#scarlet daughter of scar

[the-anxiety-academy]

Why did I get a descendants art rush in the middle of the night?

Bringing back girl Scarlet

[acotarxreader]

Healing Hands

Azriel x Reader (Devlon's daughter)

Synopsis: A new suitor in your life interrupts your friendship with your three best friends at Windhaven. The budding healer in you finds yourself breaking more hearts than healing.

Warnings: Angsty angst, fluff, descriptions of injury and cleaning injury. Blood and bruising city.

A/N: Hehe this is just a silly little will-they-won't-they taking place towards the end of the boyos time at Windhaven.

(Alternative title for this was Flutter lol)

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“Woah what happened to you?”

“Fucking Devlon, fucking surprise drills” Azriel stomped inside your minuscule cabin, a mile or so from Windhaven where your childhood friends were coming to the end of their training. Your wings hung in their usual state, bumping the front door closed behind Azriel as he threw himself down on the couch. He flexed his cracked hands into small fists at the sight of your clipping scar while you retrieved your box of medicinals.

“Poor Illyrian baby” You teased, sinking into the seat alongside him, scarlet dripping from deep in his hairline, to slip past his split open lip and his bloodshot right eye.

“Just fix it”

“A please would go a long way” You jerked his chin towards the light to inspect his injuries. 

“Hands” you ordered, they shook slightly before being steadied by yours, you inspected his splintering knuckles, your thumb slipping over his now well-over decade-old injuries decorating his skin for the rest of his life. Hazel eyes softened at the loving action until you returned his hands to his lap and reached for the mixture of alcohol and herbs to soak on balls of cotton wool. You kneeled on the couch cushion, tilting his head down to attempt to find the source of the stream of blood.

“YNN, on your knees for me? You’re such a tease”

“Careful Az or your eyes will be a matching set” You shot back with a smile, the mouth of the wound coming into your view, you leaned in further, tilting his head downwards as you inked the mixture slowly into the cut.

“You know you're basically forcing my head into your chest now right?”

“Are you complaining?” You squeezed the cotton ball tightly, the liquid free flowing into the cut, releasing a hiss from Azriel, his hands gripping your hips into the burn. The cotton ball soaked the majority of the blood into its fibres until you replaced it with a fresh victim. 

“Don’t cross the healer/patient relationship line Az” You grinned, prying one of his hands from your hip to hold the cotton down. You swiped a cloth across the drying blood before sitting cross-legged across from him after retrieving something else from your bag and pulling him closer to you to look at his swelling orbit. 

“This was just an excuse so you could spend the night looking into my eyes wasn’t YNN” He grinned until you flickered a small fae-light directly into his eye causing him to flinch away from you. 

“Argh!”

“Well your pupils are fine” He shoved you back as you laughed in almost hysterics, his body now hovering the length of yours, a hand above your head to support his weight. 

“No need to fix my eye now that you’ve blinded me” 

“You're right, we should fix your lip though” You lightly catch him by the chin, dragging him down closer, him willingly going, dropping the cotton pad he held. Your faces were mere inches away now, Azriel believing he was about to have some of his dreams come true. He slowly closed his eyes but you quickly reached for another soaked cotton pad and pressed it to his lip. Azriel half howled from the surprise and accompanying pain, shooting up straight, a leg on either side of you while patting his lip dry.

“Bitch!”

“An odd way to say thank you but I accept” You smirk, his hands reaching to your sides as he had you pinned, tickling you mercilessly leaving you caught between a scream and laugh.

“Truce! Truce!” You called out as he beamed down at you, only stopping once you had begun to turn purple. You smiled up sweetly at him before the sound of a rusty lock shattered the peace in the cabin. Azriel leapt from you, shooting down to hide behind the couch as the latch on your front door lifted. You stuffed the used cotton pads behind the couch cushion as your father allowed Summer air to whip through the cabin. 

“Evening sweetheart” You smiled up at his greeting as he rolled his head along his shoulders. His eyes landed on the open case of medic supplies on the coffee table, a brow raising. 

“YNN you know I don’t like you messing around with that stuff”

“But I’m good at it” 

“It doesn’t matter, not the way to secure a useful match, playing around with things we leave to the professionals” He sighed, picking up a ball of cotton, the minuscule drop of blood threatened to betray you, you could practically feel Azriel holding in his breath behind the couch.

“Okay Father” you dipped your head, resulting in a small smile growing across Devlon’s face at his wallflower daughter. 

“YNN, have you given further thought to the offer of courtship you’ve received” Your eyes darted back to him before he strode back over in the direction he came from, you felt the gentle press of a shadow around your ankle, only for you to softly brush it away with your other foot. 

“No”

“Perhaps you’d enjoy this male’s company, it would certainly be a better use of your time than those three males I see you sneaking off with”

“Surely there is no better than a High Lord's son” you quipped, him spinning back to you, rage flashing across him before disappearing again. Azriel bit hit tongue from behind the couch, the sheer thought of you with his brother threatening to rise a laugh from him.

“There’s better than that High Lord’s son” You could practically feel the heat radiate from the other side of the couch at the disrespect towards Rhysand. You gave an obedient smile before standing to close the distance between you and your father, hoping he wouldn’t sense the quietly boiling Illyrian. 

“I will consider meeting with this match Father, now please rest, I’m sure those surprise drills were rather taxing to arrange” 

“Quite” He nodded, moving across the cabin before his hand hovered on the door handle that led to the hallway of bedrooms. 

“How did you know about the surprise drill?” His eyebrow raised like the heat in your cheeks. 

“Umm it’s a Tuesday...every fifth Tuesday you have your surprise drills” You offered. 

“Quite right-” he laughed, air returning to your chest “-perhaps I should move things around if even a female can work it out, no doubt some of my cadets have it twigged as well. Goodnight Sweetheart, clean up that mess and head to bed” He passed through the door with a smile. Azriel stayed hidden until the click of Devlon’s door met his ears, your shoulders slumping down. 

“So little YNN has a suitor” He teased quietly, hoping to cover the simmering jealousy as it rose through him. You just rolled your eyes as you packed a small care package for Azriel to use on his wounds. 

“Well, who is he?”

“Leave it Az”

“No no, you have to tell me” he whispered, gratefully taking the small package you made for him. 

“He’s no one, he finished up training last year and is doing pretty well for himself, Rhy’s father has even taken notice of him”

“Rhy’s father notices me”

“Yes but he notices him for good reasons” He threw a cotton wool ball at you before heading back towards the door. 

“Make sure you wipe down your hands and apply the cream I gave you”

“Yes boss” He gave a mock salute to you, hand resting on the door handle.

“Do you think you’re going to agree to meet up with this so-called Mother’s gift to Illyria” you chuckled at him, resting your arms behind your back and rocking from one foot to the other. 

“I don’t know, maybe, I’m not getting any younger, my wings are ruined, why not add my future to the list” Your sad smile caused a twinge in Azriel’s heart. 

“Marry me then” he teased.

“I don’t want to marry you” he rolled his eyes at your toying, suddenly releasing the handle of the door to push you flush into the coat rack with a gentle thud. You let out a slight sexually charged whimper at the sudden control he was taking and he smirked. Damn it, you thought. He was inches from your face once again.

“Yeah, I thought so” he winked before releasing you, revelling in the little victory you just granted him while you cursed yourself.

“I think I will agree to meet him” You tried to regain control as Azriel allowed more air to flutter into the apartment. He didn’t reply, afraid he’d shown you too many cards already.  

—--------------------------

Try as you might, Devlon stayed persistent with you with regards to meeting this male. Surprisingly, he wasn’t as terrible as you had assumed, Cal had a somewhat medley of opinions similar to your fathers but also to your friends. More importantly to you, he introduced you to the world outside the war camp, bringing you to Velaris for the first time, an easy place to fall in love with. You learned quickly that if you agreed to meet with him, more often than not the courtship would lead you out of the Illyrian mountains, your deepest desire. With more and more time away from the camp, more and more time away from your friends coincided, not going unnoticed by the trio. Azriel believed he’d lost you to the dashing soldier when really you were enamoured by the city of starlight while still able to keep a healthy distance from Cal’s advances under the guise of proper etiquette. It had been almost three months since Azriel had heard of the potential match your father was in favour of, his moody behaviour being sent on overdrive ever since, his two best friends being tormented by the increasing edge to their friend. 

You wandered home through the camp on your usual route after a rendezvous with Cal, blushing as you walked thinking of the way the music on the streets of Velaris made you feel. 

“Your cheeks are the same colour as my ribs” Your head spun towards Cassian, leaning against a post of a training ring, the Autumn night air beginning to give over to the Winter bite. 

“Cass” you rushed to him, hugging quickly to evade any eyes that may still be lingering around so late at night. 

“Surprised you still remember my name YNN” He teased with a slight edge of annoyance, your hand ran over his cheek, his eye swelling slightly to match his lip. 

“What happened?” 

“Ehh surprise drill, the Blood Rite will be in a few months, all the practice we can get is needed” He said softly, pulling your hand from his face, you swished your bag from your side to dig through its contents. You passed him a pouch of homemade lotions and potions to help soothe his splintered face. 

“Thanks, YNN, I got out fairly unscathed in comparison to Rhys and A-”

“I’m not that ruined” Rhysand’s laugh met your ears, one of your favourite sounds but the sight of him quickly ended any ounce of joy you held. 

“Rhys…” It was as though he had been torn asunder by wolves, even his clothes shredded.

“You two are coming home with me right now. My fathers meeting with yours Rhys, I’m not leaving you two to die of infection before you have a chance to kick all their asses at the Blood Rite” You didn’t give them much of a choice, the two Ilyrians following you home, under the guise of accompanying a lady safely home. 

You had patched together what you could of your friends, finding the return of comfort in their company that you had missed so deeply. 

“It seems rather early still for Blood Rite drills” You mused, offering Cassian a large cup of fragrant floral tea as the two warriors lounged on your couch.

“Drill? It wasn't a-” Cassian stomped down harshly on Rhysand’s foot to silence him, the action immediately alerting you, Cassian exhaling deeply as an accompanying roll of his eyes travelled his face. 

“Spill, now” you ordered Rhysand.

“Well…Az has been kind of… temperamental, we decided on temperamental didn’t we Cass?”

“I voted for raging asshole but whatever” Cassian sank further into the couch, pressing a medicinal-soaked cloth into his eye as it threatened to close. Your hands found your hips, glaring down at your friends like scolded schoolchildren. 

“Anyways, he’s been picking a lot of fights lately which is fine, it’s how he should work through his feelings but this time…this time he kind of decided to take on a whole fleet of Ironcrest members all very eager to receive their stripes, all by himself, we got to him just in tim-” Cassian sighed again through Rhysand’s confession, slightly annoyed that Rhysand had forgotten their deal to not tell you. 

“-Where is he?”

“YNN, I don’t think you should g-”

“Where is he?” you chewed out, not welcoming negotiations, the two brothers sharing a worried glance.

“Oooone-”

“-YNN we’re not children-”

“-Twoooo-”

“That’s not going to work on us-”

“Thhhhr-”

“He’s at Rhys’ mother's house!”

“Cassian!” Rhysand scolded, returning the stomp of a foot from early.

“She’s fucking scary when she does that!” Cassian exclaimed, a hand landing on his now bruising foot. You shot away from the two of them, quickly changing into a looser top and trousers. 

“Bunch of 24-year-old babies” You muttered, filling your bag with fresh supplies. 

“It’s not our fault you’ve driven him crazy” You stopped on the threshold of your home, turning your head towards another one of Rhysand’s confessions, tilting your head daring him to continue. 

“C’mon YNN, you’re off fluttering about with some hot shot, forgetting all about us, you're not around to rein him in lately so he's bound to go off to his own devices to distract himself”

“I do not flutter”

“Fine, let's go with galavant-”

“-I would say whore around but-”

“Cassian, inside thoughts” Rhysand warned, your hand leaving the handle to storm in front of the two Illryrians again. 

“I think you all forget that in a couple of months, you’ll be gone, off to be unleashed on the world, with one another. I’ll be here, I’ll always be fucking here, broken wings to match the broken dreams of escaping this hellhole while the rest of you go on and live your fucking lives without me. So please, forgive me for seeing an out no one else could provide me and fucking taking it” You snapped out, stunning the two males into silence, moving quickly with a heavy foot out the door. 

“And for fuck sake take your feet off my coffee table!” You shouted back, slamming the door behind you in a fit of rage. Cassian's feet returned to the ground, both men brought down a few pegs with their new awareness of their ignorance. 

Your rage could melt through the first fall of snow that began to glitter on the roofs of the war camp. Your heavy treading split the mud apart as you landed outside the haven provided to your friends. Your hand found the hidden key, letting yourself in, practically taking the door off the hinges. 

“YN? What the fuck?” Azriel groaned, attempting to sit up on the couch, his muscles screaming at the movement as they fought to stay attached to the bone. 

“No, you don’t get to talk right now!” Your feet pounded the floorboards and right through Azriels ears. 

“Where the fuck do you get off thinking it’s my fucking responsibility to regulate your emotions?!” You couldn’t stop the rage-fueled truth flying from your mouth.

“I-I don’t do that” he winced out, a hand wrapping around his torso to keep the muscle tying his ribs together from giving up, his feet landing shakily on the floor to sit up on the couch and face you properly. 

“Save it! Dumb and Dumber already told me about your recent…outings. What the fuck is wrong with you!? Alone!? They could have killed you!” You couldn’t seem to bring your voice back to its normal register, slamming your trusty bag of lifesaving ingredients down on the small table in front of Azriel. 

“Don’t pretend you all of sudden care about that! What? Has your prince charming turned back into an Illyrian frog like the rest of us?!” The blood coating his lip ran freely as his equally sharp tone reseparated the skin. 

“Shut the fuck up, give me your stupid hands” You sat on the coffee table, his knees touching yours as he slipped his hand to you with caution, your thumb tracing over the scars of his childhood as they always did while you inspected hands. Despite your current temper, the action gave comfort to Azriel that all was not lost between you both. 

“There’s a duck on the sink” You said oddly bitterly.

“Wha-ARGH FUCKING HELL!” You relocated his thumb back into its socket, his hands snatching back from you as they attempted to flex away the pain again. You pulled his face closer to yours, a particularly deep laceration decorating across his eyebrow. 

“Fucking idiot” you murmured, pulling thin threads of fabric that you began to coat with a sticky substance. 

“Bedside manner could use work”

“Shut up” You chewed back, Azriel’s shoulders sinking. Despite the nature of the visit, if he was honest with himself, there was an element of him that loved this one-on-one time, the first in weeks. He winced as you ran the strips on either side of the incision, using the tension to pull the skin back together where his healing powers would aid the knitting together. 

“Right. Shirt. Off. Now.” You ordered, removing yourself from in front of him to quickly fill a dish of water and elixir at the sink, returning to your starting point. Azriel fought the urge to shriek at the movement of his arms. You exhaled, helping him to pull the fabric from his skin, revealing the mottling covering his chest and abdomen. 

“Some of these are older” the first time your voice had softened since your arrival, your fingers lightly brushing over the blotches of winter palette in front of you. His eyes traced the lines of your face as it dipped to inspect his dappling. 

“It’s been a tough time recently”

“Who’s fault is that?” You gave a breathy laugh, running some thick creams over the fresher bruises before dipping a cloth into the dish and running it down his face to remove the dried blood. 

“Mine” He gave the gentlest of smiles that you returned, meeting his eyes for the first time since you arrived. 

“Good answer” You found yourself grinning, the boiling rage seemingly sinking to a simmer as you stood to retrieve a fresh shirt for Azriel to shield himself in. 

“You’re going to have to start getting better at taking care of your wounds for when you leave Az” You gestured for him to lift his arms as you pulled the surprisingly soft cotton down around him again, the bruising having happily drank the serum you applied. 

“Not if I steal you away with me” he laughed as his head popped through the collar, his body jolting slightly with the movement. 

“Ah to be your nurse”

“To be my partner in crime as you always have been” His soft words ceased all heating of your rage as you found your familiar spot next to him on the couch, the snow now beating down on the windowpane. 

“I wish I could Az but as you know my only way out of here is in a bright white dress or a casket, some might say those are the same thing” Your hand found the side of his cheek before tangling slightly in his hair as he leaned into the touch he missed so much. 

“You know those aren’t your only choices, we’ll come back for you YNN” He fought the rising salty mixture threatening his eyes, your hand slipping from his face to find your lap. Azriel grimaced as he turned his body to face you, his hands held yours as you often held his, his thumbs tracing the backs of your hand.

“And am I to wait and hope you don’t find another female for your group”

“Mor is not gonna like that comment” You laughed, pushing him back gently, regretting it as he recoiled his tender muscles. 

“There is no other you YN but we understand if you can’t wait for us, your survival is more important than our pride” his soft smile met your hands with a gentle kiss, your wings dipping at the action. 

“So you’re telling me if I chose to accept to marry Cal you’d be happy with that”

“Yes” he gritted out.

“Liar” you laughed wholeheartedly.

“He is a suitable match” he managed, his hands fixating on your delicate palms against the stark contrast of his own blood betrayal.

“I think you're a suitable match for me” You finally admitted out loud, the words had never left your mind before but now they floated out there in front of you for him to hear. 

“I am not suitable for anyone” His hands slipped from yours, landing back in his lap, his hazel eyes fixated on them as the cracked knuckles attempted to fuse together again. 

“Azriel”

“It’s not your job to regulate my emotions YNN” You laughed lightly, pulling his hands back to yours.

“I’ll regulate the stupid ones and that my love is a stupid one” A soft shiver shot down through Azriel’s spine at the term of endearment. 

“YNN, I am going to climb every mountain they put in front of me until I am worthy of you”

“Az, you’re worthy now” You leaned across the space between you, the taste of slight metallic and iron meeting your lips as you met him. Warmth transversed the air around you, the action healing something cracked in your soul and something in Azriel’s he thought had long died. 

“Looks a lot like fluttering to me” Rhysand laughed from the doorway, separating the two of you quickly, Cassian limping to his side, snow-covered. 

“How come that wasn’t offered to us in our care plan?” 

“You called me a whore Cass, you’ll get nothing and like it” You laughed as they closed the door behind you, Azriel a little more than annoyed at the interruption. 

“He what?” Azriels stiff neck shot towards his friends, Cassian lifting his hands in a truce. 

“Easy Az, another stupid emotion is showing” You smiled.

“I have no regrets, I’m team Az” Cassian settled into the carpeted floor across from you both. 

“By the looks of it, so is YNN now” Rhysand called from the kitchen, searching for snacks. He returned with a dragon trove amount of snacks, happy to see his family healing together as one again. 

“Cassian and I are sorry for what we said YNN, jokes aside”

“Aw no not jokes aside” Rhysand clipped Cassian into the chest with an orange, the four of you laughing. Azriel’s hand folded neatly into yours, and as always your thumb traced soothing circles over his scars. 

“I’m going to speak with my father tomorrow, his lead healer, Madja, is looking for an apprentice and Devlon won’t be able to refuse his High L-” you leapt from Azriel’s side, practically crashing Rhysand into the plush fabric of a well-worn armchair. 

“Sorry sorry!” You quickly added as Rhysand groaned into the weight you were putting down on his still-healing body. 

“See, whoring around” Cassian quipped, one of Azriel’s shadows nipping him with more precision than an orange. 

“No white dress or casket required while we’re around YNN” Azriel beamed from behind you.

“You’re rescinding your marriage proposal from Summer” You fake offense, finding your spot next to him again. 

“Only if you don’t accept it” he laughed. 

“Ugh cauldron boil me, are we going to have to deal with this for our last few months” Cassian whined.

