#nieces...

[lv-bites]

How did you Love?

    The family that Tough has now, and in the future, would help him understand Radiance… Sun’s Radiance, his ex… his best friend… the only person to have truly understood him. Radiance's need to be relevant, to be greater, to be an immortal God. Tough hated him for that, because from his point of view, it was a selfish and needless death. Everything Radiance did brought him to that death.

    But Radiance, like Tough, wanted to leave a mark. He wanted to be remembered. He wanted to touch the lives of others, and give them purpose. Radiance and Tough both wanted to be at the centre of that. Radiance genuinely seemed to love his cult, love his church. Tough assumed they were seen as assets, disposable, and maybe they were. but when Tough rejected becoming Radiance's worshipper, it seemed to be like a betrayal. Tough didn't want to become just another number of mindless followers, but from Radiance's view, Tough was rejecting his love. Rejecting him. Rejecting his mark... his impact.

    Tough's rejection of Radiance snuffed out whatever Godhood he felt closer to. He couldn't maintain his form, his health, even his sermons would peter out...

    And then he died. He was dead long before Tough slithered in to the barn. He was dead long before Tough prayed to him... all that remained was a husk, frozen in a pose of divinity. And it collapsed on top of the one he needed to love him most.

          And killed Tough, too.

    If Tough were to understand Radiance’s perspective, it would be after he's spent more time with his nieces. Likely while taking back the Underwaste. I can see him feeling so proud of his charges... his nieces. But the thought of losing them, it strikes such a chord in him. It's not like before.. it's not something that just happens. It doesn't feel like betrayal either... rather. It is a risk. A loss.

    It stirs him, this thought, much in the way he felt when he lost Radiance.

    While underground, Tough goes out on his own, into the more abandoned parts of the old Colony. People congregated in the massive centre city, where trade was welcomed. They forgot the dark times, they forgot the ones who died, who drowned, who were buried… they forgot the screams. Tough Love never did.

    He finds his old home, or what is left of it. Mostly collapsed in from cave ins and rot... but he sees his old cot, and finds some green army men under the pillow. Tough holds them... he can't remember his parents' faces at all. There are silhouettes, there are garbled voices, there are rough crayon scribbles all over where their faces out to be.

    He sees a single, giant sunflower growing from the ceiling, its petals are bright, glowing pink. Rather than trying to grow upward, it is upside-down and growing toward the pillow, perhaps reaching down towards… his old cot? Maybe, those green army-men that were hidden beneath the pillow. How Theodore loved his little green army-men.

    Tough's eye widens. Wouldn't a sunflower want the sun? Even one as full of corruption as this? Why grow towards what used to be...

    It hits him.

        Radiance... grew towards love. Love.

    He wanted the same things Tough wanted, but their madness, their sicknesses... prevented them from really, truly being able to know it.

    They were from this place. Both of them. Different mining colonies, yes, but still... They had both come from this Hell. Radiance's words to Tough hit him like a sack of bricks. "I'm forgetting, Teddy."

    Forgetting was natural for those whose lives were ruined by the Poison, but that longing, that yearning translated into a need to be remembered. To never be forgotten. To make a mark. Every person lost to this tragedy, buried below, didn't want to be forgotten.

    Tough would think about Radiance describing his to-be ascension. How happy it made him, the idea of always watching everyone, warming them, guiding them. And so many people, though unable to look upon him directly, would love him. Worship him. Unable to forget him.

    Tough was always so literal, always dismissing the notions of Godhood. He didn't want to lose his best and closest friend. And in the end... he would reject him. Tough would now be able to see that Radiance's dream of being worshipped was a mutation, a corruption of needing to be remembered. Of having mattered. And when Tough rejected him… Radiance rejected Tough, cursing him out as a heretic, as blasphemous. He disguised his pain, his broken heart, with scriptures spoken so callously. He would scar Tough’s eye and he would leave him as the serpent cried out for him to stay. Promises of leaving together, just the two of them, like old times. Radiance didn’t want it to be like old times… he wanted to be adored. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be worshipped. He wanted to leave an impact… a mark. If Tough were the only person who knew him, then how would he be remembered?

    Tough moves his hands to his face, hearing the soft clatter of the bracelet he wore. He stares at it, remembering Radiance's softness. The psalm he recited as he placed the bracelet in Tough's scarred palm, like prayer beads.

    FOR THE LORD GOD IS A SUN AND SHIELD. THOSE WHO LOOK TO HIM ARE RADIANT; THEIR FACES ARE NEVER COVERED WITH SHAME.

    Tough can't help the sudden cry that escapes his throat, he crumples down on himself, tearing off his eye-patch and pressing the bracelet to his closed eyes. He sobs wretchedly, curling on himself tighter. He thinks of his family… the one he can remember. The one he made, choosing each member himself. His gang, The Surprisingly Severe. He thinks of Specter. Of Latch and Buttons. They would have followed him everywhere.

    He thinks of his nieces, his… children? Martyr, Elaina, Carey. They remember him. They know him. He's left his mark on them... and they still choose to be here. He gave them purpose, and they gave him life.

    He understands now, Radi. He understands now. You wanted to be remembered, at your core, that flame had never gone out. You wanted… to be loved. You wanted to have mattered. You wanted your life, which had been so carelessly discarded, to have meant something.

[davidtennan-t]

oh he is already such a great uncle, giving her the look of ‘I’m supposed to be retired but for you? Say no more, we’ll sneak away tomorrow, your wish is my command’

[sadfishkid]

green slime be upon ye

[lieu-rey]

first meeting

[why-is-it-always-autumn]

It's good and cool to give your characters a single simple, straightforward, non-urgent, super-achievable goal that shouldn't really cost anything or hurt anyone, make that the driving factor for most of their decisions, and then have the Plot do everything in its power to stop them.

[bet-on-me-13]

Why are there so many gods here?

SO! One day, the Eternal Trio decided to Check if they had ant past lives using Magic.

They already knew that Tucker was the Reincarnation of some Pharoah, so maybe they were also some historical figures in a last life.

It does not go as expected.

Danny finds out that he was the Ancient of Space, and the reason Clockwork was so invested in keeping him from being erased from Time is because he's his Brother apparently.

Sam finds out that she was the Embodiment of The Green, and Undergrowths attempt at Adopting her was some scheme to become the Parent of his used-to-be Queen while she was in Mortal Form, therefore overthrowing her.

