#stained hearts and dark desires fanfic

[fukae-flwr]

Stained Hearts & Dark Desires

Chapter 1 Unexpected Reunions

Summary: Our story begins 7 years after the events of their 5th year at Hogwarts. Ominis and Sebastian check on Anne, who has been suspiciously silent for some time. Unexpectedly a long time enemy falls right into their hands.

Word count: 3.4k words

Rating: MATURE!!! 18+ (NO MINORS!!!)

Warnings: Violent thoughts and Slight mentions of murder but very brief

Chapter: 2,

“It's unlike Anne to not respond to your owls, Ominis.” Sebastian expressed his concerns. He took long strides in hopes to move faster towards Anne’s little cottage in Feldcroft. She had wanted to leave the cottage all together after what he had done, but having only been fifteen, and a female with no other living relatives willing to take her in, she had to stay, lest be an orphan on the streets.

With Ominis’s help, Anne was able to completely change the interior of the cottage, making it feel like a completely different home. With that and keeping her distance from Sebastian for the first three years, Anne was able to move on with her life. Sebastian wasn’t sure why, but after those three years, Anne finally wrote him a letter stating she’d be willing to slowly let him back in, but still held him responsible for their Uncle’s death.

Sebastian never felt more grateful than he did at that moment. He swore he’d never hurt her ever again like that. He has been working hard, at Anne’s pace of course, to win her back. She occasionally responded to his owls, but always responded to Ominis’s. It was fair, so he didn’t let his jealousy take hold of him; he understood the reason.

It was only recently when Ominis had sent his usual owl about their endeavors, that they realized Anne hadn’t sent a response in over a week. Usually Anne’s owl only took a few days, a week at most, but her replies were often consistent, unlike now. Which led them to where they were today, fastly approaching Anne’s cottage in hopes to find her in her living room going about her day. Due to prior engagements with the Ministry, they were unable to arrive in Feldcroft before sunset.

“I agree. Let’s hope she simply has not gotten around to sending her response yet.” Ominis was trying to stay positive, but Sebastian could tell from the look on his face, he was just as worried as he was. They quickly rushed to that familiar cottage with a lovely garden out front. Upon closer arrival, it was a little on the unmaintained side. Not quite fully neglected, but both the boys knew Anne enjoyed keeping her garden well maintained. If Anne was gone, she hadn’t been gone long.

“The garden is not as pristine as it should be,” Sebastian pointed out for Ominis.

“Perhaps she fell sick?” Ominis offered as he headed towards the front door. Sebastian close behind.

“Doubtful.” Even if she was sick, Anne could be as stubborn as Sebastian. She often thought since she survived through her curse, she could get through anything. Nothing stopped her from living her life anymore, not even something like illnesses.

It was dark inside, and much to their dismay, lifeless. Ominis walked over to the fireplace, while Sebastian ran to the bedroom upstairs. The bed was perfectly made and untouched. Everything was exactly where it had always been.

“The fireplace hasn’t been used in awhile.” Ominis called out. Feeling the suffocating anxiety building up inside, he quickly marched down the stairs.

“The bed hasn’t been touched either. Damn it!” Sebastian cursed.

“My wand isn’t depicting any signs of a struggle, perhaps she left of her volition?”

“Without telling either of us? Where could she have gone?”

Before Ominis could say anything, a loud thump filled the eerily quiet cottage. It was muffled as it must have come from outside.

“Outside. Quick!” Ominis quickly began to run out of the house. Sebastian right on his heels, headed for the source of the sound. Racing around the cottage, Sebastian spotted a woman not too far, running towards the forest line.

“Ominis!”

“I hear her!”

They both took off after her, Sebastian casting Arrest Momentum, but the woman rolled out of the way while turning to face them to throw a depulso back at him. Ominis was quick enough with pretago to block the spell, thankfully.

“It’s that woman Anne had over a while back!” Sebastian exclaimed as he threw out shots to stop her escape. She was clearly an expert at blocking the basic casts, throwing pretgo up at the right moments.

He recognized Penelope’s wavy long blonde hair, and piercing green eyes immediately. He had only met her once and it was over a year ago. Their first introduction had been pleasant, nothing out of the ordinary. She was overly friendly and apparently a fan of the both of them, but nothing all that strange. Thanks to the Daily Prophet, they had made quite the name for themselves.

Sebastian and Ominis chased Penelope into the forest, the woman avoiding all of their spells. She occasionally threw out a few spells herself, most of them being on the defensive side. Spells meant to slow or stop the opponent such as depulso, and glacius. She wasn’t really acting on the offense, only trying to get away. Something he wasn't going to let happen.

Finally getting close enough, Ominis casted the blasting curse at the closest tree to her, sending the large tree crumbling down in front of her. Pieces of the tree shot out towards her, knocking her slightly off balance while she shielded her face from the chunks. Taking the opportunity, Sebastian threw out the Incarcerous charm towards her. He watched the rope fly towards Penelope as she attempted to move out of the way after just barely gaining her composure. It wrapped itself around her legs, forcing her to fall backward down a slope off to the side.

“Got her!” Sebastian exclaimed victoriously.

“Good job, Sebastian!” Ominis quickly slid down the slope side, to reach her at the small clearing she had landed in. He quickly summoned her wand away from her, successfully cornering her. Sebastian, upon arriving noticed her little bag she carried had fallen off during her tumble. Some of her belongings laid out in the open off to the side. But what caught his eye was the faint glimpse of a mask poking out. Keeping her in his line of sight, he went over to her bag to find that the mask was an all too familiar one. A pale porcelain mask shined brightly, practically glowing in the moonlight. It had a few scratches here and there but otherwise remained well polished. This was the mask of the very dark wizard they had been hunting. A mask that often taunted Ominis and him whenever they had nearly captured the damn criminal. In a fury, he picked up the mask and marched closer to the woman. Why in Merlin’s beard did she have that blasted mask?!

“Where is Anne?” Ominis questioned.

“Ominis.” Sebastian handed the mask to him, never taking his eyes off the criminal.

Those same piercing green eyes just glared at the both of them remaining silent. Penelope had already taken the ropes off her ankles but knew she was cornered so made no move. Not once did she glance at the mask or her belongings, only focused on the two of them.

“So you’re the Masked Wizard,” Ominis spat, tossing the mask towards her.

“Where’s Anne!?”

She sat there for a moment, contemplating her next choice of words before ultimately sighing, and giving up.

“I..don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Sebastian hissed, stepping closer threateningly. She didn’t even flinch, just held his glare with her own, despite being below him.

“I mean I. Don’t. Know.” Penelope repeated with venom lacing her voice.

“What were you doing at her house then?” Ominis interrogated.

“Same thing as you. Looking for Anne. She hasn't responded to my recent owls, and she was supposed to meet up with me but failed to show.” She explained as her eyebrows deepened with what Sebastian imagined to be faux concern.

“Please. What does a lowly criminal like you want with my sister?” Sebastian demanded. How stupid he was not realizing how much danger Anne had been all this time. The very criminal they were after had been pen pals with his sister, even meeting up for biscuits and tea! She could’ve threatened them with Anne at any time, or worse. She could’ve taken the last person he called family away from him. Merlin, he could kill her for that.

That very thought reminded him how he still hadn’t changed from his old ways. He knew better for sure, but still had that side of him buried, always trying to claw its way back out. That vile, disgusting part of him that was fueled by emotion and arrogance. He felt he was battling it everyday.

She just sneered at his remark, yet said nothing in return. Her own hatred filled those emerald eyes. Her own darkness taking hold of her. Something oddly familiar to him.

“Does she know who you are?” Ominis appeared to be very calm, but Sebastian knew better than anyone. He was on the verge of doing something on par with Sebastian’s own mistakes. Ominis was typically the most leveled headed of the two of them, but when involving the ones he loves, he was willing to do anything. It was something that had become more apparent when…she died. It was like something changed that day in Ominis. He still had his reservations about the unforgivables but became more motivated to do what is necessary to protect his loved ones. Even if it meant doing something unforgivable. Not to mention that if Penelope was truly the Masked Wizard, Ominis and Sebastian had unfinished business.

Something shifted in Penelope’s eyes, almost hesitating on what to say, but Sebastian crouched to her level, hoping to give her the appropriate motivation.

“Answer the question, or we’ll be taking a nice trip to Azkaban.” Her expression quickly darkened in response. As if closing off immediately, her eyes turned cold, devoid of any emotion aside from anger. She wasn't glaring per se, but her body language and eyes held no warmth.

“Do that, and Anne dies.” She immediately responded, not a second's hesitation. She spoke so confidently, as if what she said wasn’t anything other than pure fact. Before Ominis could even think of interfering, Sebastian snapped his arm out towards her.

“Sebastian!” Ominis called out, but it fell on deaf ears. This bitch was threatening Anne and he wasn’t going to let it slide. He didn’t give a damn how reckless it was.

“What did you do to my sister?!” He held her by the collar, holding her close but not enough to make her fall forward. Her shirt threatened to tear under his iron grip. He had half the mind to grip her by the throat.

He shot that thought down immediately. He needed to keep some control. He felt at war with himself. He hated how he momentarily he lost control, and yet part of him couldn't care less. She was asking for it and had been threatening his twin's life. How did someone remain calm in that kind of situation?

“You always fly off the handle? I expected more from the Ministry's golden boy” She snickered viciously at him, tuanting him. Ominis stood next to him, holding his shoulder firmly but gently. Unspokely trying to calm him down like he always did, and it was working. Sebastian gripped her collar tighter before fighting off his temper and dropping her like a sack of potatoes.

Stepping back, Ominis stood between him and her. Sebastian knew it was for his safety not hers. They didn't know what she was capable of even without her wand, and he was acting like a fool. Again. Part of him was off having a pity party, while the other half was telling him to focus. Anne was the most important thing now, not him and his lack of control. Three years of training wasn’t going to go to waste. He was better than that.

“Elaborate exactly what you mean Anne will die if you go to prison?” Ominis threatened.

“Exactly that. She’s cursed.” She repeated nonchalantly.

“No. That was cured years ago by a friend of ours that you killed.” Ominis corrected. Mentioning her death by the Masked Wizard had turned his voice menacing. It was terrifying when Ominis was really mad. It wasn’t something he often turned on Sebastian, but when he did, Sebastian felt his sins crawling on his back. She, too, must have sense that since that left her faltering for a moment. An unreadable expression appeared on her face but quickly vanished, returning to its empty stare once more.

“You call her your friend?”

“Watch it.” Sebastian warned. Ominis and Sebastian didn’t talk about her, but Edith’s death was something they carried with them everywhere, every day of their lives. It was something the both of them regretted. Part of them knew that if they had just tracked her down sooner, they possibly could have prevented her death. They had so many things that needed to be said, to be answered, and they all died with her that day on the cliffside.

Penelope just let out a breathless chuckle that held no true amusement behind it. It was more of a laugh of disbelief.

“You are avoiding the subject. Anne has been cured for years, so please explain how she needs you?” Ominis steered the conversation back to Anne and away from Edith. She shot Ominis a look that could kill while locking her jaw. Sebastian wasn’t sure what the point was in keeping her secrets now. She was caught, and either way, she was going to Azkaban. The Ministry had their ways to get information, remaining silent was futile.

“Anne…was…never fully cured.” She spoke like trying to get the words out was physically a challenge for her. She didn’t even look at them as she spoke. She turned her gaze to the ground, glaring as if it had been the source of her ire. Neither of them said anything, not wanting to interrupt the woman. They waited for Penelope to continue and were rewarded for their patience.

“I…that person didn’t cure Anne, not completely,” It didn’t escape either of them how she changed her words mid sentence, “She came up with a solution, yes, but a temporary one. One that needs constant tending to. If left unattended for long periods of time, the curse will retaliate against the temporary cure, causing Anne excruciating pain enough to kill her.” She explained, not looking up her fists in the dirt.

“And why should we believe a word you say?” Sebastian spat at her. There was no way this could be true. Anne would’ve told them, told Ominis at least. Keeping a secret like this for years? Why keep something important like that secret?! It made no sense. Anne may not have trusted Sebastian but she trusted Ominis and from the looks of it even Ominis wasn’t aware of this. Peneloe had to be lying to save herself.

She took in a deep breath before sitting up and glaring back at the both of them. Ominis eyebrows deepened as her appearance began to alter. Sebastian felt his stomach drop, and all his hatred, his confusion momentarily slipped away as her once golden hair slowly turned dark. It became black as the shadows around, while a part underneath and a stripe in the front became white as the moon. Familiar faint freckles dusted her cheeks and neck. Even physically, her form changed to a slightly smaller one, as her clothes hung just a tad bagger on her. Her emerald eyes turned a bright, vicious crimson color; something very different from the color she had growing up.

Sebastian felt like he couldn’t breathe right, his chest tightening to an unbearable amount. He had to be seeing a ghost. She died. She was murdered by the Masked Wizard. It was all over the daily prophet how the junior savior of Hogwarts was murdered. They even held a memorial for her at Hogwarts to honor her. This was a lie. A sick trick.

“Sebastian..”

“This is a trick! How dare you masquerade as her!” Sebastian marched towards Penelope. Edith just rose from the ground never backing down from him. She was like a perfect replica of her, matching how much shorter she would be compared to him. Everything was perfect right down to even the way she smelled. As much as he hated it, he was close enough for the scent to hit him. It was an old familiar smell she had when they went to Hogwarts together. Something earthy and floral, while being so refreshing it could comfort anyone who smelled it. Memories of a time long since past flooded his brain. All bittersweet now.

“Deny it all you want, Sallow but this is no trick. I never died.” Her voice came out just as he remembered it. Confident, yet gentle on his ears. He easily recalled all the times that voice called his name.

Ominis immediately picked up on her voice as well. He even forced himself closer with his wand pulsing that red light, trying to pick up any image it could to confirm what he was hearing. His expression was one of disbelief and fear. He knew Ominis couldn’t bear it if this truly was a trick. He hoped for it to be true. But Sebastian refused to be hurt by her if it was a bastard scheme to lower their guard.

“Then what was all that, huh? Why go through all that trouble?!” He stepped back, not wanting to be anywhere near her. Not when she looked like that.

“I needed to get the Ministry off my back. I was already wanted for petty crimes, might as well add murder to the list.” Edith retaliated.

“A likely story, though I'd say the use of Unforgivables doesn't qualify as petty crimes.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, ticking her off even more. Good. He wanted to get under her skin. Get her to lose her temper instead and trip up in her lie.

“You would think that, Sallow.” She narrowed her eyes, hinting at something Edith would know. His own eyes narrowing yet his heart thumped in his chest. Could it possibly be…?

“How can you prove you truly are Edith?” Ominis took a step back as well, catching on, “As Sebastian said, could easily be a trick. An appearance altering charm.” The words left Ominis’s lips, yet he tried to hide his hopefulness with his cold deamnor. Sebastian could see it, though.

“Believe it or don't. But if you send me to Azakban, I mean it. Anne will die. The curse will retaliate against my magic and will attack her with years of pent-up magic. It will kill her.” Edith stressed. It was very convincing. He could see how this would be a perfect lie to get her out of Azkaban, but if the off chance she was telling the truth…he wasn’t going to risk Anne’s life.

“Prove it.”

“What? That it’ll kill Anne?!”

“No! Prove you are telling the truth, and Edith really didn’t die that day! Tell me something only Edith would know.” Sebastian demanded. If he really was going to let her go, he needed to be sure this wasn’t a trick. Ominis needed to be sure as well.

She stood there for a moment, a long moment. It was agonizingly long. Each second felt like an itch under his skin, somewhere unreachable, and it was maddening. It didn't help that her face remained expressionless, giving off no hints as to what she was thinking.

“Somewhere underneath Hogwarts is Salazar Sythrin’s scriptorium. To get to the scriptorium, an unforgivable must be performed. Ominis wouldn’t do it, and you chastised him for it. So I performed it for you.” she finally spoke, her words cold and slow. Each word had both of them holding their breath, time coming to a halt.

Their adventures to the scriptorium was something they kept between the three of them. Ominis thought it best not to advertise that place to any other student getting ideas, despite the spell book being destroyed. They didn't want some unfortunate student to end up like Ominis’s aunt Noctua.

“You said, we’d regret performing the Cruciatus curse for the rest of our lives, Onimis. But I never regretted performing it on you Sbeastian.” She held her head high as her words stabbed at him, each dealing a painful blow.

“I wanted you to feel the pain Ominis had gone through, in hopes you’d learn something. Didn’t amount to much in the end did it?” She chuckled humorlessly.

It felt like the world had just halted for the both of them, and all that was there was her. Despite how cold and heartless her words were, it was her. She was alive, and they finally found her. She was breathing, blood running through her veins, alive. Sebastian swore he could almost cry.

“Edith…?”

So I'm determined to write a fic, whether its here or somewhere else. I have plans. This is where the story starts. Its a fic thatd be from different POVs between the 3 of them and majority of it takes place 5 years after their 7th year with flashbacks. Also I don't think someone like Sebastian just changes but he is working hard everyday to be better.

(New note) this fic will be mature rating. There will eventually be smut but not for good long while. This more of a slowburn mystery dark academia romance *im new to mystery so gimme a chance*

I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! I worked really hard. May improve on it but for now enjoy (≧◡≦)

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | Sequel

[Part 1]

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, anxiety, Reader has a child, grief, fluff, pregnancy, not proofread. 

Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

Words count : 9150

Author's note : Hello everyone!! Sorry for the wait, I've been very busy, but here's part two of Reunion (or at least the first part two, let's call it part 2.1 hehe). Thank you again for all you kind comments and the love you've given my fanfic omg!! Spoiler alert: this is the happy alternate ending! But I've got another bittersweet alternative ending planned 😈 If you think the first part was good enough on its own and the sequel may break the vibe, don't force yourself to read!! But if you need a happy ending, here it is <3 The plot still doesn't make any sense, but hey, we're here to have fun so enjoy ❤️

English is still not my first (or second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes <3

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the reassuring embrace of his arms around you. You don't want to move, not even when the sunlight tickles your face through the opening between the wooden shutters, trying to make the moment last endlessly. But the growing anxiety in your stomach chases away the illusion of your fleeting happiness. 

You close your eyes a little tighter. Perhaps if you try again, perhaps if you try harder, the world around you can fade away.

Perhaps you can wake up again, in a different reality.

But it's inevitable. You know that now you're awake, it's only a matter of time before the two of you have to say goodbye forever. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you have to fight the tingling sensation at the corners of your eyes.

Why have the gods decided to be so cruel to you? They grant you one last taste of his skin on your lips before taking it from you, again. 

Haven't you given enough? 

Could they not show you mercy? 

You who had forgotten him, you who had begun to turn a new page, to seek comfort in the arms of the cold, far away from the fire and the ashes, why did you have to touch the poison that would once again stain your soul?

Behind you, Aemond buries his long nose in your hair. His hand absently caresses the skin of your thigh, just where the edge of the linen tunic you put on sometime during the night when you were cold ends. The fabric is pulled up, revealing the outline of your bottom, and you can already feel your uncle hardening between his thighs, but you don't move.

If you move, you'll make everything more real. Tangible.

You'll speed up the process of losing him, of him slipping through your fingers. 

How can you let him go, now that your heart is full again, now that you feel complete in a way you haven't felt for over three years?

How can you let him go, now that your body has retrieve the extension of itself in the arms of the man who was the cause of your torment, your moments of joy, your pain and, paradoxically, your happiness?

"I know you're awake."

You hold your breath and Aemond inhales into your hair. His hand moves down the inside of your thigh, along the hollow that joins it to your groin. He doesn't venture any further. 

His thumb rests there and brushes your skin, trying to arouse the desire in you with gentleness.

Subtly.

��He doesn't want to hurry, he doesn't want to rush you.

Not when he's been harbouring the impossible fantasy of waking up with you in his arms since the day he nearly died.

He presses harder against you, as if he doesn't want to let you go, as if he wants to be one with you again, and you feel him pulsing against your buttocks, under the linen cloth that has been pulled up a little higher. He says nothing, but he is pleading, needy, in his gestures, which is rare for him.

Something has changed, after all, and perhaps something has changed in him too. 

"I am awake, indeed, " you whisper in a voice that is still half asleep. The lump in your throat betrays the feeling of anxiety gradually creeping into your body, and Aemond seems to notice. Under your tunic, his hand moves up along your belly until it nestles against your chest, close to your heart. His thumb draws small circles, once again trying to bring you back to him.

Trying to calm your mind.

"Let us forget for a little longer," he whispers, his clenched jaw resting over your head. "Please." 

And you know he never begs. 

Aemond takes and doesn't ask.

Aemond believes he is owed everything and never gives in return.

Hearing him beg breaks something inside you, because this is the first time he does so.

Usually it was you, it was always you, begging for peace, begging for more, begging him not to leave you.