"I'm hoping the rest of our lives" Azriel received more groans from your two best friends. 

"I think I preferred when you were a raging asshole"

"Too bad Cass" you grinned, Cassian pressing his face into a pillow to shield his eyes as you Azriel pecked your cheek.

The remainder of the night was wrapped in overwhelming familial familiarity. The four of you catching up on the months of escapades you had missed from one another during your absence, Azriel’s head resting in your lap where you swirled your fingers in his hair, his hands resting on your legs, wishing the end of this moment would never come.

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Whatcha think?

[ivypos-writes]

with my touch (i have cursed you)

— aemond targaryen

summary: His first touch plants a seed of desire, and it is only a matter of time before it blooms.

Or, all the times Aemond touches her, and the one when he lets himself be touched.

warnings: 18+, au—no dance of dragons, targcest, aemond being a tease and a little shit, mutual pining, unhealthy amounts of tension, first times, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, multiple orgasms, aemond being pathetic (he whimpers), smut with plot (and the plot is just prolonged foreplay)

word count: 8.7k

notes: so. i wrote this thing. english is not my first language. all reblogs and comments are very appreciated! aemond girlies, we are so back.

(also available on ao3.)

The street is bustling with life.

She is little more than a dull spot against a variety of colours, and something about the thought of blending with the surroundings is more comforting than anything she has ever known. She tightens her hold on the large hood of the cloak and pushes past a gathering of haggling customers, giggling as they shout in indignation.

It is still early, though the skies above head are spotted with warm oranges and pinks. The air is different here. Sultry. She traverses the cobblestone paths and passes through alleys filled with shops and boisterous merchants, and her eyes grow brighter with each step.

She has known life in its subdued form—in gold and jewels, and soft-spoken words, and lullabies sung at nighttime. She has been sheltered, and dressed in gowns, and taught to wield practiced smiles and pretty countenance. It is the first time that she experiences havoc. There is dirt and dust, and curses falling left and right, and women dressed scarcely in anything, scraps of fabric falling down their shoulders without care for decency.

In these streets, life is fervent. Chaotic, unashamedly passionate, and lewd in ways that render her breathing shallow.

At once, she is filled with greed.

Led by impulse alone, she blurs into the masses of depravity. She forgets about her name and titles. Here, she is just a woman—not a silver-haired maiden, or a dragonrider, or her mother’s daughter. It is easy to forget duty when it is nowhere to be seen; when it is replaced with pure, unadulterated perversity.

Something flutters in her heart, and it must be freedom.

She passes by multiple stands, and because here she is not a princess, she catches the string of a flower pendant and snitches it from its spot. The trader doesn’t notice, too engrossed in his attempts to sell his goods for a too-high price. She is quick to hide it deep inside her pocket, and the smile that lightens her face is radiant.

Her feet ache, but she stubbornly speeds towards the nearest corner. It is right there, and she almost reaches its edge—

“Are you up to no good, niece?”

A gasp tears out of her mouth. She turns, wide-eyed and flushed, and finds a splash of silver-white strands shining against worn-out fabric. She scans the porcelain skin and the puckered scar that paints it in pinks; traces the leather of the eyepatch. He looks different in this particular light. Warm hues of the sky bathe him in a gleam that softens the curves of his features; there is an odd gentleness in him that she doesn’t recognise.

“Aemond,” she murmurs.

He seems pleased with himself. She catches a glint in his eye that whispers of carefully restrained mischief; his lips are curved into the beginning of a smile. She’s seen this particular expression only a handful of times, and always in the face of chaos.

It suits him. More often than not, and only ever quietly, she thinks he was carved for it.

“I didn’t take you for a little thief.”

Her cheeks burn. They must be scarlet red, and she inwardly curses both the humidity and the weight of his gaze that only fuels the onslaught of the tint. Aemond’s smirk grows. The blatant exhibition of her shame appears to have entertained him.

“A thief?” she repeats, eyes rounded with what she hopes is a convincing display of innocence. “Have you any proof?”

He breathes out a little laugh. It’s sharp and fleeting, and she drinks up the sound of it, oddly enthralled. She is not familiar with his laughter. Her skin prickles as its remnants linger between them.

Aemond moves closer, and soon the distance between them is so small that their cloaks brush against one another.

She is so caught off-guard that she barely notices the pendant dangling from his finger. Aemond swings it in front of her face, and when she reaches for it with a surprised gasp, he moves his hand away in the blink of an eye.

Her mouth twists in displeasure. His grin grows.

“Give it back,” she demands.

“It wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“I claimed it as mine.”

“Did you?” Aemond’s eye lights up in flames. From this close, she can almost sense the heat. “Is it as simple as that?”

“It is.”

She doesn’t expect him to truly return the pendant into her waiting hand, and her eyebrows furrow in surprise when he does. Aemond says nothing more. His expression is meticulously crafted—it is layers upon layers of riddles that she does not know how to solve. She imagines peeling them off one by one and finding him as he is—bare before her eyes. She wonders what she’d find written over his face when it is unspoiled by composure.

His fingers briefly tickle the skin of her palm before they’re gone. They leave a searing trail in their wake.

“It’s a poor disguise.” Aemond eyes the hood that falls onto her forehead, and the few curls that cascade down her face in silver streaks. “If you want to sneak out into the city, you ought to be more clever.”

She scowls. “And you, of course, know everything about it.”

There is contemplation in his eye. He rids himself of the smiles that she doesn’t recognise, and puts on a calculating face that she’s seen many times before. It makes him look more familiar. Most of the times that their paths cross, she finds him lost deep in thought.

“Come.”

She eyes his outstretched hand with scepticism.

He will likely drag her back to the Red Keep—to the judging stares and stinging reprimands and her mother’s burning disappointment. There is nothing she loathes more than being forced to endure interrogations regarding her behaviour. She will be scolded, as if it is a crime that she, a girl, has decided to experience something more than feigned propriety.

She thinks she would rather stay within the dirt and stench of the city.

Aemond hums in response to her silence, and the sound is so low that she needs to chase it through the clamour of the street. There is something akin to understanding that appears on his face.

His hand remains still.

“Do you wish to see the city or not?”

She blinks, perplexed, and it takes a mere moment for her fingers to lace with his. His are warmer than hers; heat engulfs her, and she unconsciously presses against him with doubled force.

When her eyes return to his face, Aemond is already watching her. He leans towards her. His breath tickles her cheek.

“Stay close,” Aemond orders. He stands in such proximity that they breathe the same air. “And don’t be a brat.”

She lets him tighten his hold on her hand, and soon they are walking the path side by side.

Aemond shows her the city in all its glory, and not once does his grip waver.

She spends the night tracing the remnants of his fingertips on her skin.

He smells of smoke.

It is a cloudless day, and she has decided to forsake the red walls of the castle in favour of the sun-soaked yard. There is only the scent of grass and parchment. It is why she senses him before he speaks. He permeates the air like he owns it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your septa?”

The skin of her palm tingles with the memory of his touch; she clutches at the silken fabric of her dress, if only to smother the sudden urge to hold something between her fingers. There is a large tome in her lap, and she flicks the pages absentmindedly, determined not to look at him.

She hasn’t seen him since their escapade through the streets of King’s Landing. It is not that she avoids him—only she does, because it feels as if the line between them that she’s known all her life became blurred. She searches for its remains and finds them long shattered. There is void space in its stead that she knows not what to make of

“Shouldn’t you mind your own business, uncle?”

She hears him snort quietly. There is a rustling sound that follows, and soon Aemond’s arm is brushing against hers. It is a feather-like touch, but she freezes all the same.

He smells of smoke. Fire. Scorching flames. Her skin burns beneath the sleeve of her dress in all places he has touched.

“The Seven-Pointed Star,” Aemond reads, blissfully unaware of her turmoil. “I didn’t take you for a woman of faith.”

Slowly, a little hesitantly, she turns her face towards him. His own is perfectly neutral, but she finds a glimpse of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. She squints at him, feigning offence.

“Did you take me for a woman of sin, then?”

He doesn’t answer. She supposes it is an answer in its own right. Before she can think it through, her arm shoots forward; she elbows him in the side and smiles at the startled gasp that leaves his mouth.

It is a nice sound. Her cheeks warm.

When her eyes return to the book, she finds herself eager to continue the conversation, though whatever it is that urges her to do so remains unclear.

“Septa Marlow is under the impression that I lack virtue,” she says, voice dripping with venom. She glances at him, suddenly needing to add a rushed, “It’s a vile accusation.”

Septa Marlow is a cunt. Her mother will not say it aloud, but she knows that they both hate the woman with equal passion. The septa is stuck in her old ways, and no longer remembers youth well enough to comprehend it. Her teachings persist only for the sake of upholding etiquette, and only for as long as it’s necessary.

Not much longer. She is almost a woman grown.

Aemond chuckles. “Certainly.”

She shoots him a withering look. The corners of his lips tremble; he seems to be holding back another fit of laughter, and she narrows her eyes at the sight.

“Do you disagree?”

He faces her fully, and she can now see the scar marring his skin. It looks softer in sunlight; its edges blend with his flesh. She traces its shape and length; wanders through every inch. If she tried to touch it—to caress it with gentle fingers—would he move away? Would he give her his scorn, and his anger, and would the fire that they share turn deadly? Aemond keeps the scar out of sight for a reason. He must hate her for looking at it.

But Aemond doesn’t shy away from her gaze. He doesn’t seem to mind the way she is watching him; his body tilts towards hers, and now both their elbows and their knees touch.

He’s beautiful. It is a thought that never once crossed her mind, and yet it’s true. Sunny spells hit his face in all the right places, and the purples of his eye glow, and the sight of him steals her breath away.

When he speaks, it is closer to a whisper, as though meant for her ears alone.

“I wouldn’t dare question your virtue, sweet niece.”

Fire returns, stronger than she remembered it to be. It’s all she knows.

“Good.”

Silence befalls them again, and her eyes revert back to the tome in her hands.

They widen when nimble fingers grab the book. It is gone from her grasp before she can blink. She opens her mouth to scold him; to demand that he give it back, even though she doesn’t truly want it.

Words die on her tongue when the heavy weight of the old tome is replaced by softness in the hues of silver-whites.

Aemond’s head is in her lap.

Her heartbeat jumps.

She stares at him, and then around the yard, and then once again at him. They are sitting in a fairly private area of the yard, but she knows that they’re never truly spared from eyes that are hungry for controversy. Someone will see. Someone will see, and then talk, and soon they will become yet another spectacle for vicious tongues. Protests rise to her lips—numerous, and each of them quite rational. Surely, he will see reason.

But then he turns, and his eye reflects the sun, and she forgets what she wanted to say, or why she wanted to say it, or why it matters if they were discovered at all.

He looks so peaceful. She’s never seen an expression quite this soft on his face. There is a trace of pink on his cheek, and his lips are curved, and he eyes her with emotion she cannot fathom.

She couldn’t possibly disturb him when his face is smoothed with serenity. Just a little longer, she thinks. She wants to see him like this for a few more stolen moments.

“Go on, then,” Aemond says without a care. “Read to me.”

Her mouth is dry. She clears her throat and hopes that her face doesn’t betray her.

“My lap isn’t your spot to rest on.”

Except it is. She will not say it—she’ll never say it—but having him this close feels right. Like this, his softness is for her eyes only.

“I have just claimed it as mine.” His eye speaks in a language of pure intensity, and in response she burns. “Is it not as simple as that?”

She bites her tongue and says nothing else, and the stray strands of his hair tickle her arms. Her skin is on fire. She’s sure that her cheeks are, too.

When she reads to him, she prays that her voice does not waver.

The feast thrown on her name day is a boastful one. She weaves her way through crowds of faces she doesn’t recognise, and pleasantries fall from her lips as befitting the daughter of a royal household.

A woman grown. It seems half the realm had been eagerly waiting for her to come of age. She is mostly surrounded by men, and they all appear to be looking for excuses to touch her.

She is in search for any of her brothers, hoping for a moment of respite from the dancing. It isn’t that she dislikes it, but she has long since grown tired of foreign hands palming her body as though they owned it. She would rather dance with Jace, or even Luke whose clumsiness precedes him—or all by herself, uncaring for the crowds that wish to sink their claws into her.

Respite evades her. Just when she spots familiar heads made of brown curls, another stranger forces his way into her personal space. The man is twice her age, and she immediately finds herself repulsed by the leering expression that he cares not to veil for something more respectful.

His palms are clammy. They will surely leave stains on her skin.

The man leads her towards the centre of the hall, and his spine is straightened in a pathetic display of pride. His hands find her hips before she can protest; his grip is harsh, verging on bruising.

The dance couldn’t last longer. Her head spins from the force with which the man whirls her around, and she must steady herself by gripping his shoulders, even if the prospect disgusts her. She prays that Daemon sees them; that he comes with his sword in hand, ready to spill blood.

But it isn’t Daemon that grabs the man by the arm and sends him backwards. It isn’t Daemon that takes her hand into his own, shielding her from the eyes of the stranger.

She is at peace. Safe. Fire licks at her skin and sinks deep into her bones.

Aemond remains silent. He leads her away from the man, not sparing him a glance. As always, his hand is warm.

“Uncle.” She cannot help but grin. “It would have been more polite to wait your turn.”

He hums, quick to find the right steps. He is a good dancer. His body was made for it.

“Would you rather have him paw at you like an animal?”

She twirls, and the colours of her dress blur into a rainbow.

Aemond is a pitch-black spot against the canvas of vibrant hues. She is drawn to him; drawn to his darkness, and the violet of his eye that disrupts it. Her palm finds his, and she bites back a smile when he boldly presses his skin to hers.

It is not a dance meant for touching.

“What if I liked it?”

Once more, she spins.

They stand back to back, and her spine tingles from the proximity. He is close; too close. His scent is all she can feel.

He has corrupted her with his disregard for propriety. She knows it, because not once does she consider what their family would say if they saw them.

“Did you like it?”

Heat spreads from her back towards her chest. There are many things she has come to like, and none of them are quite related to some unnamed lords.

She could say it. Whisper every perversity her mind has conjured.

But more often than not, their short exchanges seem to be a game that none of them truly understands. She must keep playing. It is what keeps him returning for more.

She turns around to face him and shrugs. “I’m not made of glass. There is no need to handle me gently.”

There is a beat, and silence, and hands itching to touch. Suddenly, without any warning, she is pulled into Aemond’s embrace; a gasp escapes her throat when she feels his hand tighten around her waist.

His fingers dig into the flesh of her hip. He holds her firmly against his chest, and she imagines their bodies blending together into one.

There is nothing appropriate about this kind of proximity. She stands before him as a woman, and he holds her like a man would, and surely no one sees through the flames that have flared around them. This—whatever it is—belongs to them alone.

But her skin tingles.

“Uncle,” she pants, face scarlet red with something unspoken. It is not shame, but something of a darker nature. She is not yet ready to name it. “People are looking at us.”

“Let them look,” he says, and each word has his lips brushing against her ear.

They are so close that she feels his heartbeat. It is as quick as hers.

Not alone. They’re not alone.

“Aemond.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

She doesn’t. He must know that she doesn’t. There is something perverse about his hands on her body—right there, in a hall full of strangers and curious gazes. In the centre of everything. She would gladly let him hold her like this forever—until everyone in the hall understands that she is his, and it is his arms that she belongs in.

“I do,” she says instead.

In a rush of boldness, with utter disregard for her own words, she presses her chest closer to his.

She hardly knows where her body ends and his begins, and if she wanted to—oh, how she wants to—she could step onto her toes and reach towards his lips—

“You're not very convincing,” Aemond whispers into her hair, and then his hands are gone.

He leaves her amidst crowds, surrounded by dozens of onlookers, and yet she sees nothing but the lines of his shrinking silhouette.

It is hours later that she lays amidst silken bedcovers, a sheen of sweat clinging to her bared body, and furiously rubs the spot right between her legs. Her teeth are clenched, and her eyes are burning with vexation, and her hand is not enough. It’s not enough.

She is half-sprawled atop the wooden table.

Her braids have long since come undone, and her hair now cascades down her back like a shield. She plays with one of the strands, curling it around her finger. Her other hand flips the pages of whatever book she is pretending to read.

The library is quiet. It is located deep enough into Maegor’s Holdfast that she knows none of her siblings will find her. It offers the kind of solitude no other place in the Red Keep ensures. Dozens of shelves thrice her height have been installed within the walls, all filled with the oldest and rarest of volumes in the realm.

She cares not for the scent of parchment. It is not books that she came for.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A small smile creeps onto her lips.

She knew he would come. His presence no longer takes her by surprise. Everywhere she goes, Aemond dutifully follows; no longer does she need to search for him in dark corners.

He is her shadow.

Every day, she breathlessly waits for night to come.

“Aemond.”

“Niece.” His footsteps echo through the walls. “It nears the hour of the owl.”

She rubs the tiredness from her eyes and swallows the yawn that has crawled up her throat. The book is now forgotten; she pushes it away, no longer interested in keeping up the pretence of studying its contents. When she turns, she does it slowly, if only to conceal her traitorous eagerness.

It is too dark. All she sees is a mark of silver painted on pitch-black canvas. His face is shielded from her view, and she bites back the bitter disappointment. She has gone the entire day without a single glimpse of him.

“Why do you care?”

Her eyes trace the outline of his silhouette. He strides towards the chair in front of her, and though she wishes he would sit beside her instead, she appreciates the closeness all the same.

The table is too large. She should have chosen a different one.

The air grows heavier, like it always does when she is with him.

“A princess shouldn’t be spending her time alone in the darkness.”

She wishes he could see her coy smile; wonders if he would offer her one of the private smirks she now knows by heart, or if he’d playfully scold her, or throw a comment that would induce a blush in response.

“It is a good thing, then, that you’ve found me.”

“Yes,” Aemond murmurs, and his voice is so guttural that she nearly melts at the sound. “It is.”

Then it is them, and silence, and darkness. It seems to have become a usual setting for their meetings, as though they required the shroud of night’s secrecy to conceal something illicit.

It isn’t wrong. Whatever it is—whatever looms above their heads—it is not wrong.

Absentmindedly, she reaches for the book; as always, he is quicker.

Their hands meet. There is nothing innocent about the touch, and she no longer desires to pretend that she is not burning. Aemond’s fingers trace the skin of her palm; tickle it, and she bites her lip at the sensation. It lasts only for a short moment—too short, never enough—and then his touch is gone, and so is the book.

She wishes he would forgo this restraint. She has long since grown tired of it.

“I was reading this,” she lies.

“Were you?”

She wants to tear the tome away from his grasp, if only for their hands to touch once more.

“No.”

“No,” Aemond repeats lowly.

If there was any light, she imagines that she’d find his eye intense and hungry; or maybe playful, betraying his endless desire to leave her breathless. He would look at her without a trace of shame, just like he always does. He would set her alight with one glance alone.

There is a thudding sound that cuts through silence. It breaks her out of reverie, and she flinches, squinting into the darkness.

Silver wisps cut through the air. Then they’re gone.

She straightens her spine, brows furrowed in confusion. It looks like he dropped the book and bent to pick it up, only she cannot see his hair. She opens her mouth, not quite understanding this particular game of his, until she feels it.

Something slithers up the skirts of her dress. Fingers wrap around her ankle, and then the other one, and suddenly her legs are forcefully parted. She gasps, and the sound echoes against the empty walls.

“Be quiet, niece,” comes Aemond’s muffled voice. “You’re in a library.”

This is madness. She cannot let it happen—cannot let him touch her like this, right there—

Aemond’s hands slide higher up her legs.

