and grey beard he had pale skin with stylishly slicked hair. In a chair next to him, was a beautifully voluptuous woman, with brown skin, jet-black hair soft pink eyes. And seated on her lap was a hyper child with a bright smile who seemed to be the perfect combination of his parents traits: With his brown skin, bright green eyes and black hair, it was..Kylar.

With how young Kylar looked the painting, it must have been done years ago. Though Kylar didn’t look as if he’d grown much. Sure he was endowed in.. certain places and his features were sharper, but when it came to his height he’d barely grown more than a few feet and he was quite lean, almost unhealthy. It made me wonder at times if he ate healthy portions of food.

In honest comparison when I first met Kylar I thought he must’ve been from a different year, due to this. but no, he was in the same classes as the rest of us.

He was just small.

My eyes kept drifting back to the painting, and how Kylar changed from such a bright smiling child to the timid boy I know today. What could have happened..?

I found myself staring once again at Kylar’s mother and I scowled slightly as I tried to force my eyes away. But no matter how much I tried to keep my eyes and thoughts focused, I kept finding myself staring at the woman in the portrait.

She…-she looked just like me. Or perhaps, I looked like her.

The feeling that spread through me at that moment was unsettling.

And as Kylar finally managed to pull my attention away from the portrait I noticed something else. his brown complexion, dark-black hair…

If I hadn’t known better, I’d say we could pass off as siblings. But that couldn’t be. I was an orphan.

I had to be…

But then winters ramblings drifted into my mind.

Rambling of history and artifacts.

Of the temples background and of the tragedy that became of the previous ‘believers’ of the faith along with their disappearance.

Of a fallen aristocrat family and the sacrilegious sin they committed decades ago.

Of the broken visions in the hookah parkour; of mayor Quinn and his dealings with Bailey and the mysterious entity keeping him hostage in that strange forest.

Of ivory and the way they stalk the streets for their missing children stolen by Quinn each time the rain passes through elk street.

Of sweet, kind, Sydney, of our holy promise. And of the dark demeanor he keeps hidden lest someone tempt his wrath.

There were dozens of mysteries in this strange town. But right now, beyond all of them; there was two things I was 100% sure of.

Firstly, The numerous incidents in this town were connected. And somehow I was at their epicenter.

And secondly…

This has all happened before.

༻✧༺

WELP!

That was part two, of forbidden fruit.

These writing scenes are part of the backstory between Kylar and Alorhna and their relationship. As well as hints of the future mysteries Alorhna will begin to dive into the more she explores the town and its residents.

And if it wasn’t already obvious by the hints, and my previous posts: in my AU Kylar and Alorhna are Half-siblings.

I also have some more mature scenes planned for Alorhna and Kylar ||aka their gonna fuck- (and have kids eventually) it is what it is|| in the future despite this.

if that makes you as a reader uncomfortable your free to go at any time, my content is about DOL (and that game isn’t for everyone and if you don’t like it that’s fine!) as well as my own personal ideas and writing which I will admit are weird AF, but I’m here to post art and writing and to just have fun, so if you don’t like it your free to go.

But for those who are curious and like what I post stick around cuz I got more planned for Alorhna and the rest of the LI’s >:D

[moonlit-mystery-writer]

Uni WIP Fic

This fic is based on the Pokemon movie Spell of the Unown! It's centered around Uni and Gamma! And, obviously, this is an AU. Here's a snippet from it!

Uni loves the nights her dad can stay home and play with her until bed. She laughs happily when Gamma picks her up then lays her down in her bed. The blond pets her head softly before kissing her forehead.

“Okay, princess, what story would you like to hear tonight?” He asks warmly, pulling out some of her favorites from her bedside bookshelf-nightstand. The young mafia heiress smiles and takes one of the books from him, holding it up and giggling.

“This one! This one’s about the thing you research, right, Papa?” She asks sweetly, making the lavender-eyed man give a bittersweet smile.

“Mhm, it’s about all the magic and such in this world.”

He explains carefully, glancing at the cursed orange pacifier that hung by a pink ribbon around his baby’s neck. He swears on his life, he’ll find the cure for her…

As the cerulean-haired girl gets herself settled into bed, the Ninth Giglio Nero Lightning guardian opens the book before turning it so she can look at the pictures with him. Some of the pages were just average folklore and tales, things he learned to write off in his research, but others held more truth than one might think from an old book. Namely on things like the Arcobaleno Curse. Part of him had to wonder who the author of this information was… But the name had faded off the cover long ago. He turns the page to a painting with an all violet background with an all white figure standing in the middle of it. The figure seemed masculine in nature with a mess of spiking hair and where his left eye should be was distinctive purple marking. To Gamma, it reminded him of an upside down crown that a kid might draw; three different points that connected with a simple base.