Part of him is as desperate as you are; part of him also dreads the moment when you will have to part again. Forever. It's comforting to know that his feelings are sincere, just like yours.

" Make me forget, then." You reply, moving your lower loins back against him, giving him tacit permission to explore your body once more. His fingers move down to your breasts, which he covers softly with his hand, his thumb skimming over a nipple to make it hard. You let out a gasp between your parted lips.

His hand slides lower, his palm flat against your lower belly, his fingertips brushing the light patch of hair at the top of your mound. You feel the familiar warmth growing between your thighs, in your core.

He sighs against the back of your skull, his head tilted forward. His lips search the skin at the nape of your neck, behind the long hair that has become tangled during the night, while his fingers intimately explore the secrets of your body that he knows all too well. The remnants of last night's lovemaking still smear the insides of your thighs and folds, but it doesn't matter; his fingers easily find the little bundle of nerves that they tease until you close your eyes, until your hand grips the damp, shabby sheet that covers the ragged mattress in the inn where you've spent the night.

Just the both of you, in the comfort of anonymity. 

"Let me taste you". His voice, still husky, tickles the back of your neck and you feel him shift behind you. When you feel the warmth of his bare chest, against which you're nestled, leave your back, your body automatically tries to move back against him. You still need him. You still need him to chase away the lump of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the voices that keep reminding you that you're only postponing the fateful moment. Your hand slips under your white tunic and wraps around his wrist to force him to stay there, to hold his fingers against the source of heat spreading from your core. Your hips are demanding, grinding against his hand. "On your back," he insists, and stands up on his forearms.

With reluctance you turn over. You obey, lying on your back, your hair spilled around your head on the flat, uncomfortable pillow on which you slept badly. The white tunic that serves as your nightgown is pulled up, crumpled, just above your crotch, which it barely conceals. 

Aemond has swung over your body, silvery strands loosening from the braid that holds his hair behind his head and sliding down his shoulders, falling in loose loops on either side of his face, tickling your cheeks.

His lilac-tinted blue eye glows with a predatory gaze, a ray of light catching in the sapphire he hasn't removed from his socket. 

He captures your lips with his own, begging for access. Aemond marks your jaw and throat with light kisses, sucking at your collarbone to make the violets of possessiveness with which he likes to adorn your body bloom. His lips travel down your chest, playing with one of the two small nipples raised by the cool air and by desire, and continue their journey past your navel. 

Your heartbeat quickens as he settles between your legs, spreading your thighs to admire the part of you he covets so eagerly. At the same time you bend your legs, your gaze falling on him, on his unravelled hair, on his eye that locks with yours. He is so close to you, so close to your warm centre, and you know that between your folds the sweet nectar that your uncle longs to taste is already flowing.

But his lips trace the inside of your thighs instead, where the skin is soft and tender, and gradually they reach the hollow that connects them to your most intimate part. He takes a malicious pleasure in building up the tension, in savouring every millimetre of you like a fine delicacy, with only the tip of his lips brushing against your skin.

His thumbs spread the tender flesh of your womanhood and then he places a chaste kiss on the very centre of you. His tongue is shy at first, tracing the slit that connects your entrance to your little knob, collecting the evidence of your desire.

As his tongue wraps around your nub, your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white. 

Aemond drinks from your essence like a thirsty man, his nose buried between your folds, rubbing your pearl.

The tip of his tongue catches what drips from your opening, and then the flat of his tongue tastes your slit, working its way up to the little nub gorged with desire. 

He maintains the same rhythm, revelling in the moans that escape from your half-open lips. Soon his middle finger begins to draw circles against your entrance, the first knuckle sliding inside, then the whole finger. Your head is thrown back and immediately your hand buries itself in his silvery hair, gripping his braid in a messy bun behind the top of his head. Forcing his face against the most intimate part of your body, forcing his lips to work on your wet warmth, you seek more contact. 

Aemond adds a second finger. He can feel you tighten around him as he searches for that particular spot, as his tongue continues to play with your bundle of nerves.

As he devours what is his, utterly his.

His fingers, the ones that aren't buried inside you, close around the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip. "Come for me," he whispers against your womanhood, his eyes lifted to you. "I know you can do it."

Your breathing becomes more erratic, faster too. You tighten the grip of your fingers in his hair, your thighs pressing either side of his face, and he collects the sweet taste of your release on his tongue with a hum. 

You feel like you're floating. The waves of warmth still wash over you, less and less intense, your breast rising and falling as you catch your breath. 

Your hand tucks a lock of his hair back behind his ear as Aemond lifts his face towards you, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His parted lips still glisten with your desire smeared across the lower part of his face. He stares at you without moving, his deep, regular breathing the only sound to break the silence that has followed your release. You stay like that for a moment, his gaze burning into yours. At any moment he might pounce on you. At any moment he might close the tiny distance separating your mouths and press his lips against yours like the starving man he is.

It's you who makes the first move. You taste yourself on his lips and your tongue entwines with his in a fiery, demanding kiss.

Straightening up, Aemond creeps between your legs, his hand on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart. He is still completely naked from the night before, he has not bothered to get dressed after your lovemaking, so you can catch a glimpse of his erect manhood, slightly curved. He wraps his hand around to guide it towards your still sensitive wet entrance.

He slides into you easily, in one slow movement. The haste of the night before, the urgency of the reunion, has given way to the tenderness and laziness of the early morning, and Aemond rocks inside you slowly. His hips undulate, punctuated by long, deep thrusts, in an illusion of domesticity. 

But the damp sheets, rough against your skin, the discomfort of the hard mattress beneath your back, remind you that your lovemaking is anything but domestic.

For Aemond is still the enemy, for Aemond is supposed to be dead.

For your family is probably looking for you at this very moment, worried that you have not returned home for the night.

But you push those thoughts away. The weight of your uncle's body on top of yours soothes the knot that forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of time slipping away, at the thought of having to leave him again, at the thought of this being the last time you will taste his lips, his skin.

Aemond is gentle, and that is rare enough to be worth mentioning. He has never been so gentle, so soft, in the limited time that you have been married.

Between you, there had been the devouring, consuming passion, the power play that in your submission had granted you dominance.

Between you it had been raw and devastating more than gentle and tender.

His fingers run the length of your body to your core, combining his slow, deep thrusts with the movement of his fingers against your clit.

There are only few words exchanged between you, as if you were both afraid to break the grace of the moment.

His panting, noisy breath echoes in the silence, skimming the skin of your throat, then mingling with yours as the shadow of his lips brushes against yours. He rests his forehead against yours, your hand cupping his cheek, sliding behind his neck, and you are transported into a cocoon of intimacy where nothing else exists around you.

There is only his body against yours, warm and reassuring.

There is only him inside you and the slow movement of his hips.

There is only your breathing, blending in the space that separates your mouths.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" He whispers against your lips as you close your thighs around him. "How much I dreamed of this tight little cunt?" You swallow his words. Your hips meet his as he pushes against you. He is reaching deep inside you. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his body oozes power and darkness, and you can't help but be drawn to that side of him that complements yours so well. 

You can't stop your body from aching for him. 

"You could have been my queen," he says as his movements grow stronger. He won't last long, but neither will you. He's inside you, where you like to feel him, and your walls clench around his member. "And I would have set the whole world on fire for you." He thrusts. "Burned it to the ground" He thrusts again. "All for you." And again.

The old wood of the bed creaks with each of his movements.

You seek out his lips, just to brush them against yours. 

Without sealing the kiss.

"And I would have accepted," you answer with a whimper. "I would have been your queen, qybor." In another life, you think you would.

In another life, in another universe, you would have been his queen.

A grunt escapes his lips and lands in the hollow of your ear. Aemond straightens on his bent elbow, right next to your head, and he plunges into you one last time, with more power, more vigour, just as his new position allows.

You close your eyes. 

A second wave of warmth is about to engulf your body.

And you wait for it, you welcome it.

"Look at me when I come inside you," he growls hoarsely as his seed pours deep inside you, into the most intimate part of your body. "Look at me as I fill you up."

Your eyes lock with his, fiery as ever. A final moan escapes between your lips and you seal them to your uncle's in a feverish, wet kiss. You hold him in your arms for a moment longer, as if to allow yourself the luxury of illusion for a brief instant. 

You delay the fateful moment a little longer, fighting the minutes that inevitably slip through your fingers.

"Stay inside me just a little longer," you whisper, burying your head in the hollow of his neck where you can feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. His arms close around you, holding you tight against him, and you hear him purr against the hair on the crown of your head. He rocks you gently.

The silence welcomes you both into its embrace and you savour it like a treasure. Your body aches in the sweetest way, your insides throbbing around his softening manhood. 

And around you, nothing exists anymore.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I've changed, you know." His hoarse voice vibrates against you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You keep them closed. 

You're not sure if Aemond has really changed. Aemond is ruthless, cold, brutal, calculating, merciless. Cruel. You're not sure if Aemond can ever change, but he shows unusual tenderness, and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to doubt. You indulge in the illusion. 

Perhaps Vhagar's death has broken something in him. 

Perhaps it's true, perhaps he's not the same man anymore.

He's not sorry for what he has done. He never will be. He's too proud, even if you can catch the glimmer of remorse that colours his icy eyes when he is not looking at you.

Does he think of your little brother? Is he haunted by the memory of him, as you have been for so many years?

Does he think of the innocents he killed without flinching, the blood he spilled in the Riverlands that now stains the burned grass? 

Is his sanity slowly being eaten away by the atrocities he has committed with his own hands? 

He has changed. You are not sure if he's changed for the better or for the worse, but he has indeed.

Daemon has changed too. So has Rhaenyra. So has Jace.

You too have changed.

For war changes people, war makes them weary and wary, it shatters something in the body that will never be the same again. It hollows out the roundness of the cheeks, it deepens the dark circles under the eyes, it fades the sparkle of childhood that remains in the eyes.

Aemond seems to be waiting for an answer, but the words remain stuck in your throat. I know, you want to whisper, I know, but suddenly you've forgotten how to speak. His thumb draws the soft line of the underside of your breast.

The future terrifies you more than ever. You had made peace with your past, you had come to a conclusion that, even if it pained you, had given you some respite. 

Seeing your uncle alive had reawakened your demons. 

Spending the night in the embrace of his arms had revived everything you had buried deep, deep down. 

The past had returned, creeping towards you, gnawing at the corners of your heart and at what remained of your sense of stability and certainty. 

Now you are plunged into doubt. 

Just as you were a little over three years ago, when you were informed of his death, when you had to learn to live with the choice that had never really been given to you.

Just as three years ago, when you noticed a familiar lilac-tinged blue in Rhaegar's eyes.

Like when you had to live with the memories that haunted you, that were slowly eating away at what little sanity you had left.

Like when you finally decided to leave for the North.

Aemond seems to sense your anguish, because his fingers get lost in your hair. 

"What are we going to do now?" 

Finally, you dare to utter the inevitable words that have been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you woke up, words you've swallowed so many times this morning. You immediately blame yourself. 

Saying them only makes them more real.

They tear at something in the imaginary cocoon you've built for yourselves. You bury your face against his skin, breathe in his scent, as if you never want to forget him.

For you know how fleeting memories can be.

You remember how his face faded with each passing day.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to experience it a second time.

"We could leave," Aemond replies, as his fingers venture to your jaw, caressing the line of your cheeks with the back of his knuckles. 

He's so pragmatic, as always.

Even in this situation.

Even now.

It makes you want to shake him.

"We could run away," he says again. His gaze, fixed in the distance, falls on you at the same moment. "To Essos. Pentos. No one would know who we are." You close your eyes, and let his hoarse voice lull you into silence. "To start our own family, the three of us."

You know he is not serious. Even though he looks at you with such insistence, with that flame that flickers in the centre of his iris.

You relish his fantasy, this impossible dream. 

But you can't leave your family; Essos is not Winterfell. There, they knew where to find you. They knew you were safe. They knew you were sheltered between the walls of the northern castle, under the heavy furs, under the protection of Cregan Stark.

Essos is the unknown.

You cannot let your mother lose her only daughter, not after everything she has already lost. 

The itch is familiar, tickling at the corners of your eyes. There was a time when you thought you'd lost that sensitivity. When you thought the war had left you cold, incapable of feeling anything. Incapable of crying.

"You know I can't." Your nose rubs against his milky skin, made clammy by sweat. You keep your eyes closed because you feel the weight of his cold gaze on you, his furrowed eyebrows as he stares at you blankly, his lips pursed in a long, thin line. You don't have the courage to meet his accusing gaze, let alone the wounded look on his face as you crush all his illusory dreams into dust. 

When did you become the more pragmatic of the two? 

When did you become the one responsible for bringing Aemond back to reality?

It used to be you, the one who filled your mind with unrealistic dreams, the one who dreamed of stories and fairy tales, back when you could still dream. "They need me, you know that."

A sneer stretches across your uncle's lips as he swallows a chuckle that sounds more like an ironic growl. You feel his whole body tense against yours, a sign that he's holding back his annoyance. 

A sign that he has something to say, that he's upset, but doesn't quite know how to put it into words. 

"Like they needed you back then?" he replies scathingly, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "When they used you as a bargaining chip to achieve their ends, hm?"  

Your red cheeks burn with shame, as if he'd slapped you. You don't move, merely swallow hard. You know there's something right about what he is saying, but you don't want to admit it. 

You've done your duty.

You've done what is expected of you as a daughter.

It was not a question of them using you. It never was. 

It was your duty, only your duty, what you were always meant to perform, wasn't it?

And yet a small voice in the back of your head had already given you a similar speech, a few years ago, but you had tried to silence it.

You refused to let Aemond admit it. You refuse to allow him to do it. He had no idea, no right to criticise your family when he'd acted like that.

When he has done what he has done.

He has no idea what it is like to be a daughter.

You don't answer, and silence falls between you again.

You wish so desperately that he could go home with you; that he could tell them that he's sorry.

You wish it were easier. 

There is no one left to wait for Aemond but you, but his son, you know that. His family has been decimated, as has yours in some ways, though you still have your parents and your older brother.

For your uncle, there's nothing left but the shadow of his existence, the shadow of who he once was, long ago.

You let your hand trace the side of his throat, your nose buried against it, your lips hovering over his skin. You lean against him, your body on top of his, pressed together as if you were afraid to let him go.

"You could come with me instead," you whisper, but you refuse to meet his gaze. There's something shameful in the words you've just spoken aloud, something naive, and your burning cheeks are proof of your embarrassment.

Almost imperceptibly, he clenches beneath you, holding his breath. This is a bad idea and you feel stupid. Naive to have dared to suggest something like this.

His voice purrs in a hm that vibrates against you. He's about to say something. He searches for words. "You know that -"

"I know." You cut him off sharply - a little more than you would have liked, your eyes raised to silence him.

You know what he thinks.

He thinks that Rhaenyra will never be his queen. He thinks he will never bend the knee to his eldest sister and her authority, which he doesn't recognise.

He thinks that with the death of Aegon, with the death of the children his brother fathered with Helaena, the throne belongs to him.

And you are aware of his ambitions. You know how perfectly the conqueror's crown fits his head. You know how it sets off the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. You remember the look of greed in his eyes every time he stared at the Iron Throne, you remember the look of pride on his face every time he scorned anyone who dared to question his decisions as Prince Regent.

You know how mercilessly he made the soldiers at Harrenhal kneel, forcing them to contemplate their impending deaths. You know the terror he has sown throughout the Riverlands.

Even in the Seven Hells you could have found more mercy than at the hands of Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond may have changed, but you're not sure he's changed enough to put aside the pride that is consuming him from within.

You take a deep breath. "You don't really have a choice, qybor." 

Fearing his reaction, you curl into a fetal position, your back to him, your knees drawn up to you. You close your eyes. You wait for his frustration.

You wait for his sentence.

You know that he is aware that he has no choice. 

He has only two options: swallow his pride or sink back into the abyss, disappear into the dark meanders of oblivion.

Rhaegar needed his father, of course, but you found him a father in Cregan Stark. 

That was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

There was no way you would give up what family you had left.

For Rhaegar needed his grandparents and his uncle even more.

Behind you, you feel your uncle's hand slip under your tunic and around your body, pulling you against him. He presses his bare chest against your back, tucking your head under his chin. His hand caresses your stomach, then his fingers brush the base of your breast.

"You know she will never be my queen. You know the throne belongs to -" But he lets the words drop without finishing the sentence, the knowledge of what he was about to say hanging in the air between you. 

As long as he remains alive, will the embers of war never truly be extinguished? 

You don't know, but you accept the risk. 

You close your eyes, as if you're about to jump into the icy depths with both feet.

"The rest is up to you, Aemond," you whisper, barely audible. "And if you have truly changed, then you will know how to make the right choice."

He says nothing. 

You savour the last few minutes of illusion you have left.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

The fear of making the wrong choice never really leaves you, but your mother chases your fears away, as she so often did when you were a child, tucking one of your dark curls behind your ear. She has her distinctive little smirk on her lips, the one that pulls the corner of her lips up towards her nose.  

The same one Lucerys had, you think sadly. 

You still miss him, even after all this time, and sometimes you wonder what kind of young man he would have become.

"You're a clever girl, my sweet clever girl," she whispers against your forehead as she cradles you in her arms. She's as beautiful as ever, as gentle with you as ever, despite the years, despite the wear and tear of war that has hardened her features and hollowed her cheeks. "And I know you have made the right decision." She lifts your chin with her forefinger to look into your eyes, and you feel like you're turning back into that shy, insecure girl who disappeared somewhere in the violence of the war all those years ago.

 "And if it should turn out that you were wrong... Daemon will be there to intervene. You know he is just waiting for that." You roll your eyes at her attempt at humour, and she plants a kiss on your forehead. 

For a split second, you truly are that carefree little girl again.

But behind your mother's humour lie fragments of reality that make your laughter bitter.

The news of your husband's survival remains a hazy blur in your mind. Sometimes you're not sure if this conversation really occurred or if you're dreaming.

You're not sure if what's around you, if the night you spent in Aemond's arms, is real or an invention of your sick mind.

Sometimes you're not really conscious of the events or how long they lasted, the lump in your stomach grows back, and once again you're destined to carve half-moons marks in the palms of your hands to soothe the tension in your body.

You told your mother first because you knew she'd be more understanding. As a mother, as a woman, she knows the meaning behind certain silences, the weight of words, the unspoken words that float between sentences. 

You know she can understand your pain and your doubts, but also your love and your compassion.

She was shocked when you told her that her younger brother was still alive. She smoothed her dress, paced back and forth, then took the time to sit down, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes riveted to your face, looking for clues that would betray what you were thinking, what you might be hiding. She was afraid that he had hurt you. She was afraid that he would rip you away from her, just as he had once ripped your little brother away from her.

Her fingers had gently taken your hand and her thumb had drawn little circles on the back of your hand to comfort you. She listened to you first as you confessed everything. 

Where you were that night when you didn't come home. 

Who you were with.

And then she took you in her arms. She reassured you. Soothed you. 

You had been so afraid of disappointing her, of disappointing all of them, that the tension paralysing your body had finally loosened and you burst into tears.

Things had proved more complicated with Daemon. When he learned that his nephew was alive, that he wasn't forgotten forever in the deep waters of the lake near Harrenhal, he refused to believe you. He was furious. He said he had seen him fall, that he was the one who had taken his life, tearing the sky apart.

You didn't know where to look, and it was in your mother's eyes that you sought support, comfort, anything in the face of your stepfather's rage. You could feel on you the look of disappointment of your brother, Jace, as he held his shoulders up and his chin high. He wanted to prove that one day he would be a good king. With his jaw clenched, he said nothing, looking at you as if you were suddenly so foreign to him. He probably didn't know what to say, for fear of being clumsy, for fear of unintentionally hurting you, even more than by his lack of support. 

You know it wasn't his fault. 

He simply couldn't understand.

The words stuck in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, pearls glittering in the corners of your eyes while you waited impatiently for the final blow.

The final death knell that would seal your disgrace in everyone's eyes.

After all you'd endured.

Daemon stood before you, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hard. He was staring at you as if you'd committed the ultimate treason, and you knew he was controlling himself to keep his anger from exploding. "You're going to bring him to me," he had hissed, his hand closing over your shoulder. 

" You will lure him here and he will be put to the sword." His tone left no room for argument. With the tension growing in your stomach, you sought your mother's compassionate look to calm you. You could see the fury in your stepfather's eyes, and also a mixture of fear and feelings of betrayal. You knew that, deep down, he was afraid for you because he considers you his daughter. Because Baela and Rhaena are like sisters to you. 

It was his reaction you feared most, not your mother's. His fingers dug into your skin, the floor slipping out from under you, the room swaying dangerously, and your mother had come to your rescue, trying to calm things down with her usual diplomacy.