Her muscles tremble. He holds her with enough strength that she cannot escape his grip, forced to yield. Her vision swims, and there are only his hands—his hands—

He uses them skilfully. She has seen him hold a sword, and he now holds her skin with equal passion. His fingertips draw patterns down the length of her shins, and if she could—if she wasn’t possessed by a blinding desire—she would try to discern their meaning.

She feels his breath on her knee.

A small moan falls from her lips, and she clasps her hand over her mouth to cover it. It’s too late. He’s heard it.

Aemond’s grip turns vice-like.

He sears circles into her thigh. One of his hands is replaced by something softer, plushier, and she knows that it must be his lips atop her skin. He leaves fiery kisses on both her knees, and her heart gets stuck in her throat, threatening to jump out.

Higher, she thinks, and immediately bites her lip to prevent herself from begging aloud. If he moved his mouth higher—just a bit, only a bit—he would find out how much she needs him. Her desire has long since become choking. It takes a single brush of his skin against hers to get her slick and wet and ready.

Her skin is engulfed by flames. She must be touched, she must be touched—

Aemond’s lips are gone. She holds back a whimper when she feels fingertips brushing against her thigh in a parting gesture—little more than a caress, gone sooner than it came.

She closes her legs when Aemond’s head resurfaces from underneath the table.

Empty. She remains painfully empty.

“You should return to your chambers.” Aemond stands from the ground. He sounds cocky. “Who knows what lurks in the darkness.”

In the privacy of her bedchamber, she finds the mark that he left on her thigh. It is there for her eyes only. The mark haunts her, and she finds no sleep.

“I know you’re there.”

It seems that they only ever exchange words in darkness. Just today, she was seated opposite him during dinner, and he didn’t look at her once. She wonders if it is fear that holds him back in daylight. Her own fingers forever burn with the desire to hold him, and more often than not, she forgets about the reality of their relationship. Perhaps avoiding each other in the presence of others is safer. They were never meant to burn together.

Her steps halt.

“I’m beginning to think you’re looking for trouble.”

She bites back a grin. “What if I am?”

Finally, he emerges from the shadows. She looks at him without a hint of shame; traces the line of his jaw, and his nose, and the purples of his eye. His hair looks soft. She finds herself overtaken by the desire to grasp it with her fingers and tug.

“You’ve found it.”

“Have I?” she says, and her throat is oddly dry. She watches him, and he watches her, and flames arise. “You don’t look much like trouble to me.”

Aemond’s steps are slow. She has learned their pattern by heart. He has a habit of moving at a leisurely pace, and more often than not, she imagines that it’s yet another way of tormenting her. He knows of her impatience and aims to use it to his advantage.

When he stops, he is still outside of her reach. He raises an eyebrow challengingly.

“What about now?”

It is another game, and she shakes her head because she must.

Aemond hums. His eye wanders down her neck, and her skin prickles underneath his gaze. She holds her breath when he takes another step forward.

Still, he is not close enough.

“And now, niece?” Aemond asks. “Do I look like trouble?”

“No,” she breathes.

His scent wafts through the air, and she ravenously inhales it. Aemond’s eye darkens. He moves closer, and she laces her fingers together in order not to reach out for him.

Maybe she should stifle the last of self-control. Maybe she should grab him by the collar of his riding leathers; pull him as close as she needs him to be. Sometimes, it feels as though he is waiting for her to do it. To make the first move.

Before her contemplation turns into action, his fingers catch the skirts of her gown. She takes a gulp of air when he easily tugs her closer.

“No?” Aemond mutters.

He studies her mouth in silent deliberation, and it prompts her to take her bottom lip between teeth. His nostrils flare.

“No,” she repeats firmly.

His smile is pure sin.

“Good.”

Aemond’s lips claim hers before she can say anything else. Words die on her tongue, and she scarcely remembers what it was that she wanted to say at all. His skin is scorching hot, and his mouth is demanding, and when she gasps into his mouth, he swallows the sound like a man starved.

She throws her hands around his neck before he disappears; before once more he flees from her touch. He is both soft and solid, and her fingertips go alight from the fire flowing through his veins. Aemond pushes into her, and soon her spine connects with the stone wall. His hands wander over her body, tugging impatiently at the endless pieces of material that separate them.

His kisses are flames. None of her dreams have done them justice. Her tongue dances as led by his own, and her teeth graze his bottom lip, and she can no longer think straight when he whimpers into her mouth.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, and she drinks up the words straight from his tongue.

She pulls him closer, closer, and he hitches her leg over his hip, and she thinks that there is no going back from it. She will forever be cursed with the memory of his taste.

Her lips are full of him even when he’s gone.

She is a woman possessed by madness.

An entire moon has passed, and he hasn’t touched her once. It is as though he forgot that she exists; as though her existence meant nothing at all. Distance stretches between them, sharp and thorned, and it cuts through her skin with vicious force. She burns with want. She burns until there is nothing left but ashes.

When she dreams, it is of his lips. Their taste has long faded, and though she chases the memory every night, she is left with emptiness. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s dying of hunger. She must taste him again. If she won’t, she thinks she’ll wither away.

She once thought that his teasing touch was torture. It’s only now—only when it’s gone—that knows it is the lack of it that elicits true torment.

It’s been three days since she saw him last. Even their last meeting was only in brief; he was gone as soon as her eyes found him amidst crowds of the Red Keep, his steps too quick for her to catch up with.

He has left her to burn alone. Now the flames have grown wild and lethal, and she succumbs to this insanity because she must.

She stays close to the stone wall.

It is nighttime, and most of the residents have retired to their bedchambers. The corridors are empty, guarded only in a few spots; her footsteps echo through the walls, accompanied by complete silence. She appreciates the semblance of privacy that has come with sunset. It is easier to slip by unnoticed when the lights are subdued.

Less than an hour ago, she caught a glimpse of Aemond in the courtyard, sword in his hand. He looked composed as ever, and by the end of the training session his forehead was sheen with sweat. It is what brought about this madness—the sight of him panting for breath.

It’s why she follows him now. He is quick on his feet, and so quiet that she cannot even hear him. All she sees is the broadness of his shoulders and silver-white wisps resting on his back.

She moves faster, determined not to lose him. Her pace turns unrelenting; she watches Aemond reach for the gilded knob. Just before the doors close behind him, she slips inside.

His bedchamber is swallowed by darkness. It is the first thing she sees; her eyes strain, eager to scan the entirety of the room. It looks pristine. His inclination for tidiness doesn’t astound her. She now knows that he keeps all his chaos leashed, preferring to build walls of purity around himself.

She sees through it all. Knows his vices by heart.

Aemond watches her without a trace of surprise. He must have known, then, that she was hunting him down.

It is different this time. The air is thicker. They are alone, and no one can enter his bedchamber without explicit permission. He must realise it. The purple of his eye is darker, and all she finds in it is desire.

Because it is him who has this time become prey, she is the first to make a move.

“I’m here, uncle. I came to you.”

It takes only one step for their chests to come closer, now on the verge of pressing together. Aemond’s face is a perfect image of indifference, but she knows better. There is something dangerous in his eye. She must push further than this to draw it out.

Her eyes go round with feigned innocence, and his own become hooded.

She wonders if his lips still taste the same.

“Won’t you touch me?” she whispers, never letting her gaze falter.

Aemond’s face remains carved in stone. “Perhaps you should ask nicely.”

It is as though he had struck her.

A beat passes, and she knows not what to say. Her mouth is dry. Her hands itch from the constant urge to sink into his flesh.

“Ask?”

He repeats without hesitation, “Ask.”

She bites her tongue hard enough to wince.

It was foolish of her to come. He must think her desperate; corrupt, with her displayed flesh pulsating from the desire to be touched. She is wanton and wicked, and shame burns her cheeks upon the realisation.

A woman of sin.

If he wanted to, he would have touched her already. He would take her into his arms, and breathe in her scent, and bury his fingers deep in her soul. If he wanted to, all hesitation would shatter into pieces, and there would be no need to collect them anymore.

And yet his hands remain still.

She must have been wrong. So, so wrong.

With her eyes stinging, stubbornly downcast, she moves towards the door. If she leaves quickly enough, perhaps he’ll forget she was there at all. Perhaps she’ll awaken the next day and it will all turn out to have been a nightmare. Perhaps she—

Aemond’s hand clutches her forearm. His touch is gentle but firm; she can feel his fingers slither around her skin, closing his grip to prevent her from moving.

She holds her breath. All air is gone.

“Ask,” he says again, “and you shall have it.”

He pushes into her from behind, and his heat engulfs her in wild flames. Aemond’s chest presses against the length of her spine; his hair tickles her skin. She bites her lip when his nose brushes her cheek.

Her heart beats in a wild tune. Does his own match it?

It must. Surely, it must.

“Ask.”

There is something desperate about him; something in his tone that whispers in a language she knows by heart. He is half-begging. She recognises it, because he has done the same in her dreams.

She yields. Utterly. Completely.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

He does.

Aemond grabs her hips and turns her around, and all softness she has come to know him for is gone. His eye is blown wide; it burns, it burns, it burns.

The kiss is bruising. His tongue enters her mouth before she can reciprocate; her spine connects with the surface of the door, and she welcomes the chill it provides with relief. Aemond’s lips are demanding and forceful, and he gasps into her mouth when her hands finally touch his bare skin. She digs her fingers into his neck, and tugs at his hair, and pulls him closer. It is not enough. She needs their mouths to mould into one—to never separate again.

He kisses her without his past control. She gasps for air, and Aemond breathes out into her skin, refusing to let go. His teeth nibble at her bottom lip, and she swallows down a whimper.

His fingers find her neck. The rings that adorn them are cold.

“Here?” he pants, breathless. “Do you want me to touch you here?”

She wraps his hair around her fingers, searching for an anchor. Her head swims, and all air is gone, and if it weren’t for his grip on her hip, she would crumble to the floor. Aemond groans when she pulls at the strands in her hand; she wants to bottle the sound and keep it as hers forever.

“Yes,” she whispers into his lips.

Aemond’s hand wraps around her throat; she sees stars.

Their tongues are at war, and she matches his tempo with determination. He tastes like smoke. Like the sun. Like oxygen. His thumb comes up to stroke her cheek, and the gentleness of this touch is a stark contrast to the way he devours her. She throbs with want. Now that she has touched him, she doesn’t think she could ever stop.

She didn’t know it could feel like this.

Because she’s possessed by greed, she breathes out a quiet, needy, “More.”

Aemond’s lips part with hers, and she immediately wishes to cry out in protest.

She burns under the weight of his gaze. Without once taking his eye off hers, Aemond’s hand leaves her throat, trailing down to her collarbone. His touch is feather-like; fingers tickle her skin. She sucks in air when his hand moves lower, playing with the lace neckline. One of his fingertips sneaks beneath the fabric.

“Should I touch you here?”

His hand boldly grabs her breast. She has never been touched like this. Her mouth dries, and she pushes her chest into Aemond’s grasp, flushing at the low hum he lets out in response. His lips find a spot on her neck that has her panting, and he sucks at the sensitive skin with such ardour that she’s certain he’ll leave a mark.

She moans when his fingers find her pebbled nipple and flick against it, and the wanton sound induces hot shame. He touches her through the fabric of her dress, and it is not enough. She needs more. She needs everything.

Embarrassed, she covers her mouth with her hand.

Aemond’s eye flashes with a wicked glint.

“Here?” he asks, pinching the nipple.

The sound that escapes her throat is smothered by her palm. Desperate, suspended on the verge of madness, she nods. Aemond’s lips curve into a smile, but his fingers refuse to give in.

Their lips touch when he whispers, “Say it.”

And because she’d do anything, anything, her hand obediently falls down.

“Please.”

“How prettily you beg.”

There is a tearing sound; she watches Aemond rip the corset of her dress apart, tugging it down so that her chest is exposed. She has no time to cover herself in scarlet shame, nor to complain about him ruining her favourite gown. His mouth finds her nipple, and she cries out when he sucks at it.

She knows nothing but his tongue that swirls around the nipple in torturous circles; nothing but his teeth when he bites down. Aemond presses her body further into the door, and there is not an inch left that separates them. They are one. Her arms hold him tightly. If she lets go, she will collapse.

His lips are gone. Before she can object, Aemond slides his palms lower—between her breasts, down her waist, over the curve of her hip bone. He sinks to his knees before her, and she watches, wide-eyed and unable to move. Aemond’s hand catches the skirt of her dress and hitches it upwards, bunching the fabric so that her skin is on display. His fingers find her bare thigh, and they are quick to wrap around its width. She whimpers when he pushes her legs apart, forcing himself in between. When he puts her knee over his shoulder, holding her upright with the sheer strength of his arms, she is gone.

“You have cursed me,” he murmurs into her skin, lips nibbling at her inner thigh. “I spend my days thinking of you.”

Her mouth parts; she gasps for air, chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Aemond’s hold on her thigh tightens when she squirms in his arms.

“I spend my nights dreaming of you.”

His sinful lips traverse the expanse of her exposed skin. They move higher, higher, and her muscles twitch with anticipation. He’s too slow, and her hips involuntarily push forward, seeking his touch. Aemond cruelly holds her still. She’s convinced that he’ll leave her skin bruised; convinced that before he reaches the spot where she aches most, she will have died from this torture.

When his tongue first touches her cunt, her vision blurs.

It feels nothing like her fingers. He is skilful and hungry, and the wet muscle laps at her clit in furious motions. Moans spill from her lips, and she has long since forgotten all about propriety. It means little when Aemond’s head is buried between her thighs; when the sinful act feels this holy. All thoughts dissolve into nothing, wiped away with his expert tongue. Aemond’s grip turns vice-like. There is nothing she can do but take whatever he wants to give.

Her clit pulsates from the onslaught. He spits, and then licks up the saliva, rubbing it in between her folds, and she nearly squeals at the sensation. It’s wet and filthy, and when he moans into her cunt, sending chills down her spine, she knows she won’t last much longer.

“Aemond,” she gasps, because his name is the only thing she knows anymore. “Aemond.”

Whines fall from her lips, and she no longer cares to smother them. Her hips rock, and his mouth keeps moving against her cunt, and she can’t, she can’t—

Right there, with his wicked tongue inside her, she erupts.

It’s like a storm. A wildfire. She shatters into thousands of pieces, and Aemond dutifully collects them all, drinking up everything that she offers. Her body rocks, and he soothes her with his touch and keeps her still. Their hands are joined, though she doesn’t recall the moment when they first touched. Aemond doesn’t stop until her gasps turn into cries. Before he moves away, his lips plant one more kiss right on her oversensitive clit.

Her body trembles. Aemond pulls her down, and she allows herself to be led by his hands. His touch is strong and gentle, and she cannot quite believe that he’s real. He puts her thighs around his waist; right there, on the cold ground, she straddles his lap. Aemond’s fingers weave through her hair, and he brushes them away from her face with such gentleness that she thinks she might weep.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks. “Such a pretty girl.”

For a moment, they just breathe. Their chests heave with equal fervour, and there is only silence and tender caresses. Her fingers trace the curve of his cheek; she follows its shape, searing it deep into her memory. She wants to remember this. Every detail.

Aemond’s mouth glistens in the spells of moonlight. He is wet with her. Her trembling fingers collect the moisture, and when she brings them to her lips and wraps her tongue around them, he groans.

Involuntarily, her hips rock. She sees him swallow down another sound.

Not once did he demand that she touch him. Aemond is hard beneath her, and yet he stubbornly clings to the restraint she thought to be long erased.

As though he didn’t think himself deserving of her touch.

“Take it off.” Her fingers reach for the eyepatch that separates them, tugging lightly. “I will see all of you.”

He eyes her with emotion she cannot name.

There is something achingly vulnerable about him. She watches as Aemond’s trembling hand reaches for the leather strap, brushing against hers in a feather-like manner. His good eye drops to the ground beside them, and she is quick to put her palms on his face.

She wants him to see himself as she sees him. To rid himself of whatever shame clings to his soul. She wants him to know that all she finds in him is heart-wrenching beauty.

“Aemond,” she whispers. Her fingers find the clasp, and she awaits his permission.

He hesitates. His gaze is dark. She counts the seconds, prepared to let go, but his voice stops her.

“Whatever you want,” he says at last. “It is yours. It is yours.”

Just like that, the eyepatch is gone. The scar stretches from above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek, and although her hands are shaking, she reaches to stroke the mangled flesh.

Aemond wheezes. She catches the slightest trembling of his lips. His head drops, and for a moment she fears that he’ll move away from her, but he doesn’t. He pushes closer, as though seeking warmth. She will give it to him. She’ll give him whatever he wants.

He seems at war with himself, both touch-starved and unable to give in. But then he faces her once more. Her eyes trace the scar, and she bites back a gasp when she sees the sapphire in the place of his eye.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, because he is.

When he says nothing, she replaces her fingers with lips. She kisses every inch of the slash, and his sharp inhale is the only answer she receives. It is enough. She just needs him to know that she wants him as he is.

Aemond’s arms wrap around her waist, and it is enough. It’s everything she wants.

“I dream of you,” he tells her. “Of this.”

She opens her mouth, prepared to pour her heart out—to confess the lengths of her own desire, and the way it has rendered her mad. But Aemond grabs her hips, breaking them out of tranquility, and pulls the dress up so that it no longer sets them apart. She sees questions in his eye, though she doesn’t understand why he feels the need to ask them. Surely, he knows how deep the roots of her want go.

Wordlessly, she reaches for the laces of his leathers. It is enough of an answer; Aemond’s face softens, and then their lips collide again.

There are so many layers between them. Too many. She claws at his shirt, and he tears the last shreds of her bodice, and then they are skin to skin. She touches every single part of him, learning his shapes and curves. His body is toned, and his skin bears multiple small scars that must have come from a sword, and he is soft. Warm. Hers.

Aemond’s fingers find her entrance. She is slick for him—aching, pulsating, dripping. He circles her clit and swallows her moan, and then he is knuckle-deep inside her.

“Please,” she whines, though she knows not what she’s begging for.

His finger thrusts, and then it curls, touching a spot she never knew existed. She throws her head back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Aemond attaches his lips to her throat.

Release comes in waves, quicker than the previous one. It crashes into her body with full force, and she is helpless against the currents. Before she comes down, Aemond lifts her up and buries his cock in her cunt.

It hurts. It hurts, and he holds her close, and she whimpers into his mouth. Aemond is patient with her. He peppers her face with kisses, sighing into her skin, and stills his movements. The stretch burns, and she cannot help but clench around him. Her hips move on their own accord; her body chases what it inherently wants.

There is tenderness in his eye. It’s enough for her body to melt.

Aemond grunts and pushes deeper into her. The pace is slow, agonising, and she cannot take it. Her muscles spasm beneath his hands; she is completely at his mercy, waiting for each thrust. She tugs at his hair and whispers into his ear, demanding that he fuck her properly.

Time stills. Her clit throbs, and she aims to seek relief with her own fingers, but then Aemond pulls her hand away. The hunger in his eye has turned dangerous. It’s more black than purple.

“As you wish.”

She whimpers when he grabs her by the thighs and moves her body away from the door. He pushes her into the ground, spreading her dress beneath her back to soften the surface, and climbs atop her. His moves are frantic, and there is a glow on his features that must reflect her own. His hair tickles her face. She gives him a beaming smile, and his breath hitches.

His cock drives into her, and at the same moment his sinful fingers find her clit. She cries out. Her eyes roll back, and she tries to close her legs, trembling from the onslaught of pleasure. Aemond grabs her knees and holds them apart. Her dripping cunt is on full display; she sees him watch the place where they’re connected, his lips swollen and eyes glazed over. Aemond rubs her clit and thrust into her like a madman, and the bedchamber is bathed in sounds of clapping skin and wanton moans.