Tucker finds out that Duulaman was just one in a long line of the Reincarnations of the Sun God Ra, and that he had been quite a few more historical figures in the Past.

They were surprised to figure this out, but then they got curious.

They tested the Spell out on Jazz, and found that she used to be an Amazonian Goddess, alongside Pandora.

They test it on Dash, and find that he used to be Hermes, God of Travel and Speed.

Ellie was an Embodiment of something called the Speed Force, who was also a child of Space before their rebirth, apparently.

They slowly realize that almost every person of note in Amity Park is the Reincarnation of some kind of God or Spirit. And none of them seem to realize that.

Why are there so many reborn Gods in this town?

...

Constantine is actually asking himself the EXACT same question at that very moment, after a botched teleportation spell landed him in Amity Park.

[english-history-trip]

Some of the beautiful illustrations by S.D. Schindler from Brother Hugo and the Bear by Katy Beebe.

The book is based on two real medieval figures: Hugo, a scribe who added a self-portrait (pictured above) to the end of his copy of Jerome's Commentaries on Isaiah, and a bear who appears in a letter from the abbot of Cluny Abbey to a neighboring abbot asking to borrow a copy of The Letters of St. Augustine, "for a large part of ours has been accidentally eaten by a bear."

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve always loved performing. Being the center of attention feeds me when I’m telling a story and it’s been like that since I was very young.

When I was four or so I went up to my nana one day while she was watching me and brandished my favorite book, Bre’r Rabbit and the Tar Baby. “I’m going to read to you,” I told her imperiously.

Obedient to my tiny whims she sat me on her lap and waited to hear what nonsense I was going to make up. Because of course, she knew I couldn’t read yet. It’s not impossible to read at four, but I wasn’t getting the kind of attention to make that possible.

To my nana’s astonishment I read the first page perfectly, with silly voices and everything, then turned and read the second page just as competently. I read the whole book while her jaw was on the floor.

She praised me effusively and ran to the phone. I was a genius! She had to tell my mom right away!

My mother was less inclined to hop aboard the genius train. She came to pick me up after work and held up a piece of mail. “What’s that say?” she asked me.

I shrugged in indifference. My nana frowned. “How about this?” she said, offering me a book off her shelf. I shrugged again, losing interest in this new game.

“She can’t read, mom,” my mother informed my nana. “She has the book memorized.” My mother was a child educator and had seen this exact situation more times than she could count.

“She read it page by page! She knew everything!”

That’s how my family found out I’m a very gifted mimic, but not a baby genius.

[eraenaa]

Mine

Aemond Targaryen x Wife Reader

Synopsis: You are the best thing that has ever been Aemond’s, which is why you cannot really blame him for being so possessive and cautious not to lose you. 

Warnings: Possessiveness, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 3,193

A/N: This is based on an anonymous request where they wanted a glimpse of the married life of Aemond and Reader from my other one-shot 'But Daddy, I love him'

They often say marriage was a duty— it was a dire chore that not many seemed to enjoy, but that sentiment was one Aemond could ever agree to because being married to you was the most pleasurable and honorable thing he had ever experienced. He thought riding his Vhagar was the purest and most gratifying experience he would ever feel, but he was proven wrong. Being with you— being your husband would be the greatest pleasure he would have the honor of knowing. 

Aemond sighed in contentment as he clutched you closer to his chest. Burying his nose atop your head as you slept soundly in his arms. It was a scene he quickly had gotten used to. It had only been three moons since your marriage, but Aemond could not recall a day where he woke with you, not in his arms. He could not recall a moment where his lips had not known the pressure or the taste of yours. Aemond refused to reminisce upon the days when you were not his.

Aemond felt his lips twitch as you huddled yourself closer to his chest, a small moan emitting from you as the wake of the morning sun slowly crept in. “Happy name day, my love,” You mumbled against Aemond’s smooth and chiseled chest, deeply inhaling his scent as you felt his arms wrap around you tighter. “My name day is not until the morrow.” He said and ran his hands through your hair. You hummed and stretched your limbs, slowly peeling your eyes open to see the handsomeness of your husband as the fresh morning sun lit his Valyrian features. “I know, but the celebrations are tonight, so I thought it would be best to greet you today as well,” You smiled and moved your head to kiss his lips. 

Aemond sighed happily when he felt your lips against his. Aemond cupped your cheek and deepened your kiss, his whole body aflame with the burning desire to be intimate with you once more. You feel his cold hand venture to the plump flesh of your behind, squeezing it roughly, making you gasp in shock. Your husband taking the opportunity of your parting lips to snake his tongue in and feel and taste you. You felt his wanting against your thigh, warm and pulsating. And though you, too, want Aemond, feeling the need for him gathering in your folds, you gently push your husband away. You bit your lip to hinder a laugh as he looked at you, lips still puckered and eye filled with question and hurt that you would deny him of your kisses. 

“We have lots to do today, husband… I am afraid we cannot indulge ourselves this morning.” You say and tried to pull away. Aemond shook his head, feeling his cock painfully seek pleasure as his eye caught your naked form being exposed as the thin sheet was removed from your frame. “It is my name day. You cannot be so cruel and deny your lord husband on the day they celebrate his birth,” Aemond reasoned, pulling on your arm and trying to capture your lips once more. You laughed, “As you’ve said, your name day is not until the morrow— now, let go of me, for I shall need to bathe,” You said and quickly pecked his lips. 

You smiled as you heard him groan and whine like a little child. You loved seeing him in such a way— when in the privy of your chambers, his stoic and imposing demeanor was shed and you could see the actuality of him. You get to enjoy his handsome smiles, his genuine laughs, and his fiery touches. But the moment you stepped foot out of the four walls of your marital chambers, he once again returned to the stony, aloof prince that he is known to be. It is saddening that the world will never know the truth of your husband. You would note how the ladies and lords at court would look at you with pity. Bound and tied to what they perceive as a cold prince, but Aemond was far from it. He was a blazing fire that kept you warm even in the coldest of nights. But you supposed it was a prestigious honor to be the few who knew of your husband’s tenderness and love. 