You can't quite remember the words your stepfather said; in anger he muttered something that sounded like are you really thinking of becoming his whore again? and the words hurt like hell, but you tried to swallow the pain.

 Endure, hold your head high. That was what you had learned.

Your mother had suggested you go back to your room or spend some time with Rhaegar, her fingers gently stroking your dark locks, and as soon as you left the throne room you could hear their voices echoing through the door. 

They were arguing.

Over you.

Because of you, again.

You took a deep breath and returned to the gardens, where your two stepsisters were making your son laugh by playing with him. They had fun running around in the damp grass to the applause of Baela's little daughter, who clapped her little hands in delight.

Your fingers were still trembling when you joined them.

In the end a solution was found, for your mother feared losing you a second time. 

She remembered what had happened to Laenor, your father, when he had grown tired of the court.

She remembered what had happened to Helaena, your sweet aunt, when she could no longer bear to suffer.

It was her worst nightmare to see you torn from her again, now that she had the chance to hold you in her arms every day, to protect you again, to see you grow again.

It was her worst nightmare to see her only daughter, her only daughter and the second of her only surviving children, taken from her. 

You and Jace were all she had left of her own blood.

After long negotiations with Daemon, you had managed to bargain for your husband's life in exchange for strict conditions; increased surveillance, no bonding with a new dragon, no carrying of weapons, and the assurance that he would be executed if there was the slightest doubt about him. You proposed that you and he leave the capital, with your son as well. To return to Dragonstone. To start over on a new, blank page in a book that was already too damaged.

For you, it was also a way to ease the tensions between your family and Aemond, and perhaps find a more intimate life with your husband and son.

Rhaenyra had declared that this was the best solution: a guarantee for her to have you by her side again, a guarantee for her that you would be there.

You had been afraid of Aemond's reaction, afraid that his ego would not bear it; that he would refuse, that he would rather sentence himself to his own death than to an existence as a prisoner within his own family, condemned to live as a shadow of the man he had once been in exchange for seeing his son grow up. 

But in the end, wasn't he doomed to live as a shadow of the man he had once been, anyway?

He would never be the rider of Vhagar again.

He would never be the ruthless Prince Regent again.

He would never again be the second in line to the throne, the second son greedily waiting for fate to turn in his favour.

He hadn't been all of that for a good three years, lurking in the cold, gloomy corridors of Harrenhal like a lonely monster.

And if he went back, if he rejected your proposal, he would have condemned himself to eternal solitude at the side of a witch you would rather forget.

He had no choice, for he would never be that Aemond again. 

When you joined your husband at the meeting place, you were relieved to see him swallow his pride and accept. It was difficult, but you convinced him. 

For Rhaegar, for his son.

Aemond had suggested that you run away, far away from everything, and you almost hesitated. Running away would have allowed you to forget, of course. 

But your deepest wounds had begun to heal. You had begun to be able to face the ghosts that haunted King's Landing, the ghosts that haunted Dragonstone.

To stop there was tempting, and yet so frightening at the same time. 

The unknown terrified you. You needed familiarity now, something to fall back on, for you were so tired. 

Now you can't help bringing your thumb to your lips, nibbling the skin at the corner of your fingernail with the tip of your teeth as you walk away from Rhaenyra. A handmaiden brings you Rhaegar, and you struggle to breathe. 

You inhale.

You exhale.

The thick tuft of brown hair makes you smile. The sight of your son is enough to give you the courage to walk with a more confident stride. It's as if you were filled with new strength, for you know that he needs you more than anyone else. And for him, you've promised yourself to stay strong.

As soon as you reach him, you kneel and plant a kiss on his plump cheeks. 

He's growing up so fast that sometimes you wish you could stop time.

"There's someone who'd like to meet you, sweet boy," you explain, and you can recognise your mother's inflection in your own voice. Sweet boy. Rhaegar looks at you with big, round, questioning eyes, and you wonder if he senses your anxiety, because he takes your hand between his tiny fingers.

"Who, muña ?" he babbles, striding down the cobbled path in the middle of the gardens, hopping on his clumsy little legs, and you smile at his carefree attitude. He stops to watch the bees foraging, bends down to pick up a flower and gives it to you. He's always so curious, so full of life. He's a ray of sunshine that brightens your dull days. You finally understand your mother, the agonising fear she has of losing you. You finally understand the horror she experienced when she lost her four other children.

You also finally understand why Helena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast.

The thought of what Daemon did still revolts you, and you can't imagine anyone hurting your boy like that.

You turn around. Rhaenyra is still there, in the distance, her crown on her head, her hands crossed in front of her on the heavy fabric of her dress, watching over you. She won't move, a comforting, discreet presence.

A stone bench awaits you by the fountain, on which two cushions have been arranged. A dessert buffet has been set up under the gazebo and you immediately spot your favourite cakes, the strawberry one, the blackberry jam one, and you look down at your son. He hasn't noticed them yet, or he would have already run over, dipped his finger in the whipped cream and stolen a blueberry from one of the tarts, his innocent expression on his face. 

He is definitely a lot like you. Mischievous and clever. An angelic air. He is an easy-going child who never throws a tantrum.

Who understands quickly, too. 

"I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you, young boy?" your tone is soft, and you kneel down in front of him, your hands on his small shoulders to emphasise the seriousness of your discussion. You search for your words, hesitating. How do you tell a three-year-old that his father, his dead father, is back from the dead and about to meet him?

Of course, Rhaegar knows that his birthfather was valiant, that his birthfather rode the greatest dragon in the world, that his birthfather died in battle.

But there is so much he doesn't know, so much he will inevitably learn as he grows up, and it is precisely that future that frightens you. You hug him as if you're afraid of losing him.

"Princess."

The deep voice of your sworn protector echoes behind you, and you straighten your skirt. 

You know he is there. 

You know you will see him the moment you turn around.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Aemond Targaryen stands behind your sworn protector, surrounded by two guards. His hands are bound in front of him. 

It is so strange to see your uncle in this vulnerable position. He who for so long has been on the other side, he who for so long has been the one who bent others to his will. He looks at you harshly, and you almost feel the need to apologise.

But you know it is a matter of caution.

You know that Daemon, you know that Jace and even your mother would never have agreed to bring him in if such precautions hadn't been taken.

You admire his resilience, his determination. You admire his ability to hold his head high, to be confident, despite the fact that he is being treated like a common prisoner, about to be sentenced to death.

You struggle to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. 

"Who's that, muña?" Aemond's eyes leave you and immediately drop to the small figure that has appeared beside you, reaching for your hand, huddling against your leg, shy and worried. 

Immediately, your husband's icy gaze, his lilac-coloured eyes, soften.

"Thank you, Sir Rowan. You may leave us."

Despite the worry on his face, your sworn protector nods, unties his prisoner's hands and walks back to your mother, accompanied by the other two guards. You watch them leave, and a strange silence fills the space between you and your uncle.

He doesn't look at you; his eyes are riveted to your son, whom he observes with wonder. He looks as if he is admiring the most beautiful and fascinating discovery he has ever seen. You look down to see Rhaegar's reaction, and he seems as intimidated as he is hypnotised by that gaze, by that blue and purple eye so similar to his owns, by this man looking at him as if he were one of the most marvellous things in the world. 

"Gods, he's perfect," Aemond murmurs as he looks up at you, emerging from his trance. He comes closer to embrace you. And for once, there is something other than his usual brutal possessiveness and ferocity when his arms close around you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

Aemond is shy at first. Awkward. 

He's shy and amazed as he follows your son's every move with his good eye. From time to time, his gaze rests on you, as if to make sure he's not dreaming. As if to make sure he is doing right, seeking your approval.

Rhaegar is shy too, at first.

When he sits on your lap, he snuggles up to you, buries his face in your neck, one of your locks curled in his chubby little hand and he rubs it against his nose. From time to time, he turns to give his father a curious look, recognising his own eyes in the unfamiliar face before him. 

Aemond's expression grows gentler, a softness never seen in his features before.

Once he has tamed the stranger, the little boy pecks at the blueberries in the tart in front of him. He shakes his legs, hitting your knees in painful little jabs, and your arm wraps around his body to hold him down.

Rhaegar loves cake, and the sugar may be coaxing him, for he's regaining his appetite for talking.

"He really does have my eyes," Aemond whispers incredulously, and his voice, still foreign to his son's ears, causes the little boy to lift his head.

" It is definitely the only thing he has inherited from you," you reply, teasing him with a small smile at the corner of your lips.

Soon Rhaegar finishes the blueberry tart, the cream smeared over the bottom of his face and the tip of his nose.

"He inherited that from you, that is certain." Aemond grins, pointing with his long chin at the boy's voracious appetite for cakes and pastries.

You have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. That your husband is really standing in front of you, with your son, like a normal family. 

That he was truly trying to tell a joke.

This form of domesticity is so alien to your relationship, and yet so pleasant, that you find yourself thinking that perhaps you have made the right decision, indeed, if every day can be like this. 

"Your muña deserves some cake too, what do you say, little one?"

Rhaegar giggles. Aemond cuts a slice of your favourite cake, the one with the strawberries, and puts it on your plate. 

You blush. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten which one is your favourite.

You can't even really whisper a thank you because this apparent domesticity, this feeling of completeness, this interlude of happiness makes you uneasy. Anxious.

You have the feeling that at any moment you'll be plunged back into the horror of what you went through all those years ago. 

You have the feeling that at any moment the Gods will be cruel and snatch away this happiness that you've barely been able to taste, leaving only the memory of its sweet taste on your lips.

You breathe in and out, as you often do when you feel your palpitations rising in your chest.

"Do you... do you want to take him on your lap?" you ask your uncle with shyness, your hand stroking Rhaegar's thick brown curls. Aemond looks at you as if you have spoken in a foreign language. Lips parted, he is about to say something, but not a sound escapes his lips. His lonely eye travels from you to your son, from your son to you, in silence.

"I don't know if -"

You can hear the doubt in his voice, and it's almost touching to see him lose his confidence in front of his own son, to see him so nervous and unsure of himself.

You let out a little laugh, not in mockery, obviously, just full of tenderness.

You know what he's thinking.

He's afraid of frightening him.

He's afraid of harming him.

"You won't hurt him, Aemond."

He answers nothing. He still doesn't like to look vulnerable, unsure, and you know it has to do with his childhood. With all he has kept bottled up inside him all these years. He will need time.

Your eyes fall back to the little boy sitting in your lap, and you draw his attention to yourself by stroking the curls on his forehead.

"Do you want to go to Aemond for a while? To kepus?" 

you correct yourself immediately, and Rhaegar nods in agreement.

You are amazed at how easily he slips off your legs to run to his father, to pull himself onto his lap, when only a few hours ago he was so intimidated by the presence of this stranger with the eyepatch.

Your uncle automatically puts his arm around his waist to make him feel comfortable, his new role taking root in him. His fingers reach for the cloth on the table, and he wipes Rhaegar's face, who can't help but burst out laughing at his father's clumsy gestures.

For a split second you are lost in contemplating the horizon, the stillness of the sea. You taste the sea breeze on your face.

And then you turn your head towards the cobbled path where the guards and your sworn protector are still stationed. 

Your mother is no longer there, and you notice that you have not at any time felt the need to seek comfort in her presence. 

You smile, for in the end you know you've made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

Dragonstone, 6 months later.

When you walk the corridors of the place that saw you grow up, you are no longer haunted by the ghosts and their incessant cries. A kind of peace has settled over you, a return to the pleasant familiarity you've waited so long for.

You still think of Luke, of course. Of Luke and Joff and little Aegon and Viserys, your brothers you will never see grow old. 

But you no longer feel their disapproving glances at every step you take. You are no longer kept awake by their cries, by their tears, by the remorse that twists your stomach. 

You no longer blame yourself. 

Perhaps you've finally learnt to make peace with yourself.

The heavy door of the bedroom you share with Aemond is half open, and you slip your head into the doorway, piqued by curiosity.

Snuggled on your husband's lap, Rhaegar is staring at the pages of a large book, the corners of which you can guess are horned, the cover worn, from being carried everywhere. You can imagine the jam stains that mark the paper with children's fingerprints. You know exactly which page is missing, the one you and Aemond accidentally tore out and hid so the Septa wouldn't notice, so many years ago. 

It is a book about dragons, the very one the two of you used to read hidden under the table when you were so young and innocent, long before the torment of war.

Without a sound, you lean against the doorframe and contemplate for a moment the perfect vision before you.

You don't have the cruelty to disturb them.

 "This one is Vhaegar!" shouts Rhaegar, and you hold your breath, searching Aemond's face for any hint that might betray his reaction. The mention of his former dragon is still a sensitive subject for him, you know it.

"Yes, that's Vhagar." he pauses. "She was brave."

From the corner of his eye, Aemond spots your silhouette in the faint glow of the corridor, and his attention lingers on you for a moment. He's almost embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable, intimate moment, but you smile tenderly to encourage him.

"And big!" the little boy adds, energetically raising his arms to the sky to emphasise his words.

"Yes, and big." There's a suspended moment of silence where the words hang in the air, and then your husband gently ruffles his son's hair. It's a tender sight to see them bond like this, and your heart fills with happiness.

Taking a step forward, you step into the light of the room and Rhaegar expresses his joy at seeing you. You smile back at him and approach the chair where Aemond sits, your son on his lap.

Your uncle's hand instantly rests on the curve of your belly, which he still stares at with the same protective instinct, the same fascination, as the day you told him the news. His eyes sparkle.

"Your daughter is restless today."

He looks up at you, not without lingering for a moment on your breasts and their new shape.

"My daughter?" he asks, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I'm convinced it's a girl. You reply, smiling wryly, and take a seat in the armchair next to the one where Aemond and your son are sitting, facing the fireplace. "And she took after her father, given her temper," you tease him, your hand on the top of your rounded belly to soothe the baby growing there. 

Rhaegar's eyes close slowly. Nestled against the chest of the man who, just a few months ago, was still a stranger, he fights sleep, he fights to stay awake, but tiredness quickly overcomes him. And then he falls asleep, his mouth half open, the movements of his breath making his chest rise and fall rhythmically.

Aemond finally gets up. You follow his movements with your eyes as he approaches you, the child in his arms, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be right back." He straightens and lowers his voice.

"I wouldn't fail in my duty and neglect my wife." The heat rises to your cheeks, turning them red at the implication of what awaits you tonight. You're already wet between your thighs at the thought. 

But you nod in agreement and watch him walk away. 

You are left alone in the silence of the room. The only sound around you is the steady crackling of the fire.

It's strange, you think, to be back on Dragonstone, in the familiarity of the stones you've spent most of your life between, after getting used to the idea of not surviving the war.

To the idea of dying from a broken heart.

To the idea of dying, the umpteenth victim of the vicious spiral of conflict that has torn your family apart.

And yet here you are.

With your own family.

For once you have hope for the future. You hear the cries of your little brother, lost in the storm so long ago, but they are quickly replaced by the laughter of a happy memory. 

And finally, you have the absolute confirmation that you have made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** ***

Thank you so much for reading!! <3

Tag list : @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis (I'm tagging you since you asked for it ❤️)

[novaursa]

The Fire That Was Promised

- Summary: You burn down King’s Landing in an act of revenge before flying to Shadowlands.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided)

- Note: This short story is one of the possible endings to The Broken Crown series, where Y/N takes revenge against her brother.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

The wind tears at your hair as Tesaerix’s powerful wings slice through the air, carrying you higher and farther from the place that no longer feels like home. The dark expanse of the Narrow Sea stretches below you, a boundless void that mirrors the one gnawing at your heart. You should be bound for Winterfell, not Essos, wrapped in the furs of the North and preparing to wed Torrhen Stark. Instead, you’re flying away from everything you thought you’d ever wanted. Everything that should have been yours.

Your thoughts twist and turn, darker than the night sky around you. Aegon had taken everything from you. He had called off your betrothal with a cold, ruthless command, casting aside the promise of a life and family that had been within your grasp. Your role as his sister-wife, his conquest, had been his choice, not yours. You were the youngest, the last to be claimed by his insatiable hunger for power—and perhaps something more.

Anger thrums through you, a living thing, and you feel it course through Tesaerix as well. Your bond is deep, your emotions shared. The mighty dragon's blood-red eyes flicker with the same rage that seethes in your veins. You grit your teeth, clutching the reins tighter. The sky blurs as hot tears sting your eyes. Tears of frustration, of loss, of betrayal. You’re fleeing, yes, but there’s no solace to be found in running.

You’ve flown long enough.

Without a word, you guide Tesaerix in a sharp, spiraling turn, your heart hammering as you abandon your course to Essos. The golden dragon roars in response, a sound of confusion, anger—and something else. As if she, too, senses the burning desire that has ignited within you. Revenge.

King’s Landing looms on the horizon, a sprawling city bathed in the eerie glow of the moon. The sight of it fuels your wrath. The seat of your brother’s power, the very heart of his kingdom—and your prison. The memory of Aegon’s face, impassive and unyielding as he broke your betrothal, flashes before you. He had not cared for your happiness, for your wishes. He had seen only what was his to take, to control.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, your voice trembling with fury and resolve.

Tesaerix responds instantly, diving down toward the city like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her massive form eclipses the moon as she descends, her wings unfurling in a terrifying display of strength. You can feel the heat building in her chest, the deep rumble that precedes a dragon’s breath of fire.

The first burst of flame hits the Flea Bottom, a rush of golden fire that spreads like a wave over the ramshackle buildings. Screams rise up from below, a cacophony of panic and pain. You feel no remorse, no hesitation. Aegon took your future; now you’ll take his city.

The Great Sept crumbles beneath the onslaught of dragonfire, the stained glass windows shattering in a shower of molten shards. The bells ring out, a desperate, mournful sound that echoes through the dying city. Tesaerix roars, her own fury mingling with yours, and you feel the bond between you surge, unbreakable, forged in this moment of wrath and ruin.

You leave only the Aegonfort untouched, a twisted gift to your brother, the conqueror who took and took until there was nothing left of you but a vessel for his ambitions. Let him rule over the ashes of his realm, let him see what his greed has wrought.

As the city burns, you turn Tesaerix’s head towards the east. You cast one last glance at the inferno below, the flames painting the sky with a hellish glow. It is done. You have nothing left here but ghosts and memories, and you refuse to be haunted any longer.

With a sharp command, you urge Tesaerix onward, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoking ruin of King’s Landing. The air is heavy with the scent of destruction, the cries of the dying fading into the distance as you climb higher, breaking through the veil of smoke and cloud.

You imagine Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya scrambling in confusion, rushing to their dragons. But you are already beyond their reach, the skies your domain, your dragon faster and fiercer than they could ever hope to match. By the time they take to the air, King’s Landing is a smoldering ruin, the night sky painted with the orange glow of the burning city.

And you do not look back again. You set your sights on the Shadowlands, on the mysteries and dangers that await you beyond the known world. You are no longer Aegon’s sister, no longer the bride denied. You are the dragon unleashed, and the world will remember this night as the first of many that you will carve your own fate into the very bones of history.

You leave the Aegonfort standing alone, a silent monument in a city of the dead, for him to find in the cold light of dawn. Let him see the ruin you have wrought, the empire of ash he has earned.

[pseudonymphomania]

My all-time favourite DiaLuci fanfic updated and I am extremely paled by how amazing it is. It's everything I want and it feels so targeted, like it was written from a recipe written on the walls in my mind in a place I can't even reach myself.

Lascia ch'io pianga by TroglodyteMonologue

Rating and Genre: E, Dark Academia, Classical Lit, Allusions to Religious Texts (Heaven's Rebellion, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Fencing [Dueling], Sadism, Masochism, "demons falling in love in their own way"), Smut in 3rd Chapter

“Tell me, Lucifer. Do you think you could recite all ten without your mouth bursting into flame? Or are you one of the damned, just like me?”

“Enough!”

Lucifer’s blade pierces Diavolo’s chest, just left of his heart, and runs him through.

Red blooms across Diavolo’s front. He can feel the blood, warm and thick, trickling down his side and staining his thin shirt. He touches a hand to his chest on instinct and blood oozes through his fingers. The pain is mild. For a demon as powerful as himself it’s more like a slap to the face. He won’t die from it and the wound will heal the moment Lucifer withdraws his blade. But he hasn’t felt a pain that sweet in hundreds of years. His body relaxes, his mouth cools, and a sigh of satisfaction escapes his lips.

Lucifer is frozen with a white-knuckled grip on the handle as he stares at the place where his weapon met its mark. Diavolo catches a dark flicker in Lucifer’s gaze. He sees the way the tip of the demon’s tongue rests against the cut of his teeth in anticipation. He feels the heavy, impressive desire radiating from his body when shock fades.“How did that feel?” Diavolo asks.

Lucifer answers like a man who’s finally emerged from the depths of an ocean and gasped his first, relieving breath. “Good.”