She makes no sound when she peaks. Her mouth falls open as she convulses beneath him, and Aemond pushes his fingers down her throat.

“One more,” he grunts. “Give me one more.”

Her body trembles. She can’t. No more, no more—

But Aemond’s torturous fingers keep flicking against her nub, and his rock-hard length twitches deep inside her, and she can’t stop. She can’t stop.

She is boneless. Her spine arches, and Aemond topples over her chest, and their orgasms come at once. They’re amidst clouds, suspended in the air; above turbulent waters; high enough to be scorched by the sun.

They burn. Together, they burn.

Their hearts beat in the same tune. Aemond puts his hand on her chest, in the hollow between her breasts, and she weaves her fingers into his hair. When he looks at her, all she sees is scorching affection.

He stays buried inside her, as though equally reluctant to let their bodies part. Purple and sapphire glow in the dark, and she watches him, breathless and enthralled, unable to look away.

“I have claimed you,” he whispers into the night.

Her eyes are soft. With her fingertips, she writes letters down the length of his spine. She knows the words, though for now they remain invisible to the eye. Aemond looks at her with awe, hands still warm against her cheeks as he holds her. She wishes she could hear his thoughts. Wonders if she’d find remorse and guilt, and the desire to turn back time.

There is no regret in her heart. This—their bodies woven into one—was fated. His first touch planted a seed inside her, and its destiny was to bloom.

“Then I’m yours.”

His hands find hers, and there is only fire.

[paranoiastudio]

Lady Strong

pairing: Aemond Targaryen х f!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, angry sex, oral (m for f), reader is Laris Stronge daughter

word count: 1,4k

English is not my first language, sorry about mistakes

- He's like a snake that's been stepped on. - The doors to the Small Council close and you lean back against them.

Aemond is still sitting at the head of the table, where his brother had been just a few days ago, staring at you.

As always, you feel unsure and nervous under his gaze. That's what attracted you to him; few could make you lose your cool.

- What did you tell him?

- What i had to say. - He evades the question and looks away. An unpleasant chill runs down the back of your neck, a sure sign that something is wrong.

- That's not an answer. - You move around the chamber, the only sound being the rustle of your dress. Aemond says nothing more, only watches you, as if expecting an attack to come.

- I asked him to send for my grandfather. - Aemond lets you take a glass from the table. - I will appoint him Hand again.

- Interesting... - You take a sip. - Dornish wine?

A quiet "uh-huh" was your answer and you take another sip, usually your father did not allow you to drink undiluted wine, emphasizing the importance of maintaining a sober mind.

- And what about my father?

- He is still on the Council... For now.

- And?

- What else do you want to hear? - Targaryen smiles, an insolent smirk twisting his thin lips. - Did you really think that because I fuck you, I would curry favor with your slippery father?

- How dare you speak to me like that?

- I am the prince regent now, it is you who behave inappropriately, barging in here and starting arguments you cannot win.

You spill the contents of the glass, scarlet droplets of wine running down Aemond face and doublet, he closes his good eye. You are not ashamed, it was you who helped him get to where he is now. You deserve respect.

- I am not a mare, my prince! And do not forget about the friends who were with you from the very beginning. Especially since sex...

Aemond pays you with your coin. You knew that you brought him out and were ready, the wine flies past you and ends up on the floor, in the place from which you dodged.

- Missed! - You rejoice like a child, and, leaving the glass on the edge of the table, head for the exit.

You hear footsteps behind you, Aemond can easily catch up with you and press you to the table, you hit the hard edge painfully with your hips and hiss with anger.

- How can such an intelligent woman behave like a little child? - The prince's hand is already entangled in your hair, painfully pulling out the hairpins and hairpins. - Didn't I explain your situation to you well enough? Didn't your father teach you how to behave properly? How can he be a good Hand?

You remain silent, clutching the cold edge of the table with your hands and hissing again when Aemond yanks your hair hard, urging you to raise your head.

- Tell me, sweet girl, is your father worthy of this place? - Gods, he bent you down right next to the place of the Hand, not long ago the smartest men sat at this table, and now...

- Let me explain again. - Targaryen lifts the skirts of your dress and runs his long fingers between your thighs.

- Aemond... - A sharp slap on your ass silenced you. - My prince, please...

No one had ever had power over you, even your father was not perceived as a strong figure. But Aemond Targaryen... He seemed to radiate confidence and authority, everything in his image spoke of it and could not help but attract.

The ladies of the court whispered about the prince's scar and his coldness (he did not court the ladies, never danced), despite his status and royal blood, Aemond was not an enviable groom.

Just as the daughter of Laris Strong was not an enviable bride. Your character and the reputation of your house did not play into your hands and so far you have not received a single worthy proposal of marriage. And, having met Aemond Targaryen, you gave yourself to him without hesitation as soon as he asked. To be under his protection, not to think about anything and just take his beautiful member...

- Now are you behaving well? - Another slap falls on your thigh. - I'm afraid if I forgive you right away, you'll continue to behave like a little naughty girl.

Aemond's hands caress your thighs, spread your buttocks and tease the most intimate parts of your body, the places that were now shamelessly exposed to him.

- My sweet girl... - You hear him kneel behind you, and before you can say anything, the prince's hands are replaced by his tongue.

You cover your mouth with your hand, hoping that the guards outside don't hear you. A warm tongue slides along the wet entrance and flicks the plump and needy clitoris. Aemond's hands spread your buttocks further, forcing your legs wider and penetrates you with his tongue.

The prince's handsome nose rests against your pearl and each of his movements gives off a pleasant tremor in your body. The peak grows quickly and you can't hold back a groan of disappointment when Aemond's mouth leaves you.

Two long fingers replace the prince's tongue and he immediately picks up a fast and rough pace, enjoying your sobs and the quiet squelching of your cunt.

- Aemond, please... - You barely get used to the stretching, when the blond prince deprives you of this pleasure. - My king, please!

You can't hold back a scream, because Aemond fills you with a sweeping movement, and, without giving you a second, begins to move.

You hit the table, your hands slide on the cold tabletop, and the tight corset prevents you from breathing normally, but all this seems insignificant at the moment when the prince regent's cock touches that very place inside you again and again.

- Don't stop! - You breathe heavily, lowering your hot cheek onto the cold table. Your hips rise and Aemond penetrates deeper, hoarsely moaning behind your back.

- You like it, right? To be my dirty little whore... - Your pussy clenches even tighter at the words, the way he talks to you lecherously with his perfect voice stirring something dark inside you. - What would your father say about you?

- Don't you dare. - You slap the prince's hands that are clutching your waist. - Now is not the time!

- I'm fucking Larys Strong's daughter in the Small Council chamber after I failed to appoint him Hand. - Aemond slows down slightly. - Now seems like the time.

You push yourself down on him, pushing your hips back. The tension in your body is unbearable and you feel your pussy tremble and suck on the Targaryen's cock harder.

Aemond continues to whisper something, but you can’t focus, overwhelmed by the orgasm that crashed over you like a tsunami.

You gasp for air, all the muscles in your body relax and you scream from the intense stimulation, because Aemond is not done with you yet.

Holding you with one hand, he finds your clit with the other and continues to caress you, chasing his release. It didn’t take him long, so tightly you squeezed him with your hot and tender walls.

- Fuck! - Targaryen leaves your body and spills onto your thighs, red from his grip.

The prince never cum inside, not wanting to burden you both with unwanted children. You took moon tea, but you appreciated this caution in your lover’s behavior.

- I hope we will not return to this conversation anymore. - Aemond kisses your nape and inhales the scent of your long hair.

- I suppose so. - You lean against the man's broad chest. - Is this from your bride?

There was a scroll on the table with the seal of House Baratheon. You knew that Aemond was bound by duty and his flight to Storm's End was no fun, but it was one thing to know about it, and quite another to welcome a daughter of House Baratheon here in the castle.

- Do we have to discuss this now? - Aemond dresses and carefully adjusts your dress.

- Will your future wife not mind that you have me? - You couldn't bring yourself to say "mistress."

- Frankly, I don't care. - Aemond's grip regains its former strength. - If you wish to discuss this matter, I think we will be more comfortable in my chambers.

You may not have been able to improve your father's position, but you seem to have found a cozy place for yourself.

[ficeacs]

Dragons Fight, Little Light (Chapter 2)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon OFC Synopsis: Dragons never apologize for their rashness until they hurt a fellow dragon as well. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Violence, Targcest, Begins with HOTD S1, Not Proofread Word Count: 3,756 Previous Chapter

The day his family had dreaded finally came. The day of Rhaenyra’s return along with her bastard kin. Aemond watched as their dragons, all five of them, danced upon the skies of Kingslanding. One yellow, one red, one green, and two white. One bigger and mightier than the other. He was once again subjected to this… pestering feeling of rage. Rage that he never knew to handle. Aemond felt his scar heat and throb. Throb harder than it ever did before. The prince clenched his fists and headed toward the tiltyard for his daily training. 

Aemond battled with Ser Criston Cole, as he did every day. Morningstar against sword and shield. A knight against a prince. He knew the pattern of Criston’s advances by heart; he would have to admit that most days, he was growing greatly tired of the same sparing styles that the knight had to offer. As the prince readied himself for another round, he caught sight of two boys in Harrenhal blue. The prince grinned. Today, they shall see how great of a warrior he was. As he battled with Criston, he made sure to display his skills, besting the knight. He glimpsed upon the two boys to see if they were truly watching; they were. There was a silent look of awe in the two princes that the Aemond relished upon. Another hit from Cole was blocked, and Aemond turned to the princes once more but saw their attentions were no longer in the fight. “That was in Dragonstone; I am completely behaved here. It is you two who had unending squabbles with our uncles.” He heard the voice of his niece through the chatter of the crowd. His eye was fixated on the girl who was partially covered by her brothers. Dark hair fluttered along with the breeze, and even darker eyes rolled at whatever her brother said. 

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” The prince said as the knight complimented him, though it was mostly a complement to himself. He was the one to train Aemond in the ways of a warrior. The prince’s eye returned to where the three stood. Two boys in blue, one girl in scarlet. The prince watched as pink lips spoke once more. “Let us go; the smell of sweat unsettles me,” she complained, and the prince wanted to scoff at her bellyaching. His eye traced her face. Plain, she is plain. Aemond reminded himself, words that his mother often said. Though even he could not lie to himself anymore. Anyone who could see Rhaenyra’s only daughter cannot say she is plain. Upturned obsidian eyes, a snub nose, and round pink lips. She had inherited naught of her mother’s features but mostly her true father’s. 

“Nephews, have you come to train?” The prince called out and twisted the sword in his hand. He smirked at the look of distaste his niece displayed when her dark eyes finally landed on him. When Vaemond arrived and took the three’s attention, his gaze traveled the girl’s frame. She was shapely, almost… plump. “Now can we go?” The prince heard her ask. “Not so fast,” He quickly said, gaining their attention once more. “You still have not greeted your uncle. Has your stay in Dragonstone made you so impolite?” She made no expression. “Hello, Uncle,”  Was all she said. The amused smirk faded from the silver prince’s lips as he watched Eraena ascend the stairs and leave the tiltyard. Aemond was the prince of the realm; he was her elder, yet she greeted him like any common born. No regard, no curtsies or nods. Disrespectful Bastard. The prince thought. 

When the day of the trial came, Aemond stood stoically with his siblings. Everyone was present, apart from the tardy twins who hurriedly made their way to their mother’s side. Aemond watched with a hard disposition at how cavalier the girl was, striding onto the throne room late with no regard for propriety. “Gods,” Aemond heard his brother say under his breath. “Eraena has certainly grown.” His brother said amused by the princess who stood a few yard lengths from them. Aemond knew of the tone in his brother’s voice, and in this instance, he could understand him. Eraena looked annoyingly breathtaking. The rubies in her hair resembled the conqueror’s crown. She may not be a true born, but now, she looked the part. 

Plain, she is plain. Aemond reminded himself. Trying not to grow distracted by her. “How can Rhaenyra let her daughter wear such a dress,” Aemond heard his mother scoff. “She looks pretty,” Helaena interjected. “That she does,” Aegon agreed, and his brother cringed as he licked his lips, his eyes not leaving the princess. Aemond finally pulled his gaze from the girl and focused on the trial. The prince was growing bored with each passing moment that the succession of Driftmark was discussed. However, watching as Daemon cut through Vaemond’s head with the use of dark sister was like a reward after the dull hours had passed. The prince heard a gasp to his left and saw Eraena’s shocked form turn and hide at her brother’s side. Weak Bastard. The prince thought. 

At supper, Aemond grew bothered by the sappy exchanges of empty words between the family members. What he was bothered most by was the smile on Eraena’s lips, as if she would actually believe that their family would grow closer once more after just one measly dinner. Of course, he had to prove the girl wrong and idiotic by the idea of it. It was so easy to bait Jacaerys; he laughed as the boy practically threw all his might into his punch that barely phased the one-eyed prince. What he did not expect was for Jacaerys’ twin to join the ruckus, able to inflict such pain on his brother. After supper, their mother summoned him and Aegon to her chambers.

“Why would you do such a thing, Aemond?” The queen asked as she paced around the room. The prince shrugged, “You seem to forget that it was Jacaerys who had thrown the first punch.” The prince defended. “Because you insulted him and his siblings,” Aegon’s groan sounded out, and his brother turned to him. The elder prince clutched his cock in pain, and Aemond could not help but smirk. “What I said was the truth, Mother,” Alicent shook her head. “You will apologize, Aemond.” The queen instructed her second son, “You as well, Aegon.”

“For what? Not letting Eraena have another go at maiming my cock?” Aemond’s smirk grew at the look of pain in his brother. “No, for the vile things you insisted on saying in her presence!” Aemond shook his head. “You cannot make us apologize to bastards, Mother.” The prince did not wait for his mother’s reply; he simply sauntered out of her chambers. Though he finds Aegon’s pain amusing, he cannot believe that the princess would subject herself to a fight. Violent Bastard. The prince thought. 

When Eraena and his sister joined him to sit with the twins, his heart filled with jealousy as his niece and nephew hurriedly favored the newly arrived princess. Were his sister’s children so easily swayed by a pretty face and wooden figurines? He watched as Eraena gently brushed away the children’s hair from their eyes and how Jaehaera clung to the girl. He wanted to smirk as the little princess yanked the girl’s pendant, but the prince grew distracted not by the necklace but by the low neckline of her dress. How can Jacaerys let his sister wear such a dress? It was not completely revealing; it was more of a…a tease. His eye went to the emerald pendant that the girl handed to the younger princess. His eye then moved to the shining rope on her waist, and he froze. A belt of precious gemstones. A belt of sapphires. He wanted to scoff at her extravagance, remembering the gold thread that adorned her dress the other day and the pearl lining of the other. Spoiled Bastard. The prince thought. 

When the prince was in the pits, checking upon Dreamfyre as his sister had requested. He had not expected to hear the voice of his niece echoing through the dome. “Why are you here? Vhagar does not even fit here.” Aemond started to grow annoyed by her, and at the same time, he could not make himself leave the pits. He did not know what possessed him to follow the girl who uncaringly entered the den of dragons without light. Was she so careless? “Hello, my love!” Aemond’s brows furrowed as to how Eraena addressed her dragon; he watched steely-eyed as the girl skipped to her dragon, placing a kiss on its snout. It was the first time he had seen Alina fully grown. She was more than half the size of his Vhagar; it surprised him that the dragon had fit into the pits. Alina stared him down, its eyes had a remarkable likeness to its rider, obsidian eyes staring down at him. 

“It would seem you agitate my dragon, uncle,” Eraena’s voice rang out, Aemond’s gaze still on the pearly white dragon who shined gold where the light had hit. Is that why she likes pearls and gold? Because it reminds her of her dragon? Aemond frowned to himself and shook his head to get rid of the odd question. “Do not mind the small man, Alina,” Aemond’s frown deepened as he heard her speak in an ancient tongue. He gritted his teeth as he watched Eraena fly away with her dragon. He had not even realized that he had joined the princess in the skies. He smirked as he watched the girl try to be free of him and his mighty dragon until, finally, she gave up and landed back in the pits. Cowardly Bastard. The prince thought.

When supper came that night, Aemond could not help but be bothered by his encounter with his niece at the library. That is not a jape; that is how war starts, Aemond. The prince recalled her words; how dramatic was she? He had to admit that that chase was perhaps the most entertaining he had had in a while, and it was unfortunately cut short due to his sensitive and cowardly niece. However, he did find an odd familiarity and a sense of nostalgia with Eraena. The past nine years had brought forth change in all of them— in their outward appearances and their inward disposition, but he had noted that Eraena was still the girl he had known before. 

Aemond always knew her as a bastard who tried her best to pretend she was not. Ever since then, she tried earnestly to appear as the ‘perfect princess’, and in a way, she would succeed. Presenting her best foot forward when in the eyes of the court, always prim and proper, but Aemond knew that deep inside, there was fire burning recklessly in her— a fire that was inherent in their blood, but she tried to diminish. 

“It is not wise to lurk these halls at night,” Aemond drawled as he purposefully waited for the girl in the dark. “I am not one to lurk, uncle; that is your specialty if I remember correctly.” Eraena sighed, her tone laced with indifference. The prince’s jaw ticked at her tone. How could she be so obliging and enthusiastic in Aegon’s presence yet be so disinterested in him? He recalled how she did not even recoil when she placed her touch upon his brother’s back, yet somehow be so disgusted when Aemond had sat with her in the library earlier that day. 

Aemond had not even realized that their conversation was quick to turn into an argument—an argument that had erased all of Aemond’s manners and sensibilities. His irritation had gotten the best of him, and he had resorted to what he knew best: violence. 

The prince recoiled in guilt, his mind filled with tear-brimmed obsidian eyes looking at him with horror. The image haunted him in the night and even in broad daylight. He… did not know what he had done or why he had done such actions. “Have you seen Eraena?” His sister’s soft voice asked as she entered their mother’s chambers, where luncheon was held for the queen and all her children. With the mention of the princess he had hurt, his heart dropped. He had expected that Daemon Targaryen would have come for his head in the dead of the night. Vaemond’s head was cut from him with just a few vile words uttered to his wife; what else would he do when he found that Aemond had laid a hand on his daughter? 

“I cannot say I have,” The queen replied as Helaena took her seat. “I— I had wished to have tea with her once more.” The silver princess mumbled. “She was not with her brothers or sisters,” Aegon said, and Aemond raised his brow. Was he observing others now? He was usually too drunk to notice anything. “Perhaps you’ll see the princess at supper; we are all to attend, understood?” The queen gave no room for her children to back away from another obligatory dinner for their decaying father to enjoy the image of a complete family. 

“A—Aemond,” Eraena’s desperate voice echoed through his mind. The prince froze from his sparring with Criston as the image of her clawing at his hand flashed before him. The boy took a look at his shaking hand. “What happened there?” Criston asked as he saw the scratches that Eraena had made. “Nothing,” the prince said quickly, hid his hand from the knight’s view, and continued to train. 

“Have you seen sister? She has not left her room the whole day,” The prince heard the worried voice of Lucerys from the side. “I heard her handmaid tell Mother that she did not feel well,” Jacaerys shrugged and inspected a blade. “Will she be able to join the hunt tomorrow?” “I should hope so,” The prince shook his, trying to get rid of the image of a fear-struck princess. What transpired last night was not entirely his fault! Eraena was the one to spew the insult; he was defending himself. Defending yourself from what? A small girl who only had words for weapons? His mind countered and he was finding scarce reason to defend himself. 