Your smile widened as your husband called for your name once more; you peeked your head from the wet room where a steaming bath was already waiting. “Come back to bed, my light,” Aemond called, and you shook your head. “I need to bathe,” You countered, enjoying the way his thin lips almost formed a pout. “And I need someone to wash my back as well… will you help me, dearest?” You bit your tongue as Aemond was quick to his feet and escorted the both of you to the tub. He did not waste a moment as he placed his lips against yours again. Pulling you to rest atop his chest as he leaned back against the copper tub, bare bodies tangled under the milky, scented water of the bath that was meant for only you. 

Your breathing hitched as his lips moved from your lips to the apex of your neck and shoulder, feeling as his teeth nipped the supple skin to leave his marks. Your eyes closed pleasurably as you feel your husband’s hands guide your hips so your sex could grind upon his length. “Aemond,” You sighed as you felt the tip of his cock repeatedly glide against the sensitive pearl of your cunt. “Yes, my wife?” Aemond hummed; his voice had an edge that you were growing all too familiar with. He wanted to succumb to pleasure, to be buried deep inside you, but he wanted you to beg for the pleasure he, too, was desperate for. You clenched your jaw and moved your hips, grinding upon his length with more pressure. Aemond hissed and threw his head back, you simply just watched his reactions to the pleasurable torment that both of you were enveloped in. 

Your breathing caught in your throat, and your jaw slacked as your husband abruptly entered you— you harshly sinking on his well-endowed length. Aemond’s breathing was quick to grow labored as your walls clenched around him. The only thing heard in the room was your moans, Aemond’s heavy, pleasured sighs, and the slosh of water as your husband guided you to bounce on his cock. “A…Aemond,” You called, fisting his silky, silver hair as his head dipped down to take one of your breasts into his mouth, nibbling at the bud, making you clench around him tighter. Your moans grew louder as Aemond lifted his hips to meet yours, fucking you deeper to the point that your eyes rolled back, and only incoherent words were uttered from your lips. “Fuck, look at you so pleasured by your husband… louder, little wife, I want them to hear how I pleasure you so— so early in the morning as well,” Aemond hummed and moved his hand that was on your hips to your cunt, his thumb drawing circles upon the pearl of your cunt making you moan louder, just like Aemond had wished. 

“Oh… Aemond, please! Please, please, please,” You cried, placing your hands on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself to take him deeper and harsher, feeling the bubbling need for release. The prince smirked up at you. Gods, he loved you even more when you were on the verge of coming for him; he loved how desperate and more lewd you became for him. The stifled groans Aemond held were let out when you suddenly reached behind you and cradled his sacks. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, a small smirk on your lips as you moaned his name, your tits bouncing before him as you both reached your peak. You tried to catch your breath as you rested your forehead upon your husband’s. “Well, that was most productive. Do you not think so, wife?” He teased and cupped your behind with both of his hands; you let out an amused breath and shook your head, letting him carry you out of the tub so the both of you could truly get ready for the day. 

For the rest of the day, you were busy with the final preparations for that night’s festivities. Inspecting if everything is in perfect order for your husband’s name day. In truth, Aemond had no wish for such a grand celebration. He would rather spend his special day in the privy of your company, and usually, you would oblige your husband. However, after hearing that not once was his name day celebrated with such an event, you had to change that. You wished for him to experience the joy and festivity of a whole kingdom celebrating the day you were born. 

“Do not strain yourself, sister; it is not good for the both of you,” You hear Helaena hum as she pauses by the great hall to see how the preparations are coming. You lightly chuckle, “Aye, Aemond had been insisting for me to cancel this feast, fearing that it would burry me in work, but I do not mind it, truly.” You smiled and fixed an askew goblet on the long table. “I did not mean Aemond,” Helaena said, her voice far off, making you pause in confusion. But that confusion was quick to vanish as you heard the call of your beloved brother. “Sister!” Lucerys ran to where you stood, and you quickly enveloped your younger brother in an embrace. 

“Oh. I have missed you, sweet boy!” You beamed and held him tighter. You turned to the end of the hall and saw the other members of your family entering, them obliging your request and coming all the way from Dragonstone to attend your husband’s name day. “I’m so glad you all came,” You smiled and went to kiss your mother on her cheek. You turned to your father, who could only grunt; his animosity towards your husband was still there, but you could see it slowly fading with each moment he saw how truly happy you were to be Aemond’s wife. “We would not have missed it, my sweet girl,” Your mother smiled. “Isn’t that right, dear husband?” Your mother nudged your father, who took a deep, burdened breath before reluctantly nodding. “All your chambers have been prepared; I think it would be best if you rest before the feast… so all could be in a more cheery mood,” You turn to your father with a pointed look. “Very well then,” He sighed and kissed your temple before walking off and going to their bed chambers. 

“How has married life treated you, my sweet?” Your mother asked as you two were left alone. “I would guess it has treated you well… you look positively radiant, but I want to hear it from your lips.” She added, and your smile widened. “I… I am incandescently overjoyed, mother.” You said, and your mother lightly laughed to see the joyous glint in your eyes. “I am glad you found such happiness with Aemond,” She sighed, and you could only smile in agreement. Your smile grows wider as you see your husband across the hall, walking towards you and your mother. “Sister,” he nodded civilly, and your mother did the same. “Might I have a moment with my wife?” He asked, and you felt your body tingle as he was quick to wrap his strong arm around your waist, “Of course, I’ll see you two at the feast. Happy name day, Aemond.” Your mother said with a small smile. 

“What is it?” You asked your husband as he was guiding you towards the direction of your chambers with hastened steps. When behind closed doors, you feel his lips against yours and your bodies flushing against each other. “Nothing, I just terribly missed my wife,” He said in between breaths after parting your kiss. You laugh and lightly hit his chest. “I was with you just a few hours ago,” You said against his lips, your heart spiking as you felt his fingers sly try to undo the lace of your gown. “Stop it.” You warned, but Aemond only grinned wider, connecting your lips to distract you from his other actions. You giggled as you heard your husband whine when you pushed him away and parted your lips. “We do not have time for this, Aemond. We still have to prepare for the feast.” 

“Fuck the feats,” He said, and your eyes widened in slight offense as he dismissed the event that you had been working on tirelessly for weeks. His eye too soon widened as he saw the offense in yours. “No— I… that is not what I meant, my light.” He quickly said and cupped your cheeks. “It’s just that I… I need you.” He whispered and pecked your lips. “You just had me this morning,” You say and wrap your arms around his neck. “That was not enough… I could never have enough of you,” he smiled as your heart turned to mush and your mind turned simple by the look in his eye. You whimpered as you felt his lips on your neck, threading closer to your clavicle. It took a whole lot of control in you to push him away once more and not be tempted by the prospect of pleasure. 