A game of cat and mouse between two of the most equal beings in the universe and how they unwrap the layers between them.

[incorrect-play-it-by-ear]

So you've started watching Play It By Ear and you're wondering what the hell the fandom is talking about

(Aka JKEU: Josh & Katrina Extended Universe master post)

In short: in february 2024 the fandom ran a PIBE fanfic week.

@wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos wrote a beautiful story about Josh and Katrina from Joust Because, based around the idea that they are platonic soulmates. Several other authors picked up the thread of the same universe, and gradually brought in more characters and ships.

Now the extended universe of Josh and Katrina, or JKEU for short, includes tens of thousands of words and characters from almost every episode of season 2. It is a beautiful and mindblowing project where the community is, collaboratively and spontaneously, creating a whole world together.

Not everything fits neatly on the same timeline, and if you would prefer to read the fics in the order they were posted you can do so in the PIBE tag on Ao3. However, if you're looking for the closest thing we can get to a Complete Timeline^tm (extremely loose) of the JKEU, it is this:

let's just be friends. let’s merely intertwine our lives, serving as support and fellow celebrant through the ups and downs of an entire human lifetime. only that by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

2.     We'll Make the Escape of the Falcon Thief by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear

3.     The Mysterious Mayhem of the Missing Award by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

4.     like I lived my whole life, before the first light by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

5.     How to Land a Falcon by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear

6.     I Would Love That by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear

7.     killing me with desire by @starstruckodysseys

8.     Falcon Nitro mark 5 by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear

9.     Baby Steps by @fatestitcherr

10.  Magnets Are a Lot Like Falcons in Many Ways by @vexillologyisenjoyable

11.  my home is in your touch; my heart is in your arms @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

12.  And They Were Gonna Bust Some Ghosts by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear

13.  my heart is your heart, and i'm learning to share by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

14.  The Dark Tower by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

15.  Janice by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear

16. Stained Glass by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

17.  the distance could never tear us apart by @fatestitcherr

Again, this is *very loose*! Please talk to me if you have input on the order and for the love of god tell me if I missed anything 😅 If you have Thoughts and Feelings about the JKEU you are extremely welcome to come and scream about them in the J & K chaos discord, for the unhinged tumblr gang, created by @shortcakestacks: https://discord.com/invite/qfPk2AfE

This is fandom is, and I don't say this lightly, the most fun fandom I've ever been in. Love you all 💞

--------------------------------------

EDIT because we have AUs NOW 😍

sing your melody, I'll sing along by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos

[the-alliance-maker]

More art from my younger sister, yay!

Mask (Baby Hero of Time) looks like that because he's worn the Fierce Deity Mask too many times for extremely long periods, and now it's started to stain/scar his skin.

I'm also putting her little doodle she made me bellow too.

Mask (Baby Hero of Time) has a/his shadow following him around. This is apparently my sister's view of their relationship.

(She was nervous about letting me post the gif and required that I clarified that it's a low effort, quick animation she only made to get a laugh out of me, lol. She was correct about making me laugh. I was in tears for, like, an hour.)

More explanations (And lack there of?) about it under the cut.

These pieces of art are both from an AU of mine that we roleplay a lot.

I'd explain more, but it's built off an alternate timeline/universe of @wutheringmights story "Call them brothers". And I'm not sure what her rules are about fanart or fanfics, mostly because I never asked or looked into it and I never intended to.

I make AUs for the fanfics I read, write fanfics for those fanfics with thousands upon thousands of words in them and then never post them or do anything other than hand them to my sister to read. She does the same with her art.

...Fandoms are messy enough without me accidentally stepping on someone's toes. (I think my sister doesn't post her art because she's too unconfident though.)

That aside, Call them brothers is literally my favorite fic I've ever read. I know we like to throw that phrase around in the fandom a lot, but I have every intention of getting that sucker printed and bound once it's finished. I've been reading Fanfiction for nearly a decade and this is the first one I've wanted to do that for.

If you're a person who enjoys darker stories and want a story line with some actual consequences for the characters, I'd totally recommend it. The last time I was this gut punched over characters and their development was Red Rising by Peirce Brown (My favorite published book series ever), and Wuthering's descriptions of a war ravaged country and all it's horrors is fucking immaculate.

I found Call them brothers through my desire to see a longer fic that had Spirit Tracks Link, and it did. not. disappoint.

Wuthering's takes on what Spirit's abilities, character traits, and game culture/lore are currently my favorite I've seen from anyone in the fandom, and I would doubly recommend the fic just for that.

That said, it's not a story for the faint of heart. It's Dark. With a capital 'd' for a reason. Wuthering doesn't add all those tag warnings for no reason. Also, if you can't stand to see one of the Link bois written as anything other than what the mainstream interpretation for them is, this isn't for you. War isn't out of character, but he's certainly a bold take. A fantastic one, but bold none the less.

Plus there's mild mentions of Links being interested in other character's that aren't their Zeldas or their typical love interests. There is NO shipping of the Jojo's characters amongst each other, but if you're the kind of person who can't stand alluding to characters having crushes that aren't Link x Zelda, it isn't for you.

I know there's some people in the fandom who don't like that kind of thing, so I thought I'd mention it. Also, you've been warned so no being mean to Wutheringmights about it!

If you're okay with the things I've listed, please, please, please give it a read. @wutheringmights deserves all the love for writing something so good.

(Anyway, I could ramble for hours about all the reasons Wutheringmights is my favorite Author in the LOZ fandom, but this was supposed to just be a post about my lil sis's art that got waaaaay away from me.)

[thisnightissparkling089]

First sentance game

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

I'm sooo late to the game on this, but better than than never! Thank you @chenfordspiral, @makeitastrength, @queseraone, @roguetwelve, @sisterofficerlucychen, and @mamadoc for the tags!

I think everyone has done this already, but if you haven't, join in!

1.) Anyone who had a heart

“Understood. I’ll be there in twenty.

“What’s going on?”

“I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

“Just wait—”

“I can’t. I’ll call you when I can.”

The panic doesn’t set in immediately.

Is she nervous? Of course. Concerned? Most definitely. But panicked? No. Not yet anyway. Panic hasn’t arrived just yet. In fact, panic is hours off.

Tamara stands in the kitchen, staring at Lucy, at a loss for what just happened.

“Here, let me make you a plate.” Lucy is quick to brush off the awkwardness of the moment and distracts herself as she moves into the kitchen and dishes the paella onto a plate for Tamara.

“Do you wanna watch a movie, or a show or something?” She asks. “I think Hulu has a new episode of 20/20. Maybe this will be the time the husband didn’t do it.”

“Yeah,” Tamara nods. “Okay.”

And just like that, date night is over. She can clearly tell Lucy is upset and confused by Tim’s abrupt departure. But along with that, she picks up on her desire not to talk about it or want to speculate on what it could mean.

If there was anything Tamara was good at, it was reading a room.

2.) Exile

The cramping started that day around 5pm. A full two hours before her shift ended. She could feel the wetness pooling in her panties and didn’t need a bathroom to know what was happening. And for the first time that week, Lucy was grateful to be riding by herself.

She entered the bathroom in the women’s locker room and pulled her pants down before sitting on the toilet. She released the stream of urine, finally relieving herself after having to hold it for the last hour.

Grabbing the toilet paper, Lucy wiped and paused for a moment before bringing the paper up so she could see it.

The crimson red stain stared back at her. She knew hours ago she was getting her period. If she was being honest with herself, she knew days ago she was going to get her period. But now, it was an undisputable fact staring her in the face.

She could feel the heat rising in her body, and she blinked, hot tears running down her cheek and dripping onto her uniform.

She wanted to punch the wall, wanted to kick the door in repeatedly until the red hot anger surrounding her fled her body. Instead, she sat there as the tears continued to fall.

She hated the fact that she was an angry crier. When she was angry, she just wanted to be angry, to sit with that anger. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just rage.

It was grief.

3.) Something New

Alex looked in the mirror and assessed the situation.

Her hair was curled perfectly in soft beach waves, and her makeup was done in a way she was quite proud of. After hours of YouTube tutorials, advise from her aunts, and shopping trips with her mom, she had really started to get the hang of things.

The outfit wasn’t of exact importance, as she wouldn’t be wearing it once she got to the party. A black tank top, pink cropped sweatshirt, leggings, and sneakers. The perfect ‘I’m going to a sleepover’ outfit she knew her parents wouldn’t question. In her backpack, however, laid the outfit she knew her father would kill her 6 times over for if her ever caught her in it. A pair of tight, dark wash denim jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places. The heels she was ‘borrowing’ from her mom. And the clincher. A red, lace trim, cami bralette that Lucy and Tim absolutely forbade her from buying. The one she had secretly saved her allowance for and bought on her last trip to the mall.

If there was one thing that topped the list of things Tim Bradford hated for his daughters, it was crop tops. Most specifically, bralette crop tops. The cropped sweatshirt she wore in the moment had been battle enough, and Tim only allowed it if she wore a tank top underneath. No matter how many times Alex had tried to convince him that this was the current style, his answer was always the same.

“Not in my house, not on my daughters!”

Sitting back on her bed, she sighed and thought things through once more.

4.) Lovers & Friends

Tim’s eyes fluttered awake, and he shifted slightly in bed. He looked to the window and saw the sunlight just peaking above the buildings and starting to fill the room. 7 o’clock on the dot. He didn’t even have to check his phone. Tim Bradford was awake at 7am every morning, with or without an alarm clock. It was part of his routine, and even on vacation, his body was simply incapable of sleeping in any later.

Even though both he and Lucy had the day off, a true rarity, he was still up, same time as always. Directly next to him, Lucy lay fast asleep. He looked over and could see her chest rising and falling with each breath. Her honey brown hair was splayed across her face and the rising sun was hitting it at just the right angle, making it appear even more golden. Her tank top had ridden up on her in the middle of the night and was exposing just the right amount of her stomach and boy shorts, causing Tim to groan slightly.

It varied on whether or not Tim let Lucy sleep in on their days off. Occasionally, he would quietly slip out of the bed and head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and make breakfast for the three of them. Pancakes and bacon, followed by copious amounts of coffee, always seemed to be Lucy and Tamara’s favorite.

5.) So it goes...

Tamara Colins has started a group chat

[Lucy Chen, Angela Lopez, Wesley Evers, Nyla Harper, John Nolan, Bailey Nune]

Tamara Colins: Fam, is anyone else’s power out? Or is it just us?

Nyla Harper: Out here too. Of all days…

Angela Lopez: Thank God. Wesley’s out in the garage and I was about to pop off thinking he was messing with the breaker box.

Lucy Chen: I told you I didn’t forget to pay the electric bill!

Wesley Evers: 😑

Wesley Evers: And I told you I was working on putting the crib together!

Tamara Colins: I mean…come on. It was a reasonable first guess.

Angela Lopez: If anyone would remember to pay a bill though, it’s Chen. Shit, she probably has it set up on auto pay.

Lucy Chen: I do, thank you very much!

Wesley Evers: Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be? You’ll defend Lucy, but not your husband?

Angela Lopez: Chen brought me an iced coffee this morning, I owe her one.

Wesley Evers: Speaking of owing one…

Angela Lopez: Yeah, I’ve got that debt right in my uterus, thanks. Presently, they’re pressing on my bladder.

Nyla Harper: Right, well as fascinating as this is, what are we gonna do? I’ve got breastmilk in the fridge that isn’t going to last if the power doesn’t turn back on and quickly. And Leah will never be able to sleep in this heat.

6.) (A not so) Cruel Summer

“S’Alright, alright, settle down. Gotta couple of announcements to make this morning before we set you free.” Grey announced as he made his way into roll call and approached the podium.

It was a sunny Monday morning in August, and as his vacation was starting on Saturday, and he and Luna had an All-Inclusive trip booked to Jamaica, he was eager to get through his week. Quickly, the officers fell in line and quieted down as they turned in their seats and gave the man their full attention.

“As I’m sure everyone already knows, it’s the last week of the LA County Fair. Things have thankfully been quite low key so far, so let’s hope that trend continues as it winds down. But while we’re on the topic…”

He paused for a moment and turned his gaze to Smitty. “A friendly reminder that policing does not include going on the rides while on duty if you happen to be working the fair.”

Smitty let out a huff as he threw his hands up. “Sarge, the kid was dodging me. It’s not my fault he decided to hop on the bumper cars while I was chasing him. Clearly it was an invitation!”

Grey rolled his eyes and reminded him of the rules just the same before continuing right along with his agenda, ticking a few more things off his list.

7.) Only love can hurt like this

Lucy Bradford was exhausted.

That was the understatement of the year.

At 38 weeks pregnant, her ankles were swollen, her back ached, and she had to pee roughly every four minutes. She could barely eat more than a few bites of food every few hours, sleeping more than three hours at a time had become seemingly impossible, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her vagina.

And this wasn’t her first go around.

No, the first go around, baby Nora, only 14 months old herself, was at home with Tim. When Lucy discovered she was pregnant again, when her first child was only five months old, Tim cried, Tamara snorted and tried to give Lucy a speech on sex education, and Lopez and Harper straight cackled.

“Bradford. You just can’t keep your hands to yourself for five minutes, can you?” Angela taunted.

Tim pursed his lips and shook his head, annoyed at the fact that his sex life was being openly discussed at work. “It was Valentine’s Day. Not my fault.”

8.) About last night

Tim startled awake in the darkened room and sat up in bed. He wasn’t sure of the exact time, but figured it had to be the middle of the night as it was still dark. Before he could even have a moment to locate the source of his middle of the night wake up, a knock rapped at their bedroom door.

He got up out of bed, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and shuffled over to the door, opening it. Tamara stood across from him with her arms wrapped around herself and eyes cast down to the floor.

“T, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Lucy’s crying.” She mumbled softly, unable to look him in the eye.

Tim’s eyes widened as he turned his head back and took notice of the now empty bed.

“I woke up thirsty and went to get some water and I heard her in the bathroom. I tried to check on her, but she won’t let me in.”

Tim looked toward the bathroom and could hear the exhaust fan and see the light coming through the bottom of the closed door. Sighing, he rubbed his hand over his face. “Okay, it’s alright. I got her. Go on back to bed and get some sleep, it’s still early.”

“Tim…” Tamara looked up at him with eyes full of confusion, hurt and sadness. Ever since she had known Lucy, she had been strong, stable, and put together. Seemingly, Lucy had the answers to everything. It wasn’t often that Tamara ever saw or knew about Lucy in a state of unrest. The handful of times she did always left her feeling helpless.

“Hey, come ‘mere.”

He opened his arms and Tamara leaned in for a hug.

9.) I wont

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

“What?! No!”

But her protests didn’t matter.

She felt Nolan gently take her wrists. On instinct she had jerked back, but his force tightened slightly, holding them in place as the cold metal slipped around her.

She wanted to run. She wanted to blink and wake up and find out that somehow, the last hour had just been some God-awful nightmare.

“Stop! You’re making a mistake!” She had sobbed. Hot tears dripped down her cheeks. But no one was listening. It was as if she was drowning and begging for help while everyone stood on the dock and simply watched her struggle and drown.

“I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. We can figure out the rest once we get to the hospital.”

John glared at his rookie, chastising her with his eyes. “Officer Juarez, stop, right now!” He bellowed. “We can’t appear impartial in any way. The only thing you can say to her is her Miranda rights.”

“Right, apologies sir.”

She looked over to him being loaded onto the stretcher, still holding his groin, and screaming in pain. It felt like every eye in the room was on them.

“I want that crazy bitch arrested and thrown in jail!”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

She could hear Celina’s voice, but it was faded and far away. In any event, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t possibly be talking to her anyway. None of this was real. It had to be a bad dream. That’s all it was, just a dream. Soon, she would wake up, covered in sweat, and come back to reality.

The door opened and they escorted her out. Red and blue lights flashed brightly and bounced off the house. People lined the yard, staring, whispering, filming, pointing.

It was all just a dream.

10.) Switchin up positions for you

Tim’s eyes fluttered awake, adjusting to the sunlight pouring into the room. He had talked to Lucy previously about investing in some blackout curtains, but it never seemed to get past the talking stage. And in her opinion, she liked the sunrise coming through her room and thought it brought about much needed warmth.

Leaning into her side of the bed, he reached out for her blindly, wanting to snuggle in with her as they did every morning. He would rest his head against her shoulder and bury his nose against her hair, breathing in her honeysuckle shampoo scent.

And while his intentions always started off innocently enough, it wasn’t long before clothing was being shed and he had her underneath him, crying out his name. He was growing hard already just thinking about the amorous activities that lay ahead.

But in reaching over for her, he was met with nothing but an empty space. Cracking one eye open, he found her side of the bed empty. Opening both eyes, he sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and listened for a hint of where she was.

The sound of the shower finally came into focus, and he was on his way out of bed to go find her when his phone began to vibrate against the bedside table.

[drarrywords]

Sun

Harry was the sun.

He burned with hope, he would eclipse you and bring a bright, beautiful light for you in your darkness. He was the sun, "Draco, do you want cookies or do you want cupcakes?"

"Both?" Draco said. He held back the tremor in his voice. He didn't want to break before him. He didn't want to break even when Harry would be there for him with his sunshine. Because he was sad more often than not.

"Not both, I have to send a batch over to Luna's and one is for us."

"Why do I have to decide, it's tough." It becoming hard to not break. A tear slides down his cheek but he brushes it off before there could be more.

"Because," Harry sets the baking sheet down and brings one cookie and one cupcake for him, "I love you?"

"Is it because you can't decide?"

"Both?" He said and his smile, it was more beautiful than the light of a thousand suns, "But I'll ditch on Luna and the others if you want both the cookies and the cupcakes."

"Why would you do that?"

Harry kissed his nose, "Because I love you and I want you to have whatever your heart desires and because you're sad?"

Draco buried his head into his shoulder and his tear stains the fabric of his white shirt, "Become a mind reader, have you?"

Harry ran his hands through Draco's hair, "Bit of a mind reader when it's you, yeah. But what's wrong, love?"

He couldn't hold himself back from breaking, "I'm sorry, I don't want to be a bother to you."

Harry set the cookie and the cupcake on the coffee table before him and brought Draco's head to his chest, "Draco, you're never ever a bother. It might be hard to believe but love, don't be sorry."

"I'm too much work, Harry."

"Not you, never you," He spoke softy and the tenderness in his words itself was so beautiful that it broke him, "even if you believe that you are, I'll do all the work in a heartbeat. No questions asked."

His sunshine, his sunflower.

His sun.

"I love you."

It elicits a soft smile out of Harry, "Now, what's wrong?"

The knot in the throat begins to ease, "If I can have both the cookies and the cupcakes, I'll tell you what's wrong."

"I'll bake all the cookies and cupcakes in the world for you."

@phoebe-delia ​ @cluelesspigeons ​ @thecornerofbelu @nv-md ​ ​@missdrarrydawn @harryandginnydeservesbetter @draco-lucious-potter @textrovert-01 @dearly-devoted-dawdler @inflation-of-mind @slytherinnbitch @loves-to-read-fanfic @sorry-i-ship-drarry @just-like-that-butmakeitgay

[plasticfangtastic]

Of The Same Poisonous Ilk. Ch. 2

A Homelander fanfic

A/N: will try doing weekly post for this series, thank to all those who read this, all aplicable tw are put down here if I miss any plz let me know, long chapter ahead! previous chapter here:

Sypnosis: As if God himself had decided to play a prank on him, Homelander is finally blessed with a true equal... Himself... yet not quite the same.

R18+ Violence, gore, smut, selfcest, butchlander, homewell, discussion of sexualization of minors, Child abuse, Femlander, Multiverse shenanigans, Canon Divergent, Darkfic, 3some, Bi-Lander.

Chapter two

Gasping, his throat collapsing, her hand viciously gripping at his throat, his eyes rolling back and their hands in a deadlock.

He had no clue why she snapped so quickly.

Just before with sleepy eyes and groggy lips calling after a man whose named sounded like his own, she pulled, forcing their lips together, Joan devoured him madly, desperately, groaning loudly against his lips, gripping at his hair, her hands starved after him, as his own hand cradled her cheek he felt the damp on her cheeks, that sweet moment died out, she pushed him after trying to kill him, shivering like a wounded doe.

As she calmed down Homelander watched her in awe unsure of what game this woman was playing– why had she become so upset? He could feel his lips throbbing, bruised from the intensity of her kisses and wanting more, both left gasping, she clung to the blanket covering herself as she moved towards the corner, her hair wild and her cheeks bright red.

Homelander leaned forward on his elbows, he felt it again, electricity circulating in his body, feeling her leave had left him oddly vacant. He was falling into a spell, wanting… needing… itching to touch her, a primal craving consuming his desires, they both stared at each other unable to speak yet willing, filling the dark room with nothing but quiet breaths, their heartbeats slowing together.