When it was time for supper, the seat next to him remained empty. “Where is Princess Eraena?” His mother asked. “My daughter has not felt well the entire day, we thought it best she should stay in her chambers and rest in order for her to join tomorrow’s festivities,” Rhaenyra answered. Aemond’s eye flashed toward the girl’s sisters, who gave each other knowing looks. Do they know? The prince thought. If they knew, surely they would have told their father by now. The only thing that indicated Eraena had not said a thing was that Aemond still held his life. That night, alike the previous night, guilt gnawed at the prince. You must apologize! His conscience screamed the obvious. Should he head to the east wing, knock upon her chamber door, and ask the girl for her forgiveness at this instant? The prince laid still and made no such movement to apologize, but even in sleep, the fear-filled obsidian eyes still haunted him. 

The day of the hunt came. Each member of the royal family was present, even the decaying king. Aemond stood by one side of the tent, and his lone eye searched for a girl with dark brown locks. “Joff, no more cake!” He heard a scolding voice to his left and finally saw the girl trying to pry away a platter of cake from her younger brother. A lilac eye flew to the girl’s neck, and she grimaced at the sight. She had done well to mask it, but Aemond could see through the cracks the imprint his hand had left. Why had she not told on me? He thought. The prince caught Eraena’s eyes; he felt sick of himself when he saw the same fear in her obsidian orbs. Like always, Eraena quickly looked away from him. Hurriedly stepping out of the tent, letting her brother have his cake. 

Aemond sighed, and before he even realized it, he had followed the girl out. His eye watched as Eraena took shadowed paths away from the tent. “Aemond,” the hand called out. “Where is your brother?” He asked, and the prince shrugged. “Most probably getting drunk in the corner.” He said and returned his eye to the girl who ventured farther away from where he stood. “Keep a close eye on him, or better yet, accompany him and make sure he does not drown in his cups once more.”  Aemond clenched his jaw. Is this his permanent role in this family? Having been the one to save Aegon from his cups and whores? He gave a curt nod and his grandfather gave him a clap on the back before leaving. 

His eye searched for his brother, and he was quick to spot silver hair next to dark ones. An impish smirk on his brother’s lips. Aemond took long strides towards the two, as per his grandfather’s command, to watch over his drunkard brother. When he neared, his brows furrowed as he heard a laugh coming from Eraena’s lips. How did Aegon manage to make her laugh? “Ah, brother,” the eldest prince greeted, and almost immediately, the mirth in Eraena left. Eyes shifted to avoid him, “I—I should find my sisters,” the girl mumbled and quickly stepped away from her two uncles. Aegon stared at the departing girl with a frown. “What is it?” He asked, “Grandfather told me to watch you,” he said. “As if I am a child,” Aegon rolled his eyes and walked with his brother. “You certainly act like one,” 

The elder prince scoffed. “A child does not fuck and drink as I do,” he replied. “That is not something to boast about, brother.” Aemond’s voice was hard and cold, just like it always was.  They had walked around the camp, Aemond counting as to how many cups his brother had, it was now seven. When they arrived back at the tent, their sister was accompanied by the three daughters of Daemon Targaryen, a rare smile on her lips. Most of the men had left in search of the stag. Aemond had no want to hunt for the creature, and his brother would rather stay in the comforts of the camp, surrounded by food, wine, shade, and pretty princesses. 

Aemond’s eye trailed the dark-haired girl as she stood and headed to the tables of sweets. Eraena eyed the delicacies and spent a while trying to choose which one to take. That is when he realized that Aegon had moved from his side and strode over to the girl, cutting a piece of cream and berries cake. The frown on the one-eyed prince returned as the girl gave a small smile to his brother. He watched their interaction for a moment; the girl did not steal her eyes away from Aegon, no obvious sign of contempt on her face, and did not run when he neared. Did she like Aegon? His mind wondered. Why didn’t she think him vile? Why did she only hold contempt for him? Aegon did not almost strangle her to death. His mind reminded him. 

Aemond made his way to stand with his brother once more. Gritting his teeth as the girl quickly left, Aegon turned to him with suspicion and accusation. “You’re scaring Eraena,” His brother observed, and Aemond scoffed. Cowardly Bastard. He thought once more, but this time, Eraena did have reason to fear him. “I do no such thing,” Aemond said, and his brother shook his head. “You clearly are… what have you done?” He asked. “You had clearly done something to have her bolt every time you come near.” “I have not done anything,” Aemond gritted out, eyes flying to the floor, a habit of his when he lies. “Hm,” his brother hummed. 

After an uneventful hunt, they returned to the walls of the keep the following day. After another restless night with guilt eating away at him, Aemond had enough. The prince swallowed his pride and thought of ways to apologize to the princess. He skipped his training with Criston to create a plan to catch a fleeing princess. Aemond walked through the keep, hands folded behind him. Good ideas often came to him when he stalked the halls of the castle. He walked past the godswood, watching as the auburn leaves fell to the ground. The prince was ready to pass the tree and continue on his walk but froze when he caught the whiff of lavender in the air, and the low humming of a tune reached his ears. 

Aemond focused upon the trunk of the Weirwood tree and saw purple skirts by its base. The prince took silent and cautious steps and saw as a princess rested her back against the tree, charcoal in her fingers and pieces of parchment on her lap. Upon feeling his presence, Eraena’s gaze turned to him. There it was again, the fear in her eyes. Eraena scrambled to gather her things and flee away. “Eraena, wait,” Aemond called out, but she was quick to flee from him. The prince sighed and pursued the girl, taking hold of her arm, a gentle hold. 

Remorse filled Aemond as he had her near him. “I—“ Aemond began, but the words died on his lips. “I’m… I,” He tried once more, but he could not let the words pass. “Eraena? Aemond?” A questioning voice called, and the two turned to Daemon, making his way to where they stood. Eraena quickly took her arm away from the prince’s hold. Daemon looked at the prince with calculating eyes; he saw distress in obsidian orbs, however hard she tried to hide it. “I hope for your benefit that you are not disturbing my daughter,” the rogue prince told his nephew. “He—he’s not father,” Eraena quickly replied for the prince. Aemond’s dread and remorse deepened; he had hurt the girl, but why was she hiding and even defending him? You should be thankful. His mind scolded. Daemon looked unconvinced, but he nodded and offered his arm for his daughter to take. The one-eyed prince watched as the two departed, unable to say his apology to the princess. 

[juiles]

All to well

Plot: idk. have fun!

Type: angst and fluff

Warnings: i am in no way saying that this is how all autistic people are!! This fic is based off my PERSONAL experience with autism and sensory overload. Please remember this as you read!!

Masterlist here!

Request here!

————————————————————————-

Being autistic has drawbacks for a normal person, but for an actress in Marvel movies, it was tough. I’m proud of who I am but I didn’t want the pitying looks, the comments or being stuck as only getting the “autistic” role so for my own sake, I’m not super open about it.

My parents are ashamed of it so they never told anyone and I was forced to mask anytime I was around anyone. Not even Scar knew, and she was my best friend, almost a mother figure to me. I didn’t want her to think any different of me. She’s known me since i was 7 and played her on screen adopted daughter in Iron Man 2.

We’re filming Endgame right now. I’m on my way to set with Scarlett. Today has been a rough day for me so far as my parents woke me up by screaming at me which then caused me to struggle in keeping my mask up. Scar picked me up and I’m already exhausted, I’ve caught myself stimming a few times and quickly stopped it.

When we pulled into the parking lot, i grabbed my bag and walked with her through set to our trailers where we left our stuff and we’re immediately shuffled to makeup and costumes.

“Oh shit…” I mutter staring at the costume in Erica’s hand. “I didn’t realize it was a fight scene today…”

“Babe.” Erica, my assistant and on set guardian says. She’s known about me since the first day which was when i was 7. “You’ve known about this for a week. Are you okay?”

“I’m super over stimulated right now…” I murmur tapping my leg in sets of 7, a common stim for me.

“Let’s do hair and makeup first okay? Keep you out of the costume until the last second okay?” I nod and the two of us move to hair and makeup where Scarlett is getting her hair done.

“Hey, where’s your costume kid?” She asks looking over at me.

“I uh-“ I glance at Erica who steps in for me quickly.

“It had a small tear in it so it’s getting fixed quickly.” Scarlet merely hums in response and I sit. Getting my wig on and makeup done is awful, having everyone touching me and all their voices so close to me ears. I feel a soft hand on my cheek and peek my eyes open to see Scar staring at me in concern.

“Stop grinding your jaw babe…” I release my jaw, not even realizing i had been doing it. “You okay love? You disappeared for a bit there.” I respond with a hum, my voice disappearing from within. “Let’s get your costume on and to set okay?”

I look around quickly and don’t see Erica, Scarlet must see the panic as she quickly says. “She got called away in an emergency. I’m going to be your guardian today.” I nod, feeling the panic bubble up in my chest, but give her a soft smile.

The two of us make our way to my trailer and she helps me quickly slip into the suit. I immediately want to rip it off as it’s skin tight and an uncomfortable material. It feels like it’s digging into my skin and pulling it away as if it’s velcro and my skin is the other side. I take a deep breath and come out to see Scar in costume waiting. “Ready?” I nod and we head to set where I realize it’s a busy day, all original 6 avengers, Lizzie, both Paul’s, Gwen and Cobie are all there. I internally groan as immediately, the girls are coming over to me and Scar talking a mile a minute. I stand next to Scarlett silently until Lizzie turns to me. “Hey kiddo. Ready to fight? We have to fly today.” My eyes widen for a moment before i force a smile and nod at the fake red head in front of me.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” This makes everyone around us laugh but it makes me feel awful. I have no voice, it comes and goes, when it’s gone, my parents ridicule me, I get hit. I look down as i feel my tears well up in my eyes and blink rapidly trying to will them away. I thank god silently when Joe calls us to places which means i get away from the now very suddenly concerned looking Scarlett, Lizzie and Cobie. I’m stuck with Renner as I get rigged up, the feeling of being sick suddenly appearing as more people touch me.

I feel the lump in my throat tighten and the feeling of the harness wrapped around me suddenly makes me feel like it’s constricting my breathing and everyone around me disappeared as my hands flung to the harness, in my panic my hands struggled with the buckle which just made me more infuriated and grunts started coming out as my tears blurred my vision.

I feel a set of hands on mine holding them down, i scream and rip mine away and start scratching at my throat trying to rip it open to get a breath. My eyes started blacking out and the last thing i see is Scarlett’s panicked face as she tries to grab at my hands before it all goes black.

Scarlett’s POV

I know something is off with y/n. Not off but just that she was different. I have had a feeling it was autism for a while now, today proved that to me.

She was silent the whole car ride to set, normally she’d be singing along the radio but she wouldn’t even let me turn it on today. As soon as we got to set she locked herself in her trailer without a word, the next time i saw her, she looked panicked and while she was getting her hair and makeup done she disappeared fully before i brought her back. She has days where she goes mute, she just calls them her bad days, they usually happen on days she has arguments with her parents but normally she can still communicate to me in different ways but today she was completely gone. It got worse as soon as she realized Erica was gone. Walking on to set, she tended up and i saw her tapping her thigh every once in a while. The comment that Lizzie made would normally make her laugh, her reaction today was off.

I watched her from the corner of my eye but had to look away for a second before i heard Renner.

“Y/N!! What are you doing?! You’re going to hurt yourself!” I whip my head around and my heart sinks as i see y/n struggling with her harness, her hands are shaking violently, tears streaming down her face, her eyes are glazed over. I bolt over and grab her hands gently.

“Y/n baby, stop. You’ve got to stop my love.” She rips her hands out of mine and starts clawing at her throat which is when i notice she’s not breathing properly. She’s barely able to get a small breath. Instincts kick in for me and i turn to the cast and crew crowding her. “Give her space. Now. I need someone to set up a dark room with minimal sound and her clothes she was wearing this morning as well as the blanket from my trailer. A cold cloth and her wig taken off.” I turn around as she starts to collapse, i grab her arm and quickly wrap an arm around her waist. “Now!”

It’s a bit of a blur after that honestly, the next thing i know, im alone with her in the green room after everything is unplugged and blankets are draped over the windows. Her wig is already off and someone hands me my blanket and her clothes before silently leaving. I help her unconscious body out of the suit and into her clothes before draping my weighted blanket over her body. I sit back and stare at her, not touching her at all but close enough if she needs me.

It felt like hours but looking at my watch, it shows it’s only been 20 minutes when she finally wakes up.

My heart is beating what feels like a million mile a minute with panic as i watch her blue eyes flutter open before she looks around the room for a moment. Her hand comes out of the blanket and she starts tapping her thigh again, her head nodding along to each tap. She squeezes her eyes shut and i can hear her voice mumbling. “I’m safe. I’m here. I’m y/n.” Over and over again, i quietly cough to get her attention and she quickly sits up and her head whips up to look at me with wide eyes, both hands start scratching at the other wrist. “Oh my god…”

“Baby, you are safe. It’s just me.”

“No… no… no no no no no no no no.” She started tugging her hair and rocking slightly. “They’re going to kill me… you aren’t supposed to know…”

I quickly scoot over and grab her hands before pulling her into my chest, she tenses for a moment before melting into my arms. “I can’t hide it anymore Scar…”

“I know baby… I know.” I mutter into her hair swaying us back and forth slightly.

“I’m autistic…”

“Oh baby i know…” She freezes and looks at me with wide eyes. I can ready the fear in her blue eyes. “You hide it really really well but I’m basically your mom my love. I had suspicions but didn’t want to push you into telling me. Today was too much.” She nods burying herself back into me. “I need you to know that I will always listen to you. That if you ever feel like that again, you can tell me and i’ll get you out of it. Baby seeing you pass out was terrifying. I need you to know that if you’re that overwhelmed, that you do not have to do all that.”

“But… my parents don’t want everyone knowing… they’re all gonna know now…” She mumbles into me, my heart cracks.

“Baby being autistic is not a bad thing. It makes you even more amazing. It’s not something to be ashamed of at all. You are allowed to be who you are. To stim when your emotions are too high. To have bad days. I am here to show you that.” I say looking her directly into her eyes. “I’m here to support you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she nodded quickly. She sat up and started tapping her thigh as she stared at me. “This is my favourite stim, it’s really subtle but it calms me down… i count the most important people in my life.” She then looks down at her hand as she taps each finger. “Scarlett.” Tap. “Lizzie.” Tap. “Renner.” Tap. “Gwen.” Tap. “Cobie.” Tap. “Rob.” Tap. “Rosie.” Tap. “It reminds me that you guys would love me, no matter how broken or weird i am because i know how much you care.” She looked up at me through her eyelashes. “Another one is tapping here.” She taps her chest right above her heart twice. “Right here.” She does the tap to each word. “This is where you sit in my body. I usually only do this one when I’m not wearing my necklace. Playing with that is the stim i can do out in public.” I pulled her into my arms again as I cried.

“Oh baby…”

“You’ve always been my safe space Scar…”

“And i will be your safe space for the rest of eternity.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes before she pulls away with a smile. “Thank you. For learning how to help me.”

“You are more than welcome my love. Let’s go home and have a calm day okay?” She nods before standing up, pulling my weighted blanket over herself. I stand and wrapping my arms around her waist, the two of us make our way out of the room to find Lizzie standing not too far away, crying into Gwyneths arms. Y/n instantly runs over to her and wraps her arms around the crying woman. Lizzie jumps before she turns and sees who it is and wraps the girl into her arms.

“I’m so sorry bug. I shouldn’t have made that comment. I know how bad your parents are.” Y/n shakes her head pulling back and squeezes Lizzie’s hands. “Liz that wasn’t what caused that.” She takes a glance back at me before taking a deep breath and looks back at Lizzie. “I’m autistic and I was overstimulated and everything was just too much. I won’t lie, the comment did hurt a little but i know you didn’t say it in a mean way. You didn’t hurt me, memories of my parents saying stuff hurt me. But not you.” Lizzie’s eyes widen and she glances at me before she nods breathing to calm herself down. “If you ever need to talk or are struggling you can talk to me bug.”

Y/n nods with a small smile. “I know Liz.”

“Hey. Me too.” We all turn our head to see Gwyneth with a pout on her face. “You scared the shit out of me kiddo. Never do that again. Understand?” She pulls y/n’s laughing form into her arms.

“I understand mother Paltrow.” She says making us all chuckle.

Y/n pulls away and biting her cheek looks at me. “I- i uh- I’m not ready to face everyone else yet…”

“They already left bug. It’s just us four left.” Lizzie said smoothing the crazy hair down on y/n’s head. “I couldn’t leave worried i hurt you and Gwyn couldn’t leave me alone but everyone else left to give you privacy. Scarlett went full mama bear mode and screamed at some people for trying to push her into anything. It was great.” Y/n chuckled, which brings a grin to my face.

“Of course you did. But i wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

“I love you too baby.” I say kissing her head softly.

[jaidens]

— updated masterlist !

[ THEME CHANGES BASED ON MY PROFILE! ]

MOVIES —

THE OUTSIDERS — [CIRCA. 1983.]

dallas winston

cowboy like me — taylor swift.

james dean daydream — taylor swift.

your lips are my idea of luxury — taylor swift.

no words appear in the aftermath—taylor swift.

willow — taylor swift.

ponyboy curtis

pulchritudinous!

can you feel it? — taylor swift.

johnny cade

on the back said 1958 — taylor swift.

hands are tough — taylor swift.

drew stars around my scars — taylor swift.

sodapop curtis

darling, id wait for you —

you're the only thing i know — taylor swift

wished them away — taylor swift.

steve randle

my daddy said stay away! — taylor swift

because he really knows me — taylor swift.

i would marry you in an instant!

two-bit mathews

what would you do if only you knew!

darry curtis

got his father's eyes

so scarlet it was maroon

THE KARATE KID — [CIRCA. 1984]

daniel larusso

hopelessly devoted

smile that could light up this whole town

looks at me like a trend

rumors from inez

break in a million pieces

can never look away

never see a love as pure as it

lit a fuse

crazier

like you do

making me want you!

in and out

sense of what you've seen

with you all night

i need you

boyish look

SPIDERMAN : ACROSS THE SPIDER VERSE — [CIRCA. 2023]

miles morales

you're losing me

miguel o’hara

speak now

take it off!

prettiest lady

tan skin

TOP GUN — [ CIRCA. 1986 | 2023 ]

pete mitchell

evermore

be okay, promise

watch you sleep

laughing from the passenger side

miss you

used to feel you breathe

doorway

timeless

bradley bradshaw

love you for you

afterglow

after all

seven and nine

the next train

timeless

grown men don't cry

electric touch

salt air

peace

nick bradshaw

kiss

bob floyd

won't ever tell

jake seresin

everything has changed

best friend

sweet nothings

careless mans careful daughter

TV SHOWS —

SUPERNATURAL — [CIRCA. 2005 – 2019]

dean winchester

make you stay

see the good in me

illicit affairs

sam winchester

lover

red

cowboy like me

THE WALKING DEAD —

rick grimes

altar

CRIMINAL MINDS —

spencer reid

can you see right through me

cardigan

will you please stand

didn't mean to stare

you never did

ride cowgirl

smaller acts

[ tagging some mutuals. @renqiisnce @mictodii @crazyf0rswayze]

[rj-drive-in]

Ye Olde American Pulp Department:

Independence Day draws near! Let's celebrate with a tale of America's first masked hero.

THE DEADLY PLAN OF DOCTOR POX! © by Rick Hutchins

“Call me Doctor Pox, my dear,” said the man in the scarlet cloak and theatrical tragedy mask, as he finished binding her wrists behind her back. Beneath the cloak, his proper British attire was spattered with mud from hard-riding the buckboard through the night.