“That’s the angel, right, Papa?” Uni questions, breaking his train of thoughts. The blond nods and chuckles.

“Yep, that’s the Angel of Humanity. No one knows his true name, but we do know he wants peace for all someday. We’ve been trying to find letter pieces that are connected to him.” He warmly explains, watching his daughter nod along with his words. The Lightning was no fool, he knows she doesn’t like how his job keeps taking him away from her, but he’s sure if he can explain at least a little to her that she’ll be more understanding.

The mafia princess cuddles up to her father a little, turning the next page for them. The next two pages had a drawing with a green background and two sets of foxes. One set of foxes are a pale yellow and hold an expression that can be best described as gentle. The other set are a deep black with armor and bright green eyes that held a firmness to them. Uni’s eyes light up and she points at the first set.

“Papa, that’s Colulu and Widget, right??”

“Almost, baby, these are the spirits Colulu and Widget are based on.” He explains, chuckling at how she thought of his box animals right away. 

She nods her little head then points over at the darker set of foxes with a hum, “These ones remind me of you though, Papa. You’re like a fox.”

“Oh, I’m a fox, am I? Then a fox I shall be.” Gamma laughs warmly, tickling his daughter with one hand while mimicking a fox’s yipping sound. The young Sky flame laughs and squirms to get away, but is ultimately just happy to play with her dad. However, their time together is cut short when his computer rings for a call. 

Uni can’t help her frown as her dad gets up. He kisses her forehead again and smiles. 

“I’ll make this quick so we can get back to the book, I promise.” He comforts, making her just blankly nod. 

She knows the other man calling always tends to make the calls with her dad long, even if he doesn’t mean to. As the blond man answers the phone, the voice of his assistant quickly speaks up, “I’m so sorry for calling so late at night, sir!”

“It’s fine, Shoichi, just make this quick. You’re interrupting Uni’s bedtime.”

“Of course, sorry again! But we found them, the angel’s pieces! But we need your expertise to help us verify that they’re the real thing!” The redhead on the other end says quickly, making Gamma perk up instantly. 

“I’ll be over right away-” He starts to say before pausing and looking to his daughter. The young girl couldn’t hide her disappointment in her big, lavender eyes despite her obviously attempting to. He frowns and walks away from his laptop, going back to her and rubbing her cheek tenderly with his thumb.

“Oh Uni… Can Papa go?”

“... It’s important, right?” She asks in a hushed mumble, her eyes tearing up a bit when her dad nods. He pulls her into a tight hug and closes his eyes to stop himself from tearing up too. 

“I swear, princess, if this is real then that means I’ll never have to leave for work ever again…”

“Really?”

“Really, my little one…” He tells her in an almost whisper. The little girl hesitates for a moment, thinking the choice over, before she nods.

“Just… Be back soon, Papa. That’s an order from Giglio Nero Decimo.” She commands as firmly as a little girl can. Gamma can’t stop himself from laughing before snuggling her briefly.

“Of course, princess, here…” He trails off for a moment, slipping off his wedding band and placing it into her hands before continuing, “This is my wedding ring to your Mama, when you miss me while I’m gone, just hold it close and I’ll be right there for you.” He promises. 

The small girl flips the gold ring over in her hands a few times, looking over every detail. Besides a small green gem imbedded in it, on the inside was inscribed “𝚪 & Aria Eternally”. She smiles to herself before hugging her dad again.

“I love you, Papa! Have fun on your trip!”

“I love you too. And thank you, my little kit. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Gamma says sweetly, petting her head before gathering his things and leaving. 

Uni sighs to herself once he’s gone, still a little unsure about letting her dad go. She has this nagging feeling that something will just go wrong that she can’t explain… She looks his ring over again before carefully touching the inscription on it.

“Is this what you felt too, Mama…?” She asks aloud to herself. 

The young Sky didn’t know much about it yet, but she’s heard that the women of her family can see the future. Maybe this is it, just an awful feeling about something… She quietly picks the book her and her dad had just been looking through, glancing at the picture of the foxes again. She stares at the part with the black foxes again before setting the book down next to her in bed and resting the ring on top of it.

“Goodnight, Papa…”