“Disappointed?” he jokes, wanting to calm her down.

She sniffed, cleaning the tears still staining her cheeks.

“I am sorry.” She cried looking away from him. Homelander never said it but hearing it from her felt strange as if she wasn’t made for it– I… I won’t do it again… so don’t hate me.”

“Is alright… come here…” He stretched his hand– that Jon and you?” he asked nervously, tightening his jaw.

“No!! It wasn’t like that… I thought for a second he was still alive…”

She got closer to him, trembling horribly, afraid he would bite this time around, but Homelander didn’t do such thing, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling that electricity once more, her body fit so neatly against his own, her smell intoxicating– smelling of oats, milk and sunflowers like himself. Her body just the right temperature, her skin made his own crawl, touching her was the finest velvet, her hands just as soft as his own, she sobbed under his gentle embrace.

She held him as she cried lighty, it all remained a mystery to him– one he wanted to unravel. He had only fantasized about hugging himself as a small child…but receiving it now… it felt soothing… without the cringe and shame, this wasn’t that disgusting experience with Doppelganger either, this was him in a way– just better… She was a beautiful new thing, she was real and dependant of him. John and Joan felt the warmth of each other resting in the bed, falling asleep in each other's arms. She slept so soundly, his heart sounded just like Jon’s, in her dreams she saw him, on top of a big rock chewing on jerky, the sun hiding behind him as he watched the vast empty desert, no matter how much she wanted to sit by his side, her legs wouldn’t move.

Homelander awoke, he usually woke at the crack of dawn but for once he overslept, looking down to find the woman still wrapping him, he had slept in his suit which was unheard of but it was a fair trade-off… he had never slept holding another person for an entire night. Looking at this sweet thing he thought of himself at that age, Maeve would make love to him but she would be gone by morning, Madelyn never stayed for longer than an hour or two if he was lucky but now he had the full experience and he didn’t just felt spoiled– he felt light as he squeezed this coiled body around him, surprised that even his little Homie hadn’t ruined the moment, watching her in his arms as she held for dear life at his body– he only found comfort and nothing else, fixated with the song of her heartbeat, gently pushing her finding himself whining as he lets her go, watching her sleep soundly, he brushed her soft hair aside tucking her in. 

He had never once felt this relaxed in the morning– not without sex being involved somehow of course. He caressed her cheek in and let her sleep, he had one mission and that was to look at the contents of that phone.

Ashley bites at her nails, unsure of what to do, the rest of The Seven, Stan Edgar, the head of Crisis management and Dr. Park awaited for Homelander who was unusually late, the prospect that that female had killed him while they slept was being discussed psychically– and then the doors tragically opened up.

“Good morning! I see we’re having an important meeting” He said with genuine glee.

“I texted you three times this morning, sir.” Ashley whispered, taking her place by his shadow– we had one of analytics cracked her phone.”

“Could’ve just asked me– we got the same fingerprint.” he laughs lightly as he heads for his spot catchign Dr. park's attention–"So what brings such illustrious faces this morning.”

Stan raises his eyebrow, gesturing to the head of Crisis management.

“As Dr. Park already briefed the rest of your team, it has come to our attention that our surprise visitors are from another dimension and such ramifications well… long story short You and the rest of the Seven must ensure that our two visitors remain inside the tower, and away from the public.”

“So you invited Starlight?” Homelander chuckles– give it five seconds before she’s texting her boytoy at the FBSA!”

“I’m well aware of the irony… but in the event she does get out or Leaper… it would be a good idea to have a backup– as I was informed it appears that she’s your equal in a fight.”

He scoffs at the idea, taking a seat at the helm.

“If they can’t kill me what makes you think–

“You are to do whatever it takes to take her down, understood.”

Homelander said nothing, feeling the heavy stare of his boss, he would entertain him but he wouldn’t– Joan was worth something to him, there was only one of him, only one original Homelander... but afterall God had made Eve out of Adam's rib, he wouldn't insult the lesser God by throwing away a gift to his most perfect creation.

Starlight cleared her throat trying to calm the flames about to ignite.

“I’m certain that our guest might be reasonable and understanding– I mean she hasn’t attacked since yesterday, no?”

Homelander looked at the young blonde and bitterly nodded, Starlight could only hope this woman could kill their Homelander, in that fight she would put all her bets on her.

“She’s still asleep in my penthouse…” His ear picked the light snoring.

The older man looked rough, muscular and no nonsense, he turned the TV screens on-- each revealing their own stories.

Three stills of Homelander, of three versions of him– A tired one covered in scars and worn down by the sun trying to light a cigarette, a young man with longer hair holding the bottom half of a jaw, and a shirtless man, more muscle than body fat, covered in in a blue glowing liquid, his eyes glowing the same color.

Dr. park took to his side, touching his tablet.

“I don’t need to explain that this footage is highly sensitive– I was frankly blown away if I’m honest” 

He looked far too eager.

“We couldn’t access any of her social media accounts… well their versions of them… seems MySpace, Friendster and Douyin are the main sites, she also has a LINEs account, thus we were able to read her conversation currently we have someone from analytics transcribing”

A screen showed a snipped between Homelander and a man named J with a love heart emoji”

“Joan darling you will do the interview… is that or you post an apology video”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!!”

“We know and we stand behind you, yet we can lose any more points– do you want people not to love you anymore?”

“alright…”

–… but her gallery well” He takes a deep breath throwing rapid looks at the head of the Seven, revealing there were hundreds and hundreds of Videos and thousands of pictures– our visitor decided to vlog her entire journey, taking multiple daily blogs and stopping only until she could find where or how to charge her phone based on the dates and breaks, I had one of the interns select a few highlight-reels but there’s no doubt this girl is… well…” He looks at Homelander feeling his throat shrink– a Homelander.”

Dr. Park fumbled a bit on the screen.

“We analyzed several of her videos and pictures to determine if they were some high-quality Deep Fakes but all videos came out as real” he said nervously.

One screen flipped thru different photos of Homelander, her in multiple Vough branded events, selfies at movie openings, smiling with Stan Edgar, a version of him that seemed friendly with her and a man that looked vaguely familiar to Homelander in a way he couldn't pinpoint, there were plenty of selfies advertising a make-up and skincare brand called “Homegirl”, a few risque poses here and there that made him blush and angry that he could hear the other men in the room react, for all purposes Homelander was no different than a social media influencer, one photo peeved at the supe, just a selfie with a pair of streamers and a cute sign saying thank you for 300 million Youtube subscribers alongside a diamond plaque.

“The videos were the most insightful.” he cleared his throat– she had kept quite extensive records… her phone battery life last 46 hours on one charge– this technology could revolutionize the world! we are certainly already copying for next year’s V-flip model” He said giddily.

Homelander leaned closer, all eyes focused on the screen. Annie already trying to figure out how she would tell Butcher that his worst nightmare had happened, Maeve clung to hope that this girl wasn’t anything like her ex and the other three were counting the seconds before the meeting would abruptly end, except for Noir who wasn’t entirely sure what was happening as this girl wasn’t Homelander… his only worry is that he had a Yoga class to attend and he might be late now– looking at those picture this person was far more sociable than his best friend.

The video played, Lady Homelander fixed her hair in an unseen mirror stuck in a grand room.

L.E.D lights glew soft blues, a large king size bed peek from the side and behind her a futuristic night sky, a handful of plants decorated a corner and a machine flew around spritzing the plants.

“Hi Guys!! Dunno when I'm posting this but it seems I'm in a little pickle…”she forced a smile but it broke quickly–… I dunno when I’ll be able to talk to you guys again, but it seems I’m in the future?” She took her phone and turned the camera around to the window. It was New York but miles taller, vehicles flew on invisible roads, roofs and balconies covered in greens and massive billboards projected themselves in glorious technicolor– I think I’m going to go insane… I’ve been here for three days and no sign of Leaper… I might be trapped here but I can feel him still here. I have to believe it!.”

The video cut to another scene, this time of Ashley– present one straightened herself unable to believe that in another dimension she would still be trapped in hell.

But this Ashley seemed… sexy, she had an air of confident and dreamy eyes to her, her make up metallic and perfect, her hair long and luscious, and her skin glowing, in her hand a glass of wine, she dressed in a intricate chiffon gown and pearls.

“So tell my audience a bit about yourself…” The Homelander voice whispered.

“I’m Wednesday. And I’ve been Wednesday for over ten years, used to be Monday but now am hump day– thank god! couldn't stand being Monday.” she said with a sultry tone– Monday always has to deal with his bad mood, best days are moi, Thursday and Saturday… altho I don’t like Saturday, she thinks we can be friends.” she seemed grossed out at the thought.

“You guys aren’t friends?”

“We don’t talk to each other outside the groupchat– y’know we ain't gonna let each other serve him the same meal twice, but we ain’t actually talking– it just makes things easier.”

“In what way?” She pressed– "I mean if all of you are his wives…”

“So we should be besties and bake pies together?” Ashley sounded disgusted– look I see him once a week, I get all I want, I live in a grand apartment and I haven’t aged a single day since he infected me with the V-Virus, can you believe I am sixty this year?” she laughed then took a sip of her ‘wine’.

“So it makes you happy?” She sounded sad.

“Why wouldn’t she?” That familiar voice creeped behind her, she turned the camera finding a suited man untying his blue tie by the entrance of the living room, Homelander didn’t expect the house to look like a scene from blade runner meets dune, walls so tall and the sepia lights coloured the skin of his mirror image a uneasy shade, this man younger perpetually trapped in his mid twenties at the latest, his hair swooped to the side and longer, the camera close enough to catch the sickly paleness of his skin behind the yellow tint and bright red eyes-- but not so by light but on their own, Ashley moved towards Homelander– hello my love, work finished early today… missed you.”

“Oh sweetie I missed you” She had jumped to his side wrapping her arms around his shoulders– come here tiger.” she chuckled into his lips.

Ashley eyes widen as  sexy Ashley kissed her Homelander, and had the camera lingered a second longer Homelander might’ve puked as the kiss was more than just passionate, the two basically humping on sight, nobody dared say a thing– a new video played, before the barf bags were distributed.

“Six wives? What’s the logic there Jonathan?” her voice annoyed.

“Sunday is a day of rest… I’m just a man I would die if I don't get some ‘me’ time” He chuckled, the young man sat in a thick leather armchair, plants around him and some marble statues to his side, everybody could’ve sworn it was the Venus de milo, a lot of paintings from the renaissance period adorned his presence- why does it bother you?”

He sounded younger, everything about him felt strange, like peeking into a fabricated memory, his skin had no wrinkles or hard lines but it was him… and it shouldn’t.

“Their names” she grumbled- the lack of them”

“Is easier than remembering their names” He smiled devilishly– is a joke don’t shoot. They don’t want to know each other… ask them! I just follow what my lovers like” he laughed lifting his hands defensively.

“Is hard to believe you and I are the same person… we don’t share anything.” she sounded exasperated.

“We share one thing and that's we are apex predators… you think of them as mud and I see cattle” She paced the camera to the dehydrated corpse by her foot– I get quite hungry after six days with my wives… and just for the record I do know their names… Victoria, Margaret, Ashleigh, Rebekah, Keneth and Kumiko… used to have a Klara and a Serge but they broke our rules.” He looked saddened by his own words.

He stood up picking up the dead corpse with ease, lifting its head to the gaping wound on his neck, he placed his empty cup beneath the wound watching a few drops fall.

“I miss Serge… his veal tasted like the sun kissing my skin once more.” Annie's mouth dropped– but I love them…”

“Do You? Or are you filling the empty void with sex?” The girl stood up and led the camera thru the art gallery into a massive painting of a young girl no more than 16 or 17, long wavy blonde hair, pale blue eyes and thin lips, on top of a cream marble fireplace, Homelander leaned closer he couldn’t mistake that teen for anybody else but Madelyn, but how?– or you just miss her?”

“Maybe I am still a little bit human… or not.” The man teleported beside her, never making a peep– She turned me… guess I still love her in a way.

“And she left you so you decided to get six wives to replace her?”

He chuckled, taking a silver box from a set of five by the fireplace, he opened the latch to reveal a beating heart, dried but it beat weakly, alive, the second the light touched it, strange strands made of sticky flesh began chasing after Joan, pale pink threads twirling and winding into a bleeding and sickly primitive appendage, growing rapidly, white fragments growing inside the threads, doubling in size every second it gets closer.

“She’s still here” he shut the box and the muscle wilted into a fine red dust– she’s not very talkative these days.”

“Can we see somebody else!!?” Homelander squirmed in his seat, feeling his cheeks reddened.

“Well is definitely not something of this world” Stan said, not hiding the sickly feeling in his stomach– but I was told there were two other subjects.”

The Deep had passed out with open eyes, the thought of being Homelander “wife” was horrific and had completely ignored the horror scene afterwards but A-Train nudged at him with a shit eating grin, he just watched the trio with a smile so big he would happily die.

The screen had paused on a woman that Homelander recognized, Rebecca… Ryan's mother-- Jonathan’s Rebekah. She looked so beautiful as she entered the grand room carrying a small infant in her arms wrapped in pink. 

The woman unfazed at the metal box in her husband’s hand.

The man began to picture his funeral, as he went to subject number two, he had already ordered the death of the analytics members who’ve seen this video.

The video played and this man looked far more exhausted than Homelander could’ve imagine, it almost looked like make up on him– he wore a Hawaiian shirt, his arm slightly muscular and a growing beard shadowed his face, his hair just growing from a recent buzz cut and the circles on his eyes inmensed as he made waffles.

“Youse gonna wear that shit all day?” he took a long puff of his cigarette– I got you clothes for a reason, mate.”

“Yeah! I just got these washed and I like the feeling… Either way, come on! give me content, you can just be an annoying hardass all the time! I’ll get demonetized!”

“You also want me to to put on a fucking monkey suit and dance like a fucking wanker?” His accent was so painfully Australian– now do ya want two or three for brekky?”

“One”

“Chookie” He slap her plate with three waffles– you need to eat…now take the fucking suit off.”

Her plate was jammed packed with waffles, bacon sausages and eggs, and she could do nothing as he slathered the bitch in maple syrup.

“Milo or coffee?”

“Milk is fine.”

That he didn’t argue, The man served a second plate and the camera poorly followed to the figure seating next to him, Annie’s mouth dropped soon followed by Homelander.

Sitting beside her was Butcher… slightly younger, his skin beaming, and his hair nicely combed in a similar fashion to Homelander’s, his face clean shaved and not a scar adorned his features, he looked admittedly handsome– had he not worn Homelander’s suit he wouldn’t find this so disturbing, he looked just like the first time they’ve met all those christmases ago, Homelander bit his cheek anxiously.

From the angle they could see his cape draped over his shoulders, a thick chain dangled on his chest, and a detailed eagle sculpture adorned his shoulder, red gloves sat by the breakfast table dividing Joan and the impostor.

She recorded him eating as he moaned on that first bite.

“Aww Cyanide this time! so tingly.” He said in a sweetened voice– surprise you hadn’t tried it before Butcher, darling.”

Johnny gave a defeated sigh and moved to the fridge, writing cyanide on a whiteboard.

“Nathan is going to be so disappointed…” he mumbled.

“So how long have you two been doing this… thing?” she sounded uncomfortable.

“Two years. Easier to kill the cunt if I kept him around… dunno why it had to be in my fucking apartment!!”

“Ryann’s school is closer to your place.”

As if on queue a young girl shouted from across the house, a little girl no more than 8 ran into the kitchen with her hair in messy pigtails.

“Daddy, I can't find my shoes!!”

Maeve and Annie exchanged panic looks, and Dr. Park sweating a litre under his jacket.

“Did ya check the laundry?” he said in a calm voice trying not to laugh at the mess on her hair– did dad try to do your hair again?”

“Hey she’s wiggly” Butcher said with a lightest english accent he could muster.

“He just sucks!” She giggled playfully.

“He's a stubby short of a six pack actually” both chuckle together.

This was Ryan, the face too similar not to be him, her hair a dark red but her eyes the same shape but black eyes. That expression made his chest tightened as he watched his copy calmly fixing the girl's hair as she nodded, the camera came back to Not-Butcher.

Homelander could do the math, this was Maeve's and Butcher's Ryan, Joan had said so last night and now he saw the product.

This one seemed so content too, both men stayed quiet until the girl was out of the room.

“So you two are raising the kid together while you let him figure out how to kill you?”

“Shocker I know!” he cleans his hand and steals a waffle off Joan’s plate– look one day me and the bin chicken over 'ere realize that we both cared about the kid, so begrudgingly we sat one arvo and agreed to this… altho this cunt over here thinks I'm his maid!”

“Last time I tried cooking you hit me with a rolling pin over some eggs!”

“You calcified them!”

The man smiled behind his hand as he took his cigarrete back into his mouth, Joan did nothing to stop the cameras as the fake-Homelander stood up after a couple bites, wrapping his arms on the shorter man, forcing a kiss on his temple and lips as the man stabbed at his neck with a dirty kitchen knife– to no success.

“I’ll be late today, Daddy” he said shamelessly.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you Park” Homelander's voice had no humor to it, his eyes glowing so bright the heat made Maeve's hair frizz out.

“Ah… what happens next!” he sounded panicked– just wait!!.”

As Johnny kissed the bastard back the air was vacuumed out the room, a fat persian cat clawed at the floorboards yowling, Johnny shouted “Horror!” and the fake-Homelander moved to catch the feline as the house was sucked into a vortex, standing before the vortex was Leaper, his hair messy and his expression dazed and angry, he made a small size portal by crossing his fingers together into Ryann’s bedroom her stuff toys spat back at the trio, the girl was flung straight into the mayor vortex, as Leaper grinned.

“Told ya I’ll get even you cheap fucking whore!” He jumped into the hole and before Fake-Homelander could say a thing the portal closed after him.

“This Leaper can still create portals, it seems he needs to make a formation with his hands to activate his powers– but it might just be a quirk, it is likely that once our guest wakes up he might be able to escape anywhere in New York or further” He said, sweating buckets.

He still destroyed the TV screen, causing everybody to get on edge.

“You think you can humiliate me?” he growled, red light clinging in his eyes.

“I don’t think that was Dr. Park's intention, Homelander” Stan said– his scientific curiosity got the best of him and I am certain that this situation won’t repeat itself, right?” He said in his trademark humorless tone– it’s also not you, I think everybody here can state that that man is merely a look-alike” Stan raised his hand towards his temple.

"Don't really look like you, sir!" Deep butted in-- he's balding and you have great hair, Homelander!"

"Couldn't tell, he's australian! like what the fuck!? right?" Said Ashley almost in a panic.

"He's gay tho" Maeve risked it staring at Annie as she died alive-- terrible taste in men too."

Homelander grumble, stroking his tired eyes.

“Sorry I had my assistant make the compilation, she must’ve made the mistake! She’ll be disposed of immediately!!” he blurted.

“I’ll do it myself” Homelander grumbled and the man whispered into the ear of the head of crisis management who wrote the name down and slipped it into Homelander’s hand.

The video had continued to play on the screen beside it unnoticed.

until shouting began.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!!??” His voice echoed in a run down building– "Do you have any idea whatchu did, Pendejo!!?”

The man was unseen but the camera got closer struggling to focus, catching the young man in front of him with more clarity. It was A-Train wearing a military uniform, a light blue scarf wrapped around his neck, his vest heavy and his gun resting before him, the man bit at his lip trying to hold back his emotions.

“You!” The man came out of obscurity, he wore a similar uniform, his sleeves rolled up pointing at him with small dark red gloves– I should kill you!”

The shit eating grin was spat back at A-Train from the rest of the room.

“Jon… Colonel, sir. I had to do it, otherwise those people would ‘ave died!”

“I Know you did the right thing!!” He spat back with a trembling hand– But you should’ve called for me!! God dammit Reggie– I made a promise to your brother! Don’t you dare make me break that promise!!” He cried catching the younger man forcing him closer– I promised I would bring you home… You could’ve died, Reggie… I can’t lose you man! I can’t lose another one of my brothers!”

He sobbed softly, trembling against the younger guy.

“I didn’t want you to die, Colonel… There’s no future for us if you ain’t around” he said stifling his tears, returning his hug.

“You’re too young to care about my future!!” he shouted back behind tears– "this war doesn’t need to lose anymore people, much less humanity’s future!”

He held the young man’s face, forcing him to look straight into his deep blue eyes.

“Don’t ever do that without me!” He said holding back a sob– thank you for saving those people, you did the right thing… those families are still together because of you, but had you failed…” He pushed him back into his arms– I don’t think I could've ever faced Nathaniel, I couldn’t face the rest of our squad.”

“Colonel.”