“How dare you?!” she cried for the millionth time. “My father is Colonel….”

“I know your father!” screamed Doctor Pox, silencing her. He quickly regained his composure. “My dear Sybil.”

Turning on his heel, the madman marched off to a dark corner of the barn, out of the small circle of light cast by the single kerosene lamp.

Sybil struggled against the leather straps that bound her to the wooden beam, but to no avail. Her light blue Polonaise gown had been torn to shreds in the struggle and her low-cut bodice had been ripped, exposing an unseemly amount of decolletage. Strands of brown hair fell in her face, her bonnet having been lost in the kidnapping.

Doctor Pox reappeared from the shadows, dragging something heavy through the dirt and straw. “Yes, my dear,” he said, “I met the esteemed Colonel Willing during the Siege of Boston. He was so proud of his cannon upon Dorchester Heights. So proud of his ruffian irregulars who guarded the roads.”

He was dragging a large wooden coach trunk with iron braces; huffing and puffing, he positioned it three feet in front of Sybil. Leaning in close to her, his theatrical tragedy mask, which seemed wrought of copper, hovering near her face, he said, “It is my tender sentiment for your father which has brought you here.”

With a flourish of his scarlet cloak, the doctor turned and flung open the top of the trunk.

When Sybil saw what was inside, she screamed.

And with that, the barn doors burst open and in strode a tall and stately figure.

“Goodman America!” gasped Sybil.

His face entirely masked by white cloth, the famed mystery man was dressed in a waistcoat and tricorn hat of brightest blue; his vest bore thirteen red and white stripes. His breeches were midnight black, as were his rugged highwayman boots. The knob of his walking stick and the rattlesnake insignia on his hat were rumored to be of pure silver, smithed by Paul Revere himself.

“Surrender, Doctor Pox!” he commanded.

“Never!” replied the madman, drawing a flintlock pistol from beneath his scarlet cloak.

But Goodman America was upon him in an instant and knocked the weapon from his hand before he could fire. The two masked men faced off, circling each other warily, preparing for hand-to-hand combat.

Grimacing with disgust, Sybil reached out with her foot– she had lost her shoes in the scuffle as well– and knocked the coach trunk shut with her stockinged toe.

The noise distracted Doctor Pox for but a moment, but it was enough for Goodman America to throw a punch. The mighty blow knocked the theatrical tragedy mask from the madman’s face.

Both Sybil and Goodman America recoiled in horror, for that face was so hideously scarred and twisted that it was barely human.

“Look then!” shrieked the doctor. “Look upon the face of Doctor Silas Conduct! See what the smallpox epidemic of the Siege of Boston did to me! If Colonel Josiah Willing had let us pass that night, I would not be thus disfigured– and my beloved wife would not be DEAD!”

He pointed savagely at the coach trunk.

“But when the bits and pieces of the rotting human remains in that trunk, raging with smallpox, are added to the food and water of the Continental Army, then so too will the American rabble die! And the daughter of my most hated enemy will be the first to….”

The silver knob of Goodman America’s walking stick struck the doctor’s temple sharply, and he fell unconscious to the ground.

“Don’t tread on us,” said Goodman America.

Drawing an officer’s saber from a scabbard hidden beneath his blue waistcoat, he quickly went to work cutting the leather straps that bound Sybil Willing.

“Hurry!” she cried. “We must get away from that horrid trunk!”

As Sybil ran ahead through the open barn doors in her stockinged feet, the masked Patriot grabbed Doctor Pox by the cloak and dragged him out into the night.

“Wait here,” he told Sybil, as he dropped the doctor’s body in the dirt and ran back into the barn.

Taking the kerosene lamp from its hook by the door, Goodman America smashed it upon the coach trunk. Within seconds, flames had engulfed the trunk and begun to spread to the straw and wooden beams.

Returning to the barnyard, as the flames rose into the night sky behind him, the Revolutionary Hero looked around.

“Where has Doctor Pox gone?” he asked.

“He ran off across the fields,” answered Sybil. “But no matter! When that madman kidnapped me, my gentleman friend, Mister Nathan Hand, was knocked to the street and hurt. He is a man of learning, not combat, and I fear for him!”

“Then rest your fears,” said Goodman America. “I have already seen to Mister Hand and he is even now being tended to by the Sons of Liberty in their meeting place.”

“Thank God!” cried Sybil.

And beneath his white mask, Nathan Hand smiled.

[pockeymcmockey]

𝔖𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩 | ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

Summary: Someone else loses an eye...

Warnings: Angst, blood descriptions, unspoken relations of Reader and Aemond.

Author's Note: Whipped this quickie up for my starving Aemond stans.

"I want you to take out your eye..." Aemond tossed his dagger to his nephew, the blunt end pointing to the toes of his niece. Lucerys looked to his uncle in horror, slowly backing away while shaking his head. Aemond did not accept his rejection of payment, marching toward his two subordinates, picking up the dagger and hanging it above his head in a striking motion.

"Enough!" [Name], niece to Aemond and sister to Lucerys, halted her uncle, snatching the dagger from his hand to alarm him. The scarred man reached for his sword but faltered by her next words. "I will do it. I will give you my eye." Lucerys latched onto his sister, trying to persuade her in leaving with him, telling her not to sacrifice herself for his sake.

"I do not want your eye, Niece. I want his."

"You have my eye or you will leave without any payment at all, Uncle."

And with that, the princess turned to her brother and told him, "you will leave. You will mount Arrax and no matter what you hear or what you see, you will not enter here again, do you understand?" Lucerys nodded, the stress evident by the crease in his brows and the frown etched onto his face. "I mean it." Lucerys hesitantly turned away and mounted his dragon, taking off toward Dragonstone.

The princess tore a cloth from her blouse and slot the piece between her teeth, pointing the decorative dagger toward her left eye and starting to carve. Wails left her lips, muffled by the cloth in her mouth. Aemond tried to keep up his unfazed facade but as her screams began to crescendo he could not help but turn away. The Baratheons, however, found this entertaining, Borros and his daughters grinning sadistically.

Crimson seeped from the socket her left eye was pocketed in, droplets staining her off-white blouse and the burnt leather she wore. Once her eye was untethered, she tossed it to Aemond's boot, the entirety of her left face coated in scarlet blood. The princess avoided the eyes of all before turning, her lips still choking on sobs and her eye throbbing intensely.

As the self-inflicted wound pained the girl with silver locks, her dragon felt it right to allow her rest, ascending to the skies and finding a large cave to make camp. The princess gathered leaves and twigs then piled them to a lump, mumbling "Dracarys" to her dragon. The scaled beast alighted the makeshift pit until a fire sparked. The dragon's riding companion curled by the fire, the former resting itself behind her protectively.

During their slumber, the aviator mammal awoke at the familiar smell of her companions uncle. She elongated her neck, flared her nostrils and bared her teeth at the man, the latter passing gaze from the dragon to his niece. Aemond lowered to his knees and offered his sword in surrender, the towering giant retreating to its natural state. The princess began to stir and once her eye adjusted to the darkness of the cave and the figure kneeling by what used to be a fire, she cowered into the side of her dragon.

"I've come to do you no harm, Niece..."

"Too late."

Aemond sighed regretfully, lowering his head to where his blond strands curtained the look of self-disgust painted upon his god-like features. The prince reached for his dagger, alarming both the princess and her dragon, the latter snarling and baring its teeth once more. He twirled the sharp tool in his hand until the hilt faced his niece, the girl looking between the Targaryen artifact and her uncle.

"Take it. Do what you must and please."

"No."

Aemond lifted his gaze to the adolescent girl before him, her right eye dull and the other... She pushed his hand away from her, silently asking him to stop apologizing. The prince returned his dagger to its scabbard then stood, bowing respectively and retreating to the behemoth that was Vhagar.

When the sun had risen and the sky was clear, [Name] returned on dragon-back to her home. Lucerys was the first to greet her back, his smile slowly dropping into an agape expression. Rhaenyra was the second to walk through the entrance of Dragonstone, Daemon and Jacaerys following behind. The Queen's distraught gasps and rushed steps alarmed the two others walking behind her.

As soon as the princess was in her mother's arms she let out a strangled wail, her screams of anguish and agony muffled by her head tucked into her mother's robes. The Queen shushed her daughter with care, tears welling in her own eyes. The woman looked to her husband who couldn't tear his gaze away from the princess that is his daughter. Seeing her in so much pain angered him, his grip on Dark Sister turning his knuckles white.

"Do not fret, my darling girl. They'll pay for what they have done."

[braveclementine]

Chapter 10

Warnings: None. (Will however be a 18+ reader book)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

A week before all of you were supposed to be leaving for the Bahamas, you got another call from your dad.

Well, actually, he had been calling about four times every single day since the last time you had talked to him. But neither you nor your sister had bothered picking up when he called nor had you bothered replying to his messages. And the others had slowly gotten used to just ignoring the calls as well.

However, your father had spent nearly every hour sending in a call. It was interrupting the plans, and finally you picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Y/N." Your father's voice sounded relieved. "I've been trying to contact you for two weeks now."

"I know." You sighed. "But I really don't have the energy for another fight, okay?"

"Please, I want to be there for this, I want to be there for you. You're right. My and your mother never really wanted kids, but I still love you and Y/S/N. If I could do things over again, I would. Make more time for the both of you. Maybe then when. . . when your mother passed away I would've had. . . I'm sorry Y/N. I never meant to lash out at you or Y/S/N. It's just. . . it's so painful when your soulmate dies."

He sounded truly guilty and sad and apologetic. He really did sound sincere. But still, you couldn't just forget everything. How when you needed both him and your mother the most, they were busy with something 'more important'. And afterwards. . . Y/S/N still had a scar on her shoulder blade from that.

You let out a sigh. It had been a short period of time and now years had passed in between. Everyone deserved second chances. "You can come."

Sam looked up at those words.

"But I. . . I don't know if I'll have you walk me down the aisle." You finished. "There's a lot of mending between the both of us and also Y/S/N before I let you walk me down the aisle."

"That sounds fair." Your father sounded happy that you were giving him a second chance. "Where should I go? What should I do?"

"We're having the ceremony in the Bahamas." You said. "I can-"

Tony whipped the phone out of your hand, "Hello? Mr. Y/L/N? Yes, this is Tony Stark. One of the soulmates of your absolutely gorgeous daughter."

"What are you doing?" You hissed quietly, mortified. You really hoped Tony didn't say anything rude.

"I'm more than lenient to have a private jet fly out to your nearest airport and fly you to the Bahamas and also provide your stay for free. However, the minute that Y/N gets upset with you, you're on your own and all of the expenses fall right back on your head." Tony threatened. "The plane will be there in six hours, have a nice trip."

He hung up on my dad on my phone.

Stephen just shook his head, sighing.

"That was dramatic." You said, taking your phone from him.

"At least now he'll be on his best behavior." Tony said with a smirk, drawing you into his arms. "Oh I can't wait before you're ours."

You smiled a little, pecking Tony on the lips. "The feeling is very mutual."

"Have you decided whose going to be first?" Nat asked.

"First?" You questioned, turning out of Tony's arms to face her.

"Sure." Nat said with a shrug. "I mean, with so many soulmates, you can only lose your virginity to one of them."

You blushed scarlet. Sam just stared at Nat while Stephen turned his back to her, putting a hand to his head like he was frustrated. Tony just snorted. Clint poked his head out from the vent.

"I mean, sure you're going to bond with all of them in one night, but I don't think it would be a good idea for you to start with a super solider or a God for your first." Nat explained, "You should go with someone smaller in size. Or at least, not genetically enhanced."

"Damn." Sam said, shaking his head, "Guess you're losing it to Clint first."

"Oi!" Clint protested, falling out of the vent. "Why am I the smallest?"

"It's commonly known that black males have the biggest dicks." Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

Stephen walked over to Tony, putting his hands over his ears before dragging him out of the room. You were both mortified and amused at the conversation.

"Hey." Sam said, shrugging his shoulders as Clint scoffed, "Thor, Loki, Bucky, Steve, and I are out already from being enhanced. T'Challa, Rhodey, and Fury are black. Tony and Stephen already lost it to each other. Which leaves you. The white virgin."

Clint just stared at Sam for a moment and then grinned, "Yes! I get Y/N first!"

Sam just pursed his lips.

And then the floor dropped underneath you and you landed in Stephen's arms in the elevator.

"Well, hello there." You said before kissing his cheek. "How are you?"

Stephen sighed, "My poor babies had to listen to that conversation."

Tony blushed slightly at the nickname. So did you for that matter.

You giggled. "Well thank you for protecting our ears."

You might've added 'daddy' to the end of that sentence, but you didn't want to tease him anymore than they already were. You wait until all of you were properly bonded before you started teasing them relentlessly.

Stephen, Tony, and you ended up going to the New York Sanctorum. Stephen gave you a full tour or the rather large building. You even stepped into one of the climate portals for a short amount of time, though you didn't stay for long.

It was very interesting, seeing how many magical items there were in the different glass cases.

Tony kept trying to touch stuff, being the tinkerer that he was, but Stephen kept slapping his hands away from the stuff, before finally threatening to tie them behind his back. You giggled at the playful banter.

"STRANGE!" A voice shouted through the Sanctorum.

"WONG!" Stephen shouted back in the same exact tone.

"Ah, there you are." Wong said, climbing the stairs. Wong was descended from Tibetan Monks, which I found fascinating. Especially as Tibet was hidden from the world as China tried to pretend there was no Tibet.

China refuses to acknowledge the three T's: Taiwan, Tibet, and Tiananmen Square. They like to pretend that Taiwan and Tibet are still under their rule. And then also like to pretend that the Tiananmen Square massacre never took place.

"I was hoping that you could come to Kamar-Taj and assist with the training of some new recruits." Wong said, glancing over to us, looking apologetic.

"Yes, of course." Stephen said. "Tony, Y/N, would you like to come and visit?"

"Sure." Tony said.

"Um, if you don't think we'd be intruding." You said.

"Not at all." Wong said.

"Where is Kamar-Taj?" You asked as they led you down the stairs to where Stephen had shown the Sanctorum's connected with the others. Wong started to open up the one into Kamar-Taj.

"Tibet." He answered.

Ah, of course. Made sense.

Once you stepped through the portal, Stephen and Wong led the way up another flight of stairs and through some dim hallways lit with torches until you reached a courtyard like area. There were several rows of students there to learn. Wong, Stephen, and another female teacher quickly spread out amongst the others.

You and Tony quickly sat out of the way next to each other. He wrapped his arms around you as the two of you watched Stephen teach.

"He's so bloody handsome." You muttered.

"Isn't he just?" Tony sighed wistfully. "Hey, are you sure that you're okay with your dad coming to your wedding ceremony?"

You were silent for a moment and then replied with, "I thought it would be fair to give him a second chance. If he screws up, well we weren't exactly rich so it'll certainly be a bit of a pain in the ass for him if he, you know, screws up. I don't know. I'm more afraid for Y/S/N being around my father. She was the one who was more involved in his bad period because she was home more. I don't know though. . . I haven't had my soulmates for more than a year yet. And he and my mother were married for a pretty long time before she passed away."

"How did she die?" Tony asked softly.

"She was at one of those parades, I don't even remember what it was for. Some guy drove his semi truck through with the intent to kill. She just happened to be one of those victims."

"Sorry." Tony said softly.

"What about you? Parents, I mean?" You questioned.

"I grew up thinking they died in a car crash. Turns out HYDRA sent Barnes after them because my father had something they wanted. Super soldier serum vials I think. Bucky killed them."

"How can you stand behind in the same room as him?" You questioned.

"Well, it took a bit of self control and listening. But I knew it was HYDRA in his head, not him himself. Eventually I forgave him. He had been beating himself up over it for so long. The Bucky Steve knew, the one you know, he wouldn't hurt a fly. It's a good thing Shuri was able to help him."

You nodded, "Good. It's already pretty awkward between Loki and Phil."

"Ah well, the difference there is Loki actually killed Coulson." Tony said. "Although admittedly, he was also being mind manipulated by an alien so there's some leniency."

You were quiet for a moment, "You don't think it was a mistake? Inviting my dad?"

"No." Tony said quietly as we watched Stephen create a glowing sword down below us. "My father was also fairly absent in my life. I wish I could've given him a second chest."

You turned your body so that you could hug him from the front.

A few moments later, you heard Stephen's voice behind you, "Well don't you two just look adorable."

You turned to see him standing there, sliding his sling ring off his finger and into his pocket. You got to your feet, barreling into him for a hug. Stephen wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. "Hey there sweetheart. Ready to head home?"

You nodded. You heard Stephen call out a good-bye to Wong before the three of you headed back to New York.

Upon walking back up the stairs though, Stephen flung an arm out to stop you from walking. He moved slightly to hide you.

Peeking around him, you saw a slightly handsome African American man standing there.

"Mordo, what are you doing here?" Stephen questioned. You noticed his sling ring was back on his finger. Tony had his Iron repulsor gloves on, hands raised slightly if he needed to shoot.

The man that Stephen had called Mordo crossed his arms over his chest, "You know what I'm here for, Stephen."

"And you won't get-" Stephen said firmly.

"I wasn't asking." Mordo said, shaking his head, pulling out an electric sword.

"Tony get her out." Stephen said, taking up a defensive position almost immediately as Mordo charged.

"Stephen!" You shouted as Tony wrapped an arm around your waist, kicking off to go through the glass ceiling. However, all that happened was you ended up flying through a portal which put the both of you in front of Mordo. Tony quickly shoved you out of the way.

You went sprawling across the marble floor as he ducked one of the swings of Mordo's sword. Stephen lashed out with a glowing whip as you scrambled to your feet.

You were quick in pulling out your phone.

Y/N 🥖: SOS Sanctorum. Angry Wizard

God 1 🔨🌩: On our way

God 2 💚: Portal out

Thor suddenly smashed through the front doors, sending a streaking bolt of lightning towards the dark skinned wizard. He deflected rather quickly and you dropped to the floor to avoid being electrocuted.

Steve and Bucky were next through the doors. Steve threw his shield, which got deflected by a mirror. Steve quickly ducked to avoid being decapitated by his own shield.

Bucky didn't dare start shooting, instead trying to get to you. But Mordo portaled him to who knew where.

"Bucky!" You shouted as the portal closed up.

A few other wizards started to jump down, fighting against the others.

Suddenly, you felt a cold feeling wash over you. "Shh, not a sound." Loki's voice whispered in your ear, "I'm cloaking you. We're invisible. Start making your way towards the door."

You couldn't see Loki and you had to assume that he was right there with you as you started to walk towards the door. You hoped Bucky was safe, wherever he was, and you hoped that the others would get out of this okay.

"Where'd she go?" Mordo shouted.

Was he after you? Why?

"Faster." Loki's voice was urgent in your voice and you started running, hoping that you weren't making any noise as you did so.

The doors slammed shut right before you could've gotten out of them and you heard Loki curse.

You reached around blindly, grabbing his hand, starting to drag him back towards where Stephen and Tony were still fighting Mordo. He tugged on your hand, trying to get you to slow down.

Steve and Nat were fighting another four wizards, while Thor was slowly but surely taking down the six that were against him.

You dragged Loki carefully, but quickly past Stephen and Tony, back down the stairs. Loki sped up once he realized that you had an escape plan in line. You quickly opened up the door to Kamar-Taj and stepped through.

Loki lifted the spell immediately and you could see him there. He had a slight scratch across one of his cheeks, but though it was red, it wasn't bleeding.

He gripped your hand tighter as the two of you ran through the building. "Wong?" You shouted. "Wong?"

Wong approached very soon, "Y/N?" He stopped short upon seeing Loki, "Where's Stephen and Tony?"