“Patience, my prince,” You say as Aemond’s hands were firmly placed on your waist. “You will have me over and over and over again tonight… just as long as you be patient,” You whispered, watching as his lilac eye turned dark at your words. “Just be obliging and welcoming to our guests until the feast ends, and you and I could be locked here in our chambers, drowning in pleasure until the next moon if you so wish.” You added, and you watched as he gulped. Aemond searched your eyes and only saw seriousness to back your words. “Very well,” He said and felt his heart stutter as you went to the tip of your toes to peck his lips. 

Aemond was trying earnestly to appear cheery and obliging to the guests. He had been nodding ceaselessly to the guests who came and greeted him and offered their gifts. It was useless. He had no need for their things— he had everything he needed. He had shelter, food, the tiltyard, and most importantly, you. He had no care for the gold-threaded eye-patch house Lannister presented him nor the new stallion his mother’s house gave. All he cared about and wanted was a prolonged moment of privacy with you, where your attentions were not divided between him and the guests. 

Aemond’s jaw ticked as he saw a past suitor of yours approaching where the two of you sat. Aemond knew that he should not house doubts or insecurities about such matters. He was certainly the higher being. He was an unparalleled warrior; he was a prince; he was your husband. Jealousy is a pitiful, lesser motion that he should not entertain but could not help but do so when it comes to you. He could not help himself as he felt the fiery rage in him only grow with each moment you spoke with your past suitor. It took everything in him not to stab the irrelevant lord alive when he dared make you laugh. Aemond only saw red and was one hair away from beheading the lord as he had the gull to lead out his hand and ask you for a dance. He remembered at the first days of your marriage, even just the lingering look of any of the lords, squires, and even his brothers would cause him to grow enraged to the point he was ready to challenge those punny men. It took great restraint in him not to let his insecurities show through with the times you had to innocently speak with other men, bestowing them with your attention, warm smile, and melodious laughs.

Aemond’s fists clenched around nothing as he felt your expecting stare upon him. You silently waited for his approval that you were certain he would not deny, for it was only a dance. Aemond had promised you that he’d be obliging that night, that he would at least show a grain of warmness towards the lords and ladies, so, however difficult it was, your husband nodded. But Aemond soon regretted his decision as his eye zeroed in on the hold your past suitor had on you. His mind cruelly conjured an alternative life where you were not his but, instead, bound to that lord. He could not stomach to just think of the thought that you were not his wife and lady. He felt vile rising in his throat at the possibility that if the gods were not on his side that fateful day of the tourney for your hand, you would have been married to another, and Aemond would had no choice but to watch you be someone else’s wife. 

Aemond made hastened steps to where you and the lord danced and took his rightful place. “My prince… the song has not ended yet,” the lord had the gull to reason, and Aemond’s jaw clenched. “I have obliged you enough; do not overstep your bounds, my lord. Now, remove your hold from my wife.” He gritted, eye widening in fury. His expression is scarily serious, frightening away the lord. You smiled up at your husband as you felt his familiar and soothing touch upon your skin. 

“I had expected you to deny him of his first request,” You say to Aemond in ancient tongue. You watch him raise his brow in question and skepticism. “Really? It would seem that you had enjoyed his company.” You bit your lip at his words. “Do I sense jealousy, my dear prince?” You asked, tone riddled with tease. Aemond rolled his eye and shook his head, denying that he had succumbed to such a lowly emotion such as jealousy. You felt your lips twitch into a smile as your husband avoided your gaze as you two swayed to the tune of the dance.  You sighed and brought your palm to move his head to face you and for your eyes to lock. “The only company I truly enjoy is yours. You, my dear husband, are the only thing I want.” You say with a beaming smile. Aemond felt his heart and breathing stutter at the radiant smile on your lips and the sincerity in your voice. He sighed in contentment and placed a chaste kiss atop your head. He wished for deeper intimacy, but he could not do so as you two were still before the eyes of the court. 

“Do you wish to retire for the night?” You asked as the song ended, and Aemond eagerly nodded his head at you, making you laugh as he practically dragged you out the hall and back into the bed chambers to finally celebrate his name day in the way he wished. 

Other fics in this universe: But Daddy, I Love Him (Prequel) and King of My Heart (Sequel)

[aingeal98]

Imagine being Barbara Gordon like you're sitting in your clocktower having just led a mission to stop assassinations of various political leaders while hacking the files of corrupt corporations in order to make sure they can't bankroll another attempted coup again and then you take a five second break to look outside your window and 2-5 of Batman's kids and sidekicks are clustered there like

"Babs do you have any chips we're all out."

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Aegon Targaryen x Niece!wife

A/N: After watching the new trailer I just wanted to write a little something for Aegon

"Where is my wife?" Aegon asked, as he looked around the chamber. The hint of fear and heartbreak was masked by his anger. The maids and guards stood in the corner with fear in their eyes. "I am going to ask one more time, WHERE IS MY WIFE?" Aegon yelled, commanding an answer. 

"Your majesty...she...the Queen heard about the death of her brother Lucerys," One of the maids finally replied. "She...immediately left for Dragonstone with her dragon."

Aegon froze for a second, not able to process what he just heard. How can she leave? How can she leave after she assured him last night that she will always love him no matter what? How can she leave when she is carrying his child? This is why he didn't want to tell her about the death of her brother, at least not till he figured out how to break the news as gently as possible. 

Suddenly the crown on Aegon's head felt heavy, and it only got heavier and heavier by the second. His wife left him. His wife, his niece whom he has loved ever since he knew what love is, left him. She left with his child, the proof of their love inside her. 

Soon the anger creeped up again. Aegon looked at the guards and the maids who were assigned to his wife. "You...all of you failed to protect your queen," He said through his gritted teeth. "Throw them all in the cells," He commanded his guards, no mercy in his voice.

They all begged and cried but it was of no use. None of them deserve any freedom or the right to live after they failed to protect the queen. Failed to protect her from the heartbreaking news. 

Aegon looked around the room as he took off his crown and dropped it on the floor. Suddenly the entire place started to feel cold. The flowers he gave his wife in the morning are still by the bedside. The baby clothes his wife was sewing for their unborn child were left half done on the bed. His wife's favorite necklace was on the vanity. Everything was there where it's supposed to be, but his wife was not. She is gone. 