“My life belongs to all of you, is not precious. Is not like yours or the rest of y'all that’s the weight of being a leader. I will protect you.” he said firmly as the afternoon sun burned thru the cracks of the abandoned building.

“Jesus what a cry-baby” Homelander said with great indignation.

To the rest of the room, whose ears had picked up with great interest, watching this was as if they were seeing an oscar winner contender, if he could pull off that charade in front of them they would buy him the ballot votes themselves, but their eyes were glued to the screen trying to figure out what creature that was, to come to terms that there was a version of him that appear to be made good and they’d drawn the shit end of the stick.

The video cut abruptly to a new scene, Homelander seemed more disgusted at this overly dramatic display of brotherly love than the prior acts of homosexual behaviors while the rest of the room dream of a game of switcheroo– the scene was of Jon. Maeve mouth dropped slightly as she caught a glimpse of the tall man, he was bulky, pure muscle, maybe 6’2’’ or 6’ 3’’at least– that or A-Train was short as fuck in that universe. He had a charming genuine smile, with messy blonde hair, a patchy coloured beard decorated his sharpened jaw, and his arms qualified as weapons with how big and beefy they were.

His cheeks sunburn and his smile bright enough to light up a baseball stadium.

He laughed earnestly as an older black man spoke to him.

“So that’s what actually happened.” Said the black man.

“Que la Virgencita tenga piedad contigo, Earving.” Jon replied, shaking his head with a giggle still caught in his tongue– Dunno what am going to do with you uncle, but sure as hell am glad my mami ain’t around to hear you.”

“Grace loves me, my boy.” he snorts– "should've seen her back at her age” he pointed at the camera woman.

Homelander wished he was alone, just to hear Black Noir once more, his friend barely registered the scene, just staring at the unscarred face, his voice lively, and his hair all there, he was aged maybe twenty years older than the young man beside him on screen, but he had an unusual youthfulness to him.

Homelander relaxed transfixed on the interaction.

“So how did you get a medal of honor?”

“A ship holding refugees was ambushed. I had only gotten the V-Serum two months prior but in that moment I suddenly learned how to fly and well, long story short… I was left bruised but not a single person was lost that day.”

She kept the camera still on him, making sure to frame his biceps, the camera occasionally flickering lower, unsubtle voyeuristic at the man’s body as she “struggled” to keep the pace, not that his army rags helped with modesty, they were tight beneath that vest, a gun strapped to his hip.

“You care a lot about people?”

“I was given these powers to help people, don’t get to be selfish anymore– all I want is to make sure no kid grows up without their loved ones… I lost my sister in one of the attacks, left me two kids, and I can’t look at their faces while knowing the monsters that took her are still free and hurting people, not when I got these powers, if I had yours I could’ve ended this myself, I am sure of that.”

He sounded so bitterly wounded, Joan just let the camera linger on his eyes.

“Now with you around we can save more people! and I’ll do anything I can to help you find a way home as a thank you, Te lo prometo.”

She had blushed behind the camera as his hand petted her hair, freezing under his gruff hands.

“So what’s with the spanish?” Joan asked nervously– aren’t we American? Or do you just like speaking spanish?”

“I’m Mexican, silly” he said, thickening his accent jokingly– Well technically my parents are Americans hence why I sound American, but I was born and Raised in el De Efe, then left to the US when I turned eighteen.” He grinned– I wanted to go to the same army university as my dad, and I joined the army, served for twenty years and then this invasion started– by then borders began to mean very little… they needed bodies on the field, this whole army is composed of everybody still walking after those monsters came and took it all” He said angryly– Still a beaner tho”

She had ignored most of that.

“You had parents?”

“You don’t?”

“no…” Joan said quietly– I…”

“I’m so sorry…” he stopped walking, turning to face her, instinctively putting his hand on her shoulder with a deeply apologetic look on his face, something truly unseen in this boardroom– It couldn’t’ve been easy… my dad him and my mom were engaged when they made me– one night my dad went to get dinner and never came back. My mom learned the morning after that a drunk driver killed him… my dad was army and my mom worked for the government, she got a job at the mexican embassy because it paid well and my grandpa didn’t want anything to do with my mom” He said sadly– had a stepdad but all he did was drop my sister and that’s it.” 

“You close to your mom?” She asked meekly, feeling safe and small under his grip, her hand trembling slightly.

“Close? This boy calls his momma everyday” Earving blurts– is a miracle she isn’t here to tuck him to bed.”

“Uncle!”

The group walked in a destroyed city, smoke and ash permeated in the air, when the camera caught something strange, from a distance a beast roared from on top a cracked building, it was beautiful and awful– coated in pearlescent skin, horns and bone shaped its head like an orchid, it’s eyes small but plenty, its body slim but large, it was a dragon with wings twice its size, its mouth larger ripping into its throat as its chest illuminated and puffed, Jon eyes widen ordering everybody to take cover, as he took flight.

The alien dragon spat a killer lazer only stopped at the projectile man took to its throat.

Small creatures emerged, walking on leathery wing stilts, their markings gray and brown, they moved fast and hop– they were blood-thirsty, launching themselves in groups at every slow body on their path.

She tucked her phone in her tits, the last thing the camera took was Joan laser slicing the aliens.

“This is the last world that our guest visited… if she’s mistaken” Dr. Park let an image on screen linger, one of the alien beings corpse, it was bigger than a human, its head short but its appearance resembled a Tupuxuara, Jon opened its mouth to show rows of sharpened fangs and a bright glowing green tongue.

“These ones are foot soldiers, the big ones are tanks, there’s like 3 other types besides the actual brains.” Jon said, the man cleaned his hand– they would rather send these abused creatures than face us. I feel bad for these animals” His voice quivers– I don't think they’ve had a choice. It is not their fault… they shouldn’t be here… it should be those monsters fighting us” He turned the head to reveal a metal panel sticking out from healing skin around a peeled skull.

“We should kill him” The Deep spoke– I mean we might not be able to contain them.”

He stated the obvious while pointing at the alien, which was somethign to process later, the universe now seeemd so big to the fish talker.

Homelander leaned back.

“If she stays here then there would be two of me”  That was also a terrible outcome, aliens seemed like the sensible decision– we don’t know if our Super Villain could actually bring a horde of alien dragons to New York” he caught himself there thinking of how stupid but awesome it sounded– he obviously resents Joan”

Ashley cleared her throat.

“She’s marketable” Ashley said coldly– nobody gets to 300 millions subscribers without being charismatic, her camera work is impressive for being done with a phone, her selfie game is off the charts, she’s young, hot and has A-list powers… those tits will fly themselves off the shelves`` Even Stan had Ashley’s attention– A long lost sister… maybe your father had an affair or a secret family… we could make her…” She sheepishly looked at Homelander– your side-kick. Think of this: two siblings separated by a cruel joke of fate, suddenly reunited after spending years hiding her powers and then one day she comes to America in search of her long lost brother who just happens to be not just any Supe, but the greatest Superhero in the world!”

“Side-kick?”

Homelander scoffed at the idea then paused looking back at the screen.

He wanted to sit alone, to watch all the videos and paint a better picture of this woman, of those versions of him.

They all talked but all he saw was that man, who looked too perfect, he didn’t need a padded suit, painting greek sculture’s green with envy, his smile so big, so pretty, so strange, he was the true uncanny staring back at him, and that woman who was him, had cried after him, this is the body they had wanted of him, the personality the whole country thought he had, this was how the world thought Homelander was, if he was here instead of Joan, he would kill him, he wanted to rip his face off, to wear his face... they would love him if he looked like that, the suit so baggy around his body as he stared at that roided abomination.

He found himself taking the tablet off Dr. Park, not knowing when he had stood up, speeding through the video until one video caught his attention.

Some bonfire party, Joan wrapped around Jon’s arms dancing gleefully, somebody else held the camera, as she hid her blush and smiled awkwardly as the man taught her the moves, some Bobby Pollido classic played in the background.

He stood there until the screen cracked around his thumb.

[danmeiljie]

Advance Bravely but make it a Twilight AU Part 2

(This has nothing to do with twilight I just wanted to make Yuan Zong a vampire lol)

Part 2 of my Vampiresque AU Advance Bravely fanfic, continuing where we left off in Part 1.

1,187 words, Teen Rating, (TW: blood drinking and needles)

Yuan Zong watched his emotions go to war across Xia Yao's handsome face. He was grappling with wanting to deny his private desires for Yuan Zong and the needy heat clearly rising from his body. With dilated pupils in the dark, Xia Yao licked his lips and tossed away his dignity. He arched his back, exposing his throat and Yuan Zong's eyes flashed with a feral instinct.

Like a deer presenting himself for the slaughter, Xia Yao laid beneath him, squirming with anticipation. Yuan Zong wanted to make the young man wait, but the evidence of his own thirst pricked his lower lip. Deadly and aching, his two canines had grown a bit longer than normal. He lowered himself, and inhaled deeply just above the throbbing pulse in Xia Yao's neck. Xia Yao's fingers gripped Yuan Zong's biceps tightly as he braced himself for the pain. It excited him and scared him in equal measure.

Yuan Zong pressed his open mouth against Xia Yao, tasting his salty skin, resting the tips of his sharp teeth down and feeling the movement increase in speed as Xia Yao's heart pounded in his chest. With a gasp, Xia Yao squeezed out a small sound as Yuan Zong pierced through, enjoying the slight give, confirmation he had hit the artery. Withdrawing his canines, he allowed the hot blood to pump over his tongue rhythmically and down his eager throat. He sealed around the two holes with his lips and sucked hard, indulging himself a deep drink from the boy who had the misfortune to catch his hunter's eye all those months ago.

Xia Yao bore the assault patiently, sliding a hand up Yuan Zong's back, his hard body crushed against him. Yuan Zong's throat moved as he swallowed again and again. The flash of pleasure that raced across his brain and heart spread throughout all his numbed tissues. The warmth that Xia Yao gave him flowed through Yuan Zong, making him feel more alive than when he had actually been human. He could taste his fear, his arousal, his arrogance, his love. Love? Yuan Zong flinched internally at the word that came to his consumed mind. Did he love him?

It was not until Xia Yao's breathing faltered and his fingers relaxed that he remembered himself, and reluctantly Yuan Zong licked across the little holes. By some mysterious magic the artery and flesh knitted themselves together, completely healed. All that was left was the shine of Yuan Zong's saliva and the stain of Xia Yao's blood reflecting what little light was in the bedroom against his skin.

Yuan Zong drew back and examined Xia Yao's face. His eyelids were fluttering as he fought to remain conscious, a faint smile on his lips. Yuan Zong shifted, and felt through his pants a wet spot between Xia Yao's legs. It was evidence that they both felt immense pleasure from the drinking. Xia Yao seemed quite pale and for a moment, while Xia Yao's blood still stirred around his veins, it caused Yuan Zong's heart to unnaturally beat a little with fear. Had he taken too much?

He licked the blood on his lips away, and brought his fingers to Xia Yao's neck, pressing to feel his pulse. It was thready and not as strong as before.

"So tired…" Xia Yao moaned, his voice soft but carried the smile he still wore. Yuan Zong felt guilty, and leapt off the bed, flying from the room to his black SUV parking beneath the trees across the street. He yanked open the door and grabbed an emergency medical kit. With a few deft bounds, he jumped back up to Xia Yao's balcony and silently closed the window again.

He knelt next to the barely conscious Xia Yao who was fumbling with the blankets, trying to cover his chilly body. Yuan Zong took his arm gently, and felt the soft space at the crook of his elbow, and with practiced fingers, quickly pushed a large needle into his vein. He anchored it, and connected a bag of Xia Yao's blood type to the tubing, squeezing it a little to encourage a quick infusion. Xia Yao had winced a little at the needle point, his sculpted brows pinching and Yuan Zong thought he looked even more handsome.

As he watched the color return to Xia Yao, and his pulse regain its strength, Yuan Zong finally relaxed. He gave himself permission now that Xia Yao was looking better to enjoy the feel of him inside his body. He gazed at him with half-lidded eyes, his lips parted. Xia Yao had drifted off to sleep, and he appeared to be content. When the infusion was done, he withdrew the needle, and bent to lick closed the second wound he had given Xia Yao that night. He replaced his arm delicately across his chest that was rising and falling normally and tugged the comforter up around him.

He packed up his small kit, and set it aside before laying on top of the blankets, propping his head up with a bent elbow. He stared down at Xia Yao and watched him sleep, while he contemplated what the hell he was going to do about this obsession. He knew he was beyond being able to leave Xia Yao. His features and figure were perfect. Slender and lithe, strong and eager, the twenty-something year old man brought a hunger for life to Yuan Zong that had grown stiff and dull. The monotony of wandering the shadows of Beijing, disappearing into the smog and smoke of the busy capital bore down on him. Yet when he encountered Xia Yao and saw how he rose to the challenge of the chase for his attention, it changed him. Xia Yao engaged in that push and pull, that violent dance between men of defiance and desire and it excited Yuan Zong.

He reached out and let his fingertips trace the line of Xia Yao's cheek. He shivered and stirred on the bed at the touch but did not awaken. Yuan Zong sighed. Then he huffed a silent laugh, surprised at how quickly the old mortal mannerisms came back to him the more time he spent around Xia Yao. Even breathing became second nature once more.

He knew he had to be careful. The feeling of being drunk from can vary from person to person, and Yuan Zong suspected more of his kind could control what their prey experienced if they wanted to. If he wasn't careful with Xia Yao, he worried that he would develop an addiction to the intense sensations Yuan Zong's feeding gave him. Xia Yao was clearly attracted to Yuan Zong; his nightly vigils revealed that to him. He knew the virile man wanted to have sex with him, in some way. Yet sex was not as strong of a drive for Yuan Zong as the hunger for blood was, specifically now for Xia Yao's blood alone.

He decided he needed to discuss some things with Xia Yao when he woke up. For now though, being surrounded by his scent, his heat, was enough.

[fukae-flwr]

Stained Hearts & Dark Desires:

Chapter 3 Gibes and Jests

Summary: Ominis works through his emotions over Edith. He can't forgive her yet but can't bring himself to hate her. It's hard to work through

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: angst, conflicted feelings,

Rating: MATURE 18+!!! (NO MINORS)

Chapter: 4

“Was there anything else Penny can get you, Mr.Gaunt?” Penny's cheery voice questioned. Ominis had just finished examining the room he was to call home for now. His wand could make out enough to tell this place was much bigger than he had been expecting. It was just a lovely and cozy home. The dark wood structures matched with elegant patterns gave the room a pleasant feeling. He did notice though how empty it felt. This room was physically filled with everything necessary for a guest room, yet lacked any life or presence. This room wasn’t used often.

“That’ll be all, Penny. Thank you.” Ominis shook his head. He hadn’t expected Edith to have an elf, much less be so relaxed by her company. He heard the way her voice softened drastically once Penny arrived. Even the soft breath she had released while talking to Penny was a sure sign to him of how comfortable she felt in Penny’s presence. Almost a complete contrast to how she interacted with him or Sebastian. A small part of him envied the elf, a small enough part that he could ignore.

“Well then, Penny wishes you a goodnight, Mr.Gaunt.” The elf concluded as she began to close the door.

“Goodnight to you too, Penny.” Ominis smiled softly. With the door closed, Ominis sat in his current bed and let the events of the day start to wash over him.

They found her. They actually found her. She was alive and breathing. He felt…relieved yet conflicted. She had been lying to everyone except Anne from the looks of things. She was the masked wizard they hunted for so long partially because they were fooled to believe the masked wizard had killed her. That wasn’t even including the emotions that began to rise as a result of everything that happened back in their 7th year. The swirling of powerful emotions was overwhelming. He felt happy she was alive, angry for everything she had done, betrayed for the disappearance, and among so many others. At this rate, he was going to implode in on himself.

Thankfully there was a welcomed distraction from his thoughts at his door. Walking over to the door, he found his partner standing before him. His own personal breath of relief, most of the time.

“Hey. Did you get everything you need?” Sebastian asked, stepping into the room immediately. Ominis just chuckled to himself as he just waltzed right in.

“Hello, Sebastian. Yes, please come in.”

“Great thanks.”

Ominis closed the door behind him and moved further into the room. It wasn’t a very large room, but these townhomes rarely had very spacious rooms. A single bed with a metal frame stood against the wall to the left side of the room. Right across was the wooden dresser a good distance away from the small fireplace with a fireguard. It was a cozy small room, perfect for guests.

Sebastian sat on the edge of his bed, deep in thought. Ominis could practically hear his raging mind working double time.

“I did have Penny retrieve a few of my things. Though, I didn’t want to overwork the elf, so we will need to stop by the house tomorrow.” Sebastian barely acknowledged that Ominis had said anything.

“I dread ever asking, but care to share your thoughts with me?” Ominis tried to make light of the tense atmosphere but went over Sebastian’s head.

“I hate her.”

“Do you?”

“...Yes.”

“Well, that is a perfectly reasonable response, given everything.” Ominis moved to sit next to him. He wasn’t super big on being physical with anyone on normal occasions, but he tried in his own ways with Sebastian. Sitting close enough for his shoulders and legs to come in contact with Sebastian’s was enough for now. It was what he could offer right now, and Sebastian knew that. From years of being together, Sebastian was familiar with Ominis’s small gestures of warmth.

“What about you, Ominis?”

“Do I hate her?”

“Yes.”

Ominis sat for a moment to think. Did he hate her? He was undoubtedly very angry with her, and his trust was broken for sure, but hate? He hated his family but had never really hated anyone before, aside from Hobhouse. He compared his emotions towards his family to Edith, and it was falling short.

“No. I don’t hate her.” Ominis sighed. If how he felt towards his family was directed at Edith, it lost its ire. He held no hate for her, but he was hurt by her. It was that pain she caused that made him mad and upset with her but not loathe her. He doubted he could hate her, even after everything. It was similar to how he felt about Sebastian all those years ago, after Solomon. He couldn't bring himself to hate Sebastian but couldn’t forgive him at that time either.

“Really?! After everything she’s done?” Sebastian questioned in disbelief.

“As if you have any room to speak. People do terrible things sometimes.” Ominis heard Sebastian slump in on himself.

“You don’t have to forgive her. I certainly haven’t. But we do need to work with her to find Anne.” Ominis comforted his partner. The heavy sigh Sebastian allowed to escape confirmed to Ominis how much his words helped him.

“You’re right.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re modesty is very becoming.”

“Please, modesty is for those unaware of their worth. I’m fully aware of my worth.” Ominis tsked confidently as he rose from the bed. It was uplifting to finally hear Sebastian laugh today. With how tense everything was currently, he was glad he could still get a chuckle from him.

“Perhaps along the way we can get the answers we’ve been looking for,” Ominis mentioned softly as he began to remove his coat, and vest for the night.

Sebastian didn’t respond to that, only joining him in getting comfortable as well.

~ * ~

Ominis learned two things in the night. One, the walls of this townhome were unbelievably thin. Ominis had amazing hearing, and if the walls had been thicker, things wouldn’t have sounded as clear as they did last night. Most times he could hear through walls to a degree. Often coming off much more muffled and disoriented but could still make out little things. These walls hardly did any of that. It was like he was present in the other room. Which led to the second thing he learned that night. Edith didn’t sleep.

She had her bath earlier in the evening, something abundantly clear thanks to the sounds of water he heard. He did his best to block out the sounds, feeling it was inappropriate of him to hear the water of her bath splashing around. He was a gentleman after all, and despite her transgressions, she was still an attractive young woman. After her bath, she paced around her room, constantly. He couldn’t quite make out what she was saying with how quietly she spoke but she was muttering a lot. Then at some point, she decided to rush upstairs to the third floor and move around in the room above. She was light-footed, but not enough to be silent. All night she was up there moving about, doing who knew what.

Ominis wasn’t sure what room she was in or what it was for. The two of them hadn’t been given a tour of the house yet. Penny assured them that Edith would do it today. They were only taken to their temporary rooms, though Sebastian quickly abandoned his room for Ominis’s. Not something he was complaining about, but just noted how quickly that idea went out the window.

After forcing himself to ignore her movements upstairs, Ominis could fall asleep, though not into a deep slumber. He was always acutely aware of where she was upstairs. She often moved between the two rooms upstairs, but nothing else that was noticeable. Now with the sun having risen, the light poking through the lace curtains, Ominis stretched out in bed. Sebastian started to stir awake from his movements, yawning and stretching as well.

“Did she ever go back to her room?” Sebastian slurred, half awake. Ominis wasn’t surprised he heard her as well. It wasn’t like she was trying to hide her footsteps. Sebastian may have slept better than Ominis but he wasn’t a deep sleeper when in unfamiliar places such as Edith’s home.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, let's get up and get that tour then?” Sebastian threw the covers off and rose from the bed. Ominis couldn’t agree more. The sooner they could explore the house, the closer they’d be to finding possible answers. After getting dressed, both of the men walked down the stairs and to the kitchen. Using his wand, Ominis could get a vague image of the kitchen area.