"They're back in the New York Sanctorum with Thor and Steve. Mordo is attacking them but he brought a few Wizards with him and Stephen is the only magician there." You explained through quick puffs of breath.

Wong nodded, "I need you two to stay here." He called out to a few wizards who all got ready, lifting off a bunch of staffs that you assumed were something like Mordo's glowing lightsaber stick thing and Wong hurried the way the two of you had come.

He left a few other wizards there for your protection in case their was another onslaught of fighters. You weren't sure if that was normal, but you felt to sick with worry to care about it.

"Are you alright?" Loki asked as he led you to an area so that the two of you could sit down.

"Physically." You answered, "But where did he send Bucky!? What if. . . what if sent him to a volcano or the middle of the ocean!? What if-" Your voice choked off at the end and you crumpled forward to cry into Loki's shoulder.

"It's alright Y/N, it's okay. You'd know if Bucky was in danger." Loki said softly. "The fact that there is nothing happening to your soulmate bond that is linked to him means that he is not feeling any pain, nor is he dead. Those are both good things."

You nodded as your tears subsided. "No pain and no death."

"Exactly."

"The others will be okay, right?" You asked, needing reassurance.

"I'm sure. They managed to survive everything else before."

"Why did he want me?"

"I have no idea. Probably because he would see you as. . . a way to get to Stephen." Loki explained. "I'm afraid having the Avengers as soulmates is going to put a rather large target on your back my Queen. But we'll protect you with everything we have."

You kissed Loki's cheek before settling into his arms while you waited. It seemed like an eternity, but only fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later, Wong came back with his group, Stephen, Tony, Steve, Thor, and Nat following behind.

You leapt to your feet, rushing over to Stephen. "Are you okay. You're bleeding. Can you find Bucky? Everyone's okay, right?"

Your questions were rushed as you grabbed a tissue and started dabbing at the cut lines along Stephen's cheek.

"He bleeds all the time." Tony sighed, "It's his trademark to come back from a fight with at least three bloody scratches on his face."

Your lips twitched a little while Stephen rolled his eyes. "Everyone's alright Y/N. And it will take some time, but I think with the help of FRIDAY and a few magic tricks, we should be able to find Bucky within an hour of two. Depends on where he ended up."

You nodded frantically as you finished dabbing at Stephen's scratches.

Steve looked absolutely terrible. He wasn't hurt, but it was obvious that Bucky disappearing had done a number on him. You attended him next, wrapping your arms tightly around his chest. He hugged you back, almost as tightly.

"We'll find him Steve." You murmured. "He's going to be okay."

Steve just nodded, his cheek brushing with yours as he did so.

Stephen ushered all of you back to the Sanctorum before portaling you all back to Avengers tower. Once there, Tony got to work on using FRIDAY to see if she could use all of the cameras in the world to help narrow down potential spots that Bucky might be.

While that was happening, Pietro had called the girl named Makkari, and they both decided to run around their respective hemispheres and see if they could locate Bucky and help save time.

You felt utterly useless, sitting on the couch next to Rhodey who had an arm around your shoulder, fingers softly moving up and down your arm in a comforting motion.

Your leg kept bouncing up and down in anxiety before Clint finally pulled you up off the couch to take you to the kitchen.

"I can't eat, I feel sick." You muttered.

"Well, you're going to have to eat." Clint said. "Buck will be fine, you'll see. Now eat, it wouldn't do to get sick before our wedding now, would it?"

You managed a small smile with Clint's enthusiasm and persistence. "I just. . . sometimes I wish I could locate where my soulmates were."

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" Clint asked, moving around the kitchen and then pausing, "I don't actually really know how to make anything so. . ."

You giggled, feeling just a little bit lighter. Maybe Clint was just trying to distract you, but it was working.

"We should make dinner for everyone." You decided.

"But that's like forty people." Clint said. "We should just order pizza."

You rolled your eyes, "I actually already had preparations ready for dinner for tonight."

You opened up the refrigerator, pulling out several large, blue glass bowls with plastic wrap over them.

"Oh? What are you making?" Clint asked in interest as you started to preheat the oven and undo the plastic wrap.

You smirked at him evilly, "Spicy Chicken legs."

⬅️➡️

[sexualtensiongrowing21]

As the Sun Sets // Scars // Part Two

TW: Smut and physical abuse

Part three

After the welcome back dinner and the sorting ceremony for the first years we make our way back to the dungeons. Draco stays silent while we all listen to Pansy and Blaise talk about who they are going to spend the semester shagging.

“I heard Mclaggen is single this year. Looks like he has been training pretty hard as well.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Well I hear Chang is looking for a distraction from The Chosen One. I wonder if she likes the taste of chocolate?” Blaise jokes.

“Bloody hell, don't be crude Blaise.” I say while shaking my head.

“Don't act like you’re so innocent Scar, we all know you like to get down a dirty in the boys locker room” Theo joins in on it now. My mouth hangs open and I blush with embarrassment.

Pansy and I have been roommates since first year, and best friends since second. Her and Draco are the only ones who know the truth about me and my family. To everyone I am Scarlet Johnson. Not Scarlet Lestrange. Aunt Cissy convinced my father that it would be best if no one knew who my mother was. The fact that Raldophis Lestrange and Belatrix Lestrange had a child would make me a target. Not that they cared about keeping me safe, but the things I know. That I could be used against them. So it was hidden who my parents were. To everyone else I am a distant relative from the Malfoys from a pureblood family in France and that I was left in front of their floo one day.

Raldophis and Bellatrix wanted an heir. Someone who would join the ranks and bring honor to their name. But, instead they had me and they never let me forget what a disappointment I am.

“You know Pans, you could help me and Draco study instead? With O.W.L.S coming up soon we could make it like a study group! It will be fun!” I say while locking my arm into hers.

“Pass.” She says “Dray, you must have a list of lovely ladies to shag this year… or at least ladies…” turning her attention to Draco.

Draco huffs out a laugh. I roll my eyes while I pull her along.

“Yeah Dray, who's first on your list this year?” Bliase joins in from behind us causing Draco to shoot a glare in his direction.

No one calls Draco Dray except Pansy. Only because that has been her nickname for him since we were little. I also think he's scared of her, but he would never admit that.

“You know who looks rather fit this year?” Theo questions from beside blaise. “Patil” He answers himself.

“Which one?” I laugh “Both” he and Blaise say with a shrug

“Circe, could you be any more of a man whore?” I ask.

Theo pulls ahead and turns around putting his hand over his heart “You wound me Scar”.

Shaking my head we come to a stop once we finally get to the common room door and spot a group of first and second year Slytherins outside the common room trying to remember the password to enter.

“Move” Draco spits to the newer students. “pura sanguine” The snakes slide to reveal the door and we all step inside, the newer students follow with their heads hung low.

“Meet back in twenty?’ I ask while we all split up and go towards our dorms to unpack and settle in.

Pansy and I are pulling out all of our stuff from our trunks that are at the end of our four posters. The Black Lake against the windows is looking particularly dark this evening. I always loved falling asleep to the sound of the water humming against the panes. Our beds are across from each other on either side of the room. Third year Pansy threw a fit and demanded her dad bribe Snape into giving us our own dorm room alone. Perks of being a wealthy death eaters daughter I suppose.

“So Scar, got anyone on your to do list? Maybe Potter? Or one of the Wesselbee twins… Or both of them?” She laughs, flicking her want to send her clothes magically fly into the wardrobe.

“Oh Circe, Pans. No. They are just friends. I told you before, I just want to focus on my studies this year. I was never good at flirting anyways. ” I give her a sad smile.

“Hey, I can still study while having some fun on the side.” She winks. “Besides, I am a Parkinson, flirting comes easy to me. Come on. There has to be someone new you fancy. We are to be wed soon enough.” Venom laced in her voice. “Might as well have some fun before we are forced onto some oldy to produce an heir.”

Fancying someone requires me to actually get to know someone. Which also means that they need to know me. While I can give them surface level information like my favorite color, or my favorite quidditch team I can't trust anyone else to give anything real or personal about me. Last year I dated Adrian Pucey for a couple months last year. He is the closest thing to a boyfriend I have had. He showered me with gifts, sugar quills and affection. He really was a good boyfriend. That was, until I stumbled upon him with his trousers around his ankles and buried in Susan Bones while she was bent over a table in an empty classroom. Draco, Theo and Blaise almost killed him.

“What about Adrian? Did you ever talk to him after he left the infirmary last year?” Pans asked while fixing her makeup in our bathroom mirror.

I can't blame him entirely. I wasn't exactly the most attentive, what with running around with the golden trio and spending most free time with Draco and the rest of the boys. I wanted to hear him out. Let him apologize without the boys getting in the way.

“No. Draco never left my side, and then we left for summer. He sent me many owls over the summer, but Draco always incendio’d the letters.” I say solemnly. “I planned to find him tomorrow after dinner.”

“Would you like me to drag the boys away somehow? Distract them so you can talk to Adrian?” Pansy asked, grabbing my hand and rubbing circles on my knuckles.

“Oh Pans, that would be great! Thank you. You really are not the heartless bitch everyone says you are after all.” I playfully smile.

“Tell anyone and I will hex you.” She half heartedly threatens while pointing her wand at me.

—————————————————————————————-

After we have unpack we meet up with the boys in the common room. Theo is on the couch while Draco and Blaise are in the adjacent chairs. I jump over the back of the couch next to Theo while Pansy slides on the arm of the chair that Blaise is sitting in.

“Finally you two return. You know how long we have been waiting?” Theo teases while checking his imaginary watch on his wrist.

“They had to unload the eternity of their closest, Theo boy. You know how these two are with their clothes and shoes.” Blaise smirks from his set next to Pansy.

“You know us ladies, we must look our best when we visit gentlemen callers.” I laugh while patting Theo on the leg.

Pulling out my potions book I start to study while the rest of the group continues with their conversation. Draco and Blaise playing exploding snap, Pansy is doing her nails and Theo is reading besides me. After an hour or so everyone starts to trickle back to their dorms. The only two left are Theo, Draco and I.

After losing countless games (and galleons to Blaise) Draco gets up and looks towards the two of us “I'm gonna head on up. You coming, Nott?”

“Yeah, just gonna finish this section then I will be.” Theo says without looking up from his book waving his hand in the air to say go on without me.

“Night Scar.”

“Night Draco.” I say smiling in his direction and he heads towards the boys dorms.

After Draco leaves and is no longer in sight I get off the couch, put my book in my bag, and grab the blanket Molly Wesley made for me for Christmas last year wrapping it around my arms. Walking towards the common room exit I hear Theo snap his book shut and yell “And where do you think you're going all alone?” from behind me.

Throwing back an innocent smile while walking out I say “I'm going to get fresh air. Care to join me?”

Theo looks around before grabbing his cloak and following me out the dungeon door. We walk in silence till we get outside. Theo mutters a warming charm over us as I lead him to the edge of the black lake. This has been our go to spot since third year when Theo and Blaise found me in the midst of a panic attack after encountering my bogert. From then on this is where we go when we need to be away for a while. Hide for a while from all of the drama that occurs within the walls of Hogwarts. For Blaise when he found out about father number 4. Theo when his trip home left little to the imagination. Pansy for when she needed a secluded place to cry. And for Draco. When life at home started to bleed into his time at school.

I lay out the blanket and sit down tapping the spot next to me, motioning Theo to sit beside me. I sit cross legged while staring upon the edge of the lake. I hear Theo pull out a cigarette and light it next to me. The red embers burn as he inhales. Making smoke rings as he exhales. I have found whenever I have some time to myself I spend it organizing my thoughts. Always occluding.

“You know, You don't have to occlude around me.” Theo says from beside me as he inhales again.

I open my eyes and tilt my head to the side to look at him.

“Maybe you're a master in legilimency, secretly trying to get into my head to learn all my weaknesses.” I say swiping his cigarette from his hands and taking my own inhale with a smirk on my lips.

“Scared I might discover that you're secretly in love with me Scar?” He laughs while pushing his curly brunette locks out of his face dramatically.

“You wish.” I say while handing back the cigarette.

I can't say that I haven't thought about Theo in that way. We have been friends since first year because of Draco. I can deny how attractive he is. Tall, built like a seeker, honey skin tone, green eyes that light up when someone is talking about quidditch. The way his brows furrow when he is trying to understand something from his textbook. The way a single curl falls into his face throughout the day no matter how many charms he puts on it.

I have had a crush on Theo, one of my cousin's best friends since we were younger… But he doesn't know the real Scarlet. The girl whose mother is a delirious murder. Whose father only ever wanted an heir and makes sure she knows it. That the only attention he gives her is through forcing her to learn the dark arts and teaching her physical lesions when she gets them wrong. I cannot add to the stress of his life by adding the shitshow that is mine. So I fake it. Pretend that I am not crazy about the brunette sitting beside me. To protect him.

“How do you know I don't use it to protect you from me?’ I ask, eyeing him while he takes a drag.

He turns to look at me and smiles. He put his arm around me pulling me into him and kissing the top of my head

“Because I am one of your best friends! You don't need to protect me from anything. And hey, one of these days I'm going to get you to let your walls down with me.” he says matter of factly.

I just hum in acknowledgment and lean into him while we watch the giant squid rise above the surface and back down again in silence.

After a while Theo takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I saw Adrian at dinner tonight.” Theo says with an exhale of smoke. “He looked like he wanted to talk to you.”

“Really?” I say as a blush makes its way to my cheeks.

“Yeah. I thought you two broke up?” He says while passing me the stick.

“We uh.. Yeah we did.. But he has been trying to talk to me all summer.” I say taking a small drag.

A couple of minutes goes by in silence.

“Is it wrong to miss him Theo?” I say just barely above a whisper.

“He cheated on you Scar. He lied and cheated on you. He hurt you.”

I can feel tears start to prickle my eyelids. Quickly wiping the tear that was threatening to fall.

“I know Theo. It was my fault though. I wasn't good to him. I didn't give him the attention he deserved.”

“Oh bloody hell. Don't do that. Do not sit here and tell me it's your fault that he decided to get his dick wet by someone else.” He turned to face me now. Holding my face in his hand. His hands are so soft. Closing my eyes I relax into his touch. “You deserve the world Scarlet Johnson. Don’t let anyone say otherwise.”

Nodding and whipping the tears that fell I felt a pang of guilt in my chest at the foux name that came out of Theos mouth.

After an hour we decided to head back inside. We saw our goodbyes and parted ways to our dorms. Once I made it to my four posters and curled into the blankets. Thinking about what Theo said, “You don't have to occlude around me.” “You deserve the world” If only he knew how dark it can get within my head.

————————————————————————————-

“Again” “Crucio” he shouts from behind me. I drop to my knees. A thousand white hot knives cutting through my skin, and within a second I am laying on the floor. Every bone in my body is breaking. After what felt like hours it stopped. “...please… I can't… no more…” I struggle to speak. “Pathetic” he spits. “Get up.” He grabs my arm and yanks me to stand on my feet. Tears running down my face.

“Again.” “CRUCIO” he pours all of his magic into me. This time I scream. I'm begging him to stop. “please… father… no…. more…” I manage between screams, but he's relentless.

“Again” He yanks me up to my feet. I can barely stand on my own before he yells again “CRUCIO!” falling to the ground I know I am screaming but I can no longer hear myself.

“Scar!” Please stop… “Scarlet!” I can't take it anymore… Shaking me awake my eyes snap open. Everything hurts. But her grip is strong. She's holding me down.

“You're okay. He's not here. You're in our dorm. Scarlet you are safe” She stares, as my body is convulsing underneath her. Occlude, occlude, occlude. Breath. Breath. Breath.

In

Out

In

Out

In

Out

Ground myself.. I see the green curtains above my bed. I see the family signet ring on my left index finger. I see Pansy sitting next to me. I hear the lake hum against the window. I hear my heavy breathing. I hear Pansy reassuring words. I can move my toes. I can move my head. I can move my hands.

Finally my breathing slows. I look around and Pansy is next to me. “Father?” I slowly nod my head and she lets go and slowly gets off the bed.

I must have woken her, she is in her green satin pajamas and her short black hair messy. I get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Sweat covers my body. My throat is sore. I was screaming in my sleep again. Fantastic.

“I'm sorry for waking you Pans” I say over my shoulder while shutting the door to the bathroom.

Turning on the shower I walk over to the mirror and discard my clothes. Staring at myself makes me nauseous. The disillusionment charm has worn off by now.

My arms littered with a mixture of cigarette burns and various cuts and bruises. Lashes on my chest and stomach from curses I don't remember. Cuts on my legs are a mixture of my own doings and my mothers.

Turning to the shower and tearing my vision away from my reflection I try to relax my muscles with the hot water pouring down on me. Once I step out I cast my disillusionment charm over myself once more and get dressed for the day. It's breakfast so I head down to meet the rest of the group before classes start.

—————————————————————————————-

Walking in to the great hall I see Harry, Hermione and Ron and give them a wave.

“Where were you last night Scar? I didn't see you come to bed.” Pansy asks as I sit next to her.

“Me? I went out for a walk. Wanted some fresh air.” I begin pushing food around my plate.

Looking around I see Theo, Blaise and Draco deep in conversation about quidditch. Looking farther down the table I see Adrian. He really did change over the summer. His hair has gotten longer, lying lazily in his face. His eyes. His eyes always had a way to get me lost within them. All of a sudden, his eyes are on me. A blush creeps onto my face as he smirks. God I miss that mouth.

There he is. In the great hall I see Adrian. A toothy smile, and a wink is thrown my way while he sips his pumpkin juice.

“Earth to Scar.” Snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in my face.

“Oh I'm sorry, Pans. What were you saying?

“It's time to go to charms. If you would stop staring at Adrian, I was going to tell you that I have a plan to occupy the boys. I'll tell you about while we walk to class”

The rest of the day went by rather slowly. Charms with Pansy, Herbology with Blaise and Theo, Poisons with Draco and Theo, Divination with Draco and Pansy, History of Magic with Theo and Pansy, and Astronomy with all of them. Potions is my favorite class and being able to have Draco in my class makes it that much easier, except for when I have to fight over being his partner with Theo, but this time it looks as if Pansy beat us to it.

“Well hello partner” Theo sings while sliding in next to me. I roll my eyes at Theo.

“You're welcome by the way. I know you stole me away from Draco so that you could get an easy O.” I joke while settling into my seat.

“Or maybe I just wanted to work with you” He says while putting his arm around me and squeezing me.

“Oh whatever, Theo.” I giggle.

“Hello losers. I need your boy's help.” Pansy says while plopping across from us.

“Oh no. I am not helping you decide on an outfit again. Last time you made me try them on. Nope no again.” Blaise says while popping the ‘p’.

“Oh please you loved it Nott. No. I need help learning to fly. I need you and Draco to show me and for Theo to wait below to make sure that I don’t die when I inevitably fall to the ground.” Smiling while looking at her nails.

“And what is in it for me, Pans?” Draco grabbing another roll.

“Help me and you might find out.” Pansy says smirking in his direction.

“Fine. We'll be there. Scar will probably be studying for our first quiz from Slughorn anyways”

—————————————————————————————

After dinner I make my way to the dorms looking for Adrian within the swarm of boys playing exploding snap and wizards chest. Once I hear his laugh I make my way to him.

Making eye contact with me he says something that I couldn't hear from our distance. He pats his friend on his back and makes his way towards me. Once the distance is closed he reaches for me and pulls me in for a hug.

He whispers into my hair “There you are, angel. I have been waiting for a moment. I could swift you away. Are you free? None of your body guards around.”

“There are outside. Wanna talk?” He snakes his arm around my back as I lead him up to my dorm.