"It's okay. She is just a little upset," Aegon said to himself, his words coming out in between his heavy shaky breathing. He couldn't help as tears rolled down his face. "She loves me.  She will come back," He was trying to convince himself. "I will make sure she comes back to me.”

[lv-bites]

Tbh Spinbot isn't as fun to write as Tough because Spinbot is less rounded by design. He's made to be a very one note sort of character, because Eggman programmed him to be that way. He can't grow without severe detriment to his programming, and he's always very cocky but loyal to Eggman. He gets dull very quickly, but would accel in a video game or fic antagonist role.

Tough, meanwhile, is MUCH more fun to write because he's so much more complex. He hasn't been brainwashed, but he is heavily traumatized. He did what he had to to survive but became dependent on that reality, that method of survival, and so he keeps recreating it to make more people "stronger"... in reality, this is how he connects with people better. People who haven't been through what he has been through can't be considered real people to him. They're just puppets, or boring and faceless husks... at least to him.

(The rest is under the cut, as this post functions as both backstory, character discussion, comparison and some drabble elements. warnings for: abuse, death, blood, trauma)

You could have been through some pretty awful situations, and Tough wouldn't care because he believes what happened to him will always be worse. However, he's interested in people who have survived through physical and mental trauma, and wants to see if they can be moulded into something more.

Originally, a character like Shadow wouldn't have interested him. Shadow was born strong, he is capable, and he was able to put his past behind him. He's not pathetic, he's not weak. He's never been discarded... Tough would have rolled his eyes at anything Shadow would have to say about Tough's ideals and methods as pure drivel... but Maria? Now that's an interesting specimen.

In an AU where Tough has more nieces than just Carey, Tough ends up adopting @achancetobehappy into his gang. We haven't really sorted out how they meet yet, but Tough's interest in her comes from the fact that she's also an ultimate life form, but she's also sick. She has lived through the trauma of her and Shadow's past, she's just as capable as he is, and yet... he is so afraid of losing her again that Shadow may be overprotective. Tough capitalizes on that; his interest in her as a powerful weapon, someone he can use to take out the factory that had ruined his life, but also... someone who is practically screaming for recognition of her talents and abilities, at least from Tough's perspective.

Spinbot would be boring here because his characterization begins and ends with Loyalty to Eggman, Death to Freedom. He's full of taunts but not much else which is boring in a thread. I do love him, he's fun to draw, but that 1 note personality that was programmed into him on purpose gets very irritating to write.

Tough doesn't have that problem. He's able to meet different situations with different approaches. He can be the whimsical loudspeaker snake who screams about illegal wet baby fights, he can blow up a building to the tune of Flight of the Valkyries, meticulously setting each explosive to go off in rhythm to each note... He can be threatening and ominous when desired, towering over his prey like a beast about to strike... And he can be soft, holding out his scarred palms and sharp talons, so gently, as to not pinch or frighten the hand he holds in his.

His voice can lower, to one of gentle understanding. Compassion... Empathy. He understands them, he knows what they've been through... but his understanding comes from a very veiled and biased viewpoint. Tough projects onto the people he is interested in. It's how he sees that they might understand him, that they can be saved. Moulded. Reborn... as he was.

And it's fun because Tough both believes his own views, very strongly, AND he fully intends to manipulate his persons of interest to his side. It doesn't have to be either/or. It's both.

A thing with Tough is, and this was mirrored in Arcane and it's why I pogged so hard when I watched it, he becomes attached to the people he manipulates if they stay with him long enough. He starts to care about them so, so much. So much more than he thought he could ever care... he figures he lost this ability to care about others a long time ago. And yet... he's met people who make him feel alive again.

His main adopted niece, @cutpursecavalier Carey Jess, saved his life with nothing but her consistency, her presence, and her warmth. Beyond the terrible grasp of grammar and her extremely crude and crass humour, there was a young woman who got Tough. A rare occasion where Tough felt like she was like him without having to go through his trials first. Without having come from the Wasteland Zone or the Underwaste. At first he considered her someone to just mess with, to serve her uses as a spunky powerhouse, and not give a damn if she died.

Now? He'd sooner slaughter every gang in Empire City than suffer her death. When he found her in that motel, beaten within an inch of her life, he felt a terror grip his heart. A heart he assumed had died with Radiance. That terror, mixed with love and rage... He cradled her bloodied body, venom leaking from his fangs as hatred boiled in his veins. He had every intent to pay back what was done to his beloved niece.

And this had never happened before... at least... not since he lost Specter. Specter was a teenager who had been a survivor of the Underwaste, who Tough had rescued from some shitty madmen who intended to sell him as a slave. Specter had been given a chance at life again, Tough being his purpose... and he broke free, killing his old masters and joining Tough's first interation of the Surprisingly Severe. Specter was only a little younger than Tough at the time... 14 to Tough's 18. Tough saw him as a little brother, in a way. Specter was named that by Tough, telling him that when he bathed in the blood of his Masters, he drowned his former self. Specter could blend in with his surroundings, changing the colour of his scales to match and effectively become a ghost... Tough felt a connection. His gang would slowly grow, until one day he'd return from foraging for mushrooms in deeper parts of the cavern, to find the camp had been attacked. The invaders had all been slaughtered, with few casualties on The Severe's side... except one of those casualties was Specter. He lay in a pool of his green blood, which seemed to glow in the darkness. He was struggling to breathe, despite the massive stab wounds his smaller body had sustained. Tough immediately gathered Specter into his arms, no no no no, not you. Not you. You were the first. You can't... He'd cradle Specter's small body in his arms, nuzzling against him, pleading for him to hold on...

But Specter wouldn't answer. He was dead, held in his big brother's arms.

This was Tough's first real loss in the Severe. There were members that were no more than thugs or henchmen, really... and then there were members Tough held such high regard for, personally overseeing their growth... Specter would be one of them... and Specter died.

Tough would feel this same pain burn him inside as he held Carey's body, though this was years later... Tough was 42 now. So long since Specter... Not this time. He wouldn't lose another one. He'd aid in a raid to rescue Carey's old friend... not for him, but for her. His gang was surprised to be doing something so... altruistic? But the novelty made it exciting all the same.