It was a decently sized kitchen with a dark-colored metal stove. It was small enough for his wand to capture a good sense of everything around without him having to move much. Yet it was spacious enough to not give the sense it was crowded. The kitchen had a wooden island with all the kitchen items needed for prepping meals. Ominis could even make out what appeared to be an elf-sized step stool pushed up against the island. On said step stool, they found Penny, cleaning up the kitchen and using magic to prepare breakfast. She practically hummed in the kitchen with contentment. It was nice to know she was being treated kindly for her to be this happy with her life.

“Oh Good morning, gentlemen!” Penny greeted warmly. Ominis could hear the smile in her voice, “Penny is preparing breakfast now. Should be ready any moment, if you’d like to wait in the dining room.” She hopped off the step stool to throw whatever food she was prepping into the pan on the stove.

“Do you need any help?” Sebastian offered. Ominis knew Sebastian enjoyed cooking up meals. At their house, Sebastian was the chef between the two of them and his meals were quite delicious.

“Oh! Penny appreciates the offer! Thank you, Mr.Sallow!”

“Sebastian is fine.”

“Thank you, Mr.Sebastian!” Penny began to instruct Sebastian on what to do, while she prepared a separate tray.

“Is that for Edith?” Ominis pondered, wondering where she was. Had she still been in that room? He didn’t hear her ever leave nor come down from the third floor.

“Oh yes! Miss Edith often forgets meals, especially when she is busy with her research. So it’s Penny’s job to make sure Miss Edith doesn’t fall sick!” Penny spoke so casually as she snapped her fingers. Ominis could hear as the tray began to hover off the counter. He furrowed his brows at that. Research? What kind of research was she conducting so vehemently for her to continually neglect meals?

“What does she research?” Sebastian asked so casually, not missing a beat.

“Miss Edith explained it to Penny once. It was very complicated, but Penny remembers it involved a spell and…” Penny inhaled suddenly, stopping mid-sentence. Ominis turned, wondering if a silencing charm had been cast. He hadn’t heard any spell being performed but the elf had suddenly stopped and he wasn’t sure why.

“A..Are you holding your breath?” Sebastian inquired. Was she holding her breath? Ominis moved closer to see if his wand could pick up her image. The image was unique, to say the least, and much more vague than the nonliving things it depicted. His wand was much more suited for depicting structures and the environment around him rather than other people. The image he was able to barely see was a tiny elf holding both her hands to her mouth wide-eyed.

“Are…are you alright?”

“Oh yes! Penny just says things that shouldn’t be repeated. Miss Edith never gets angry but Penny knows she should practice learning when to stop talking!” Penny finally released her breath. So talking about Edith’s research was something that was not meant for others’ ears. Interesting.

“Well, Penny must bring Miss Edith’s breakfast now!” Penny quickly exited the kitchen bringing a tray. Ominis could barely call what was on it, breakfast. A pot of coffee with creamer and sugar and some toast. Not exactly a filling meal. He doubted it was something the elf had decided upon. Penny seemed like she would’ve been the one to overachieve what Edith wanted.

“So research on magic, for a spell…” Sebastian pondered aloud as he stirred whatever was in the pan.

“Any ideas?”

“Well, it's not like it's unheard of, for those who work in the ministry, that is. I even considered going to a similar field once this business with being an aurora is over.” Sebastian tapped the wooden spoon on the pan before moving the pan onto the counter. It was a discussion they had before. What they planned to do once they finished being auroras. Sebastian was leaning more toward studying magic scriptures, a job in the ministry involving his favorite thing, reading. Ominis, on the other hand, was more geared towards something a little less life-threatening than their current job as well. Perhaps he’d become a professor at Hogwarts; he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to do as of yet, but being aurora was not a lifetime thing. There had been only one reason they ever became auroras in the first place, and she was currently upstairs where they could easily find her.

“Dark wizards studying magic is rarely a good thing,” Ominis pointed out. For most dark wizards it was rarely a good thing, Ominis wasn’t quite sure about Edith yet. He just stood about the kitchen, thinking about what Edith could be working on as soft footsteps gave away the elf’s return. Sebastian had helped himself to the eggs and potatoes Penny had started. He even made a plate for Ominis as well.

“Miss Edith informed Penny that she would be down momentarily to give you the tour of the house.” Penny reported to them, “Penny also has another pot of coffee or tea if you’d like. Penny wasn’t sure which the gentlemen wanted so Penny made both!” Penny shuffled over to the stove, snapping her fingers to get the smaller pots to follow her. She moved over towards the dining room attached to the kitchen.

The dining room was just as roomy if not a tad smaller than the kitchen. In the center was her wooden round table, neatly set for guest use. The pots floated over to the table, and Sebastian placed the plates down in front of the seats. Ominis sat next to Sebastian as they ate their food.

“Does Edith get the Daily Prophet sent here?” Ominis questioned while he ate the eggs and potatoes graciously prepared for him by Sebastian and Penny.

“Oh, she does! Edith typically takes it up to the study. Penny remembers Miss Edith always enjoyed reading about the Ministry’s Duo. She even asks if Penny saw anything about them in the paper when Penny fetches it for her.”

Ominis couldn't help his smirk forming over the rim of his cup and heard the soft chuckle from Sebastian. How very interesting. Ominis perked a little as he heard the oh-so-subtle sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Did she ever comment on the Ministry’s Duo?” Sebastian inquired curiously.

“Only how amusing it would be to watch the fools chase after the Masked Wizard,” Edith answered pointedly before the elf could say anything. Finally, she had come down from her hiding hole. Ominis could hear her move out from behind him, over to the opposite side of the table. The furthest spot from the both of them.

“And yet those very same fools caught you in the end. How amusing,” Sebastian taunted as he sat back in his chair.

“Tch. Luck is all it is.”

“Perhaps I should try my hand at the lottery then.” Ominis thought out loud.

“If you two are done, I’ll show you around the house now. I have things needing to be done today.” Edith crossed her arms impatiently. Ominis slowly placed his cup down and folded his hands in his lap, turning in her direction.

“What lovely errands do you have planned for us today, Ms.Winterald? I, for one, would like to stop by my house to grab a few more of my belongings.” Ominis remarked casually. Anything they did now involved each other, or at least one of them being with Edith. They might as well get comfortable with it starting now.

“Well since stopping by your house is not urgent, that’ll be something we do last.”

“You might as well just tell us what you’re doing today. We’ll find out eventually.” Sebastian tried to coerce Edith into telling them right now. Didn’t seem like it was working with how she immediately responded, feigning kindness with an overly sweet voice.

“Well, I guess you’ll just find out eventually.” And with that turned on her heels. Seemed like breakfast was forcefully brought to an end. Ominis just sighed as he picked up his wand and followed behind. Sebastian grumbled as he joined.

“You already saw the kitchen and dining room. The parlor is off to the side here.” She marched off toward the parlor. It was to the side of the stairs, diagonal to the kitchen. It was an average terrace living room. A darkened fireplace at the center of the furthest wall, and furniture placed around the coffee table that centered the room. A small alcove against the window, that allowed for natural light to filter into the room. A couple of shelves with books on them. Nothing much. Ominis noticed the only thing that seemed used was a fraying blanket loosely hanging off the loveseat closest to the fireplace.

“And then of course the bedrooms on the first level,” Edith continued her guided tour up the stairs. She showed them their bathroom, the smallest room they had seen in this house.

“Merlin’s beard, how does anyone fit in here?” Sebastian gawked. He was much more familiar with the hamlets near Hogwarts. They could afford to have much more space out there than homes in the cities. Though Ominis recalled never having a bathroom quite this small in his life. If he was at Gaunt’s Manor, the restrooms were about three times as big due to their wealth. It was just barely large enough for the white clawfoot tub at the very end, the toilet right next to it, and then the wooden vanity with the hand bowl on top of it next to the door.

“Considering I’m one person, easily.” Edith retorted. Closing the door, she began to tread up the stairs once more.

“Not gonna show off your room?” Sebastian quipped as they passed by her bed chambers she didn’t use last night.

“My my my. Who knew you’d grow to be quite the debauchee, Sebastian?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sebastian hissed back, clearly irritated by her insinuation. Ominis selectively chose to keep how truthful her statement was, to a degree. Their private affairs weren’t any of her business for now.

“Hmm no thanks. My bed chambers are for an invited company only. And you're not invited.”

“Ah, so nightcaps,” Sebastian commented. Ominis couldn’t fight the grin on his face as he heard her heart lurch, and a sound similar to choking on air escaped her. She even nearly tripped over one step. Thankfully, his assistance to catch her was not needed, but he was ready nonetheless.

“That is none of your business!”

“Right.”

Edith just stomped up the rest of the stairs more feverishly. Moving his wand about, there wasn’t much to the third floor, just the two main rooms along the wall on the opposite side of the stairtop. She held open the door closest to the small window at the far end of the hallway, completely ignoring the first door.

“And finally this is the study. Everything pertaining to Anne is here.” Edith gestured towards the room. Upon entry, Ominis felt himself cringe at how utterly chaotic it was. The small room was filled with books and loose pieces of paper scattered about. It was spacious for how occupied it was currently with three grown adults standing amidst a librarian’s hell.

Ominis noticed quite a few clippings from the daily prophet regarding dark wizard activities, letters with Anne’s signature favorite wax seal, and other letters from others he didn’t immediately recognize. As the images of the room appeared in his mind, he slowly moved about, trying to avoid stepping on anything. It was proving to be almost as difficult as Sebastian’s study back home, or any room he claimed.

“And you thought I was messy, Ominis.” Sebastian broke the silence as he knelt on the ground behind him. He picked up a few letters closest to him, beginning to examine them. Ominis couldn’t tell what it was but knew they’d have plenty of time to examine every single piece of information offered to them.

“I stand by that statement. Edith must’ve picked up your nasty habits from years back.” He mused as he made his way to the desk covered in news clippings from the Daily Prophet. Holding his wand out front, he got a better image depicting how each clipping involved either him, Sebastian, or both of them. On the wall behind the desk were more clippings, not of just them, but other dark wizards as well. There was enough about the Ministry’s golden duo though to catch his attention. Penny’s words replayed in his mind. So the elf was speaking the truth, not that he ever doubted her.

“I like to think..”

“I seriously doubt that.” Ominis quipped absentmindedly.

“...of it as chaotically organized.” Sebastian finished pointedly.

“Call it whatever you'd like, it's still a mess.”

Ominis heard Edith step away to pick up a letter from the floor, attempting to hide her amusement. She thought she let out a small breathy chuckle quiet enough that they wouldn’t hear. She was wrong. It had been so long since the last time he heard her laugh. An annoyingly loud part of him wanted to hear it again, maybe get close enough to get a glimpse of that smile he had missed. He fought that part of him, reminding himself of all she had done. He couldn’t forgive her nor allow his guard to fall completely around her.

“You two haven’t changed,” Edith cleared her throat, attempting to regain her composure, “Still fighting like an old married couple per usual.” She couldn’t have been further from the truth. At this point, they were practically a married couple, without all the paperwork and so forth. They lived together, worked together, and spent almost every waking moment together. He was very happy with his life, but it wasn’t perfect. He knew what it was missing but refused to acknowledge it right now.

“I'm beginning to see a pattern with these over here. A fan, I take it?” Ominis already knew that answer thanks to Penny. Yet he found himself teasing her gently about it. He turned to her direction as the telltale sound of arms crossing flooded his ears.

“Hilarious. As I said before, I find it entertaining to watch the fools who think they could catch the Masked Wizard run around like a pack of frightened diricawls.” She spoke with a grin and condescension, clearly returning his tease. Her steps moved towards him, closer and closer, till he could feel her presence brush past him. A sensual chill ran down his spine. The wooden desk creaked as she leaned up against it to the right of him. She was very close yet still far enough to not be anywhere near brushing her arms against his.

His wand allowed him to see the folded paper she picked up and held towards him. It was a more recent print of the Daily Prophet with a bold headline reading “Ministry’s Deadly Duo”. Ominis wasn’t too much of a fan of their alleged fame in the paper. It seemed every success of theirs, as well as the occasional failures, were published for all of the wizarding world.

“The papers just can’t seem to get enough of you two. Makes staying two steps ahead quite easy.” She made no effort to hide her supercilious tone as she softly waved the paper, emphasizing her point. Another reason to hate their names in the paper as often as they were.

“And yet we still managed to catch you, didn’t we?” Sebastian derided as he rose from the ground and stalked over to Edith. Ominis stood by, delighted as the scene unfolded before him. Something about the slight back and forth between them was entertaining, despite everything else.

He watched as the paper was moved over to where the assumed Sebastian figure stood, preventing him from getting any closer to Edith. She was still very much caged between him, and the desk yet she used the paper to keep him at bay. He recalled the way she practically lept away from him last night at the base of the stairs. He heard how her heart pounded and startled so easily. Was it the physical proximity?

“Please. If my attention hadn’t been so divided due to Anne’s disappearance, you would’ve never caught me off guard. Even back then, you couldn’t beat me in a duel in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.” She feigned confidence but her voice had a slight tremor that gave away her nervousness. It piqued Ominis’s interest in how nervous she was getting.

“Sebastian, perhaps, but I recall you having quite a difficult time against me, Edith,” Ominis reminded as he stepped closer to tower over her. He intentionally spoke with a softer voice on the off chance it might lead to something interesting. And his efforts were not in vain. He heard how rapidly her heart began to pound as he moved closer. His lowered voice just topped it all off.

“R..right…Well, I’ve improved my skills since Hogwarts.” Edith stammered momentarily as she quickly freed herself from the trapped corner she found herself in. She had moved over towards the door, putting distance between them. As much as he enjoyed how nervous she got around them, it probably was for the best. There was still much to discuss and heal from.

“As have I” Sebastian countered, taking the very same spot she had against the desk, by Ominis’s side.

“We shall see.” The way she spoke wasn’t malicious or coy. It was like she was far away, emotionally and mentally. As if she didn’t intend to find out how much they had grown since Hogwarts, similar to how she spoke that day back in their seventh year. She was far more melancholy then; now she was just devoided of emotions.

“I noticed you two seem to be sharing a room. Is something the matter with your room, Sebastian?” Edith swiftly changed the subject, what little jests they had gotten from her, were gone.

“Not particularly. Ominis and I share a room. It is of no use to me.” Sebastian informed so casually. As if two men sharing a room was a common occurrence. Ominis had no shame in his love for Sebastian, even still he felt his face flush ever so slightly with Sebastrian’s boldness.

“...I guess I can conjure another bed then?” Edith bemused. A reasonable reaction to what was just stated, though it didn’t stop Ominis’s cheeks from redding at Sebastian's immediate response.

“By all means but chances are I’ll just end up in bed with Ominis.”

“Sebastian! For Merlin’s sake do you have no decency?!” Ominis sighed, dropping the papers he had to cover his burning face. He loved the moron, he did, but he was doomed to be the death of him.

Edith remained quiet for a long time. It began to make his skin itch. Was she one of those people unaccepting of a man loving another man? He’d hate for this to be where their so-called friendship officially ends.

“You two are…courting?” Edith questioned. Ominis couldn’t quite make out the tone of her voice. It wasn’t disgusted as he feared it would be, but wasn’t exactly all accepting either. He couldn’t recognize exactly what she was feeling from her inquiry.

“Yea. Problem?” Sebastian had lost all the warmth in his voice and was back to his sharp tone. He was always quick to the defense when it came to the two of them. Ominis appreciated it most of the time, but he doubted this was one of those times when it was necessary. The Edith he remembered never cared about such things. He hoped that remained true.

“No. Just surprised is all.” Edith stated. She still sounded surprised by the revelation she just received, which was better than immediate ignorance and disgust. From what he could recall, Edith didn’t judge one by who they loved. She was a very accepting person. It was refreshing to know that remained true. Though her silence was off-putting once more. Clearing she was lost in her mind.

“I’m glad to see you two worked out your issues in my absence. I feared you’d stopped talking to each other just like 6th year all over again,” Edith sighed. Ominis remained silent. It was true without her, he probably wouldn’t have talked to Sebastian as quickly as he did. Her hand was forced for a while. She had been doing the best she could to divide what little free time she had between the two of them, practically running back and forth. She always made sure to mention how Sebastian was doing, despite him never asking. When word got out that Anne was coming back to Hogwarts, she started spending more time with Sebastian. She began to mention him more often to Ominis. He wanted to forgive him and knew eventually he would. The more he heard of him from Edith, the more he felt he needed to talk to Sebastian. Not completely forgive, but allow him to be present in his life once more.

Her disappearance in their seventh year, however, did almost break them. As ridiculous as it was, part of Ominis thought perhaps something had happened with Sebastian that had finally driven her away. Something he might’ve said or done leaving her to run away just as the school year was almost over. He blamed Sebastian for a short while, and they fought.

“Well, he stayed around so we could work through it. Didn’t take off.” Sebastian commented pointedly. Ominis could feel the room freeze over. He heard Edith's breath momentarily pause. Leave it to Sebastian to immediately point out the obvious. He wasn’t wrong, and yet Ominis felt the need to meditate ever so slightly.

“Sebastian..” Ominis warned darkly, but Edith cut him off. Her tone was empty and cold. The way she spoke was oddly familiar in a way. A way he would speak back when he was living in the Gaunt Manor. Guarded and distant so nothing could hurt him. It was a tone that gave off the feeling that nothing mattered to her. His purposely hurtful words appeared to not have hurt her, but he knew they did.

“It’s alright, Ominis. He’s not wrong.” Edith spoke so lightly as if it was amusing to her.

“Choose whoever you’d like to seek companionship in, the only thing that matters is finding Anne.” Her words returned with just as much spite and ire as Sebastian’s had. It was clear to him nothing did matter to her, nothing involving them two at least. She had her walls built and guard up.

He listened as her heels turned on the wood and moved towards the door. Ominis wasn’t sure why he began to call her name or what he would even say to her, but she quickly ended that for him by interrupting him.

“If you need anything else, Penny will assist you. I’ll be in my room.” And with a slam of the door, she was gone.

~ ♡ ~

( •̀ヮ•́) I've been so motivated to write these, like I already have the next 2 done, im just editing the fuck out of them.

Also.....HEADCANONS

Idk where the fuck i read an Ominis fic where he had like super human hearing, but I did and it has been my hc ever since soooo there you go.

Next his wand! ಠᗜಠ

my hc is that the wand can project structures and things WAY better than people. Like walls, desks, papers, couches, etc, so he doesn't trip and can move around and read well. His wand deems it more important than "seeing" people. He can get glimpses of people, but they are like super blurry unless his wand is like almost directly in front of someone's face. Colors are muted too, more so on people.

Remember, this is all for fun, so be kind. Im doing my best to keep them in character and keep it interesting. This is an Ominis x Sebastian x Mc story, and Im trying to keep it slow burn, but im rusty at fanfics, so sorry.

ANYWAYS THANKS AND LOVE YALL!!! ♡♡♡♡

[perverse-idyll]

PI!!!!!! Congrats on your milestone!!!!! So awesome and so well deserved!!

As for emojis how about: 🥺 & 🛒

Thank you so much, Danni! 😘It's a testament to how long I've been in fandom! Never assume the impossible.

Fanfic Writers Emoji Ask

(Buckle up. This goes on for paragraphs - and that's before we even reach the second question!)

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Any time Snape cracks in front of Harry or ends up vulnerable against his will (and it's always against his will). I think he's so used to associating his deepest feelings with self-loathing, so accustomed to repressing those feelings just to be able to function and then feeling bitter and angry about all the self-inflicted poison in his veins that his go-to reaction to something as powerful as love is to fight it. If Lily suddenly re-appeared in his life, he might grovel and weep before her on his knees (which is more about guilt and grief than love). But with Harry - oh, it's obviously Harry's fault. Snape would blame Harry for his own weakness and insanity. Because, IMO, Snape feels things intensely and incoherently (when did he ever have a chance to learn what's healthy or unhealthy or how he's meant to deal with it?), so when Harry hits a nerve - when Snape can't control himself around Harry and gets desperate to prevent him from knowing - when Snape himself doesn't want to know but his usual habit of repression isn't working, why is it not fucking working - he'd be absolutely devastated by the internal storm of being possessed by love and denying he wants it, dying to consume, dying to hate Harry or go back to hating him or to apply his years-long practice of hatred as a mask for love. Because that self-destructive struggle comes naturally to him. Love has always been stained by hatred. He's lived with this insoluble, painful clash of antithetical feelings since childhood. But it's at these moments that he slips up and Harry sees the truth.