In my dorm we are sitting on the bed across from each other. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Circe I have missed you angel. I thought when you didn't respond to my owls you didn't wanna talk to me. What I did was inexcusable and I'm so sorry. I just think I needed someone who had time to care for my needs. Make me feel important, you know?"

I lean over to touch his face “I missed you too. So much. And I'm sorry. I should've worked harder. I promise I will do better this time... If you'll have me that is. ”

He leans his forehead against mine. His hands come to tangle into my hair. Slowly he inches closer to my mouth. Just a breath away. “Its okay, angel. You can always try harder.”

He closes the distance between our lips and my body tingles. He deeps the kiss his tongue asking permission to enter. As I open a small moan escapes from me and he starts to push me down on the bed. “I've missed this, the feel of your skin. You little moans.” he says between breaths as his hand travels down father gripping the hem of my shirt. Pulling it off of me he starts palming my breasts.

“Oh Adrian” mumbles from him as he works his way down my neck to my chest with his mouth. Flipping my skirt up over my hips he presses kisses on my thigh.

“That's it baby, Circe those sounds you make are so sweet.” I'm soaked, my panties are ruined by my arousal for the boy in front of me.

“Already wet for me baby” Slipping one finger in gaining a gasp out of me.

“Still so tight for me” Pulling down my panties, throwing them across the room and attaching his lips to my clit. Putting another finger inside, the knot that is building is starting to fray.

“That angel came undone for me.”

“Oh. Adri-”

“Tell me what you want, angel. Use your words” He growls while unbuttoning his pants but keeping the same rhythm on my clit and in my pussy.

“You- Ugh”

“Please- you, I want you I want to taste you too”

Without a second thought he disregards the rest of his trousers. He removes his fingers leaving me feeling empty. 

He grips my hair and shoves my head hard onto his crotch, as I open my mouth to fit him inside. 

““Dear Salazar. I missed your pretty mouth angel” He says between breathy moans never breaking the pace of fucking my mouth.

“Tell me you want me. Tell me how much you love me.” Adrian pants out.

Unable to respond with his cock jamming in and out of my mouth I hum around him.

“TELL ME. SAY YOU ONLY WANT ME” He growls out, fastening his pace. His hand came around my throat. Pressing hard onto my throat, hard enough to feel himself.

Pulling myself off of him just long enough to croak out “I.. only… want you.” 

“That's right angel. Swallow all of me and I’ll make you come.” He grits out hammering himself back down my throat. 

He shoves down my throat one more time and stays there. Trying to breath out of my nose I can feel tears streaming down my face as I feel his come shoot down my throat. His heart beats rapidly in his chest as he comes down from his orgasm. 

“Come here angel.” He says pulling me into him. He brushes the hair out of my face and wipes the tears off my face. “Good job. Come on, lets snuggle.” 

It's late by the time that I wake up again. My arms swing to the side to snake around Adrian waist but I am met with the empty presence of my bed next to me. A scrap of parchment is on my pillow, reaching for my wand on the bedside table. I cast a lumos to reveal what it says.

Angel, I'm sorry that I left but when Pansy came into the room, I just didn't want to get hexed in my sleep. I didn't wake you because you looked peaceful sleeping. I didn't want to wake you. Come find me tomorrow? Adrian

He is so sweet. I look over and Pansy is sleeping soundly in her bed. Reaching over to place the note in my nightstand I take a peek at the time. It's still the middle of the night. Rolling over to the new bed I engulf myself in the leftover scent of grass and broom oil. Slowly drifting back to sleep.

[trialserrors]

A very short oneshot about Michael carrying Evan’s body in the car, with the rest of the family, to the hospital.

Sheets of rain weep and pour and slide down the speeding, deep violet car, its purple a weak blight in the absolute darkness outside. as it races, the jarring orange lights overheard it beams down, momentary as it speeds past, becoming a bright blur. 

It’s driver grasps tightly on the steering wheel, navigating to the hospital. His visage is avoided by the car’s passengers, who wonder, frightened, if the look in his eyes might be unbearable. His wife, eyes shut tight neglectfully, faces only the window, which’s clear image has been unconsidered by the unforgiving rain, as its tears streak down it slowly.

She does not take a second away from her forceful ignorance. She gently murmurs artificial comforts but she does not dare look. She can feel the after-sting of tears on her cheeks. 

Her daughter, abruptly turned youngest child, sits stiffly in the back seat, her quivering hands balled into fists. She stares, intensely, down at her feet. She does not say a word. She does not know if a strangled, hateful scream would come out of her mouth, or a frail sob. 

Her brother, maybe her only brother now, has a tiny dead body in his arms.

Tears stream candidly down his face, but he does not make a sound. He fixes his eyes, wide, onto his little brother’s limp form, onto the open scar, onto the scarlet that has stained all around him. His mouth is open, as if to speak. His older brother’s is too. They are both silent. Evan will forever be silent.

Elizabeth sprints up to the stage and shoulders past Mike harshly, as the adults, who paid no mind of Mike’s cruel parade until now, until it had gone so unthinkably wrong, rushed up to the scene, Father prying Evan from Fredbear’s jaws and carrying him away composedly, though Mike could see his hands tremor feebly when he turned away. 

What did you do to him? Mike! His sister demanded.

He is still alive. Father reasoned calmly. He was the only one appearing calm in the building. 

Elizabeth snaps at him, which is surely a crime in the Afton household, I didn’t ask you. I want to know what happened! I asked- 

“Michael,” His mother attempted to soothe, “It’s alright. Evan’s going to be okay.” Continuously, she would try to console him, his sister, his father, who had been deafeningly silent, who they all had shied away from.

Mike didn’t respond, his trembling finger tracing along the fresh wound on Evan’s head. His mother was not a solace, she had been missing and unfamiliar for too long, and she still refused to look at him. He felt as though obsidian pebbles had been placed beneath his skin and below his eyes. 

Elizabeth’s gaze sluggishly wanders towards Mike’s hands, and she is tempted to slap them away and order Mike not to so much as go near Evan, incase he breaks her little brother even more. 

The family falls silent. The car continues going. Mr. Afton keeps driving. Evan’s life nears its end. 

[bonefall]

I think you might be talking about me--i sent in the post thanking you for giving Sorreltail epilepsy and I told you about my daughter. We missed the post about Shadowsight now having full epilepsy, but I want to thank you again. Shadowsight is her favorite cat, and she's so happy.

Glad to see you around!! Yep, I fixed Shadowsight too, in a way I hope you'll both like.

[ID: Better Bones Shadowsight. He is a large gray tabby with a black mohawk and red eyes. He has a jagged, red scar down his eye, splitting his ear in half, down his neck, and continuing down the arm.]

Since Sorreltail has absence seizures and her epilepsy is on the mild side, I went and gave Shadowsight a more severe type to get a better range of rep.

He has clonic-tonic seizures, which he was born with.

The seizures are NOT related to visions anymore! That's just a thing he has.

Tawnypelt's Clan is going to get reduxed into something less about needing to save the tribe again (which I have issues with as the narrative keeps taking away the tribe's competence and agency), to Tawnypelt seeking treatment for him.

Since his type is more severe than Sorrel's, his treatment plan includes chamomile.

Chamomile is poisonous to cats in high amounts, so its dose is carefully controlled.

I plan to show him growing more skilled as a medic with preparing his own medications, as measuring the dose is quite delicate.

It'll be served in broth form because the idea of him lapping up tea out of a little painted bowl is irresistible

And when he's possessed...

[ID: Better Bones Shadowsight. He is a large gray tabby with a black mohawk and pink eyes. He has a jagged, blue scar down his eye, splitting his ear in half, down his neck, and continuing down the arm]

The split ear is made to look like radio antennae. Like he's picking up signals.

The lightning bolt is what gives him that connection to StarClan and its warriors. Ashfur had intelligently blocked off the rest of silverpelt, so Shadow was only hearing HIM.

It glows blue because the electric is running in it, also Ashfur Symbolism.

The final battle with Ashfur is MUCH different. It takes place in the land between StarClan and the Dark Forest-- The Meadow of Young Stars.

Ashfur absorbs several cats and becomes something so large and strong that it can't be killed by regular claws

And it's in this moment that Shadowsight confronts the man who used and controlled him.

"You're nothing without me, Shadowsight! What are you doing?! Stop!"

He blasts the lightning bolt right back at him, giving up the connection to StarClan that Ashfur had given him, using it like an electric tether to hold him in place

He can't hold him! Rootspring, Strikestone, and everyone else he'd lost in the Impostor's Tyranny leap into action to hold him as he holds down Ashfur

It's that moment where Bristlefrost realizes what she must do

Instead of falling into water, Briss lines up, charges, and body checks the eldrich horror out of the sky like a shooting star

They burn up in orbit, crashing down to Earth as a pair of meteorites. There is going to be a crater on the map from this point on.

After this, he starts to look like the first image. His blue scar fades to light red, and his eyes go back to scarlet.

[1donoow]

DC REC

PT.2

......

♡ - smut

Most of them are fluff

......

<a/n>i somewhat explain why there's alot in my pin post

batmom

batfam

batsis

bruce wayne

garfield logan

Jason todd

alfred pennyworth

batmom

@batfam-imagines - things batmom has definitely said

@dc-x-readers - open door policy (young justice x batmom)

@morgansunflower - sleep well my precious robin

- busted

@battymommastuff - injury

- hey mom (titan)

- that's my mom (amazonian!reader)

@timetravelassasin - mom us an assassin

@blackcupidangel - motherhood

@bluebellhairpin - video tapes

- what they call batmom

@kimberly-spirits13 - saving the day (scarlet witch!batmom)

@xxgoblin-dumplingxx - batmom cleaning jason up after his first time as robin

@xoxo-mylove - i hate that soothing voice(dick grayson)

- new beginnings (jason todd)

@dragon-chica - batmom

———————————————————————

batfam

@butwhyduh - ___

@riotlain - batboy's s/o giving small gifts to them

@kayadrake123 - batboys x famous reader

———————————————————————

batsis

@current-interest-writings - nicknames a family tradition

@alessabriel - y/n wayne!venom (male reader)

@detectivemarvelingcomics - not your classic vigilante ch.2

@kimberly-spirits13 - batsibling with black panther suit/ persona

@flying-nightwing - life lesson (never kidnap a wayne kid)

———————————————————————

bruce wayne

@catxsnow - let's have a baby

@ellabxrnes - hypnotist

@invisibleanonymousmonsters - trauma (daughter!reader)

@headcans-oneshots-and-stuff - lost,found and consequences (toddler!reader)

@dragon-chica - faithful couple

———————————————————————

garfield logan

@busylickingsatansballs - pretty kitty

@hobiiwan - ___

@gangrenados - ___

- morning hc

@wondergotham - Being Best Friends w/Conner & Gar

@multifandomimaginesworld - dating gar logan would include

@ghostdrafts - gar logan dating headcannon

@kioelo - time

@idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 - you have a connection

@gars-jasons-gf - relationship hc pt.2

———————————————————————

jason todd

@ghost-soap - ___

@nightwings-circus - husband-zoned

@iheartdoll - jason todd hc

@cipheress-to-k-pop - curls

@a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all - perfect

@veronica-17-hood - ___

@s1ater - daddy's girl pt.1 (batsis)

@katsumox - jason todd headcannon

@rekiilysm - adore you

@redhoodedangel - scars that last (scarlet witch!reader)

@book-place - a day with jay (sister!reader)

@thebisexualdogdad - jason todd dating roy harper's brother

@ellana-ravenwood - draw me like one of your french boy

- A baby in the family

@kaleidoscopewritings19 - halloween special (black widow!reader)

@yourlocalcringydaydreamer - jason with autistic reader

@xxgoblin-dumplingxx - Jason resting his head on reader's ass

- jason seeing you in a swimsuit for the first time

- jason with baby fever

- jason todd being soft for his girlfriend

- jason loosing the reader in a store

- jason getting babied

- bruce disapproving of reader and jason's relationship until

- jason's reading glasses

- ___(gentle giant!jason)

>>>>>teddy!verse<<<<<

•teddy referring reader as mother for the first time •protective mama bear •dad!jason meeting his wife for the first time •bruce talking with teddy!verse reader •mother's day lunch •jason calling the reader ridiculous pet names

———————————————————————

alfred pennyworth

@lazydoodlesandfanfic - needing a cheer up (daughter!reader)

[essayofthoughts]

how about vex and one of the kids, cure wounds?

Oh oh! This lets me indulge that headcanon of mine that emotionally gutted you! You know - this one.

It isn't often that Gwennie gets injured, surprisingly enough. She's as enamoured with inventing and explosions as Percy is, but she's also much more fireproof and does actually have a modicum of sense - she knows not to pick up anything sharp and look both ways before crossing the street (or, better yet, to cross the street safely on Trinket's back) and besides which, Percy's very good at bandaging the children up from their inevitable cuts and scrapes well before she returns from a patrol.

So it's rare to see Gwen, a little teary eyed and one hand held gingerly, at the door to the library. Even before spotting the tears she knows something's wrong: Trinket's head swings up from where he'd been sprawled in a sleepy pile on the floor, and she knows how protective of his little siblings Trinket is.

"Mummy?" Gwen's voice is quiet and has that little hitching breath that means even though she's not crying now she had been recently. "I hurt myself."

She steps in when Vex gestures, holding out her hand and oh. Oh, that's nasty. It had taken them a bit of time to see how bruises and burns and cuts look on Gwen's scarlet skin, but this is a nasty graze, thickly clotting dark blood across the heel of her palm like someone's tried to crust her skin with living rubies.

Gwen's blood, though, is far more precious to Vex than any ruby she might encounter.

"Oh darling," she says, taking her daughter's hand in hers. Gwen runs warm - just as warm as Percy to the exact same degree - and the first thing Vex does is press a kiss to Gwen's palm. Kiss it better may not really work, but it soothes the children and with Gwen especially she and Percy have gone out of their way to show her that she's loved. "Let me fix that."

Cure Wounds is an old and familiar spell and it's easy to cast, the words a soft murmur against her daughter's skin before the magic takes effect.

"Oh," says Gwen, as the green-gold washes over her hand, catching around the edge of the graze like water at the shore, sparkling instead of frothing and when it finally fades away the start of the scab does too, leaving behind clean, unmarred skin. "Oh!"

"There we go," Vex says and presses a kiss to Gwen's forehead. "All better."

Gwen's silent, examining her hand closely before comparing it to the scar on her arm - the only mark left on her after a playfight with Danny went wrong and a glass had been smashed. Percy had patched the children up, and everything healed fine, but- well. First scars tend to be remembered.

"Mummy," Gwen says slowly. "Daddy has a lot of these." She points to her scar. "But you can heal things so they don't do that."

"Yes," she says, unsure where Gwen's going with this.

"Can you heal them too? These-" She points at the scar again.

"Scars," she says. "They're called scars."

"Scars," Gwen says. "Can you heal them?"

If only. There's a lot Vex would give to have been able to heal Percy of even half of what Ripley had inflicted on him. She'll settle for the bitch being goddamn dead.

"Scars are what happen when you don't heal bad injuries with magic," she says. "They're how the body heals on it's own." She pulls back her sleeve, shows one of the small bitemarks she has from when she'd been raising Trinket. "See?"

"Oh," Gwen says, still frowning, still clearly thinking. "Daddy was hurt a lot then."

Oh. Oh it's this conversation. Vex has managed to avoid this conversation with all of the children so far - they've all taken it to Percy. She'd thought Gwen would too - the two are thick as thieves and it's quite adorable really - but. Well.

"Yes," she says. "By the same people who hurt your Auntie Cass."

"Oh."

Gwen is still thinking. She doesn't seem upset - and Vex credits herself as being very good at reading her children - but she's not entirely sure what Gwen's thinking at all.

"Uncle Tary says people come up with new spells all the time."

... Okay this is a jump.

"Your Uncle Tary likes to make up stories," she says with a smile. "But yes, some people do develop new spells."

"And Daddy invents new techno- technyli- Tek-no-log-gy." Oh Gwen stumbling over long words shouldn't be so cute but it always is. "And Vesper says that people find new things out all the time too."

"Yes."

Gwen nods, simple and determined, clearly to herself, so much her father's daughter. Vex waits for her daughter to look back up at her and lets her have space to speak.

"I'm going to find out how to heal scars," Gwen says. "But you can't tell him. He'll make The Face."

Oh boy will he. Vex is having a hard time not making it herself now, and covers for that by reaching down to hug her daughter.

"I'm sure you will," she says into Gwennie's pigtails. "Shall I help you find some books on it?"

[mythos321]

The Fourth of my WoF x Persona AU Profiles, this one being just a confidant as opposed to a Phantom Thief(also with a different arcana compared to the character they’re crossed with)

Kestrel: The Hanged Dragon

Arcana: Hanged Man

Birthdate: April 7th, 4981 AS

Backstory:Kestrels backstory starts similar to how it does in the main universe, with her losing both her children at The Diamond Spray river, one to Queen Scarlet, and the other to the river. However, due to the lack of The Talons of Peace, Kestrel instead kept up her search for her son, searching high and low for him almost like a madwoman. She nearly did find her son many times, but each time he disappeared from her sights, and she had no idea what to do, however, she had determined the general area where he stayed, and set up a cavern for herself for the time.

However, the day she finally found her son, she realized he was completely terrified of her, he hadn’t been disappearing from her for no reason…he thought she was trying to kill him. This shook Kestrel to her core, and though she tried to speak with her son, a small scavenger seemed to attempt to ward her off, and Kestrel, in so much shock, willingly fled, however always keeping close to her son as she slowly tried to make him trust her, with very minimal progress in such.

Kestrel felt lost, broken, and ashamed, passing her time by turning her cavern into a sort of cafe/bar she(uncreatively) named Cavern Tavern, serving multiple assortments of dishes, mainky coffee and curry. During this time she met a Mudwing named Asha who was the closest she had to an acquaintance, and one day learned from her about her nephew Clay, who by Ashas accord was being sent on probation due to being framed for attacking an unknown Skywing official.

Kestrel put together from the Skywings behavior they must have been Queen Scarlet, and with this knowledge, volunteered to let Clay stay with her as his guardian, and until his probations up, he shall be taken under her wings(hehe).

Physical Description: Kestrel is overall the same in her appearance, with a minor change in having a small scar on her paw after it was stabbed by a certain scavenger that was with her son. The biggest difference in appearance is actually Kestrels demeanor, having a much calmer abd more approachable face.

Personality:Although she used to be very similar to her main version, Kestrel is much less aggressive now after what happened between her and her son, with her having had the subconscious realization her actions and way of life made her own child afraid of her. She however is still very strict and cold, if only initially when Clay first meets her. Some also claim she has a smooth charm to her, though Kestrel herself admits she lost a lot of over the years.

Goals:To try and make amends with her son, and hopefully find her daughter one day.

Trivia

-Unlike her main counterpart, Kestrel would never even dream of harming the other dragonets, much less Clay

-Kestrels immediate assumption whenever Clay brings a dragon around his age to her cafe is that they’re his girlfriend/boyfriend, and she often snarks he’s surprisingly uneventful in that regard considering all the other hijinks he tells her about(or what she secretly reads from his journal and letters when he isn’t looking)

-Kestrel has a medical condition that gives her a forked tongue, she thinks it’s weird but does admit it makes for the occasional fun party trick

-Kestrel is a master of curry, her best ones being Beef Curry and(after lots of practice) Vegetable curry, the latter which she mainly makes for Sky

-Kestrel thinks those who do nothing about themself and use the excuse that that is the way life made them are losers who should get thrown off a cliff, she’d know, she used to think that way