Tough doesn't like to get attached, and yet, he's so lovable. So charismatic...So strange. His unique way of doing things mixed with his sense of "helping" others while being a Raider makes him a peculiar character for sure. A real Catcher in the Rye or Peter Pan type. Though rather than focusing on protecting the innocence of children, Tough seeks out those who have been cast aside, discarded, left to die and he asks them if they would rather survive.

It's easy to say that Tough is a terrible person. He's done so many horrible things, many I won't list in this post... feeling sympathy for him may feel like you're doing something wrong. But I think the labeling of "good person" and "bad person" is not only an oversimplification, but it's also incorrect.

Tough is a person who has done terrible things, rather than a terrible person. There is a distinction.

Spinbot is a terrible person, because he was born that way. He was made to be that way. He didn't get there from surviving the most horrific situations, he was literally programmed to be like this. Sonic may be his brain scan, but everything that made him Sonic was inhibited so Spinbot could serve Eggman. There's no backstory, there's no growth. Spinbot was made from Sonic's brain, but holds no connection or endearment to that history, those bonds. They're more like something he inherited than things he crafted himself, and again, that's because Eggman made him that way. You can still feel sorry for Spinbot, but writing him is much less interesting in comparison because he's so one note.

Tough wasn't born terrible. He was born Theodore "Teddy" Bare, child of [REDACTED] the Rattlesnake and [REDACTED] the Cobra. He was born into an underground nation, comprised by multiple mining colonies. Enough people to take up a few major cities! When he would turn 13, his father promised not only to take him with him to the surface to sell gemstones, but also to take him to his first above ground carnival... And! He'd teach him how to operate the heavy mining machinery. Teddy was so excited, so eager.

And then, on his birthday, as he prepared to make a wish over his pastry packs... a loud rumbling, cracking, quaking... an enormous waste pipe burst through the ceiling of the underground nation, on its exterior bore a grinning mustachiod logo ... and neon pink toxic waste began to pour into the underground, flooding the streets, the tunnels, the caverns, killing, drowning, suffocating, mutating and driving its citizens to madness.

...

...

...

    "Happy 13th Birthday, Teddy. You're a man today! Well... maybe you're sstill a little kid?"

    "I'm NOT a LITTLE kid!! I can HANDLE SSO much more THAN I COULD yesssterday!!! My MUSCLESS are BULGING OUT!!!"

    "Hahaha! WOAH, WOAH, don't punch your old man, I'm frail, nothing compared to you! You ready to help me today, Theodore?"

    "OF COURSSSE! I'll become SSO good at thissss THAT I'LL be able to teach OTHERSSS!"

    "Oh yeah? You have the patiensssce to be a teacher, Teddy? Threaten your ssstudentsss with your punchy tough love?"

    "NYA HA HA! Only if THEY DON'T lissssten!!! Can I have my passstry PACK BEFORE dinner, dad??? IT'Ssss my birthday, tradition dictatessss my wish WILL COME TRUE if I make it over sssomething SSSWEET!"

    "Tradition dictatess, eh? Sure. I'll get your mother, let'ss get you that wish."

[daredevil-vagabond]

THE FAMILY BOUCHARD

[loverboybrightsideghost]

when nimona first shapeshifted in front of gloreth, gloreth was a little freaked out, but more just shocked, and then they went on being friends. it was only once gloreth’s parents told her that nimona is a horrible monster that she finally turned on her. this movie isn’t subtle in the least with its themes, but i like this part of the movie because it really shows just how imaginary and baseless (for lack of a better way to phrase this) the fear of monsters (i.e. trans people) in society is. children, like gloreth, when left alone without any societal influences, will be faced with this Other, Different thing and accept it, just go with it. befriend them.

[hotcinnamonsunset]

✨everything is fossil-ble🦴🦖

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Blood is Rare

Summary: Aemond has always loathed his niece, and the feeling is very much mutual | Words: 3.3k | Warnings below the cut!

Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, choking, slight knife play, biting, bitta blood, incest (character is described with strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping?

There was no plate at his spot at the table. No knife to tempt him. He would not break bread with those he could not trust.

Like an animal atop high ground, he sits rigid at the head of the table, on the outside unnervingly calm. But he watches with a keen eye the prey that sits at the other end.

She shares many features with her mother. His whore-sister. Her stubbornness, her determined gaze and the nervous twisting of the rings on each of her fingers into the bargain. 

Had she not the dark brown, near-black shade of waved hair atop her head and bright, clear blue eyes of the former Commander of the City Watch, his niece and his sister would look nearly identical.

Unfortunately, they both shared his hatred for them as well.

He loathed the idea of them all. The birth of one mere brown-haired bastard was enough, and yet there were three of them, sat together in unification, as if to put up defences against the opposite side of the table, dotted with the moonlight-silver of Alicent Hightower’s children.

He smirked at the thought that she came mere hours after Jace. That she was unplanned. Unwanted. And yet here she existed, sitting with her eyes fixed on a flickering candle, trying to drown out the laughs, smiles and the oddity that was all of them all gathered together, enjoying one another’s company.

He knew as well as she did. It was the only thing they had in common. That they could see through this charade.

Aemond wondered if she had always seen it. Understood it. The strife that would happen between them. Perhaps she was a dreamer and could envisage the future before it had even happened.

She was a melancholic, hateful little thing. Born with fire and fury.

He supposed if anything, she was still the daughter of a Targaryen.

Aemond swore she was a witch of sorts. For she must have felt his gaze on her, and her clear eyes were illuminated by the dancing flame as they met him. Her expression unchanged.

His smirk grew that they felt the same about each other.

He was the cunt son of Alicent Hightower.

And she was the Strong bastard of his whore-sister.

Not breaking eye contact, she raised her chin, looking down at him over her nose, huffing as she turned away to sip from the cup on her small, delicate fingers.

Stuck up cunt.

The atmosphere shifted considerably as Viserys groaned, a frail hand raised to the injured portion of his face, to which Aemond felt a sick sense of delight. The guards swiftly carried him away by each corner of his chair.

And the gap between Rhaenyra and Alicent seemed to push each side away further. Irreparably so.

His niece did not appreciate his tribute to her and her brothers.

Throughout the evening, she had said few words apart from mumbled whispers to Daemon on her right and Luke on her left. But when Aemond stood to speak, he revelled in her undivided attention. In those angry eyes, he saw not only a loathing for him, but a loathing at the truth of what she was.