I also love any instance where Harry is stricken by how much he loves Snape, how painfully he feels for this arsehole, like a knife in the heart, even when Snape is behaving horribly or hurting himself. Harry is so often portrayed as emotionally passive in relationships, or easygoing, or as a boy who just wants a family, that it gives me great pleasure to see him shaken by the strength of his feelings for this inappropriate object of desire. It's implicit in most Snarry fics that Harry's the one worthy of being loved, so I like to see the tables turned and Harry just as lovestruck and suffering from desire.

And just any time they yearn for each other, any time there's an attempt at renunciation that leaves an inconsolable, keening void, any principled distance that comes between them - this lights up my whole nervous system. (Mia_ugly is a marvelous example of writer whose fics are suffused with yearning.)

Eh, I kind of free-associated here, so it got long again. Oops. Moving on.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Well, I've joked before that in most of my fics Snape ends up on his knees. How's that for an image? 😉

I'll try to keep myself from writing a whole treatise this time, but I noticed recently that one of the recurring motifs in my stories is death. Not character death, exactly, although sometimes characters die. More as a recurring, dare I say obsessive, concept. This hasn't been intentional, but here's the evidence:

When the Rose and the Fire Are One - Harry's haunted - inhabited, really - by what he calls "ghosts" - the deaths of people Voldemort killed. The guilt over them. The transfer of sins from the Dark Lord to Harry's soul. And Snape's situation is relentlessly pushing him toward believing the only kind of freedom available to him is in death. At one point, he begs Harry to kill him. And of course, in this story, Ron dies.

The White Road - I mean, the afterlife? Lily, from beyond death, watches Snape die. Eventually the question of whether or not Snape deserves to live is in her hands. The mercy of the dead directly affects the fate of the living.

The Lost World - *cough* The ending. Enough said.

In Infinite Remorse of Soul - We end up in the afterlife here, too, where Snape's rebellion against his own sacrifice is a consequence of being taken for granted and lied to - again - and feeling that his own death doesn't even merit a "thank you." Which leads to the death-haunted sequel And Mine the Gall.

No Room for the Weak circles around Snape's death or not-death and his mum's verdict on her son's life.

The Blood of Stars - Snape is sent back to life for a purpose, but allows the world to continue believing he's dead. In the later parts of the fic (unposted as yet), we're - you guessed it! - back in the afterlife, and there is much fussing about how death can resolve things that happened in life.

Impossible Without It - Snape is supposed to be dead. Voldemort is definitely dead. Harry can't remember killing him. If Snape were alive, Harry just might be angry enough to do to him what he presumably did to the Dark Lord. But what is he supposed to with a Snape who doesn't remember killing anyone? Who doesn't even know that magic exists? (This fic is a little less metaphysical about death and more concerned with memory, guilt, and sacrifice.)

Year of the Thestral is mostly about the aftermath of Snape's death and what the revelations mean to Minerva.

The Afterlight has a thematic thread running through it concerning what it takes to live after having died, having returned from death and remembering being dead, a situation both Snape and Harry struggle with. Also, it's an open question whether one or both of them are plagued by a death wish, since they constantly put their lives at risk. Plus there's a serial killer in this one, oh goody.

The Threefold Death - um, I rest my case. Although, fear not, Harry and Snape make it all the way to the end.

I have yet another untitled WIP in which Snape dies his canon death and Harry brings him back.

Phew. Okay, forget my vague protestations, this still went on too long. But holy moly. If I ever manage to type the final period to my current WIPs, I need to seriously consider changing up my sources of inspiration! 😳

[addoration]

fanfic writer 20 questions

i wasn't tagged but @zebsfloppyears invited anyone who wanted to do this to do so, n i was bored. hope u dont mind vienna!

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 79. i have 79 works. and im working on a long fic rn so i probably wont be uploaded another fic for a while to make that number rounded. its bothering me. 2. whats your total ao3 word count? 232,222 3. how many fandoms have you written for and what are they? 7 fandoms! most.. prolifically? if i may use that word.... for loz breath of the wild, and his dark materials. 4. what are your top five fics by kudos? 1. finding words enough - i legit dont remeber much of this but basically link is mute and revali speaks on his behalf. ppl seem to love it. rated G. 2. making cocoa for spencer reid - just a lil criminal minds family piece between rossi and reid, idk. bit of a character study! rated T. 3. magic might stain the air - my first merlin fic i posted (out of 2. lmao) but i really hate this one becaue i rushed it and i could have done so much better!!!!! rated M, beware tags. 4. snow on snow, snow on snow - i rllyy dont remember this one at all. lmao. link/revali pre-slash, rated G. 5. whenever we feel - we evaporate - i think? this was my first fic on ao3! and it's the first part of a lil aziraphale/crowley series that became dearly beloved to me but i never really got back to. rated T.

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not? i do now!! i didn't used to because i had an ocd thing about seeing the number go up when half of them were my responses, but thats an obsession that has since left me. i want to apologise to everyone who commented n didnt get a reply sdfghjsf i feel so awkward n i cant respond to comments made years ago now lmao. now i love responding to comments, its such a joy to communicate with my readers and thank them for their kind words!!!!

6. whats the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? i dont write angsty endings; the fics can get as angsty as possible but they must always end happily. sorry :/

7. do you write crossovers? no, i don't. they're not for me!

8. have you ever recieved hate on a fic? not hate exactly.... but i do recall one comment telling me they thought i had rushed the work and it was a bit sloppy (not in so many words tho). i totally agreed with the commenter but i was a bit :/ at reading that yknow

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind? i have been known to write smut occasionally, though i dont think i have a "kind" or a "brand".

10. have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of, but (as vienna said in their answer), it's not something that i think about or check for!

11. have you ever had a fic translated? nope! i welcome it though.

12. have you ever co-written a fic before? nope! in theory i would be open to it however i am probably very difficult to work with lmao

13. whats your all time favourite ship? such a hard question because it rlly depends what fandom im currently in, but. baruch/balthamos live rent free in my head. as do aziraphale/crowley, espeically my specific brand of them which is queerplatonic <3

14. what's a wip you want to finish but dont think you ever will? lmao if you had asked me a week ago, i would have said my current longfic, when you catch him, he burns through your heart, like a shooting star burns the skies but im actively up and working on that again, so. i guess something i dont imagine i'll return to any time soon is my series of harth/link fics, you hold my touch in you, simply because it's been a while now, and i dont imagine that such a minor npc as harth will be in botw's sequel, so... how will i rekindle my desire to write for them. idk! it's all up in the air though - i haven't necessarily abandoned any of my unfinished fics, theyre just on indefinite haitus.

15. what are your writing strengths? i would like to think that my poet's voice shines through my prose and therefore that my description is sufficiently good! lmao i have to sometimes physically stop myself from writing 5 paragraphs waxing poetic about the scenery. also honourary mention to dialogue. im pretty proud of some of the lines of dialogue ive written.

16. what are your writing weaknesses? hhghgh action. handling a big plot sensitively. ive been really struggling with making sure ive got hold of all my threads in my long fic. i dont think ive let go of any yet but im constantly paranoid that ive dropped one lmao. also i find action so hard!! the pacing of it, the choice of words, the making sure the reader doesnt get bored by not over or under describing whats happening! hhg.

17. what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language? if this means in the sense that a character is speaking a different language in the fic, then. i've seen it done a few ways. personally i ofc want to understand whats being said, so i like it best when the line is written in english but perhaps put in italics, with a tag saying smth like "they said in french/whatever langauge". ive also seen it done as typed in the langauge followed by the english translation in italics. either way works, i just don't rlly like it when it's completely untranslated!! even having like a lil dictionary in the end notes works.

18. what was the first fandom you ever wrote for? good omens lmao. i wrote fic before that but im not going into that, and i dont even think i could find it again bc it's lost in the depths of ff.net. i was also 13/14. so yeah :/

19. what's your favourite fic you've ever written? ppl dont really like this fic bc it's gen/not shippy and possibly also bc it was inspired by music, but. i have a real soft spot for my fic rose quartz and cool safflina. (botw, T) i wrote it while listening to la dispute's album panorama, and i think having the music helped me write with such a good flow. it's a very poetic piece, though. not for everyone. i also rlly like the great frost of 1684 (good omens, Gen) though neither of them are anywhere near my popular works' stats.

20. who do you tag? low pressure tagging @snidgetwidgeon, @itcantbe, @cyraclove, @unmaskedcardinal and everyone else who fancies it!!

[lucy-ashton]

It’s Wednesday Again! I hope you enjoy this new extract of my fanfic The Memory of the Red Spider Lilies.

The enchanting echo of a small bell resonated in the distance, and he gradually emerged from the abyss of unconsciousness. Overwhelmed by an icy sensation creeping into every fibre of his being, his eyelids opened on his hands clasped and adorned with black nail polish. Around him, darkness reigned supreme, barely allowing him to discern his attire: a priesthood jōe topped with a traditional eboshi, a vestment of his aversion whose thick and heavy layers had always demanded him superhuman effort for the slightest movement. Kneeled on a liquid ground of infinite depths, as if floating above the ocean, he rose with a step back that immediately illuminated the surface like a skipping stone on water, revealing the outlines of the Japanese islands…

The small bell rang again, causing a shiver of terror that ran down his spine, and he turned to suddenly face a spectre from his past. Old enough to stand on his legs, yet too young to master speech properly—and what would be the point, since he never uttered a word?—the child stood before him. Clad in a torn kimono stained with blood, his cherry hair in disarray smelled of iron while a cursed blade, eager to inflict pain and suffering, gleamed firmly in his palm.

Seized by a searing fear, he recoiled in a hasty motion that made him fall backward. The spectre advanced peacefully, his bare and chained feet lighting up the ground with each step. Sensing the thirst for vengeance behind his impassive face— yet so opposed to his eyes shedding invisible tears, he could also hear, within his emotionless chest, his racing heart screaming at him to stop before the purity of his soul was desperately lost.

The gentle caress of his delicate fingers against his cheeks paralysed him on the spot, and the child took advantage of it to slowly bring their faces closer, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss that deprived him of all breath of life. In the hollow of his loins burned that desire for power that had never truly left him, his innocent mouth turning into sharp fangs as his alluring tongue poured an acrid taste of cruor down his throat. Irreparably corrupted, his golden pupils darkened into a vermilion shade, similar to the colour of the hundreds of corpses he had left in his deadly wake…

***

The cherry-haired boy jolted awake, terror gripping his senses momentarily before being replaced by a fit of coughing, bile burning his throat as he expelled it in painful waves. Drenched in sweat, overwhelmed by a disorienting haze, he began to crawl from his bed to the sliding doors for support. In the dim corridor, it seemed as if the echoes of his nightmare grew more intense, pursuing him like wisps of fog that would make his his step falter whilst he descended the stairs. Thus hampered, his unsteady movements eventually caused him to stumble and he crashed at the bottom with a thunderous thud…

The sharp sound of an object hitting the floor reverberated through the air at the same time, followed by the gushing of water like that of a river's flow, and Ookurikara's face suddenly appeared before his eyes, his usually stoic expression replaced by a concern evident in his strong embrace. At this sight, he abruptly snapped back to reality, his recent memories flooding his mind in a relentless tidal wave—the shrine filled with his wounded Touken Danshi, the treatment tables covered in blood, and Konnosuke's incessant pleas to prevent him from saving them, with the risk of sacrificing himself in the process…

Clutching the fabric of his Toudan's jacket with trembling hands, the Sage finally surrendered to a torrent of tears, unable to contain his grief, sorrow, or even shame any longer. His sobs echoed through the citadel, stirring worry among his tsukumogami who had gathered in numbers after the commotion of his fall, each standing nearby while anxiously awaiting news of their master's condition.

He didn't want to lose anyone anymore; He couldn't bear to be directly responsible for another death... to be the one feared and blamed!

Ookurikara tightened his grip at once, his demeanour softening as he attempted to comfort the grief-stricken Saniwa, a rare display of emotion from the typically reserved Uchigatana. Beside him, Shokudaikiri offered him a reassuring smile, insidiously supporting his decision to stay by the boy's side even if it meant enduring unwanted attention.

Two figures who had imposed themselves among the crowd unexpectedly overshadowed him, and the Sage lifted his head. Recognising them immediately, his eyes then widened in surprise, his visitors continuing to watch him in silence with their gaze mixing both disapproval and empathy.

🔙 Previous snippet

[itsmepage]

Guilty Pleasure

Bobby Worst x Fem! Reader || Y'all I'm so down bad for this man, you have no idea I love Bobby sm and it's kinda criminal there's no fanfics for him so I'm changing that, this is inspired by one of my favorite songs and a amazing writer on a03 that kept my Worstthrust heart alive and made me a Bobby simp so enjoy <33 (Ps this set in Blame hero timeline, no Brycey here but that doesn't mean we hate worstthrust!!!)

Summary: Your lustful desires take control when you Bobby Worst kidnappeds you. You’re unlucky & lucky he’s a horny maniac

Smut

Warnings: kidnapping, filthy smut, small talk of sex life, a little bit of a blood kink/vampire kink, hand kink, low-key masochistic behavior, swearing, disintegrating nicknames for reader & very small mentions of terrorism/threats

Smut means mature rating!! You are responsible for what you consume!!

_✍︎︎

You sat in the clutches of Bobby Worst. Well not him, his home; his storage room, to be exact. Wearing the outfit you wore when you plan to have at least a decent hookup that night: hoping the guy wasn’t some loser desperate for a woman’s touch or feel some kind of supreme male or whatever the fuck. That’s was until a dot struck you on the side of your neck. You’ve collapsed hearing a sinister laugh dragging you into the away as everything went dark. “Hello, bitch..” was the first thing you heard when you opened your eyes to see the infamous Bobby Worst: america’s favorite horny terrorist.

He was making threats, to you, telling you how you'll never see your family again, how no one is coming for you, and how no one will ever find you. As much the threats were effective, your mind was mainly focused on his hands. Bobby's right hand held your face, forcing you to look at him while he made those comments. The hands looked like they belonged to a monster: green with spikes and long nails; you thought they were fake until you felt the sharpness on your skin, realizing they were very real: and for some reason it turn you on. You became so conflicted, of course you were terrified, and also very disgusted with yourself because no matter how you tried to convince yourself not: you found it so attractive, and the worst part is: he noticed.

“Oh...? You like that?" You heard him say, holding your cheeks tighter and yanking your face towards his, as he change the tone of his voice: it was in such a low sexy tone that did not help your case. You tried your hardest to deny it, tried to defend yourself but.. "Don't lie to me bitch, I can see it in your face.." Bobby's hand was now lower around your neck, letting your face go; not to coke you, but threaten you, no. Sorry, tease you. "I already can smell it off you, too.." Bobby was now at the side of your neck, like a vampire about to take a bite, he sniffed the side of you and you couldn’t help but whimper at the anticipation. Feeling his hot breath on your skin; he moaned at your sent of arousal; “oh.. I got a change of plans you.." Hs said with an evil grin that revealed his vampire-likd teeth: that could penetrate your skin with ease. You quickly learn there was no escaping his touch.

You hated the unless amount of teasing. That's what he meant when he said “change of plans.” Bobby pulled you up so high, but never pull you back down. He gazed his sharp teeth and his nails at the edges of your skin to do nothing but send shivers down your spine; running his hands on your back, arm, stomach, chest and thighs just to simply touch you. His hands were so rough but that’s what made it feel so nice. As he teased you with his sharp teeth, he was also kissing your neck: finding all the sensitive parts to drive you mad. But he never gave you a hickey; just lightly pressed his green lips on your skin to leave nothing but a lipstick stain. Bobby did all of this while whispering all the dirty things he can do to you. “Ahhh.. just the image the feeling..” He whispered in your ear kissing below of it as he very lately scratched your bare back and you couldn’t hold back your whimper. “Ugh.. and you want it so bad, don’t you, you slut?” He laughed at you as he spread your legs more open: Making notice of wet stain on your clothes. “Fuckkk… yeah.. you do.” he moaned and laughed again; yet he still didn’t nothing but stroke your Body and lightly kiss your neck; it was driving you crazy. You wanted to beg for him, wanted to take his hand and make him rub you to touch you, fuck it, make him scratch you. Letting the blood run down your body for his sick and twisted mind to see, but your hands were tied and all you could do was bite your lip and whimper: your speech was limited. You were so damn weak. So vulnerable, just for him.

Eventually, you just couldn’t take it anymore. You were finally able to find the words to finish you off, finally admitting your defeat and bagging for him after what felt like hours of “torture.” “Please.. Bobby... please..” You breathed out catching his attention as his evil, lust-full, green eye met your similar desperate ones. “Please… please.. Mr. Worst...please..“ you moaned, whimpering when he moved his green claws up your entire body to hold your chin. “ah..I.. I’ll let you do anything to me… I… I promise I’ll be good, I won’t do anything, I won’t try to run..I’ll stay forever… I’ll accept my fate... just, please! Please, please….” You begged, whimpering over how drenched you are and how: Bobby Worst the world’s most feared and heinous villain made you feel this way, made you begged for his touch. Usually, Bobby would just leave you there like that, just so helpless; that would be funny to him. However, the way you cried for him, begged for him, and said his name.. “Holy fuck..” he moaned “Ahh.. look at you.. so fucking weak and pathetic…” he gently pulled your head closer to him and began touching you again with his left hand. Glazing his nails at your stomach and hip, and this time, you didn’t hold back any moans or whimpers. You didn’t care anymore. “…and so desperate.. for me.. a fucking terrorist..!” He laughed at your misery as he moved the hand up that held your head to your chest, groping your bare tit. You let out a sigh of pleasure. “Awh.. aren’t you ashamed of yourself pet?” He said moving to the side of your neck to lick you, sucking and gently kissing a piece of your skin from your neck, smelling your arousal in the process. He moan at your taste and smell and you whimpered at the sensation. “B-bobby…. plea- o-ohhh..!” Your sentence was cut short when took his right hand to rub the wet stain on your panties. Already you were squirming and moaning mess. “Fuck, you’re fuckingg.. soaked..” he groaned gently using the tip of his fingers to play with you, being careful not to accidentally cut you. “You’re practically dripping and all I’m doing is touching you.. ahh..haha..” he laughed at you again, “ngh.. Mr- ah- fuck.. Mr. Worsttt...“ you moaned again, arching your back and getting lost on the way that he touch you. He pulled away “No..! I need you please…” you cried to him “Shut up.” He said, putting his green claws over your mouth. “Don’t you worry slut..” he whispered in your ear before he began to scratch you on the with one of his sharp nails, going slow as he did so he could see the blood leak out of you and you hissed and whimpered in pain. “I’m gonna make you.. all mine..” he smiled so sinisterly as he said that; licking the blood from the scar on your neck. One hand holding your head and the other holding your shoulder. Your moans soon turned into a yelp of pain when he bit down on the wound like a horny vampire but what turned into a harsh pain, became your guiltiest pleasure.

[mochi13]

Recs - 3

NOTE : Many of the below mentioned items contain mature/dark themes. Please check all the warnings listed in the fanfic before reading.

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🌙KIM SEOKJIN

My tiny secret - @personasintro

Flowerboy - @jeonstudios

Falling for a lounge singer - @smileyoongle

I can't be with you - @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue

Pretty boy - @daydream-hobii

A plan - @personasintro

Broken - @kpopyandere

🌙JEON JUNGKOOK

To obtain the flower - @mingshits

Primrose - @mingshits

Endgame - @sourkoo

Stoic - @blue-jade

Redemption - @blue-jade

Only love - @kooktrash

What money can buy - @jeonstudios

🌙KIM NAMJOON

Paper rings - @stonyoongi

Forever and ever - @stonyoongi

One last time - @personasintro

Therapy - @namjoonchronicles

Moonstruck - @lovelyspring7

Sun-kissed - @bangtanbishh

Promises - @jeonsweetheart

🌙JUNG HOSEOK

The story of us - @littlemisskookie

Psychomachy - @99liners

Dinner and dessert - @xjoonchildx

Naughty - @sluttyandere

Hell in heaven - @namfinessed

Earned it - @yoon2k

Crashing into you - @taleasnewastime

🌙KIM TAEHYUNG

If I can't have you - @namjooningelsewhere

Cheater - @personasintro

Visitation of a lover - @flowesona

Fall with me - @dntaewithluv

Desires of a desperado - @yandere-society

Blind for you - @ratherbefangirling

The ghost of you - @joonscypher

🌙PARK JIMIN

Come home to me ,darling - @roses-ruby

Heartburn - @jiminrings

Criminal influence - @dntaewithluv

Relax for me - @jimilter

Stained t-shirt - @sugakookitty

Only you - @personasintro

Breaking the rules - @btssmutgalore

🌙MIN YOONGI

I feel you in my heart - @purpletaecup

Coming home - @jeonstudios

The D is for effort - @sugakookitty

Behind closed doors - @scriptaed

Stay high - @personasintro

Off my face - @haliiimede

Bad things - @yoonia