A loathing that he was right, and she knew it.

She seemed almost as disappointed as her mother when Jace struck him weakly.

And before Daemon could place himself between the warring factions of their family, he watched the Strong Princess march angrily away, her skirts in her hands, flashing a stern glare before she left.

Her eyes were all he could think about, with her face anchored in the firm grip of his fingers.

He thought she was so small and fragile, that he could just squeeze and break her little jaw, her bones clattering between his fingers like pebbles. And yet she still looked at him with such fire, that only one of Targaryen blood would be able to throw.

She looked at him like he was the most loathsome creature she had ever seen.

The passageway Aemond had her cornered into was stifling and suffocating, forcing them to breathe the same humid air in anger. He saw her face redden where he had her in his grasp, her glossy lips slightly parted to breathe.

“I will extend you the courtesy of assuming there is a very good reason why you have your hands on me like this, Uncle.”

He almost wants to laugh right in her face, despite what she said not meaning to be funny. She is so frail, and yet roars so loudly.

“There is.”

Her jaw muscles tighten in frustration, shuffling backwards though there is nowhere to go.

“Then, I dare say your reason will not be good enough.”

Aemond allows his gaze to roam over her face. Up close, she really and truly is the picture of her mother, with her father's unfortunate features to her disadvantage in her colouring.

“I merely wished to see the colour of your eyes, mandianna.”

“To make some cruel jape no less, I am sure.”

He grins at the way she takes a sharp breath when he tugs her face towards him slightly. And he swears he sees the pupils within the clear blue of her eyes widen as he does, and wonders if he is having the same effect swelling at the forbidden place between her thighs.

“You wound me, sweet niece. A man cannot simply appreciate the beauty of a woman? Does there always have to be some cruel intent?”

“With you, there must be.”

He somewhat loosens his grip on her face, fingers trailing down her neck, the glint of her earrings catching his eye. She visibly shivers at his touch there. 

The most venomous expression sits on her face, and she does not miss a beat. Too clever and witty for her own good.

“Do not insult my intelligence, Uncle. I know what depraved thoughts bat around inside your head, and they are not original. A family trait perhaps.”

He hums, more amused than curious, but perhaps with a smattering of both, “And what of you?”

Her perfect little lips part to speak before his thumb trails down the column of her throat, long fingers wrapped around her neck to her nape. The threat of what he could do making her go quiet.

“What depraved thoughts bat around in your head, sweet niece?”

Silence wraps around them like a rope, tightening with the fibres cracking against their skin. Hot and suffocating all at once. And all Aemond can hear is the steady rhythm of her breathing, his eye wandering down to the necklace perched on her chest as her lungs erratically suck in air.

“It is treason to question my virtue.”

She swallows as his thumb presses on the centre of her throat, as if testing if she is indeed real.

“It may be treason to question your virtue, but it is not treason to question your honesty,” he replies coolly. Aemond can feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, the barely-contained rage on her face hidden only by a blanket of courtesy, “a maiden does not allow herself to be alone like this with another man.”

Aemond found himself, a man who had sparred with Ser Criston Cole for a large portion of his life, a man who as a child had claimed the largest dragon in the world and a man who had dealt with the burning pain of losing his eye, and the shame that he carried alongside it, was shocked into brief silence when his niece’s small, delicate palm echoed off his cheek.

It was not the force of it that stunned him so, but rather the shock that she had chosen to do it, with his hand around her neck and his frame blocking her escape.

The little dragon had felt threatened and given him a warning clip.

Aemond felt the warmth bloom on his cheek and smirked. She had slapped him on his bad side, where she knew it would sting the most. For a split second, white, hot pain nipped at the temples of his head as he turned back to face her, and saw that look on her face.

That she knew she’d made a mistake, but was too angry or proud to admit it. 

Or perhaps she was both.

Excitement wriggled and rolled in his stomach at the whimper that escaped her lips, using the force of his grip around her tiny throat to force her back, muscles and bones rolling against the stone walls where she was trapped, and those clear, curious eyes darting back at him with distaste. And he was pleased to see, a sprinkling of horror and panic.

“That was a mistake,” he mused, pressing himself closer to her, his hand firm around her throat despite her own attempting to pry them off him. His other hand reached down, shifting her up the cold wall, and gathered her heavy skirts in his palm, and rucked them frustratingly up towards her hip.

He revelled in the terror that crossed her face, a smirk winding its way to his sharp features.

“How exhilarating,” he pondered, “to take something that you are not willing to give.”

“I will scream”.

“Then scream. I will say it was you who seduced me,” he bit back, watching her face and expressions that crossed them, “And who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter of a whore?”

He could feel her breath against his face, soothing the spot where she had struck him not a moment before. Aemond blinked slowly at the woman in his grip, apparently attempting to decide for herself whether it was worth the fight.

Or perhaps something else.

Aemond grinned, “like mother like daughter.”

And he enjoyed the fire it stoked in her eyes.

“You will let me go-”

He shook her neck in his grip, as if to make her be quiet. And it seemed to shock and scare her, for she closed her eyes to steel herself, “And then what will you do? Run? Scream? Or will you do something stupid enough to give me an excuse to make everything you’ve ever said about me, truth?”

Her jaw tightened looking at him, feeling cornered, but a strange ache between her thighs.

“You threaten me, Uncle?”

His dagger sliced the very air between them, pressing the tip to the column of her throat where his thumb had branded her not moments before, tracing the shape of her skin. His niece froze, her breath trembling and her head pressed to the wall, as if to try and pull herself feebly away from threat. 

This very dagger was an extension of Aemond himself. As if his hand were still touching her but with a pointed edge. And he wondered if he sliced her skin, even just a little, would she bleed like him?

There was something there in her eyes as he looked between them. Her breath came in shallow gasps. And Aemond was willing to bet that deep down, beneath the demure veil she hides herself behind, peeking through, that she is wet and ready for him between her silky thighs.

“You are clever, dear niece,” he all but whispers, trailing the blade down to the neckline of her dress, the rich fabric yielding to it, “but not as clever as you think you are.”

She swallowed thickly as his blade teased the tied bindings to her dress, playing with the double-tied knots as if they were strings of a lute, and he was playing her easily. He plucked one, and then two, watching her face the entire time.

“You believe yourself a proper little Princess, do you not?” he asks, his voice low, almost feline in nature, his face so close to hers she can make out the stitchings of his eyepatch, “hair decorated with gold. Fingers adorned with rubies. Wrapped in lavish dresses.”

She flinched as he flicked his wrist, severing the second to last tie holding two sides of her gown together.

“But pull one little thread, and you unravel -” his tone deepens, forcing her to listen to every little syllable, his gaze boring into hers, “-and all you are…is a wanton, bastard, whore.”

She attempted to push his body away, but his dagger clattered to the floor, holding her easily by her wrists, near-painfully pressing them to the stone wall behind her. It happened so quickly. Lips, teeth and tongue fought as if in battle, and Aemond held her there for him, pressing his rapidly hardening length against her clothed womanhood, rolling his hips against hers to search for that delicious, forbidden friction.

It did not seem to him that she was fighting him, but rather fighting how he made her feel.

Her lips were velvety, moist and soft as his anchored hers apart to taste her, once having a split second’s worth it was never enough. Every little breath and whimper and he wanted to make them louder, make her submit, a part of him intoxicated by her when  her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and bit on him, only for her tongue to soothe the area afterwards.

Aemond thought of what would happen, if he devoured her wholly, pressed so hard against her that it was difficult to fathom where either of them began and ended.

His lips moved along her jaw. She smelled of whatever oils were combed through her hair. Camomile and something sweet perhaps. Quickly his hand left her wrist to ruck her heavy skirts up to her waist, feeling her shiver at the touch he left behind with the brief touch of his fingertips where no man had touched before. 

“Fight back,” Aemond dared, a mere whisper against her neck where he left his bruise-like mark.

He met her gaze, looking into her bright eyes and allowed his grip on her to slowly relax, waiting to see if she would push away. Scream and run, as she had previously promised. And while her jaw was still tense and eyes aflame with hostility, he swore he saw her pupils dilate.

“Just get on with it.”

The surging heat in his stomach distracted him briefly from acting cocky, his fingers fumbling to untie his breeches while keeping her elevated. And it felt as if his body was thinking before his mind when he looked between them to see her hefty skirts bunched at her hip, and one smooth leg on display, pulling his achingly hard cock free and tucking himself between the soft haven between her thighs. 

She could pretend she desired him not all she liked, but when their gazes met in fire and fury, finding that in all of their fighting and struggling she was soaking wet, Aemond pushed against her entrance until she welcomed him, sliding within her tight, choking walls with a low groan batted against her neck.

She whined at both the intrusion and his tight grip on her thigh, one hand elevating it so that he could begin pushing up brutally into her. Shame rose to her cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly, finding the wet smack of their skin rousing that tightness in her belly.

It was both embarrassing and hateful that she found herself enjoying this, and that she let him first of all. 

And all she could see above her when she opened her eyes was him, his lips parted to breath as if he was holding some beastly form of himself back, his hair spilling like rays of moonlight over his shoulders with every thrust into her weeping cunt and the way his lone eye never strayed from her expression, not for a second.

That is until Aemond felt as if not only he wanted to own her shame and her body, but wanted to show it too, and leaned forward to graze his teeth on the skin that was now exposed by the ever loosening shoulders of her dress, and sink his teeth in to mark her.

The sound that came from her was between a grunt and a moan, as his position changed the angle of his hips and the blunt head of his cock sparking pleasure deep inside her.

“Fucking…hate you…” is all she managed, feeling the top of his canine break the skin just slightly. Her voice clung to that flat, stoic hatred, and she hated that it sounded as if she were about to fall apart.

If it were possible, he increased the intensity of his movements, pushing up into her mercilessly and drawing feminine, soft whines from her mouth. Sounds he wasn't even sure before his niece was capable of making.

“I adore your fire, sweet niece,” he muses lowly, tracing her jaw with his lips, “I adore how much you think you hate me.”

She does hate him, she tries to think. But every thought that appears is swiftly batted away by the incessant rhythm of his cock pistoning in and out of her, the depraved sounds betraying how she truly feels. An internal war Aemond can clearly see.

“Do you like this? Do you like how much I hate you? How much I want to hurt you?”

Yes.

A thought rung in her mind that she wanted him to hurt her more, so that she could just feel something from him aside from the way he stretched her walls around him so deliciously.

The soreness of his girth is something she had not expected to be a problem, a lapse of thought that she will no doubt be paying for the next morning.

But this, this was a core lapse of morals, surely. Allowing him to do this to her.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, as if pulling her to meet his cock halfway, feeling the way his body shuddered at the closeness of completion evident on his face.

Aemond grinned wolfishly, “You like this. We both know it.”

He thrusted into her so forcefully that she had no choice but to hold onto him, clinging to his leather-clad shoulder tightly when he met her fleshy end, her insides involuntarily squeezing around him in both pain and pleasure.

His hand came to her neck, clamping down experimentally on her windpipe, and groaning deeply at the way her cunt sucked him in as he did. Forcing her chin up so those traitorous blue eyes met his, he grinned.

Hateful little cunt.

Her peak crept up her spine first, feeling as if the sensation was melting her muscles where they sat inside her body. And then her lips parted in a soundless scream, pitifully moving her hips towards his to encourage the feeling to crest until it rushed out of her with a feeble whine, “uncle…”

Not only was the feeling of her quivering, velvety walls enough to convince him, but the way she called him that while he was so deep inside her, threatening for relief, was so erotic it did not feel depraved in the slightest.

But nothing was better than that wide-eyed, colourful expression of panic, distaste, hate and anxiety when he deliberately planted his seed inside of her. Aemond was sure there was no better feeling, bad intentions or no, her blood felt good on him, his teeth and cock alike.

All he could imagine was what dynasty could be created from such a house of revulsion. To watch this hateful little creature swell with his child, a true Targaryen. Only to put on the same stoic, flat expression which he knew was untrue when he'd fuck her again, and again, and again.

What flame flickered under that expression of hers, he wondered. What stone was hidden in the centre of her peachy, soft exterior. A heart, perhaps.

She didn't have to like it, this dance between them. But when he put her down and watched his spend trickle down her thighs, he would have her come to love it.

She existed for this. Whatever it was. He was sure of that.

“Well, little dragon,” he whispered, “the bastard daughter of a whore, with another growing within her?”

She swallowed around his hand as he tugged her face closer to his.

“Or burn with me.”

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